Category: Fiction

Writing a book in 365 days – 282

Day 282

Why can’t we just stop editing?

…

The Endless Edit: Why We Keep Redrawing the Line in the Sand

And 10 Practical Ways to Tell Ourselves, “It’s Done.”

1. The Paradox of Perfection

If you’ve ever stared at a blank canvas, a half‑finished manuscript, or a spreadsheet teeming with conditional formatting, you know the feeling: the line you thought was final is suddenly a faint suggestion, begging for another tweak.

In our hyper‑connected world, the “edit forever” mindset has become almost reflexive. It’s not just a habit—it’s a cultural artifact shaped by three forces:

ForceHow It Fuels the Edit Loop
TechnologyUnlimited “undo,” auto‑save, and real‑time collaboration make every change feel reversible and safe, so we never feel pressured to settle.
PerfectionismThe myth that “perfect” equals “valuable” convinces us that any flaw will invalidate the whole piece.
Feedback FloodSocial media, peer reviews, and analytics serve up a constant stream of opinions, each of which can be interpreted as a reason to revise.

When these forces converge, we end up continuously re‑drawing the line in the sand, never quite willing to say, “That’s it.”

2. The Cost of Perpetual Editing

CostReal‑World Example
Time DrainA marketing copywriter spends 12 hours polishing a 300‑word email that could have been sent in 2.
Creative BurnoutA designer abandons a brand identity after 30 iterations, losing the original spark that made it compelling.
Decision FatigueA product manager flips between feature sets, delaying launch and confusing the team.
Opportunity LossA researcher keeps adding “future work” sections, never publishing and never gaining citations.

The hidden toll isn’t just lost hours—it’s the erosion of confidence and the stifling of momentum.

3. How Do We Break the Cycle?

Below are 10 concrete strategies that move you from “always editing” to “confidently done.” Each one is paired with a quick implementation tip so you can start using it today.

#StrategyWhy It WorksQuick Implementation
1Set a hard deadline (not a “soft” one)A deadline creates a psychological “stop” signal that overrides perfectionist impulses.Put the due date on a visible wall calendar and block the final hour for “final review only.”
2Define Done before you startWhen “done” is a concrete checklist, the project has a clear finish line.Write a 3‑item “Definition of Done” (e.g., “All headings formatted, 2‑round peer review completed, file exported to PDF”).
3Apply the 80/20 Rule80 % of impact comes from 20 % of effort; the remaining 20 % yields diminishing returns.After the first major revision, ask: “What 20 % of the remaining changes will give 80 % of the benefit?”
4Limit the number of revision cyclesA fixed ceiling forces you to prioritize the most critical changes.Decide on “max 3 full passes”—after the third, the work is locked.
5Use a “Freeze” checkpointTemporarily lock the file so you can view it without the temptation to edit.On the final day, rename the file “FINAL_2025-10-22” and open only the read‑only copy.
6Get a single external auditOne fresh set of eyes can surface the most important blind spots, after which further changes are often unnecessary.Invite a colleague to do a 5‑minute critique focused on the “Definition of Done” checklist.
7Embrace “Good Enough” as a virtueShifting language from “perfect” to “good enough” reduces anxiety and reframes completion as a win.Add a sticky note on your workspace: “Good enough wins the day.”
8Celebrate the finish lineCelebration creates a positive reinforcement loop that the brain associates with ending a task.Schedule a 10‑minute “launch toast”—a coffee break, a quick walk, or a team shout‑out.
9Separate creation from evaluationEditing while you create clouds judgment; separating phases restores flow.Use a timer: 25 min “create,” then 5 min “no edit—just observe.”
10Practice “Version Mortality”Accept that every version will die; the next one will replace it.After you ship, archive the file with a note: “Version X – retired 2025-10-22.”

4. A Mini‑Exercise: The “One‑Pass” Challenge

  1. Pick a small project (a blog post, a slide deck, a short code snippet).
  2. Write a “Definition of Done” with exactly three bullet points.
  3. Set a timer for 45 minutes and work without opening any editing tools or feedback channels.
  4. When the timer ends, stop—no matter how incomplete it feels.
  5. Do one final, 5‑minute review against your checklist. If it meets all three points, hit “publish.”

Result: You’ll experience how much you can accomplish when you deliberately stop editing. Most people are shocked to find the output already valuable.

5. When “Done” Isn’t a Destination, It’s a Habit

The goal isn’t to become a sloppy producer; it’s to become a deliberate one. By embedding the practices above into your daily workflow, you turn “finished” from a rare event into a reliable habit.

Takeaway: The compulsion to edit forever is a symptom of abundant tools, cultural perfectionism, and endless feedback. The antidote is structure: clear deadlines, explicit “done” criteria, and a finite number of revisions. When you give yourself permission to close a project, you free mental bandwidth for the next creative spark.

6. Closing Thought

Imagine a shoreline where the tide recedes just enough to reveal a clean, straight line in the sand—a line that says, “We built this, and we’re proud of it.” That line isn’t a mistake; it’s a statement.

The next time you feel the urge to keep polishing, ask yourself:

“Am I adding value, or am I just keeping the tide from coming in?”

If the answer leans toward the latter, it’s time to step back, declare it done, and let the next wave of ideas wash onto the beach.

Happy creating—and happy finishing!

Feel free to share your own “done” rituals in the comments. Let’s build a community that celebrates completion as much as it does creation.

What I learned about writing – The power of words

They can destroy relationships

They can tear apart friendships

They can start wars

We are sometimes at a loss for words

Sometimes we can’t find the words

And then there those horrible things called crosswords.

There are antonyms and synonyms

Sometimes we use words we don’t know the meaning of because of their similarity with others we do

Then there one or more words that make other words as in anagrams

There are substitute words, words we use around children like fudge instead of, well you get what I mean

There’s no doubt we would be lost without words

Words are to be chosen carefully and thoughtfully

They need to be delivered in an appropriate manner, not in haste, and not in anger

We need to believe in what we’re saying before others will believe it

We need to learn how to express our feelings

We should take advantage of learning English (or any other native language) when at school

We need to start reading as soon as we can and keep up reading as we get older.  One should never underestimate the power reading and writing gives us no matter who we are.

Always have a dictionary by your side.  It is the most valuable book you can own.

And always remember the power of speech can at times move mountains

The story behind the story – Echoes from the Past

The novel ‘Echoes from the past’ started out as a short story I wrote about 30 years ago, titled ‘The birthday’.

My idea was to take a normal person out of their comfort zone and led on a short but very frightening journey to a place where a surprise birthday party had been arranged.

Thus the very large man with a scar and a red tie was created.

So was the friend with the limousine who worked as a pilot.

So were the two women, Wendy and Angelina, who were Flight Attendants that the pilot friend asked to join the conspiracy.

I was going to rework the short story, then about ten pages long, into something a little more.

And like all re-writes, especially those I have anything to do with, it turned into a novel.

There was motivation.  I had told some colleagues at the place where I worked at the time that I liked writing, and they wanted a sample.  I was going to give them the re-worked short story.  Instead, I gave them ‘Echoes from the past’

Originally it was not set anywhere in particular.

But when considering a location, I had, at the time, recently been to New York in December, and visited Brooklyn and Queens, as well as a lot of New York itself.  We were there for New Years, and it was an experience I’ll never forget.

One evening we were out late, and finished up in Brooklyn Heights, near the waterfront, and there was rain and snow, it was cold and wet, and there were apartment buildings shimmering in the street light, and I thought, this is the place where my main character will live.

It had a very spooky atmosphere, the sort where ghosts would not be unexpected.  I felt more than one shiver go up and down my spine in the few minutes I was there.

I had taken notes, as I always do, of everywhere we went so I had a ready supply of locations I could use, changing the names in some cases.

Fifth Avenue near the Rockefeller center is amazing at first light, and late at night with the Seasonal decorations and lights.

The original main character was a shy and man of few friends, hence not expecting the surprise party.  I enhanced that shyness into purposely lonely because of an issue from his past that leaves him always looking over his shoulder and ready to move on at the slightest hint of trouble.  No friends, no relationships, just a very low profile.

Then I thought, what if he breaks the cardinal rule, and begins a relationship?

But it is also as much an exploration of a damaged soul, as it is the search for a normal life, without having any idea what normal was, and how the understanding of one person can sometimes make all the difference in what we may think or feel.

And, of course, I wanted a happy ending.

Except for the bad guys.

Get it here:  https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

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The first case of PI Walthenson – “A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers”

This case has everything, red herrings, jealous brothers, femme fatales, and at the heart of it all, greed.

See below for an excerpt from the book…

Coming soon!

PIWalthJones1

An excerpt from the book:

When Harry took the time to consider his position, a rather uncomfortable position at that, he concluded that he was somehow involved in another case that meant very little to him.

Not that it wasn’t important in some way he was yet to determine, it was just that his curiosity had got the better of him, and it had led to this: sitting in a chair, securely bound, waiting for someone one of his captors had called Doug.

It was not the name that worried him so much, it was the evil laugh that had come after the name was spoken.

Doug what? Doug the ‘destroyer’, Doug the ‘dangerous’, Doug the ‘deadly’; there was any number of sinister connotations, and perhaps that was the point of the laugh, to make it more frightening than it was.

But there was no doubt about one thing in his mind right then: he’d made a mistake. A very big. and costly, mistake. Just how big the cost, no doubt he would soon find out.

His mother, and his grandmother, the wisest person he had ever known, had once told him never to eavesdrop.

At the time he couldn’t help himself and instead of minding his own business, listening to a one-sided conversation which ended with a time and a place. The very nature of the person receiving the call was, at the very least, sinister, and, because of the cryptic conversation, there appeared to be, or at least to Harry, criminal activity involved.

For several days he had wrestled with the thought of whether he should go. Stay on the fringe, keep out of sight, observe and report to the police if it was a crime. Instead, he had willingly gone down the rabbit hole.

Now, sitting in an uncomfortable chair, several heat lamps hanging over his head, he was perspiring, and if perspiration could be used as a measure of fear, then Harry’s fear was at the highest level.

Another runnel of sweat rolled into his left eye, and, having his hands tied, literally, it made it impossible to clear it. The burning sensation momentarily took his mind off his predicament. He cursed and then shook his head trying to prevent a re-occurrence. It was to no avail.

Let the stinging sensation be a reminder of what was right and what was wrong.

It was obvious that it was the right place and the right time, but in considering his current perilous situation, it definitely was the wrong place to be, at the worst possible time.

It was meant to be his escape, an escape from the generations of lawyers, what were to Harry, dry, dusty men who had been in business since George Washington said to the first Walthenson to step foot on American soil, ‘Why don’t you become a lawyer?” when asked what he could do for the great man.

Or so it was handed down as lore, though Harry didn’t think Washington meant it literally, the Walthenson’s, then as now, were not shy of taking advice.

Except, of course, when it came to Harry.

He was, Harry’s father was prone to saying, the exception to every rule. Harry guessed his father was referring to the fact his son wanted to be a Private Detective rather than a dry, dusty lawyer. Just the clothes were enough to turn Harry off the profession.

So, with a little of the money Harry inherited from one of his aunts, he leased an office in Gramercy Park and had it renovated to look like the Sam Spade detective agency, you know the one, Spade and Archer, and The Maltese Falcon.

There’s a movie and a book by Dashiell Hammett if you’re interested.

So, there it was, painted on the opaque glass inset of the front door, ‘Harold Walthenson, Private Detective’.

There was enough money to hire an assistant, and it took a week before the right person came along, or, more to the point, didn’t just see his business plan as something sinister. Ellen, a tall cool woman in a long black dress, or so the words of a song in his head told him, fitted in perfectly.

She’d seen the movie, but she said with a grin, Harry was no Humphrey Bogart.

Of course not, he said, he didn’t smoke.

Three months on the job, and it had been a few calls, no ‘real’ cases, nothing but missing animals, and other miscellaneous items. What he really wanted was a missing person. Or perhaps a beguiling, sophisticated woman who was as deadly as she was charming, looking for an errant husband, perhaps one that she had already ‘dispatched’.

Or for a tall, dark and handsome foreigner who spoke in riddles and in heavily accented English, a spy, or perhaps an assassin, in town to take out the mayor. The man was such an imbecile Harry had considered doing it himself.

Now, in a back room of a disused warehouse, that wishful thinking might be just about to come to a very abrupt end, with none of the romanticized trappings of the business befalling him. No beguiling women, no sinister criminals, no stupid policemen.

Just a nasty little man whose only concern was how quickly or how slowly Harry’s end was going to be.

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2024

Writing a book in 365 days – 282

Day 282

Why can’t we just stop editing?

…

The Endless Edit: Why We Keep Redrawing the Line in the Sand

And 10 Practical Ways to Tell Ourselves, “It’s Done.”

1. The Paradox of Perfection

If you’ve ever stared at a blank canvas, a half‑finished manuscript, or a spreadsheet teeming with conditional formatting, you know the feeling: the line you thought was final is suddenly a faint suggestion, begging for another tweak.

In our hyper‑connected world, the “edit forever” mindset has become almost reflexive. It’s not just a habit—it’s a cultural artifact shaped by three forces:

ForceHow It Fuels the Edit Loop
TechnologyUnlimited “undo,” auto‑save, and real‑time collaboration make every change feel reversible and safe, so we never feel pressured to settle.
PerfectionismThe myth that “perfect” equals “valuable” convinces us that any flaw will invalidate the whole piece.
Feedback FloodSocial media, peer reviews, and analytics serve up a constant stream of opinions, each of which can be interpreted as a reason to revise.

When these forces converge, we end up continuously re‑drawing the line in the sand, never quite willing to say, “That’s it.”

2. The Cost of Perpetual Editing

CostReal‑World Example
Time DrainA marketing copywriter spends 12 hours polishing a 300‑word email that could have been sent in 2.
Creative BurnoutA designer abandons a brand identity after 30 iterations, losing the original spark that made it compelling.
Decision FatigueA product manager flips between feature sets, delaying launch and confusing the team.
Opportunity LossA researcher keeps adding “future work” sections, never publishing and never gaining citations.

The hidden toll isn’t just lost hours—it’s the erosion of confidence and the stifling of momentum.

3. How Do We Break the Cycle?

Below are 10 concrete strategies that move you from “always editing” to “confidently done.” Each one is paired with a quick implementation tip so you can start using it today.

#StrategyWhy It WorksQuick Implementation
1Set a hard deadline (not a “soft” one)A deadline creates a psychological “stop” signal that overrides perfectionist impulses.Put the due date on a visible wall calendar and block the final hour for “final review only.”
2Define Done before you startWhen “done” is a concrete checklist, the project has a clear finish line.Write a 3‑item “Definition of Done” (e.g., “All headings formatted, 2‑round peer review completed, file exported to PDF”).
3Apply the 80/20 Rule80 % of impact comes from 20 % of effort; the remaining 20 % yields diminishing returns.After the first major revision, ask: “What 20 % of the remaining changes will give 80 % of the benefit?”
4Limit the number of revision cyclesA fixed ceiling forces you to prioritize the most critical changes.Decide on “max 3 full passes”—after the third, the work is locked.
5Use a “Freeze” checkpointTemporarily lock the file so you can view it without the temptation to edit.On the final day, rename the file “FINAL_2025-10-22” and open only the read‑only copy.
6Get a single external auditOne fresh set of eyes can surface the most important blind spots, after which further changes are often unnecessary.Invite a colleague to do a 5‑minute critique focused on the “Definition of Done” checklist.
7Embrace “Good Enough” as a virtueShifting language from “perfect” to “good enough” reduces anxiety and reframes completion as a win.Add a sticky note on your workspace: “Good enough wins the day.”
8Celebrate the finish lineCelebration creates a positive reinforcement loop that the brain associates with ending a task.Schedule a 10‑minute “launch toast”—a coffee break, a quick walk, or a team shout‑out.
9Separate creation from evaluationEditing while you create clouds judgment; separating phases restores flow.Use a timer: 25 min “create,” then 5 min “no edit—just observe.”
10Practice “Version Mortality”Accept that every version will die; the next one will replace it.After you ship, archive the file with a note: “Version X – retired 2025-10-22.”

4. A Mini‑Exercise: The “One‑Pass” Challenge

  1. Pick a small project (a blog post, a slide deck, a short code snippet).
  2. Write a “Definition of Done” with exactly three bullet points.
  3. Set a timer for 45 minutes and work without opening any editing tools or feedback channels.
  4. When the timer ends, stop—no matter how incomplete it feels.
  5. Do one final, 5‑minute review against your checklist. If it meets all three points, hit “publish.”

Result: You’ll experience how much you can accomplish when you deliberately stop editing. Most people are shocked to find the output already valuable.

5. When “Done” Isn’t a Destination, It’s a Habit

The goal isn’t to become a sloppy producer; it’s to become a deliberate one. By embedding the practices above into your daily workflow, you turn “finished” from a rare event into a reliable habit.

Takeaway: The compulsion to edit forever is a symptom of abundant tools, cultural perfectionism, and endless feedback. The antidote is structure: clear deadlines, explicit “done” criteria, and a finite number of revisions. When you give yourself permission to close a project, you free mental bandwidth for the next creative spark.

6. Closing Thought

Imagine a shoreline where the tide recedes just enough to reveal a clean, straight line in the sand—a line that says, “We built this, and we’re proud of it.” That line isn’t a mistake; it’s a statement.

The next time you feel the urge to keep polishing, ask yourself:

“Am I adding value, or am I just keeping the tide from coming in?”

If the answer leans toward the latter, it’s time to step back, declare it done, and let the next wave of ideas wash onto the beach.

Happy creating—and happy finishing!

Feel free to share your own “done” rituals in the comments. Let’s build a community that celebrates completion as much as it does creation.

‘Sunday in New York’ – A beta reader’s view

I’m not a fan of romance novels but …

There was something about this one that resonated with me.

This is a novel about a world generally ruled by perception, and how people perceive what they see, what they are told, and what they want to believe.

I’ve been guilty of it myself as I’m sure we all have at one time or another.

For the main characters Harry and Alison there are other issues driving their relationship.

For Alison, it is a loss of self-worth through losing her job and from losing her mother and, in a sense, her sister.

For Harry, it is the fact he has a beautiful and desirable wife, and his belief she is the object of other men’s desires, and one in particular, his immediate superior.

Between observation, the less than honest motives of his friends, a lot of jumping to conclusions based on very little fact, and you have the basis of one very interesting story.

When it all comes to a head, Alison finds herself in a desperate situation, she realises only the truth will save their marriage.

But is it all the truth?

What would we do in similar circumstances?

Rarely does a book have me so enthralled that I could not put it down until I knew the result. They might be considered two people who should have known better, but as is often the case, they had to get past what they both thought was the truth.

And the moral of this story, if it could be said there is one, nothing is ever what it seems.

…

Available on Amazon here: amzn.to/2H7ALs8

…

An excerpt from “Echoes from the Past”

Available on Amazon Kindle here:  https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

…

With my attention elsewhere, I walked into a man who was hurrying in the opposite direction.  He was a big man with a scar running down the left side of his face from eye socket to mouth, and who was also wearing a black shirt with a red tie.

That was all I remembered as my heart almost stopped.

He apologized as he stepped to one side, the same way I stepped, as I also muttered an apology.

I kept my eyes down.  He was not the sort of man I wanted to recognize later in a lineup.  I stepped to the other side and so did he.  It was one of those situations.  Finally getting out of sync, he kept going in his direction, and I towards the bus, which was now pulling away from the curb.

Getting my breath back, I just stood riveted to the spot watching it join the traffic.  I looked back over my shoulder, but the man I’d run into had gone.  I shrugged and looked at my watch.  It would be a few minutes before the next bus arrived.

Wait, or walk?  I could also go by subway, but it was a long walk to the station.  What the hell, I needed the exercise.

At the first intersection, the ‘Walk’ sign had just flashed to ‘Don’t Walk’.  I thought I’d save a few minutes by not waiting for the next green light.  As I stepped onto the road, I heard the screeching of tires.

A yellow car stopped inches from me.

It was a high powered sports car, perhaps a Lamborghini.  I knew what they looked like because Marcus Bartleby owned one, as did every other junior executive in the city with a rich father.

Everyone stopped to look at me, then the car.  It was that sort of car.  I could see the driver through the windscreen shaking his fist, and I could see he was yelling too, but I couldn’t hear him.  I stepped back onto the sidewalk, and he drove on.  The moment had passed and everyone went back to their business.

My heart rate hadn’t come down from the last encounter.   Now it was approaching cardiac arrest, so I took a few minutes and several sets of lights to regain composure.

At the next intersection, I waited for the green light, and then a few seconds more, just to be sure.  I was no longer in a hurry.

At the next, I heard what sounded like a gunshot.  A few people looked around, worried expressions on their faces, but when it happened again, I saw it was an old car backfiring.  I also saw another yellow car, much the same as the one before, stopped on the side of the road.  I thought nothing of it, other than it was the second yellow car I’d seen.

At the next intersection, I realized I was subconsciously heading towards Harry’s new bar.   It was somewhere on 6th Avenue, so I continued walking in what I thought was the right direction.

I don’t know why I looked behind me at the next intersection, but I did.  There was another yellow car on the side of the road, not far from me.  It, too, looked the same as the original Lamborghini, and I was starting to think it was not a coincidence.

Moments after crossing the road, I heard the roar of a sports car engine and saw the yellow car accelerate past me.  As it passed by, I saw there were two people in it, and the blurry image of the passenger; a large man with a red tie.

Now my imagination was playing tricks.

It could not be the same man.  He was going in a different direction.

In the few minutes I’d been standing on the pavement, it had started to snow; early for this time of year, and marking the start of what could be a long cold winter.  I shuddered, and it was not necessarily because of the temperature.

I looked up and saw a neon light advertising a bar, coincidentally the one Harry had ‘found’ and, looking once in the direction of the departing yellow car, I decided to go in.  I would have a few drinks and then leave by the back door if it had one.

Just in case.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

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The fifth attempt, and now it’s a launching pad

I have a stab at improving this starting piece every now and then, a project that started about a year or so ago, and I find myself rewriting the start over and over because I’m not satisfied with the characterization.

It’s not so much the storyline, as it is in trying to create sympathy for the character, and not find him as dull as Ditchwater.  But that takes words, and no one wants to read a biography when they want full-on mayhem.

As writers, we tend to create colourful characters and shy away from those who are dull and boring, because after all, as a reader, you want to become something or someone who is far from ordinary. 

Well, Sam/Graham has a past, and it might catch up with him, but just not in the way he imagined it might. I haven’t quite decided what that past is, but hiding out under witness protection, or just hiding away from a world that he no longer understands is still in the balance.

…

They say trouble comes when you least expect it.

I can attest to that. It does.

I was at the end of my shift. Another shift, another bright, another 10 hours of my life gone, doing a job that, had you asked me 20 years ago would I be here, I would have said no.

Circumstances and stupidity put me here, and it’s not as if I didn’t deserve it. I was told I had choices, and I did, but I didn’t make the right one.

There are excuses, but that was all they were; excuses.

Jim was like me, and like Joe, and like Mike. My name was Sam. They were easy names to remember, we didn’t need to know much more than that, only that we had each other’s back.

“Usual weekend?” Jim asked.

I was heading towards the kitchen to get my small fridge bag, then out the back door and off home.

“The boat and the lake await.”

“You still expecting to find fish in that swamp?” Mike had been with me one weekend, and nothing took the bait.

After six or so months I was beginning to think the locals were right. There were no fish.

“Miracles can still happen.”

“Yeah, right. You should come hunting with us.”

“Don’t like guns.”

Not any more, anyway. There was a time I was happy to use one, when I had purpose, and there was a reason to use it.

“Then why pick a job that needs one?”

“Chances of having to use it, zero, Mike. If I have to I will, but until then…”

I left it there. We’d had this conversation and it always ended the same way.

I collected the bag, told them I’d see them next Monday, the start of the next shift, and stepped out the back door into the early morning dawn, that period just as the light came.

Silent, fresh, the promise of either a good day or a bad. I wasn’t sure. I glanced over towards the car and it was covered in snow.  The weather was clear now, but I could feel more snow was coming.  A white Christmas?  That’s all I needed. 

As I approached my car, the light went on inside an SUV parked next to my car.  The door opened and what looked to be a woman was getting out of the car.

“Graham?”

That was another thing about the members of my team. Our current first names were not necessarily our real names. It was a voice I was familiar with, though I hadn’t heard it for a long time.

I looked again and was shocked to see my ultra-successful sister, Penelope.  She was leaning against the front side fender, and from what I could see, didn’t look too well.

How on earth did she find me, after all the years that had passed?  Perhaps that sparked my un-conciliatory question, “What do you want?”

I could see the surprise and then the hurt in her expression.  Perhaps I had been a little harsh.  Whatever she felt, it passed and she said, “Help.”

My help?  Help with what? I was the last person who could help her, or anyone for that matter, with anything.   But curiosity got the better of me.  “Why?”

“I think my husband is trying to kill me.”

Then, with that said, she slid down the side of the car, and I could see, in the arc lamps lighting the car park, a trail of blood.

My first thought was she needed the help of a doctor, not a stupid brother, then a second thought, to call 911, which I did, and hoped like hell they got here in time.

And, yes, there was a third thought that crossed my mind.  Whether or not I would be blamed for this event.

…

So, from the last version to this, I decided we didn’t need a sob story, it’s one that can play out as and when circumstances require an explanation for our main character’s disposition.

And I have this renewed vigour for getting into action as soon as possible, and, as you can imagine a lot more is about to happen, in about three sentences time.

Exactly what that is, you will have to wait…

…

© Charles Heath 2022-2025

The fourth attempt, other factors, and people

Two other characters will be used in this rewrite; the second is an addition to give the main character a means of letting the reader get to know a bit about him.

His name is Milt, an African American who’s always been on the fringe.  Another is a victim of his circumstances, but not letting it get the better of him, the sort of man who makes the best of a bad situation.

He’s seen active service in the army, honourably discharged, but still affected, though not as bad as some of those he served with.  He is, in fact, the ideal man for the job, with combat experience, so he’s not likely to get flustered in a shit storm.

And probably not the man you want on this site.  Being in desperate circumstances doesn’t mean you do desperate things.

He is one of a team of four, and our main character drew the straw to partner with him.  There are two others, based on the other side of the park, neither of whom is trustworthy: Smithy, the overall leader, to whom they all report at shift start and end, and Carruthers, an Englishman reputed to be ex-SAS, but no one is inclined to believe him. 

The scars on his neck tell a story, but it was left to the other’s imagination, as he doesn’t talk about it.  Milt believed he was captured in Afghanistan and tortured, but that could just be canteen scuttlebutt.

Whatever the circumstances, Graham kept away from him as much as possible and was glad when he didn’t have to partner with him for the shift.

The other character, Penelope, is featured in the earlier versions of the story.  Over the changes, her background has changed, but I’ve settled on a medical surgeon career, renowned for doing tricky procedures with a high success rate, and in doing so, gained a reputation, some not always good.

Wealth and ego don’t always make a good pair, and marrying wealth brings its own rewards and pitfalls, particularly when you discover the man you married isn’t exactly who you thought he was.

It is, of course, a typical scenario, but I’m going to try and weave it differently.  There will be no more teasers until the story starts.

But she will be introduced earlier than in the previous iterations because she needs some backstory, too; otherwise, just arriving at Graham’s work and getting shot, while provoking a volatile situation that drags the reader in and out of left field, is not exactly the best start.

So, let’s begin.

…

© Charles Heath 2024

Writing about writing a book – Day 12 continues

Digging deeper into the war.

There is always something to be found that can be very interesting, and sometimes, when following more obscure links in web pages, you can either finish up having your computer trashed, or you find a gem.

As you can imagine, when I saw the CIA, I thought, OK, this fits my penchant for conspiracies and subterfuge, and when I stumbled across this thing called the Phoenix Program.  Whether it existed or not, one can never sure when reading about CIA activities, its premise gives me an avenue to attach a few shady characters and let them run with it.

Then, of course, there was a film which I noticed was on cable TV, so I watched it.  Air America, and whether that was true or not, it gave me another idea, and so the characterization of Colonel Davenport will fit into both these scenarios.

I suspect there may have been one or two more enterprising officers who saw an opportunity to not only appear to fulfill the parameters of their mission, but also make a little money on the side, setting up an operation within an operation, whether it’s to move into a black market arms supply, or moving and selling drugs from what was called the golden triangle that may or may not have included Cambodia.

That also lends itself to Davenport, when Bill finally catches on to what he is up to, arranging for his capture and removal to a prisoner of war campo over the border in Cambodia.  It could also probably have been in Laos, at the CIA may or may not have been running an operation there as well.

There is so much now to consider.

I now have to find out about airbases and personnel, come up with a suitable band of misfits, find out what sort of aircraft and land transport could be involved in moving the contraband, and a little more about Saigon back in the mid-sixties.