Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

…

How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect them.

In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.

I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.

Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half-brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.

There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.

Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.

It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.

For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.

It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.

The cinema of my dreams – It all started in Venice – Episode 7

A new team member

…

I had gone over a number of different ways I could run into Juliet, but most seemed staged, and I got the impression from her most recent conversation with Larry, that she was not silly.

In fact, in my mind, a second meeting, coincidental or not, would send up a red flag. This was where spycraft bordered on Hollywood, we needed to set the stage, and for that, we needed extras.

And that meant a phone call to Alfie. I told him what I needed, and he asked for 24 hours to set it up, and true to his word, I was in the arrival hall of Venice Airport, waiting for the newest member of the team.

Cecilia Walker was an aspiring actress, an ideal cover for her so-called part-time profession as an agent at large. We all had cover stories, with both personal and legitimate reasons for being in places that we’d not normally be expected to be. And in her case, she was never the same person twice, quite literally the master of disguise.

For Cecilia, there was a film festival in Venice she would be attending. Timing in this case was everything.

As for me, I had a background in archaeology and journalism and was actually employed to write articles for a number of publications, a job I kept up after I left the service, along with the idea of writing a book, which became the object of a long-standing joke between Violetta and I.

One day I would finish it

But ironically, Cecilia had the perfect cover, being able to slip into any role without having to work too hard on the finer details.

Alfie had sent a photo of her, and even though I did spend a few moments wondering if I might recognize her from some part she may have played, it didn’t stir up any recollection. Of course, there was always a vast difference between studio poses and real life, and the woman that came out of the gate was quite different from the one I was expecting.

Although the few paparazzi that were loitering in the terminal just in case a celebrity did suddenly arrive, didn’t recognize her, that might be due to the fact she was dressed casually and had changed both hairstyle and color, and, as I had learned from the woman I’d spent a lot of time with, nuances in make-up could make all the difference.

But there was one photographer that was interested, perhaps he had seen her before, and I waited until she had spoken to him before wandering over. She had scanned the gate area, both to familiarise herself with the layout and people there, as well as locate me, all without looking like she was doing anything other than immediately disembarking the plane.

It showed experience, and preparedness, not her first, as they say, rodeo.

She had been tracking me the whole time, so once I was in her direct line of sight, anyone observing us would assume we were old friends.

There was a hug before words were spoken, the sort that made me realize what I had been missing for some time, warm personal contact.

“You haven’t aged a bit,” she said, a smile lingering.

“It’s the wine, excellent preservative. You, on the other hand, have grown up.”

The script called for old friends who hadn’t seen each other for a year or so.

She performed a pirouette and then burst into giggles. “Sorry, it’s just when I did that for one of my grandmothers, she said I was acting like a tart.”

“Grandmothers can be like that,” I said, remembering Violetta used to use the same word for her sister’s grandchildren.

“My house is a renovator’s disaster at the moment, so we’re staying in a quaint hotel on the edge of the main Canal, and some interesting restaurants.”

Alfie had booked us adjoining rooms on the same floor as Juliet, which, when she learned I would be staying there too, would give me the surprise element I was looking for.

“I am so looking forward to this week. If we get the time, you’ll have to show me everything.”

In that short distance from the airport terminal to the water taxi berths, there was time enough to discover what had exactly been missing in my life since Violetta had died.

Yes, there was a period of mourning, a period where there had been no point in getting out of bed, a period where I felt completely lost without the one person who made my life make sense.

But in those few short minutes, there it was again, and with it the belief that perhaps there was someone else out there who could fill that gap, but never replace her because there would never be anyone else like her. Cecilia was not the one, but she was part of the process.

I had to remember, also, she was a consummate actress, that she was playing a role, and it was totally believable.

Once we were on the water taxi and away from prying eyes and ears, I had to ask, “how did you end up on Rodby’s roster, especially in light of how good an actor you are?”

“You think so, why thank you. But the duality, accidentally. I got caught in the crossfire, and thinking at the time, someone had changed the script and forgot to tell me, sort of kicked some ass. Delusions of becoming a female version of Liam Neeson. Instead, I was offered a recurring female James Bond, in real life.”

Good to know I could depend on her in a scrap.

“This might not come to that, in fact, it might be quite boring.”

She smiled. “A free trip to Venice, a film festival pass to everything, working with a legend, what’s not to like?”

What had Alfie told her? Legend I was not, perhaps slightly more successful than the average agent, but I was just doing my job until I didn’t want to do it anymore. How many of us could say we preferred to sacrifice everything for the love of the one?

“I assume you are up to speed with what’s required of you in the first instance?”

“A role is a role, Evan, and I love a good role. This woman you’re supposed to be cozying up to, and the guy using her, it’s almost like a plotline in a B grade movie.”

I hadn’t thought of it like that, but now that she mentioned it, it felt a bit like exactly that.

“Should I make her jealous?”

“It’s not like that, or at least that’s the impression I got when I ran into her. Depends on what Larry’s intentions are. Chances are when we get to the hotel we might see her again, and you might get an idea. I’m not the best person reading women’s minds.”

“No man ever is. We have to have that element of surprise to keep you interested, but if I was in her position, and I saw you with a woman like me, and I was supposed to get close to you for whatever reason, I might be forced into making a move I didn’t want to. The fact she’s here with you in her sights generally means one thing.”

The question was, how desperate would she be? That would depend on the motivation, or what leverage he had. Pushing the envelope might, as Cecilia said force her hand.

So much for a softly, softly approach.

And it might force Larry’s hand as well

“So, is it your first time in Venice?”

“No, I used to come here when younger with my mother who was I guess a Venetian. After she died, not so much.”

“No other baggage?” It had surprised me she had only one carrying bag.

It was always excess baggage when traveling anywhere with my ex.

“Only emotional. I was told to pack light, anything I needed you’d get for me.”

The accompanying wicked smile was enough. I’d have to make sure the expense account was big enough.

After a pleasant forty-five-minute grand tour of the canals going the long way to the berths not far from St Mark’s Square, we jumped off as soon as the taxi came alongside.

The hotel wasn’t far from the bronze equestrian monument to Victor Emmanuel II statue, which she took a moment to look at, almost causing several strollers to walk into her.

That element of careless tourist didn’t make her stand-up as much as if she had purposefully walked from the berth to the hotel, a small detail in a studied persona, the role of an extra perhaps in a film.

It was the part of the day, for late summer that I liked the best, and in a week or so, the weather would slowly get colder until Christmas, and winter, was upon us.

Then, she did the complete 360-degree turn just taking it all in. “Some things never change, I remember all of this.”

Perhaps living off and on for so long here had made me a little immune to the charm of the place, but it was hard not to get caught up in the moment.

“Your hotel awaits.”

For a few seconds the reality of the situation faded into the background, and I could push all the nastiness of Larry and his machinations aside, but then the reality came back, I remembered who I was and what I’d been, and how important it was not to lose sight of the objective.

It had not been easy while Violetta was still alive, nor was hiding the real truth of my past from her. Yes, I had told her a version of my precious life, and the possible dangers it could present, which was why she suggested we live in a number of different places, never the same in a single location, but with Venice, it had been different. It had a profound effect on her, and it was where she chose to spend her last days.

It had not held the same effect on me. Not since she passed, and I had been looking to leave, find somewhere new, and different to stay, more so since I learned of Larry’s plans.

Now it just made me angry.

“I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly next to me, “do we need to be someplace?”

“What, no, sorry.”

“You looked annoyed, I hope not with me.”

“No, never. Just thinking about Larry. And Juliet, I guess I’m lamenting the nuisance the pair of them are in intruding on my solitude. Something to note, you don’t ever get the luxury of retirement in this business, except in death.”

“Then let’s hope it doesn’t happen.”

…

NaNoWriMo – April – 2026 – Day 20

It’s now two-thirds of the way through, and I’m making great progress.

The consequences of the twist that happened yesterday did not have much of an effect on the planned storyline, so it’s full steam ahead.

This story is going to be longer than 50,000 words, as, at the moment, the count is just under 40,000 words.

So far, I have 8 chapters in Part 1

9 chapters in Part 2, with one to be edited (outline is written)

24 chapters in Part 3, with 2 to be edited (also have outlines written)

Looking at the plan, there are approximately 9 more chapters to be edited, and then,

3 or 4 chapters in Part 4 to wrap it up

My best guess, this story will come in at around 70,000 words.

A to Z – April – 2026 – Q

Q is for – Quid Pro Quo

…

Perhaps if I’d thought about it long enough, I might have seen it coming, but it was taking that light at the end of the tunnel as a good thing, not the double-headed train pounding towards me at breakneck speed while I was tied to the tracks.

It would be easy to blame my mother. She was the one who taught us to take everyone at face value, to see the good in the world, and, of course, eight times out of ten, everything was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

I was on the balcony overlooking the bay, the house that my grandfather had first built as a getaway shack, expanded into a holiday home, and then into my retreat, the place I could hide away from the world.

It was the same for my sister, who was still recovering from a bad relationship, one that she blamed herself for, but the truth was, she was not at fault, not for any of it.

But the scars ran deep, deep enough that in the pit of despair, she did the unforgivable, and it was a sixth sense that sent me to her in her time of need.

Now, she was well on the road to recovery, older and very much wiser.

For both of us.

…

“Did you see the report Jenkins sent?”

She was stretched out on the deckchair, taking in the sunshine that came with early spring. It was warm but not hot, a gentle breeze rustling through the surrounding trees.

There were white caps out to sea, and there was a ship slowly plying its way past the bay. It was a busy shipping lane, and it was the perfect distraction to watch the ships go by.

“I did.”

Jenkins was the company’s head of security, and I had asked him to investigate the man who had deceived and nearly destroyed my twin sister. In an attempt to get justice, he had gotten off on a technicality and walked free.

It wasn’t justice, but justice sometimes could be blinded.

“Did you have any idea?”

I had to say I didn’t. Who would when the woman of your dreams, a woman who ticked all of the boxes, comes into your life when you least expect it.

At first, I believed it was too good to be true. Jenkins checked her out, and everything was irreproachable. It was not that I was the one who didn’t trust her. It was the people around me.

Once the investigation was over, I decided it was time. We had been dating off and on for over a year, and it had been a slow burn.

Then Alisha discovered just who and what her boyfriend was, just in time to prevent a travesty. She was worth a small fortune, and Jackson Pearce had very nearly stolen it all.

He only made one mistake. He told, no, bragged, that he was about to take down the Bernadines, one of the wealthier and blue-ribbon families.

He very neatly got away with it. He was free, but he was penniless, and oddly not concerned or angry.

I asked Jenkins to find out why.

It was in the report sitting on the coffee table beside Alisha’s deckchair.

About the woman I was about to marry in the wedding of the year, after letting her take control of the preparations and ceremony and spending close to three million dollars.

A lot of that money was channelled back to her brother Jackson Pearce. Her real name was Milly Pearce. She’d stuck to the Milly but was using her father’s mother’s birth surname, making it difficult to trace in a first scan of a family tree.

Or lack of one, which matched her assertion, she was an orphan, from an orphanage that no longer existed, and all records of her had been destroyed in a fire.

Only Jenkins thought it was suspicious, but we were all prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“No. She is such a lovely person.”

“So was Jack, until…” It was still painful for her, but not so much that it hurt that much. “What are you going to do?”

“Play. Do you think you’re strong enough to join me?”

“Can I shoot her?”

I gave her a curious expression. As much as I understood how she felt about that family, it was not worth the jail sentence.

“No.”

“Spoil sport.”

She sighed. I took her attitude and the determination in her voice as good signs that she was all but over her calamity.

Up to the unmasking of Jack, she had been almost like a sister to Milly. I had thought it was the sort of bonding one would expect between the women. Milly had been suitably disparaging towards the dastardly boyfriend, but whatever had been between them had been broken.

Knowing what she did now, it was difficult to imagine how she could be nice to her.

But it would be settled the next day. I had promised to take Milly to a special lunch with just our family, my mother, who was kept oblivious of the details of Alisha’s breakup and subsequent events, my older brother, Wally, who was the current CEO of the company, the one I would eventually take over, and myself, basically to talk about where she would fit into the echelons.

We had talked about it, and she had suggested a role suited to her standing. She had also considered that she was part of the family and, therefore, entitled to a parcel of shares. That alone should have set off alarm bells, but since Mother and Wally had suggested it, who was I to disagree?

“Are you going to tell Mother and Walter?”

It was like she was reading my mind.

“No. Let’s play her game out and see where it goes.”

“Are you prepared for it?”

I don’t think I would ever be. I had been hesitant to make our budding romance public, and on the eight-month anniversary, we had been ambushed by the media. She swore she had not told anyone, but she and I were the only two who knew.

It was the catalyst needed to push us to the next level. Even then, I was not suspicious, accepting her explanation. It was not impossible that I was being followed by a photographer looking for a scoop.

“What would be the upside for her?”

“Without sounding catty, Henry, if she is cut from the same cloth as her brother, there’s always a reason.”

“Fair enough. We shall see.”

I rose early and took my time getting ready. There were a few calls I had to make, one a long chat with Legal, with the only lawyer I could trust, a chap I went to university with, and funded his start in the legal world.

Disillusioned with run-of-the-mill legalities, he took a break, married his childhood sweetheart, and asked if I could find something for him.

I asked the head of Legal to appoint him as my personal lawyer, and he did. Sworn to secrecy, he was the fourth person who knew about Milly’s perfidy. Surprisingly, he was not surprised.

I was having a coffee after considering a stiff Scotch. Perhaps later, when I get back.

Alisha came out, looking like her old self and looking stunning. She had toyed with the idea of being a model but decided against it after working on a shoot as an assistant.

“How do I look?”

“Like an angel.”

“Then she will not see me coming. All sweetness and light, Henry. I’ve been out of the loop, so I can play dumb but not too dumb. I’ll make her work to restart our friendship.”

“Promise me the secret is safe.”

She smiled. “You have my word. I would not want to miss this for the world.”

“Good. Now I must make the call. Phase one is about to begin.” I picked up the phone and made the call.

I put it on speaker.

“Darling, is everything alright?”

Her usual, what I called adorable, tone. Today, it didn’t give me shivers.

“Just a little hiccup. I’m running late, so Wally will be collecting you. I should be there on time, or a few minutes later. Try not to miss me too much.”

“Will you be staying tonight?”

I took a deep breath. I had been planning to, but things had changed. I didn’t think I could keep up the pretence at close quarters for as long as all night.

“We talked about this. The wedding is in two days. I think the few days’ absence will make our hearts grow fonder. Besides, I must complete all the legal formalities of setting you up as a family member. You’re about to become a very well-situated wife.”

I could hear her considering what that all meant. Wealth, power, everything her brother had tried to take. I wondered what her plan was.

She sighed. “Lunch will have to suffice, I guess. See you soon.”

Alisha looked at the phone and then at me. “That was a bit abrupt.”

“Wedding jitters, perhaps.”

“Given the Bollywood production she’s planned, hardly.”

I shook my head. “You mean there’s going to be elephants?”

She laughed. “Don’t be surprised if there are.”

There hadn’t been any at the rehearsal. But the fact that there were nearly a hundred people at the rehearsal was scary enough in itself. I’d seen the running sheet, and yes, it was a production, being filmed, with a Hollywood director.

Sadly, it was neither Steven Spielberg nor James Cameron. I would have liked some tap-dancing star troopers or the set of the Titanic as a backdrop.

We flew to the heliport and were picked up by a chauffeur-driven limousine. I made sure that Mother, Wally, and Milly were in situ before Alisha and I entered the restaurant.

We entered by a side entrance to avoid causing a stir out front or interfering with the other diners. I had prebooked a private room in a nom de plume.

Only the Maitre’d knew who really made the booking. If there were any surprises…

It was a priceless moment when Milly saw Alisha not as the broken spirit she had been for the last few months, but back to being a rival.

And taking the position of the real Bernadine, where Milly would only be one by marriage. The look, if only for a millisecond, was one of pure malice.

As soon as mother and Wally saw her, they were up and making a fuss. After all, they hadn’t seen much of her since the event. Nor were they across everything that happened.

I went over to my family and gave them a hug, trying to be my usual self, which wasn’t hard. In public, with Milly or anyone, for that matter, I was aloof.

Waiting for her turn, Milly gave Alisha a hug, and they spoke briefly before we all sat, and the head waiter appeared, and the discussion about drinks and what was on the special menu.

Orders taken, we settled into the chairs.

Alisha was the focal point.

“It’s so good to see you back to your old self.” Mother was particularly pleased as she had been at her wits’ end on how to cope with such a distressed child. That was where I took over, looking after her.

“I couldn’t mope forever. Henry has been an angel, looking after me.”

“Where?” It was out before she could stifle it, and not the question I expected. “I mean, sorry, that came out a little strange. I had been asking after you,” she said to Milly, “but no one seemed to know where you were.”

“I needed to get away for a while. No one needs to know, and you’ll understand soon why it’s a blessing to have somewhere to escape from the outside world. Your life is about to become public property.”

And with that, Alisha avoided the question. I was sure both Mother and Wally knew where I went to hide and that it was where Alisha had gone. Mother had trusted me to look after her. Wally had too many other matters to attend to.

Milly looked at me. “Perhaps you can take me there. It sounds wonderful.”

I smiled. “One day, if or when you suffer a malady. Otherwise, it will be for Alisha until she finally returns to work. She needs the space.”

Then I turned to Wally. “Legal tells me they have a lead on the whereabouts of Jackson Pearce.”

It was a calculated move, one I had warned Alisha about, knowing it might have an effect.

I was watching Milly, and it got the expected reaction, one I would not have seen if I hadn’t been looking for it.

“I thought I read he left the country.” Milly, if she had been smarter, would have left it alone.

“That was a rumour he spread to the media. I have questions, and I suspect now that Alisha has recovered, she would like five minutes alone with him.”

“Why. He’s a rat. Why would you want to rake over those coals?”

Alisha smiled. “I want an apology. I will get an apology. One way or another.”

Yes. Milly looked at Alisha with a whole new perspective. The determination in her voice was stirring and set a tone for the lunch.

Milly had been caught offside and didn’t recover. She was caught between brother and sister, where the sister was the priority, and I got the impression she had just realised there was a slight shift in our relationship.

When we parted, she tried very hard to recover our usual easy manner, and I relaxed to the point where she felt she had succeeded. I could tell she had questions, not the sort she could ask then, but perhaps it would be a call later.

She asked again if we could spend the rest of the day together, but I told her there were too many matters I had to attend to before the wedding. Otherwise, there would be no honeymoon.

She had planned that too, and it was all the places she had dreamed of going, first class or better. I had been looking forward to it as well, though I had been to a lot of the places, and travelling coach and backpacking as you did when wide-eyed and adventurous.

I had suggested it, and she had laughed. The Benadines didn’t travel in coach class in any mode of transport.

I shook my head. Absence, I said, made the heart grow fonder. After all, we would be spending the rest of our lives together.

After we parted, I was left with the impression I was not going to survive the honeymoon.

It was odd that after two days, and knowing the truth, I felt so cold that I shivered. Alisha took my hand and squeezed it.

“If it makes you feel any better, she is a very cold fish pretending to be something else. Even I could feel it, and it made me shudder more than once. That whole family are monstrous. They have to be to prey on people like us.”

We went to my city apartment and waited.

Jenkins had suggested that he have a team keep her under surveillance and see where she went or did. I had told him we were going to make a few suggestions about her brother and see if she tried to call or approach him.

I said she wouldn’t be that stupid.

But if we were close to finding him and telling her, she might think he would drag her down with him and demand that he go away. It was an interesting theory.

Several hours passed. I rested; Alisha was reading a Mills and Boon romance novel. She said it gave her hope there could be a happy ending.

When we both least expected it, the phone vibrated. A message. It was an address and a request to come.

“Pearce and Pearce?”

“Possibly.” I couldn’t believe it would be that easy.

When we arrived, there were police outside the building, and Jenkins was with a detective in the foyer. No one said much, only that I was needed for an identification.

We went up the elevator to the fifth floor, and down the passage to the last door on the left, the one where a policeman was standing outside.

He stood to one side, and we went in.

Milly was standing between two large policemen, and on the floor, being attended by paramedics, was her brother, Jackson. He had a head wound and was barely conscious.

Milly looked at me. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same question. Why are you here with Jack? You said he’d left the country.”

“I said I read he left the country.”

“And yet here you are.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“And what do you think, I think? Because from where I’m standing, a woman I hardly know has attacked her brother, the man who tried to rob my sister, and contributed to her suicide attempt.”

“He’s not my brother.”

“Perhaps not from the same parents, but for at least a dozen years in the same foster home until you ran away together.”

“Am I getting a family lawyer?”

“You’re not family, Milly. You’re a thief and a liar, and I have no idea who you are, nor do I want to. The engagement and the wedding are off.

It turned to the detective. “Any details you need on Miss Pearce, detective, Jenkins here will give you what we have. I believe there is new information on her brother’s crimes against my sister. If that’s all?”

It was. Alisha looked down at the man on the ground and took no pleasure in what she saw. It was perhaps justice of a sort. As we left, I saw her texting. When I asked who, she said I would find out soon enough.

The late edition of the paper, with a headline, “All that glitters”, and below the story of a grifter and her brother trying to take down the Benadine family, and very nearly succeeding.

It was a story my father would have had suppressed because it made us look foolish. When I asked her why she did it, she said no matter what the public thought of us, we were transparent, far more than any others in our situation. But, she said, more than anything else, it ensured no one else would try.

Well, not in our lifetime anyway.

…

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 93

Day 93 – This is your life!

…

The Art of Timing: When is the Right Moment to Write Your Memoir?

You’ve lived a life full of twists, turns, heartbreaks, and triumphs. You feel the itch to put it all on the page—to organise the chaos of your past into a narrative that others can learn from. But then, the nagging question creeps in: Is it too soon?

We often hear that “everyone has a book in them,” but not everyone understands that a memoir is not just an autobiography—it’s a carefully curated work of art. If you’re wondering when to sit down and start writing, consider this your guide to finding the right moment.

The “Age 20” Trap: Why Gravitas Matters

It’s easy to feel like you’ve lived a lifetime by the time you hit your twenties. Perhaps you’ve travelled, fallen in love, or survived a difficult season. While your story is undoubtedly valid, it may lack the perspective required for a compelling memoir.

Writing a memoir requires emotional distance. If you are still in the thick of the trauma, the anger, or the immediate aftermath of a life-changing event, you are likely writing a diary, not a memoir. Diaries are for processing; memoirs are for reflecting.

At twenty, your life is still in the “active” phase. You are the protagonist, but you aren’t yet the historian of your own existence. Gravitas—the weight, the wisdom, and the “so what?” factor—usually comes when you can look back at your younger self with compassion rather than reactiveness. You need enough time to have passed so that you can see how the dots connected, not just how they hit you in the moment.

The Key Ingredients of a Compelling Memoir

A great memoir isn’t just a chronological list of dates and events. It is a transformation arc. To move your story from a personal journal to a page-turner, you need to infuse it with these three ingredients:

1. The Universal Theme

The biggest mistake aspiring memoirists make is assuming people want to read about them. The truth is, readers want to read about themselves through your experiences. Your memoir needs a universal theme—grief, resilience, the search for identity, or the complexity of forgiveness. If your story can act as a mirror for the reader, you have a winner.

2. The “Reflective Narrator”

Readers don’t just want to see the person who was making mistakes at 22; they want to hear from the person you are today. How has your understanding of the past shifted? The tension between who you were then and who you are now is where the “gravitas” lives. You must be willing to analyse your own motivations, even the ones that aren’t particularly flattering.

3. The Vulnerability Threshold

If you aren’t sweating a little bit while you write, you probably aren’t being honest enough. A compelling memoir requires you to strip away the ego. If you portray yourself as the hero of every chapter, the reader will lose interest. We connect with human flaws, failed ambitions, and the quiet moments of realisation. Ask yourself: Am I holding back to protect my image, or am I laying it all out to serve the story?

So, How Long Should You Wait?

There is no specific year on the calendar that signals “you are ready.” Instead, ask yourself these three questions:

Can I write about this without wanting to exact revenge? (If you’re writing to settle scores, it’s not ready.)
Do I understand the “Why”? (Can you explain what your story teaches you about the human condition?)
Is the wound a scar, or is it still bleeding? (If it’s still bleeding, use your journal. When it becomes a scar, start your memoir.)

Writing a memoir is an act of archaeology. You are digging through the layers of your identity to find the fossilized truths that remain. Take your time. Let the story settle. When the urgency to scream your story matches the clarity to understand it—that is when you are ready to write.

Are you working on your story? What’s the biggest challenge you’re facing in capturing your past? Let’s discuss in the comments below.

Searching for locations: Chateau Tongariro, New Zealand

This chateau was built in 1929 and was originally intended as a hostel for hikers.

It is now near the Whakapapa skifield on the slopes of Mount Ruapehu and within the boundary of the Tongariro National Park

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We had afternoon tea in the lounge several times, and it is very pleasant in winter with the log fires burning.

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The interior is still as ornate as it had been in the 1930s. The chairs are very comfortable, and the atmosphere pleasant.

Mount Ngauruhoe can be seen through the window of the lounge. This was used a backdrop in the filming of Lord of the Rings.

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But…

This place is the ideal setting for a murder, and I can see a story being written very much in the mold of Agatha Christie, with a couple of amateur sleuths who are staying there, trying to solve the crime.

Given the sort of shows being produced in New Zealand currently, for Acorn and other streaming services, this could be turned into a very pleasant two hour diversion with some very unique New Zealand, and foreign, characters.

Or just send the Brokenwood detective crew there!

“People have a way of surprising you…” – A short story

Last days were supposed to be joyous, the end of your working life and the start of the rest of your life.

I’d spent the last 35 years working for the company, navigating through three buyouts, five name changes, and three restructures. I was surprised I was still employed after the last, only two years before.

But, here I was, sitting in the divisional manager’s office, my office for one more day, with my successor, Jerry, and best friend, sitting on the other side.

“Last day, what are you thinking?” He asked casually.

It might have been early, but we both had a glass of scotch, a single malt I’d kept aside for an important occasion and this seemed like one.

I picked up the glass and surveyed the contents, giving myself a few moments to consider an answer to what could be a difficult question. To be honest, the thinking had started on the subway on the way in, when I should have been working on the crossword, but instead, I was lamenting the fact that the next chapter of my life would be without Ellen.

We would have been married, coincidently, 43 years ago today, had she been alive. Unfortunately, she had died suddenly about four months ago, after a long battle with cancer.

And I still hadn’t had time to process it. Truth is, it had been work that kept me together, and I was worried about what was going to happen when it would no longer there.

To a certain extent, I was still on autopilot, her death coming in the middle of a major disaster concerning the company, one that had finally, and successfully, been brought to a conclusion with favorable results for everyone.

But what was I thinking right then, at that precise moment in time? Not something he would want to hear, so I made the necessary adjustment. “That I’m basically leaving you a clean slate, so don’t screw it up.”

I could see that was not what he wanted to hear.

He decided to take a different tack. “What have you got planned for the first day of retirement.”

He knew about Ellen and had been there for me, above and beyond what could have been expected from anyone. I owed him more than a platitude.

“Sleep in, probably, but I’m going to be fighting that body clock. It’s going to be difficult after so many years getting up the same time, rail hail or shine. But we had plans to go away for a few months, you know, the trip of a lifetime, then move. Ellen wanted to go back home for a while, now, I’m not sure what I’m going to do.”

“Then perhaps you should, or at the very least, go home for a while. You said you both come from there; who knows, being back among family might just be what you need.”

It was something I had been thinking about and had been issued an open-ended invitation from her parents to come and stay for as long as I wanted, one that I was seriously considering.

But, before I could tell him that, the phone rang.

Never a dull day…
The day went quickly, and as much as it was expected I’d hand over anything that happened to my successor, I couldn’t quite let go. There was the proverbial storm in a teacup, but it was a good opportunity to watch the man who was taking over in action. He had a great teacher, even if I said so myself.

But it was the end of the day and the moment I had been dreading. I’d asked the personnel manager not to make a big deal out of my departure, and that I didn’t want the usual sendoff, where everyone in the office came and I would find myself at a loss of words and feel like I had to speak to a lot of people I didn’t really know.

There were only about a dozen that I really knew, a dozen that had survived the layoffs and restructuring, and although there were others, I didn’t have anything to do with them. My last job took me out of the office more than being there, and so many of the other people were from offices scattered all up and down the east coast.

I’d mostly said my goodbyes to them on the last quarterly visit. Sixteen offices, fifty-odd employees who were as much friends as they were staff who worked for me. There had been small dinners and heartfelt moments.

This I was hoping would be the same.

Jerry had been charged with the responsibility of getting me to the presentation; they called it a presentation because I had no doubt there would be a presentation of some sort. I had told the CEO a handshake and a couple of drinks would suffice, and he just congenially nodded.

Jerry had taken the manager’s chair and I was sitting on the other side of the table. We’d finished off the last of the single malt, and dirt was time to go. I closed the door to the office for the last time, and we walked along the passage towards the dining room. It was a perk I’d fought hard to keep during the last restructure when the money men were trying to cut costs.

It was one of the few battles I won.

He opened the door and stood to one side, and ushered me through.

It was a very large space, usually filled with tables, chairs, and diners. Now it was filled with people, leaving a passageway from the door to a podium that had been set up in front of the servery, where a large curtain stretched across the width of the building with the company logo displayed on it.

There were 2,300 people who worked in this office and another 700 from the regional offices. By the look of the crowd, every single one of them was there.

It took fifteen minutes to get from the door to the podium. Faces of people I’d seen every day, faces I’d seen a few times a year, and faces I’d never seen before. On the podium there was a dozen more, faces I’d only seen in the Annual Accounts document, except for the General Manager and the CEO.

“You will be pleased to know everyone here wanted to come and bid you farewell,” the General Manager said.

“Everyone? Why?”

“Well, I’ve learned a lot about this company and its people over the last week, and frankly, people have a way of surprising you. And given the impact you have had on each and every one of them, I’m not surprised. So much so, they wanted to give you something to remember them by.”

A nod of the head and the curtains were pulled back, and behind them was an original 1968 XJ6 Jaguar, fully restored, a very familiar XJ6. The car had belonged to Helen and I had to sell it to help pay the medical bills. It had been a gut-wrenching experience, coming at a time when everything that was happened to her almost overwhelmed me.

“Jerry told us about this particular car, so all of your friends thought, as a fitting memory to you and of her, that we should find it and restore it. Everyone here contributed. It is our gift to you for everything you have done for us.”

So much for the usual sendoff…

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