Category: Writer

All I wanted was a cup of coffee

How can something so simple become so complicated and complex?

In New York, it seemed impossible to get exactly what you would like.  The coffee there is driven by what the machine interprets you want, aside from the language constraints due to the fact that English (or American) comes in a zillion different flavours.

So, what do I like (you notice I don’t say ‘want’)

A double shot Latte with two sugars and half a shot of vanilla.  That’s in a large cup.

As we all know coffee can come in a regular, large, or extra-large cup, but, hang on, these cup sizes sometimes have names, and you need to know what these names are.

My efforts of pointing to the cup size in New York often had horrendous consequences, when the cup piles were close together.  Sometimes it was a double shot in a regular, and a single shot in an extra-large cup.

One even had the name benti, or bento, or something like that.

Being old and decrepit, my memory for cup sizes isn’t all that great, so using a name in one shop that doesn’t have that size, well, you get it.

It seems not only coffee makers in New York have a problem producing consistent coffee.

Perhaps, then that’s half the charm of drinking it, the fact that no cup is ever the same.

And, when an outlet gets it right, finally, they go and change the coffee bean supplier, and all of a sudden, it’s bitter, or it’s lighter, as coffee shops try to reduce their costs and maximise profits.

Six dollars is a lot of money for a cup of coffee unless of course, you have to feed that addiction in which case, you’ll have a cup at whatever the cost.

I need coffee right now, so its off te the cupboard to see what’s available.

Maccona instant, which is not bad

A Nespresso long black – ok, don’t get me started with Nespresso because they have numbers from 1 to 12, possibly more, recognising strengths, and I usually have a double shot using a 10 and a 12.

And, yes, they fool around with the type of beans they use because there seem to be inconsistencies in potency from time to time.

Then there’s coffee bags, much the same as tea bags, which produces and interestingly flavoured brew which I’m still trying to figure out.  It tastes like coffee, but there’s something else there, like … paper?

I opt for an instant.

Yes, I needed a coffee after writing this.

Searching for locations: Salzburg, Austria

Along with My Fair Lady, another of my favorite musicals was Sound of Music and having seen it a number of times over the years, it had conjured up a number of images of Salzburg in my mind, and with them a desire to go there.  We had been to Salzburg once before, an overnight train stop between Vienna and Innsbruck, an afterthought, but what we saw then was reason enough to come back later and spend several days.

A pity then the day we arrived, and for much of our stay, it rained.  But, like hardened travelers, very little stops us from doing anything, and particularly sightseeing.

We stayed at the Crowne Plaza – The Pitter in a very well-appointed room.  Breakfast included, it was a great way to start the day.  The afternoon we arrived we went for a short walk to the old city passing through the Mirabelle gardens with the Pegasus Fountain, Rose Garden, and Dwarves Garden.  Later we discovered that the archway had been used in part of the filming of Sound of Music.

We took the Festungsbahn funicular railway up to the Fortress Hohensalzburg, dating back to 1077, and the largest fortress still standing in Europe.  We spent a pleasant afternoon wandering through the rooms and exhibits and then had lunch at a café, the Salzburg Fortress Café, that overlooked the countryside.  This was where we were introduced to Mozart Gold Chocolate Cream added to our coffee.

It led us to search for the product which we eventually found in a confectionary store, Holzemayr in the Alter Markt.  Not only sis we find the Gold liqueur there was also a dark chocolate variety as well.  We bought a whole box to bring back with us, as well as a number of other chocolates including Victor Schmidt Austrian Mozart Balls, a delicious chocolate and marzipan combination.

With another afternoon to spare we visited the Salzburg Residence which previously housed Salzburg’s ruling prince-archbishops.  We visited the reception rooms and living quarters, as well as the Gallery.  It is as ornate as any of the palaces in Austria, resplendent with furnishings and paintings.  After that, the visit to Mozart’s birthplace was something of an anticlimax.

But, what we were in Salzburg for, the Sound of Music tour, and the places we visited:

The Mirabelle gardens, where Maria sang Do Re Mi in front of the gates to the gardens.  We spent some time here before and after the tour, and also has a look inside the Mirabelle Palace, which is not open to the public as it is the city administrative offices.

Leopoldskron Palace where the boating scene was filmed as well as exteriors.  They were not allowed to film inside the place and were only allowed to use the exterior.  An interesting tidbit of information, one of the children nearly drowned.

Heilbrunn palace is now home to the gazebo where Rolf and Leisl sang their song, ‘16 going on 17’.  The interesting part of this was the fact the Gazebo used to film the scene was much larger than the actual Gazebo on display.

The walkway from the fortress back to the old city passes Nonnberg Abbey where Maria was a novice, and where the opening scenes were filmed.  A number of scenes were filmed here, including the song ‘Maria’ in the courtyard.  The tour only showed the exterior of the Abbey.

Salzburg lake district where panorama and picnic scenes were filmed.  Even on the dullest of days, during which throughout our tour in continually rained, the scenery was still magnificent.

Mondsee church, where the wedding scenes were filmed.  It was surprising just how small the church really is.  It was also a stop to have afternoon tea or some ‘famous’ apple strudel.

Needless to say, we watched Sound of Music straight after the tour and managed to pick out all of the places we had been to.  The only downside to the tour, singing along to the songs.  I’m sorry, but I do not sing, and some of those that were, well, I say no more.

The story behind the story – Echoes from the Past

The novel ‘Echoes from the past’ started out as a short story I wrote about 30 years ago, titled ‘The birthday’.

My idea was to take a normal person out of their comfort zone and led on a short but very frightening journey to a place where a surprise birthday party had been arranged.

Thus the very large man with a scar and a red tie was created.

So was the friend with the limousine who worked as a pilot.

So were the two women, Wendy and Angelina, who were Flight Attendants that the pilot friend asked to join the conspiracy.

I was going to rework the short story, then about ten pages long, into something a little more.

And like all re-writes, especially those I have anything to do with, it turned into a novel.

There was motivation.  I had told some colleagues at the place where I worked at the time that I liked writing, and they wanted a sample.  I was going to give them the re-worked short story.  Instead, I gave them ‘Echoes from the past’

Originally it was not set anywhere in particular.

But when considering a location, I had, at the time, recently been to New York in December, and visited Brooklyn and Queens, as well as a lot of New York itself.  We were there for New Years, and it was an experience I’ll never forget.

One evening we were out late, and finished up in Brooklyn Heights, near the waterfront, and there was rain and snow, it was cold and wet, and there were apartment buildings shimmering in the street light, and I thought, this is the place where my main character will live.

It had a very spooky atmosphere, the sort where ghosts would not be unexpected.  I felt more than one shiver go up and down my spine in the few minutes I was there.

I had taken notes, as I always do, of everywhere we went so I had a ready supply of locations I could use, changing the names in some cases.

Fifth Avenue near the Rockefeller center is amazing at first light, and late at night with the Seasonal decorations and lights.

The original main character was a shy and man of few friends, hence not expecting the surprise party.  I enhanced that shyness into purposely lonely because of an issue from his past that leaves him always looking over his shoulder and ready to move on at the slightest hint of trouble.  No friends, no relationships, just a very low profile.

Then I thought, what if he breaks the cardinal rule, and begins a relationship?

But it is also as much an exploration of a damaged soul, as it is the search for a normal life, without having any idea what normal was, and how the understanding of one person can sometimes make all the difference in what we may think or feel.

And, of course, I wanted a happy ending.

Except for the bad guys.

Get it here:  https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

newechocover5rs

The story behind the story – Echoes from the Past

The novel ‘Echoes from the past’ started out as a short story I wrote about 30 years ago, titled ‘The birthday’.

My idea was to take a normal person out of their comfort zone and led on a short but very frightening journey to a place where a surprise birthday party had been arranged.

Thus the very large man with a scar and a red tie was created.

So was the friend with the limousine who worked as a pilot.

So were the two women, Wendy and Angelina, who were Flight Attendants that the pilot friend asked to join the conspiracy.

I was going to rework the short story, then about ten pages long, into something a little more.

And like all re-writes, especially those I have anything to do with, it turned into a novel.

There was motivation.  I had told some colleagues at the place where I worked at the time that I liked writing, and they wanted a sample.  I was going to give them the re-worked short story.  Instead, I gave them ‘Echoes from the past’

Originally it was not set anywhere in particular.

But when considering a location, I had, at the time, recently been to New York in December, and visited Brooklyn and Queens, as well as a lot of New York itself.  We were there for New Years, and it was an experience I’ll never forget.

One evening we were out late, and finished up in Brooklyn Heights, near the waterfront, and there was rain and snow, it was cold and wet, and there were apartment buildings shimmering in the street light, and I thought, this is the place where my main character will live.

It had a very spooky atmosphere, the sort where ghosts would not be unexpected.  I felt more than one shiver go up and down my spine in the few minutes I was there.

I had taken notes, as I always do, of everywhere we went so I had a ready supply of locations I could use, changing the names in some cases.

Fifth Avenue near the Rockefeller center is amazing at first light, and late at night with the Seasonal decorations and lights.

The original main character was a shy and man of few friends, hence not expecting the surprise party.  I enhanced that shyness into purposely lonely because of an issue from his past that leaves him always looking over his shoulder and ready to move on at the slightest hint of trouble.  No friends, no relationships, just a very low profile.

Then I thought, what if he breaks the cardinal rule, and begins a relationship?

But it is also as much an exploration of a damaged soul, as it is the search for a normal life, without having any idea what normal was, and how the understanding of one person can sometimes make all the difference in what we may think or feel.

And, of course, I wanted a happy ending.

Except for the bad guys.

Get it here:  https://amzn.to/2CYKxu4

newechocover5rs

“The Document” – the editor’s final draft – Day 24

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

And so it begins…

…

Sanity, if nothing else, returns

…

Got the 50,000 words, 51,540 to be exact, but the story is not done yet.

Hasty revisions, adding more words, taking out some others, it’s a long and difficult day, with the yellow post-it note collection growing exponentially.

Where would we be without them, endless scraps of paper strewn over an already cluttered desk?

All it would take was one enthusiastic cleaning lady, and it would become an ‘oh-my-god’ moment.

The end, however, is becoming clearer, and I’m working towards it from three different angles.

The first case of PI Walthenson – “A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers”

This case has everything, red herrings, jealous brothers, femme fatales, and at the heart of it all, greed.

See below for an excerpt from the book…

Coming soon!

PIWalthJones1

An excerpt from the book:

When Harry took the time to consider his position, a rather uncomfortable position at that, he concluded that he was somehow involved in another case that meant very little to him.

Not that it wasn’t important in some way he was yet to determine, it was just that his curiosity had got the better of him, and it had led to this: sitting in a chair, securely bound, waiting for someone one of his captors had called Doug.

It was not the name that worried him so much, it was the evil laugh that had come after the name was spoken.

Doug what? Doug the ‘destroyer’, Doug the ‘dangerous’, Doug the ‘deadly’; there was any number of sinister connotations, and perhaps that was the point of the laugh, to make it more frightening than it was.

But there was no doubt about one thing in his mind right then: he’d made a mistake. A very big. and costly, mistake. Just how big the cost, no doubt he would soon find out.

His mother, and his grandmother, the wisest person he had ever known, had once told him never to eavesdrop.

At the time he couldn’t help himself and instead of minding his own business, listening to a one-sided conversation which ended with a time and a place. The very nature of the person receiving the call was, at the very least, sinister, and, because of the cryptic conversation, there appeared to be, or at least to Harry, criminal activity involved.

For several days he had wrestled with the thought of whether he should go. Stay on the fringe, keep out of sight, observe and report to the police if it was a crime. Instead, he had willingly gone down the rabbit hole.

Now, sitting in an uncomfortable chair, several heat lamps hanging over his head, he was perspiring, and if perspiration could be used as a measure of fear, then Harry’s fear was at the highest level.

Another runnel of sweat rolled into his left eye, and, having his hands tied, literally, it made it impossible to clear it. The burning sensation momentarily took his mind off his predicament. He cursed and then shook his head trying to prevent a re-occurrence. It was to no avail.

Let the stinging sensation be a reminder of what was right and what was wrong.

It was obvious that it was the right place and the right time, but in considering his current perilous situation, it definitely was the wrong place to be, at the worst possible time.

It was meant to be his escape, an escape from the generations of lawyers, what were to Harry, dry, dusty men who had been in business since George Washington said to the first Walthenson to step foot on American soil, ‘Why don’t you become a lawyer?” when asked what he could do for the great man.

Or so it was handed down as lore, though Harry didn’t think Washington meant it literally, the Walthenson’s, then as now, were not shy of taking advice.

Except, of course, when it came to Harry.

He was, Harry’s father was prone to saying, the exception to every rule. Harry guessed his father was referring to the fact his son wanted to be a Private Detective rather than a dry, dusty lawyer. Just the clothes were enough to turn Harry off the profession.

So, with a little of the money Harry inherited from one of his aunts, he leased an office in Gramercy Park and had it renovated to look like the Sam Spade detective agency, you know the one, Spade and Archer, and The Maltese Falcon.

There’s a movie and a book by Dashiell Hammett if you’re interested.

So, there it was, painted on the opaque glass inset of the front door, ‘Harold Walthenson, Private Detective’.

There was enough money to hire an assistant, and it took a week before the right person came along, or, more to the point, didn’t just see his business plan as something sinister. Ellen, a tall cool woman in a long black dress, or so the words of a song in his head told him, fitted in perfectly.

She’d seen the movie, but she said with a grin, Harry was no Humphrey Bogart.

Of course not, he said, he didn’t smoke.

Three months on the job, and it had been a few calls, no ‘real’ cases, nothing but missing animals, and other miscellaneous items. What he really wanted was a missing person. Or perhaps a beguiling, sophisticated woman who was as deadly as she was charming, looking for an errant husband, perhaps one that she had already ‘dispatched’.

Or for a tall, dark and handsome foreigner who spoke in riddles and in heavily accented English, a spy, or perhaps an assassin, in town to take out the mayor. The man was such an imbecile Harry had considered doing it himself.

Now, in a back room of a disused warehouse, that wishful thinking might be just about to come to a very abrupt end, with none of the romanticized trappings of the business befalling him. No beguiling women, no sinister criminals, no stupid policemen.

Just a nasty little man whose only concern was how quickly or how slowly Harry’s end was going to be.

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2024

In a word: Course

Yes, of course there’s a golf course.

Firstly, of course, means definitely so, and can be said when a revelation is realised, or sarcastically if the answer is obvious.

Then there’s a course, like a golf course where people chase a small usually white ball, sometimes to be found on a fairway, but more often than not in a bunker, in the water, or in the thicket.

It’s meant to be calming, but I’m betting more than one heart attack has been brought on by a slice, a six shot bunker exit, or any more than three putts on the green.

There’s also mini golf courses, less challenging, sometimes.

That course could also be the part of a creek or a river.

It can be a set of classes that makes up a course, I did a course in English literature

Then, rather topically, over the course of the election there was [you fill in the rest]

Then there’s my favourite, a four course dinner

Or when I’m unwell a course of antibiotics.

And lastly, in a supermarket how often does the trolley in front of you unexpectedly and randomly change course?

This is not to be confused with coarse

Which to be honest can be used sometimes to describe people who swear or are abrupt.  They were coarse people, that is unrefined.  These people often use coarse language and tell course jokes, meaning crude and offensive

It had a coarse texture, ie it was rough not smooth

And then there’s Corse which is not exactly an English word, but can refer to a corpse or dead body.

‘Sunday in New York’ – A beta reader’s view

I’m not a fan of romance novels but …

There was something about this one that resonated with me.

This is a novel about a world generally ruled by perception, and how people perceive what they see, what they are told, and what they want to believe.

I’ve been guilty of it myself as I’m sure we all have at one time or another.

For the main characters Harry and Alison there are other issues driving their relationship.

For Alison, it is a loss of self-worth through losing her job and from losing her mother and, in a sense, her sister.

For Harry, it is the fact he has a beautiful and desirable wife, and his belief she is the object of other men’s desires, and one in particular, his immediate superior.

Between observation, the less than honest motives of his friends, a lot of jumping to conclusions based on very little fact, and you have the basis of one very interesting story.

When it all comes to a head, Alison finds herself in a desperate situation, she realises only the truth will save their marriage.

But is it all the truth?

What would we do in similar circumstances?

Rarely does a book have me so enthralled that I could not put it down until I knew the result. They might be considered two people who should have known better, but as is often the case, they had to get past what they both thought was the truth.

And the moral of this story, if it could be said there is one, nothing is ever what it seems.

…

Available on Amazon here: amzn.to/2H7ALs8

…

The cinema of my dreams – It continued in London – Episode 41

Who’s telling the truth?

…

After the three women left, I stretched out in one of the chairs and closed my eyes.

Cecelia had disappeared into one of the bedrooms, I suspect the one with the biggest bed and its own private bathroom, and I tried not to think about her.  I tried not to think about Juliet either.

I heard Cecelia flop into the other chair opposite me a few minutes later.  “They’re all lying in one way or another.”

I opened my eyes, hoping she hadn’t changed into something more ‘comfortable’, like in the movies.

“Welcome to the real world.  I’m glad you played along.  It was a bit of a limb we’re out on at the moment, and I’m sure Alfie, after bursting into the flat will be having kittens.”

“Can we trust any of those three?”

“You’d think the countess being a countess would be trustworthy.”

“But…”

“She does come from a class of people who are a law unto themselves.  I don’t see her as a master criminal though, but she’s not telling the whole truth, just the parts she thinks we need to hear.  It’s the same with everyone in this business.  They try to anticipate our requirements.”

“I like the idea of being a bit player.”

“Never tell anyone who you really are.  I find it helps to allay their fears and stops them from thinking you can save them from anything.  First lesson I learned; I couldn’t save everyone.”

“Noted.”

“So, what do you think after hearing everything.”

“Anthony got some of it right, but his suppositions didn’t meet the facts on the ground.”

“Which is always the case.  Sometimes a lot worse for us when we get there.  We’re lucky this time we have a familiar face, Juliet.  It buys us some credibility.”

“You think it’s the old woman or Alessandro trying to kill them, or someone else, or was that attack staged…”

It was a thought I had in passing too, as real as it appeared.  If I thought too much about it, the fact was, just before the shooting started, we were both sitting ducks and he could have shot both of us dead.

A point to be noted and filed for later reference.

“Assuming it wasn’t, we have to get them over to Italy.”

“How?”

“How Larry got there.  A small plane flying under the radar.  If Rodby put you to work with me for a reason, it was probably to teach you all my tricks of the trade.  You accumulate a lot of them as you progress, and don’t get killed.  Moving secretly from place to place is a useful tool and you gather assets over time.  I know a guy who knows a guy, and tomorrow, with the three women, you will go find him and take yourselves off to Italy.  You will have two envelopes, the first the name of the pilot.  The second, is an address of a safe house near Sorrento.  Once they are safe, you will take up surveillance on the Sorrento Chateau, and the movements of the matriarch.  After I’ve dealt with Rodby, I’ll be over to talk to her.”

“Don’t you think that’s dangerous, I mean, Rodby will be very angry.”

“Do you want to go see him?”

“No.”

“Then let me worry about him.”

“You sure he won’t lock you up and throw away the key?

“Not if he wants the countess.”

© Charles Heath 2023

Motive, means, and opportunity – Episode 11

…

The visitors at the Bergman Residence

…

Bryson stood, just out of sight, and heard the door open and heard two voices, one of which was familiar.

Stacy Bergman.  The other voice, male, was unfamiliar.

“Like I said,” she was saying, “the bastard had those photographs somewhere, and leaving this address lying around was his second mistake.”

“The first,” her companion asked?

“Cheating on me.  But I should have realized he’s never given up that floozie from school, the one he said had got away.  The one, he also said, he was not having an affair with.”

“What about the other six I found?”

“Well, what can I say.  The man was a fool.  You go upstairs, I’ll look around her, then we’ll both tackle the basement.  What is that smell?”

“Treachery?”

That was greeted with silence, followed by steps trudging upstairs.

Bryson stepped out from behind the wall, gun pointed at Stacy Bergman, and said, “Conducting a little breaking and entering, are we?”

Predictably, she screamed.

Her companion came pounding back down the stairs and stopped when he saw Bryson with the gun.  “You really don’t want to use that.  We are not doing anything wrong here.”

“And you are?”

“Jim Davidson, Private Detective.  I’m assisting Ms Hollingworth in an investigation into her husband’s activities.”

Stacy found her voice, “This is the detective I was telling you about.  Be careful what you say.”

“Why would he have to be careful Mrs. Bergman?  Is there something you haven’t told me?”

“No.”

“You mentioned some photographs when you came in.  What photographs were they?”

He watched her look change from surprise to puzzlement to wary as she realized what she had said, not knowing he had been there.  Now, it was a race to come up with an excuse that didn’t match the reality.  Bergman had something on her too.

A few seconds of silence, and then she said, “He was supposed to be importing some crockery from England and was supposed to show me the supplier photographs.  It’s a present for a friend for her wedding, and like always, he doesn’t follow through.”

“How do you know about this place?”

“I know everything about him.”

“Via the private detective?  How long have you had him investigating Bergman?”  He glared at Davison, who in turn looked at Mrs Bergman.

Bryson looked at Mrs Bergman, and said, “If you are considering telling me a lie, mars Bergman, I will have my assistant get a warrant from a judge to view all of the PI’s documents relating to your case.  As it is,” he looked at Davidson, “I’m going to add you to the list of suspects, and my assistant will be interviewing you, sooner rather than later.”

“I had nothing to do with his demise.”

“That remains to be seen.”  Back to Mrs Bergman, “Now, a truthful answer.”

“About a year.”

“That’s a long and expensive activity for someone who doesn’t have the funds.  You do realize we are aware of your husband’s finances?”

“Any further questions will be answered with a lawyer’s presence, Detective.”

“Fine.  Don’t leave the city.  Unless you can prove that you have legal access to this residence, other than the key you’re holding in your hand, you will be charged with breaking and entering, and if not, for violating a crime scene.”

Bryson saw two uniformed officers arrive and park their car behind Davison’s.  When they reached the doorway he said, “Take these two and escort them from the building.  After that, make sure no one else comes in until the CSI team arrives.  Good day, Mrs. Bergman.  I will let you know when you are to report for another interview.

…

© Charles Heath 2019-2023