Category: Uncategorized

“The Document” – the editor’s final draft – Day 21

This book has been sitting in the ‘to-be-done’ tray, so this month it is going to get the final revision.

And so it begins…

…

Not long to go, need to revise faster!

…

Three weeks down and the finish line is just around the corner, and over that invisible hill.

The legs are like rubber, and the going is getting harder.  I’ve never run in a marathon but I’m beginning to think I know what it might be like.

I’d hate to run out of steam and get only 49,999 words written before they cart me off to the rehydration tent.

It’s hard work, lonely work, but like building a house, you get to see the physical results of that work.

Enough, I’ve got to get back to work.

I can see the top of the hill!

In a word: Meat

…

We all know what meat is, the flesh of an animal like cattle, pigs, sheep, even goats.

It can be used to describe a pie, such as a meat pie, but the odd thing is that it doesn’t have to have 100% meat in it.

It can be used in the context of humans, depending on when you eat certain types of food that will put meat on your bones.

Meat can also be used to describe the fleshy part of nuts, fruit, or eggs.

Then there’s the meat of the matter, which is the crux or basis of the argument or message you want to get across.

And a rather interesting if not obscure meaning is to describe a favorite occupation or activity.

…

Another form of the word is meet; what we do at a coffee shop, on a date, at a pub, or any number of different places.

We can gather together for a meeting, such as a board of directors or a committee.

It can be used to describe an athletic or swimming carnival.

How about you meet me halfway, in a negotiation, not on a long road trip

…

To dole out or allot something like punishment, is to mete it out.

Good thing then, we don’t live in the dark ages, all manner of bad punishments were meted put to the serfs.

An excerpt from “Amnesia”, a work in progress

I remembered a bang.

I remembered the car slewing sideways.

I remember another bang, and then it was lights out.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw the sky.

Or I could be underwater.

Everything was blurred.

I tried to focus but I couldn’t. My eyes were full of water.

What happened?

Why was I lying down?

Where was I?

I cast my mind back, trying to remember.

It was a blank.

What, when, who, why and where, are questions I should easily be able to answer. These are questions any normal person could answer.

I tried to move. Bad, bad mistake.

I did not realise the scream I heard was my own. Just before my body shut down.

“My God! What happened?”

I could hear, not see. I was moving, lying down, looking up.

I was blind. Everything was black.

“Car accident; hit a tree, sent the passenger flying through the windscreen. Pity to poor bastard didn’t get the message that seat belts save lives.”

Was I that poor bastard?

“Report?” A new voice, male, authoritative.

“Multiple lacerations, broken collar bone, broken arm in three places, both legs broken below the knees, one badly. We are not sure of internal injuries, but ruptured spleen, cracked ribs and pierced right lung are fairly evident, x-rays will confirm that and anything else.”

“What isn’t broken?”

“His neck.”

“Then I would have to say we are looking at the luckiest man on the planet.”

I heard the shuffling of pages.

“OR1 ready?”

“Yes. On standby since we were first advised.”

“Good. Let’s see if we can weave some magic.”

Magic.

It was the first word that popped into my head when I surfaced from the bottom of the lake. That first breath, after holding it for so long, was sublime, and, in reality, agonising.

Magic, because it seemed like I’d spent a long time underwater.

Or somewhere.

I tried to speak but couldn’t. The words were just in my head.

Was it night or was it day?

Was it hot, or was it cold?

Where was I?

Around me, it felt cool.

It was incredibly quiet. No noise except for the hissing of air through an air-conditioning vent. Or that was the sound of pure silence.  And with it the revelation that silence was not silent. It was noisy.

I didn’t try to move.

Instinctively, somehow, I knew not to.

A previous unpleasant experience?

I heard what sounded like a door opening, and noticeably quiet footsteps slowly came into the room. They stopped. I could hear breathing, slightly laboured, a sound I’d heard before.

My grandfather.

He had smoked all his life until he was diagnosed with lung cancer. But for years before that he had emphysema. The person in the room was on their way, down the same path. I could smell the smoke.

I wanted to tell whoever it was the hazards of smoking.

I couldn’t.

I heard a metallic clanging sound from the end of the bed. A moment later the clicking of a pen, then writing.

“You are in a hospital.” A female voice suddenly said. “You’ve been in a bad accident. You cannot talk, or move, all you can do, for the moment, is listen to me. I am a nurse. You have been here for 45 days and just came out of a medically induced coma. There is nothing to be afraid of.”

She had a very soothing voice.

Her fingers stroked the back of my hand.

“Everything is fine.”

Define fine, I thought. I wanted to ask her what ‘fine’ meant.

“Just count backwards from 10.”

Why?

I didn’t reach seven.

Over the next ten days, that voice became my lifeline to sanity. Every morning, I longed to hear it, if only for the few moments she was in the room, those few waking moments when I believed she, and someone else who never spoke, were doing tests. I knew it had to be someone else because I could smell the essence of lavender. My grandmother had worn a similar scent.

It rose above the disinfectant.

She was another doctor, not the one who had been there the day I arrived. Not the one who had used some ‘magic’ and kept me alive.

It was then, in those moments before she put me under again, that I thought, what if I was paralysed? It would explain a lot. A chill went through me.

The next morning, she was back.

“My name is Winifred. We don’t know what your name is, not yet. In a few days, you will be better, and you will be able to ask us questions. You were in an accident, and you were very severely injured, but I can assure you there will be no lasting damage.”

More tests, and then when I expected the lights to go out, they didn’t. Not for a few minutes more. This was how I would be integrated back into the world. A little bit at a time.

The next morning, she came later than usual, and I’d been awake for a few minutes. “You have bandages over your eyes and face. You had bad lacerations to your face, and glass in your eyes. We will know more when the bandages come off in a few days. Your face will take longer to heal. It was necessary to do some plastic surgery.”

Lacerations, glass in my eyes, car accidents, plastic surgery. By logical deduction, I knew I was the poor bastard thrown through the windscreen. It was a fleeting memory from the day I was admitted.

How could that happen?

That was the first of many startling revelations. The second was the fact I could not remember the crash. Equally shocking, in that same moment was the fact I could not remember before the crash either, or only vague memories after.

But the most shattering of all these revelations was the one where I realised, I could not remember my name.

I tried to calm down, sensing a rising panic.

I was just disoriented, I told myself. After 45 days in an induced coma, it had messed with my mind, and it was only a temporary lapse. Yes, that’s what it was, a temporary lapse. I will remember tomorrow. Or the next day.

Sleep was a blessed relief.

The next day I didn’t wake up feeling nauseous. I think they’d lowered the pain medication. I’d heard that morphine could have that effect. Then, how could I know that but not who I am?

Now I knew Winifred the nurse was preparing me for something unbelievably bad. She was upbeat, and soothing, giving me a new piece of information each morning. This morning, “You do not need to be afraid. Everything is going to be fine. The doctor tells me you are going to recover with little scarring. You will need some physiotherapy to recover from your physical injuries, but that’s in the future. We need to let you mend a little bit more before then.”

So, I was not going to be able to leap out of bed and walk out of the hospital any time soon. I don’t suppose I’d ever leapt out of bed, except as a young boy. I suspect I’d sustained a few broken bones. I guess learning to walk again was the least of my problems.

But there was something else. I picked it up in the timbre of her voice, a hesitation, or reluctance. It sent another chill through me.

This time I was left awake for an hour before she returned.

This time sleep was restless.

Scenes were playing in my mind, nothing I recognised, and nothing lasting longer than a glimpse. Me. Others, people I didn’t know. Or I knew them and couldn’t remember them.

Until they disappeared, slowly like the glowing dot in the centre of the computer screen, before finally fading to black.

The morning the bandages were to come off she came in early and woke me. I had another restless night, the images becoming clearer, but nothing recognisable.

“This morning the doctor will be removing the bandages over your eyes. Don’t expect an immediate effect. Your sight may come back quickly, or it may come back slowly, but we believe it will come back.”

I wanted to believe I was not expecting anything, but I was. It was human nature. I did not want to be blind as well as paralysed. I had to have at least one reason to live.

I dozed again until I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I could smell the lavender; the other doctor was back. And I knew the hand on my shoulder was Winifred’s. She told me not to be frightened.

I was amazed to realise at that moment, I wasn’t.

I heard the scissors cutting the bandages.

I felt the bandage being removed, and the pressure coming off my eyes. I could feel the pads covering both eyes.

Then a moment when nothing happened.

Then the pads are gently lifted and removed.

Nothing.

I blinked my eyes, once, twice. Nothing.

“Just hold on a moment,” Winifred said. A few seconds later I could feel a cool towel wiping my face, and then gently wiping my eyes. There was ointment or something else in them.

Then a flash. Well, not a flash, but like when a light is turned on and off. A moment later, it was brighter, not the inky blackness of before, but a shade of grey.

She wiped my eyes again.

I blinked a few more times, and then the light returned, and it was like looking through water, at distorted and blurry objects in the distance.

I blinked again, and she wiped my eyes again.

Blurry objects took shape. A face looking down on me, an elderly lady with a kindly face, surely Winifred, who was smiling. And on the opposite side of the bed, the doctor, a Chinese woman of indescribable beauty.

I nodded.

“You can see?”

I nodded again.

“Clearly?”

I nodded.

“Very good. We will just draw the curtains now. We don’t want to overdo it. Tomorrow we will be taking off the bandages on your face. Then, it will be the next milestone. Talking.”

I couldn’t wait.

When morning came, I found myself afraid. Winifred had mentioned scarring, there were bandages on my face. I knew, but wasn’t quite sure how I knew, I wasn’t the most handsome of men before the accident, so this might be an improvement.

I was not sure why I didn’t think it would be the case.

They came at mid-morning, the nurse, Winifred, and the doctor, the exquisite Chinese. She was the distraction, taking my mind off the reality of what I was about to see.

Another doctor came into the room before the bandages were removed, and he was introduced as the plastic surgeon who had ‘repaired’ the ravages of the accident. It had been no easy job, but, with a degree of egotism, he did say he was one of the best in the world.

I found it hard to believe, if he were, that he would be at a small country hospital.

“Now just remember, what you might see now is not how you will look in a few months.”

Warning enough.

The Chinese doctor started removing the bandages. She did it slowly and made sure it did not hurt. My skin was very tender, and I suspect still bruised, either from the accident or the surgery, I didn’t know.

Then it was done.

The plastic surgeon gave his work a thorough examination and seemed pleased with his work. “Coming along nicely,” he said to the other doctor. He issued some instructions on how to manage the skin, nodded to me, and I thanked him before he left.

I noticed Winifred had a mirror in her hand and was reticent in using it. “As I said,” she said noticing me looking at the mirror, “what you see now will not be the result. The doctor said it was going to heal with little scarring. You have been extremely fortunate he was available. Are you ready?”

I nodded.

She showed me.

I tried not to be reviled at the red and purple mess that used to be my face. At a guess, I would have to say he had to put it all back together again, but not knowing what I looked like before, I had no benchmark. All I had was a snippet of memory that told me I was not the tall, dark, and handsome type.

And I still could not talk. There was a reason, he had worked in that area too. Just breathing hurt. I think I would save up anything I had to say for another day. I could not even smile. Or frown. Or grimace.

“We’ll leave you for a while. Everyone needs a little time to get used to the change. I suspect you are not sure if there has been an improvement in last year’s model. Well, time will tell.”

A new face?

I could not remember the old one.

My memory still hadn’t returned.

…

©  Charles Heath  2024

The cinema of my dreams – It continued in London – Episode 38

It was the orange ribbon

…

“It’s the orange ribbon, isn’t it,” Cecilia said.  “I thought it looked good with the yellow floral summer dress and the fake fur coat.”

I had thought Juliet was just shocked to see Cecelia again with me, that we were possibly having a relationship.  It was something else.

Cecelia looked at me.  “Alfie said Vittoria called Juliet while you were texting me, a bit like ships passing in the night, to tell her she was on her way, and this idiot woman in a fur coat and orange ribbon had almost knocked her off the sidewalk.  I mean, really, people buried in their phones should be knocked off the sidewalk.”

We both looked at Juliet.  I could see she was thinking fast on her feet, then smile at Cecelia, and say, “Wow!  What can I say?  How’s your acting career going?”

“Good actually.  I got a part as a mercenary.  Just need to do the training and figure out how I’m going to survive the Moroccan sun, I mean, with this skin?”

There were two slices of pizza.  “Do you mind,” Cecilia said, “I shouldn’t but it’s been one of those days.”

Juliet nodded.

“Now, Juliet, do you want to revise any answers?”

“Who are you really?  The two of you?”

“We find people.  Or I used to until Larry came after me, and then my boss decided I couldn’t retire, or maybe it was his wife this time.  She’s a good chum of the countess.  It seems if I found her, I can finally go back to my well-earned retirement.  So, one question, did your mother, Vittoria Romano, kidnap her?”

“No.”

No hesitation.  Interesting.

“She is up in your apartment at the moment?”

Juliet looked at Cecilia, reaching for the second slice.

“Yes.”

“How long have you known about her?”

“About three months.  She found me.  I didn’t believe it at first, but apparently, she had to wait until my adoptive mother died before she could see me in person.  It was the agreement they made.  By the way, she shared the money the count paid her for my upkeep and to go to medical school.”

“So, you are his daughter?”

“She showed me the birth certificate.  It has his name on it.  No one was ever supposed to know.”

“Until the money stopped.  Who did she go to?”

“The countess.  My mother had nothing to do with her disappearance.  You should be looking at the family, that Alessandro is a criminal, the whole family are.”

“They’re bankers,” Cecilia said.  “Is there a difference?”

“OK.  If she is not guilty of anything, then she will have no trouble talking to us?”

“I can ask?”

“No.  Not until we’re on the doorstep.  You may think she’s not guilty because she told you so, but unfortunately, I don’t have that luxury.  And you know me well enough to know that I keep an open mind about everything.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“You do.  But if we let you go and we find out you’ve lied to us, then we’ll hunt you down, no matter where you are, and we will not be as nice as we are now.”  The way Cecelia said it, it sounded like she relished hunting down criminals and liars.  The words were accompanied by a very mean look.

“Can we finish dinner first?”

“Of course.  I was looking forward to having some tiramisu.”

Cecelia was in a role.  She smiled.  I was glad she wouldn’t be hunting me.

Another small pizza, tiramisu, red wine, coffee and conversation, from the outside could be construed as three friends meeting up and having a leisurely dinner and reminiscing.

Cecelia was genuinely interested in car accident victims, to help her in her auditions, and Juliet was genuinely interested in the movie business.  I was fascinated watching the two women together, wondering if Juliet thought there was something between us.

Back in Venice, that was the impression she was giving Juliet.  Here, I got the occasional glance, and a touch on the hand, the sort of touchy-feely things a girlfriend might do.  I hadn’t thought of her a lot since Venice, but she hadn’t completely disappeared.

By the time we left, most of the other customers had gone, and the staff were cleaning up.  I paid the bill and said I would be back.  Those pizzas were to die for.  We had ordered another just before leaving, to take back for her mother.

If she was there.

Cecelia had gone ahead to make sure there wasn’t an ambush waiting for us, and when we reached the door of her apartment, she was waiting in the shadows.

Juliet got out her key and opened the door, and after opening it, yelled out “I’m home.”  Then she went in, and I followed.

There were two guns pointed at me as I stepped into the room, Vittoria was pointing one at me, and the countess was pointing the other at Cecelia.

© Charles Heath 2023

Motive, means, and opportunity – Episode 8

…

A deep dive into Bergman’s Timeline

…

Bryson rubbed his eyes and leaned back in his chair.  This was going to be a day that never ended.  For some, the day ended while the sun was still shining, for others, they might as well be vampires.

There were so many potential suspects in the Bergman case, it was rapidly become a case of where to start.

The medical examiner’s report was sitting on his desk when he got back, and it didn’t say much more than he already knew other than the time of death had moved to a more specific window of between 10:30 and 11:00 pm.  It might be a little later, but the cold weather played havoc with the body.

But the time fitted the fact he had a meeting at 10pm, according to Wendy Anderson.  Who was he meeting, and how had it been set up, and why in the car park of the Brooklyn Zoo?  The broken CCTV camera could not be the only reason.

Still determined to be a close shot, through the window of the car, fragments of glass were found in the wound.  Death was instantaneous, a blessing perhaps.  He was in the driver’s seat, keys in hand, so he was preparing to get out.

The weapon could be a Glock 19, and 9mm ammunition.  One bullet was all it took to kill him.  Up close and personal, it was most likely the shooter someone he knew.

So Bergman’s timeline so far looked like this:

09:00 Bergman comes in for a half hour and then leaves

12:00 or thereabouts, pick up a rental car from Atlantic Avenue Brooklyn

Home perhaps in Jamaica?

19:03 Calls Wendy as he is leaving his residence, on his way to James Anderson’s

On average takes 45 minutes to drive from Jamaica to Prospect Park Zoo a few minutes more to Anderson’s

20:30 Bergman arrives at James Anderson’s

21:05 Text message from Bergman to Wendy after leaving Anderson’s.

22:30 Approx, Bergman murdered in carpark

Then the questions:

Why did Bergman rent the car in the name of Megarry?  Was it because he used that name to pick up women, and had he arranged a liaison?  They wouldn’t be the first people to drive to a certain spot, meet, one leaves their car, and they go off to someplace else.

Who was Bergman meeting and how had the meeting been arranged?  The second phone?  The search would have to be widened to near the carpark, though the chances of finding it discarded were little to none.

They would now need the phone records of Wendy Anderson, James Anderson, Stacy Bergman, and Richard Hollingsworth.

More was needed on the relationship between brother and sister Hollingsworth.  Both could want him dead for various reasons.

That was as far as the scribbled notes got when Worthey walked in.  He looked tired and jaded.

“I’m sure the world is mostly populated by assholes,” he said, throwing himself into his chair.

“And this assumption has been caused by?”

“Hotel concierge.  They see everything, know everyone, and yet are happy to cite confidentiality ad their credo when it suits them.  If I offered them a few hundred dollar notes they’d sing like canaries.”

“We don’t have that kind of money.”

“But Stacy Bergman does, or at least her team of PI’s.  He’s had six different women he’s taken to dinner in the last month, and the favourite, Wendy Anderson.  And a week ago they had a very loud bust up in the restaurant.  She stormed out, they haven’t been back since.  Her that is, not him.  He was back two nights later with another woman.”

“How did you come by this tidbit?”

“One of the front counter staff took pity on me.  She didn’t like the concierge, reckons he’s a little handy, so the price of information was to warn him about being more circumspect around the female staff.”

“So, all was not well in paradise.  Probably the photos and veiled threats.”

“A viable suspect, too.”

Worthey looked up at the whiteboard Bryson had been writing on.  “OK, I came up with this brainstorm, that the rental should have a GPS, so I went to the rental office and, success.  We know where the car was from the moment, he picked it up until the moment he parked at the Zoo,”

He pulled out his notebook.

“Left the rental office at 12:08 pm.  Arrived at 84th Avenue Jamaica at 12:43, with one-stop, presumably a gas station, I checked the coordinates.  Left Jamaica at 19:23, stops to get takeaway at 19:40, leaves there at 20:04, and arrives at Anderson’s at 20:43.  He’s there until 20:58, then leaves, drives to the Zoo Car Park arriving there at 21:21.  He doesn’t take the direct route, he just seems to be driving in circles, killing time.”

“Good.  Fill in the timeline to reflect those times.  Then check his phone records for calls, in or out for the time he was home, the time he was getting takeout, and the time after he left Anderson’s.  Any word on the CCTV camera between Anderson and the Zoo?”

“Not yet.  There doesn’t appear to be anyone home.  I’m in the process of finding who lives there so I can track them down.”

“Excellent.  First thing tomorrow, you and I will visit Bergman’s lawyer.”

“Mrs Anderson?”

“She can wait a little longer.  I want more information before I see her again.  she’s going to be the type who needs to be served with a fait accompli.”

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2023

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 26

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.

Maury drops in for a search

 

I moved to the doorway and switched off the light, sending the room back into inky darkness.  Not good for the eyes, going bright light to instant dark.  We stood together behind the door as it opened inwards, Jan ready with her gun.

The door opened slowly, at the same time letting light in from the corridor, making it easier to see.

Opened fully, the visitor tentatively stepped into the room, and once the shape moved past the door, I slammed it shut and Jan lunged with the gun.  

I was not sure what result she was expecting but the person fought back, and as they turned to wrench the gun out of her hand, I let loose a punch, aiming for the head, and as hard as I could.  I head a cracking sound followed by a thump as the body hit the ground.

When I turned the light back on, there were two surprises.  The first, that I’d managed to knock someone out, and the second, Maury was back for a second look.

Why?

It didn’t matter.  He wasn’t going to be unconscious for very long.  Jan had some twine in her room, I wasn’t going to ask why, and she tied his hands and legs together, trussed almost like a turkey.

We left him on the floor when he’d fallen.  Unconscious, he was too heavy to move, or lift.

“Is this man Severin, Maury or Nobbin?” she asked.  She’d saved the questions until after he’d been neutralized, and we’d taken his gun off him.  Also, a knife.  She’d also look through his pockets to see if he carried any identification.  He didn’t, and I wouldn’t expect to find anything.  At the moment I was the same, and since I threw the phone’s sim card, I was now completely anonymous.

“Maury,” I said.

“The attack dog?”

“Not able to attack us at the moment, but yes.  I wonder why he came back?”

“We should ask him,” she said, “when he wakes up.”

We were sitting in the chairs, turned around to face Maury lying on the ground.  He had wriggled, and realizing he was tied up, tried harder to escape the bonds, and then relaxed when he realized he couldn’t.

His eyes turned to us, and it felt like a death stare.  

“This is a mistake,” he said.  “untie these ropes and I might make an exception for you.

“Why are you here?” I asked him.

“That’s none of your business.”

“But it is mine.  This is my flat, and you’re trespassing,” Jan said.

He switched his death gaze to her.

“I’m not here to cause trouble.”

“Then why are you here?”

“To ask you if your next-door neighbor left anything here with you to collect at a later date.”

No doubt with a menacing attitude, which would end in violence because Maury was not the sort to take no for an answer.

“Most people would knock on the door, and politely wait until it was answered.”

Most people.

“I was told there would be no one at home.”

“And it couldn’t wait until I returned?  I’m sorry, but you have broken into my flat and I’m going to call the police.”

He looked at me.

“That’s not a good idea.  Tell her, Jackson.”

“I don’t work for you, or Severin, anymore.  In fact, when I went back into the office, I got dragged aside and interrogated.  No one seems to know who you and Severin are.”

“That’s because our operation was on a need to know basis.  How do you think our business works?  Not by telling everyone what you’re doing.  Now untie me, and I’ll be on my way.”

“No,” Jan said.  “Not until you tell us exactly who you are and who you work for, and why you deemed it necessary to murder O’Connell.”

Maury looked at me again, and there was no mistaking the anger.

“You do understand what the Official Secrets Act means, don’t you Jackson?”

“More or less.  But it depends on who it is you speak to whether that’s relevant or not.”

Back to Jan.  

“Who are you, then?”

“As you keep pulling out of your hat, it’s on a need to know basis, and, of course, we just tell everyone what we’re doing either.  But one thing I’m sure of, we do not go around killing agents.  As far as I can tell, O’Connell was working for an agency, possibly yours but I don’t think so, and in the course of his investigation, he came across some valuable information.  Information, I’m told, you want.  What is it and why?”

“Are you serious?”

He shifted his glare back to me.

“Seriously Jackson, who is this person?”

“Someone, I fear, who is going to cause you a great deal of grief if you don’t answer her questions.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.  I don’t have to tall you or anyone else the nature of my business.”

I saw her shake her head.  “I take it, that’s a no.”  She shrugged and pulled out her phone and dialed a number.  “Always the hard way with you people.”

“Sir,” she said when the call was answered.  “I’ve got a character named Maury tied up in my flat.  Breaking and entering for starters.  Yes, I’ll be here.”

She put the phone back in her bag.  “They’ll be here in ten minutes.”

All we had to do was hope that Maury didn’t have a backup.

© Charles Heath 2020

“The Document” – the editor’s final draft – Day 22

This book has been sitting in the ‘to-be-done’ tray, so this month it is going to get the final revision.

And so it begins…

…

So close I can taste it

…

Or something like that, it’s a rather interesting expression I had to look up.

There’s more than one meaning, perhaps referring to being near the ocean and tasting the salt in the air, or the fact that your objecting is so close to attainment, it is assured.

But I once again digress…

49,042 words, Day 22, 8 more days to go, 1,000 odd words to make the magic 50,000.

This novel, though, is not going to be within the 50,000-word limit, it is going to be more like 60,000 words.

Currently, I’m working on the new, new, new ‘surprise’ ending…

Searching for locations: Innsbruck, Austria

On this occasion, we drove from Florence to Innsbruck, a journey of about 500 kilometers and via the E45, a trip that would take us about five and a half hours.

We drove conservatively, stopped once for lunch and took about seven hours, arriving in Innsbruck late in the afternoon

The main reason for this stay was to go to Swarovski in Wattens for the second time, to see if anything had changed, and to buy some pieces.  We were still members of the club, and looking forward to a visit to the exclusive lounge and some Austrian champagne.

Sadly, there were no new surprises waiting, and we came away a little disappointed.

We were staying at the Innsbruck Hilton, where we stayed the last time, and it only a short walk to the old town.

From the highest level of the hotel, it is possible to get a look at the mountains that surround the city.  This view is in the direction we had driven earlier, from Florence.

The change in the weather was noticeable the moment we entered the mountain ranges.

This view looks towards the old town and overlooks a public square.

This view shows some signs of the cold, but in summer, I doubted we were going to see any snow.

We have been here in winter, and it is quite cold, and there is a lot of snow.  The ski resorts are not very far away, and the airport is on the way to Salzburg.

There is a host of restaurants in the old town, and we tried a few during our stay.  The food, beer, and service were excellent.

On a previous visit, we did get Swiss Army Knives, literally, from a small store called Victorinox.

And, yes, we did see the golden roof.

Why is writing so hard

In just about every book about how to be a good writer, there seems to be a pile of problems that at some time in a writer’s life will need to be overcome.

Writer’s block

Don’t have it.  The ideas pour out of my head like water over a waterfall

Don’t use abstract descriptions in your writing

Damn, I do that all the time

But, back to writer’s block, is that where you write 37 chapters and there the story stops?

Oops.

Plan your book and have an outline so you can write it from start to finish

Plan?  What Plan?

That only happens when I’ve written the book and prior to the first edit, I make a precise of each chapter to make sure of continuity.

Plan your characters and give them a timeline

Oh God is that why characters’ names are often changing as the story progresses.

Believe it or not, I’m working on this issue.

Manage your time.

Still can’t get it right.

Write at least a thousand words a day, no matter if it’s rubbish or not.

Does that include writing for social media?

Apparently not.

At least this is one of the requirements I follow religiously. Sometimes it’s a lot more words but a least some writing finished up either on paper in on the word processor.

Now it’s time to write those thousand words.

Look, there, I’ve at least got one part of time management under control.

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


What happens when your past finally catches up with you?

…

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

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

This time, however, there is more at stake.

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

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

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

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