Watching the doors that lead to the consulting rooms is about as exciting as watching pigeons standing on a window ledge.
But…
When you have little else to do while waiting to see the doctor, it can take on new meaning, especially if you don’t want to be like 95% of the others waiting and be on their mobile phones.
What you basically have is a cross-section of people right in front of you, a virtual cornucopia of characters just waiting to stay in your next novel, of course with some minor adjustments. It’s the actions and traits I’m looking for, and since it is a hospital, there’s bound to be some good ones.
It’s a steady drip of patients getting called, and it seems like more are arriving than being seen, and those that are being called have arrived and barely got to sit down, whilst a steady core has been waiting, and waiting, and waiting…
Everyone reacts differently to waiting.
A lady arrives, walking tentatively into the waiting area. It’s reasonably full so the first thing she does is look for a spot where she doesn’t have to sit next to anyone else. I’m the same, nothing worse if you sit next to a talker, and getting their life history.
Another sits, looking like they’re going to read, they brought a book with them, but it sits on her lap. The phone comes out, a quick scan, then it remains in hand. Is she expecting a call or text wishing her luck? It’s not the oncology clinic so she doesn’t have cancer. Hopefully. The fact she brought a book tells me she’s been here before and knows a 9:00 appointment is rarely on time.
As we are discovering.
A couple arrives, maybe a mother and daughter, maybe a patient and her support person. Both of them don’t look very well do it’s a toss-up who is there to see the doctor.
Next is a man who could easily pass as living on the street. It’s probably an injustice to say so, but his appearance is compelling, and I’m not the only one. He sits and the person next to him gets up, apparently looking for something, then moves subtly to another seat. Someone else nearby wrinkles her nose. Two others look in his direction and then whisper to each other. No guesses what the subject is.
More arrive, fewer seats, some are called, but everyone notices, and avoids, the man.
The sign of the door where the stream of patients are going, says no entry staff only, and periodically a staff member comes striding out purposely, or sedately, clutching a piece of all-important paper, the sign of someone who knows where they’re going, on an important mission. Names are being called from this door and various other sections of the room, requiring you to keep one ear open.
It seems all hospitals are branches of the United Nations, medical staff, and particularly doctors, are recruited from all over the world, and it seems to be able to speak understandable English is not one of the mandatory requirements, and sometimes the person calling out the name, has a little difficulty with the pronunciation.
Perhaps like the UN, we need interpreters. No, most of the names are recognizable until there is a foreign name that’s unpronounceable, or a person with English as a second language calls an English name. It makes what could be an interminable wait into something more interesting.
And then there are the people who have names that are completely at odds with their nationality. They are lucky enough to have the best of a number of cultures, and perhaps a deeper level of understanding where others do not. I’m reminded never to judge a book by it’s cover.
When there is a lull in arrivals and call-ups, there’s the doctor in consult room 2. He’s apparently the doctor with no patients and periodically he comes out to look in his pigeonhole, or just look over the patients waiting, and more importantly checking the door handle when not delivering printouts to the consulting room next door.
He’s a doctor with no patients, get my drift. Well, that joke fell very flat, so, fortunately, he comes out, a piece of paper in hand, and calls a name. His quiet period is over. Someone else will have to look at the door handle.
But we’re still waiting, waiting.
It’s been an hour and four minutes, and a little frustrating. Surely when you check-in they should give you an estimated waiting time, or better still how many patients there are before you.
I guess its time to join the rest and pick up the mobile phone.
The good news, I only got to type one word before my name was called. By a person who could pronounce it correctly.
How to Approximate Spoken Language in Fiction – A Practical Guide Using James Kelman’s Novels
Meta Description: Learn to capture the rhythm, tone, and authenticity of real speech in your writing. This step‑by‑step guide uses James Kelman’s groundbreaking novels as a live case study, with SEO‑friendly tips for mastering spoken language on the page.
Introduction
When a reader opens a novel, the most immediate test of its credibility is the dialogue. Does it sound like a casual conversation you might overhear at a pub, or does it feel like a rehearsed script? Approximating spoken language—the art of making prose sound like real speech—adds immediacy, personality, and cultural texture to fiction.
One author who has turned this technique into a literary trademark is James Kelman, the Scottish Booker‑prize‑winning novelist known for his unapologetically raw, Glaswegian voice. Kelman’s work is a masterclass in how to translate the cadences, slang, and interruptions of everyday talk into page‑bound narrative without sacrificing readability.
In this post we’ll break down:
The why behind mimicking spoken language.
The common pitfalls that can turn authentic dialogue into unreadable gibberish.
Kelman’s toolkit—the specific techniques he uses to make his prose feel like a live conversation.
A step‑by‑step workflow you can apply to your own manuscript.
By the end, you’ll have a concrete, SEO‑friendly roadmap for writing dialogue that sounds like it’s being spoken right now—just like Kelman’s characters.
1. Why Approximate Spoken Language?
Benefit
Explanation
SEO Keywords
Authenticity
Readers instantly trust characters whose speech matches the social setting they belong to.
authentic dialogue, realistic speech
Voice & Identity
Dialect, rhythm, and filler words give each character a distinct fingerprint.
character voice, literary dialect
Immersion
Real‑time speech creates an “in‑the‑room” sensation, deepening narrative immersion.
immersive storytelling, natural speech in fiction
Cultural Context
Language is a cultural artifact; capturing it grounds the story in a specific place and time.
regional dialects, Scottish speech
In short, approximating spoken language bridges the gap between reader and character, turning passive consumption into an active, almost conversational experience.
2. The Challenges of Writing “Real” Speech
Even though we all speak every day, transcribing that experience into text is a delicate balancing act. Here are the three biggest hurdles:
Clarity vs. Verisimilitude – Raw speech includes false starts, repetitions, and unfinished thoughts. Too much of this can obscure the plot.
Readability – Over‑use of slang or non‑standard spelling can alienate readers unfamiliar with the dialect.
Pacing – Dialogue that mimics spoken rhythm can affect the overall pacing of a scene.
Understanding these challenges helps you apply Kelman’s solutions rather than reinventing the wheel.
3. James Kelman: A Case Study in Spoken‑Language Approximation
3.1. Who is James Kelman?
Born: 1946, Glasgow, Scotland
Major Works: How Late It Was, How Late (1994), The Busconductor (1985), A Disappearing Number (1995)
Accolades: Booker Prize (1994) for How Late It Was, How Late
Kelman grew up speaking Glaswegian, a working‑class Scottish dialect that is often dismissed as “unintelligible” outside its region. Instead of sanitizing it, Kelman preserves its rough edges, using the dialect as a political tool to amplify working‑class voices.
3.2. Core Techniques Kelman Employs
Technique
Description
Example (from How Late It Was, How Late)
Stream‑of‑Consciousness Punctuation
Minimal punctuation, long run‑on sentences that simulate thought flow.
“I’m trying to get them, but I’m badly sorry for being slightly at a loss. I ain’t anything but a brain‑and‑stupid little bit for later.”
“He was a wee lad, aye, and kept sayin’ I’m out o’ work.”
Ellipsis & Pauses
Uses “…” and commas sparingly to hint at breathes and hesitation.
“…and then I… I’m not sure whether you seen him.”
Delete Excess ‘Editing’
No quotation marks in many passages; dialogue bleeds into narration.
He said he was angry, but I could see he was scared too.
Repetition & Stuttering
Mimics common speech patterns (e.g., “I… I don’t know”).
“I’m not— I’m not sure what you’re gettin’ at.”
These choices make the reader hear the speaker’s voice while still being able to follow the narrative thread.
4. Step‑by‑Step Guide: How to Approximate Spoken Language in Your Own Writing
4.1. Listen First – Build an Auditory Archive
Eavesdrop (ethically!). Sit in a café, a bus, or a community center and note how people start, stop, and finish sentences.
Record & Transcribe. Use a phone recorder for 2‑minute conversations (with permission) and transcribe them verbatim.
Identify Patterns. Look for:
Common fillers: “uh,” “you know,” “like”
Sentence truncations: “I was thinking… maybe we should…”
Regionalisms: “y’all,” “aye,” “bairn”
SEO tip: Create a searchable spreadsheet titled “spoken‑language‑archive” and tag each entry with dialect, filler, rhythm—later you can reference this in future blog posts or FAQs.
4.2. Choose the Right Level of Realism
Realism Level
When to Use
How to Implement
High (verbatim speech)
Short scenes, comedic effect, authenticity-critical (e.g., a Glasgow bar).
Keep most fillers, false starts, and dialect.
Medium (filtered speech)
Main narrative scenes where clarity is essential.
Trim excess filler, keep a few dialect words for flavor.
Low (stylized speech)
Exposition or “high‑concept” dialogue where pacing is crucial.
Use clean, concise sentences; sprinkle occasional colloquialism.
4.3. Draft the Dialogue in “Speech‑First” Mode
Write as you would speak. Forget about punctuation for a moment; just get the words down.
Read aloud. If it feels unnatural, adjust.
Mark pauses & interruptions using placeholders: ... for breath, — for abrupt stops.
Example:
Original draft: “I think we should— actually, never mind, you know what I mean, right?” Speech‑first: “I think we should… actually, never mind—you know what I mean, right?”
4.4. Apply Kelman‑Inspired Formatting
Kelman Technique
How to Use It
When to Tighten
Minimal punctuation
Drop unnecessary commas or hyphens; allow thoughts to run together.
In internal monologues or stream‑of‑consciousness.
No quotation marks
Use italics or simply integrate speech into narration.
When you want a blurred line between thought and speech (e.g., a character’s inner voice).
Dialect spelling sparingly
Spell only the most distinctive words (“wee,” “bairn”). Keep the rest standard to aid readability.
In dialogue tags or descriptive beats.
Ellipsis for hesitation
Use … to replace “um,” “uh,” or thinking pauses.
In moments of uncertainty or tension.
Tip: Run a readability test (Flesch‑Kincaid) after applying these changes. If the score drops dramatically, re‑introduce a few commas or full stops for balance.
4.5. Edit for Clarity—Never for “Correctness”
Strip redundant filler that adds no character insight.
Preserve purposeful slang that signals class, region, or age.
Check for comprehension by reading the scene to someone unfamiliar with the dialect; if they can follow the gist, you’ve succeeded.
4.6. Polish with Narrative Integration
Blend speech and description to keep the scene moving.
Show, don’t tell – let a character’s accent reveal their background without explicit exposition.
Example (Kelman‑style):
“Aye, it’s a cold night,” I muttered, fingers digging into the pocket of my tattered coat, the wool biting my skin like a cheap reminder of the factory’s heat.
5. Practical Exercises (Try Them Now)
Exercise
Goal
Time Commitment
1. “One‑Minute Monologue”
Capture a single character’s voice in 150 words.
10 min
2. “Dialect Swap”
Rewrite a famous literary dialogue (e.g., from Pride and Prejudice) using a modern regional dialect of your choice.
20 min
3. “Ellipsis Audit”
Take a 500‑word scene and replace every um/uh with an ellipsis or dash.
15 min
4. “Kelman‑Style Paraphrase”
Choose a paragraph from a novel and rewrite it using minimal punctuation and no quotation marks, emulating Kelman’s style.
20 min
Document your results in a blog post series titled “Learning Spoken Language with [Your Name]”. Not only does this create shareable content (great for SEO), it also provides a portfolio of your evolving craft.
6. Common Mistakes & How to Fix Them
Mistake
Why It Happens
Fix
Over‑dialectizing – Every word is spelled phonetically.
Fear of “not sounding authentic enough.”
Keep dialect to key lexical items, leave the rest in standard spelling.
Long, unpunctuated walls of text
Trying too hard to mimic stream‑of‑consciousness.
Insert strategic line breaks and occasional punctuation for breath.
Using slang that dates the text
Relying on trends that may become obsolete.
Favor timeless regional terms (e.g., “wee” vs. “lit”).
Inconsistent voice between characters
Not tracking each character’s unique speech patterns.
Build a voice sheet: list each character’s filler words, dialect markers, and rhythm.
7. SEO Checklist – Making Your Post Discoverable
Element
Action
Primary Keyword
“approximate spoken language” – use in title, first paragraph, H2, and once in the conclusion.
Secondary Keywords
“James Kelman dialogue,” “realistic speech in fiction,” “dialect in literature,” “writing natural dialogue.”
Meta Description
≤ 155 characters, include primary keyword.
Header Tags
H1 (title), H2 for each major section, H3 for sub‑points.
Internal Links
Link to related posts: “How to Write Authentic Dialect,” “Top 5 Authors Who Use Real Speech.”
External Links
Cite a reputable source on Kelman (e.g., The Booker Prize page) and a linguistic article on spoken‑language transcription.
Images
Add a royalty‑free photo of a Glasgow street scene, alt‑text: “Glasgow backdrop illustrating James Kelman’s dialect.”
Readability
Aim for Flesch‑Kincaid grade 8–10; use short sentences for instructions, longer for analysis.
Social Snippets
Create a tweetable quote: “Kelman’s dialogue reads like a live recording—learn how to make your characters speak like real people.”
8. Conclusion
Approximating spoken language isn’t about reproducing every “uh” and “like” that crosses our lips. It’s a strategic craft that balances authenticity with narrative clarity. James Kelman shows us that dialect, rhythm, and minimal punctuation can turn ordinary prose into an audible experience that resonates with readers on a visceral level.
By listening first, choosing the right realism level, drafting in speech‑first mode, and polishing with purposeful formatting, you’ll be able to write dialogue that feels as natural as the conversations happening right now—maybe even on the street outside the café where you’re writing.
Ready to let your characters speak? Grab your notebook, hit the streets, and start transcribing the world’s endless chorus of voices. Your readers (and search engines) will thank you.
Quick Reference: 5‑Step Cheat Sheet
Listen & Record – Build an audio archive of real speech.
Edit for Clarity – Trim unnecessary filler, ensure readability, test with an unfamiliar reader.
Use this cheat sheet whenever you start a new dialogue‑heavy scene, and watch your characters come alive with the authentic, spoken timbre that only a few modern writers dare to master.
Happy writing, and may your prose always sound as if it’s being spoken in the moment!
One‑Day Stopover in Ankara? Make It Unforgettable With a Single Stop at Anıtkabir
If your flight itinerary or a road‑trip detour leaves you with just 24 hours in Turkey’s capital, you’ll quickly realise that Ankara isn’t a “quick‑look‑and‑leave” city. Its blend of modern governance, Ottoman‑era streets, and ancient history can feel overwhelming when the clock is ticking.
So, what’s the one place you must visit to turn a fleeting layover into a lasting memory?
The answer: Anıtkabir – the Mausoleum of Mustafa Kemal Atatürk
The monumental complex dedicated to Turkey’s founding father is more than a tomb; it’s a masterclass in architecture, a museum of the Republic’s birth, and a panoramic viewpoint over the city’s heart. In a single, well‑planned visit, you’ll:
Feel the pulse of modern Turkish identity – Atatürk’s legacy is woven into every corner of contemporary Turkey, and Anıtkabir is the physical embodiment of that narrative.
Enjoy a compact, self‑contained experience – The site fits comfortably into a 2‑hour window, leaving you time to sip Turkish tea, wander a nearby market, or catch a late‑night flight.
Capture iconic photographs – From the grand staircases to the sprawling lawn framed by the Bosphorus‑blue sky, every angle screams “travel‑worthy.”
Below is a practical guide to make that single stop truly unforgettable.
Where Is Anıtkabir?
Address: Anıtkabir, Çankaya, 06570 Ankara, Turkey
Coordinates: 39.9250° N, 32.8624° E
Getting There:
By Taxi / Ride‑Share: 15‑20 min from Ankara Airport (ESB) or the city centre; cost ≈ 30‑40 TL.
By Public Transport: Take the EGO bus 301 from the airport to Ulus and then a short 10‑minute walk. The Metro (M1 line) to Kızılay, followed by a 20‑minute bus ride (bus 302) also works.
Pro tip: Purchase a “Anıtkabir 1‑Day Pass” (≈ 25 TL) which includes entry to the mausoleum, the museum, and the Atatürk and War of Independence Hall—all in one ticket.
When to Go?
Season
Weather
Best Time of Day
Spring (Mar‑May)
Mild, blossoms in the nearby Gençlik Park
Early morning – fewer crowds, sunrise light on the columns
Summer (Jun‑Aug)
Hot, but the lawns are shaded by large trees
Late afternoon – cooler temps, dramatic sunset silhouettes
Autumn (Sep‑Nov)
Crisp, golden foliage
Mid‑day – perfect for museum photography
Winter (Dec‑Feb)
Cold, occasional snow – magical on the staircase
Late morning – sunlight hits the marble beautifully
The site opens at 9:00 AM and closes at 7:00 PM (last entry at 6:30 PM). Plan to arrive early to beat the peak tourist wave (typically 11:00 AM‑1:00 PM).
What You’ll See – A Quick Walk‑Through
Section
Highlights
Time Needed
Ceremonial Plaza
33‑meter high towers representing the 33 years of the Turkish War of Independence.
15 min
Road of Lions
A marble avenue lined with 24 lion statues, each symbolising virtues like courage and justice.
10 min
Mausoleum Hall
The sarcophagus of Atatürk rests under a 19-metre-high copper dome; a solemn, reverent atmosphere.
10 min
Museum of Atatürk
Personal items, letters, photographs, and a timeline of his life.
30 min
War of Independence Hall
Weapons, maps, and flags displayed in a dramatic, dim‑lit space.
20 min
Terrace & Views
Panoramic sweep of Ankara’s skyline and the verdant Gençlik Park beyond.
15 min
Total: Roughly 1.5‑2 hours. Add a short coffee break at the on‑site café for a traditional Turkish tea and a bite of simit (sesame‑seed bagel).
Why Anıtkabir Beats All Other Options for a One‑Day Stop
Factor
Anıtkabir
Other Popular Spots (e.g., Museum of Anatolian Civilizations, Ankara Castle)
Time Efficiency
All‑in‑one complex; minimal transit between sections
Requires separate trips, more walking, and potentially longer queues
Cultural Significance
Central to modern Turkish identity; revered national monument
Important, but more niche to archaeology or medieval history
Scenic Value
Grand architecture + sweeping city views
Scenic, but generally lower‑profile backdrops
Accessibility
Wheelchair‑friendly ramps, audio guides in multiple languages
Some areas (castle walls) are steep and less wheelchair‑friendly
Memorability
Iconic photo‑ops (dome, lion road, burial chamber) that instantly signal “Ankara”
Beautiful, yet less instantly recognizable to a global audience
In short, Anıtkabir delivers history, architecture, and visual impact in a compact, visitor‑friendly package—exactly what a short stopover demands.
Snap‑Shot Checklist
“The Lions” Walk – Capture the line of stone lions with the sunrise or sunset casting long shadows.
Dome Detail – A low‑angle shot of the copper dome framed by the marble columns.
Atatürk’s Sarcophagus – Respectful close‑up (no flash) of the simple, dignified stone coffin.
Panorama from the Terrace – Use a wide‑angle lens for the cityscape; the park in the foreground adds depth.
Museum Artifact – A candid of you (or your travel companion) reading Atatürk’s handwritten note.
Tip: Free Wi‑Fi is available in the museum—upload instantly to your travel blog or social feed!
Practical Tips for a Smooth Visit
Tip
Details
Dress Code
Modest attire is required (no shorts, miniskirts, or sleeveless tops). A light scarf can be useful.
Security
Expect metal detectors; large bags are not allowed inside the mausoleum.
Audio Guide
Available in English, Arabic, Russian, and French; rent for 10 TL.
Photography
Allowed in the exterior areas; flash prohibited inside the mausoleum hall.
Food & Drink
No eating inside the complex; there’s a small café just outside offering tea, fresh juice, and light snacks.
Nearby Quick Bite
Walk 5 minutes to Beypazarı Şarküteri for a traditional Turkish kebab or Baklava if you have extra time.
After Your Visit – Making the Most of the Rest of the Day
If you have a few hours left: Stroll through Gençlik Park (just south of Anıtkabir). The lake, flower beds, and mini‑cable car offer a pleasant breather.
For a taste of local life: Head to Kızılay Square (the city’s bustling hub) for a quick coffee at Café Diyar, then browse the nearby boutiques for souvenirs.
Last‑minute transport: Return to the airport via the EGO bus 302 (direct to Esenboğa). The ride takes about 30 minutes and runs every 20‑30 minutes.
Wrap‑Up: One Stop, One Memory
When the clock is ticking, you need a destination that summarises the soul of the city while staying logistically friendly. Anıtkabir does exactly that. It offers a profound glimpse into Turkey’s modern birth, striking architectural grandeur, and photo‑ready vistas—all within a compact venue that respects your limited schedule.
So next time your itinerary hands you a single day in Ankara, skip the maze of museums and head straight for the lion‑lined road. Walk the steps, stand beneath the dome, and let the spirit of Atatürk’s vision linger long after you’ve boarded your next flight.
Enjoy the journey, and may your stopover become a story you’ll share for years to come!
When the boss says jump, the question is usually ‘how high’.
Not that it’s possible for many of us with a challenging centre of gravity to get much elevation.
High generally means height, how far something rises above ground level, is above our heads.
That plane flies very high in the sky.
Then there’s another meaning, increased intensity, such as a high temperature, a high fever, but my favourite is, a high dudgeon.
I’m still to get a definition on what a dudgeon is.
We have secondary schools here that we call high schools. Make of that what you will
And in the idiomatic world, flying high means we are very happy, and when were left high and dry then not so much. Unless it related to a ship, in which case a lot of people would be unhappy.
We can use high just about everywhere, high hopes, high ceilings, feelings that run high, a high chair for toddlers of course, high speed which may cause s crash and land you in a high security prison.
This is not to be confused with just plain hi which is a universal greeting.
But there is another, hie, which has a more obscure meaning, to hasten or go quickly.
I remembered 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 that I could not remember the crash. Equally shocking, in that same moment, was the fact that 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. Other 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 that if he were, 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 it. “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 that 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.”
One Day in Stockholm: The One Place You Must Visit for an Unforgettable Day
Stockholm is a city of islands, innovation, and timeless beauty—but what if you only have one day? Whether you’re en route to another destination or squeezing in a whirlwind visit, a short stopover in Sweden’s capital can still be magical. With limited time, the key is to focus on one standout experience rather than rushing between sights.
So, if you have just one day in Stockholm, make it memorable by visiting:
Gamla Stan – The Beating Heart of Stockholm
Gamla Stan, Stockholm’s Old Town, isn’t just a historic district—it’s a living storybook. Founded in the 13th century, this island neighbourhood weaves together medieval charm, royal history, and vibrant culture in a way that captures the essence of Sweden.
Why Gamla Stan?
Timeless Atmosphere: Wander through narrow cobblestone lanes, past buildings in shades of gold and rust, under lantern-lit passages that feel frozen in time.
Compact & Walkable: Perfect for a day visit, you can explore key highlights on foot without feeling rushed.
History at Every Turn: From the Royal Palace to Stortorget square (home to the iconic colorful merchant houses), history isn’t behind glass here—it’s all around you.
Must-Do in Gamla Stan
Stortorget Square – Snap a photo by the iconic row of old merchant houses, and soak in the atmosphere of the oldest square in Stockholm.
The Royal Palace – Even if you don’t go inside, witnessing the daily Changing of the Guard (at 12:15 PM on weekdays, 1:15 PM on Sundays) is a spectacle of tradition.
Mårten Trotzigs Gränd – Walk down Stockholm’s narrowest street (just 90 cm wide) and feel the medieval pulse of the city.
Fika like a Local – Pop into a classic café like Chokladkoppen on the square for coffee and a cinnamon bun—fika is a ritual here.
Make It Memorable
Get Lost on Purpose: Put away the map for an hour. Discover hidden courtyards, antique shops, and artisan boutiques.
Listen to Stories: Join a short walking tour—many are free or tip-based—and hear tales of kings, legends, and Stockholm’s rise from the water.
Sunset Views: End your day by walking to the water’s edge for views of the surrounding islands. In summer, the golden light over Gamla Stan is pure magic.
Practical Tips for Your Stopover
Transport: From Arlanda Airport, take the Arlanda Express (20 minutes) to Central Station, then it’s just a short walk or metro ride to Gamla Stan.
Luggage: Use left-luggage services at the airport or Central Station to travel light.
Timing: Arrive early to beat crowds, especially in summer. Even with just 5–6 hours, you can experience Gamla Stan fully.
One day in Stockholm doesn’t have to be a checklist. By choosing Gamla Stan, you immerse yourself in the soul of the city—where every corner whispers a story, and a single afternoon can feel like a journey through centuries.
So, on your next stopover, step into the charm of the Old Town. Sometimes the most memorable travels aren’t about seeing everything—but about fully experiencing one perfect place. Hej då and happy travels!
John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.
Suddenly, he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.
If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.
At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.
That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.
Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.
How to Approximate Spoken Language in Fiction – A Practical Guide Using James Kelman’s Novels
Meta Description: Learn to capture the rhythm, tone, and authenticity of real speech in your writing. This step‑by‑step guide uses James Kelman’s groundbreaking novels as a live case study, with SEO‑friendly tips for mastering spoken language on the page.
Introduction
When a reader opens a novel, the most immediate test of its credibility is the dialogue. Does it sound like a casual conversation you might overhear at a pub, or does it feel like a rehearsed script? Approximating spoken language—the art of making prose sound like real speech—adds immediacy, personality, and cultural texture to fiction.
One author who has turned this technique into a literary trademark is James Kelman, the Scottish Booker‑prize‑winning novelist known for his unapologetically raw, Glaswegian voice. Kelman’s work is a masterclass in how to translate the cadences, slang, and interruptions of everyday talk into page‑bound narrative without sacrificing readability.
In this post we’ll break down:
The why behind mimicking spoken language.
The common pitfalls that can turn authentic dialogue into unreadable gibberish.
Kelman’s toolkit—the specific techniques he uses to make his prose feel like a live conversation.
A step‑by‑step workflow you can apply to your own manuscript.
By the end, you’ll have a concrete, SEO‑friendly roadmap for writing dialogue that sounds like it’s being spoken right now—just like Kelman’s characters.
1. Why Approximate Spoken Language?
Benefit
Explanation
SEO Keywords
Authenticity
Readers instantly trust characters whose speech matches the social setting they belong to.
authentic dialogue, realistic speech
Voice & Identity
Dialect, rhythm, and filler words give each character a distinct fingerprint.
character voice, literary dialect
Immersion
Real‑time speech creates an “in‑the‑room” sensation, deepening narrative immersion.
immersive storytelling, natural speech in fiction
Cultural Context
Language is a cultural artifact; capturing it grounds the story in a specific place and time.
regional dialects, Scottish speech
In short, approximating spoken language bridges the gap between reader and character, turning passive consumption into an active, almost conversational experience.
2. The Challenges of Writing “Real” Speech
Even though we all speak every day, transcribing that experience into text is a delicate balancing act. Here are the three biggest hurdles:
Clarity vs. Verisimilitude – Raw speech includes false starts, repetitions, and unfinished thoughts. Too much of this can obscure the plot.
Readability – Over‑use of slang or non‑standard spelling can alienate readers unfamiliar with the dialect.
Pacing – Dialogue that mimics spoken rhythm can affect the overall pacing of a scene.
Understanding these challenges helps you apply Kelman’s solutions rather than reinventing the wheel.
3. James Kelman: A Case Study in Spoken‑Language Approximation
3.1. Who is James Kelman?
Born: 1946, Glasgow, Scotland
Major Works: How Late It Was, How Late (1994), The Busconductor (1985), A Disappearing Number (1995)
Accolades: Booker Prize (1994) for How Late It Was, How Late
Kelman grew up speaking Glaswegian, a working‑class Scottish dialect that is often dismissed as “unintelligible” outside its region. Instead of sanitizing it, Kelman preserves its rough edges, using the dialect as a political tool to amplify working‑class voices.
3.2. Core Techniques Kelman Employs
Technique
Description
Example (from How Late It Was, How Late)
Stream‑of‑Consciousness Punctuation
Minimal punctuation, long run‑on sentences that simulate thought flow.
“I’m trying to get them, but I’m badly sorry for being slightly at a loss. I ain’t anything but a brain‑and‑stupid little bit for later.”
“He was a wee lad, aye, and kept sayin’ I’m out o’ work.”
Ellipsis & Pauses
Uses “…” and commas sparingly to hint at breathes and hesitation.
“…and then I… I’m not sure whether you seen him.”
Delete Excess ‘Editing’
No quotation marks in many passages; dialogue bleeds into narration.
He said he was angry, but I could see he was scared too.
Repetition & Stuttering
Mimics common speech patterns (e.g., “I… I don’t know”).
“I’m not— I’m not sure what you’re gettin’ at.”
These choices make the reader hear the speaker’s voice while still being able to follow the narrative thread.
4. Step‑by‑Step Guide: How to Approximate Spoken Language in Your Own Writing
4.1. Listen First – Build an Auditory Archive
Eavesdrop (ethically!). Sit in a café, a bus, or a community center and note how people start, stop, and finish sentences.
Record & Transcribe. Use a phone recorder for 2‑minute conversations (with permission) and transcribe them verbatim.
Identify Patterns. Look for:
Common fillers: “uh,” “you know,” “like”
Sentence truncations: “I was thinking… maybe we should…”
Regionalisms: “y’all,” “aye,” “bairn”
SEO tip: Create a searchable spreadsheet titled “spoken‑language‑archive” and tag each entry with dialect, filler, rhythm—later you can reference this in future blog posts or FAQs.
4.2. Choose the Right Level of Realism
Realism Level
When to Use
How to Implement
High (verbatim speech)
Short scenes, comedic effect, authenticity-critical (e.g., a Glasgow bar).
Keep most fillers, false starts, and dialect.
Medium (filtered speech)
Main narrative scenes where clarity is essential.
Trim excess filler, keep a few dialect words for flavor.
Low (stylized speech)
Exposition or “high‑concept” dialogue where pacing is crucial.
Use clean, concise sentences; sprinkle occasional colloquialism.
4.3. Draft the Dialogue in “Speech‑First” Mode
Write as you would speak. Forget about punctuation for a moment; just get the words down.
Read aloud. If it feels unnatural, adjust.
Mark pauses & interruptions using placeholders: ... for breath, — for abrupt stops.
Example:
Original draft: “I think we should— actually, never mind, you know what I mean, right?” Speech‑first: “I think we should… actually, never mind—you know what I mean, right?”
4.4. Apply Kelman‑Inspired Formatting
Kelman Technique
How to Use It
When to Tighten
Minimal punctuation
Drop unnecessary commas or hyphens; allow thoughts to run together.
In internal monologues or stream‑of‑consciousness.
No quotation marks
Use italics or simply integrate speech into narration.
When you want a blurred line between thought and speech (e.g., a character’s inner voice).
Dialect spelling sparingly
Spell only the most distinctive words (“wee,” “bairn”). Keep the rest standard to aid readability.
In dialogue tags or descriptive beats.
Ellipsis for hesitation
Use … to replace “um,” “uh,” or thinking pauses.
In moments of uncertainty or tension.
Tip: Run a readability test (Flesch‑Kincaid) after applying these changes. If the score drops dramatically, re‑introduce a few commas or full stops for balance.
4.5. Edit for Clarity—Never for “Correctness”
Strip redundant filler that adds no character insight.
Preserve purposeful slang that signals class, region, or age.
Check for comprehension by reading the scene to someone unfamiliar with the dialect; if they can follow the gist, you’ve succeeded.
4.6. Polish with Narrative Integration
Blend speech and description to keep the scene moving.
Show, don’t tell – let a character’s accent reveal their background without explicit exposition.
Example (Kelman‑style):
“Aye, it’s a cold night,” I muttered, fingers digging into the pocket of my tattered coat, the wool biting my skin like a cheap reminder of the factory’s heat.
5. Practical Exercises (Try Them Now)
Exercise
Goal
Time Commitment
1. “One‑Minute Monologue”
Capture a single character’s voice in 150 words.
10 min
2. “Dialect Swap”
Rewrite a famous literary dialogue (e.g., from Pride and Prejudice) using a modern regional dialect of your choice.
20 min
3. “Ellipsis Audit”
Take a 500‑word scene and replace every um/uh with an ellipsis or dash.
15 min
4. “Kelman‑Style Paraphrase”
Choose a paragraph from a novel and rewrite it using minimal punctuation and no quotation marks, emulating Kelman’s style.
20 min
Document your results in a blog post series titled “Learning Spoken Language with [Your Name]”. Not only does this create shareable content (great for SEO), it also provides a portfolio of your evolving craft.
6. Common Mistakes & How to Fix Them
Mistake
Why It Happens
Fix
Over‑dialectizing – Every word is spelled phonetically.
Fear of “not sounding authentic enough.”
Keep dialect to key lexical items, leave the rest in standard spelling.
Long, unpunctuated walls of text
Trying too hard to mimic stream‑of‑consciousness.
Insert strategic line breaks and occasional punctuation for breath.
Using slang that dates the text
Relying on trends that may become obsolete.
Favor timeless regional terms (e.g., “wee” vs. “lit”).
Inconsistent voice between characters
Not tracking each character’s unique speech patterns.
Build a voice sheet: list each character’s filler words, dialect markers, and rhythm.
7. SEO Checklist – Making Your Post Discoverable
Element
Action
Primary Keyword
“approximate spoken language” – use in title, first paragraph, H2, and once in the conclusion.
Secondary Keywords
“James Kelman dialogue,” “realistic speech in fiction,” “dialect in literature,” “writing natural dialogue.”
Meta Description
≤ 155 characters, include primary keyword.
Header Tags
H1 (title), H2 for each major section, H3 for sub‑points.
Internal Links
Link to related posts: “How to Write Authentic Dialect,” “Top 5 Authors Who Use Real Speech.”
External Links
Cite a reputable source on Kelman (e.g., The Booker Prize page) and a linguistic article on spoken‑language transcription.
Images
Add a royalty‑free photo of a Glasgow street scene, alt‑text: “Glasgow backdrop illustrating James Kelman’s dialect.”
Readability
Aim for Flesch‑Kincaid grade 8–10; use short sentences for instructions, longer for analysis.
Social Snippets
Create a tweetable quote: “Kelman’s dialogue reads like a live recording—learn how to make your characters speak like real people.”
8. Conclusion
Approximating spoken language isn’t about reproducing every “uh” and “like” that crosses our lips. It’s a strategic craft that balances authenticity with narrative clarity. James Kelman shows us that dialect, rhythm, and minimal punctuation can turn ordinary prose into an audible experience that resonates with readers on a visceral level.
By listening first, choosing the right realism level, drafting in speech‑first mode, and polishing with purposeful formatting, you’ll be able to write dialogue that feels as natural as the conversations happening right now—maybe even on the street outside the café where you’re writing.
Ready to let your characters speak? Grab your notebook, hit the streets, and start transcribing the world’s endless chorus of voices. Your readers (and search engines) will thank you.
Quick Reference: 5‑Step Cheat Sheet
Listen & Record – Build an audio archive of real speech.
Edit for Clarity – Trim unnecessary filler, ensure readability, test with an unfamiliar reader.
Use this cheat sheet whenever you start a new dialogue‑heavy scene, and watch your characters come alive with the authentic, spoken timbre that only a few modern writers dare to master.
Happy writing, and may your prose always sound as if it’s being spoken in the moment!
It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone. It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air. In summer, it was the best time of the day. When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.
On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’. This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.
She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable. The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day. So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.
It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her. It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
I sat in my usual corner. Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner. There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around. I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria. All she did was serve coffee and cake.
When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?” She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.
“I am this morning. I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating. I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise. I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”
“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me. I have had a lot worse. I think she is simply jealous.”
It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be. “Why?”
“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”
It made sense, even if it was not true. “Perhaps if I explained…”
Maria shook her head. “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole. My grandfather had many expressions, David. If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her. Before she goes home.”
Interesting advice. Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma. What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?
“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.
“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much. Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone. It was an intense conversation. I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell. It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”
“It is indeed. And you’re right. She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one. She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office. Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”
And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful. She had liked Maria the moment she saw her. We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived. I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.
She sighed. “I am glad I am just a waitress. Your usual coffee and cake?”
“Yes, please.”
Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.
I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one. What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.
There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it. We were still married, just not living together.
This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her. She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.
It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.
There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd. She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right. It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.
But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings. But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.
Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart. I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit. The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.
I knew I was not a priority. Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.
And finally, there was Alisha. Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around. It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties.
At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata. Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.
Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.
When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan. She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores. We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated. It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.
It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard. I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.
She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top. She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.
Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak. I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.
Neither spoke nor looked at each other. I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”
Maria nodded and left.
“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests. I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence? All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”
My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.
“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us. There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”
“Why come at all. A phone call would have sufficed.”
“I had to see you, talk to you. At least we have had a chance to do that. I’m sorry about yesterday. I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her. I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”
An apology was the last thing I expected.
“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington. I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction. We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”
“You’re not coming with me?” She sounded disappointed.
“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. You are so much better doing your job without me. I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband. Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less. You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it. I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”
It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement. Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points. I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever. The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.
Then, her expression changed. “Is that what you want?”
“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways. But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”
“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”
That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud. “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan. You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy. While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”
“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance. I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother. She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right. Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously. But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”
“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”
“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”
“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”
I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead. Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers. Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen. Gianna didn’t like Susan either.
Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her. She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.
She stood. “Last chance.”
“Forever?”
She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face. “Of course not. I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship. I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”
I had been trying. “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan. I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”
She frowned at me. “As you wish.” She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table. “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home. Please make it sooner rather than later. Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”
That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car. I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.
I’m back home and this story has been sitting on the 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 prioritising.
But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.
Chasing leads, maybe
When the room was empty and only Richards and I remained, he cut the ties that bound my hands and legs.
“Bad business,” he said.
I sat again, and flexed the muscles that had begun to stiffen up whilst tightly bound.
“I’m assuming you know a woman by the name of Jan?” I said. “She told me she was working for MI6 so I’m assuming you’re her handler.”
“When she chooses to be handled, yes. Jan is just one of her names. She’s currently missing, and I think we now know why?”
“Her work,” I nodded towards the body.
“God no. She’s charged with chasing down leads and then calling the cavalry. We had a tracker on this chap, found him, and had him in a safe facility awaiting interrogation, what we thought was safe at any rate, and Jan and another agent watching over him until the interrogation team arrived. When the interrogation team got there everyone was gone, but with enough blood on the floor to paint a pretty clear picture. Maury had been interrogated and killed there, dumped here, with no indication of the whereabouts of our agents. She told me this guy and another trained you, and others, in rather strange circumstances. A bogus operation. To what end?”
“From what I could tell, a single surveillance operation. Me and a dozen others. Cut loose after it failed, those of us that survived, that is.”
“A lot of effort to achieve nothing.”
“Pity we can’t ask him what it was about?” I looked over at the body. Maury was hardly recognizable. Whoever carried out the interrogation had been either in a hurry or in a bad mood.
“Indeed. She told me this chap called O’Connell was involved. Now so?”
Another rule that popped into my head from the training: never share information with other agencies unless you absolutely had to. I had no doubt if Dobbin was here, he would agree, but he wasn’t.
I wondered if I should tell him she had allegiance to another branch of the secret services, or mention Dobbin.
“He was the surveillance target. We were charged with observing him, but not what he was suspected of. I followed him as far as the exploding shop, got temporarily disorientated after the blast,, but managed to reacquire the target, following him to an alley where I spoke briefly to him before Maury and Severin arrived, and he was shot, apparently killed.”
“Either he was or he wasn’t.”
“The body disappeared. My view is he is still alive, somewhere.”
“That explosion was supposed to be caused by a gas leak.”
“Standard operational doubletalk. A journalist was killed, apparently in the shop waiting for the target. It went up after the target passed, I’m assuming his tradecraft was to check first then go back. Never got a chance. I think now given the circumstances, the journalist was going to hand something off. I’ve been asked a number of times by various people about a USB drive. You know anything about it?”
“This is the first I’m hearing about anything about a USB drive. You know what was on it?”
“Above my pay grade, I was told.”
“OK. What about this Severin character?:
“All I have is a phone number, and that, I think we can both agree, will be a burner.”
“Agreed, but it might be useful.”
I gave it to him and he put it on his phone.
A new team of men in white suits arrived at the door, no doubt MI5 forensic specialists, and two more agents, bigger and tougher, what I would call the muscle.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to come back to the office to answer a few more questions. It’s not custody, but mandatory co-operation.”
“And if I refuse?”
“It might make their day if you know what I mean.”
I shrugged. One I might be able to take, but not the both of them. And they both looked like they would be happy to teach me the error of my ways if I tried to escape/
“That won’t be necessary. I’m taking him with me.”
“Dobbin just came to the door, flashing an MI6 warrant card.
“I’ve been charged with cleaning this mess up.”
“And so you shall, but not including this agent. Orders from above, reasons why, as they say, are above your pay grade.
I suspect the warrant card said Dobbin outranked him. Did our people have fake MI6 IDs?
“This is highly irregular.”
“Call your boss, if you don’t like it. I can wait.”
I could see the reluctance in his face.
He glared at me. “Go, but don’t go too far. I still might get clearance to have another chat.”
Where Is Anıtkabir?
When to Go?
What You’ll See – A Quick Walk‑Through
Why Anıtkabir Beats All Other Options for a One‑Day Stop
Snap‑Shot Checklist
Practical Tips for a Smooth Visit
After Your Visit – Making the Most of the Rest of the Day
Wrap‑Up: One Stop, One Memory
