Category: Fiction

Writing a book in 365 days – 346

Day 346

How to Keep Your Writing Fresh – Ditch the Clichés (and Use a Few Sparingly, If You Must)

Introduction

We’ve all been there: you sit down to write a blog, a sales email, or a novel chapter, and before you know it your prose is peppered with phrases like “think outside the box,” “at the end of the day,” or “the sky’s the limit.” Clichés feel safe because they’re familiar, but they also signal lazy thinking, dilute your voice, and can even turn readers off.

So how do you keep your writing crisp, original, and engaging? And if a cliché is the perfect punchline for a specific moment, how can you wield it without sounding trite? Below is a practical, step‑by‑step guide to help you banish the overused and, when necessary, deploy a cliché with surgical precision.

1. Know What a Cliché Actually Is

DefinitionWhy It’s Problematic
A phrase, idea, or trope that has been overused to the point of losing its original impact.It signals a lack of original thought, can feel generic, and often triggers “mental fatigue” in readers.

Key takeaway: Not every familiar phrase is a cliché. Idioms (“break a leg”) and widely accepted terminology (“search engine optimization”) are fine when they serve a clear purpose.

2. Identify the Clichés in Your Own Writing

  1. Read Aloud – Hearing the words forces you to notice rhythm and repetition.
  2. Highlight “Red Flags” – Words like obviously, basically, in today’s fast‑paced world, think outside the box, win-win.
  3. Use a Cliché Detector
    • Online tools (e.g., Cliché Finder or ProWritingAid).
    • Browser extensions that underline overused phrases in real time.

Pro tip: Keep a personal “cliché cheat sheet.” Whenever you catch yourself reaching for a tired phrase, jot it down and replace it later.

3. Replace, Not Remove – Strategies for Fresh Alternatives

ClichéWhy It’s OverusedFresh Alternative
“Think outside the box”Corporate buzzword“Explore unconventional angles”
“At the end of the day”Conversational filler“Ultimately” or “When all is said and done”
“The sky’s the limit”Over‑optimistic hype“The possibilities are endless”
“In today’s fast‑paced world”Generic time‑setter“In an era of rapid change”

How to Generate Alternatives:

  • Ask “Why?” – What’s the core idea? Answer that directly.
  • Swap nouns and verbs – Replace box with a concrete image relevant to your niche.
  • Use vivid sensory language – “The horizon expands before us” feels more poetic than “the sky’s the limit.”

4. Embrace Specificity Over Generality

Bad: “She was very happy.”
Good: “She beamed, her eyes sparkling like sunrise on the lake.”

Specific details make the scene vivid, leaving no room for lazy shorthand.

5. When a Cliché Is the Perfect Fit – Use It Sparingly & Strategically

Sometimes a cliché can act as an anchor—a shared cultural reference that instantly connects you with readers. If you decide to keep one, follow these guidelines:

5.1. Make It Contextual

  • Tie it to your unique narrative.
    • Example: Instead of the generic “It’s a win‑win situation,” write, “Our partnership is a win‑win: you get a 20 % discount, and we gain a long‑term client who loves our eco‑friendly packaging.”

5.2. Add a Twist

  • Subvert expectations.
    • Example: “We told the team to think outside the box—but first, we built a bigger box.”
    • This acknowledges the cliché, then flips it, showing cleverness.

5.3. Pair It With Strong Imagery

  • Bolster the cliché with fresh description.
    • Example: “At the end of the day, the city lights flickered like fireflies caught in a jar, reminding us that even the busiest streets need moments of calm.”

5.4. Limit Frequency

  • One per paragraph, maximum two per piece.
    • This keeps the impact high without overwhelming the reader.

6. Practice Exercise: Rewrite the Cliché‑Heavy Paragraph

Original (cliché‑laden):

“In today’s fast‑paced world, businesses need to think outside the box if they want to stay ahead. At the end of the day, it’s all about delivering value and creating win‑win solutions for customers and shareholders alike.”

Revised (cliché‑free):

“In an era of rapid change, companies must explore unconventional strategies to maintain a competitive edge. Ultimately, success hinges on delivering genuine value and forging mutually beneficial relationships with both customers and investors.”

What Changed?

  • Replaced “fast‑paced world” with “era of rapid change.”
  • Swapped “think outside the box” for “explore unconventional strategies.”
  • Substituted “at the end of the day” with “ultimately.”
  • Turned “win‑win solutions” into “mutually beneficial relationships.”

7. Checklist Before Publishing

  •  Did I scan for common clichés?
  •  Have I replaced every red‑flag phrase with a specific, vivid alternative?
  •  If a cliché remains, does it serve a strategic purpose?
  •  Have I added a twist or unique imagery to that cliché?
  •  Is the overall tone consistent with my brand voice?

Conclusion

Clichés are the linguistic equivalent of fast food: instantly satisfying but nutritionally lacking. By actively identifying, replacing, and only strategically preserving a few, you’ll elevate your writing from “just okay” to “memorable.”

Remember: your words are a reflection of your thought process. The more original they are, the more credibility you earn with every sentence. So next time you feel the urge to lean on a tired phrase, pause, dig deeper, and craft something that truly belongs to you—cliché or not.

Happy writing!

Feel free to share your favourite “cliché‑with‑a‑twist” in the comments below.

“Sunday in New York”, a romantic adventure that’s not a walk in the park!

“Sunday in New York” is ultimately a story about trust, and what happens when a marriage is stretched to its limits.

When Harry Steele attends a lunch with his manager, Barclay, to discuss a promotion that any junior executive would accept in a heartbeat, it is the fact his wife, Alison, who previously professed her reservations about Barclay, also agreed to attend, that casts a small element of doubt in his mind.

From that moment, his life, in the company, in deciding what to do, his marriage, his very life, spirals out of control.

There is no one big factor that can prove Harry’s worst fears, that his marriage is over, just a number of small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, points to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.

Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints of impending disaster, Sasha, a woman whom he saved, and who appears to have motives of her own, and then in his wife, Alison, as he discovered piece by piece damning evidence she is about to leave him for another man.

Can we trust what we see with our eyes or trust what we hear?

Haven’t we all jumped to conclusions at least once in our lives?

Can Alison, a woman whose self-belief and confidence is about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?

As they say in the classics, read on!

Purchase:

http://tinyurl.com/Amazon-SundayInNewYork

“Echoes From The Past”, the past doesn’t necessarily stay there


What happens when your past finally catches up with you?

…

Christmas is just around the corner, a time to be with family. For Will Mason, an orphan since he was fourteen, it is a time for reflection on what his life could have been, and what it could be.

Until a chance encounter brings back to life the reasons for his twenty years of self-imposed exile from a life only normal people could have. From that moment Will’s life slowly starts to unravel and it’s obvious to him it’s time to move on.

This time, however, there is more at stake.

Will has broken his number one rule, don’t get involved.

With his nemesis, Eddie Jamieson, suddenly within reach, and a blossoming relationship with an office colleague, Maria, about to change everything, Will has to make a choice. Quietly leave, or finally, make a stand.

But as Will soon discovers, when other people are involved there is going to be terrible consequences no matter what choice he makes.

https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

newechocover5rs

Writing a book in 365 days – 346

Day 346

How to Keep Your Writing Fresh – Ditch the Clichés (and Use a Few Sparingly, If You Must)

Introduction

We’ve all been there: you sit down to write a blog, a sales email, or a novel chapter, and before you know it your prose is peppered with phrases like “think outside the box,” “at the end of the day,” or “the sky’s the limit.” Clichés feel safe because they’re familiar, but they also signal lazy thinking, dilute your voice, and can even turn readers off.

So how do you keep your writing crisp, original, and engaging? And if a cliché is the perfect punchline for a specific moment, how can you wield it without sounding trite? Below is a practical, step‑by‑step guide to help you banish the overused and, when necessary, deploy a cliché with surgical precision.

1. Know What a Cliché Actually Is

DefinitionWhy It’s Problematic
A phrase, idea, or trope that has been overused to the point of losing its original impact.It signals a lack of original thought, can feel generic, and often triggers “mental fatigue” in readers.

Key takeaway: Not every familiar phrase is a cliché. Idioms (“break a leg”) and widely accepted terminology (“search engine optimization”) are fine when they serve a clear purpose.

2. Identify the Clichés in Your Own Writing

  1. Read Aloud – Hearing the words forces you to notice rhythm and repetition.
  2. Highlight “Red Flags” – Words like obviously, basically, in today’s fast‑paced world, think outside the box, win-win.
  3. Use a Cliché Detector
    • Online tools (e.g., Cliché Finder or ProWritingAid).
    • Browser extensions that underline overused phrases in real time.

Pro tip: Keep a personal “cliché cheat sheet.” Whenever you catch yourself reaching for a tired phrase, jot it down and replace it later.

3. Replace, Not Remove – Strategies for Fresh Alternatives

ClichéWhy It’s OverusedFresh Alternative
“Think outside the box”Corporate buzzword“Explore unconventional angles”
“At the end of the day”Conversational filler“Ultimately” or “When all is said and done”
“The sky’s the limit”Over‑optimistic hype“The possibilities are endless”
“In today’s fast‑paced world”Generic time‑setter“In an era of rapid change”

How to Generate Alternatives:

  • Ask “Why?” – What’s the core idea? Answer that directly.
  • Swap nouns and verbs – Replace box with a concrete image relevant to your niche.
  • Use vivid sensory language – “The horizon expands before us” feels more poetic than “the sky’s the limit.”

4. Embrace Specificity Over Generality

Bad: “She was very happy.”
Good: “She beamed, her eyes sparkling like sunrise on the lake.”

Specific details make the scene vivid, leaving no room for lazy shorthand.

5. When a Cliché Is the Perfect Fit – Use It Sparingly & Strategically

Sometimes a cliché can act as an anchor—a shared cultural reference that instantly connects you with readers. If you decide to keep one, follow these guidelines:

5.1. Make It Contextual

  • Tie it to your unique narrative.
    • Example: Instead of the generic “It’s a win‑win situation,” write, “Our partnership is a win‑win: you get a 20 % discount, and we gain a long‑term client who loves our eco‑friendly packaging.”

5.2. Add a Twist

  • Subvert expectations.
    • Example: “We told the team to think outside the box—but first, we built a bigger box.”
    • This acknowledges the cliché, then flips it, showing cleverness.

5.3. Pair It With Strong Imagery

  • Bolster the cliché with fresh description.
    • Example: “At the end of the day, the city lights flickered like fireflies caught in a jar, reminding us that even the busiest streets need moments of calm.”

5.4. Limit Frequency

  • One per paragraph, maximum two per piece.
    • This keeps the impact high without overwhelming the reader.

6. Practice Exercise: Rewrite the Cliché‑Heavy Paragraph

Original (cliché‑laden):

“In today’s fast‑paced world, businesses need to think outside the box if they want to stay ahead. At the end of the day, it’s all about delivering value and creating win‑win solutions for customers and shareholders alike.”

Revised (cliché‑free):

“In an era of rapid change, companies must explore unconventional strategies to maintain a competitive edge. Ultimately, success hinges on delivering genuine value and forging mutually beneficial relationships with both customers and investors.”

What Changed?

  • Replaced “fast‑paced world” with “era of rapid change.”
  • Swapped “think outside the box” for “explore unconventional strategies.”
  • Substituted “at the end of the day” with “ultimately.”
  • Turned “win‑win solutions” into “mutually beneficial relationships.”

7. Checklist Before Publishing

  •  Did I scan for common clichés?
  •  Have I replaced every red‑flag phrase with a specific, vivid alternative?
  •  If a cliché remains, does it serve a strategic purpose?
  •  Have I added a twist or unique imagery to that cliché?
  •  Is the overall tone consistent with my brand voice?

Conclusion

Clichés are the linguistic equivalent of fast food: instantly satisfying but nutritionally lacking. By actively identifying, replacing, and only strategically preserving a few, you’ll elevate your writing from “just okay” to “memorable.”

Remember: your words are a reflection of your thought process. The more original they are, the more credibility you earn with every sentence. So next time you feel the urge to lean on a tired phrase, pause, dig deeper, and craft something that truly belongs to you—cliché or not.

Happy writing!

Feel free to share your favourite “cliché‑with‑a‑twist” in the comments below.

An excerpt from “What Sets Us Apart”, a mystery with a twist

See the excerpt from the story below, just a taste of what’s in store…

http://amzn.to/2Eryfth

whatsetscover

McCallister was old school, a man who would most likely fit in perfectly campaigning on the battlefields of Europe during the Second World War. He’d been like a fish out of water in the army, post-Falklands, and while he retired a hero, he still felt he’d more to give.

He’d applied and was accepted as head of a SWAT team, and, watching him now as he and his men disembarked from the truck in almost military precision, a look passed between Annette, the police liaison officer, and I that said she’d seen it all before. I know I had.

There was a one in four chance his team would be selected for this operation, and she had been hoping it would be one of the other three. While waiting for them to arrive she filled me in on the various teams. His was the least co-operative, and the more likely to make ad-hoc decisions rather than adhere to the plan, or any orders that may come from the officer in charge.

This, she said quite bluntly, was going to end badly.

I still had no idea why Prendergast instructed me to attend the scene of what looked to be a normal domestic operation, but as the nominated expert in the field in these types of situations, it was fairly clear he wasn’t taking any chances. It was always a matter of opinion between us, and generally I lost.

In this case, it was an anonymous report identifying what the authorities believed were explosives in one of the dockside sheds where explosives were not supposed to be.

The only reason why the report was given any credence was the man, while not identifying himself by name, said he’d been an explosive expert once and recognized the boxes. That could mean anything, but the Chief Constable was a cautious man.

With his men settled and preparing their weapons, McCallister came over to the command post, not much more than the SUV my liaison and I arrived in, with weapons, bulletproof vests, and rolls of tape to cordon off the area afterward. We both had coffee, steaming in the cold early morning air. Dawn was slowly approaching and although rain had been forecast it had yet to arrive.

A man by the name of Benson was in charge. He too had groaned when he saw McCallister.

“A fine morning for it.” McCallister was the only enthusiastic one here.

He didn’t say what ‘it’ was, but I thought it might eventually be mayhem.

“Let’s hope the rain stays away. It’s going to be difficult enough without it,” Benson said, rubbing his hands together. We had been waiting for the SWAT team to arrive, and another team to take up their position under the wharf, and who was in the final stages of securing their position.

While we were waiting we drew up the plan. I’d go in first to check on what we were dealing with, and what type of explosives. The SWAT team, in the meantime, were to ensure all the exits to the shed were covered. When I gave the signal, they were to enter and secure the building. We were not expecting anyone inside or out, and no movement had been detected in the last hour since our arrival and deployment.

“What’s the current situation?”

“I’ve got eyes on the building, and a team coming in from the waterside, underneath. Its slow progress, but they’re nearly there. Once they’re in place, we’re sending McKenzie in.”

He looked in my direction.

“With due respect sir, shouldn’t it be one of us?” McCallister glared at me with the contempt that only a decorated military officer could.

“No. I have orders from above, much higher than I care to argue with, so, McCallister, no gung-ho heroics for the moment. Just be ready to move on my command, and make sure you have three teams at the exit points, ready to secure the building.”

McCallister opened his mouth, no doubt to question those orders, but instead closed it again. “Yes sir,” he muttered and turned away heading back to his men.

“You’re not going to have much time before he storms the battlements,” Benson quietly said to me, a hint of exasperation in his tone. “I’m dreading the paperwork.”

It was exactly what my liaison officer said when she saw McCallister arriving.

The water team sent their ‘in position’ signal, and we were ready to go.

In the hour or so we’d been on site nothing had stirred, no arrivals, no departures, and no sign anyone was inside, but that didn’t mean we were alone. Nor did it mean I was going to walk in and see immediately what was going on. If it was a cache of explosives then it was possible the building was booby-trapped in any number of ways, there could be sentries or guards, and they had eyes on us, or it might be a false alarm.

I was hoping for the latter.

I put on the bulletproof vest, thinking it was a poor substitute for full battle armor against an exploding bomb, but we were still treating this as a ‘suspected’ case. I noticed my liaison officer was pulling on her bulletproof vest too.

“You don’t have to go. This is my party, not yours,” I said.

“The Chief Constable told me to stick to you like glue, sir.”

I looked at Benson. “Talk some sense into her please, this is not a kindergarten outing.”

He shrugged. Seeing McCallister had taken all the fight out of him. “Orders are orders. If that’s what the Chief Constable requested …”

Madness. I glared at her, and she gave me a wan smile. “Stay behind me then, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Believe me, I won’t be.” She pulled out and checked her weapon, chambering the first round. It made a reassuring sound.

Suited up, weapons readied, a last sip of the coffee in a stomach that was already churning from nerves and tension, I looked at the target, one hundred yards distant and thought it was going to be the longest hundred yards I’d ever traversed. At least for this week.

A swirling mist rolled in and caused a slight change in plans.

Because the front of the buildings was constantly illuminated by large overhead arc lamps, my intention had been to approach the building from the rear where there was less light and more cover. Despite the lack of movement, if there were explosives in that building, there’d be ‘enemy’ surveillance somewhere, and, after making that assumption, I believed it was going to be easier and less noticeable to use the darkness as a cover.

It was a result of the consultation, and studying the plans of the warehouse, plans that showed three entrances, the main front hangar type doors, a side entrance for truck entry and exit and a small door in the rear, at the end of an internal passage leading to several offices. I also assumed it was the exit used when smokers needed a break. Our entry would be by the rear door or failing that, the side entrance where a door was built into the larger sliding doors. In both cases, the locks would not present a problem.

The change in the weather made the approach shorter, and given the density of the mist now turning into a fog, we were able to approach by the front, hugging the walls, and moving quickly while there was cover. I could feel the dampness of the mist and shivered more than once.

It was nerves more than the cold.

I could also feel rather than see the presence of Annette behind me, and once felt her breath on my neck when we stopped for a quick reconnaissance.

It was the same for McCallister’s men. I could feel them following us, quickly and quietly, and expected, if I turned around, to see him breathing down my neck too.

It added to the tension.

My plan was still to enter by the back door.

We slipped up the alley between the two sheds to the rear corner and stopped. I heard a noise coming from the rear of the building, and the light tap on the shoulder told me Annette had heard it too. I put my hand up to signal her to wait, and as a swirl of mist rolled in, I slipped around the corner heading towards where I’d last seen the glow of a cigarette.

The mist cleared, and we saw each other at the same time. He was a bearded man in battle fatigues, not the average dockside security guard.

He was quick, but my slight element of surprise was his undoing, and he was down and unconscious in less than a few seconds with barely a sound beyond the body hitting the ground. Zip ties secured his hands and legs, and tape his mouth. Annette joined me a minute after securing him.

A glance at the body then me, “I can see why they, whoever they are, sent you.”

She’d asked who I worked for, and I didn’t answer. It was best she didn’t know.

“Stay behind me,” I said, more urgency in my tone. If there was one, there’d be another.

Luck was with us so far. A man outside smoking meant no booby traps on the back door, and quite possibly there’d be none inside. But it indicated there were more men inside, and if so, it appeared they were very well trained. If that were the case, they would be formidable opponents.

The fear factor increased exponentially.

I slowly opened the door and looked in. A pale light shone from within the warehouse itself, one that was not bright enough to be detected from outside. None of the offices had lights on, so it was possible they were vacant. I realized then they had blacked out the windows. Why hadn’t someone checked this?

Once inside, the door closed behind us, progress was slow and careful. She remained directly behind me, gun ready to shoot anything that moved. I had a momentary thought for McCallister and his men, securing the perimeter.

At the end of the corridor, the extent of the warehouse stretched before us. The pale lighting made it seem like a vast empty cavern, except for a long trestle table along one side, and, behind it, stacks of wooden crates, some opened. It looked like a production line.

To get to the table from where we were was a ten-yard walk in the open. There was no cover. If we stuck to the walls, there was equally no cover and a longer walk.

We needed a distraction.

As if on cue, the two main entrances disintegrated into flying shrapnel accompanied by a deafening explosion that momentarily disoriented both Annette and I. Through the smoke and dust kicked up I saw three men appear from behind the wooden crates, each with what looked like machine guns, spraying bullets in the direction of the incoming SWAT members.

They never had a chance, cut down before they made ten steps into the building.

By the time I’d recovered, my head heavy, eyes watering and ears still ringing, I took several steps towards them, managing to take down two of the gunmen but not the third.

I heard a voice, Annette’s I think, yell out, “Oh, God, he’s got a trigger,” just before another explosion, though all I remember in that split second was a bright flash, the intense heat, something very heavy smashing into my chest knocking the wind out of me, and then the sensation of flying, just before I hit the wall.

I spent four weeks in an induced coma, three months being stitched back together and another six learning to do all those basic actions everyone took for granted. It was twelve months almost to the day when I was released from the hospital, physically, except for a few alterations required after being hit by shrapnel, looking the same as I always had.

But mentally? The document I’d signed on release said it all, ‘not fit for active duty; discharged’.

It was in the name of David Cheney. For all intents and purposes, Alistair McKenzie was killed in that warehouse, and for the first time ever, an agent left the Department, the first to retire alive.

I was not sure I liked the idea of making history.

© Charles Heath 2016-2020

In a word: Happy

“I’m happy to be being here.”

Yes, I actually heard that answer given in a television interview, and thought, at the time, it was a quaint expression.

But in reality, this was a person for whom English was a second language, and that was, quite literally, their translation from their language to English.

Suffice to say, that person was not happy when lost the event she was participating in.

But that particular memory was triggered by another event.

Someone asked me how happy I was.

Happy is another of those words like good, thrown around like a rag doll, used without consequence, or regard for its true meaning.

“After everything that’s happened, you should be the happiest man alive!”

I’m happy.

I should be, to them.

A real friend might also say, “Are you sure, you don’t look happy.”

I hesitate but say, “Sure.  I woke up with a headache,” or some other lame reason.

But, in reality, I’m not ‘happy’.  Convention says that we should be happy if everything is going well.  In my case, it is, to a certain extent, but it is what’s happening within that’s the problem.  We say it because people expect it.

I find there is no use complaining because no one will listen, and definitely, no one likes serial complainers.

True.

But somewhere in all those complaints will be the truth, the one item that is bugging us.

It is a case of whether we are prepared to listen.  Really listen.

And not necessarily take people at their word.

 

Endless flight – a short story

It had been billed as the longest commercial flight in the world.  London to Sydney.

Previous times it had been flown, it was devoid of passengers and cargo, except for a few reporters and airline staff; not more than about 20.

The plane, state of the art, was capable of flying twenty-one hours straight.  We would only need Nineteen and a half.  It was the first flight of its kind, and we were the first to participate in what was being touted as history-making.

I was on board only because I’d won a competition.  To be honest, I couldn’t believe my luck.

I guess it was the same for the other 287 of us on board.  With baggage and cargo included, oh, and not forgetting fuel, I guess our biggest concern was getting off the ground.

It wasn’t long before that fear had been dispelled, though for a moment more than one of us thought we might not get into the air.  There were collective sighs of relief when we finally lurched into the air.

Once the seat belt sign went off, the First Officer spoke to the passengers, more or less telling us we were going to make history and to sit back and enjoy the in-flight service.

I guess it was ironic that as someone who didn’t like flying I was in this plane.  The thing is, I didn’t expect to win the competition.  But, I was on board for the experience and was going to make the most of it.  I’d brought half a dozen crossword books.

I woke from an uneasy sleep about two hours before I e plane was due to land.  The cabin lights had come on, and breakfast was about to be served.

Everyone else was in varying states of awareness.  Some hadn’t slept at all, which was what usually happened to me, and they looked like I felt.  Bleary-eyed and half awake.

I looked at the flight path in the headrest in front of me, and it said we had about an hour and fifty minutes, and from the outset, precisely on time.  We’d had headwinds and tailwinds but neither had any lasting effect on our arrival time.

Something else did.  After breakfast had been cleared away, and we were all getting ready for the last hour of the flight, word came through from the flight deck that we had to go into a holding pattern due to a problem on the ground.

The first question on everyone’s mind, did we have enough fuel.  The Captain, this time, allayed that fear.

But, I was sitting over the wing where I could see the engine.  I was not an expert but I thought I’d heard a murmur, the sort an engine made where the fuel supply was running out.

Perhaps not.  Perhaps it was my overwrought imagination after not enough proper sleep.

Another half-hour passed, and I could feel a change in the plane’s flight.  I was now listening and waiting and interpreting.  The Captain said the problem was resolved and we were cleared to land.

That’s when the engine outside my window stuttered, if only for a fraction of a second.

Fortunately, we were well into our descent, and I could see the ground below.  Now, going through some low cloud, the ride became bumpy, and I was sure it was covering the more frequent stuttering of the engine, and once, I was not the only one to hear it.

As the wheels went down and clunked into place, I think the engine stopped, though I couldn’t be sure, because there was little or no change in the plane’s flight other than a slight change in the plane’s speed but not its rate of descent, and none of us would have been any wiser had the pilot, in his usual calm manner, not told us there was a small problem with one of the engines but there was no problem with landing, and we would be on the ground in ten minutes.

In fact, the landing was, as any other I’d been on, flawless, even though I was sure I heard a slight stutter in the other ending, but by that time we were on the ground.

The only difference between this and any other landing was the accompaniment of several emergency services trucks, and the fact we were not going to a gate.  Instead, we were taken to a bay not far from the runways, and then calmly taken off the plane.

From the ground, just before being loaded onto a bus, I could see the plane, and it looked the same as it had any other time.

What did bother me was several words spoken by what looked to be an engineer.  He said, “That plane was literally flying on vapor.  What you’re seeing is 228 of the luckiest people in the world.”

If ever there was an excuse to buy a lottery ticket…

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

Writing a book in 365 days – 345

Day 345

From Unsung to Unforgettable: Turning Quiet Heroes Into Celebrated Characters

In every office, neighbourhood, classroom, and family, there exists a quiet force—a person whose actions speak louder than words. These are the unsung heroes: the colleague who picks up the slack without a word, the parent who works two jobs behind closed doors, the volunteer who shows up week after week, rain or shine. They rarely seek the spotlight, and that’s exactly why their stories deserve to be amplified.

But how do we take someone whose humility is their hallmark and transform them into a memorable character—one that inspires and resonates with others? The answer lies not in grand exaggeration, but in thoughtful storytelling that honours authenticity, reveals depth, and celebrates quiet strength.

Here’s how to turn the unsung hero into a character others can truly celebrate.

1. Discover the Quiet Moment That Speaks Volumes

Memorable characters are born not from dramatic acts, but from meaningful details. Instead of focusing on monumental achievements, look for the small, everyday choices that reveal character.

Maybe it’s the teacher who stayed late three days in a row to help a struggling student. Or the janitor who remembers every student’s name and greets them with a smile—even on the toughest days. These moments may go unnoticed, but they form the emotional core of a powerful story.

Tip: Ask, “What would this person do when no one is watching?” The answer often holds the essence of their character.

2. Humanise Through Vulnerability

Audiences connect not with perfection, but with authenticity. Even the most selfless individuals have fears, doubts, and dreams. Sharing a moment of vulnerability doesn’t diminish a hero—it humanises them.

Perhaps your unsung hero once failed spectacularly before finding their stride. Or maybe they help others because they once needed help themselves. These layers of complexity make their journey relatable, and their perseverance even more inspiring.

Tip: Include a moment of doubt or personal struggle. It makes the triumph—however quiet—feel earned.

3. Show, Don’t Just Tell

There’s a difference between saying “she’s kind” and showing her quietly slipping a care package under a coworker’s door after hearing about their illness. Great storytelling doesn’t announce virtues—it reveals them through action.

Use scenes, dialogue, and sensory details. Let readers see the calloused hands of the farmer who rises before dawn. Hear the voice of the mentor who patiently explains the same concept over and over. Feel the tension in the room when someone steps in to defuse a conflict with empathy.

Tip: Write as if you’re filming a movie—what would the camera capture?

4. Anchor Their Story in Purpose

Unsung heroes often act not for recognition, but because they believe in something bigger. What drives them? Is it a personal value? A painful memory? A vision for a better community?

When you reveal their why, you transform them from a background figure into a person with conviction. Purpose gives their actions weight and direction. It’s what makes their consistency remarkable.

Tip: Ask, “What would this person fight for, even if they lost?” That’s the heart of their story.

5. Invite Others to Celebrate

A memorable character doesn’t just exist in isolation—they impact others. Show how their actions create ripples. Maybe a student finally believed in themselves because of a mentor’s quiet encouragement. Maybe a community rallied because someone took the first step.

When others reflect on what the hero has done, it validates their impact. Testimonials, memories, and small acknowledgments from people they’ve helped turn individual actions into a legacy.

Tip: End with a moment of recognition—not for fame, but for appreciation. Let someone say, “I wouldn’t be here without you.”

6. Respect Their Humility

Celebrating an unsung hero doesn’t mean turning them into a caricature of selflessness. Avoid melodrama or exaggeration. Honour their quiet nature by keeping the tone grounded and respectful.

Sometimes the most powerful tribute is understated—a simple portrait, a heartfelt letter, a candid photo essay. Let their actions speak for themselves.

Tip: When in doubt, ask: “Would this person feel seen, not exposed?”

The Power of Recognition

We don’t need more superheroes in capes—we need more stories that illuminate the extraordinary within ordinary lives. When we elevate the quiet, compassionate, consistent people among us, we do more than celebrate individuals. We redefine what it means to be a hero.

By turning unsung heroes into memorable characters, we give others permission to see the value in service, in patience, in showing up—even when no one’s watching.

And perhaps, in doing so, we inspire the next generation of quiet heroes to rise.

Who’s your unsung hero? Share their story—not for applause, but for impact.

Inspiration, Maybe – Volume 2

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 just 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 down of her for the last three months, and if 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 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 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 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 where who, 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 I just shrugged and asked 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 that intimacy we used to have when 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 and instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position he had not taken advantage of a situation like some men would.  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.  On 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, follows 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 or of the final turn and we were braking so that it stops 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 t the new job the last thing shed want was a reminder of what she left behind.  New friends new life.

We packed her bags, three out everything she didn’t want, a free trips to the op shop with stiff 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’s been 6 different types of plane depart, 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 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.

Perhaps it was.

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

Coming soon.  Find the above story and 49 others like it in:

‘The Devil You Don’t’ – A beta reader’s view

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 realizes 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.

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Available on Amazon here: https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

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