Category: Creative Writing

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 9

This is a story inspired by a visit to an old castle in Italy. It was, of course, written while travelling on a plane, though I’m not sure if it was from Calgary to Toronto, or New York to Vancouver.

But, there’s more to come. Those were long flights…

And sadly when I read what I’d written, off the plane and in the cold hard light of dawn, there were problems, which now in the second draft, should provide the proper start.

…

They always come for you just before dawn.

I could hear the words being spoken by the Sergeant Major during lesson one of torture training.  Not us giving it to them, but them giving it to us.  Why?  For some reason at that hour of the morning, you were still asleep, or half asleep, and totally unprepared.

So, lesson number one, if you found yourself in that situation, waiting, you needed to prepare.

Easy to say, not so easy to do.  He then went on to outline the methods to employ when faced with an imminent interrogation.  The problem was, he also told us the methods that would be employed, and that was basically terrifying.  I saw men stronger than me wilting at the thought.

And, right there, sitting in that cold cell, it was not only the cold that was making me shiver.

I wasn’t a brave man.  I think sometimes I might classify myself as stupid, and with a devil may care attitude, to life and other situations; in war, every day could be your last, but I’d always considered it would be a bomb or a bullet.

Something instant, with no time to go through an agonising process of extreme pain, before dying.  Everything that went against the purpose of torture.

But not today.

I heard the sound of a key turning in a lock, in a door that was at the other end of the passage, the sound of the captors coming.

For me?  Or for someone else?

Was it selfish of me to want it to be someone else?

The door swung open with a groan, it had been oiled, but the rust was still thick enough to impede progress.  I was glad of it, it gave me time to compose myself.  I think by then I had convinced myself it was time.   Wallace wasn’t happy I was still alive, and I suspect Johansson had stopped Jackerby killing me for him because I had useful information.

That usefulness would end if I didn’t co-operate.

I could hear the boots on cobbles coming towards my cell, then felt, rather than saw the guards.

I stood and took several steps back from the door.  I could see one of the guards had a gun, trained on me, ready to shoot if I tried anything, flattered that someone thought I might try to resist or escape.  I had given it some thought, weighed the possibilities, and the odds were I’d be shot before I got 10 yards.

“Don’t try anything or you will be shot.”  Surprisingly unaccented English, but an unsurprising threat.  

A different guard, standing back from the door, key in hand, and in the light so that I could see him.  Why?  This one didn’t look German, and he was someone I hadn’t seen before, obviously one of the new arrivals.

Jackerby’s handpicked torture squad?

The door was unlocked and swung outwards, held onto by the man who issued the threat.

The other guard had stepped back two paces.  “Follow him.  I’ll be right behind.  Don’t try anything.”

He didn’t have to add anything to that command.  He was seven inches taller and 60 pounds plus heavier than I was.  Implied message understood.

I followed the guard in front.

© Charles Heath 2019

Once Upon a Time… – A short story

Everyone knows someone who has a child that will not go to sleep.

You can set the bedtime at whatever early hour you like, but by the time they actually fall asleep, there have been two or three hours of up and down, in and out of bed, and at least one episode of a scary monster lurking under the bed, or, worse, outside the window.

After exhausting every method of achieving a result and failing, I thought I’d try reading.

The first book I picked up was, yes, you guessed it, about monsters. In fact, nearly every book for kids was about monsters, witches, ogres, dragons, and vampires.

I put them back and sighed. I would have to come up with a story of my own.

It started with, “Once upon a time…”

“But that,” Mary said, “only applies to fairy tales.”

“Well, this is going to be a fairy tale of sorts. Minus the fire-breathing dragons, and nasty trolls under drawbridges.”

“It’s not going to be much of a story, then. In fairy tales, there’s always a knight who slays the dragon and rides off with the princess.”

This was going to be a tough ask. I thought of going back to the book pile, but then, I could do this.

“So,” I began again, “Once upon a time there was a princess, who lived in a castle with her father, the king, her mother, the queen, and her brother, the steadfast and trusty knight in shining armour.”

“Why is their armour always shining?”

I was going to tell her to save the questions until after the story, by which time I had hoped I’d bored her enough to choose sleep over criticism. I was wrong.

“Because a knight always has to have shiny armour, otherwise the king would be disappointed.”

“Does the knight spend all night shining his armour?”

“No. He has an apprentice called a squire who cleans the armour and attends to anything else the knight needs.”

“And then he becomes a knight?”

“In good time. The apprentice is usually a boy of about 11 or 12 years old. First, he learns what it means to be a knight, then he has to do years of training until he comes of age.” I saw the question coming, and got in first, “When he is about 21 years old.”

She looked at me, and that meant I had to continue the story.

“The princess was very lucky and lived a very different life than her subjects, except she wished she had their freedom to play, and do ordinary things like cooking or collecting food from the markets. Because she was a princess, she had to stay in the castle and spend most of her time learning how to be a princess, and one day a queen, because when it was time, she would marry a prince who would become a king.”

“Doesn’t sound too lucky to me, being stuck at home. I like the idea of getting somebody to do everything for me though. She does have maids, doesn’t she?”

“Yes. And you’re right, she has everything done for her, including getting dressed. A maid to clean, a maid to dress her, a maid to bring her snacks. And it was these maids she envied.”

Maybe I should not make the story too interesting, or she’ll never go to sleep.

“Well, one day, she decided to change places with one of her maids. They were almost identical and when they exchanged clothes, the other maids could not tell they had changed places. At the end of the day, when the maids went home, the princess headed to the house where the maid she had taken the place of lived.

It was very different from the castle, and the room she usually had. The mother was at home, cooking the food for the evening meal, and it was nothing like what she usually had. A sort of soup with scraps of meat in it. There was a loaf of bread on the table. The father came home after working all day in the fields, very tired. They ate and then went to bed. Her bed was straw and a piece of cloth that hardly covered her. At least, by the fire, it was warm. It didn’t do anything for the pangs of hunger because there had barely been enough for all of them.

The next morning, she returned to the castle and changed places back again. When the maid she changed places with asked about her experience of what it was like in their life, the princess said she was surprised. She had never been told about how the people who served the king lived, and she had assumed that they were well looked after. Now she had experienced what it was like to be a subject, she was going to investigate it further.

After all, she told the maid, I must have all the facts if I’m going to approach the king.

And she thought to herself, a lot more courage than she had.

But, instead of lessons today, she was going to demand to be taken on a tour outside the castle and to see the people.

“This sounds like it’s not going to have a happy ending.”

No, I thought. Maybe I’ll get the dragon that her brother failed to slay to eat her.

“It will. Patience. But that’s enough for tonight. If you want to know what happens, you’ll have to go to sleep and then, tomorrow night, the story continues.”

I tucked her in, turned down the night light so it was only a glow, just enough to see where I was going, and left.

If I was lucky, she would go to sleep. The only problem was, I had to come up with more of the story.

Outside the door, her mother, Christine, was smiling. “Since when did you become an expert on Princesses?”

“When I married one.”

—-

© Charles Heath 2020-2023

The 2am Rant: Why don’t we sit down and talk about it?

An invitation that sounds so innocuous, doesn’t it?

As accomplished as we can be at putting words on paper, what is it that makes it so difficult to sit in a chair with a camera on you, and saying words rather than writing them?

Er and um seem to crop up a lot in verbal speech.

OK, it was a simple question; “What motivates you to write?”

Damn.

My brain just turned to mush, and the words come out sounding like a drunken sailor after a night out on the town.

The written answer to the question is simple; “The idea that someone will read what I have written, and quite possibly enjoy it; that is motivation enough.”

It highlights the difficulties of the novice author.

Not only are there the constant demands of creating a ‘brand’ and building a ‘following’, but there is also the need to market oneself, and the interview is one of the more effective ways of doing this.

If only I can settle the nerves.

I mean, really, it is only my granddaughter who is conducting the interview, and the questions are relatively simple.

The trouble is, I’ve never had to do it before, well, perhaps in an interview for a job, but that is less daunting.  Those usually stick to a predefined format.

Here the narrative can go in any direction.  There are set questions, but the interviewer, in her inimitable manner, can sometimes slide a question in out of left field.

For instance, “Your character Zoe the assassin, is she based on someone you know, or an amalgam of other characters you’ve read about or seen in movies?”

That was an interesting question, and one that has several answers, but the one most relevant was; “It was the secret alter ego of one of the women I used to work with.  I asked her one day if she wasn’t doing what she was, what she would like to do.  And, surprisingly, I thought she would have made an excellent assassin, the last person you would expect.”

Of course, the next question was about what I wanted to be in an alter ego.

Maybe I’ll tell you next time.

Writing a book in 365 days – 352

Day 352

Great Fiction Writers Don’t Just Tell Stories—They Leave You Changed

There’s a quiet magic in the best fiction—a kind that doesn’t announce itself with flashy prose or intricate plots, but lingers long after the last page is turned. You close the book, set it down, and somehow feel… heavier. Not weighed down, but fulfilled—as though you’ve absorbed something essential, something that wasn’t there when you began.

Great fiction writers don’t write for themselves. They write for you—the reader. And the greatest among them give you more than entertainment or escape. They give you something.

What Is That “Something”?

It’s not always easy to name. It might be a sudden clarity about human nature—why your father acted the way he did, or why forgiveness is harder than anger. It could be an aching empathy for someone unlike yourself, conjured through a character so vividly drawn that their pain feels like memory. It might be the unsettling truth that you’re not as alone in your fears or dreams as you thought.

That something is the residue of real art: emotional weight, intellectual insight, or a quiet shift in perspective. It’s the feeling you get after reading Toni Morrison’s Beloved, or finishing a Chekhov story, or stepping out of the world of George Eliot’s Middlemarch. You’re changed. You carry the story with you, not as memorised lines, but as lived experience.

And that’s the hallmark of a true artist: they offer their work not as a monument to their own genius, but as a gift to the reader’s soul.

The Writer’s True Purpose: Not Self-Expression, But Soul-Transmission

So many aspiring writers believe their job is to express themselves—to pour out their thoughts, traumas, or clever wordplay onto the page. And while honesty and authenticity matter, the goal cannot stop there. Great fiction isn’t exhibition; it’s invitation.

When you write to express yourself, the work orbits inward. But when you write for the reader, it expands outward—reaching, resonating, transforming. The best writers understand this intuitively. They labor not to impress, but to impact. They revise not for elegance alone, but for emotional precision—because they know a single well-placed sentence can alter someone’s understanding of love, loss, or what it means to be human.

Think of Harper Lee handing Scout Finch to the world—not as a self-indulgent character study, but as a lens through which generations would confront race, justice, and moral courage. Or consider Kazuo Ishiguro, whose restrained narratives coil around memory and dignity, leaving readers quietly devastated—and wiser.

These writers didn’t write to soothe their own egos. They wrote to give you something to carry.

Your Work Is Not About You—And That’s the Point

If you’re writing fiction to be seen, praised, or validated, you’re writing in the wrong direction. Real art doesn’t seek applause. It seeks resonance.

When you shift your focus from What do I want to say? to What does the reader need to feel, see, or understand?, your writing transforms. Your characters deepen. Your themes gain weight. You begin to sculpt stories that don’t just entertain, but endure.

Every choice—of voice, of silence, of detail—becomes an offering. The description of a worn kitchen table isn’t just set dressing; it’s a vessel for memory. A character’s hesitation isn’t just pacing—it’s a reflection of universal doubt.

This reorientation is humbling. It asks you to let go of the need to be clever, shocking, or profound on the surface. Instead, it calls you to serve the story—and, through it, the reader.

Walk Into the Light, Leave With Weight

The finest novels, the unforgettable stories, don’t leave you lighter. They leave you fuller. You walk into them seeking diversion, and you walk out carrying a new emotional memory, a truth you didn’t have before.

So if you’re serious about writing fiction that matters, remember this: your work is not yours. It never was. It belongs to the reader—the one who will read your words late at night, who will underline a passage, who will feel less alone because of something you wrote.

Let that be your compass. Write not for your name on a cover, but for the weight you leave in someone’s chest. Because great fiction doesn’t just live on the page. It lives in the reader—long after the book is closed.

And that’s how art becomes legacy.

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – New York

Beyond the Skyline: 5 Off‑the‑Beaten‑Path Experiences in New York City

You’ve checked off Times Square, the Statue of Liberty, and the Met. Now it’s time to slip into the city’s quieter corners, where locals and seasoned explorers discover a side of New York that most tourists never see. Below are five unforgettable, low‑key adventures that let you experience the “real” New York—without the selfie‑stick crowds.

1. Wander the Forgotten Tunnels of the Elevated Acre

What it is: A hidden 2‑acre rooftop garden perched atop a 19th‑century freight elevator shaft at 55 Water Street, overlooking the East River. The space is a lush, industrial‑chic oasis complete with a waterfall, pine forest, and a panoramic view of the Brooklyn Bridge.

Why it feels off‑beat: The Elevated Acre is tucked behind a nondescript metal door that looks like a service entrance. Only the occasional office worker or curious local stumbles upon it, making it an ideal spot for quiet contemplation or a low‑key picnic.

Insider tip: Arrive just after sunrise (the garden opens at 6 a.m.) to watch the city wake up. Bring a reusable coffee cup—there’s a small café kiosk that serves locally roasted brews and pastries.

Cost & Logistics: Free entry. The nearest subway stop is Wall Street (4/5) or Broad Street (J/Z); a short walk east across the waterfront will bring you to the entrance on Water Street.

2. Catch a Silent Disco in the Underground Tunnels of the Grymes Hill Tunnel (Brooklyn)

What it is: A pop‑up, headphone‑only dance party held inside the historic, brick‑lined railway tunnel beneath the Brooklyn Heights Promenade. DJs spin everything from deep house to vintage funk, while participants groove to their own private soundtrack.

Why it feels off‑beat: The tunnel is usually off‑limits to the public and used only for maintenance. The secretive nature of these events draws a small, eclectic crowd—often artists, students, and New York’s indie music scene.

Insider tip: Follow the whisper campaign on the neighbourhood’s Facebook “Brooklyn Secret Events” group for the next date. Arrive early to snag a spot near the tunnel’s natural “light well,” where shafts of sunlight pierce the ceiling—perfect for Instagram stories that look like a scene from Inception.

Cost & Logistics: Tickets range $15‑$25, which include the headphones. The entrance is at Pier 6, Brooklyn Bridge Park; take the 4/5 to Fulton St then walk south along the waterfront.

3. Explore the Vegan Artisanal Market at The Gowanus Canal’s “Greenhouse”

What it is: A seasonal, open‑air market set on a reclaimed warehouse rooftop overlooking the industrial‑chic Gowanus Canal. Local vendors showcase vegan cheeses, fermented kombuchas, hand‑crafted soy candles, and artwork inspired by the city’s waterways.

Why it feels off‑beat: While the Gowanus Canal is often associated with gritty urban renewal, this market celebrates sustainability and community creativity, drawing in a crowd of eco‑conscious locals who prefer farmers’ markets in the Bronx or Queens.

Insider tip: Bring a reusable tote and a curiosity for “wild” flavours. Try the cashew‑based mozzarella paired with locally grown heirloom tomatoes, then stroll across the canal’s footbridge to watch kayakers glide by at sunset.

Cost & Logistics: Entry is free; items for purchase range $3‑$20. The market runs on the first Saturday of each month from 11 a.m.–4 p.m. Nearest subway: F to York St, then a 10‑minute walk west on 9th St.

4. Attend a Midnight Screening at The Film Forum’s “Cinematic Night Shift”

What it is: A series of late‑night showings of obscure foreign films, cult classics, and experimental works, held in the intimate 224‑seat theatre on the Lower East Side. Each session includes a brief Q&A with the director or a film scholar.

Why it feels off‑beat: While most visitors flock to the big multiplexes in Times Square, Film Forum’s midnight series draws cinephiles who value conversation over popcorn. The dimly lit lobby, vintage posters, and the smell of old leather seats create an atmosphere that feels like stepping into a secret society of film lovers.

Insider tip: Arrive early for the complimentary “screening cocktail”—a rotating concoction inspired by the evening’s film (think a “Bong Joon‑ho” mocktail for a Korean thriller). Seats fill fast, so reserve online at least a week in advance.

Cost & Logistics: $12 per ticket, plus a small “donation” for the Q&A. The theatre is located at 209 West Houston St; accessible via B/D at Grand St or L at 1st Ave.

5. While officially called the Ellis Island Hard Hat Tour, the experience is described by visitors as “eerie” and “haunting,” and includes access to areas like the former morgue and contagious disease wards.

This 90-minute guided tour offers a fascinating look into the abandoned hospital complex, which has been closed to the public since 1954. 

Tour Details

Age Restriction: All participants must be at least 10 years old. 

Focus: The tour focuses on the history of the hospital and the experience of the over one million immigrants who passed through its doors. It’s not a ghost tour with actors or jump scares, but the abandoned atmosphere provides a naturally eerie environment.

Key Sights: Visitors walk through the contagious disease wards, laundry rooms, kitchen, staff quarters, and the autopsy room, which features an eight-cadaver refrigerator. The tour also features an art installation by JR, with life-sized historical photographs placed within the decaying buildings.

Tour Operator: These exclusive tours are offered only by Save Ellis Island, the non-profit partner of the National Park Service dedicated to the preservation of the hospital complex. Tour fees support these conservation efforts.

Booking: Tours run daily, year-round, but must be booked in advance as they often sell out. You can purchase tour tickets through the Save Ellis Island website or the ferry operator, Statue City Cruises.

Tickets & Pricing: The Hard Hat Tour costs approximately $50 extra per adult, in addition to the ferry ticket required to reach the island.

How to Weave These Hidden Gems Into Your Itinerary

  1. Map Your “Off‑The‑Beaten‑Path” Day: Start early at the Elevated Acre for sunrise, then head downtown for the Ghost Walk in the evening.
  2. Balance the Unusual with the Classic: Pair a quiet morning with a traditional brunch in the West Village, then cap the night with the silent disco.
  3. Travel Light, Travel Curious: Pack a small backpack with reusable items (water bottle, tote, portable charger) so you’re ready for any spontaneous discovery.

Final Thoughts

New York’s allure isn’t limited to its glittering skyscrapers and iconic museums. Its true soul lives in the nooks and crannies that only the curious dare to explore—whether it’s a rooftop garden hidden above the financial district, a clandestine tunnel humming with music, or a silent hallway echoing with ghost stories.

Next time you book a trip to the city that never sleeps, give yourself permission to wander off the well‑trodden path. You might find that the best memories are made in places you never expected to see.

Happy exploring, fellow wanderer!

What I learned about writing – It’s OK to ask for help

When I was last in Europe we decided to get the Eurostar, from London, through the Chunnel, to Paris Disneyland.  Not exactly as fast as the Japanese bullet trains, but faster than anything we have in this country.

You are hurtling along at up to 160 kph, though it feels a lot faster, and then you begin to brake, and it seems like nothing is happening, except for some outside friction noise, and the speed dropping.

I feel like that now, on my way to the bottom of the abyss.

At the end of that fall, it is something referred to as hitting rock bottom.

I’m told once you hit rock bottom the only way is up.

The question is, who do you know that has fallen into the abyss and come back to tell you about it?

Put into layman’s terms, hurling down the abyss is like having a severe episode of depression.  There are different types, some worse than others.  Hitting the ground is roughly the equivalent of looking for a way out that eases the pain and not finding one, and that, for some people, is a quite drastic answer.

But the sign that the free fall is braking, like the express train slowing down, is a sign that you’ve seen the light, that there are external forces that can render assistance.

I see them now, the hands of friends, the hands of people I don’t know, but who are concerned.

Writers like any other professional people are the same as everyone else, but with one rather interesting difference.  It is a profession where a lot of the time you are on your own, alone with your thoughts, your characters, your fantasy world, which sometimes so frighteningly drifts into your reality.

Some of us will make a fortune, some of us will make an adequate living, and live the ‘dream’ of doing the one job they always wanted to, and most will not.

I’m not rich, I’m not one who gets an adequate income, yet.

But I will get out of this abyss.

I can feel the brakes.

My eldest granddaughter, who is 15, tells me the fantasy story where she is a princess I’m writing for her is brilliant.

The free fall has stopped.  I step out into the sunshine.

All I needed was a little praise.

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

…

How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.

In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.

I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.

Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.

There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.

Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.

It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.

For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.

It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Geneva

Discover Geneva’s Hidden Charms: 5 Off‑The‑Beaten‑Path Experiences Worth Your Time

Geneva is famous for its Jet d’Eau, luxury watches, and the United Nations. But beyond the postcard views lies a quieter, more authentic side of the city that most visitors never see. If you’re craving a genuine Swiss adventure, step off the tourist trail and explore these five lesser‑known gems.

1. Stroll Through the Bohemian Quarter of Carouge

Why it’s a road‑less‑travelled treasure
Carouge feels like a slice of Mediterranean Italy tucked into Swiss territory. Founded in the 18th century by the Sardinian king, its pastel‑colored façades, wrought‑iron balconies, and narrow cobblestone lanes create an intimate, artsy vibe that’s a world away from Geneva’s polished business district.

What to do

  • Boutique hunting: Pop into independent fashion studios, vintage shops, and artisanal leather workshops.
  • Café culture: Grab a cappuccino at Café du Centre or a craft coffee at Café de la Tour while people‑watching on the lively Place du Bourg‑de‑Four.
  • Artisan markets: Every Saturday morning, the Marché de Carouge offers handmade ceramics, jewellery, and local produce.

Practical tips

  • Getting there: Take tram 12 from the city centre (stop “Carouge‑Mairie”) – a 10‑minute ride.
  • Best time: Late afternoon (around 4 pm) when the cafés fill up but the streets haven’t yet emptied.
  • Cost: Free to wander; budget CHF 15–30 for a coffee and a small souvenir.

2. Peek Inside the CERN Microcosm & Large Hadron Collider

Why it’s a road‑less‑travelled treasure
While CERN is a magnet for physics aficionados, most tourists never step inside the underground world where the universe’s smallest particles are smashed together. The Microcosm exhibition demystifies complex science with interactive displays, and the guided tunnel tour lets you stand at the edge of the famous LHC ring.

What to do

  • Microcosm museum: Touch a replica of a proton, watch a 3‑D video of the Higgs boson discovery, and explore the history of particle physics.
  • LHC tunnel tour: Walk (or take a shuttle) into the 27‑km circular tunnel that lies 100 m beneath the French‑Swiss border.

Practical tips

  • Booking: Free admission, but you must reserve a tunnel tour online at least 48 hours in advance (slots fill quickly).
  • Getting there: Take the train from Geneva’s main station to CERN (approx. 10 min) or the tram 18 to “CERN – Meyrin”.
  • Best time: Early morning (first tour slots at 9 am) for the smallest crowds.
  • Safety: Wear comfortable shoes; the tunnel is cool and slightly humid.

3. Hike the Salève – Geneva’s “Balcony”

Why it’s a road‑less‑travelled treasure
Often eclipsed by the Alpine giants, the Salève is a modest limestone mountain just across the border in France. Its gentle slopes and panoramic vistas make it a perfect day‑trip for hikers who want sweeping views of Geneva, Mont Blanc, and the Jura without the crowds of larger peaks.

What to do

  • Trail options: From the easy “Le Petit Plateau” loop (2 km) to the more challenging “Sentier du Grand Fossé” (6 km).
  • Summit café: Stop at Le Café du Salève for a hot chocolate while soaking up 360° vistas.
  • Paragliding: For the adventurous, the summit launch site offers tandem flights with certified pilots.

Practical tips

  • Getting there: Take the bus 57 from “Place des Eaux-Vives” to “Veyrier‑Le‑Pilat”, then a short 15‑minute walk to the trailhead.
  • Best time: Late spring (May–June) when wildflowers bloom, or early autumn for crisp air and fewer hikers.
  • Gear: Sturdy hiking boots, water bottle, and a light jacket (weather changes quickly on the summit).

4. Dip into Local Life at Bains des Pâquis

Why it’s a road‑less‑travelled treasure
Nestled on a small pier in Lake Geneva, the Bains des Pâquis is a beloved community spot where locals swim, sauna, and enjoy affordable meals. It’s a rare chance to mingle with Genevans in a relaxed, multicultural setting—something you rarely experience at the glitzy hotel pools.

What to do

  • Open‑air swimming: The lake’s water is chilly (12–16 °C), but the experience is invigorating, especially in summer.
  • Sauna & hammam: Warm up after a dip in the traditional Finnish sauna or the fragrant hammam.
  • Fondue night: From dusk till late, the on‑site restaurant serves classic cheese fondue and raclette at wallet‑friendly prices (CHF 12–18).

Practical tips

  • Getting there: Walk 10 minutes from the “Moulin” bus stop (tram line 12) or take a short boat ride from the jetty near the Jet d’Eau.
  • Opening hours: 7 am–11 pm (sauna closes at 9 pm).
  • Cost: Swimming area CHF 5; sauna CHF 7; meals as listed above. Bring a towel and a swimsuit (no rentals).

5. Wander the Conservatory and Botanical Garden (Jardin Botanique)

Why it’s a road‑less‑travelled treasure
Tucked behind the historic Cité des Sciences building, the botanical garden is a serene oasis featuring more than 7,000 plant species, themed greenhouses, and a tranquil pond that mirrors the surrounding trees. It’s a perfect sanctuary for nature lovers seeking quiet contemplation away from the city buzz.

What to do

  • Themed greenhouses: Explore the tropical rainforest house, the succulent desert dome, and the elegant orchid collection.
  • Seasonal exhibitions: Spring brings a dazzling tulip display; autumn showcases native alpine flora.
  • Educational workshops: Free guided tours on plant conservation are offered on weekends.

Practical tips

  • Getting there: Tram 15 to “Conservatoire” (stop “Conservatoire”). The garden entrance is a two‑minute walk from the tram stop.
  • Best time: Early morning (8–10 am) for soft lighting and minimal foot traffic.
  • Admission: Free (donations welcomed).
  • What to bring: Comfortable shoes, a notebook for sketching, and a camera (no flash in the greenhouses).

Wrap‑Up: Embrace Geneva’s Quiet Side

While the Jet d’Eau and the Old Town sparkle with tourist energy, Geneva’s hidden corners reveal a city that balances cosmopolitan flair with authentic local life. From the artisan streets of Carouge to the scientific wonder of CERN, the lofty views of Salève, the communal warmth of the Bains, and the botanical whispers of the Conservatory—each experience invites you to travel a road less travelled and return home with stories that only a handful of travellers have heard.

Ready to explore? Pack a light backpack, swap your guidebook for a curiosity‑filled mind, and let Geneva’s secret sides surprise you.

Got a favourite off‑the‑beaten‑path spot in Geneva? Share it in the comments below and inspire the next wanderer!

Writing a book in 365 days – 352

Day 352

Great Fiction Writers Don’t Just Tell Stories—They Leave You Changed

There’s a quiet magic in the best fiction—a kind that doesn’t announce itself with flashy prose or intricate plots, but lingers long after the last page is turned. You close the book, set it down, and somehow feel… heavier. Not weighed down, but fulfilled—as though you’ve absorbed something essential, something that wasn’t there when you began.

Great fiction writers don’t write for themselves. They write for you—the reader. And the greatest among them give you more than entertainment or escape. They give you something.

What Is That “Something”?

It’s not always easy to name. It might be a sudden clarity about human nature—why your father acted the way he did, or why forgiveness is harder than anger. It could be an aching empathy for someone unlike yourself, conjured through a character so vividly drawn that their pain feels like memory. It might be the unsettling truth that you’re not as alone in your fears or dreams as you thought.

That something is the residue of real art: emotional weight, intellectual insight, or a quiet shift in perspective. It’s the feeling you get after reading Toni Morrison’s Beloved, or finishing a Chekhov story, or stepping out of the world of George Eliot’s Middlemarch. You’re changed. You carry the story with you, not as memorised lines, but as lived experience.

And that’s the hallmark of a true artist: they offer their work not as a monument to their own genius, but as a gift to the reader’s soul.

The Writer’s True Purpose: Not Self-Expression, But Soul-Transmission

So many aspiring writers believe their job is to express themselves—to pour out their thoughts, traumas, or clever wordplay onto the page. And while honesty and authenticity matter, the goal cannot stop there. Great fiction isn’t exhibition; it’s invitation.

When you write to express yourself, the work orbits inward. But when you write for the reader, it expands outward—reaching, resonating, transforming. The best writers understand this intuitively. They labor not to impress, but to impact. They revise not for elegance alone, but for emotional precision—because they know a single well-placed sentence can alter someone’s understanding of love, loss, or what it means to be human.

Think of Harper Lee handing Scout Finch to the world—not as a self-indulgent character study, but as a lens through which generations would confront race, justice, and moral courage. Or consider Kazuo Ishiguro, whose restrained narratives coil around memory and dignity, leaving readers quietly devastated—and wiser.

These writers didn’t write to soothe their own egos. They wrote to give you something to carry.

Your Work Is Not About You—And That’s the Point

If you’re writing fiction to be seen, praised, or validated, you’re writing in the wrong direction. Real art doesn’t seek applause. It seeks resonance.

When you shift your focus from What do I want to say? to What does the reader need to feel, see, or understand?, your writing transforms. Your characters deepen. Your themes gain weight. You begin to sculpt stories that don’t just entertain, but endure.

Every choice—of voice, of silence, of detail—becomes an offering. The description of a worn kitchen table isn’t just set dressing; it’s a vessel for memory. A character’s hesitation isn’t just pacing—it’s a reflection of universal doubt.

This reorientation is humbling. It asks you to let go of the need to be clever, shocking, or profound on the surface. Instead, it calls you to serve the story—and, through it, the reader.

Walk Into the Light, Leave With Weight

The finest novels, the unforgettable stories, don’t leave you lighter. They leave you fuller. You walk into them seeking diversion, and you walk out carrying a new emotional memory, a truth you didn’t have before.

So if you’re serious about writing fiction that matters, remember this: your work is not yours. It never was. It belongs to the reader—the one who will read your words late at night, who will underline a passage, who will feel less alone because of something you wrote.

Let that be your compass. Write not for your name on a cover, but for the weight you leave in someone’s chest. Because great fiction doesn’t just live on the page. It lives in the reader—long after the book is closed.

And that’s how art becomes legacy.

“The Devil You Don’t”, she was the girl you would not take home to your mother!

Now only $0.99 at https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

…

John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities, and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.

Suddenly he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.

If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.

At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.

That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.

Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.

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