Day 285 – A story is more than just stringing words together
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The Art of Brand Storytelling: Why Facts Tell, But Stories Sell
“Tell me a story! Because without a story, you are merely using words to prove you can string them together in logical sentences.” — Anne McCaffrey
If you’ve ever sat through a presentation that felt like an endless parade of spreadsheets, bullet points, and corporate jargon, you know the exact pain Anne McCaffrey is talking about.
Grammatically, the sentences were correct. Logically, the data checked out. But emotionally? You were checking your watch, wondering how soon you could slip out the back.
As legendary science fiction author Anne McCaffrey so brilliantly noted, stringing logical sentences together is not enough. Whether you are writing a sci-fi epic, drafting a high-converting landing page, or building a brand from scratch, human beings do not connect with data points; we connect with narrative.
Let’s dive into why storytelling is the ultimate superpower in writing, content creation, and marketing—and how you can use it to transform dry text into unforgettable experiences.
The Science of Story: Why Our Brains Crave Narrative
Why do we remember the fables we heard as children, but forget the textbook definitions we studied just last week?
Neuroscience gives us the answer. When we read a dry list of facts, only the language processing parts of our brains (Broca’s and Wernicke’s areas) light up. We are simply decoding information.
However, when we read a story, everything changes.
Functional MRI scans show that when we hear a compelling narrative, our brains light up in empathetic synchronicity. If a character is running, our motor cortex activates. If they are tasting something bitter, our sensory cortex lights up. We don’t just read a story—we experience it.
Furthermore, the brain releases oxytocin—the neurochemical of empathy, trust, and connection—when we are drawn into a well-crafted narrative. In the world of business and copywriting, trust is the currency that precedes the sale. If you aren’t telling a story, you are missing out on the biological mechanism that builds that trust.
Moving Beyond the “Logic Trap”
In digital marketing and professional writing, creators often fall into the Logic Trap.
The Logic Trap is the false belief that if you just give your audience enough features, figures, and logical arguments, they will inevitably buy your product or agree with your point of view.
“Our software has 99.9% uptime, 256-bit encryption, and an automated CRM workflow.” (Logical, correct, and utterly boring.)
“Sarah was losing three hours every day to messy spreadsheets, missing crucial follow-ups with clients. Then, she found a way to automate her workflow in minutes—giving her time back to focus on what she loves.” (A story.)
Which one makes you feel something? Which one makes you lean in?
As McCaffrey implies, the first example is just someone proving they can use correct grammar. The second example creates a protagonist, a conflict, and a resolution. It mirrors the human experience.
3 Ways to Inject Storytelling Into Your Writing
You don’t have to write fantasy novels to be a storyteller. Whether you are writing a blog post, an “About Us” page, or a social media caption, you can weave narrative elements into your work using these three steps:
1. Give Your Reader a Hero (And Make It About Them)
In every good story, there is a protagonist facing a challenge. In content marketing, your customer is the hero, not your brand.
Instead of talking about how great your company is, talk about the struggle your customer is facing.
Acknowledge their frustrations, their desires, and the “dragon” they are trying to slay.
2. Introduce Tension and Stakes
A story without conflict is just a statement. What happens if your reader doesn’t solve their problem? What is at stake? By introducing tension—the gap between where your audience is now and where they want to be—you create momentum that pulls the reader through your text.
3. Provide the Resolution (Your Solution)
Once the tension is established, introduce the guide (your brand, product, or idea) that provides the tool to overcome the challenge. Show the transformation. Paint a picture of what life looks like on the other side of the mountain.
Stop Stringing Sentences. Start Weaving Worlds.
Words are the raw materials of communication, but stories are the architecture.
The next time you sit down to write a piece of content, take a step back and ask yourself: Am I just proving I can string logical sentences together, or am I taking my reader on a journey?
Ditch the data-dumps. Stop hiding behind jargon. Step into the narrative, embrace the human element, and let your words do what they were truly meant to do: tell a story.
What is your favourite brand story, or how do you use storytelling in your writing? Let us know in the comments below!
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.
Day 285 – A story is more than just stringing words together
…
The Art of Brand Storytelling: Why Facts Tell, But Stories Sell
“Tell me a story! Because without a story, you are merely using words to prove you can string them together in logical sentences.” — Anne McCaffrey
If you’ve ever sat through a presentation that felt like an endless parade of spreadsheets, bullet points, and corporate jargon, you know the exact pain Anne McCaffrey is talking about.
Grammatically, the sentences were correct. Logically, the data checked out. But emotionally? You were checking your watch, wondering how soon you could slip out the back.
As legendary science fiction author Anne McCaffrey so brilliantly noted, stringing logical sentences together is not enough. Whether you are writing a sci-fi epic, drafting a high-converting landing page, or building a brand from scratch, human beings do not connect with data points; we connect with narrative.
Let’s dive into why storytelling is the ultimate superpower in writing, content creation, and marketing—and how you can use it to transform dry text into unforgettable experiences.
The Science of Story: Why Our Brains Crave Narrative
Why do we remember the fables we heard as children, but forget the textbook definitions we studied just last week?
Neuroscience gives us the answer. When we read a dry list of facts, only the language processing parts of our brains (Broca’s and Wernicke’s areas) light up. We are simply decoding information.
However, when we read a story, everything changes.
Functional MRI scans show that when we hear a compelling narrative, our brains light up in empathetic synchronicity. If a character is running, our motor cortex activates. If they are tasting something bitter, our sensory cortex lights up. We don’t just read a story—we experience it.
Furthermore, the brain releases oxytocin—the neurochemical of empathy, trust, and connection—when we are drawn into a well-crafted narrative. In the world of business and copywriting, trust is the currency that precedes the sale. If you aren’t telling a story, you are missing out on the biological mechanism that builds that trust.
Moving Beyond the “Logic Trap”
In digital marketing and professional writing, creators often fall into the Logic Trap.
The Logic Trap is the false belief that if you just give your audience enough features, figures, and logical arguments, they will inevitably buy your product or agree with your point of view.
“Our software has 99.9% uptime, 256-bit encryption, and an automated CRM workflow.” (Logical, correct, and utterly boring.)
“Sarah was losing three hours every day to messy spreadsheets, missing crucial follow-ups with clients. Then, she found a way to automate her workflow in minutes—giving her time back to focus on what she loves.” (A story.)
Which one makes you feel something? Which one makes you lean in?
As McCaffrey implies, the first example is just someone proving they can use correct grammar. The second example creates a protagonist, a conflict, and a resolution. It mirrors the human experience.
3 Ways to Inject Storytelling Into Your Writing
You don’t have to write fantasy novels to be a storyteller. Whether you are writing a blog post, an “About Us” page, or a social media caption, you can weave narrative elements into your work using these three steps:
1. Give Your Reader a Hero (And Make It About Them)
In every good story, there is a protagonist facing a challenge. In content marketing, your customer is the hero, not your brand.
Instead of talking about how great your company is, talk about the struggle your customer is facing.
Acknowledge their frustrations, their desires, and the “dragon” they are trying to slay.
2. Introduce Tension and Stakes
A story without conflict is just a statement. What happens if your reader doesn’t solve their problem? What is at stake? By introducing tension—the gap between where your audience is now and where they want to be—you create momentum that pulls the reader through your text.
3. Provide the Resolution (Your Solution)
Once the tension is established, introduce the guide (your brand, product, or idea) that provides the tool to overcome the challenge. Show the transformation. Paint a picture of what life looks like on the other side of the mountain.
Stop Stringing Sentences. Start Weaving Worlds.
Words are the raw materials of communication, but stories are the architecture.
The next time you sit down to write a piece of content, take a step back and ask yourself: Am I just proving I can string logical sentences together, or am I taking my reader on a journey?
Ditch the data-dumps. Stop hiding behind jargon. Step into the narrative, embrace the human element, and let your words do what they were truly meant to do: tell a story.
What is your favourite brand story, or how do you use storytelling in your writing? Let us know in the comments below!
This story has been ongoing since I was seventeen, and just to let you know, I’m 72 this year.
Yes, it’s taken a long time to get it done.
Why, you might ask.
Well, I never gave it much interest because I started writing it after a small incident when I was 17, and working as a book packer for a book distributor in Melbourne
At the end of my first year, at Christmas, the employer had a Christmas party, and that year, it was at a venue in St Kilda.
I wasn’t going to go because at that age, I was an ordinary boy who was very introverted and basically scared of his own shadow and terrified by girls.
Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them
Also, other members of the staff in the shipping department were rough and ready types who were not backwards in telling me what happened, and being naive, perhaps they knew I’d be either shocked or intrigued.
I was both adamant I wasn’t coming and then got roped in on a dare.
Damn!
So, back then, in the early 70s, people looked the other way when it came to drinking, and of course, Dutch courage always takes away the concerns, especially when normally you wouldn’t do half the stuff you wouldn’t in a million years
I made it to the end, not as drunk and stupid as I thought I might be, and St Kilda being a salacious place if you knew where to look, my new friends decided to give me a surprise.
It didn’t take long to realise these men were ‘men about town’ as they kept saying, and we went on an odyssey. Yes, those backstreet brothels where one could, I was told, have anything they could imagine.
Let me tell you, large quantities of alcohol and imagination were a very bad mix.
So, the odyssey in ‘The things we do’ was based on that, and then the encounter with Diana. Well, let’s just say I learned a great deal about girls that night.
Firstly, not all girls are nasty and spiteful, which seemed to be the case whenever I met one. There was a way to approach, greet, talk to, and behave.
It was also true that I could have had anything I wanted, but I decided what was in my imagination could stay there. She was amused that all I wanted was to talk, but it was my money, and I could spend it how I liked.
And like any 17-year-old naive fool, I fell in love with her and had all these foolish notions. Months later, I went back, but she had moved on, to where no one was saying or knew.
Needless to say, I was heartbroken and had to get over that first loss, which, like any 17-year-old, was like the end of the world.
But it was the best hour I’d ever spent in my life and would remain so until I met the woman I have been married to for the last 48 years.
As Henry, he was in part based on a rebel, the son of rich parents who despised them and their wealth, and he used to regale anyone who would listen about how they had messed up his life
If only I’d come from such a background!
And yes, I was only a run away from climbing up the stairs to get on board a ship, acting as a purser.
I worked for a shipping company and they gave their junior staff members an opportunity to spend a year at sea working as a purser on a cargo ship that sailed between Melbourne, Sydney and Hobart in Australia.
One of the other junior staff members’ turn came, and I would visit him on board when he would tell me stories about life on board, the officers, the crew, and other events. These stories, which sounded incredible to someone so impressionable, were a delight to hear.
Alas, by that time, I had tired of office work and moved on to be a tradesman at the place where my father worked.
It proved to be the right move, as that is where I met my wife. Diana had been right; love would find me when I least expected it.
I was heading back to the Vaporetto station just a short distance from St Marks square when my phone vibrated, an incoming message.
Alfie requesting a meeting.
I had suspected he might be somewhere in the square keeping an eye on proceedings. I had that itch at the back of my neck, that one you couldn’t scratch, an old but reliable indicator I was under observation.
My old mentor was anything but a trusting soul, and he no doubt was giving Alfie enough rope, much the same as he did to me early on, until he learned the errors of his mistrusting nature.
People like Rodby never changed, and it was one of many reasons I walked away. He was going to have to do better if he wanted me back.
Alfie sent instructions as to where he was, a small park further along the promenade, not far from where a huge cruise ship had docked. Even from where I was standing, it was impressive, but only one of about five I’d see in the last day or so.
Oddly, I never had the inclination to get on one.
It took about fifteen minutes, maybe more because of the tourists and general foot traffic, to reach the park, then locate Alfie looking very anonymous on a bench overlooking the water.
In another corner what looked to be a television crew was setting up or cleaning up an open set, involving about a dozen or more people all looking harassed.
He saw me coming but made no visible acknowledgment until I sat at the other end of the bench, purposely not looking in his direction.
“Nice view,” I said.
Well, it would be if the day was not overcast, and with the definite prospect of rain.
“Your friend made a call not long after you left.”
OK. Straight down to business. “How do you know that?”
“We put a small app on the phone we gave you that clones other phones.”
Without telling me. Yes, welcome back to the lies and subterfuge. I just shook my head. What else weren’t they telling me?
He put his phone on the bench between us and played the conversation.
It was obvious that Larry had called her, and that Giuseppe wasn’t happy about being discovered. And it was proof that Larry was monitoring her movements and conversations. Another mistrusting soul.
“What just happened?” I recognized Larry’s voice immediately, and the tone suggested he was far from happy.
“What do you mean?” Her surprise was genuine. It meant she didn’t know he was listening in, but that might not be for much longer.
“Your first meeting.”
Silence. Then, after a long minute, she said, “it was my phone, the one you gave me, that was relaying our conversation. It would be nice if you told me what you were intending to do.”
He brushed that comment aside with, “It’s a matter of trust, and, quite frankly, I don’t trust you.”
It was not exactly how I would have spoken to her. Any normal person would react indignantly to that response.
There was a telling moment of silence while she digested that piece of information.
Her response, “Then you will not be surprised if I don’t respond, as you say, immediately, because now I know you have the phone, So long, of course, I decide to take it with me.”
“You will…”
She cut him off, not by yelling, but in what could only be described as a very icy tone. “You make demands, you make threats. I gave you my word that I would do this for you. My way. Instead, you overplay your hand and you’ve sent him to ground. If he is who you think he is, then he knows now something is wrong. You can thank you’re own insecurity and that fool Giuseppe for that.”
“That’s…”
“Don’t interrupt, that’s just rude. If you want me to continue, which by the way, I think is going to be a waste of time, I will, but you have made it almost impossible by taking away the advantage we had. And if that is the case, then no more of your idiotic antics. A simple yes or no will suffice.”
“If you think…”
The call was disconnected.
I looked at Alfie. “Does she know she’s dicing with death?”
“There’s more.”
Twice, anincoming call to her phone went to the voice message. The third time she answered.
“A simple yes or no will suffice.”
“Yes.” A tone bristling with anger.
“Good. You listen in, and I will call you when there is news.”
The call was disconnected.
“She has gumption,” Alfie said.
“Or a death wish. You know he’s not going to sit around and wait for her.”
“No. He’s replaced Giuseppe with someone with a little more talent to keep an eye on her, so she won’t be so obvious next time you run into her.” He slid a grainy but recognizablephoto of a woman who could easily be mistaken for a tourist.
“You have a plan.”
“We have her tour itinerary, courtesy of the hotel.”
“A little convenient, don’t you think. I take it you have an idea where Larry is right now?”
“Of course, Sorrento, visiting his wife’s sister.”
“Perhaps we might pre-empt all this nonsense, and pay him a visit. I might be able to convince him he’s barking up the wrong tree.”
“Wouldn’t that alert him to the fact we have him under surveillance?”
“I think he knows that’s the case anyway, and not only by us, but by any number of law enforcement agencies. Maybe I should just drop a hint that I have to make a trip to Sorrento, and take Juliet with me. But I would like a jamming app installed on this device,” I held up the phone he’d given me, “first.”
“Rodby said you were a wild card operative.”
“Did he? I always thought he was the wild card, and I was the voice of reason.”
“He says a lot of stuff, how things were different in the old days.”
“A lot of people died needlessly in those so-calledold days, and I’m only here now because I retired before I got killed. And because I believed him when he said I could disappear. Obviously, he was lying.”
“You can’t disappear these days, not with the means of tracking everyone via the digital network available. 20 years ago, maybe. Not now. No one can truly disappear.”
No, probably not. For that to happen, I would have had to go live on a desert island and have had no contact with anyone for at least a generation. A new name, identity, and, and minor changes to my persona had made me invisible for long enough to have had a normal life, and, at the very least, Larry had waited until then.
How many others were there, out in the world, also seeking revenge? I had taken down a number of so-called ‘bad’ people, but their families somehow never quite saw it the same as we had. No matter how legitimate the reasons.
“Give me a day to fix the phone, and then you can make the first move. Try not to make it too hard to keep eyes on you, if only for your own safety.”
“Say hello to the boss, and tell him I didn’t miss him for one moment.”
Alfie stood. “Try and keep out of trouble, and keep me informed if anything out of the ordinary happens. Just create a draft message in the email app, save it, but don’t send it. I’ll let you know if Larry makes any unpredictable moves.”
I watched him take a look around, then walk off, all as if he hadn’t realized there was someone else on the same seat. It wouldn’t fool anyone, especially the woman pretending to minister a child in a pram, three seats along from us.
How many mothers of babies had earplugs?
Or was I just being paranoid? It didn’t take long to slip back into that dark and murky world I tried so hard to get away from.
Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.
We met the Blaines at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaines frequently visited and had recommended.
Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’. It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.
It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over. It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.
Aside from the half-frown, half-smile, Alison was looking stunning. It had been months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5th anniversary that cost a month’s salary. On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to. She had adored it and me, for a week or so after.
For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.
She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars get on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds of silence, and many more gasps.
I even had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room. Once more, I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me. Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others out there who were more appealing.
Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight. She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.
More than once, I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”
Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together. It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement. Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.
The battle lines were drawn.
Jimmy was looking fashionable, with a permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and a designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it. Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.
The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out, she had straightened it. And took the moment to look deeply into my soul. It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.
Then it was gone.
I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me. A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.
When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.” It was not a question, but a statement.
I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’, but I accepted it with good grace. Sometimes, Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand. I guessed she was talking about the new job. “It was supposed to be a secret.”
She smiled widely. “There are no secrets between Al and me, are there, Al?”
I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.
I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al. I tried it once and was admonished. But it was interesting that her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not. It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.
Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil. As I understood it, the Blaines were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in. I didn’t ask if the Blaines thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.
And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realised I was looking at both of them. I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand. And yet, apparently, Alison did. I must have missed the memo.
“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”
No secrets. Her look conveyed something else entirely.
The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us. It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me. We were going to need it.
Then, a toast.
To a new job and a new life.
“When did you decide?” Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.
Alison had a strange expression on her face. It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind. Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.
Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realised it would be churlish, even silly, if I made a scene. I knew what I wanted to say. I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine or upsetting Alison. This was not the time or the place. Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.
Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing. If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decided there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control. “It’s the little things. They all add up until one day …” I shrugged. “I guess that one day was today.”
I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real? Or, I told you he’d come around.
I had no idea the two were so close.
“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me. I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points. It was all I could come up with at short notice.
“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted. “Alison was off to get some studying in with one of her friends.”
“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up and immediately got the ‘shut up, you fool’ look that cut that line of conversation dead. Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.
It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose. Care to join me, Al?”
A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend. “Yes.”
I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation. I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.
I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.
There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show. I was quite literally gob-smacked.
I drained my champagne glass, gathering some courage and turned to him. “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up. You know Alison is doing her law degree.”
He looked startled when he realised I had spoken. He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed. Or perhaps it was deliberate. She’d definitely had some enhancements done.
He dragged his eyes back to me. “Yes. Elaine said something or other about it. But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week. Perhaps I got it wrong. I usually do.”
“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.” I shrugged as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again. “This week or next, what does it matter?”
Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart. It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; she might have been telling me lies. If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?
We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”
“Trouble, I suspect. Definitely more money, but less time at home.”
“Oh,” raised eyebrows. Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details. “You sure you want to do that?”
At last, the voice of reason. “Me? No.”
“Yet you accepted the job.”
I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him. Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him. “Jimmy, between you and me, I haven’t as yet decided one way or another. To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”
“Barclay?”
“My boss.”
“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay who recently moved into the tower a block down from us. I thought I recognised the name.”
“How did Elaine get the job?”
“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”
“When?”
“A couple of months ago. Why?”
I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker. I felt sick, faint, and wanted to die all at the same moment. “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time. Too busy with work, I expect. I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”
I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted, and I knew I had to keep it together. I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down. I sucked in some deep breaths and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.
And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown. Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”
Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth. It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction. It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.
When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and me. I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, but it didn’t matter. If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact that I took over the dining engagement did. She knew well enough that the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket. She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.
But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points. Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine. She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.
Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly. I chose to ignore her and pretend nothing had happened, rather than tell her how much I was enjoying the evening.
She had her ‘secrets’. I had mine.
At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent-up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me. It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, that Jimmy came looking for me. I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse. When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was, but neither made any comment.
It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which, to a large degree, it was for the other three. But I had achieved what I set out to do: to play them at their own game, watching the deception once I knew there was one, as warily as a cat watches its prey.
I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree. It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.
We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaines back to the Upper West Side. But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer. She showed concern for my health and asked me what was wrong. It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.
She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it. Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.
And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.
It left me confused and lost.
I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.
And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.
It looked like the bridge on any other spaceship, and for a moment it had me thinking this was another earth ship, in concert with the fleeing vessel, running an operation to separate the captain from his ship.
But, why?
“Why did you bring us here?” I asked, trying to keep an even tone. I was working overtime suppressing the fear I felt and regretting being so impulsive.
This was not how I expected first contact with another species, at least for me, would go.
What did I expect?
Certainly not the red-carpet treatment.
“A private discussion, Captain to captain.”
He looked at Nancy Woolmer, and I said, “anything you say will be in strictest confidence. is our on-board police detective, part of the security team.”
He gave her another long stare, as if he could see into her mind and knew what she was thinking, then just shook his head.
For an alien, he had a lot of human attributes.
“You speak very good English for, if you’ll pardon the expression, an alien.” Nnnn decided to throw in her on the question.
I didn’t think my captain’s severe stare would silence her or re-establish my authority over the proceedings.
But it was a good question.
“We speak many languages. You have, in your planet, hundreds. We have the same in our corner of the galaxy, so we use what we call a universal translator.”
One thing the space age introduced, was to unify countries into blocs and reduced the number of languages. It had been touch and go for a few years that we’d all be speaking Spanish, the most widely used language on our planet, but somehow English won the battle.
“We’ve tried to unify it to just a few. It’s not easy.”
“We had the same problem until the translator was created, not only for us but for communicating with other species, like yourself.”
“Nevertheless, how is it you know of us, and how we speak?”
“That’s easy. We have been visiting, even living among you, for many thousands of your years.”
“And you’ve chosen never to introduce yourselves or make contact.”
“We tried, a number of times, but you are, always were, a primitive and violent people. We have waited for signs that you had changed, become peaceful, shown unity, but instead, you continue to kill each other and destroy your world through greed and utter stupidity. Now you have spaceships, albeit limited in technology and travel distance. Now, unfortunately, we can’t ignore you.”
“The other ship?”
“It was as we expected. We had hoped they would be peaceful and curious explorers and adopting a cautious approach, we decided to observe, not contact, see if our assessment of your people had changed. Unfortunately, it had not. First habitable planet, not far from here, they visited, the scientists examined the world for technology, resources, and then the people. What they couldn’t take, they stole. They treated the people badly, getting into disagreements, fighting, and killing. The other captain was like you, saying they were explorers.”
That’s the thing I hated about first impressions, you do the wrong thing, it’s all you are remembered for, and the other ship had just made the whole of earth look bad. Not that we hadn’t done that already ourselves in other ways.
Something else to note, aliens had been visiting us for a long, long time. I didn’t think it was an appropriate moment to bring up Roswell.
OK, we’ve established that humans are not the nicest people in the galaxy but why was l here?
“I can’t answer for my fellow humans, nor will I apologize for them. The only way they can improve, we can improve, is the get out there and learn about how others have overcome the obstacles we still face. But, aside from all that, what was so private that I had to come here?”
“Oh, that. You have about ten of your earth minutes to convince me not to destroy your ship and everyone in it.”
So much for the alien Captain’s promise no harm would come to us.
Suburbia, yes, reddish sky at night, yes, but what else might it be?
For just a moment, close your eyes, toss away everything you might accept as normal, and then, after a minute, open them again, and look at the photo with a new perspective.
Imagine…
It took two days for the dust to settle, figuratively and literally.
We heard screaming jet fighters overhead, followed by multiple explosions, then nothing but smoke and ash. We assumed one of the jets had crashed.
Two days the media was saying it was an unfortunate accident.
On the third day, we discovered it was the result of multiple missile strikes on our power stations and oil refineries. The jets had arrived too late to stop the attack.
And we only found out because an Army officer who lived in our street came home to collect his family and told us to leave, go anywhere but stay in the city.
The ash in the air was going to get worse, the sun was going to disappear altogether, and, well, he didn’t stay long enough to tell us the rest, but already the air was almost unbreathable.
But the leaving was easy, just take what we could in the car. The problem was, everyone had the same idea, and by the time we reached the highway, it was a virtual carpark.
By then, it was day four.
That’s when the bombs started to fall.
It might not be an exact match for the photo, but that was the idea that came from it.
I’m sure there could be a far simpler and more pleasant story to be told.
I had so many things planned, those little bits and pieces that seem to get away from you.
It’s now Thursday night, and I have only just come back to this post to write some more or maybe finish it, but that should give you some idea of how easy simple things can get away from me.
To fill in the gaps in the story, I started to make a list of those bits and pieces, and that was the first mistake.
I frightened myself.
Tuesday disappeared in writing down what was on my writing slate. For instance,
Episodes 11 to 15 of the murder story, because my characters are having a fight in my head
The treasure hunt story is done, just needs a few tweaks
Episode 47 of the Castello di Brolio story, where the Germans are about to find themselves on the wrong end of the war
Episode 1 of the WW2 story – this has a start, but is it Episode 1? What bothers me is that I wrote some of this on the plane, but it disappeared somewhere, so I’m not sure when this may get done.
Writing instead of insomnia is actually giving me insomnia
Episodes 151 through 177 of Being Inspired, Maybe – Volume 4. This is a series of photographs, and the story inspired by them. Volume 3 is at first draft, and the photos are being associated with the stories.
Just about finished editing Volume 2, and I’m about to publish Volume 1.
Episodes 60 through 63 of PI Walthenson’s second case, new additions to the story, and although there is a title, the jury’s still out on whether it’ll be adopted. There’s an interesting dynamic developing between the son and the mother, a woman whom he is discovering to be nothing like the one he thought he knew.
And, don’t get me started on where I am with Strangers We’ve Become, I just finished the 10th read and edit. The book is done, but rereading told me, or the cat did far more emphatically, there are a few gaps. This needs to get done, and I need to ‘stick the courage to the sticking point’.
Wednesday arrived, and I was looking at the list, wondering what I was going to do next and realised that I’d been putting off writing the next few posts on the travelling blog, which desperately need to be done.
