Have you ever heard of someone rabbiting on, you know, endlessly rattling on about nothing?
That’s just one use of the word rabbit.
The most obvious is the animal, a rabbit. You know, that burrowing, plant-eating, long-eared, short-tailed animal that goes by the name of Bugs Bunny, maybe.
Nearly every child has a stuffed, cuddly one.
Of course, it’s of some significance at the moment because it’s Easter, and there are countless chocolate versions of the so-called Easter bunny.
Then there is that 6-foot-high invisible rabbit called Harvey, or not necessarily a rabbit, but a pookah.
We use the expression rabbit ears to describe those old interior television antennas.
There’s rabbit stew, rabbit pie, and white rabbit beer.
But my favorite is when the magician pulls the proverbial rabbit out of a hat. It’s an expression we also use for someone who pulls off an impossible task.
A single event driven by fate, after Ben told his wife Charlotte he would be late home one night, he left early, and by chance discovers his wife having dinner in their favourite restaurant with another man.
A single event where it could be said Ben was in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Who was this man? Why was she having dinner with him?
A simple truth to explain the single event was all Ben required. Instead, Charlotte told him a lie.
A single event that forces Ben to question everything he thought he knew about his wife, and the people who are around her.
After a near-death experience and forced retirement into a world he is unfamiliar with, Ben finds himself once again drawn back into that life of lies, violence, and intrigue.
From London to a small village in Tuscany, little by little Ben discovers who the woman he married is, and the real reason why fate had brought them together.
The story fleshed out for the second section, discussed in Point of View
Annalisa looked at the two men facing her, a shopkeeper who, despite his protestations, was a dealer, and the other man, a customer scared shitless.
The poor bastard was not the only one scared.
It was meant to be simple, arrive at the shop just before closing, force the shopkeeper to hand over the shit, and leave.
What had happened?
The shopkeeper laughed at them and told them to get out. Simmo started ranting and waving the gun around, then all of a sudden collapsed.
There was a race for the gun which spilled out of Simmo’s hand, and she won. No more arguments, the shopkeeper was getting the stuff when the customer burst into the shop.
This was worse than any bad hair day, or getting out of the wrong side of bed day, this was, she was convinced, the last day of her life.
Her mother said she would never amount to anything, and here she was with a drug addict coming apart because she had been cut off from her money and could no longer pay for his supply, which had led them to this inevitable ending.
She heard a strange sound come from beside her and looked down. Simmo was getting worse, like he had a fever, and was moaning.
If Alphonse had thought his day was going to get any better after the delivery disaster earlier that day, he was wrong.
If he thought he could maintain his real business and his under the counter business with no one finding out, in that he was wrong too. He’s know, inevitably, some useless punk would come and do exactly what Simmo was doing.
It might have been salvageable before the customer came in the door, but now it was not. The customer had heard the words, and given him ‘the look’. A drug addict telling the cops he was a dealer, it was his word against an unreliable addict, but this local chap, he had that air of respectability the cops would listen too.
Damn.
But he had to try and salvage the situation, there was a lot of money involved, and other people depending on him. He looked at the boy, on the floor, then the girl.
“Listen to me, young lady, I have no idea what you are talking about. Please, put the gun down before someone gets hurt. Your friend needs medical help and I can call an ambulance.”
The girl switched her attention back to him. “Shut up, let me think. Shit.”
The storekeeper glanced over at the customer. He’s been in once or twice, probably lived in the neighborhood, but looked the sort who’d prefer to be anywhere but in his shop. More so now. If only he hadn’t burst in when he did. He would have the gun, called the police, and brazened his way out of trouble. Now, that remedy was off the table.
Now he had to deal with the fallout, especially if the girl started talking.
As some may be aware, but many are not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some years ago.
Recently, I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.
For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits, I will run the series again from Episode 1
These are the memories of our time together…
This is Chester.
He realizes we are now part of a different world driven by the events surrounding the COVID 19 virus.
The grandchildren are here while their parents are working, and they are going to school remotely, that is one is in the kitchen and one is in the dining room, remotely linked to their school, teachers, and classmates.
Chester finds this interesting because they are not trying to find him, so, he’s come out to see what they’re doing.
First, he jumps up on the dining table and sits next to the 13-year-old. She is hard at work. I hear him ask if there is anything he can help with given his vast knowledge of everything.
There’s a universal greeting from 30 others, and he tries to find where all the other people are. No, it’s not hide and seek, they’re all online she tries to tell him.
No, doesn’t get it. They must be in the room somewhere. And he’s suddenly miffed that he can’t find them, and then that his assistance is not required.
All too much to cope with, he comes out to join the 10-year-old sitting at the kitchen table. She had headphones on and doesn’t hear him.
This time he sits on the floor and looks up thinking, if they can’t see him, he’s not there. She ignores him. I don’t think mathematics is his strong point.
So, he wanders into the office, planning to annoy me.
I find some headphones and put them on. He gets the message, no interruptions today, everyone is hard at work.
A sigh, then he goes to his corner and lies down on his bed, yawns and closes his eyes.
I know he’s not asleep. He’s waiting for something to happen, ready to spring into action.
This story is now on the list to be finished so over the new few weeks, expect a new episode every few days.
The reason why new episodes have been sporadic, 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.
Things are about to get complicated…
The Detective Inspector came back twenty minutes later.
“Latest news that I can tell you, is both the bodies belong to older people, we think the owner and one other. They were not in the fire, but some distance from the house.”
“Murdered?”
“People don’t shoot themselves in the back. They were trying to escape.”
The mother and a friend perhaps. Anna or someone else cleaning up? Was she getting ready to leave or gone already?
“No other body?”
“You think someone else was here?”
“Our agent, male, mid-thirties. He was here the last time I saw him.”
“Not so far, but I’ll tell them to widen the search.”
Had O’Connell escaped, or was he with her, and he was not simply a means to an end? The facts, as I knew them, didn’t seem to fit that scenario.
What worried me was that Dobbin hadn’t shown up yet. Could it be he was finally one step behind? I could only hope so. I didn’t want to run into him if and when I found Anna.
If Anna and O’Connell were about to leave, it would be reasonable to assume they’d go home, pack then leave. O’Connell’s flat at the same block where Josephine lived.
When we arrived at the front entrance to the block I had that sensation of being watched. It was possible Dobbin had the place under surveillance and I cursed myself for not checking to see if there was a back entrance.
I tried to see where the surveillance would be, places I would hide, if not in plain sight, but nothing was readily apparent. Of course, it could be the paranoia setting in.
If this was what the spy’s life was like, I was beginning to like it less and less. There were so many lies told by so many people it was impossible to tell what the truth was any more.
But it beat being a clerk in an office any day of the week.
And I didn’t get to work alongside people like Jennifer either.
“You sure we can get into this place. I’m starting to feel exposed out here.” She was shivering, because of the cold.
The temperature had dropped considerably in the last half hour.
I entered the code and the door opened. “Yes.”
I ushered her in and followed, taking a last look outside. Yes. Just caught a glimpse of a man on the corner almost out of sight. He was on his phone, so that would mean we would have minutes rather than enough time to do anything before someone arrived.
Would it be Dobbin, Jan, Monica or Joanne?
The list of interested parties was getting longer.
We almost jogged up the three flights of stairs, then on the landing, I went first, and Jennifer stayed back, gun in hand, ready for anything.
At least I hoped she was.
We were taught how to pick almost any lock in the shortest [possible time. Of course, in practice, when not under pressure, you could do it in seconds.
Now, because of the cold, my hands were slightly numb, and the pressure was mounting so things didn’t quite work the way they should, it took longer. A minute whereas in practice, seconds.
I drew my gun and opened the door carefully.
Nothing but darkness.
We had prearranged that Jennifer would wait outside until I gave her an all-clear, or if I didn’t come back in two minutes she should come in after me.
I went in but left the door ajar. Closed, fumbling to open it in a panic would get me killed. Little details.
Silence.
There didn’t appear to be anyone in the flat. Remembering the layout, I headed towards the passage leading to the bedroom, and about half way across the room, I kicked my foot into something.
The Muse Next Door: Weaving Real Life into Your Fiction (Pros & Cons)
As writers, we’re constantly searching for inspiration. Sometimes it strikes like lightning, a fully formed idea bursting forth. More often, though, our wellspring of creativity is much closer than we think: it’s the rich, messy, beautiful tapestry of real life itself.
The question then becomes: how much of that life – the people we know, the experiences we’ve had – should we actually weave into our stories? It’s a powerful tool, but like any powerful tool, it comes with a user manual that highlights both its immense benefits and its potential pitfalls.
Let’s explore the pros and cons of drawing directly from real people and personal experiences for your characters and plots.
The Allure of Authenticity: The Pros
There’s a reason so many authors look to their own lives and the people around them. The benefits are substantial:
Authenticity and Relatability: Real life has a texture that’s hard to invent. When you base a character on someone you know, or a plot on an event you’ve lived through, you bring an immediate sense of truth and lived experience to the page. Readers are incredibly astute; they can often feel when a character or situation rings true, and this fosters a deeper connection.
Rich Detail and Nuance: Ever tried to describe a facial twitch or an odd habit from scratch? It’s tough. But if you’re picturing your eccentric Aunt Carol, those details come naturally. Real people are complex, contradictory, and full of fascinating quirks that can make your fictional characters leap off the page in a way pure invention sometimes struggles to achieve.
Emotional Resonance: When you write about an experience you’ve had, or channel the emotions you’ve witnessed in someone else, that raw feeling seeps into your words. This can create powerful, moving scenes that deeply affect your readers because the emotion is rooted in a genuine place.
Overcoming Writer’s Block: Stuck on character motivation? Can’t figure out how a scene should unfold? Sometimes, recalling how a real person reacted in a similar situation, or remembering the actual sequence of events, can provide the perfect springboard to get your story moving again.
A Wellspring of Conflict: Life is full of conflict – big and small. The annoying neighbor, the family squabble, the quiet tension in a relationship. These everyday conflicts, when amplified or subtly altered, can form the backbone of incredibly compelling plots.
The Treacherous Territory: The Cons
While the well of reality is deep, it’s also fraught with potential dangers.
Ethical & Privacy Concerns: This is the biggest hurdle. When you base characters on real people, you risk:
Hurting Feelings: Friends, family, or even acquaintances might recognize themselves – or parts of themselves – and feel exposed, misrepresented, or betrayed.
Legal Repercussions: While less common for fiction, if you depict someone in a negative, identifiable way that could be proven false and damaging, you could face libel or defamation charges. (Though usually, fiction is protected if it’s not directly claiming to be fact).
Breaching Trust: Once you start writing about people you know, they might become wary of sharing personal details with you in the future.
Creative Constraints: Sticking too close to reality can actually limit your creativity.
Lack of Arc: Real people don’t always have satisfying story arcs. Their lives are often meandering, and if you simply copy, your character might feel directionless or flat in a fictional context.
Predictability: If you’re too faithful to a real person, your character might act exactly as that person would, making their choices and the plot predictable for both you and your readers.
Personal Bias and Emotional Baggage: You can’t write about people you know or experiences you’ve had with true objectivity.
Vengeful Writing: It’s tempting to use fiction to “settle scores” or air grievances, but this usually results in one-dimensional characters and a preachy, unengaging narrative.
Emotional Overwhelm: Writing about highly personal or traumatic experiences can be emotionally draining and difficult, sometimes re-traumatizing the writer.
Lack of Transformation: The goal of fiction isn’t to create a perfect mirror of reality, but to transform it into something meaningful. Simply transplanting a person or an event often misses the opportunity for deeper exploration, metaphor, or thematic development.
“Who’s That?” Dilemma: For those close to you, reading your work can become a game of “spot the real person,” detracting from their immersion in the story you’re trying to tell.
The Art of Transformation: Making it Work
So, how do you harness the power of real life without falling into its traps? The key is transformation, not transcription.
Mix and Match: Don’t base a character on just one person. Take the biting wit of your colleague, the fashion sense of your cousin, and the deep-seated insecurity of your old high school teacher, and blend them into a completely new entity.
Exaggerate and Subvert: Take a real trait and dial it up to eleven, or flip it on its head. Did your uncle always tell tall tales? What if your character is pathologically honest to a fault?
Change Circumstances: Put familiar people in unfamiliar situations. What would your overly cautious friend do if suddenly faced with an impossible life-or-death choice?
Shift Perspectives: If you’re drawing from a personal experience, try writing it from the perspective of another person involved, or even an outside observer. This creates distance and allows for more objective storytelling.
Focus on the Universal: Instead of replicating a specific argument you had, identify the universal themes within it: miscommunication, pride, fear. Then, build a fictional scenario around those themes.
Ask “What If?”: This is your greatest tool. “What if that person I know, with that specific trait, found themselves in this completely different, fictional situation?”
Conclusion
Our lives are the richest source material we possess. The people we meet, the places we go, and the emotions we feel are the raw ingredients of compelling stories. But like a skilled chef, a writer must know how to select, prepare, and transform those ingredients into something entirely new – a dish that nourishes the reader, stands on its own merits, and respects the origins without being bound by them.
So, open your eyes to the muse next door, but always wield your pen with thought, creativity, and a healthy dose of ethical consideration.
To start with, we first joined this tour at stop number 6.
We had to find it first and that meant some pedestrian navigation, which took us first to the City Hall, a rather imposing structure, which we found later had a profound effect on Philadelphia sports teams.
According to the map, stop number 6 is Reading Terminal Market, Convention Centre, on 12th street on Filbert. This was where we bought the tickets and boarded the bus that had a rather interesting guide aboard.
His favorite says was “And we’re good to go.”
Soon we would discover that his commentary was more orientated towards a younger audience, not that it bothered us.
Given the time restraints, we had, this was always going to be about looking and learning.
Stop number 7
City hall, Love Park.
This we had seen on our walk from where we left the car at the Free Library, near the Swann Memorial Fountain in Logan Park, the landmark that Rebecca had remembered from her last visit to Philadelphia. Of course, then, it was not quite so frozen.
Love park, of course, was only notable to us in that it had a sculpture in place with the word Love rather stylized. Apart from that, you’d hardly know it as a park
The city hall, well, that was something else, and when we looked at it, before going on the tour, it was a rather magnificent stone edifice.
After, well the guide filled us in, tallest building, highest and largest monument on William Penn, you get the gist. 37 feet tall, when eclipsed, the Philly sports teams all suffered slumps of one kind or another, until the problem was rectified. Interesting story.
Stop number 8
18th Street and the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, or Logan Circle
This is the location of the Cathedral Basilica of Saints Peter and Paul. A place where the Pope decided to give an audience and sent the city into a spin.
The same church has very high windows for the reason in the early days there was a problem with people wanting to throw Molotov cocktails through the windows. A bit hard when they’re so high up.
Benjamin Franklin Parkway, of course, is interesting in itself as an avenue, not only for all of the flags of many nations of those who chose to live in Philadelphia. We found ours, the one for Australia
This was also the stop where we needed to get off once the tour was finished, and time to head to the car, and go home, but that’s another story.
Stop number 10
Is that the stature of the Thinker, made famous, at least for me, from the old Dobie Gillis episodes, of God knows how many years ago?
Or, maybe it’s just the Rodin Museum on Benjamin Franklin Parkway.
There’s a whole story to go with that Statue and the fact it is one of many all over the world.
This one was made in France, cast in 1919 in Bronze, and is approximately 200cm x 130 cm by 140cm.
Stop number 11
Eastern State Penitentiary. NW corner of 22nd Street and Fairmont Avenue.
This had a rather interesting story attached to it and had something to do with ghosts, but I wasn’t listening properly to the guide’s monologue.
But, later research shows, the fact it was once the most famous and expensive prison in the world. Many also think it is haunted and is a favorite for visiting paranormal visitors.
Built around 1829, it was the first prison to have separate cells for prisoners. It held, at various times, the likes of Al Capone and Willie Sutt
Stop number 18
The Philadelphia Museum of art, where we stop for a few minutes and look at the steps which were immortalized in the movie Rocky, yes he ran god knows how far to end up on the top of these steps.
Sorry, but I’m not that fit that I would attempt walking up them. The view is just fine from inside the bus. Of course, they might consider cleaning the windows a little so the view was clearer, but because it’s basically Perspex and scratched so that might not be possible.
Stop number 17
Back at Logan Circle, or Square if you prefer, but on the other side, closer to the Franklin Institute. Benjamin Franklin’s name is used a lot in this city.
After that, it’s a blur, the Academy of Music, the University of the Arts, Pennsylvania Hospital, South Street, Vietnam Veterans Memorial, the USS Olympia, Penn’s Landing, and past the National Liberty Museum. I’m sure somewhere in that blur was the intention of seeing the Liberty Bell, but I think I heard that it was not on show, and only a replica could be seen.
So much for the getting as an opportunity to see the real liberty bell, crack and all..
We get off and stop number 27, or Number 1, I was not quite sure.
What were we after? The definitive Philly Cheese Steak.
The Unassuming Gems: Where Inspiration Truly Hides
We’ve all been there. Staring at a blank document, a still canvas, or a silent workshop, the well of inspiration feels utterly dry. We crave that spark, that brilliant idea that will propel us forward, but the world seems stubbornly uncooperative. We might scroll through endless curated feeds, devouring aspirational content, hoping for a lightning strike of genius.
But what if I told you that the most profound inspiration isn’t always found in the dazzling headlines or the perfectly staged Instagram posts? What if it’s often hiding in plain sight, peeking out from the most ordinary corners of our daily lives?
Think about your morning routine. For many of us, it involves a quick flick through the morning newspaper, whether it’s the ink-on-paper variety or the digital equivalent on our smartphones. We skim the headlines, digest the major events, and perhaps glance at the sports scores. It’s a ritual of staying informed, a way to ground ourselves in the present.
And yet, within this seemingly mundane activity, a treasure trove of inspiration can lie waiting. It’s rarely the front page that will send your creative gears whirring. No, the real magic often happens further in, perhaps lurking somewhere at the bottom of page 19.
Imagine it. You’ve finished the main news, perhaps scrolled past a few local announcements you might vaguely care about. Then, your eyes drift to a smaller, less prominent article. It might be a human-interest story about a local baker who’s reinvented a traditional recipe, a brief mention of a community garden overcoming a challenging season, or a quirky report on an unusual local phenomenon.
This is where the gems are. These aren’t the earth-shattering, world-changing events that dominate the front pages. Instead, they are the quiet, the subtle, the unexpected. They are the stories that reveal the resilience of the human spirit, the ingenuity born of necessity, or the simple beauty found in everyday life.
That paragraph at the bottom of page 19 – it doesn’t shout for attention. It doesn’t demand to be noticed. It simply is. And in its unassuming presence, it can offer a completely fresh perspective.
Perhaps the story of the baker sparks a new idea for your own culinary endeavors, or a unique ingredient combination you’d never considered. Maybe the community garden’s struggle and eventual success reminds you of the importance of persistence in your own projects. Or that quirky local report? It might be the perfect quirky detail to inject into your next piece of fiction, or a reminder to embrace the unexpected in your own creative process.
These aren’t grand pronouncements of genius; they are whispers of possibility. They are the seeds of ideas that, with a little nurturing, can blossom into something truly remarkable.
The key is to cultivate a mindset of receptiveness. It’s about looking beyond the obvious, beyond the noise, and being open to what the less-highlighted corners of our world have to offer. It’s about recognizing that inspiration isn’t always a thunderclap; it can also be a gentle breeze, carrying with it the scent of possibility.
So, the next time you find yourself searching for that elusive spark, don’t just skim the headlines. Take a moment. Delve a little deeper. You might just unearth a gem, tucked away at the bottom of page 19. And who knows what wonderful creations it might inspire?
What starts as a search for a missing husband soon develops into an unbelievable story of treachery, lies, and incredible riches.
…
It was meant to remain buried long enough for the dust to settle on what was once an unpalatable truth, when enough time had passed, and those who had been willing to wait could reap the rewards.
The problem was, no one knew where that treasure was hidden or the location of the logbook that held the secret.
At stake, billions of dollars’ worth of stolen Nazi loot brought to the United States in an anonymous tramp steamer and hidden in a specially constructed vault under a specifically owned plot of land on the once docklands of New York.
It may have remained hidden and unknown to only a few, if it had not been for a mere obscure detail being overheard …
… by our intrepid, newly minted private detective, Harry Walthenson …
… and it would have remained buried.
Now, through a series of unrelated events, or are they, that well-kept secret is out there, and Harry will not stop until the whole truth is uncovered.
Washington is a city with bright shiny buildings and endless monuments, each separated by a long walk or a taxi ride if you can find one.
We might have picked the wrong day, shortly after New Year’s Day when the crowds were missing along with everything else. Or, conversely, it was probably the right time to go, when we didn’t have to battle the crowds.
Sunny but very cold, the walking warmed us up.
First stop was the Lincoln Memorial
It was built to honor the 16th President of the United States, Abraham Lincoln.
It is located on the western end of the National Mall in Washington, D.C., across from the Washington Monument.
The building is in the form of a Greek Doric temple and contains a large seated sculpture of Abraham Lincoln and inscriptions of two well-known speeches by Lincoln.
The next stop was the Washington Monument
The Washington Monument is an obelisk on the National Mall in Washington, D.C., built to commemorate George Washington. Construction of the monument began in 1848 and not completed until 1888. It was officially opened October 9, 1888.
We then took a taxi ride to the Jefferson Memorial
This monument is dedicated to Thomas Jefferson (1743–1826), one of the most important of the American Founding Fathers as the main drafter and writer of the Declaration of Independence.
Construction of the building began in 1939 and was completed in 1943.
