I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.
The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritising.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
An interrogation and a revelation.
Debriefings were like interrogations, only friendlier. We were trained to withstand interrogation, so it would be interesting to see how I reacted. I had no doubt what some of the questions would be.
While I had a few minutes to myself, sitting down behind a bare metal table on a hard plastic and uncomfortable chair, with a warm cup of station house coffee, to consider the briefing.
Target, male, 6 foot 3 inches, 200 pounds, Caucasian, thought to be from either Russia or Bulgaria, but nothing to define his as such. I had wondered, at the time, what that meant. When I saw him in the alley I knew, then, what was meant, he looked the same as you or me.
No explanation for why he was under surveillance, but we did get a warning that he might be dangerous if he suspected he was being observed. Right about that, given team casualties.
Main objective, who he met, talked to, and where he went, every place, every detail to be noted. The unpredictable explosion threw the whole operation into chaos.
The door opened and a woman, middle-aged, conservatively dressed, walked in, closing it behind her. She sat in the other chair opposite me. She brought a file, thin, and put it in front of her on the table.
“Your name is Sam Jackson?”
“Yes.”
No introductions, nothing, just a start on the questions. No nonsense, but I could see she was very, very angry. With me, or those who had run a failed operation?
“How long have you been with us?”
“Eight months.”
She opened the file and glanced at the piece of paper on top. A minute passed before she closed the file again. “Closer to nine,” she said.
I said nothing. I wasn’t counting the days.
“How many operations have you been on?”
“Six, including this one.”
“Who assigned you to this specific operation?”
“Couldn’t say. I got the usual request via text message to attend a briefing at the midtown office.”
“What was the designated operation name?”
“Chancellery.”
For a brief second, there was a quizzical expression on her face, then it was gone.
“Who was running this operation?”
“Director Severin.”
A full three minutes of silence passed. I thought she was looking at me, the sort of stare that would break a lesser man, but in the end, I think she was looking right through me. I could not read her thoughts, but if I was to guess, they would be rather dark right now.
Then she spoke.
“You should know that there was no Chancellery on the books, and we certainly do not have a Director named Severin.”
50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.
They all start with –
A picture paints … well, as many words as you like. For instance:
And, the story:
Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply fly away?
Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, I came to the airport to see the plane leave. Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.
But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision. She needed the opportunity to spread her wings. It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.
She was in a rut. Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level that she, the youngest of the group, would get the position.
It was something that had been weighing her down for the last three months, and if she noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper. I knew she had one; no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.
And then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere. Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication. It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact that she had to entertain more, and frankly, I felt like an embarrassment to her.
So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock. We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.
It was then that she said she had quit her job and found a new one. Starting the following Monday.
Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it was something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.
I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.
What surprised her was my reaction. None.
I simply asked who, where, and when.
A world-class newspaper in New York, and she had to be there in a week.
A week.
It was all the time I had left with her.
I remember just shrugging and asking if the planned weekend away was off.
She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.
Is that all you want to know?
I did, yes, but we had lost the intimacy we used to have, where she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker, but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.
There’s not much to ask, I said. You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place, and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.
Her immediate superior was instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position, he had not taken advantage of the situation like some might. And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.
One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.
So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.
Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology. It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you. I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.
Yes, our relationship had a use-by date, and it was in the next few days.
I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me; you can make cabinets anywhere.
I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job. It was everything around her and going with her that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.
Then the only question left was, what do we do now?
Go shopping for suitcases. Bags to pack, and places to go.
Getting on the roller coaster is easy. At the beginning, it’s a slow, easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top. It’s much like some relationships; they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, followed by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.
What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.
Our roller coaster had just come out of the final turn, and we were braking so that it would stop at the station.
There was no question of going with her to New York. Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back. After a few months in the new job, the last thing she’d want was a reminder of what she left behind. New friends, new life.
We packed her bags, threw out everything she didn’t want, a free trip to the op shop with stuff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.
Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming; that moment, the taxi arrived to take her away forever. I remember standing there, watching the taxi go. It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.
So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.
Already that morning, there had been 6 different types of planes departing, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.
People coming, people going.
Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just to see what the attraction was. Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.
As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.
Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.
I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.
But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.
Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.
…
The Ormiston’s from the papers
…
The Ormiston story and that of the thousand or so acres between the sea and the mountains are now known as Patterson’s reach, but once called The Grove, began in 1865 when the original Henrich Ormiston arrived from Germany.
Originally intending to go to Australia to grow grapes in South Australia, instead, his fate turned West to the Americas, and, eventually, this part of Florida. He started out with the intention of growing grapes, but when that failed to materialize, he moved on to Oranges, hence the name, The Grove.
He had married before leaving Germany and had two children, Marta and Gunter before leaving, and Friedrich after he arrived in 1866. That Friedrich died, according to the gravestone, in 1924. Neither Marta nor Gunter stayed, leaving Friedrich to carry on the business, have an only child which he named after his father, Heinrich, born in 1899 and who died in 1976. He in turn had a single son, which he named Friedrich, the infamous person with who Boggs father had a tempestuous business relationship.
Friedrich was born in 1932, during the depression, and it was about that time that the notion there might be buried treasure, somewhere along that coastal area of Florida, floated by a university professor, Emil Stravinsky, who specialized in old pirates. He had published a book that basically speculated where treasure might be found, and one of those areas was right smack bang in the middle of The Grove.
This information was plucked from the paper’s births, death, and marriages column around the specified dates, the death notices giving some light on the respective Ormiston’s life and toils on their land.
Heinrich, Friedrich’s father, fell for the story hook line and sinker, and with a promise to share the proceeds of an estimated multimillion-dollar trove, invested a fair chunk of the savings he’d amassed over the years in the first of many treasure hunts. The name Stravinsky rang a bell in my head.
A quick look forward to the most recent editions showed it was the man who had died on Rico’s boat, who was, in fact, a third-generation relative of the original professor, an archaeologist in his own right, and digging a bit further into the story, the paper had published a dozen or so extracts from the professor’s book, hinting their subject matter had been derived from a particular pirate’s log, and from notes made over the years of research by the professor. It sounded like there was a diary.
I was going to have to find a copy of the professor’s book, which, if it had been published nearly 90 years ago, would now be out of print.
When the father, Heinrich had failed to locate the treasure, the son Friedrich continued the search, only he put more time and effort into more meticulous research rather than take the professor’s word of its whereabouts.
This was about the time Boggs’s father came into the picture.
He had lived and worked in the Caribbean and discovered quite by chance when a storm had blown his boat way off course on a weekend sailing run, the ruins of an encampment and hidden inlet on an uninhabited island where he believed the pirate had operated from.
While waiting to be rescued, the storm had damaged his boat, he took the time to explore, and although he hadn’t told anyone at the time of his rescue, he had discovered a box buried near where a building had once stood containing a map, several coins, a sextant, and a flag. The news of those discoveries came some years later when it was revealed he’s struck a deal with Ormiston to renew the search for the treasure.
When the result of that expedition came to nothing, each of the partners blamed the other for the lack of success, with Ormiston all but telling anyone who would listen that Boggs had created the map himself for the purpose of extorting money under false pretenses.
Boggs then had to produce the map, where it was authenticated as a map that had been created at the time of the pirate’s reign, but no one could say whether it was just an invention of someone at the time, or it was real. The fact nothing was found suggested the latter, and it marked to start of the feud between Boggs and Ormiston.
The question in my mind was whether Boggs had that particular map, and had he shown it briefly to me? Certainly, one of the maps he had was quite old, but there were so many variations, and they all looked equally as old, it was hard to tell.
One point I was quite certain on, none of the maps I’d seen showed the treasure’s final resting place as being in a cave, and I got the impression just before when I’d run into Boggs, that it was exactly where he was going.
Had that been the clue his father had referred to? Even with the so-called original map, if it showed the treasure hidden in a cave why did Boggs need Ormiston’s help?
Had Ormiston known that might be the final resting place of the treasure?
I would soon find out. My next stop was the library.
The “Practice Makes Perfect” Myth (and Why It Still Works—for Writing)
“If you do anything seriously long enough, you’ll get better.”
That sentence feels like an old‑school mantra you might have heard from a coach, a music teacher, or a parent. It’s comforting, almost inevitable—just keep at it and the results will follow.
But does the rule hold true for writers? And what does it mean when we say “good writing is contagious”?
In this post I’ll unpack the science behind long‑term practice, show why writing is a uniquely contagious skill, and give you a toolbox of concrete, battle‑tested tips to turn “doing it longer” into real, measurable improvement.
1. The Core Truth: Time + Deliberate Practice = Skill Growth
Fact
What It Means for Writers
Neuroplasticity – The brain rewires itself with repeated activity.
The more you write, the stronger the neural pathways that support storytelling, grammar, and voice.
Deliberate Practice – Not just “doing the thing,” but practicing with feedback and specific goals.
Writing a 500‑word blog post isn’t enough; you must target weak spots (e.g., pacing, dialogue) and refine them deliberately.
Deliberate Practice – Not just “doing the thing,” but practising with feedback and specific goals.
10,000 hours of mindless typing won’t help. Ten hours of focused revision, critique, and study can trump 100 hours of “just writing.”
Plateaus Are Normal – Skill acquisition follows a sigmoid curve: rapid early gains, a plateau, then a second surge after a breakthrough.
Expect periods where progress feels stagnant. Use them to experiment, read, or rest—don’t quit.
Bottom line: Time alone isn’t enough. You need deliberate, feedback‑rich practice to convert hours into mastery.
2. Good Writing Is Contagious – Why It Spreads
Social Proof: Readers (and fellow writers) gravitate toward high‑quality prose. When a piece shines, it sets a new benchmark in its community.
Mirror Neurons: We neurologically mimic the style and tone we consume, especially when we admire the source. Reading great sentences trains our own “inner ear.”
Collective Learning: Writing groups, workshops, and online forums create a feedback loop where one person’s improvement lifts the entire cohort.
Cultural Momentum: Think of the “New Journalism” wave of the ’60s or the rise of flash fiction on Twitter—once a few voices cracked the code, the style proliferated.
In short, exposure to excellent writing accelerates your own growth—if you allow it to.
3. The Pitfalls of “Just Writing More”
Common Misconception
Why It Fails
How to Fix It
“I write 2,000 words a day, so I’m improving.”
Quantity without reflection reinforces bad habits.
After each session, flag 1–2 things you’d change (e.g., redundancy, weak verb).
“I’ll get better after I finish my novel.”
Long‑term projects can hide small‑scale weaknesses.
Break the novel into bite‑size “skill drills” (e.g., one chapter focused on dialogue).
“Feedback is optional; I trust my gut.”
Our internal editor is notoriously biased.
Schedule regular external reviews—beta readers, editors, or a critique partner.
“I’ll read only what I like.”
Comfort zones limit exposure to new structures, vocab, and perspectives.
Add a “genre‑stretch” reading slot each week (e.g., poetry if you write nonfiction).
4. Actionable Blueprint: Turn Hours Into Better Writing
Below is a step‑by‑step system you can adopt today. It’s modular—pick what fits your schedule and skill level, then iterate.
A. Build a Structured Writing Routine
Component
Frequency
Tip
Micro‑Write (10–15 min)
Daily, first thing in the morning
Write a single sentence, a vivid description, or a quick dialogue exchange. No editing, just raw output.
Focused Session (45–90 min)
3–4× per week
Choose a skill goal (e.g., “show, don’t tell”). Work on a specific piece that targets that goal.
Review & Revise (30 min)
Immediately after each focused session
Highlight 2–3 improvement points; rewrite the same passage with those in mind.
Reading Sprint (30 min)
Daily or every other day
Read a passage from a writer you admire and take notes on what makes it work (sentence rhythm, word choice, structure).
Feedback Loop (1 hr)
Weekly
Send your work to a critique partner or post in a writing forum. Write a response to each piece of feedback, outlining what you’ll try next.
Why it works: The routine mixes production, analysis, and external input—the three pillars of deliberate practice.
B. “Contagion” Tactics – Let Good Writing Infect You
Curated Reading Lists
Classic craft: “The Elements of Style,” “On Writing” (King).
Genre deep‑dive: 5 seminal works from each genre you write.
Modern bite‑size: Follow Twitter accounts that tweet micro‑essays or haiku.
Imitation Exercises
Pick a paragraph you love. Rewrite it in your own voice while preserving the structure and rhythm.
Swap the genre (turn a news article into a short story).
Community Immersion
Join a weekly critique circle (online or local).
Participate in writing challenges (NaNoWriMo, 30‑day flash fiction).
Comment thoughtfully on other writers’ blogs—explaining what you liked forces you to articulate good writing principles.
Mentor‑Mode Writing
Write as if you’re teaching a class. Draft a short guide on a writing technique; the act of explaining refines your own understanding.
C. Metric‑Based Progress Tracking
Metric
Tool
How to Interpret
Word‑per‑hour output
Timer + word count
Aim for a stable range; spikes may indicate “flow” days, drops may signal fatigue.
Revision Ratio (original words ÷ final words)
Drafts in Google Docs
A decreasing ratio (e.g., 1.3 → 1.1) often signals tighter prose.
Feedback Score (e.g., 1‑5 rating from beta readers)
Survey Form
Trend upward? If flat, examine recurring criticism.
Reading Diversity Index (genres read per month)
Spreadsheet
Higher diversity correlates with more varied sentence structures.
Review these numbers every month and adjust your routine accordingly.
5. Real‑World Case Study: From “Stuck” to “Spitting Fire”
Writer: Maya, 34, freelance tech copywriter.
Problem
Intervention
Result (3 months)
Drafts flooded with jargon; readers complained of “dry” tone.
Daily 10‑min “show, don’t tell” micro‑write. Weekly 30‑min reading of narrative non‑fiction (e.g., The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks). Joined a local critique group focused on voice.
• Reduced average sentence length by 15 %. • Client satisfaction score rose from 3.2 → 4.6/5. • Secured a new contract for a storytelling‑heavy whitepaper series.
Maya’s story illustrates that structured, feedback‑rich practice beats sheer volume—and that reading narrative work made her own prose “contagiously” richer.
6. Quick‑Start Checklist (Print & Pin)
Write a 10‑minute “seed” piece every morning (no edits).
Pick one skill goal per week (e.g., stronger verbs).
Read a 5‑minute passage from a master writer daily and annotate.
Submit a draft for critique at least once a week.
Imitate a favourite paragraph once a month, then rewrite it in a new genre.
Log your metrics (output, revision ratio, feedback rating) every Friday.
7. The Bottom Line
Yes—if you do something seriously long enough, you will improve. But the quality of that “serious” effort is what determines how much you improve.
Good writing spreads like a good meme: you absorb it through reading, imitation, and community, and you amplify it by giving feedback and teaching.
By marrying deliberate practice with contagious exposure, you turn the simple mantra “write more” into a powerful, measurable growth engine.
Your next step? Choose one of the tactics above, commit to it for the next 30 days, and watch your prose evolve from “just getting longer” to “getting better.”
Happy writing—and may the contagion be ever in your favour!
If you found this post helpful, share it with fellow writers, and let us know which of the strategies you tried in the comments.
Building the Invisible Architecture: Why Every Novelist Must First Create a World They Believe In
“Every novelist must begin by creating himself a world, great or little, in which he can honestly believe.” — Joseph Conrad
When we open a novel, we aren’t just looking for a sequence of events. We are looking for a portal. We want to step out of the mundane architecture of our daily lives and inhabit somewhere else—whether that somewhere else is the misty decks of a 19th-century trading ship, the neon-lit alleys of a cyberpunk dystopia, or the quiet, devastating emotional landscape of a suburban kitchen.
But before a reader can ever step foot into that fictional realm, the author must build it, brick by invisible brick. And as Joseph Conrad famously noted, that process begins with belief.
If the writer doesn’t buy the reality of the world they are constructing, why should the reader?
Let’s explore what Conrad’s timeless wisdom means for modern novelists, world-building, and the psychological heavy lifting required to write fiction that resonates.
The Anatomy of Belief: What Does It Mean to “Believe” in Your World?
Belief in writing is not about magic systems, historical accuracy, or encyclopedic lore (though those things can help). It is about internal coherence and emotional truth.
When Conrad spoke of creating a world “great or little,” he wasn’t just talking about epic fantasy maps. A “little” world might be a single boarding house in Dublin, a courtroom during a three-day trial, or the strained silence across a breakfast table.
To believe in your world, you must know its gravity. You must understand:
The sensory reality: What does it smell like after a heavy rain? What is the quality of the light at 4:00 PM?
The unspoken rules: What do the inhabitants take for granted? What are the cultural taboos, economic pressures, and quiet griefs that shape their daily choices?
The moral pulse: Even if the author is entirely objective, the world must operate on a set of internal cause-and-effect dynamics where actions have real, believable consequences.
If you are writing a scene and you feel a twinge of artificiality—a sense that you are moving characters around like chess pieces just to get to the next plot point—you have stopped believing in your world. And the moment the author stops believing, the reader’s suspension of disbelief shatters like cheap glass.
World-Building is Self-Discovery
Notice the phrasing in Conrad’s quote: “creating himself a world.”
Before a novelist creates a world for the reader, they must create it for themselves. Writing a novel is an act of self-interrogation. The world you build often becomes a mirror for your own obsessions, fears, questions, and philosophies.
Tolkien didn’t just invent Middle-earth for the sake of an adventure; he built it out of a profound love for lost mythologies and philology, creating languages that necessitated a world to speak them.
Austen mapped the rigid, polite, and deeply economic marriage market of 19th-century England because she was keenly interested in the intersection of female autonomy, social survival, and genuine affection.
When you sit down to write, your fictional world is your testing ground. It is the ecosystem where you explore what you actually believe about human nature, power, love, and betrayal. If your heart isn’t invested in the truths of that ecosystem, your prose will lack the pulse of life.
The Danger of the “Cardboard Set”
We have all read books that feel like movie sets made of painted cardboard. The dialogue is snappy, the plot moves fast, but the moment a character leans against a wall, you feel like the whole thing might tip over.
This happens when a writer focuses entirely on mechanics rather than immersion. They outline the plot beats, design the twists, but fail to inhabit the space.
To avoid the cardboard set trap, adopt Conrad’s mindset:
Dig deeper than the surface details. Don’t just invent a futuristic city; figure out where the garbage goes, who cleans the streets, and what people sing when they’re drunk.
Let the world talk back. A believable world has momentum. When your characters make a choice, the world should react in ways that aren’t always convenient for your outline.
Write for the senses, not just the intellect. Bring your scenes to life through texture, temperature, and tone.
How to Cultivate Radical Belief in Your Writing
If you are struggling to connect with your story-world, how do you bridge the gap? How do you reach that state of honest belief?
Write toward the unknown: Don’t plan every single square inch before you start. Leave room for discovery. Sometimes, believing in your world means exploring it alongside your characters, letting it surprise you.
Anchor the fantastical in the visceral: If you are writing high fantasy or hard sci-fi, ground the extraordinary in ordinary human experiences. A dragon rider still gets a sore back; a starship captain still worries about aging or estranged children.
Interrogate your own cynicism: If you find yourself rolling your eyes at your own plot developments, stop. Figure out why. Fix the underlying logic until you can nod to yourself and say, Yes, that is how this world works.
Final Thoughts: The Invitation to the Reader
Writing a novel is an act of supreme audacity. You are essentially asking a complete stranger to sit in a quiet room, look at a series of black symbols on a white page, and hallucinate an entire reality for several hours.
The only way that magic trick works is if your own conviction is absolute.
When you create a world—whether it spans galaxies or exists entirely within the confines of a single room—you must believe in it first. Pour your curiosity, your empathy, and your attention into its soil. Because when you honestly believe in the world you’ve made, the reader won’t just visit it—they will live in it.
Are you currently building a fictional world? What is the hardest part of making it feel real to you—the physical details, the emotional stakes, or the internal logic? Let us know in the comments below!
Quito, the capital of Ecuador, is located in the northern Andes Mountains, nestled in a valley on the slopes of the Pichincha volcano, about 25 miles south of the equator, making it one of the world’s highest capital cities at roughly 9,350 feet in elevation.
Region: Sierra (Highlands) of Ecuador, part of the Andes mountain range.
Equator: Very close to the Equator, with a monument marking the line just outside the city.
Beyond Quito’s major landmarks, there are many unique, local experiences and attractions to explore. These include visiting bohemian neighbourhoods, a renowned pre-Columbian art museum, and local food markets.
Alternative Cultural Experiences
Explore La Floresta: This bohemian neighbourhood is known for its vibrant street art, independent galleries, and hip cafes and restaurants. A popular spot is the indie cinema, Ocho y Medio, which screens avant-garde and foreign films.
Wander through La Ronda: This charming, narrow cobblestone street in the historic centre truly comes alive at sunset with local art galleries, artisan workshops (like coppersmiths and traditional hat makers), cafes, and live music.
Visit Museo Casa del Alabado: Located in the Old Town, this private museum houses an impressive and well-curated collection of pre-Columbian art and archaeological pieces, providing deep insight into Ecuador’s ancestral heritage.
Check out the street art: The La Floresta and La Mariscal neighbourhoods feature an evolving outdoor gallery of murals and graffiti that reflect contemporary social and political themes.
Experience local markets: For an authentic slice of daily life, visit the Mercado Central or Mercado Artesanal La Mariscal. The Central Market offers inexpensive, traditional Ecuadorian food (try the locro de papa or horno) and fresh juices, while the Artisan Market is perfect for shopping for handicrafts, textiles, and jewellery.
Aside from the fact it is one of those necessary items to walk with, and the fact we can have two or four for most humans and animals, there are a few other uses for the word ‘leg’.
Like…
‘You haven’t got a leg to stand on’, doesn’t necessarily mean you have no legs, but that you are in a precarious position.
“the table had ornate legs’, yes, even non-living objects can have legs, like tables and chairs.
“It was the fifth leg of the race’, meaning it can be a stage of a race.
“He was legless’, meaning that he was too drunk to stand up. Some might think being legless is a badge of honour, but I suspect those people have been drinking a long time and the alcohol has destroyed most of their brain cells.
“leg it!’, meaning get the hell out of here before you’re caught.
Then, finally, ‘he’s on his last legs’, meaning that he’s exhausted, or about to die.
I’m sure there’s more but that’ll do for now.
I have to use my legs to get some exercise, of which the first leg is to the tripod to check if its legs are stable, and the second leg is to come back to the table and replace one of the legs which is broken. Then I’ll leg it to the pub where hopefully I won’t become legless.
It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you?
John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.
So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?
That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.
What should have been solace after disappointment turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.
He suddenly realises his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.
The story paints the characters, cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times, taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice, where, in those back streets, I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.
All in all, a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.
Discovering La Paz: Five Hidden Gems Off the Beaten Path
Introduction Nestled amidst the towering peaks of the Andes, La Paz is a city of vibrant cultures and breathtaking landscapes. While many travellers flock to its iconic Witches Market and the Death Road, the Bolivian capital holds countless secrets for the curious. For those seeking an authentic, less-travelled journey, here are five extraordinary experiences that redefine what La Paz has to offer.
1. Cholitas Licking: A Celebration of Andean Identity Step into the striking world of the cholitas, traditional Aymara women, and immerse yourself in their fearless blend of style, resilience, and heritage. This unique cultural encounter, often described as “Cholitas Licking,” features fashion shows, workshops, and artisan markets where cholitas showcase their vibrant polleras (dresses) and colonial-era masks. More than a spectacle, this experience challenges stereotypes and honours indigenous identity. Visit their community centres in El Alto for a deeper understanding of their role as cultural ambassadors.
Tip: Respect cultural significance—ask for permission before photographing participants.
2. Kallawaya School of Traditional Healing: Ancient Wisdom in Modern Medicine Journey to the outskirts of La Paz to explore the Kallawaya School of Traditional Healing, a living archive of pre-Columbian medicinal knowledge. The Kallawaya people, renowned for their healing practices, offer workshops on herbal remedies, music therapy, and shamanic rituals. Wander their medicinal garden, where over 200 plant species are catalogued, and learn how to craft teas or tinctures for common ailments. This is a rare chance to connect with Bolivia’s spiritual and ecological heritage.
Tip: Book workshops in advance—offerings (regalos) to the mountain (apacheta) are customary.
3. Wuli Qhapaq Cable Car to Chimehua: Sky-High Serenity Traverse the urban sprawl of La Paz aboard the Wuli Qhapaq (Red) cable car network. While most travellers stick to the main routes, venture to the Chimehua line, a golden cable car that extends into the Illimani Valley. This lesser-known route offers panoramic views of the Illimani volcano and descends into the lush, remote countryside. Alight at a local farm for a chicha (corn beer) tasting or a guided hike through cloud forests teeming with orchids.
Tip: Bring a reusable bottle for coca tea from the local market—perfect for altitude adjustment.
4. Sopocachi Caves: Earth’s Hidden Art Gallery Just 20 minutes from downtown La Paz, the Sopocachi Cave System reveals a subterranean wonderland of stalactites, stalagmites, and ancient rock art. These caves, once inhabited by pre-Columbian communities, are adorned with mysterious symbols and animal carvings. The self-guided tour is affordable (£16-£20) and led by local guides who share tales of the caves’ role in ancestral rituals.
Tip: Visit early in the day to avoid crowds and bring a headlamp for optimal visibility.
5. Trek to the Valley of the Moon: A Martian Landscape While Salar de Uyuni is Bolivia’s most famous attraction, venture toward the Valley of the Moon (Valle de la Luna) for a quieter, equally dramatic experience. Located near Salar de Cotapata, this surreal red and orange badlands, sculpted by wind and erosion, feels like another planet. Guided day tours from La Paz (lasting 8-10 hours) include a detour to this hidden gem, where photography and hiking are unspoiled by crowds.
Tip: Visit during dry seasons (April–September) for the best colour contrasts without mud.
Conclusion: La Paz, Redefined La Paz is more than its skyline—it’s a gateway to the extraordinary. By stepping beyond the cobbled streets of the city, travellers can uncover traditions, landscapes, and communities that epitomise Bolivia’s soul. Whether you’re sipping chicha at a cloud forest farm or tracing your fingers along ancient rock art, these hidden adventures promise memories that linger long after your boots return to solid ground. So, pack your sense of curiosity and let La Paz surprise you.
Final Tip: Learn a few Aymara phrases—Suma qhapaq kama (Beautiful is the life well lived) is a poetic way to end your journey.
Building the Invisible Architecture: Why Every Novelist Must First Create a World They Believe In
“Every novelist must begin by creating himself a world, great or little, in which he can honestly believe.” — Joseph Conrad
When we open a novel, we aren’t just looking for a sequence of events. We are looking for a portal. We want to step out of the mundane architecture of our daily lives and inhabit somewhere else—whether that somewhere else is the misty decks of a 19th-century trading ship, the neon-lit alleys of a cyberpunk dystopia, or the quiet, devastating emotional landscape of a suburban kitchen.
But before a reader can ever step foot into that fictional realm, the author must build it, brick by invisible brick. And as Joseph Conrad famously noted, that process begins with belief.
If the writer doesn’t buy the reality of the world they are constructing, why should the reader?
Let’s explore what Conrad’s timeless wisdom means for modern novelists, world-building, and the psychological heavy lifting required to write fiction that resonates.
The Anatomy of Belief: What Does It Mean to “Believe” in Your World?
Belief in writing is not about magic systems, historical accuracy, or encyclopedic lore (though those things can help). It is about internal coherence and emotional truth.
When Conrad spoke of creating a world “great or little,” he wasn’t just talking about epic fantasy maps. A “little” world might be a single boarding house in Dublin, a courtroom during a three-day trial, or the strained silence across a breakfast table.
To believe in your world, you must know its gravity. You must understand:
The sensory reality: What does it smell like after a heavy rain? What is the quality of the light at 4:00 PM?
The unspoken rules: What do the inhabitants take for granted? What are the cultural taboos, economic pressures, and quiet griefs that shape their daily choices?
The moral pulse: Even if the author is entirely objective, the world must operate on a set of internal cause-and-effect dynamics where actions have real, believable consequences.
If you are writing a scene and you feel a twinge of artificiality—a sense that you are moving characters around like chess pieces just to get to the next plot point—you have stopped believing in your world. And the moment the author stops believing, the reader’s suspension of disbelief shatters like cheap glass.
World-Building is Self-Discovery
Notice the phrasing in Conrad’s quote: “creating himself a world.”
Before a novelist creates a world for the reader, they must create it for themselves. Writing a novel is an act of self-interrogation. The world you build often becomes a mirror for your own obsessions, fears, questions, and philosophies.
Tolkien didn’t just invent Middle-earth for the sake of an adventure; he built it out of a profound love for lost mythologies and philology, creating languages that necessitated a world to speak them.
Austen mapped the rigid, polite, and deeply economic marriage market of 19th-century England because she was keenly interested in the intersection of female autonomy, social survival, and genuine affection.
When you sit down to write, your fictional world is your testing ground. It is the ecosystem where you explore what you actually believe about human nature, power, love, and betrayal. If your heart isn’t invested in the truths of that ecosystem, your prose will lack the pulse of life.
The Danger of the “Cardboard Set”
We have all read books that feel like movie sets made of painted cardboard. The dialogue is snappy, the plot moves fast, but the moment a character leans against a wall, you feel like the whole thing might tip over.
This happens when a writer focuses entirely on mechanics rather than immersion. They outline the plot beats, design the twists, but fail to inhabit the space.
To avoid the cardboard set trap, adopt Conrad’s mindset:
Dig deeper than the surface details. Don’t just invent a futuristic city; figure out where the garbage goes, who cleans the streets, and what people sing when they’re drunk.
Let the world talk back. A believable world has momentum. When your characters make a choice, the world should react in ways that aren’t always convenient for your outline.
Write for the senses, not just the intellect. Bring your scenes to life through texture, temperature, and tone.
How to Cultivate Radical Belief in Your Writing
If you are struggling to connect with your story-world, how do you bridge the gap? How do you reach that state of honest belief?
Write toward the unknown: Don’t plan every single square inch before you start. Leave room for discovery. Sometimes, believing in your world means exploring it alongside your characters, letting it surprise you.
Anchor the fantastical in the visceral: If you are writing high fantasy or hard sci-fi, ground the extraordinary in ordinary human experiences. A dragon rider still gets a sore back; a starship captain still worries about aging or estranged children.
Interrogate your own cynicism: If you find yourself rolling your eyes at your own plot developments, stop. Figure out why. Fix the underlying logic until you can nod to yourself and say, Yes, that is how this world works.
Final Thoughts: The Invitation to the Reader
Writing a novel is an act of supreme audacity. You are essentially asking a complete stranger to sit in a quiet room, look at a series of black symbols on a white page, and hallucinate an entire reality for several hours.
The only way that magic trick works is if your own conviction is absolute.
When you create a world—whether it spans galaxies or exists entirely within the confines of a single room—you must believe in it first. Pour your curiosity, your empathy, and your attention into its soil. Because when you honestly believe in the world you’ve made, the reader won’t just visit it—they will live in it.
Are you currently building a fictional world? What is the hardest part of making it feel real to you—the physical details, the emotional stakes, or the internal logic? Let us know in the comments below!
Daily 10‑min “show, don’t tell” micro‑write.
Weekly 30‑min reading of narrative non‑fiction (e.g., The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks).
Joined a local critique group focused on voice.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 