Category: Writer

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Venice

The Unbeaten Path: 5 Hidden Treasures in Venice (That Aren’t St. Mark’s)

Venice. The name alone conjures images of shimmering canals, graceful gondolas, and the architectural masterpiece that is the Doge’s Palace. It is, undeniably, one of the most beautiful cities on earth.

But let’s be honest: the magic can quickly evaporate when you’re battling a thousand other tourists just to get a photo of the Rialto Bridge.

The true, deep magic of Venice—the one that smells of salt-laced air and centuries of history—isn’t found on the main tourist arteries. It’s found in the quiet, echoing calle (streets) and the forgotten, sun-drenched squares of the districts that rarely make the postcard racks.

If you’re ready to trade the packed piazza for unique local discoveries, ditch the map of the standard tourist loop. Here are five essential, off-the-beaten-path things to do in Venice that will give you a taste of the city’s authentic heart.

1. Swap Grand Palaces for the Cemetery Island: Isola di San Michele

While most visitors focus on Murano or Burano, the island of San Michele offers a profound and beautiful experience few tourists seek out. This is the official cemetery island of Venice, and it offers a silence and solitude that is impossible to find on the main islands.

A short vaporetto ride (Line 4.1 or 4.2) across the lagoon transports you to a walled sanctuary where cypress trees stand sentinel over generations of Venetians, including famous residents like Igor Stravinsky and Ezra Pound.

Why it’s worth the detour: The stunning, stark beauty of the Renaissance Chiesa di San Michele in Isola, combined with the meticulously maintained gardens and marble tombs, offers a reflective pause in your itinerary. It truly feels like stepping into a different world—one without shops, crowds, or noise. It’s a poignant reminder of the ebb and flow of Venetian life.

2. Embrace the Bacaro Trail in Dorsoduro

If you want to eat and drink like a Venetian, you must embrace the bacaro culture. A bacaro is a traditional, often hole-in-the-wall Venetian bar specializing in cicchetti (small, tapas-style snacks) and ombra (a small glass of local wine).

While you can find bacari near the main spots, the Dorsoduro district, particularly near Ca’ Foscari University, is where the scene is truly vibrant and local. This area is filled with students and residents, not tour groups.

How to do it right: Forget sitting down for a lengthy, expensive dinner. Between 5 PM and 7 PM, join the locals and hop between a few chosen spots, ordering a couple of cicchetti (perhaps salted cod, polpetta, or marinated artichokes) and an ombra at each.

  • Try: Cantinone Già Schiavi (famous for its wine selection) or Al Squero (offering fantastic views across the canal to the boatyard where gondolas are repaired).

3. Seek Out the Hidden Staircase: Scala Contarini del Bovolo

In a city known for its bridges and canals, architecture often takes a supporting role. However, if you are drawn to hidden architectural gems, the Scala Contarini del Bovolo is a must-see.

Tucked away in a tiny, almost impossible-to-find courtyard near the Rialto, the Palazzo Contarini del Bovolo features an extraordinary exterior spiral staircase. Known as the “staircase of the snail” (bovolo), this Renaissance masterpiece combines Gothic and Byzantine elements, curling up five stories to an open loggia.

The payoff: Climbing the staircase is an adventure in itself, but the true reward is the panoramic view from the top. You get a unique, intimate perspective of Venice’s terracotta rooftops and bell towers without the claustrophobic crowds of St. Mark’s Campanile. Finding it is half the fun—put the address into your phone and be prepared to wander down several dead-end alleys.

4. Explore the Authentic Heart of Cannaregio and the Ghetto

To experience genuine Venetian daily life—the sight of laundry dangling over canals, residents chatting in dialect, and non-chain grocery stores—head north to the Cannaregio district.

This area, which stretches toward the Mestre train station, is largely residential and offers excellent, affordable dining options. More importantly, it is home to the Ghetto Nuovo, the world’s first Jewish Ghetto, established in 1516.

Why it’s special: The Ghetto Nuovo is a place of powerful history and resilient culture. Due to space constraints imposed by the Republic, the buildings here are some of the tallest in Venice, stacked upon medieval foundations. Walk through the quiet central square, observe the five historic synagogues (many offer guided tours), and soak up the unique atmosphere. It’s a perfect way to step back into a complex, vital layer of Venetian history often overlooked by visitors rushing to the main sites.

5. Capture the Pastel Hues of Burano (But Go Early)

Yes, Burano is often listed on the main island tours, but most visitors arrive mid-day when the ferry lines are long, and the narrow canals are choked with people attempting the perfect photograph. To truly experience the magic of the famous rainbow-colored island, you must commit to the early start.

The secret timing: Take one of the first vaporetti out to Burano (via Murano and Torcello). Arriving just as the golden morning light hits the facades allows you to wander the lanes in near solitude. The local fishermen and lace makers are just beginning their day, and the lack of crowds amplifies the whimsical, fairy-tale quality of the architecture.

Tip: Since the island is famous for lacemaking, skip the mass-produced trinkets and seek out a small workshop where you can see the intricate craft being actively practiced.

Don’t Just Visit Venice—Live It

To travel the road less travelled in Venice isn’t about ticking off lesser-known sights; it’s about slow travel. It’s about getting lost, turning down the alley that looks too narrow, and replacing the tourist map with genuine curiosity.

When you allow yourself to wander away from the golden routes, you stop being a hurried observer and start becoming a temporary resident. The Venice you discover in these quiet pockets is richer, deeper, and far more rewarding.

What I learned about writing – Always write down a story, start or end, for later.

My mind will not rest.

Down here, it is summer, and the last few days have been exhaustingly hot, well, it is summer after all, but tonight it is particularly hot.

So, as I can’t sleep, I’m lying on the couch staring at the ceiling, otherwise known as the cinema of my dreams.

Where am I?

Well, it has to be someplace other than here, of course.

…

I’d seen the Trevi Fountain in the movies, but, until now, it just seemed like any other fountain, only larger.

In reality, it was much more than that, and, so it seemed, it was also that for many other people.  Mid-afternoon on a warm sunny day, they were all standing in awe.

Perhaps some were making a wish, and I saw several toss coins in.  There would be a lot of money in there, and I couldn’t help but think about what sort of job it would be to retrieve it.

Odd too, I thought, if they hadn’t, how many old and rare coins might be somewhere on the floor.  Of course, I only thought of the aesthetic value rather than the practicality of the water system that the Romans had built long before such feats of engineering were being contemplated.

No, I was here on holiday. 

After years of travelling to a great many places for my job, one that never really gave me any time for sightseeing, I’d decided it was time to indulge in a little tourism.

Before this, I’d been to the Colosseum, the old ruins, the Spanish Steps, and the Parthenon.  This was going to wrap up in the afternoon.

“So, are you here on business or pleasure?”

I turned to see Giuseppe, a man I’d had a rather complicated working relationship in the past, and one who was not informed that I was coming to Italy.

The fact that he was here was no surprise.  It was, however, surprising that he could sneak up on me.  It showed I was slipping, or, more than likely, I was more susceptible to being distracted.

“I am but a humble tourist.  I’m sorry, but you have been following me for nothing.”

“Why is it I find that difficult to believe?”

Because of what I used to do, but it was not something I would openly admit.  And the only reason he was standing there was that someone else had made a mistake, and it had required a bit of diplomacy to smooth the waters.

Unfortunately, that had destroyed my invisibility in Italy and most of Europe.  A stark reminder of why, these days, I spend most of my time in semi-retirement at home.

“As difficult as it might be to understand, having your cover blown makes it impossible to continue, verified by the fact you’re here now.  Was it a red flag on my name, or facial recognition?”

He sighed, the man who had heard it all before.  “Just remember, we’re watching you.”

A last shake of his head, he walked over to a car parked a short distance away, got in, and drove off.  I had no doubt he was not the only one who had been watching me.

“It seems you were right.”

Another voice, this time a woman, and expected.  Carla had been waiting in the coffee shop for Giuseppe or someone like him to make an appearance.

“They were not exactly hiding the fact that they had me under surveillance.”

She handed me the coffee with a smile.

“That means we can have some fun, does it not?”

That had been the plan.  I knew if I entered Italy using the identity I used the last time, it would put them on alert and prompt a reaction.

“It still doesn’t mean they won’t suspect something is afoot.”

“And since when did you start doubting yourself?”

Since my last operation fell apart because I made one simple mistake that no agent would have made in a million years.  But I had, and it almost ended two careers.

The other person had just handed me the coffee and unaccountably seemed less angry with me than she should be.

“You of all people should know the answer to that.”

She sighed and took my hand in hers.  “What I do know is that there’s a very clever operation afoot and you’re the one who planned it.  And far from being on the sidelines, we have a new and important role to play.  And speaking of play, it’s time you and I got into our roles.  Oh, and just for the record, I still love you and I know how you feel about me, and before I brought you coffee, I made a wish.”

So had I, and it had been answered.

…

It was another of those dreams that might lead somewhere.  We’ll just have to wait and see.

…

© Charles Heath 2023-2025

An excerpt from “Strangers We’ve Become” – Coming Soon

I wandered back to my villa.

It was in darkness.  I was sure I had left several lights on, especially over the door so I could see to unlock it.

I looked up and saw the globe was broken.

Instant alert.

I went to the first hiding spot for the gun, and it wasn’t there.  I went to the backup and it wasn’t there either.  Someone had found my carefully hidden stash of weapons and removed them.

Who?

There were four hiding spots and all were empty.  Someone had removed the weapons.  That could only mean one possibility.

I had a visitor, not necessarily here for a social call.

But, of course, being the well-trained agent I’d once been and not one to be caught unawares, I crossed over to my neighbor and relieved him of a weapon that, if found, would require a lot of explaining.

Suitably armed, it was time to return the surprise.

There were three entrances to the villa, the front door, the back door, and a rather strange escape hatch.  One of the more interesting attractions of the villa I’d rented was its heritage.  It was built in the late 1700s, by a man who was, by all accounts, a thief.  It had a hidden underground room which had been in the past a vault but was now a wine cellar, and it had an escape hatch by which the man could come and go undetected, particularly if there was a mob outside the door baying for his blood.

It now gave me the means to enter the villa without my visitors being alerted, unless, of course, they were near the vicinity of the doorway inside the villa, but that possibility was unlikely.  It was not where anyone could anticipate or expect a doorway to be.

The secret entrance was at the rear of the villa behind a large copse, two camouflaged wooden doors built into the ground.  I move aside some of the branches that covered them and lifted one side.  After I’d discovered the doors and rusty hinges, I’d oiled and cleaned them, and cleared the passageway of cobwebs and fallen rocks.  It had a mildew smell, but nothing would get rid of that.  I’d left torches at either end so I could see.

I closed the door after me, and went quietly down the steps, enveloped in darkness till I switched on the torch.  I traversed the short passage which turned ninety degrees about halfway to the door at the other end.  I carried the key to this door on the keyring, found it and opened the door.  It too had been oiled and swung open soundlessly.

I stepped in the darkness and closed the door.

I was on the lower level under the kitchen, now the wine cellar, the ‘door’ doubling as a set of shelves which had very little on them, less to fall and alert anyone in the villa.

Silence, an eerie silence.

I took the steps up to the kitchen, stopping when my head was level with the floor, checking to see if anyone was waiting.  There wasn’t.  It seemed to me to be an unlikely spot for an ambush.

I’d already considered the possibility of someone coming after me, especially because it had been Bespalov I’d killed, and I was sure he had friends, all equally as mad as he was.  Equally, I’d also considered it nigh on impossible for anyone to find out it was me who killed him because the only people who knew that were Prendergast, Alisha, a few others in the Department, and Susan.

That raised the question of who told them where I was.

If I was the man I used to be, my first suspect would be Susan.  The departure this morning, and now this was too coincidental.  But I was not that man.

Or was I?

I reached the start of the passageway that led from the kitchen to the front door and peered into the semi-darkness.  My eyes had got used to the dark, and it was no longer an inky void.  Fragments of light leaked in around the door from outside and through the edge of the window curtains where they didn’t fit properly.  A bone of contention upstairs in the morning, when first light shone and invariably woke me up hours before I wanted to.

Still nothing.

I took a moment to consider how I would approach the visitor’s job.  I would get a plan of the villa in my head, all entrances, where a target could be led to or attacked where there would be no escape.

Coming in the front door.  If I was not expecting anything, I’d just open the door and walk-in.  One shot would be all that was required.

Contract complete.

I sidled quietly up the passage staying close to the wall, edging closer to the front door.  There was an alcove where the shooter could be waiting.  It was an ideal spot to wait.

Crunch.

I stepped on some nutshells.

Not my nutshells.

I felt it before I heard it.  The bullet with my name on it.

And how the shooter missed, from point-blank range, and hit me in the arm, I had no idea.  I fired off two shots before a second shot from the shooter went wide and hit the door with a loud thwack.

I saw a red dot wavering as it honed in on me and I fell to the floor, stretching out, looking up where the origin of the light was coming and pulled the trigger three times, evenly spaced, and a second later I heard the sound of a body falling down the stairs and stopping at the bottom, not very far from me.

Two assassins.

I’d not expected that.

The assassin by the door was dead, a lucky shot on my part.  The second was still breathing.

I checked the body for any weapons and found a second gun and two knives.  Armed to the teeth!

I pulled off the balaclava; a man, early thirties, definitely Italian.  I was expecting a Russian.

I slapped his face, waking him up.  Blood was leaking from several slashes on his face when his head had hit the stairs on the way down.  The awkward angle of his arms and legs told me there were broken bones, probably a lot worse internally.  He was not long for this earth.

“Who employed you?”

He looked at me with dead eyes, a pursed mouth, perhaps a smile.  “Not today my friend.  You have made a very bad enemy.”  He coughed and blood poured out of his mouth.  “There will be more …”

Friends of Bespalov, no doubt.

I would have to leave.  Two unexplainable bodies, I’d have a hard time explaining my way out of this mess.  I dragged the two bodies into the lounge, clearing the passageway just in case someone had heard anything.

Just in case anyone was outside at the time, I sat in the dark, at the foot of the stairs, and tried to breathe normally.  I was trying not to connect dots that led back to Susan, but the coincidence was worrying me.

A half-hour passed and I hadn’t moved.  Deep in thought, I’d forgotten about being shot, unaware that blood was running down my arm and dripping onto the floor.

Until I heard a knock on my front door.

Two thoughts, it was either the police, alerted by the neighbors, or it was the second wave, though why would they be knocking on the door?

I stood, and immediately felt a stabbing pain in my arm.  I took out a handkerchief and turned it into a makeshift tourniquet, then wrapped a kitchen towel around the wound.

If it was the police, this was going to be a difficult situation.  Holding the gun behind my back, I opened the door a fraction and looked out.

No police, just Maria.  I hoped she was not part of the next ‘wave’.

“You left your phone behind on the table.  I thought you might be looking for it.”  She held it out in front of her.

When I didn’t open the door any further, she looked at me quizzically, and then asked, “Is anything wrong?”

I was going to thank her for returning the phone, but I heard her breathe in sharply, and add, breathlessly, “You’re bleeding.”

I looked at my arm and realized it was visible through the door, and not only that, the towel was soaked in blood.

“You need to go away now.”

Should I tell her the truth?  It was probably too late, and if she was any sort of law-abiding citizen she would go straight to the police.

She showed no signs of leaving, just an unnerving curiosity.  “What happened?”

I ran through several explanations, but none seemed plausible.  I went with the truth.  “My past caught up with me.”

“You need someone to fix that before you pass out from blood loss.  It doesn’t look good.”

“I can fix it.  You need to leave.  It is not safe to be here with me.”

The pain in my arm was not getting any better, and the blood was starting to run down my arm again as the tourniquet loosened.  She was right, I needed it fixed sooner rather than later.

I opened the door and let her in.  It was a mistake, a huge mistake, and I would have to deal with the consequences.  Once inside, she turned on the light and saw the pool of blood just inside the door and the trail leading to the lounge.  She followed the trail and turned into the lounge, turned on the light, and no doubt saw the two dead men.

I expected her to scream.  She didn’t.

She gave me a good hard look, perhaps trying to see if I was dangerous.  Killing people wasn’t something you looked the other way about.  She would have to go to the police.

“What happened here?”

“I came home from the cafe and two men were waiting for me.  I used to work for the Government, but no longer.  I suspect these men were here to repay a debt.  I was lucky.”

“Not so much, looking at your arm.”

She came closer and inspected it.

“Sit down.”

She found another towel and wrapped it around the wound, retightening the tourniquet to stem the bleeding.

“Do you have medical supplies?”

I nodded.  “Upstairs.”  I had a medical kit, and on the road, I usually made my own running repairs.  Another old habit I hadn’t quite shaken off yet.

She went upstairs, rummaged, and then came back.  I wondered briefly what she would think of the unmade bed though I was not sure why it might interest her.

She helped me remove my shirt, and then cleaned the wound.  Fortunately, she didn’t have to remove a bullet.  It was a clean wound but it would require stitches.

When she’d finished she said, “Your friend said one day this might happen.”

No prizes for guessing who that friend was, and it didn’t please me that she had involved Maria.

“Alisha?”

“She didn’t tell me her name, but I think she cares a lot about you.  She said trouble has a way of finding you, gave me a phone and said to call her if something like this happened.”

“That was wrong of her to do that.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not.  Will you call her?”

“Yes.  I can’t stay here now.  You should go now.  Hopefully, by the time I leave in the morning, no one will ever know what happened here, especially you.”

She smiled.  “As you say, I was never here.”

…

© Charles Heath 2018-2022

strangerscover9

Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Rome

Escape the Crowds: Rome’s Top 5 Unsung Tourist Gems

Rome. Just the name conjures images of the Colosseum, the Trevi Fountain, and endless lines of eager tourists. While these iconic sights are essential, the Eternal City offers so much more—especially for those willing to venture slightly off the beaten path.

If you’re looking to soak up Rome’s history, beauty, and distinctive character without battling the massive crowds, we’ve curated a list of the top five visitor attractions that are surprisingly peaceful and utterly captivating.

Here are Rome’s best-kept secrets, proving you don’t need a huge crowd to have a monumental experience.

1. The Centrale Montemartini Museum (Museo della Centrale Montemartini)

Why Visit: This museum offers one of the most stunning juxtapositions in all of Rome: pristine classical statues set against the backdrop of a decommissioned early 20th-century thermoelectric power plant.

The Distinctive Feature: Imagine towering, oily industrial machinery—boilers, engines, and generators—acting as the unlikely stage for brilliant white marble statues of gods and emperors. Originally intended as temporary storage for overflow artifacts from the Capitoline Museums, the exhibit became permanent and breathtaking. It’s an unforgettable blend of industrial archaeology and ancient art, offering a quiet, contemplative space far from the bustling Capitoline Hill.

Crowd Level: Extremely low. Often, you’ll feel like you have entire halls to yourself.

2. The Baths of Caracalla (Terme di Caracalla)

Why Visit: Everyone knows the Roman Forum, but fewer people explore the vast, evocative ruins of the ancient Roman baths. The Baths of Caracalla were a massive public complex, more like a modern leisure center than just a place to wash, accommodating thousands of Romans daily.

The Distinctive Feature: Unlike the Forum, where structures are densely packed, Caracalla’s ruins are sprawling, allowing you to truly appreciate the sheer scale of Imperial Roman architecture. The remaining walls and arches soar towards the sky, hinting at the dome-covered halls and mosaic-tiled floors that once existed. Visiting here is an atmospheric experience, particularly beautiful at sunset, offering a powerful sense of quiet grandeur.

Crowd Level: Low to moderate. While tour buses occasionally stop, the immense size of the site easily disperses visitors.

3. The Basilica di Santo Stefano Rotondo al Celio

Why Visit: If you’re tired of the gilded splendor and tourist throngs of the major papal basilicas, head to Rome’s oldest circular church. Dedicated to Saint Stephen, this basilica is an architectural curiosity unlike any other in the city.

The Distinctive Feature: Built in the 5th century, the church utilizes a striking circular plan with concentric rings of columns. Inside, the walls are lined with graphic frescoes depicting the horrific martyrdoms of early Christian saints. While certainly macabre, these 16th-century paintings are historically fascinating—a unique and somber art gallery within a classical structure. Its isolated location on the quiet Celian Hill ensures a serene, thought-provoking visit.

Crowd Level: Very low. You are likely to find peace and solitude here.

4. The Quartiere Coppedè

Why Visit: Leave the Roman ruins behind for a moment and step into a fantastical, fairytale neighborhood that feels lifted straight out of a storybook.

The Distinctive Feature: Though technically a small urban area within the larger Trieste district, Quartiere Coppedè is an architectural masterpiece designed by Gino Coppedè in the early 20th century. Walk through the stunning archway (the Arco di Coppedè) and discover whimsical palaces, fountains (like the famous Fountain of the Frogs), and facades adorned with sculptures of nymphs, animals, and mythical creatures. It’s a hidden gem of Art Nouveau and Baroque fusion—a completely unexpected visual delight perfect for photography and quiet exploration.

Crowd Level: Minimal. This is a residential area primarily visited by local residents and architecture enthusiasts.

5. The Protestant Cemetery (Cimitero Acattolico)

Why Visit: Tucked away beside the Pyramid of Cestius, this cemetery is one of the most beautiful and tranquil spots in Rome. It is the final resting place for non-Catholics, including famous figures like the poets John Keats and Percy Bysshe Shelley.

The Distinctive Feature: Far more than just a graveyard, this site is a lush, perfectly manicured garden park often referred to as “the most beautiful corner of Rome.” Cypress trees cast shadows over elaborate, touching monuments and tombstones written in dozens of languages. It offers a poignant, introspective break from the city noise, blending art, history, and nature in a profoundly moving way. The air of quiet contemplation is palpable.

Crowd Level: Low, though the small entrance fee helps maintain its peaceful atmosphere.

Rome’s true magic isn’t just in its famous landmarks, but in the countless layers of history waiting to be quietly discovered. By seeking out these distinctive, less-trafficked attractions, you can enjoy a richer, more personal experience of the Eternal City. Happy exploring!

Another excerpt from ‘Betrayal’; a work in progress

…

My next destination in the quest was the hotel we believed Anne Merriweather had stayed at.

I was, in a sense, flying blind because we had no concrete evidence she had been there, and the message she had left behind didn’t quite name the hotel or where Vladimir was going to take her.

Mindful of the fact that someone might have been following me, I checked to see if the person I’d assumed had followed me to Elizabeth’s apartment was still in place, but I couldn’t see him. Next, I made a mental note of seven different candidates and committed them to memory.

Then I set off to the hotel, hailing a taxi. There was the possibility the cab driver was one of them, but perhaps I was slightly more paranoid than I should be. I’d been watching the queue, and there were two others before me.

The journey took about an hour, during which time I kept an eye out the back to see if anyone had been following us. If anyone was, I couldn’t see them.

I had the cab drop me off a block from the hotel and then spent the next hour doing a complete circuit of the block the hotel was on, checking the front and rear entrances, the cameras in place, and the siting of the driveway into the underground carpark. There was a camera over the entrance, and one we hadn’t checked for footage. I sent a text message to Fritz to look into it.

The hotel lobby was large and busy, which was exactly what you’d want if you wanted to come and go without standing out. It would be different later at night, but I could see her arriving about mid-afternoon, and anonymous among the type of clientele the hotel attracted.

I spent an hour sitting in various positions in the lobby simply observing. I had already ascertained where the elevator lobby for the rooms was, and the elevator down to the car park. Fortunately, it was not ‘guarded’ but there was a steady stream of concierge staff coming and going to the lower levels, and, just from time to time, guests.

Then, when there was a commotion at the front door, what seemed to be a collision of guests and free-wheeling bags, I saw one of the seven potential taggers sitting by the front door. Waiting for me to leave? Or were they wondering why I was spending so much time there?

Taking advantage of that confusion, I picked my moment to head for the elevators that went down to the car park, pressed the down button, and waited.

The was no car on the ground level, so I had to wait, watching, like several others, the guests untangling themselves at the entrance, and an eye on my potential surveillance, still absorbed in the confusion.

The doors to the left car opened, and a concierge stepped out, gave me a quick look, then headed back to his desk. I stepped into the car, pressed the first level down, the level I expected cars to arrive on, and waited what seemed like a long time for the doors to close.

As they did, I was expecting to see a hand poke through the gap, a latecomer. Nothing happened, and I put it down to a television moment.

There were three basement levels, and for a moment, I let my imagination run wild and considered the possibility that there were more levels. Of course, there was no indication on the control panel that there were any other floors, and I’d yet to see anything like it in reality.

With a shake of my head to return to reality, the car arrived, the doors opened, and I stepped out.

A car pulled up, and the driver stepped out, went around to the rear of his car, and pulled out a case. I half expected him to throw me the keys, but the instant glance he gave me told him was not the concierge, and instead brushed past me like I wasn’t there.

He bashed the up button several times impatiently and cursed when the doors didn’t open immediately. Not a happy man.

Another car drove past on its way down to a lower level.

I looked up and saw the CCTV camera, pointing towards the entrance, visible in the distance. A gate that lifted up was just about back in position and then made a clunk when it finally closed. The footage from the camera would not prove much, even if it had been working, because it didn’t cover the life lobby, only in the direction of the car entrance.

The doors to the other elevator car opened, and a man in a suit stepped out.

“Can I help you, sir? You seem lost.”

Security, or something else. “It seems that way. I went to the elevator lobby, got in, and it went down rather than up. I must have been in the wrong place.”

“Lost it is, then, sir.” I could hear the contempt for Americans in his tone. “If you will accompany me, please.”

He put out a hand ready to guide me back into the elevator. I was only too happy to oblige him. There had been a sign near the button panel that said the basement levels were only to be accessed by the guests.

Once inside, he turned a key and pressed the lobby button. The doors closed, and we went up. He stood, facing the door, not speaking. A few seconds later, he was ushering me out to the lobby.

“Now, sir, if you are a guest…”

“Actually, I’m looking for one. She called me and said she would be staying in this hotel and to come down and visit her. I was trying to get to the sixth floor.”

“Good. Let’s go over the the desk and see what we can do for you.”

I followed him over to the reception desk, where he signalled one of the clerks, a young woman who looked and acted very efficiently, and told her of my request, but then remained to oversee the proceeding.

“Name of guest, sir?”

“Merriweather, Anne. I’m her brother, Alexander.” I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my passport to prove that I was who I said I was. She glanced cursorily at it.

She typed the name into the computer, and then we waited a few seconds while it considered what to output. Then, she said, “That lady is not in the hotel, sir.”

Time to put on my best-confused look. “But she said she would be staying here for the week. I made a special trip to come here to see her.”

Another puzzled look from the clerk, then, “When did she call you?”

An interesting question to ask, and it set off a warning bell in my head. I couldn’t say today, it would have to be the day she was supposedly taken.

“Last Saturday, about four in the afternoon.”

Another look at the screen, then, “It appears she checked out Sunday morning. I’m afraid you have made a trip in vain.”

Indeed, I had. “Was she staying with anyone?”

I just managed to see the warning pass from the suited man to the clerk. I thought he had shown an interest when I mentioned the name, and now I had confirmation. He knew something about her disappearance. The trouble was, he wasn’t going to volunteer any information because he was more than just hotel security.

“No.”

“Odd,” I muttered. “I thought she told me she was staying with a man named Vladimir something or other. I’m not too good at pronouncing those Russian names. Are you sure?”

She didn’t look back at the screen. “Yes.”

“OK, now one thing I do know about staying in hotels is that you are required to ask guests with foreign passports their next destination, just in case they need to be found. Did she say where she was going next?” It was a long shot, but I thought I’d ask.

“Moscow. As I understand it, she lives in Moscow. That was the only address she gave us.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I know where that is. I probably should have gone there first.”

She didn’t answer; she didn’t have to, her expression did that perfectly.

The suited man spoke again, looking at the clerk. “Thank you.” He swivelled back to me. “I’m sorry we can’t help you.”

“No. You have more than you can know.”

“What was your name again, sir, just in case you still cannot find her?”

“Alexander Merriweather. Her brother. And if she is still missing, I will be posting a very large reward. At the moment, you can best contact me via the American Embassy.”

Money is always a great motivator, and that thoughtful expression on his face suggested he gave a moment’s thought to it.

I left him with that offer and left. If anything, the people who were holding her would know she had a brother, that her brother was looking for her, and equally that brother had money.

…

© Charles Heath – 2018-2025

Writing a book in 365 days – 297

Day 297

Passive V Active voice

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From Mire to Might: Your Blueprint for Conquering Passive Voice and Forging Powerful Prose

Ah, the passive voice. It’s the literary equivalent of that comfy old couch you sink into – sometimes it feels just right, but often it leaves you feeling a bit… flabby. As writers, we all know it exists. We’ve read the rules, seen the examples. Yet, like a sneaky saboteur, it still manages to creep into our drafts without us even realizing it. One minute you’re flowing, the next you’re rereading a paragraph and thinking, “Wait, who’s actually doing this action?”

The struggle is real. Training ourselves to consistently choose active voice isn’t about memorizing rules; it’s about rewiring our writing instincts. It’s about pulling ourselves out of that linguistic mire before we’ve even completely sunk. So, how do we practice this art, consciously and effectively? Let’s dive in.

Why Bother? A Quick Reminder of Active Voice’s Superpowers

Before we get to the “how,” let’s quickly refresh why active voice is so crucial for powerful writing:

  • Clarity: It leaves no doubt about who or what is performing the action.
  • Directness: It cuts straight to the point, avoiding unnecessary words.
  • Impact: It feels stronger, more confident, and more authoritative.
  • Engagement: It draws the reader in, making your sentences more dynamic.
  • Conciseness: It often shortens sentences, tightening your prose.

In short, active voice breathes life and energy into your words.

Your Training Regimen: Exercises to Forge Active Voice Habits

This isn’t about shaming; it’s about sharpening. Here’s how to build your active voice muscle.

1. The “Be” Test & The “By Whom/What” Test (Your Detector Tools)

First, you need to be able to spot the passive voice.

  • The “Be” Test: Look for forms of the verb “to be” (is, am, are, was, were, be, being, been) followed by a past participle (a verb usually ending in -ed or -en).
    • Example: “The report was written by Jane.” (was + written)
    • Example: “Mistakes were made.” (were + made)
    • Important Note: Not every “to be” verb indicates passive voice, but it’s a huge flag to investigate.
  • The “By Whom/What” Test: If you can add “by [someone/something]” after the verb without the sentence becoming nonsensical, it’s likely passive.
    • Example: “The decision was made (by the committee).” ✅ Passive
    • Example: “She is happy (by her dog).” ❌ Not passive

Practice Drill: Go through a recent piece of your writing. With a highlighter (digital or physical), mark every instance where you see a “be” verb + past participle, and then apply the “by whom/what” test. Don’t correct yet – just identify. This trains your eye.

2. The “Who’s Doing What?” Drill (Rewiring Your Brain)

Once you’ve identified a passive sentence, your next step is to consciously find the actor and make them the star.

  • Step A: Find the Action. What is the main action taking place?
  • Step B: Find the Actor. Who or what is performing that action? (This might be hidden in a “by” phrase or completely absent).
  • Step C: Reconstruct. Make the actor the subject of the sentence, followed by the active verb, and then the object.
    • Passive: “The novel was written by a young author.”
    • Action: “written”
    • Actor: “a young author”
    • Active: “A young author wrote the novel.”
    • Passive: “Numerous errors were found during the review.”
    • Action: “found”
    • Actor: (Not explicitly stated, but implied: the reviewers)
    • Active: “The reviewers found numerous errors during the review.” (Or, if the reviewers are truly irrelevant, consider rephrasing entirely: “The review revealed numerous errors.”)

Practice Drill: Take all those highlighted passive sentences from your previous exercise. Now, rewrite each one into active voice. Focus on making the actor explicit and the verb direct. Do this rapidly, like a quick-fire exercise, to build speed and instinct.

3. The “Passive Purge” Editing Round (Systematic Correction)

When you’re drafting, don’t stop the flow to correct passive voice. Get your ideas down. The dedicated passive voice editing round comes after the initial draft.

  • First Pass: Write freely.
  • Second Pass (or later): Go through your entire draft specifically looking for passive constructions. Treat it like a scavenger hunt. Tools like Grammarly or ProWritingAid can help flag them, but don’t just accept their suggestions blindly – understand why it’s passive and actively choose the best active alternative.

Practice Drill: Schedule a “Passive Purge” session for every piece of writing you produce for the next month. Make it a non-negotiable step in your editing process. The more you consciously identify and correct, the more your brain will start to flag it during the drafting stage.

4. Read Aloud (The Auditory Test)

Passive voice often sounds clunky, wordy, and indirect. Reading your work aloud forces you to hear the rhythm and flow (or lack thereof).

Practice Drill: Whenever you’re unsure about a sentence, read it aloud. If it sounds circuitous or less energetic than it could be, chances are a passive construction is lurking. Then, try rephrasing it actively and read that version aloud too. The difference in impact will often be stark.

5. Don’t Be a Zealot (Embrace the Nuance)

While active voice is generally stronger, passive voice does have its place. The goal isn’t to eradicate it entirely, but to use it consciously and strategically, not accidentally.

When passive is okay (or even preferred):

  • When the actor is unknown or unimportant: “The email was sent at midnight.” (Who sent it isn’t the point.)
  • When you want to emphasize the action or the recipient of the action over the actor: “The groundbreaking discovery was made in 2023.”
  • When you want to deliberately avoid naming the actor (for political or diplomatic reasons): “Mistakes were made.”
  • To vary sentence structure: Sometimes a passive sentence can provide a welcome rhythm change, if used sparingly.

Practice Drill: For every passive sentence you choose to keep, briefly note down why. This reinforces your understanding of its strategic uses and prevents it from being a crutch.

The Long Game: Consistency is Key

Training yourself to default to active voice is like building any other muscle – it requires consistent effort. You’ll stumble, you’ll miss things, and sometimes, a passive sentence will genuinely slip through. That’s okay. The goal isn’t perfection, but progress.

Make these drills a regular part of your writing routine. The more you consciously engage with identifying and transforming passive constructions, the deeper that active voice habit will embed itself. Soon, you’ll find yourself not just pulling yourself out of the mire, but steering clear of it altogether, forging prose that is undeniably powerful, clear, and impactful.

Now, go forth and write brilliantly, actively!

“Sunday in New York”, a romantic adventure that’s not a walk in the park!

“Sunday in New York” is ultimately a story about trust, and what happens when a marriage is stretched to its limits.

When Harry Steele attends a lunch with his manager, Barclay, to discuss a promotion that any junior executive would accept in a heartbeat, it is the fact his wife, Alison, who previously professed her reservations about Barclay, also agreed to attend, that casts a small element of doubt in his mind.

From that moment, his life, in the company, in deciding what to do, his marriage, his very life, spirals out of control.

There is no one big factor that can prove Harry’s worst fears, that his marriage is over, just a number of small, interconnecting events, when piled on top of each other, points to a cataclysmic end to everything he had believed in.

Trust is lost firstly in his best friend and mentor, Andy, who only hints of impending disaster, Sasha, a woman whom he saved, and who appears to have motives of her own, and then in his wife, Alison, as he discovered piece by piece damning evidence she is about to leave him for another man.

Can we trust what we see with our eyes or trust what we hear?

Haven’t we all jumped to conclusions at least once in our lives?

Can Alison, a woman whose self-belief and confidence is about to be put to the ultimate test, find a way of proving their relationship is as strong as it has ever been?

As they say in the classics, read on!

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In a word: Arm

Like leg, arm is a word that is mostly associated with a body part.

Like being legless, another description for being drunk, being rendered ‘armless’ means you are no threat, in a rather awful but funny way by saying it.

I guess we all have a dash of ‘sick’ humour in all of us.

However, arm can also be used to describe a part of a structure too.

It could also describe the arm of an ‘armchair’.

But…

Arm also means to give people weapons like guns, usually from an armoury.

I’m guessing that a whole lot of people with arms is an army!

You can also say that taking those weapons away would be to disarm them.

It might take the long arm of the law to do it, too.

And to disarm someone doesn’t necessarily mean to take away their arms, but to ‘charm’ them with your wit and humour.

An arm can also be a river or streams tributary, so I could say instead of staying on the main river, I’ll take the ‘named’ arm, but just remember, sometimes this can be dangerous, getting off the main route.

On a boat, there is a yardarm, and this was once used to hang seamen who committed serious crimes such as mutiny.

A call to arms was to declare war,

And lastly, an arm of the defence services could be any one of Army, Navy, Marines or Airforce.

Just steer clear of the Navy for the aforementioned reasons.

 

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


What happens when your past finally catches up with you?

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

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

This time, however, there is more at stake.

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

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

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

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NANOWRIMO – November 2025 – Day 9

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The Third Son of a Duke

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I cannot begin to imagine if one were a single man travelling in second class with so many eligible women, what thoughts might pass through his mind. 

I imagine that behaviour might have been somewhat more circumspect in such a setting at the time, 1914, and that what I have read of the times, we cannot accept that they might have the same behaviour as they would today.

There are so many stories about young people travelling on cruise ships and the exploits they get up to, but back then, in an era where rules were more strictly enforced, more than half of those passengers were older, with families, and would expect socially responsible behaviour.

In an age where the captain of the ship was almost God like in stature, I suspect misbehaving on a ship would be met with swift action.  Certainly, alcohol was not freely flowing and sometimes not available; it was, in those days, at the discretion of the Captain.

So I’m running with the captain running a tight ship, the passengers behaving acceptably, and anything else was kept where it belonged, out of sight and mind.  That wouldn’t stop gossip or cliques from trying to figure out who and what their fellow passengers were, or that passengers who were initially strangers wouldn’t come together in groups for conversation, meals, and socialising.

There will be social events, like card nights, concerts, lantern lectures, and deck games, for children and adults alike.  There would be dances, where these young people could let off a little steam and meet others.

Six weeks on a ship in practically confinement is fodder for a lot of twists in the tale.

…

1715 words, for a total of 15380 words.