Category: Uncategorized

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


What happens when your past finally catches up with you?

…

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

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

This time, however, there is more at stake.

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

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

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

…

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The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 24

I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.

The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.

But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.

Chasing leads, maybe

…

My next call was to Severin, also a number on a card.

It rang five times before he answered.  “Yes?”

No name, but I recognized the voice.

“It’s Sam Jackson.”

“You have found the USB?”

“No.  But I did find the flat he was supposedly living in, and it’s a front.  And so clean you could eat off the floor.  Nothing there.  And nothing to indicate where his real residence is.”

“That’s a shame.”

“So is the discovery that you are less than trustworthy.  Explain why I should continue to help.  I assume Maury is your attack dog, so if you’re sending him after me, then you don’t trust me.”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

No hesitation, this was a man to be very careful around.

“That’s fine, you obviously don’t need my help.  And one more thing, if I see Maury again, you won’t.”

I disconnected the call.

“That was brave,” Jan said.

“No.  Just a test to see how desperate they are.  I’ll give it another minute before he calls back.”

It took two minutes.

“Perhaps I didn’t think through the consequences.  Let’s take a step back and reconsider the situation.”

“If you’ve got Maury trying to trace this call, then it’s going to be a series of twenty-second calls.  If I find O’Connell’s second residence or even the USB, and you continue to act in this manner you will be the last to be told.”

I hung up the phone again.  Not enough time to trace the call.

“Are you deliberately trying to piss him off?”

“Do you think it’s working?”

“Why?”

“Angry people make mistakes.  They made one huge mistake of killing O’Connell before they knew where the USB was.  I’m sure they were hoping he would have it on him.  He didn’t.”

My phone rang again.

“You forget I know where you live.”

Bold move.

“Where I used to live.  It was getting a little cramped anyway.  Call your attack dog off and give me some room to do my job.  This phone is in the bin at the end of this call, so don’t bother tracing it.  I’ve got your number.  Just hope I decide to call you again.”

Call terminated, and a minute later sim removed and tossed down a drain.

“Do you want to call anyone?” I asked.

“Not yet.  I’ve got nothing to report.”

“Your people might have an investigation going that might involve cyber currency, and O’Connell’s name might pop up.  After all, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you were living next door”

She was trying to keep a neutral expression, but it didn’t work.  She was next door for a reason, and it didn’t include looking after his cat.  In fact, I was beginning to think that cat belonged to the building, and just stayed with whoever fed it.

“Despite what you might think, it was a coincidence, because after I moved in, I did a few background checks and his was too squeaky clean.

“Meaning?”

Of course, squeaky clean meant only one possibility, he had a cover identity made, and it only went back so far.  Depending on the job, the background could be months old, or a year at the most.

“He was working undercover and didn’t exist three years ago.  So the thing is, maybe he wasn’t investigating cyber currency, maybe he was stealing it, and someone took offense.  But I never saw a computer in his flat, and you definitely need one of those if you’re a cryptocurrency trader.  All I got to talk about was the cat.”

Since it’s hardly the subject you’d talk about with a neighbor, it was not surprising their discussions were mainly of domesticity.

“Was it his cat?”

She shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I think he said he found it in the flat when he arrived, and in feeding it, it just stayed.  Cat’s don’t belong to people; you do realize that don’t you?”

“Never had one.  And I didn’t see a cat there or signs of one.”

“I was looking after him while O’Connell was away, so he’s been in my flat.”

“Only it probably got tossed about the same time as they visited his, and if the cat had any sense, he’d run.  Maury’s the sort who’d shoot the cat, just because it was there.”

“Perhaps we should go back and check.  Why the sudden interest in the cat?”

“It’s the only tangible thing he owned.  Sorry, he was attached to.”

“And you think the cat might be the clue?”

“Have you got a better idea?”

Not answering the question, was the answer.

“It might not be safe.”

“Then stay at the hotel and I’ll see you when I get back.”

She shook her head.  “No, I’m going with you.  Besides, you’ll need someone to watch your back.”

Or stab me in it if we found something.

© Charles Heath 2019-2020

An excerpt from “Betrayal” – a work in progress

It could have been anywhere in the world, she thought, but it wasn’t.  It was in a city where if anything were to go wrong…

She sighed, came away from the window and looked around the room.  It was quite large and expensively furnished.  It was one of several she had been visiting in the last three months.

Quite elegant too, as the hotel had its origins dating back to before the revolution in 1917.  At least, currently, there would not be a team of KGB agents somewhere in the basement monitoring everything that happened in the room.

There was no such thing as the KGB anymore, though there was an FSB, but such organisations were of no interest to her.

She was here to meet with Vladimir.

She smiled to herself when she thought of him, such an interesting man whose command of English was as good as her command of Russian, though she had not told him of that ability.

All he knew of her was that she was American, worked in the Embassy as a clerk, nothing important, whose life both at work and at home was boring.  Not that she had blurted that out the first time they met, or even the second.

That first time, at a function in the Embassy, was a chance meeting, a catching of his eye as he looked around the room, looking, as he had told her later, for someone who might not be as boring as the function itself.

It was a celebration honouring one of the Embassy officials’ service in Moscow, soon to be returning home after 10 years.  She had been there one and still hadn’t met all the staff.

They had talked; Vladimir knew a great deal about England, having been stationed there for a year or two, and had politely asked questions about where she lived, her family, and, of course, what her role was, all questions she fended off with an air of disinterested interest.

It fascinated him, as she knew it would, a sort of mental sparring as one would do with swords if this were a fencing match.

They had said they might or might not meet again when the party was over, but she suspected there would be another opportunity.  She knew the signs of a man interested in her, and Vladimir was.

The second time came in the form of an invitation to an art gallery and a viewing of the works of a prominent Russian artist, an invitation she politely declined.  After all, invitations issued to Embassy staff held all sorts of connotations, or so she was told by the Security officer when she told him.

Then, it went quiet for a month.  There was a party at the American embassy, and along with several other staff members, she was invited.  She had not expected to meet Vladimir, but it was a pleasant surprise when she saw him, on the other side of the room, talking to several military men.

A pleasant afternoon ensued.

And it was no surprise that they kept running into each other at the various events on the diplomatic schedule.

By the fifth meeting, they were like old friends.  She had broached the subject of being involved in a platonic relationship with him with the head of security at the embassy.  Normally, for a member of her rank, it would not be allowed, but in this instance, it was.

She did not work in any sensitive areas, and, as the security officer had said, she might just happen upon something useful.  In that regard, she was to keep her eyes and ears open and file a report each time she met him.

After that discussion, she got the impression her superiors considered Vladimir more than just a casual visitor on the diplomatic circuit.  She also formed the impression that he might consider her an ‘asset’, a word that had been used at the meeting with security and the ambassador.

It was where the word ‘spy’ popped into her head and sent a tingle down her spine.  She was not a spy, but the thought of it, well, it would be fascinating to see what happened.

A Russian friend.  That’s what she would call him.

And over time, that relationship blossomed, until, after a visit to the ballet, late and snowing, he invited her to his apartment not far from the ballet venue.  It was like treading on thin ice, but after champagne and an introduction to caviar, she felt like a giddy schoolgirl.

Even so, she had made him promise that he would remain on his best behaviour.  It could have been very easy to fall under the spell of a perfect evening, but he promised, showed her to a separate bedroom, and after a brief kiss, their first, she did not see him until the next morning.

So, it began.

It was an interesting report she filed after that encounter, one she had expected to be reprimanded.

She wasn’t.

It wasn’t until six weeks had passed that he asked her if she would like to take a trip to the country.  It would involve staying in a hotel, as always, in separate rooms.  When she reported the invitation, no objection was raised, only a caution: keep her wits about her.

Perhaps, she had thought, they were looking forward to a more extensive report.  After all, her reports on the places, the people, and the conversations she overheard were no doubt entertaining reading for some.

But on this visit, the nature of the relationship changed, and it was one that she did not immediately report.  She had realised at some point before the weekend away that she had feelings for him, and it was not that he was pushing her in that direction or manipulating her in any way.

It was just one of those moments where, after a grand dinner, a lot of champagne, and delightful company, things happen.  Standing at the door to her room, a lingering kiss, not intentional on her part, just happened.

And for not one moment did she believe she had been compromised, but for some reason she had not reported that subtle change in the relationship to the powers that be, and so far, no one had any inkling.

She took off her coat and placed it carefully on the back of one of the ornate chairs in the room.  She stopped for a moment to look at a framed photograph on the wall, one representing Red Square.

Then, after a minute or two, she went to the minibar and took out the bottle of champagne left there for them, a treat Vladimir arranged for each encounter.

There were two champagne flutes set aside on the bar, next to a bowl of fruit.  She picked up the apple and thought about how Eve must have felt in the Garden of Eden, and the temptation.

Later perhaps, after…

She smiled at the thought and put the apple back.

A glance at her watch told her it was time for his arrival.  It was, if anything, the one trait she didn’t like, and that was his punctuality.  A glance at the clock on the room wall was a minute slow.

The doorbell rang, right on the appointed time.

She put the bottle down and walked over to the door.

A smile on her face, she opened the door.

It was not Vladimir.  It was her worst nightmare.

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2026

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to go on a treasure hunt – Episode 80

Here’s the thing…

Every time I close my eyes, I see something different.

I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox.

But these dreams are nothing to laugh about.

Once again there’s a new installment of an old feature, and we’re back on the treasure hunt.

…

How are we still alive?

…

I heard the voices, long before I realized where I was or what happened.

Well, that was not exactly true, I knew what had happened, I just couldn’t remember what occurred after that.

And how I came to be where I was, now.

My mother, calm and collected in a crisis, sounded just a little flustered.

“Just what happened, without all the medical double talk, in simple words one can understand.”

My sentiment exactly.

“Another day would have been fatal.  As it is, neither of them will be in any fit state for at least a week, perhaps more, it’s hard to say.  People can survive without food, but not water, like I said, they were lucky we found them when we did.”

Yes, I remember the cavern, Vince and Alex, being tied up and left for dead.  I had told Nadia that rescue would be imminent, once Charlene realized we were missing.

But, how long had that been?

And, was he referring to all three of us, or had Boggs got to safety and raised the alarm.  If we were near death, it raised questions I don’t think I wanted answers to.

I felt a warm hand on my arm and opened my eyes.  The room was in semi-darkness, perhaps so my eyes would not be shocked by bright light.  A nurse, looking down.

“Welcome back, Sam.”

I wanted to speak, but something told me that wasn’t going to be possible, not right then.

The nurse’s soothing voice continued, “You are safe now, in hospital, and you don’t need to speak or anything else.  You have been through a rather traumatic week or so, but the worst is over and the doctor says you will make a full recovery.”

I wanted to ask about Nadia, but the words didn’t come.  I was beginning to think I was not there, and this was only my imagination, creating a virtual world rather than accepting reality.

“The girl you were with is here too, and she will also recover, Nadia I think her name is.”

An inward sigh of relief.  Now, Boggs?

She didn’t say anything more, except to say, “Rest now.”

I closed my eyes and it didn’t take long to slide back into the inky darkness.

In the dark, time lost any meaning. I couldn’t tell what time it was, or how much time had passed.  I tried counting the seconds in my head, but it was a futile exercise.

Nadia wasn’t panicking, but she was scared, particularly after we had tried every and all means we could think of to get free, only the knots that Alex had tied us with were too tight.

I suspected, in the end, they were sailors’ knots designed not to slip or come undone, not easily anyway.

That was when I said I had told Charlene what we intended to do and roughly where we would be, and if we went missing that would be the cue.

It seemed to brighten her outlook, but as time passed, slowly but inevitably, that cheer turned to dismay. 

We were hungry but worse still, thirsty, and the fact there was no water anywhere nearby made that thirst all the more important.

That time passed ever so slowly, and it took an almost inhuman effort to not think about that next drink if there was ever to be one.

I managed to convince her that talking would only make it worse and that we should concentrate on anything else, perhaps what we were going to do once we got out of the cave, other than killing Vince and Alex.  Perhaps, in the end, I thought that might be the one thing that would keep her alive.

As for me, given my situation, and that really of the whole town, there wasn’t much to hope for.  Yes, Nadia might still want to be friends, but who was it that got her into this mess?

Then, too weak to think, count, or move, that was where I knew the end was near.  It felt like we’d been in the cave forever, and I had to finally accept the fact no in was coming for us.

And my last thought, what had happened to Boggs?

…

© Charles Heath 2020-2022

The 2am Rant: That moment when you discover you are human after all.

It’s not quite a revelation to discover once you turn 70 that your health and well being decreases, sometimes dramatically.

Perhaps someone should write a manual that should be supplied from the moment we can read to tell us what’s going to happen.

And it’s going to happen whether you like it or not; no one is immune.  People try to stay young, change diet, regimen, start exercising, rue the day they took up smoking and then rue waiting so long to stop.

If only we had our time over…

Doesn’t work like that.  It’s inevitable, sooner or later, it’s going to happen.  The aches and pains, not wanting to get out of bed in the morning, everything taking longer to do…

The aging process catches up with you, and not to put too fine a point to it, like a car or appliance, things start to wear out.

It starts with organs like kidneys, livers, hearts, lungs, you know, those organs you kind of need to keep living.  When you’re young, you don’t think about it, and throw caution and common sense to the seven winds.

After all, who wants to live a boring life?  And we have to try everything at least once.  After all, what doesn’t kill you…

Well, if only we had that manual, with that one word that no one wants to see, consequences, in very large red letters.

So…

Here we are.

Over 70, and the only way is down.

I have psoriasis and psoriatic arthritis.  It took several specialists to get to the right treatment, the first more interested in stringing me along and charging exorbitant fees, to a doctor who took basically one visit to find and start fixing the problem.

It shattered my belief in the medical profession to the point where I don’t and never will fully trust any specialist.

But aside from that, I have the miracle drug Humira that has made my life so much better, but inevitably, drugs can only do so much, and the symptoms are sneaking back.

That’s expected.

It’s the other problems that are making an audience of themselves, such as the back pain, which is not operable, it will only make it worse, joint pains, which pain killers alleviate to the point of bearability.

The cramps and the side effects from other pills like methotrexate and nerve pain remedies, which I now realise I can’t take, at least not with the hallucinations.

I can live with all of that.

But then, out of left field comes the big one.

It’s the new problem, the one all men will suffer at some point.

That pesky thing called a prostate.

It’s not true, no matter how you look at it, that it sneaks up on you.  There are symptoms, plain as day, but these you tend to overlook, because you don’t want to think that something is wrong.

We blame old age; we tell ourselves that it’s just part of the process.

Then my older brother rings and tells me he has stage one prostate cancer.

Just the sort of news you need to start your day.

He’s three years older than I am.

Then, in the same week, your younger brother, 6 years younger, is messaging that he had an enlarged prostate.

What the hell does that mean?

In reality, it means run like hell to your doctor and admit the probabilities of you having a similar problem are very high.

I ran.

So this is how it unfolds…

A urine and PSA test.  The PSA tests are basically a crap shoot, but it’s a start.  Bad news, the PSA level is high.

Enough together me kicked to a specialist.

The anti-specialist fears kick in, and now I have to worry not only about the disease but also the medical profession.

I get an appointment, and just for the first consultation, the fee is eye-watering, with little recompense from the medical insurance.

You can see me drawing similarities with previous experience, seeing a cashed-up retired person willing to spend any amount to survive an extra week.

You read about old people being ripped off every day.  Why should the medical profession be any different, with such a large, largely untapped gold mine called gullible old people?

So… 

A brief consultation that leads to an MRI.  It’s free on the back of two PSA tests showing high numbers within a certain period.  I have to wait a few weeks to fulfil the criteria.

I get the MRI.

The scans show a shadow on film, telling us that something ‘suspicious’ needed to be checked, so the next step is a TP biopsy.

Not good news.  Not a fun time at the hospital.

And before you can say abracadabra its arranged.  Hospital, day surgery, doctor, anaesthetist, and a sheet that tells you about everything that can go wrong.

At least it was not on the back of another huge consultation fee, and the necessity to mortgage the house.

But there are non-refundable fees for the doctor, the hospital, and the anesthesiologist, with no change out of a thousand dollars.  For someone like me, that’s a lot of money just to get a possible death sentence, or worse, a lead in to a treatment that may or may not work, one that will destroy us financially.

Is it worth it?

In my opinion, no.   Others have differing opinions, but that has a lot to do with the idea of having to live without someone you’ve spent most of your life with.

Cancer, if it is, and aggressive as they all seem to be these days, is a sentence, not a word, with far-reaching and devastating consequences.

It’s not going to be an easy subject to discuss, and the anticipation is almost as bad as getting the news, good or bad.

But I’ll know next Monday, one way or another.

What I learned about writing – Chasing whispers

Chasing Whispers: How to Capture Those Fleeting Creative Sparks

The muse, as they say, is a fickle thing. For writers, she often strikes at the most inconvenient – or, conversely, the most mundane – moments. For me, it’s a constant game of digital and analog catch-up, a mad dash to pin down those ethereal wisps of inspiration before they dissipate into the ether.

My current arsenal? A trusty electronic notebook on my smartphone, and a small army of writing pads strategically placed around my home office. The moment an idea sparks – whether it’s a perfectly crafted piece of dialogue playing out in my head or the nascent outline of a new plot – I scramble to capture it. My go-to digital tool is SomNote. Its beauty lies in its accessibility; I can jot down notes on the go, and then seamlessly transfer them to my computer for further development. It’s incredibly convenient, especially when inspiration strikes during my commute or while I’m out and about.

Of course, there are limitations. My smartphone, as advanced as it is, isn’t quite shower-proof… yet. While I might be able to wait a few minutes for a particularly steamy revelation to cool down, the reality is that these ideas can be incredibly vivid and urgent. I’ve lost entire conversations, perfectly formed in my mind, simply because I couldn’t get them down on paper fast enough. It’s a frustrating experience, like watching a precious butterfly slip through your fingers.

This urgency has me contemplating more drastic measures. A whiteboard on the wall, a permanent marker in hand… is that going too far? Perhaps. But the desire to have an immediate, unhindered outlet for these rapid-fire thoughts is a powerful one.

It reminds me of a gift I received years ago: a portable tape recorder. It was a compact device, with tiny tapes, and it was voice-activated. The promise was simple: speak your ideas, and they’d be captured. This, in itself, sparked a flurry of creative thoughts! I did use it, but I also discovered a rather peculiar side effect. Having conversations with myself in the car, or while walking down the street, drew some undeniably curious stares. More importantly, listening back to those recorded “conversations” was… eye-opening. It highlighted how often our internal dialogue doesn’t quite translate to reality, and how much of what we think sounds brilliant in our heads can sound rather… less so, when replayed. This experience, however, was invaluable. It taught me to listen critically to my own thoughts, to refine them, and to recognize when an idea, spoken aloud, just didn’t hold up.

Ideas, I’ve learned, are everywhere. They bubble up in the shower, they emerge while driving, they sneak into my thoughts while I’m engrossed in a newspaper or a good book. This leads me to a fundamental truth I learned early on, a piece of wisdom shared by a more seasoned author: writers must read. And not just within their chosen genre. Reference books are essential, and a deep dive into the classics – be it Old English or American literature – is crucial for appreciating the sheer majesty of the English language. While we might not emulate those styles directly, understanding their power and beauty enriches our own craft.

That author was a wellspring of knowledge, though at the time, I was too eager, too convinced of my own nascent talent, to fully grasp it. It took years before I felt confident enough to share my writing. And even now, I don’t claim to possess a complete mastery of the language. My passion for English, creative writing, and literature in university was real, but the depth of that absorption is something I continue to explore. Ultimately, the goal is clear communication. If a reader understands the journey of the story and feels a sense of satisfaction at its conclusion – a feeling of having had “a good read” – then the author’s work is done.

The perennial challenge, of course, is the next idea. And the one after that. It’s said that everyone has at least one book within them. For those who can conjure more, well, that’s a gift beyond measure. My personal predicament is quite the opposite of scarcity: I’m drowning in ideas, with a graveyard of beginnings and half-formed outlines. So many stories clamoring for attention, so many worlds waiting to be built. It’s a delightful problem to have, wouldn’t you agree? Being spoiled for choice – that’s the writer’s ultimate sweet spot.

365 Days of writing, 2026 – Beyond the second novel

History and how to integrate it

…

Weaving Reality into Fiction: Should You Use Real History and Figures in Your Epic Book Series?

If you are currently staring at a blinking cursor, mapping out the architecture of an endless series of novels, you aren’t alone. Writing a multi-book saga is a monumental undertaking. You have to sustain character arcs, invent subplots that don’t feel like filler, and—most importantly—build a world that feels lived-in and real.

One of the most powerful tools in a long-form author’s arsenal is the integration of actual history, real-world locations, historical figures, and authentic organisations.

When working on an endless series, is it a good idea to anchor your fiction in factual reality? The short answer is: Yes, absolutely. But like any powerful narrative tool, it requires a delicate touch. Let’s explore why blending fact with fiction works so well, the pitfalls to avoid, and how to do it effectively to hook your readers for the long haul.

Why Real-World History Adds Authenticity to Long Series

When readers commit to a sprawling book series (think of George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire or Bernard Cornwell’s The Saxon Stories), they are looking for immersion. They want to escape, but they also want the world to obey internal logic and historical weight. Here is why injecting real history helps:

1. It Provides a Built-In Foundation

Inventing a sociopolitical system, economic structure, and cultural norms from scratch for a massive universe is exhausting. By drawing inspiration from—or directly utilising—actual historical periods, you save mental bandwidth. Real history gives you tried-and-true templates for warfare, political intrigue, religious conflicts, and technological limitations.

2. It Instantly Grounds the Reader

If your characters walk down a muddy, cobblestone street in a fictionalised version of 17th-century London, mention a real tavern that existed at the time, or interact with a lesser-known historical diplomat, the world immediately snaps into focus. Real-world anchors allow readers to visualise the scene faster because they have cognitive shortcuts to draw from.

3. It Adds Gravitas and Stakes

Real history is messy, brutal, and unpredictable. When fictional characters collide with real historical events (like a devastating plague, a sudden coup, or the eruption of a volcano), the stakes instantly skyrocket. Readers know that in real life, not everyone survives, which adds genuine peril to your endless series.

How to Use Real Elements Without Turning Your Novel into a Textbook

The biggest danger of using real history, places, and people in fiction is infodumping. You’ve spent hours down a Wikipedia rabbit hole researching the 14th-century wool trade, and now you want to make sure your reader knows it.

Don’t.

Here are four golden rules for balancing fact and fiction in a long-running series:

Rule 1: Use Real Places as a Canvas, Not a Blueprint

Whether you are writing urban fantasy, historical fiction, or sci-fi set on Earth, treat real locations as mood boards. If you are setting scenes in an actual cathedral or a specific street, focus on sensory details—the chill of the stone, the smell of coal smoke, the echo of footsteps—rather than giving a geographical lecture.

Rule 2: Bend Historical Figures to Fit Your Narrative Arc

When introducing real individuals, remember that you are writing a story, not a biography. If a real-world general needs to arrive a week early to fit your plot’s pacing, or if a monarch needs to display a personality trait that drives your protagonist crazy, take creative liberties. Just make sure the core essence of the historical figure remains recognisable if they are well-known.

Rule 3: Leverage Real Organizations for Conflict

Secret societies, trade guilds, religious orders, and military units that actually existed (or closely mirror historical ones) add instant legitimacy to your world. When your characters go up against a bureaucracy modelled after the Roman Senate or a merchant guild modelled after the Hanseatic League, the conflict feels sophisticated and institutional, rather than cartoonish.

Rule 4: Leave Room for the Unknown

History is full of gaps, lost artifacts, and unsolved mysteries. This is a fiction writer’s playground. Take a real historical anomaly—the Voynich manuscript, the disappearance of the Princes in the Tower, or Roanoke Colony—and build your fictional mythology into the historical blind spots.

The Secret Weapon for Endless Series: Continuity

If you are writing a long series, continuity is your greatest challenge. One of the hidden benefits of using real history, geography, and organisations is that history doesn’t change.

If you invent a purely fictional political system across ten books, you run the risk of contradicting yourself regarding laws, geography, or cultural customs. But if you tether your world to real-world historical constraints (e.g., how fast a horse can travel in the winter of 1240, or the actual political friction between the Pope and the Holy Roman Emperor), reality does half of the world-building heavy lifting for you. You have a built-in encyclopedia that your readers might already be familiar with!

Final Verdict: Strike the Balance

Blending actual history, real individuals, and authentic organisations into an endless series of novels is a masterclass in world-building. It rewards curious readers, grounds fantastical or sprawling plots, and lends an undeniable weight of authenticity to your pages.

Just remember: You are writing a story, not a history lesson. Use the facts as stepping stones to spark your imagination, not as chains that restrict your creativity. When history and imagination collide on the page, that’s where the real magic happens.

Are you currently working on a long book series? Do you prefer total invention or historical grounding? Let us know your thoughts and writing struggles in the comments below!

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Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Melbourne, Australia

Discover Melbourne’s Hidden Gems: Top 5 Tourist Attractions That Are Peaceful and Unique

Melbourne is renowned for its vibrant arts scene, bustling laneways, and iconic landmarks. However, beyond the well-trodden paths lie lesser-known attractions that offer a tranquil, culturally rich, and often underappreciated experience. If you’re seeking a slower, more intimate journey through the city’s history, art, and natural beauty, here are five top attractions that are rarely crowded but packed with distinctive charm.

1. Shrine of Remembrance: A Historic Sanctuary with Breathtaking Views

Tucked away in a serene parkland setting on the edge of the city, the Shrine of Remembrance stands as a majestic tribute to Australian service members. The neoclassical architecture is awe-inspiring, and the 360-degree views from the terrace—especially at dusk—are unforgettable. While not as flashy as Federation Square or Luna Park, the shrine attracts fewer crowds, especially outside of Anzac Day (April 25). Its quiet ambience makes it perfect for reflection, photography, or simply soaking in Melbourne’s skyline.

Why it’s unique: Open 24/7 and free to enter, it blends architectural grandeur with historical significance. The building’s underground war memorial and gardens are particularly poignant.

2. Museum of Chinese Australian History: A Window into a Rich Cultural Legacy

Step into the vibrant history of Melbourne’s Chinese community at the Museum of Chinese Australian History, housed in a former tram depot in the bustling district of Docklands. This small museum offers interactive exhibits on the contributions of Chinese Australians to the city’s development, from the 19th-century gold rush to modern multiculturalism. The building itself is a work of art, adorned with colourful mosaics and sculptural installations.

Why it’s unique: The museum’s focus on a specific cultural narrative is rare in mainstream Melbourne. Its blend of art, history, and community stories makes it a must-visit for curious travellers.

3. Burnley Park and Gardens: A Hidden Green Escape

Just minutes from the CBD in the suburb of Carlton, Burnley Park is a tranquil oasis with a mix of natural beauty and cultural flair. Home to the historic Burnley Cricket Ground and a lush landscape of gardens, it’s a favourite among locals for picnics and strolls. The park’s lesser-known status means it’s rarely bustled with tourists, offering a peaceful retreat.

Why it’s unique: The park combines recreational spaces with a quirky cricket history—the Burnley Cricket Club, established in 1852, is the oldest surviving cricket club in Victoria. Springtime brings spectacular displays of wisteria and wildflowers.

4. Royal Exhibition Building & Royal Botanic Gardens (Off-Peak Hours)

While the Royal Botanic Gardens can get busy on weekends, visiting during weekdays or early mornings ensures a quieter, more immersive experience. Adjacent to the Royal Exhibition Building, a UNESCO World Heritage Site, the area is an architectural and horticultural marvel. The building’s grand Victorian design and the gardens’ curated collections—including the iconic Coachwood Tree—make for a captivating stop.

Why it’s unique: This combination of history and natural beauty is unmatched. The building’s iconic dome and the gardens’ serene paths create a timeless atmosphere, especially enchanting during autumn.

5. Koorie Heritage Trust: A Deep Dive into Indigenous Culture

The Koorie Heritage Trust in the heart of Melbourne is a cultural powerhouse dedicated to preserving and sharing the stories of Australia’s First Nations people. Through art, artifacts, and guided workshops, visitors gain insight into Yarning (storytelling), traditional crafts, and the enduring connection to Country.

Why it’s unique: Small and intentionally quiet, the trust focuses on meaningful, educational experiences. Bookings are recommended, as spaces are limited, but this ensures a personalised and respectful visit.

Why These Spots Thrive in Quietness

These attractions stand out because they cater to niche interests and require a bit of effort to discover—a perfect fit for travellers who prefer depth over crowds. Whether you’re captivated by history, culture, or nature, Melbourne’s hidden gems offer a fresh perspective on this dynamic city.

Final Thoughts: Embrace Melbourne’s Understated Magic

Melbourne’s charm isn’t just in its famous laneways and coffee. By straying from the typical itineraries, you’ll uncover a side of the city that’s reflective, artistic, and deeply human. Whether you’re tracing your roots, enjoying a peaceful garden, or honouring a cultural past, these attractions promise a memorable trip without the hassle. Pack your curiosity—and a camera—and let Melbourne surprise you.

Pro Tip: For the most peaceful experience, visit these spots on weekdays or during the cooler months (May–August). Plus, check out event calendars for exclusive workshops or seasonal openings!

What’s your favourite hidden corner of Melbourne? Share your discoveries in the comments below!

In a word: Blue

Of course, we all know this word is a colour, or colour depending on where you live.  You know, blue sky, deep blue sea, blonde hair, blue eyes.

Very descriptive.

But it can also mean you are down in the dumps, a rather strange, for some, expression that means you are sad or unhappy.

For others, to have a blue means to have a fight with someone

And oddly, and I know this from first-hand experience, a red-haired person will be called bluey, or, less pleasing, either carrot top or blood nut.  I used to ignore those people who used those expressions, except for my father-in-law.

You can do something until you are blue in the face, which means doing it without result until exhaustion; another way of saying you’re wasting your time.

And if something comes out of the blue, it’s usually entirely unexpected.  For me, that’s always a bill I wasn’t expecting; for someone else, an inheritance.

And in some parts of the world, blue is used as a synonym for a conservative political party; for instance, the Liberal Party in Australia and the Democrats in the United States

Blue should not be confused with the word blew, which is the past tense of blow, which is wind causing an air current or blowing air through pursed lips.

That doesn’t mean that if something blew up it was just a giant air mass exploding because it can’t.  If a bomb blew up, it means it detonated.

And if that sounds complicated:

What if something blew my mind?  Does that mean my head exploded?  No, it just means it’s incomprehensible, whether good or bad.

Or

What if I blew a fortune on a three-legged horse?  We all throw good money after bad, but you can quickly lose a fortune, or lose it.

It’s the same thing with opportunities; for instance, he had a chance and blew it.  Yes, obviously something better came along; no, or he just ignored a sterling opportunity.

“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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