Category: Fiction

‘What Sets Us Apart’ – A beta readers view

There’s something to be said for a story that starts like a James Bond movie, throwing you straight in the deep end, a perfect way of getting to know the main character, David, or is that Alistair?

A retired spy, well not so much a spy as a retired errand boy, David’s rather wry description of his talents, and a woman that most men would give their left arm for, not exactly the ideal couple, but there is a spark in a meeting that may or may not have been a setup.

But as the story progressed, the question I kept asking myself was why he’d bother.

And, page after unrelenting page, you find out.

Susan is exactly the sort of woman to pique his interest.  Then, inexplicably, she disappears.  That might have been the end to it, but Prendergast, that shadowy enigma, David’s ex-boss who loves playing games with real people, gives him an ultimatum, find her or come back to work.

Nothing like an offer that’s a double-edged sword!

A dragon for a mother, a sister he didn’t know about, Susan’s BFF who is not what she seems or a friend indeed, and Susan’s father who, up till David meets her, couldn’t be less interested, his nemesis proves to be the impossible dream, and he’s always just that one step behind.

When the rollercoaster finally came to a halt, and I could start breathing again, it was an ending that was completely unexpected.

I’ve been told there’s a sequel in the works.

Bring it on!

…

The book can be purchased here:  http://amzn.to/2Eryfth

…

Writing a book in 365 days – 361/362

Days 361 and 362 – Writing exercise

A member of a group in a remote location during a team bonding camp goes missing

…

My job was not an easy one.  Working in HR for a family-run business, a particularly successful one, brought with it specific challenges.

Over the years, working for the grandfather, then the father and his brother, had its moments, but they were all successful and influential.  They earned respect and rewarded loyalty.

But, moving into a different world, a vastly different economic climate and commercial challenges brought on more aggressive competition, as well as a new generation, it wasn’t quite the same as it had been in the past.

I was an anachronism from a different generation.  My contemporaries had moved on, and between the Managing Director and me, we were the last two to hand over the reins to a younger generation.

The boss to his son, Chester Wordsworth Moseby III, and me the the Assistant HR Manager, Walter James, who was not my son.

I just had to survive until the end of the annual team bonding exercise, which was designed to strengthen the working relationships of the top management group, and had been for the last ten years.

It was staged on an Island paradise, a place that could also be hell on earth depending on the package purchased, and ours was for various teams to be dropped in different parts of the island, and the ‘teams’ work together to get back to base.

A simple exercise for each team if they work together.  Three days maximum.  And in the ten previous events, not a single problem, though it did identify those who were not necessarily ‘team players’.

That, I suspected, was not going to be the case this year, a fear I kept to myself because the one reservation I had and communicated to the boss had been heard and dismissed.

It made me wonder, briefly, if I was being overly cautious, and I decided that it soon wouldn’t be my problem.

…

Even so, I was one of those people who worried about consequences, and one who knew that little things mattered.

Little things, such as reports that didn’t find their way to my desk, little things that subordinates filed away, doing what they were told rather than what was expected of them.

And finding out about some of them quite by accident, a week before the event.  Disquieting, but pointing to a planned action by a certain individual which, if allowed to continue, would have consequences for the company.

I had done my duty of care, and it was noted, if ignored.  I pondered the situation for three days before I decided to take action.

It would be my last act for the company.

It led to two actions.

The first was a phone call.  I was sitting in the park opposite the company headquarters building, where I had been every day for nearly the last 45 years, and where I first met the woman I eventually married.

A surly voice on the other end answered.

“David.  What are you doing for the next two weeks?”

“Dad?  Why?”

“I have a little job for you and three of those interesting friends of yours.”

“What have you done?”

“Nothing.  Well, perhaps something, but I think you’ll like it.”

He sighed.  He had told me that all he wanted to do was relax.  This was almost as good.

“OK, what kind of mess have you made now?”

The second was an invitation to a picnic lunch.

I had been watching a young woman, Millie, climb slowly through the ranks, battling a corporate mentality that favoured men over women, and it had been getting better until the father announced his retirement, and the son assumed some of the responsibility.

Unlike his father, he was no judge of character and certainly didn’t promote on merit.

But that wasn’t the only problem with the new wave of management.  The son was in trouble, and had been for a long time, and being the only son, he had traded on indulgent parents.

He had a bad history with women, outside of the company, with his relationships, each foundering, I suspect, when the women in question discovered his character, or lack of it, and then dealings within the company.

That disdain had landed on Millie, the latest in a line of women he had tried to date and failed.  She had, like others before her, complained, but those complaints never reached me, and the one I’d found was by accident.

And then it didn’t take long to find the test, the pattern, and the enablers.  Like I said, it was going to be my final act.

The girl who had first arrived seven years ago was shy, but intelligent, unworldly, yet had a manner about her whose qualifications were impeccable and a work ethic the father looked for in his employees.

The father also thought her the ideal wife for his errant son.  That, I’d told him, would never happen.  The son tried and failed led and then did something stupid.

It’s how he got on my radar.

She sat at the other end of the bench and looked far from the young woman she had become.

“I got your letter of resignation,” I said.  “I can’t say I’m surprised.  Now that I know the truth.  I’m just a little disappointed you didn’t trust me.”

I could understand.  She didn’t know what my situation was, or where my loyalty lay.

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t know who I could trust.”

“Trust has to be earned.  And to do that, I have a job for you.  It might go pear-shaped because we’re dealing with an unstable entity.”

“Chester?”

“At least we agree on that, then.”

“If you knew…”

“Suspected, because I didn’t have the previous complaints.  You’re not the only one who now has trust issues.  I’m sorry you had to endure what happened, but it isn’t going to stop unless we do something about it.”

“How?  The entitled son of a bitch had been allowed to get away with it for too long.  His friends are everywhere.”

I looked around.  “They’re not here, now.  And where he’s going, not so many.  Top management, only this year, people of my choosing.  A place where he cannot leave until I say he can.  A place where anything can happen, and probably will.”

“Give me a gun.”

“You kill him, you will have to go to jail.  Sorry.  I can’t condone murder.  But a lesson, a very tough lesson, might work.  The thing is, I need your help, but if you prefer not to, that’s fine.  I’ll make sure you get a glowing reference and suitable compensation.  But if you stay, and help me…”

“There isn’t really any upside…”

“Just think about it.  Please.”

…

It was stifling on the island, particularly out on the field.  There was shelter, if you knew where to look, and food.

There was a day of basic training, which, if you were smart, you listened and learned, just in case you got disoriented, lost, or injured.

Those who didn’t get what they deserved.  Humiliation when they had to be rescued.  People thought that because it was an island, it would be easy to get back to the main camp.

It was not.  The island was bigger than it looked, especially when arriving in the corporate jet.  From 20,000 feet, it looked small.

When the teams were delivered to their drop-off point, the helicopters stayed at tree height, and moving so fast was disorienting, so players did not get a sense of direction or any landmarks to find their way back.

They didn’t get one compass and a heading.  They got food for three days, rations and water each.

Four teams of six, each with a chain of command that was supposed to work together.

The other team, well, it went exactly as I expected.

Chester’s team was different.  Chester, his cousin, a yes man, the CFO, who hated him, the Administration manager, who was indecisive, Millie, who finally agreed to go, and Eileen, a senior PA, an outdoors adventuress.

On paper, it was the strongest team.

Three days later, the other three teams were home and luxuriating in the spa before attending a banquet.

Chester and his cousin, Walter, were in two separate cages, the sort American soldiers captured in Vietnam by the Viet Cong were held, the CFO and Administration manager were being escorted to another camp where they would be ‘interrogated’, and Millie and the adventuress were exploring the island with a guide.

The adventure of a lifetime package.  It went for a week.  Long enough to terrorise Chester over crimes he did not commit, but didn’t know that.  They were getting the prisoner-of-war package.

So was I, for all intents and purposes.

Chester thought for all of ten seconds that I had come to save him.

“Richards, thank God.  Pay them whatever it takes and let’s get out of this shithole.”

I thought the theatrics were brilliant.  My clothes were torn, blood stains on my shirt and a headband that belied a whack from the butt of a rifle.  Certainly, my handling in front of him was rough.

“What did you do to piss these people off?”  I growled, the manner of a man not happy about his situation.

The man behind my shilling me in the back with his rifle barrel, just hard enough to hurt, said, with anger and feeling, “You’re wasting your time with this piece of shit.  Chucked two women in the river.  Drowned them.”

My cage was next to his.  I was shoved in the door closed.

“You killed them?  Why?”

“What do you mean, I killed them.  They fell in the river, and I tried to save them.”

I’d reviewed the video footage.  There had been an argument at the drop-off zone, which was near the River.  The Adventuress had suggested they follow the river, Chester said they were dumb bitches who knew nothing, Millie said they were supposed to be a team, and then Chester shoved both women into the river, telling them they could follow the river … from within it.

Unexpected, but every eventuality had been covered.  David and his team rescued them from the river.  A day later, they picked up the others, split then, and brought Chester and Wally to the cages, then contacted me.

“We’ve got video.  They fished two bodies out of the river a day later, and they’re in the process of calling the authorities.  You’re going to be charged with murder.  If we get off this island.”

“Murder?  That’s ridiculous.”

“That as may be, but I got the call, brought a million bucks ransom, and here I am.  They took the money and now want five million.  This isn’t going to end well.”

“Not if you pay them.”

“You don’t get it.  We pay, the person paying becomes a prisoner, and they demand more.  There is one other small problem: we don’t pay, they started executing prisoners.”

He snorted.  “World’s dumbest kidnappers.  You kill the hostages, how do you get paid?”

Not as dumb as he looks, then.

…

It took 10 days to break him.

When he was brought back to the main camp, a shadow of his former self, his father was there to meet him.

He had been reviewing the interrogation tapes, where bragging had been replaced by bluff, blustery and then the truth.

It wasn’t pretty, and his father couldn’t believe that his son could be that reprehensible.  Until he realised the truth.

Needless to say, I didn’t get the reception I expected, but I guess it was, in the end, for the greater good.

He was astonished to find that Millie was still alive, not only alive but so much better for her experience.  She was still close to leaving because she believed a leopard would never change its spots.

In the back of my mind, she was probably right.

As for the rest, only Wally left.  The experience had destroyed him.  And I doubt he and Chester would ever speak again.

Chester’s enablers at the company were fired, and Chester did not move into the top job, not for five years.  Nobody ever found out what happened on the island, where he had been held or by whom.  Only Millie and I knew that, and she never told anyone.

It wasn’t a surprise that some years later, she married David, and I got to see her and my grandchildren every year on the island until I was too old to travel.

Chester eventually died in a car accident, rather conveniently making an investigation into commercial malfeasance on his part go away, but sadly wrapping up the company’s 145-year history.

It was always going to happen; they could not weather the foreign import storm, and hadn’t diversified fast enough to keep the company afloat.

As for that fateful team-building event, what happened died with me, the report Chester’s father had asked me to write never saw the light of day, and now, well, it was just folklore, a day that was commemorated as the day Chester grew up.

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

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.

…

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

…

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to write a war story – Episode 18

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.

Whilst I have always had a fascination in what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.

And, so, it continues…

 

It was clear, however, that Marina was familiar with the man and very annoyed with the woman.

When I took a longer look at the man, I realised he was not a man at all, but a boy in his teens, blessed by the fact he looked older than he was.  My guess, about 16.  I was surprised he had not been conscripted into the war, there seemed very few young men in the area.

Marina went straight over to him and snatched the elderly rifle he was holding away from him, the glared at Chiara

“Are you stark staring mad.  Enrico is not supposed to be out in the open, hell, it’s been a battle to keep him hidden away.  What will his parents think when they discover he’s here?”

“Pleased,” Enrico said.  “My father said it’s about time I did something to rid of the Germans, of the English too for that matter.  None of you has any right to be here.”

Fervently spoken, and to the wrong person, it would earn him a bullet to the back of the head.  But I agreed with him.

“All well and good,” Marina said to him, “but now there’s no easy way of doing that.  We must be careful, and you must stay put with your parents.  What we’re doing isn’t a game, you are neither trained or equipped to take anyone on, except perhaps rabbits.”

Back at Chiara.  “Take him home, and never bring him back here.  You don’t want to be the one who has to tell his mother if he gets killed.  Now, both of you go now, before I shoot both of you myself.”

“This is not the end of the matter,” Enrico said.

“And when you’ve taken him back, come back here.  We need to talk.”

Chiara said nothing, just nodded sullenly.  I think she believed the less said the better and did as she was asked, nodding her head in his direction, and adding a few choice phrases in Italian to him that I couldn’t understand.  It also just occurred to me that she had not asked Chiara the questions about the two men from the castle.  I guess that would have to wait until the safety of Enrico was settled, and she returned.

“Make sure they’re safe,” she said to Carlo, and he disappeared, leaving us alone.

“I thought all of the young men had been taken away by the Italian Army.”

“Not all.  We managed to hide a few away, but as you can see, despite our best efforts, they don’t seem to appreciate the trouble they could get into.  We used to have about a hundred young men from 14 through to 20 at the start of the war.  Two have found their way back, casualties of war, the rest, we may never see them again.  Enrico just doesn’t see the trouble he could get into.”

“It’s called youthful enthusiasm.  In the first world war, joining up, or going to war, was a lark.  It was a little less so this time because most of the parents knew from firsthand experience what it was like and tried to shield them.  And if you didn’t join up, questions were asked, and quite often jail, except for some who landed cushy jobs away from the fighting.”

“You were not so lucky?”

“No, I was one of those mad buggers who thought joining up to fight would be an adventure.  That quickly faded when the enemy started shooting at me.”

“And now you’re here, and a spy to boot.  That’s what they’ll hang on you if you get caught.”

“Then I shall try very hard not to get caught.  Again.”

 

Chiara came back about an hour later.  It seemed to me it was a lot safer to move around at night with the blackout, and I doubted Thompson would spare any men from the castle to check up on the local farmers.

And while I was at the castle, I didn’t hear anything raised about the local resistance, which I thought odd at the time, but now I knew why.  Most of them had joined him.  Better that than be hunted down and killed.

Chiara still looked sullen.  A closer look showed she was not very old herself, barely out of her twenties, and surprising that the Italian army, or Thomson for that matter, had not rounded her up for ‘duties’ at the castle.

There were a number of the local women working up at the castle, but they were mostly staff, or more likely forced labour, though I had thought we, when I believed it to be a British outpost, would be fairer to the locals than either the Germans or their own Italian military.  It’s odd how you tend to look at certain situations because of who you are, and the fact you would not do similar things at home.  The Germans, however, we would always treat differently, because they were the enemy, and because we expected the worst from them.  At that moment, though, wouldn’t the Germans think the same of us if the positions were reversed?

Best not to think about that.  My view of the war and the people in it was clouded enough.

Chiara, however, clearly thought the worst of me, and of those in the castle, and certainly didn’t think I was as neutral as I appeared.  A gun always in hand, I was sure she would shoot me again with the least provocation.

We sat, both Chiara and Marina with their weapons on the table in front of them.  I wasn’t trusted enough to be given a weapon.

Marina’s first question was directed at Chiara, “I’m told there were two men from the castle following Sam, and that he told you about them.”

“He did.  We did not see them.  We didn’t take the path, because, as you know, it’s not safe.”

It was a reasonable answer.  If the men at the castle were unfamiliar with the area, as I’m sure they would be, because they hadn’t been there for very long, and I doubt Thompson would want to advertise the nationality of those at the castle unless he had to, they would stick to the clearly-marked roads and paths.

I had on my way to the castle, from a different direction.  It didn’t explain why I had not been met by the leader of the resistance as arranged, but that was now explained, both by the former leader trying to kill me in a roadside explosion, and then what I learned at the castle in the last few days.

“Even so, there’s not that much distance between the two, and it is possible to shadow them.”

“I keep well away from them.  Perhaps Leonardo saw them.  He doesn’t have to worry about what they might do because they use him to supply food.  Maybe he knows more.”

“Perhaps I shall ask him next time I see him.  We need to know who from the castle is about and when so that we don’t get caught.”

“I’ll remember next time.  Is that all?”

“Yes.”

Chiara picked up her gun, gave me an extra-long sullen stare.  “I don’t trust this one, Marina.  You 

need to be careful.”

“I will.”

We waited a few minutes until after she had departed, and then Marina said, “We should be going too.  This place is a little eerie at night.  There are far too many ghosts for my liking.”

I shuddered, then followed her out.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

A long short story that can’t be tamed – I never wanted to be an eyewitness – 1

One

I often wondered what it meant to go ‘stir crazy,’.

I think it had something to do with being in prison, locked away in solitary confinement, and, if it was, then I knew exactly what it was like.

I’d been locked away in this room for nearly two months, waiting to testify against a criminal who had, up until now, managed to ‘remove’ any obstacle in his path to remaining free to continue his illegal activities.

Not that I had any intention of ending up in the world’s tightest, secure facility.  It happened because Joe Latanzio, one of the most dangerous crime bosses, decided to kill someone in front of me.  Well, not exactly in front of me, but I did witness it, and I could very clearly identify him without ambiguity.  It had him arrested and sent to jail.

He knew there was a witness, but although he had a name, it was not mine, and it was untraceable.  That and the obscured photos in the papers also made it impossible for his cronies to find me.

All we had to worry about was whether one of the guards or the security detail would sell out to his family, who were offering a reward of up to a million dollars to spill the true identity of the witness.

Me.

And, so far no one had, or at least that was what they were telling me.  There was no way of knowing because my current residence was impenetrable.  If it had, we’d only find out the day I had to go into court and testify.

That day was tomorrow.

It was like I was the criminal, waiting on death row, having to have that final meal before execution.

And living with the expectation that I was going to die.

Unfortunately, there were no guarantees, and the head of my security detail, Amy Childern, competent and successful at her job as her resume testified, couldn’t rule out the possibility that there might be trouble.  All she would give me was her assurance she would do everything within her power to keep me alive.

But in having so much time to think about the ramifications of what testifying might be, I realized the court case wasn’t the full extent of the problem, but once the trial was over I knew it would be the beginning of a life of looking over my shoulder.

Yes, there was the option of disappearing into the witsec ether, but that was never going to be the answer.  There would always be the temptation on the table from the defendant’s family who would never give up looking for me, regardless of the outcome of the trial.

Put quite simply and based on what I had overheard from other members of my security detail, life as I’d known it, was over.

Not that my life amounted to very much before this happened.  I had no family, being orphaned very early in life, and bounced around the foster care system, so that there were no people I’d call parents.  And after a stint in the Army, I found myself at a loose end, unable to hold down a job, and just drifted, until I finished up in the wrong place at the wrong time

You know the sort. John Doe of no fixed address. That was me.  Except I had a name, or two, the current being Al Jones, and a photo that was deliberately diffused so that anyone looking at it would not recognize me in real life.

I also now had a social security number but that was only to make me appear a credible witness.  There was nothing to find other than a number and a name.

As Amy said, I’d come from nowhere and would be going back there once this notorious criminal was locked up. It was meant to be reassuring but it wasn’t.

But despite any misgivings I might have right now, I’d made a commitment and would honour it.

Nobody expected they would make an attempt on my life in the hotel.

As far as they were aware no one knew I was there, but to an astute observer who knew something of the motivation behind keeping witnesses safe, there would be no mistaking the number of out-of-place personnel in the hotel, starting at the lobby.

And for those working for Latanzio, they’d had close to two months to check out every hotel in the city and there would be people working for him who knew the witness protection procedures.  After all, there had been four before me, found and murdered before they got to court.

Those were odds that would tell anyone that this was a lost cause.

My detail for this morning consisted of four, headed up by Amy who said she would stay with me.  Outside Larry was number 2 and would be with me too.  Jeff and Wes made up the rest of the team and were stationed below in the garage waiting with a bulletproof car.

I made a joke previously as to whether it would withstand a handheld rocket, and Amy chose to ignore it.  Perhaps she had not seen what one could do or believe that criminals could get their hands on one.

After breakfast where again the condemned man had a hearty meal, it was a half-hour wait before we moved.  It was tense inside the room.  And outside where Larry was stationed.

At the appropriate time, he was to knock, Amy would answer, and it would be the all-clear.

I was down to counting seconds.

When the time came and Larry knocked on the door we both jumped.  A look passed between us.  The time had come.  We were not expecting trouble.

Amy opened the door, not completely, but just ajar.

It was what saved her life.

A second later Larry came through the door to the accompaniment of several silenced rounds.

Two events happened in quick succession.

As Larry came through the door and fell forwards propelled by the shots, he managed to free his gun and throw it in my direction.

A man followed him, firing more rounds randomly, none hitting a target, while Amy, taking a few extra milliseconds to realise what was happening, drew her gun and started firing at the figure who just passed the edge of the door.

He was not going to be the only one.

As more bullets were fired into the room, a second gunman from outside the room must have seen his partner go down and pressed forward.  He saw me the same time I had the gun thrown to me aimed at him and I squeezed off three rounds and put him down.  I mentally thanked the Army for teaching me to shoot.  If only I had a military issue M16.

Silence fell over the scene.

Amy was trying to raise the other two in the team but they were not responding.  Nor was the lookout in the foyer.  The was a slight hint of panic in her tone, especially when she realized there was no time to raise the alarm by phone.  It was now a matter of how many gunmen Latanzio had hired.

I picked up the two guns from the now-dead gunmen and threw one to her.  “How many men did he sent the last time,” I asked her.

She looked startled for a moment, then slipped back into battle mode.  “Six.”

“Then let’s hope he hasn’t rewritten the playbook.”

We didn’t have time to check and see if Larry was OK, but the glance I got showed no sign of life.  I don’t think, when he left for work this morning, he thought it might be his last day on this mortal earth.

I reached the door and closed it.  A second later several bullets slammed into it.  It was solid enough to withstand them.  Once shut, the door was locked and unless they had a key, they could not get in.

Amy nodded towards the connecting door to the room next door.  For the last week, she had been staying in it.  Now, it was one possible escape route.

The door handle rattled, and I heard a voice outside say, “it’s locked.”  They didn’t have a key.  For the moment.  Perhaps they should have frisked Larry first before killing him.

She walked backward slowly, gun raised and pointed at the door as I backed up in the same direction.  I went first, she followed, and then shut the door behind us.  Locked from her side, they would not get in, key or no key.

10 maybe 15 seconds later we heard the door next door open and then self-shut with a muffled bang.  Next, there was a voice, “Where the hell are they?”

There would be two or more on lower floors cutting off our escape out of the building.  There was two next door.  We were out the door of the room next door, and ready to catch them when they realized we had escaped, and they had to exit the room.

When they did, an agonizing minute later, they were dead before they took two steps into the corridor.

Whoever planned this execution, didn’t plan it very well.  Or maybe he didn’t know that I would be comfortable around guns.  If I hadn’t, we’d both be dead by now.

Time to take a deep breath.  This was not over.

…

© Charles Heath 2024

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job? – Episode 1

Always the unexpected

….

I was walking past a fast food outlet, minding my own business when an explosion behind me first threw me about 20 feet along the sidewalk and then dumped a whole lot of building rubbish on me.

So much for minding my own business.

Dazed, half deaf, and bleeding from several shrapnel wounds, I slowly got to my feet and looked back in the direction of where I thought the explosion happened.

Wrong. It was in the other direction. No surprise with the disorientation.

Not far from me, I could see several others on the ground through the settling cloud of dust, bodies lying on the pathway, not moving. A number of cars that had been driving past had got caught almost directly by the blast and had been severely damaged. Other cars behind had crashed into them.

The storefront I had just passed was now just a pile of rubble, much like photos of houses during the blitz and anyone caught in it would not have survived.

Still slightly disorientated, I could hear sirens in the distance, and then, above that, as my hearing slightly improved, screams from people who had taken the full brunt of the explosion.

I headed towards the nearest of the injured when I was knocked abruptly to the ground by two men running away from the scene. It took a few moments to realize these men must have had something to do with the explosion and were fleeing.

I scrambled to my feet and started running after them. They were some distance in front of me as was an oncoming police car, and I thought they could take up the chase, and stopped.

Instead, it drove straight past the two men and stopped opposite me, and before knew what was happening, I was on the ground with four weapons trained on my head, and three of them yelling that if I moved they would shoot me.

I tried telling them about the two fleeing men I’d been chasing but no one was listening.

I had a knee in my back and a gun to my head. This wasn’t going to end well for someone.

…

© Charles Heath 2018-2023

Writing a book in 365 days – My Story

Publication Is Not the Finish Line

…

Publication Is Not the Finish Line – It’s the Start of a New Race

When the last word is typed, the manuscript is formatted, the cover is designed, and the “Published” banner finally glows on the screen, a wave of relief (and often a dash of triumph) washes over any writer. We’ve all imagined that moment: the crisp “Publish” button pressed, the celebratory confetti, the instant surge of validation.

But here’s the uncomfortable truth—the moment you click “Publish” is not the finish line; it’s the start line of an entirely different race.

Whether you’re a novelist, a researcher, a marketer, or a hobbyist blogger, the real work begins the instant your creation becomes publicly accessible. In this post, we’ll unpack why publication is only the opening act, explore the stages that follow, and give you a practical roadmap to turn that freshly minted piece into lasting impact.

1. The Myth of “Done”

The “Publication = Completion” Narrative

From school assignments to best‑selling novels, we’re conditioned to view the act of publishing as the final checkpoint. We’re taught:

  • Write → Edit → Submit → Publish → Celebrate.

That tidy linear progression feels satisfying because it mirrors the way we often approach tasks—one box ticked after another.

Why This Myth Is Dangerous

Treating publication as the endpoint can:

  • Stifle Momentum: You risk slipping into a “mission accomplished” lull, letting your work gather dust.
  • Undermine Reach: Without proactive promotion, even the most brilliant piece can remain invisible.
  • Ignore Feedback Loops: Readers, reviewers, and metrics provide crucial data that can refine future work—but only if you listen.

2. The Real Work Begins: What Happens After the Ink Dries

Below is a six‑step framework that turns a fresh release into a living, breathing asset—one that continues to attract, engage, and convert audiences long after the initial launch.

PhaseWhat It Looks LikeWhy It Matters
A. Visibility & DistributionSEO, social media blasts, email newsletters, platform algorithmsWithout eyes on your work, impact is impossible
B. Audience EngagementComments, Q&A sessions, webinars, community buildingHuman connection fuels loyalty and word‑of‑mouth
C. Feedback CollectionReviews, surveys, analytics dashboardsData informs iteration and future projects
D. Iteration & RepurposingUpdates, sequels, spin‑off content, translationsKeeps the content fresh and expands its lifespan
E. Authority BuildingGuest posts, speaking gigs, citationsPositions you as a thought leader in your niche
F. Legacy & MonetizationAffiliate programs, courses, merchandiseConverts influence into sustainable revenue

Let’s dive deeper into each phase.

3. Phase A – Visibility & Distribution

3.1. SEO Isn’t a One‑Time Checklist

For blog posts, research papers, or e‑books, search engine optimisation is the engine that drives organic traffic. Here’s a quick SEO sprint:

ActionHow to Execute
Keyword ResearchUse tools like Ahrefs, SEMrush, or the free Google Keyword Planner. Identify primary and long‑tail keywords with moderate difficulty and decent search volume.
On‑Page OptimizationInsert the primary keyword in the title, first 100 words, sub‑headings, meta description, and image alt tags. Keep keyword density natural (≈1‑1.5%).
Internal LinkingLink to at least two related pieces on your site. This boosts dwell time and spreads link equity.
Schema MarkupAdd structured data (Article, Book, or AcademicArticle schema) so Google can display rich snippets.
PerformanceCompress images, enable lazy loading, and use a CDN to keep page load < 2 seconds.

3.2. Social Amplification

  • Twitter Threads: Break key takeaways into a 5‑tweet thread with a compelling hook and a link to the full piece.
  • LinkedIn Articles: Repurpose the content as a LinkedIn long‑form post, targeting professionals in your niche.
  • Instagram Carousel: Convert stats or plot points into a visually appealing carousel; use the “Link in Bio” for the full content.
  • TikTok Teasers: Quick 15‑second videos summarising the main idea can drive massive traffic, especially for younger audiences.

Pro Tip: Schedule a 30‑day “promotion calendar” post‑publish. Rotate content formats (quotes, infographics, video snippets) across platforms to avoid fatigue.

3.3. Email Marketing

Your email list is the most reliable traffic source. Craft a multi‑touch sequence:

  1. Announcement Email – “My new [book/paper/post] is live!”
  2. Value‑Add Follow‑up – Highlight a key insight with a downloadable cheat‑sheet.
  3. Community Invite – Invite readers to a private Slack/Discord or a live Q&A.
  4. Feedback Request – Ask for reviews, testimonials, or suggestions for future topics.

4. Phase B – Audience Engagement

4.1. Build a Conversation, Not a Broadcast

  • Comment Moderation: Respond within 24 hours. Acknowledge nuance, ask follow‑up questions, and keep the dialogue alive.
  • Live Sessions: Host a 30‑minute live stream (YouTube, Instagram Live, or Zoom) to discuss the work, field questions, and reveal behind‑the‑scenes stories.
  • User‑Generated Content (UGC): Encourage readers to share how they applied your ideas. Repost the best examples—social proof fuels further adoption.

4.2. Community Platforms

  • Discord/Slack: Create a dedicated channel for deep discussions. Pin resources, set up regular “office hours,” and reward active members with exclusive content.
  • Reddit AMAs: Participate in relevant subreddits. An “Ask Me Anything” session can expose your work to a massive, engaged audience.

5. Phase C – Feedback Collection

5.1. Quantitative Metrics

MetricToolBenchmark (for a new piece)
Page ViewsGoogle Analytics500–1,000 in the first week
Avg. Time on PageGA/Hotjar2–3 minutes (indicates depth)
Bounce RateGA< 50%
Conversion Rate (newsletter sign‑up)ConvertKit/HubSpot1–2%
Citation Count (academic)Google Scholar1–2 within 6 months

5.2. Qualitative Insights

  • Surveys: Use Typeform or Google Forms to ask readers what resonated, what confused them, and what topics they’d love next.
  • Review Mining: Scrape Amazon or Goodreads reviews for recurring themes, then feed those into your content pipeline.
  • Social Listening: Set up alerts on Brand24 or Mention for your title/author name to capture unsolicited chatter.

Why It Matters: Data transforms intuition into actionable strategy. It tells you where to double‑down and what to abandon.

6. Phase D – Iteration & Repurposing

6.1. Version Updates

  • Living Documents: For guides or research, schedule a quarterly “update” to incorporate new findings, case studies, or reader suggestions.
  • Errata Notices: If errors slip through, publish a transparent correction—readers respect honesty.

6.2. Spin‑Off Assets

OriginalSpin‑OffFormat
Blog Post (10k words)Slide DeckPowerPoint/Canva for webinars
NovelShort Story SetKindle Vella or Substack serialization
Academic PaperPodcast EpisodeInterview with co‑author
eBookMini‑CourseTeachable or Kajabi module

Repurposing multiplies reach without reinventing the wheel. Each new format taps into a different audience segment.

7. Phase E – Authority Building

7.1. Thought‑Leadership Platforms

  • Guest Columns: Pitch excerpts to industry newsletters or high‑traffic sites like Medium, HuffPost, or Forbes.
  • Speaking Engagements: Use your published work as a credential to land podcast interviews, conference panels, or university guest lectures.
  • Citation Campaigns: For academic pieces, share a “citation‑ready” graphic that includes a properly formatted reference. Makes it easier for others to cite you.

7.2. Awards & Recognitions

Enter relevant contests (e.g., indie book awards, research grants, content marketing accolades). Winning—or even being a finalist—adds a badge of credibility that amplifies future launches.

8. Phase F – Legacy & Monetisation

8.1. Evergreen Revenue Streams

StreamHow to Implement
Affiliate LinksEmbed relevant tools or books within your content; disclose transparently.
Online CoursesBreak the book’s concepts into a structured curriculum; host on Udemy or your own LMS.
Membership CommunityOffer premium Q&A, behind‑the‑scenes footage, or monthly masterclasses.
MerchandiseDesign quote‑centric tees, mugs, or posters for fans.
Paid ConsultingPosition yourself as the go‑to expert for businesses wanting to apply your methodology.

8.2. Long‑Term Archiving

  • Digital Preservation: Store final files in multiple formats (PDF, EPUB, HTML) on platforms like Internet Archive or a personal cloud backup.
  • Print Runs: For niche audiences, consider a limited‑edition print run (via Amazon KDP Print-on-Demand) that can become a collector’s item.

9. The Mindset Shift: From “Finish” to “Lifecycle”

So, how do you internalise this new philosophy?

  1. Adopt a Project‑Lifecycle Lens: Treat each piece as a product with a roadmap—launch, growth, maturity, and renewal phases.
  2. Allocate Post‑Launch Time: Block at least 20% of your weekly schedule for promotion, engagement, and analysis.
  3. Set Measurable Milestones: Instead of “publish today,” aim for “gain 500 newsletter sign‑ups in 30 days” or “secure 5 guest posts within 60 days.”
  4. Celebrate Incrementally: Recognise small wins—first comment, first media mention, first affiliate sale—to sustain momentum.

10. Take Action Now

Your next step is simple: Pick one piece you’ve already published and create a 30‑day post‑launch plan using the framework above.

  • Draft a quick SEO checklist.
  • Schedule three social posts per week.
  • Set up a short survey for readers.

Write down the plan, share it with a peer for accountability, and watch the ripple effect of proactive effort turn a static publication into a dynamic asset.

To summarise:

  • Publication is merely the opening act, not the finale.
  • Visibility, engagement, feedback, iteration, authority, and monetisation are the six essential post‑publish phases.
  • Treat every piece as a living product with a roadmap, not a one‑off event.

By embracing this mindset, you’ll transform a single release into a perpetual engine of influence, community, and income.

What I learned about writing – A hand written manuscript is not an advertisement your word processor has died

OK. We’re not doing much writing, and today, we have another suggestion, one that might cause an unnecessary rush at the stationery store for pencils.

I was in one today, a place called Office Works, getting some folders to put the printed copies of my latest books about to be published.

I’d previously bought pencils – a box of 24, a motorised pencil sharpener, cards – though I intend to use these for a non-fiction book, pens – red, blue, black, erasable – for doing crosswords. I’ve not had to buy notebooks for a while, small and large, but the last time I got some journalist notebooks.

But, I digress…

It is suggested, and I think it’s a great idea, that at times it is better to write down the story, mainly because I can write as fast as the ideas come, and I cannot type that fast. Not without a million errors and a lot of indecipherable words.

There are exponents for both means of getting words on paper, but I have to say the majority of my original books were written in small notepads, at work and elsewhere, because ideas and storylines come to me at the sometimes most awkward moments.

Consider carrying around a notebook and a pencil or pen.

Otherwise, my other means of getting ideas down is a note-taking app on my phone, the best at the moment being Somnote.

And tired of waiting for the moment when the book gets underway, stand by, news on that front is coming.

I have a degree of scepticism because I generally get words down on my phone, the only implement that is nearby at all times, no matter where I am.

Of course, many years ago, I always travelled with little pocket-sized notebooks and a pen, rather than a pencil, to write. I still have all of these, several hundred in fact, in several shoeboxes in the cupboard in my writing room.

Over the years, I have accumulated many A5-sized notebooks I bought where there were stationery sales, and now use these to both make notes and write. I tend not to use the smaller notebooks now, but I have a hundred or so sitting in a drawer just in case.

But do you like to write using a biro, with smudgy ink, a pen with a rollerball tip with less smudge, a felt-tip pen, which, depending on the paper type, can leach through, making it difficult to write on both sides, a fountain pen with ink, the old-fashioned way of writing letters, and some of the older writers back in the day?

I remember my early days in school, grade three in fact, when we switched from pencil to pen and ink. It was very messy, to begin with, but I remember vividly being the ink monitor, the one who filled the ink wells, and discovering my schoolmate’s prelidiction for stuffing bits of blotting paper into the well for whatever reason.

Even now, it would be a messy way to write.

But the choice is yours.

“The Things we do for Love”, the story behind the story

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.

…

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