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Writing a book in 365 days – 329

Day 329

Tell a Dream, Lose a Reader – Why Your Aspirational Stories May Be Turning Audiences Away (And How to Fix It)

“If you can’t explain it simply, you haven’t understood it well enough.” – Albert Einstein

In the world of blogging, the line between “inspiring” and “incomprehensible” is razor‑thin. You’ve probably heard the old adage: “Tell a dream, lose a reader.” It’s a warning, not a destiny. In this post we’ll unpack why lofty, abstract storytelling can actually drive readers away, and we’ll give you a concrete roadmap to keep those dreams alive and keep your audience glued to the page.

1. The Allure of the “Dream” Narrative

Every great brand, influencer, or thought‑leader has a vision—a big picture that fuels their work. Think of Elon Musk’s Mars colony, Simon Sinek’s “Start With Why,” or a startup’s promise to “revolutionize the way people travel.”

These dreams:

  • Create emotional resonance – they tap into hopes, fears, and aspirations.
  • Differentiate the voice – a compelling vision makes you stand out in a sea of generic how‑tos.
  • Provide long‑term direction – they guide content strategy, product roadmaps, and community building.

So why would sharing a dream ever backfire?

2. When Dreams Become “Dream‑Noise”

Dream‑Heavy SymptomWhy It Turns Readers Off
Vague, lofty language (e.g., “We aim to reshape humanity”)Readers can’t picture the concrete outcome.
All‑talk, no‑action (no steps, no proof)The audience feels you’re all hype, no substance.
Ignoring the audience’s needs (talking about your mission without linking to their problems)Readers wonder, “What’s in it for me?”
Over‑long, meandering storiesAttention spans are limited; the main point gets lost.
Lack of relatable examplesPeople connect with stories they can see themselves in.

These pitfalls cause a cognitive overload: the brain wants a clear mental model, not a cloud of abstract promises. When that model is missing, the reader disengages—often before the first paragraph ends.

3. The Science Behind the Drop‑Off

  • Attention Span: Studies show the average online reader spends only 8‑10 seconds scanning a piece before deciding to stay or leave.
  • Cognitive Fluency: The brain prefers information that’s easy to process. When you bombard readers with nebulous concepts, they experience mental friction and instinctively retreat.
  • Emotional Alignment: Readers stay when they feel the story resonates with their own goals. A dream that feels distant creates an emotional gap—and gaps drive exits.

4. Turning Dream‑Talk Into Reader‑Retention Gold

Below is a step‑by‑step framework that lets you share your grand vision without losing traction.

Step 1: Anchor the Dream in a Tangible Problem

Instead of: “We’ll change the way the world thinks about sustainability.”
Try: “Every year, 1.2 billion tons of plastic end up in oceans. Our platform gives brands a zero‑waste packaging solution that cuts that number by 30 % within two years.”

Why it works: Readers instantly see the stakes and how your dream addresses a real pain point.

Step 2: Break the Vision into Three Concrete Milestones

MilestoneTimeframeReader Benefit
Prototype LaunchQ2 2025Early adopters get 20 % discount & co‑design input
Beta ScalingQ4 2025Access to analytics dashboards to track waste reduction
Full Roll‑outQ2 2026Certification as a “Zero‑Waste Partner” for marketing

Why it works: Short, numbered milestones make the journey digestible and create mini‑wins that keep readers invested.

Step 3: Weave a Relatable Human Story

  • Introduce a protagonist (real or fictional) who embodies the reader.
  • Show their struggle with the problem.
  • Demonstrate how the solution (your dream) changes their life in measurable terms.

Example: “When Maya, a boutique owner in Austin, switched to our biodegradable sleeves, she cut packaging costs by $3,200 in six months and saw a 12 % lift in repeat customers.”

Step 4: Use Concrete Data & Social Proof

  • Include stats, testimonials, or case studies that prove the dream is already moving.
  • Visuals (infographics, before/after photos) reduce abstraction and boost credibility.

Step 5: End With a Clear Call‑to‑Action (CTA) Aligned to the Dream

  • “Join our pilot program and be among the first to showcase a waste‑free storefront.”
  • “Download the free roadmap that walks you through the first step of going plastic‑free.”

Why it works: The CTA transforms inspiration into a next step—the bridge from dream to action.

5. Real‑World Examples: Dream‑Talk Done Right

BrandDream StatementHow They Ground ItResult
Patagonia“We’re in business to save our home planet.”Constantly shares specific initiatives (e.g., 1% for the Planet, repair kits, supply‑chain transparency).Loyal community of 4M+ activists; consistent sales growth.
Airbnb“Belong anywhere.”Provides concrete stories of hosts and guests, clear guidelines for community standards, and data on economic impact.150 M+ users, $5B+ annual revenue.
Tesla“Accelerate the world’s transition to sustainable energy.”Regularly releases measurable milestones (Model 3 production numbers, Supercharger network expansion).Valuation > $1 trillion, massive media buzz.

Notice how each brand starts with a bold dream, but immediately anchors it in specific, relatable, and data‑driven details. The dream becomes a promise you can see, feel, and act upon.

6. Quick Checklist: Is Your Dream Story Reader‑Friendly?

  •  Problem‑First – Do you start with the reader’s pain point?
  •  Three‑Step Roadmap – Is the vision broken into digestible milestones?
  •  Human Hook – Is there a relatable protagonist?
  •  Concrete Evidence – Do you back up claims with data or testimonials?
  •  Clear CTA – Does the post end with a next step tied to the dream?

If you tick four or more boxes, you’re on the right track. If not, it’s time to rewrite.

7. Takeaway: Dream Boldly, Write Clearly

Your audience craves big ideas—but only when those ideas are presented in a way that feels real, relevant, and actionable. The mantra becomes:

“Tell a dream, keep the reader.”

By anchoring ambition in concrete problems, breaking it into bite‑size milestones, and wrapping it in human stories, you turn a lofty vision into a magnetic narrative that inspires and converts.

Ready to Test This On Your Next Post?

  1. Draft your dream statement.
  2. Apply the five‑step framework above.
  3. Run a quick A/B test: original vs. revised version.
  4. Measure dwell time, scroll depth, and CTA clicks.

Share your results in the comments—let’s learn from each other’s journeys toward dreaming and delivering.

Happy writing, and may your dreams never lose a reader again!

Inspiration, Maybe – Volume 2

50 photographs, 50 stories, of which there is one of the 50 below.

They all start with –

A picture paints … well, as many words as you like.  For instance:

And, the story:

Have you ever watched your hopes and dreams simply just fly away?

Everything I thought I wanted and needed had just left in an aeroplane, and although I said I was not going to, i came to the airport to see the plane leave.  Not the person on it, that would have been far too difficult and emotional, but perhaps it was symbolic, the end of one life and the start of another.

But no matter what I thought or felt, we had both come to the right decision.  She needed the opportunity to spread her wings.  It was probably not the best idea for her to apply for the job without telling me, but I understood her reasons.

She was in a rut.  Though her job was a very good one, it was not as demanding as she had expected, particularly after the last promotion, but with it came resentment from others on her level, that she, the youngest of the group would get the position.

It was something that had been weighing down of her for the last three months, and if noticed it, the late nights, the moodiness, sometimes a flash of temper.  I knew she had one, no one could have such red hair and not, but she had always kept it in check.

And, then there was us, together, and after seven years, it felt like we were going nowhere.  Perhaps that was down to my lack of ambition, and though she never said it, lack of sophistication.  It hadn’t been an issue, well, not until her last promotion, and the fact she had to entertain more, and frankly I felt like an embarrassment to her.

So, there it was, three days ago, the beginning of the weekend, and we had planned to go away for a few days and take stock.  We both acknowledged we needed to talk, but it never seemed the right time.

It was then she said she had quit her job and found a new one.  Starting the following Monday.

Ok, that took me by surprise, not so much that it something I sort of guessed might happen, but that she would just blurt it out.

I think that right then, at that moment, I could feel her frustration with everything around her.

What surprised her was my reaction.  None.

I simply asked where who, and when.

A world-class newspaper, in New York, and she had to be there in a week.

A week.

It was all the time I had left with her.

I remember I just shrugged and asked if the planned weekend away was off.

She stood on the other side of the kitchen counter, hands around a cup of coffee she had just poured, and that one thing I remembered was the lone tear that ran down her cheek.

Is that all you want to know?

I did, yes, but we had lost that intimacy we used to have when she would have told me what was happening, and we would have brainstormed solutions. I might be a cabinet maker but I still had a brain, was what I overheard her tell a friend once.

There’s not much to ask, I said.  You’ve been desperately unhappy and haven’t been able to hide it all that well, you have been under a lot of pressure trying to deal with a group of troglodytes, and you’ve been leaning on Bentley’s shoulder instead of mine, and I get it, he’s got more experience in that place,  and the politics that go with it, and is still an ally.

Her immediate superior and instrumental in her getting the position, but unlike some men in his position he had not taken advantage of a situation like some men would.  And even if she had made a move, which I doubted, that was not the sort of woman she was, he would have politely declined.

One of the very few happily married men in that organisation, so I heard.

So, she said, you’re not just a pretty face.

Par for the course for a cabinet maker whose university degree is in psychology.  It doesn’t take rocket science to see what was happening to you.  I just didn’t think it was my place to jump in unless you asked me, and when you didn’t, well, that told me everything I needed to know.

Yes, our relationship had a use by date, and it was in the next few days.

I was thinking, she said, that you might come with me,  you can make cabinets anywhere.

I could, but I think the real problem wasn’t just the job.  It was everything around her and going with her, that would just be a constant reminder of what had been holding her back. I didn’t want that for her and said so.

Then the only question left was, what do we do now?

Go shopping for suitcases.  Bags to pack, and places to go.

Getting on the roller coaster is easy.  On the beginning, it’s a slow easy ride, followed by the slow climb to the top.  It’s much like some relationships, they start out easy, they require a little work to get to the next level, follows by the adrenaline rush when it all comes together.

What most people forget is that what comes down must go back up, and life is pretty much a roller coaster with highs and lows.

Our roller coaster had just come or of the final turn and we were braking so that it stops at the station.

There was no question of going with her to New York.  Yes, I promised I’d come over and visit her, but that was a promise with crossed fingers behind my back.  After a few months in t the new job the last thing shed want was a reminder of what she left behind.  New friends new life.

We packed her bags, three out everything she didn’t want, a free trips to the op shop with stiff she knew others would like to have, and basically, by the time she was ready to go, there was nothing left of her in the apartment, or anywhere.

Her friends would be seeing her off at the airport, and that’s when I told her I was not coming, that moment the taxi arrived to take her away forever.  I remember standing there, watching the taxi go.  It was going to be, and was, as hard as it was to watch the plane leave.

So, there I was, finally staring at the blank sky, around me a dozen other plane spotters, a rather motley crew of plane enthusiasts.

Already that morning there’s been 6 different types of plane depart, and I could hear another winding up its engines for take-off.

People coming, people going.

Maybe I would go to New York in a couple of months, not to see her, but just see what the attraction was.  Or maybe I would drop in, just to see how she was.

As one of my friends told me when I gave him the news, the future is never written in stone, and it’s about time you broadened your horizons.

Perhaps it was.

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

Coming soon.  Find the above story and 49 others like it in:

In a word: Leg

Aside from the fact it is one of those necessary items to walk with, and the fact we can have two or four for most humans and animals, there are a few other uses for the word ‘leg’.

Like…

‘You haven’t got a leg to stand on’, doesn’t necessarily mean you have no legs, but that you are in a precarious position.

“the table had ornate legs’, yes, even non-living objects can have legs, like tables and chairs.

“It was the fifth leg of the race’, meaning it can be a stage of a race.

“He was legless’, meaning that he was too drunk to stand up.  Some might think being legless is a badge of honour, but I suspect those people have been drinking a long time and the alcohol has destroyed most of their brain cells.

“leg it!’, meaning get the hell out of here before you’re caught.

Then, finally, ‘he’s on his last legs’, meaning that he’s exhausted, or about to die.

I’m sure there’s more but that’ll do for now.

I have to use my legs to get some exercise, of which the first leg is to the tripod to check if its legs are stable, and the second leg is to come back to the table and replace one of the legs which is broken.  Then I’ll leg it to the pub where hopefully I won’t become legless.

Hmm…

‘The Devil You Don’t’ – A beta reader’s view

It could be said that of all the women one could meet, whether contrived or by sheer luck, what are the odds it would turn out to be the woman who was being paid a very large sum to kill you.

John Pennington is a man who may be lucky in business, but not so lucky in love. He has just broken up with Phillipa Sternhaven, the woman he thought was the one, but relatives and circumstances, and perhaps because she was a ‘princess’, may also have contributed to the end result.

So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?

That is a story that slowly unfolds, from the first meeting with his nemesis on Lake Geneva, all the way to a hotel room in Sorrento, where he learns the shattering truth.

What should have been solace after disappointment, turns out to be something else entirely, and from that point, everything goes to hell in a handbasket.

He suddenly realizes his so-called friend Sebastian has not exactly told him the truth about a small job he asked him to do, the woman he is falling in love with is not quite who she says she is, and he is caught in the middle of a war between two men who consider people becoming collateral damage as part of their business.

The story paints the characters cleverly displaying all their flaws and weaknesses. The locations add to the story at times taking me back down memory lane, especially to Venice where, in those back streets I confess it’s not all that hard to get lost.

All in all a thoroughly entertaining story with, for once, a satisfying end.

…

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

…

Third son of a Duke – The research behind the story – 11

All stories require some form of research, quite often to place a character in a place at a particular time, especially if it is in a historical context. This series will take you through what it was like in 1914 through 1916.

…

The order of ranks in the trenches, from the front line to the rear

Yes, the higher an officer’s rank in World War I, the further their typical position was from the front line. While there were exceptions, junior officers were expected to lead from the front in the trenches, while senior generals commanded from headquarters much further back, relying on maps and signals. 

Officer roles by rank and proximity to the front

Rank Role and Typical LocationProximity to Front Line
Second Lieutenant and LieutenantCommanded a platoon of 30–50 soldiers. They were in the thick of the fighting in the front-line trenches and during assaults (“going over the top”).Immediate front line: Constantly exposed to danger and often killed or wounded leading their men.
CaptainCommanded a company of 100–200 soldiers. Captains were also stationed in the front-line trenches to direct their companies, but often maintained a command post slightly further back for better communication.Front line: Directed operations from the front-line trench system, though with a command post in a slightly more sheltered position.
MajorServed as the second-in-command for a battalion or on a higher staff. In attacks, a Major might move forward once a position was established, but was typically not in the first wave.Supporting position: Generally located in battalion headquarters, behind the front-line trenches but still within range of artillery and enemy fire.
Lieutenant ColonelCommanded a battalion (500–1,000 soldiers). By 1915, British army regulations advised against a commanding officer advancing with the initial assault wave to avoid command chaos if they were killed.Behind the front line: Directed the battle from battalion headquarters, using runners and signals to maintain communication.
Brigadier GeneralCommanded a brigade (3,500–4,000 soldiers). A Brigadier General would have a command post several miles from the front to manage the larger formation and coordinate with other units.Back area: Located miles behind the front, but often visited the forward trenches to gather firsthand information.
Major GeneralCommanded a division (16,000 soldiers). They were further removed from the fighting, operating from command centers in châteaux or other large buildings behind the lines.Rear area: Directed operations from a command center in a rear area, though still vulnerable to long-range artillery.
Lieutenant General and higher (Army and Field Marshal)Directed corps, armies, and overall strategy. These high-ranking officers were based at General Headquarters (GHQ), which was located far behind the lines.Far rear: Exercised command from GHQ, relying on reports and communication technology to direct the war effort.

The “château generals” myth

The term “château generals” emerged as a myth that higher-ranking officers lived in comfort, detached from the reality of the front. While general officers were indeed stationed far behind the lines for command and control, many were killed or wounded, showing they were not completely removed from danger. Ultimately, a general’s function is to command and coordinate large numbers of troops, which was not feasible from a front-line trench. 

“Remember that time…” – A short story

I don’t remember 40th birthday parties being all that interesting.

It was going to be a momentous year as each of our friends celebrated theirs.  We were of a group that had formed strong friendships at school, and they had lasted over the next 25 years, even when some had ventured further afield, and others had stayed at home.

I was one of those who had remained in place, as had my wife, and several of the neighbors.  I never had dreams of venturing any further than the next state, and except for a couple of years on transfer for the company I worked for, I had lived all my life in the city I was born.

The same could not be said for Janine, my wife, who once had a vision for herself, a career in law in either New York or Washington, and had ventured there after graduating law school, stayed a year and then returned in circumstances that she had never talked about.  She had accepted my proposal, we had married, and that was that.

Fifteen years on, there had always been that gap, that part of the story I’d never asked about and one I felt she would never talk about, and it was a small chink in what I wanted to believe was an almost perfect marriage.

But there was one small caveat she had requested; that she had no desire to have children, or to be a mother, something she said she would be terrible at.  It didn’t bother me, one way or another, though as each of the others had children, there was a small part of me that was, for a while, envious.

Michael Urston was one of my close friends, who lived across town and was also a lawyer and a man of ambition.  He’s taken his law degree to Washington and converted it into a path to public office and had attained the lofty position of Mayor for several years of our fair city, and then paradoxically didn’t run for re-election for reasons I never thought stood up.

But it had been his decision, part of the plan to retire at forty, and he’d achieved it.  Ursula, his wife, was prickly at the best of times and had always considered herself above all of us.  I guess being a prom queen had that effect on some people.  She liked to be the centre of attention, and for some reason, she and Janine always managed to rub up against their respective wrong sides.

Something else I knew; he had a thing for Janine, as had several others in our group, and I could see, sometimes the looks that passed between them, and I was not sure how I felt about it.  There was never any indication of either talking it further, but there was a bond between them that sometimes I envied, especially lately when it seemed, to me, that we were drifting apart.

But tonight, it was going to be Janine’s fortieth birthday party, and there were going to be a dozen friends coming.  At the last minute, Janine had changed the venue to a restaurant rather than at our home, and that I suspected was because we lived in a magnificent house that all the others envied, and I was sure it was out of deference to them.  Buying the house had been her idea, and down through the years, as we moved into larger residences, she had been trying to shed the memories of where she had come from.

Neither of us had been from a wealthy family, and I had no wealthy family connections.  I was from generations of motor mechanics, which was my first occupation in the family business, and Janine’s family were farmers, something she had no intention of becoming, hence the desire to become a lawyer.  And I didn’t think either of us had airs and graces despite what we owned or how we fitted into the local society.

Fred DeVilliers and Susan, his girlfriend of many years, who didn’t believe they needed a piece of paper to sanctify their relationship, were best friends also, though I knew Janine and Susan were not quite as friendly as it appeared.  That I noticed some years ago when both were having a heated discussion, one they thought no one was around to hear.  Their bone of contention had something to do with Michael, and I didn’t get to discover what it was.

As for the others, they joined in the conversation, ate the food, drank the wine, and then went home again.  Like me, they were not interested in politics, religion, or miscreant children’s stories.  Our get-together was children-free, and often about reminiscences of older and more carefree times.

Oh, and just to stir the pot a little, this day, I had tendered my resignation as CEO of the company.  It was a matter of principle, the board had decided to downsize and shift a proportion of manufacturing offshore, a decision I knew I would have to implement if I stayed there.  When I vehemently disagreed, I was given the option to leave on mutually agreeable terms.  It was not something I could spring on Janine, but, equally, it was not something I was going to be able to hide from her.  Not for very long anyway.

She was running late at her office, and I agreed to meet her at the restaurant a half-hour before the other guests were due to arrive.  It was nothing unusual for one or other of us to be running late.

As it happened, I left the office, and the building, an hour after resigning.  The company didn’t want me hanging around and granted me the two weeks I’d normally have to work off before leaving, for security reasons.  I quit, therefore I had to leave, in case I had some desire to sabotage the company in some way.  I wouldn’t but it was standard practice, and it didn’t go unnoticed that I was escorted by security to my office to clear the desk, and then to my car.  They also gave me the car as a parting gesture.

After leaving the office I went home.

I took what amounted to over twenty-odd years of service in a cardboard box to my home office and dropped it in the corner.  Not much to show for it, other than a decent salary, annual bonuses when we made a profit, and quite a few shares, not that they were worth much now because the board hesitated to embrace recent technologies.

About two hours later I heard a car pull up out the front on the driveway, and two doors closed.  A look out the window that overlooked the driveway showed it was Janine and Michael, who as they approached the door were in animated conversation.

I thought about letting them know I was home, but then a voice inside my head asked how many men have come home during the day to surprise their wives and found her in bed with another man, or, in these rather liberated days, in bed with another woman?

And that thing between them, would it be now I would discover what it was?

It made me feel rather horrible to think I could suspect her of cheating, but it momentarily took away the sting of the resignation.

The door opened and they came inside.  I could just see them from where I was standing, a spot where they would not see me, not unless they were looking.  And my heart missed a beat, they were embracing very passionately, leaving me with no other conclusion than this was a middle-of-the-day tryst.

“Come,” she said, taking him by the hand.  “I only have a couple of hours before I have to get back for a deposition.”

With that, they went up the stairs and disappeared into the bedroom, our room.

I sat down before I fell down, then having regained some composure, went over to the bar and poured myself a drink.

Two losses in one day.  A job, and a wife.  I guess it wasn’t exactly a revelation.  I knew something was amiss, and I conveniently ignored all the signs.  I thought about going up and walking in on them, but that, to me, seemed like a childish act.  After a few more drinks, I decided to wait, see if they both left and then decide what to do.

The front door closing, and the car departing, woke me out of a reverie.  I got up and looked out, expecting to see an empty foyer, but instead saw Janine, in a dressing gown, still holding the front door handle, as if transfixed.  A beautiful memory of what had just happened, or a tinge of regret, and another secret to be kept in a head, I knew now, that held so many others.

I decided to make myself known, now rather than later.

“Do you come home often during the day,” I said, standing in the doorway where she could see me.

She jumped, perhaps in fright, or in guilt, it didn’t really matter.

She turned.  “Daniel.  What are you doing here?”

“I resigned this morning.  A difference in opinion on how the company should proceed.  I was escorted out and decided to come home.  I should have gone to a bar.”

She knew that I knew, so it would be interesting to see what she had to say.  I could see her forming the words in her head, much the same as she did in a court of law.

“It was the first time, Daniel, an impulse.  I’m not going to make an excuse.  It’s on me.  I wanted to find out what it would be like.”

And that made me feel so much better.   Not!

“Well, it’s a hell of a fortieth birthday gift, Jan, and one I guess I couldn’t give you.  I trust you didn’t grant that wish to any of the other men who may desire you?”  OK, that wasn’t exactly what I meant to say, but the words didn’t exactly match what I was thinking.

“You mean do I sleep with every man I have a desire to?”  A rather harsh tone, bordering on angry.  She was angry with me.

“You tell me what I’m supposed to think.”

“I had sex with one other man, no one else since the day we were married.  It was a mistake, and I’m sorry.  If you hadn’t been here, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“Washington,” I said, almost to myself, a light bulb lighting up in my head.

The memory of a distant conversation, on a holiday, when we visited Washington, Philadelphia and New York.

“What about Washington?”  A change in her expression, was slight, but I could see it.  She remembered it too.

“Remember that time, at one of those monuments, probably Jefferson’s, when you said something rather odd, and when I asked, you brushed it off as nothing important.  You were looking out over the water and said it was one of your fondest memories after, and then stopped yourself.  Michael had just married when he moved to Washington, and you were there too, for a year.  I suspect now you and he had an affair, and it ended badly as affairs do and the woman has to leave.  There’s always been that bond between you.  Not the first time Jan.  The affair never ended.”

“It did, Daniel.  Like I said, this was a mistake.  It won’t happen again.”

I stepped out of the office and walked down the passage and came into the foyer.  Two stories high, there had been a debate about whether to have a fountain in the space adjacent to the stairs or a statue.  The statue won, and I lost.

Close up, I looked at the woman I’d loved from the moment I first saw her, and of the surprise when she agreed to marry me.  I had no idea then I was her second choice.

“I’d say I’m on a roll.  Lost my job, then lost my wife.  Bad luck comes in threes, so I’m going to lose something else.”  I looked around.  “This house?  I don’t think I could stay here, not now.  It would just be a reminder of everything bad that’s happened to me today.”

“It doesn’t have to be that way.  I told you it was a mistake.  I made my choice twenty-odd years ago and it hasn’t changed.”

She took a step towards me, and I took one back.  The thought of being close to her now, after what she had just done, didn’t feel right.

“Look, before you do something silly, let’s sit down and talk about it.”

“No.  There’s nothing really to talk about.  I’m sure you can come up with a very convincing argument that will justify everything you’ve done, and why I’m being a fool, but the truth is, there are no words that can justify what you just did.  Yes, I could forgive you, and believe me, I want to, but there’d always be some resentment and the fact I could never trust you again, even if you promise not to.  What’s done is done.   Have a great birthday, and party, and make up some excuse for me not being there, but I’m going away for a while.  You have got everything you ever wanted Jan.  Be grateful for that.”

With that, I turned and headed for the door that led to the garage.  I wasn’t going to leave by the front door.  I expected her to say something, but she didn’t.  I expected a reaction, but there was none.  What choice did I have?

In the car, I found myself heading for the airport.  I couldn’t go to my parents, they were dead.  My sister lived on the other side of the country, and all I would get from her if I told her what happened would be an I told you so, so it was down to my brother, who had moved to the UK to get away from everyone.  I called him, and when he answered, I simply said, “I’m coming to see you for a while.”

And he replied, “It was Washington, wasn’t it?”

He’d know who she was, and who Michael was when he saw them together all those years ago.  And tried to warn me before I married her.

What was it with politicians and women?

—–

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

The 2am Rant: I was just getting started when…

You know how it goes, you just get into a writing rhythm when the phone rings and it’s another of those pesky scam calls.

Or in my case not one but three, so far.

The first has to do with the NBN, which is Australia’s laughable answer to world-class internet, and which is, in reality, a complete stuff up that cost us, the taxpayers, 50 billion dollars, and for nothing.

Most nights during the peak hours, you cannot continuously stream without breaks, pixelation, or just nothing at all.  World-class?  I’m afraid not.  Perhaps I should relocate to Romania where I hear, the internet is much faster and more reliable.

Enough with the rant, the call this time around was the NBN scam, where they try logging into your computer and stealing everything, including banking information, credit card information, and the rest of your life, if it’s possible.

I have no life so they would be badly disappointed.

The second scam call is for solar panels.  Yes, they are selling solar panels, but they are the junk no one else wants, years out of date, and then charge three times what they’re worth, even when you get the government rebate.

I’ve got solar panels already, so I don’t care.  I just put the phone on the other side of the desk and let them prattle on.  They get the message eventually.

The next is for raffle tickets.  It generally relates to some form of charity, in which the caller goes through the charity’s functions chapter and verse and then tries to hit you up for ten tickets at a discounted price.

Sounds legit.  Yes, I’ve heard of the charity.  Yes, I know what it does.

But…

It’s not the real charity calling, but some scammer trying to get your credit card details, along with that all-important 3 digit cvc number.

Not today Josephine, or whatever your name was.

I’ve got an app on my phone that tells me if the caller is a scammer, and this one had red lights flashing and a large red ‘fraud’ stamped across it.

An hour later, all thoughts are gone.

I suppose I better have some lunch and try again later.

Writing a book in 365 days – 328

Day 328

Writing exercise – He counted to one hundred like he had been told, but even when he finished, he couldn’t open his eyes.

…

It was a recurring dream.

He was back when he was a child, in a house that bordered on a forest, one of several houses along a winding, narrow lane.

It was on a holiday with his uncle, his father and mother once more dropping him off for the school holidays while they conducted business in another country.

He had a choice to go with his parents, but he preferred exploring with the other children, since he had no brothers or sisters to play with.

It was mid-afternoon, a warm summer’s day.

It was his turn to cover his eyes and count to 100 while the other children hid.

He would get to 65, and suddenly it seemed to get dark, much like when clouds came and blocked out the sun.

Then, when he reached 100, he would shiver, a cold wind coming from the forest, and in fear, he could not open his eyes.

He did not want to.

“So, you get to this point every time, but no further?  Have you tried opening your eyes to see what is happening?”

He had this recurring dream too many times for it not to mean anything, so he had looked up a dream interpreter to visit and find out what it meant.

“Yes, but that’s where I wake up.”

“Have you been to this place in your dreams?”

“Yes, when I was a child, I used to stay there for the holidays.  My parents had business elsewhere and thought I would be better off with my uncle.”

“He lived on the edge of the forest?”

“Yes.  So did others.”

“Did anything bad happen there?”

“Not as far as I remember?”

“Anyone die?”

“Not while I was there, or at least I don’t think so. I can’t remember such a thing happening, and it’s not something you are likely to forget if it happened.”

And yet, something had happened that had set off this series of dreams.

“I’ll have to think about the circumstances.  Was the house you stayed in old?”

“Very.”

“The forest?”

“Spooky, allegedly haunted.  I swear, once at night I had seen ghosts.”

“OK.  That’s a thing.  Did you have any relatives die that you knew or cared about?”

“No.  My dad died much later, from what my mother called mysterious circumstances, but there was nothing mysterious about it.  He was caught in the middle of a bank robbery, simply the wrong place at the wrong time.”

I remember my mother telling me after the police had come to the door. And another lingering memory of that day, that she didn’t seem all that surprised or distressed. I had thought she was being brave.

“I see.” He glanced down at the note pad on his lap, then wrote a few notes. When he looked up he said, “Would you be receptive to a hypnotism exercise, see if we can jolt what is in there.”

“It’s something then? I’m not going mad?”

“Oh, no. A recent event has likely triggered a deep-down memory, one that you, or your brain, had deemed to be too painful or best left alone. You might want to consider the possibility that it’s buried for a reason before attempting to recover it.”

True, he thought. There were parts of his past that were lost, including a week when he was fifteen, after he was involved in a traffic accident while in Paris with his parents. It was one of the few times he accompanied them because he wanted to see the Eiffel Tower.

He still wasn’t sure if he had or not.

“OK,” he said. “I’ll let you know.”

…

He is not in the forest.

That was evident when, this time while counting, he briefly opened his eyes and saw the floor.  Tiles.

“Keep counting, lad,” the gruff voice of a man nearby directed.  “And keep those eyes closed, or you will be in trouble.”

He reached a hundred.  There was no ‘coming, ready or not’.

“Again,” the gruff voice said.  “Slow and steady.”  Then much louder, almost in his ear, “Hurry up, 60 seconds, and we’re out of here.  No one gets any ideas.”

He could hear people hurrying around but was too afraid to look, and did as he was told, kept counting.

Forty-three, forty-four, forty-five…

“Come on.  We’re out of here.”

People leaving, then quiet.  He reached a hundred.  He wanted to open his eyes but couldn’t.

The man hadn’t asked him to restart.  Had he gone?  Should he look?

“Hey,” a voice that sounded like his father yelled out.

It was followed by a very loud bang and then screams.

…

He was sitting in a chair in the dream interpreter’s office.

The man was sitting opposite, calm.

“What happened?” he asked.  “Did you find out anything?”

“Yes.  Do you remember anything from the session?”

“No.  I dozed off and then just woke.”

“Yes, you remembered.  Hidden away.  You were with your father at the time of his death.  Wrong place, wrong time.  You were there, with him.”

“I cannot remember anything about it.  Or him.  Only my mother telling me he died.”

“Where were you when she did?”

“Home, I think, no, wait a minute.  We were in another city, a hotel room.  No, it wasn’t, it was a hospital.  I’m sure of it.  Hospital.”

“I think if you investigate it further, if you want to, I think there’s a truth there to be found.”

“Or not.  There’s a reason it was buried. I think I’ll leave it buried.  Nothing good can come of it.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Malta

That’s a fantastic way to explore Malta! While the island nation is small, it hides numerous incredible spots away from the main tourist crowds.

Here are five places and activities off the well-trodden path in Malta and Gozo:

1. The Three Cities (Vittoriosa, Senglea, and Cospicua)

While not exactly “unknown,” the Three Cities are often overshadowed by Valletta and Mdina, making them a more authentic and less crowded alternative.

  • Vittoriosa (Birgu): As the oldest of the three, it was the first home of the Knights of St. John in Malta. Wander its narrow, ancient streets, and visit Fort St. Angelo for stunning views across the Grand Harbour back to Valletta.
  • Senglea (L-Isla): Walk through the charming backstreets and find your way to the Gardjola Gardens for one of the most iconic views of Valletta. The watchtower here has an eye and ear carved into its stone, symbolising vigilance.

2. Wied il-Għasri (Gozo)

For a secluded and unique swimming spot, head to the island of Gozo to find this hidden gem.

  • The Place: Wied il-Għasri is a spectacular sea gorge, or “fjord,” with crystal-clear turquoise waters. It cuts inland between dramatic cliffs, ending in a tiny pebbly beach.
  • The Activity: It’s perfect for a quiet swim, snorkelling, or simply enjoying the serenity away from the more crowded beaches. For the adventurous, you can rent a kayak to paddle through the gorge and out into the open sea.

3. Coral Lagoon (Malta)

The Coral Lagoon, also known as the Bilblija Cave, is a stunning natural sea cave located in the north of the main island, near Armier.

  • The Place: It’s an open-air cave with a large hole in the roof, allowing light to pour into the azure water below. The opening to the sea is small, making the lagoon feel like a massive, natural swimming pool.
  • The Activity: You can carefully climb down into the water for a unique swim. Many locals also use the surrounding cliff face as a jumping-off point. It requires a short hike to reach and is best visited on a calm day.

4. Il-Majjistral Nature and History Park (Malta)

If you’re looking for a dedicated nature escape, this park on the northwestern coast offers beautiful hiking trails, historical sites, and untouched coastlines.

  • The Place: The park stretches along the coast from Golden Bay up to Popeye Village. It’s Malta’s only natural park, protecting the area’s geology, archaeology, and ecology.
  • The Activity: Go for a walk or hike to explore the rural landscape, see the clay cliffs, and discover abandoned military and historical structures. It offers views that are completely different from the fortified cities and coastal resorts.

5. Ta’ Ċenċ Cliffs (Gozo)

While the Dingli Cliffs on the main island of Malta are famous for sunsets, the Ta’ Ċenċ Cliffs on Gozo offer a similar dramatic clifftop experience with far fewer people.

  • The Place: Located on the southern coast of Gozo, these cliffs are less accessible by major roads, ensuring a peaceful experience. The area is also a designated bird sanctuary.
  • The Activity: Take a sunset stroll along the top of the cliffs. The vast, uninterrupted views of the Mediterranean Sea are breathtaking, and it’s a perfect spot for nature photography or a picnic. You can also hike along the coastal path toward Xlendi or Mgarr Ix-Xini.

What I learned about writing – You will be burning the midnight oil

It’s an interesting phrase, one that means someone is working overtime at the office till late at night, or early next morning.

You know, “Been burning the midnight oil again, Frank?”

It prompted me to look up its real meaning.  It goes back to the days before electricity where a worker toiled into the night using only an oil lamp or candles.

In my office, I now have LED lights that are reasonably bright, not like the neon lights I used to have that made me feel like I was in a television studio.  Either way, it’s not quite the atmosphere needed when looking for inspiration.

That inspiration might be better attained in a more subdued atmosphere, perhaps even using candles.  In one of the other rooms, we have a wood fire and that projects a very soothing glow, as well as providing warmth, and there I sit sometimes, Galaxy Tab in hand, writing.

But all of that aside, those hours leading up to and after midnight are the best time for me to write.

At times the silence is deafening, another rather quaint but relatively true expression.

At others, there are what I call the sounds of silence, which for some reason are much easier to hear than during the daylight hours.

The bark of a dog.

The rustle of leaves in the trees.

The soft pattering of rain on the roof.

The sound of a train horn from a long way away.

The sound of a truck using its brakes on the highway, also a long way away.

The sound of people talking in the street.

I’ve never really thought about it until now, but it will be something I can use in one of my stories.

Perhaps it will be the theme of another.

Damn, sidetracked again!