Inspiration, Maybe – Volume 2

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

They all start with –

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

And, the story:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What surprised her was my reaction.  None.

I simply asked where who, and when.

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

A week.

It was all the time I had left with her.

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

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

Is that all you want to know?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

People coming, people going.

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

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

Perhaps it was.


© Charles Heath 2020-2021

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

In a word: state

I think it’s stating the obvious, we are expressing something definitively and clearly.  I stated my case, but it was not good enough to save me from the hangman’s noose.

Or, they stated their case, but with an unforgiving government, it didn’t save them from being deported.

Or maybe not, maybe a state is a territory or nation under one government, though sometimes we might think that governance is not all that great

But it could also mean a subdivision within a single country, like the 52 states of the US, and the 5 states in Australia

And woe betide you if you become a state-less person, it means living in the international transit lounge for the rest of your life.

Or it might be how I feel at the time, you know, I’m not in a fit state of mind to be writing this post, or that I might be agitated, with someone else saying ‘he’s in a state’, or having said something quite odd, it might be said that my state of mind is clouded by grief.

If I was an important person, such as a king or prince, and had the unfortunate luck of dying, I could lie in state, though I could never understand why you’d want to hang around after you died.

 

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

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

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

So, what do you do when you are heartbroken?

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

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

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

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

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

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

The cinema of my dreams – I always wanted to see the planets – Episode 31

A meeting with a nuclear scientist

Tara Benson was not my idea of a typical nuclear physicist, but then I always had been a bad judge of matching occupations to personnel.

I had read her biography and service record, mainly the one-paragraph summary, and it said she was one of the best in the world.

Criteria indeed for anyone on this ship apparently, though I didn’t regard myself as fitting into the category, someone must have thought I had the potential.

On the way down I had a few moments to contemplate her ordeal, not only being taken prisoner, but being transported back in the manner we had used, when it was a means I would not willingly use on myself.

It was why the first thought I had when I saw her was to apologise.

She was sitting in one of the special chairs that could analyse everything about you, what ailed you, what diseases you had, the state of your body.

When I had my first medical examination, they put me in an earlier model of that chair and it picked up the missing anatomical parts, the fact I once had several broken bones, that I was slightly anaemic, and the reason why I sometimes had bouts of indigestion.

They fixed all that, and a slight imperfection in my eyesight which I didn’t know about.

The doctor was looking at the monitor when I arrived.

“How is she?”

“Better than we expected. Other than being exposed to radiation for longer than prescribed, and which we can fix, she is in perfect health.”

“Mentally?”

“You can ask her yourself. I’m about to sign off on her going back to work, after a good night’s sleep.”

He spoke to her for a minute or so, then helped her up out of the chair.

“I assume you are the new captain,” she said when she saw me.

“Not by choice, but for the time being, yes.”

“I have a few questions, if I may?”

“Now?”

“If it’s possible”

There was a consultation room free, so I escorted her inside and closed the door. It was odd, I thought, that she sat behind the desk.

I also felt like she was making a mental assessment of me, perhaps thinking that I was not what she might have considered Captain material. To a certain extent, I may have once agreed with her, because everyone expected a captain to be much older and therefore wiser.

It was an analogy I’d heard before.

“Whose idea was it to transport me across to this vessel?”

I had expected that the means might be questionable, but in the moment, and considered along with the course of action I’d taken, it was the right decision.

“Mine. After discussion, of course, with the relevant experts. The risk was acceptable, proven by the fact you’re here now, and relatively unharmed.”

“It was a surprise, I’ll grant you that, and a first. From what I managed to overhear, the plutonium was sent down to their bunker to provide power to the facility, under the surface of the moon, and only accessible by the transporter. Given the risks, it also surprised me they were so committed to using it.”

“Since most of that crew were escaped convicts from the Mars mining prison, any means would be acceptable.”

“Prisoners, not aliens?”

“Yes. The ships were old personnel transports, and the big ship, where you were being held, an old freighter.”

“The Orion.”

I knew it well and surprised that I’d not recognised it. They had managed to disguise it well.

“A ship, I’m sure, you might be familiar with,” she added.

Perhaps my captain’s bland expression was not so bland.

“Ancient history,” I said, “from a time that I would rather leave in the past.”

There was a story, and not a pretty one, of a voyage not so long after commissioning, where systems failed and crew members died, all part of the experience in those early years in space. The quest for profits had outweighed the necessity for proper testing, and we had borne the brunt of the ‘test as you go’ mentality that had reigned before Space Command had taken over.

“You must tell me, one day.”

Her expression was one of curiosity and not one to be mistaken for anything else.

“Is there anything else?”

“If you are considering retrieving the plutonium, let me know and I’ll be happy to help. I suspect the people on Venus would like to see it sooner rather than later.”

“You know where this base is?”

“Of course.”

“Good. I’ll let you know after I’ve spoken to the security people.”

© Charles Heath 2021-2023

A photograph from the inspirational bin – 47

What story does it inspire?

A table for two…

This was at a winery in Italy where, on the tour we took, we had lunch as part of the tour, after, of course, a tour of the winery.

It was a picturesque setting, and the food, and matching wines, were exquisite, and perhaps we may have had slightly more than we should have.

But, they did leave the wine behind…

However…

Inspirationally, we could base the story around a lunch or dinner, two people looking to get their relationship back on track, deciding to take time out alone to see if the part is still there.

How could it not in a setting like this?

It could be the setting for a chef, trying out his new menu, or working on a new menu, getting tourists to sample the courses and wines.

We’d have to make the chef a man, or woman, on the edge of disaster, and looking to recover from a disaster of some description – like a failed restaurant and the need for second chances…

Or…

A failing chateau, typified by the declining visitor number and warring family members, all of whom were left a share in the large but rapidly deteriorating mansion.

Should they renovate and turn it into a hotel with a 5 star restaurant, or should they sell to developers and see it bulldozed, or will one, secretly very wealthy, offer to buy them all out and preserve the ancestral home?

Anything is possible…

An excerpt from “Sunday in New York”

Now available on Amazon at:  https://amzn.to/2H7ALs8

Williams’ Restaurant, East 65th Street, New York, Saturday, 8:00 p.m.

We met the Blaine’s at Williams’, a rather upmarket restaurant that the Blaine’s frequently visited, and had recommended.

Of course, during the taxi ride there, Alison reminded me that with my new job, we would be able to go to many more places like Williams’.  It was, at worst, more emotional blackmail, because as far as Alison was concerned, we were well on our way to posh restaurants, the Trump Tower Apartments, and the trappings of the ‘executive set’.

It would be a miracle if I didn’t strangle Elaine before the night was over.  It was she who had filled Alison’s head with all this stuff and nonsense.

Aside from the half frown half-smile, Alison was looking stunning.  It was months since she had last dressed up, and she was especially wearing the dress I’d bought her for our 5th anniversary that cost a month’s salary.  On her, it was worth it, and I would have paid more if I had to.  She had adored it, and me, for a week or so after.

For tonight, I think I was close to getting back on that pedestal.

She had the looks and figure to draw attention, the sort movie stars got on the red carpet, and when we walked into the restaurant, I swear there were at least five seconds silence, and many more gasps.

Even I had a sudden loss of breath earlier in the evening when she came out of the dressing room.  Once more I was reminded of how lucky I was that she had agreed to marry me.  Amid all those self-doubts, I couldn’t believe she had loved me when there were so many others ‘out there’ who were more appealing.

Elaine was out of her seat and came over just as the Head Waiter hovered into sight.  She personally escorted Alison to the table, allowing me to follow like the Queen’s consort, while she and Alison basked in the admiring glances of the other patrons.

More than once I heard the muted question, “Who is she?”

Jimmy stood, we shook hands, and then we sat together.  It was not the usual boy, girl, boy, girl seating arrangement.  Jimmy and I on one side and Elaine and Alison on the other.

The battle lines were drawn.

Jimmy was looking fashionable, with the permanent blade one beard, unkempt hair, and designer dinner suit that looked like he’d slept in it.  Alison insisted I wear a tuxedo, and I looked like the proverbial penguin or just a thinner version of Alfred Hitchcock.

The bow tie had been slightly crooked, but just before we stepped out she had straightened it.  And took the moment to look deeply into my soul.  It was one of those moments when words were not necessary.

Then it was gone.

I relived it briefly as I sat and she looked at me.  A penetrating look that told me to ‘behave’.

When we were settled, Elaine said, in that breathless, enthusiastic manner of hers when she was excited, “So, Harry, you are finally moving up.”  It was not a question, but a statement.

I was not sure what she meant by ‘finally’ but I accepted it with good grace.  Sometimes Elaine was prone to using figures of speech I didn’t understand.  I guessed she was talking about the new job.  “It was supposed to be a secret.”

She smiled widely.  “There are no secrets between Al and I, are there Al?”

I looked at ‘Al’ and saw a brief look of consternation.

I was not sure Alison liked the idea of being called Al.  I tried it once and was admonished.  But it was interesting her ‘best friend forever’ was allowed that distinction when I was not.  It was, perhaps, another indicator of how far I’d slipped in her estimation.

Perhaps, I thought, it was a necessary evil.  As I understood it, the Blaine’s were our mentors at the Trump Tower, because they didn’t just let ‘anyone’ in.  I didn’t ask if the Blaine’s thought we were just ‘anyone’ before I got the job offer.

And then there was that look between Alison and Elaine, quickly stolen before Alison realized I was looking at both of them.  I was out of my depth, in a place I didn’t belong, with people I didn’t understand.  And yet, apparently, Alison did.  I must have missed the memo.

“No,” Alison said softly, stealing a glance in my direction, “No secrets between friends.”

No secrets.  Her look conveyed something else entirely.

The waiter brought champagne, Krug, and poured glasses for each of us.  It was not the cheap stuff, and I was glad I brought a couple of thousand dollars with me.  We were going to need it.

Then, a toast.

To a new job and a new life.

“When did you decide?”  Elaine was effusive at the best of times, but with the champagne, it was worse.

Alison had a strange expression on her face.  It was obvious she had told Elaine it was a done deal, even before I’d made up my mind.  Perhaps she’d assumed I might be ‘refreshingly honest’ in front of Elaine, but it could also mean she didn’t really care what I might say or do.

Instead of consternation, she looked happy, and I realized it would be churlish, even silly if I made a scene.  I knew what I wanted to say.  I also knew that it would serve little purpose provoking Elaine, or upsetting Alison.  This was not the time or the place.  Alison had been looking forward to coming here, and I was not going to spoil it.

Instead, I said, smiling, “When I woke up this morning and found Alison missing.  If she had been there, I would not have noticed the water stain on the roof above our bed, and decide there and then how much I hated the place.” I used my reassuring smile, the one I used with the customers when all hell was breaking loose, and the forest fire was out of control.  “It’s the little things.  They all add up until one day …”  I shrugged.  “I guess that one day was today.”

I saw an incredulous look pass between Elaine and Alison, a non-verbal question; perhaps, is he for real?  Or; I told you he’d come around.

I had no idea the two were so close.

“How quaint,” Elaine said, which just about summed up her feelings towards me.  I think, at that moment, I lost some brownie points.  It was all I could come up with at short notice.

“Yes,” I added, with a little more emphasis than I wanted.  “Alison was off to get some study in with one of her friends.”

“Weren’t the two of you off to the Hamptons, a weekend with some friends?” Jimmy piped up, and immediately got the ‘shut up you fool’ look, that cut that line of conversation dead.  Someone forgot to feed Jimmy his lines.

It was followed by the condescending smile from Elaine, and “I need to powder my nose.  Care to join me, Al?”

A frown, then a forced smile for her new best friend.  “Yes.”

I watched them leave the table and head in the direction of the restroom, looking like they were in earnest conversation.  I thought ‘Al’ looked annoyed, but I could be wrong.

I had to say Jimmy looked more surprised than I did.

There was that odd moment of silence between us, Jimmy still smarting from his death stare, and for me, the Alison and Elaine show.  I was quite literally gob-smacked.

I drained my champagne glass gathering some courage and turned to him.  “By the way, we were going to have a weekend away, but this legal tutorial thing came up.  You know Alison is doing her law degree.”

He looked startled when he realized I had spoken.  He was looking intently at a woman several tables over from us, one who’d obviously forgotten some basic garments when getting dressed.  Or perhaps it was deliberate.  She’d definitely had some enhancements done.

He dragged his eyes back to me.  “Yes.  Elaine said something or other about it.  But I thought she said the tutor was out of town and it had been postponed until next week.  Perhaps I got it wrong.  I usually do.”

“Perhaps I’ve got it wrong.”  I shrugged, as the dark thoughts started swirling in my head again.  “This week or next, what does it matter?”

Of course, it mattered to me, and I digested what he said with a sinking heart.  It showed there was another problem between Alison and me; it was possible she was now telling me lies.  If what he said was true and I had no reason to doubt him, where was she going tomorrow morning, and had she really been with a friend studying today?

We poured some more champagne, had a drink, then he asked, “This promotion thing, what’s it worth?”

“Trouble, I suspect.  Definitely more money, but less time at home.”

“Oh,” raised eyebrows.  Obviously, the women had not talked about the job in front of him, or, at least, not all the details.  “You sure you want to do that?”

At last the voice of reason.  “Me?  No.”

“Yet you accepted the job.”

I sucked in a breath or two while I considered whether I could trust him.  Even if I couldn’t, I could see my ship was sinking, so it wouldn’t matter what I told him, or what Elaine might find out from him.  “Jimmy, between you and me I haven’t as yet decided one way or another.  To be honest, I won’t know until I go up to Barclay’s office and he asks me the question.”

“Barclay?”

“My boss.”

“Elaine’s doing a job for a Barclay that recently moved in the tower a block down from us.  I thought I recognized the name.”

“How did Elaine get the job?”

“Oh, Alison put him onto her.”

“When?”

“A couple of months ago.  Why?”

I shrugged and tried to keep a straight face, while my insides were churning up like the wake of a supertanker.  I felt sick, faint, and wanting to die all at the same moment.  “Perhaps she said something about it, but it didn’t connect at the time.  Too busy with work I expect.  I think I seriously need to get away for a while.”

I could hardly breathe, my throat was constricted and I knew I had to keep it together.  I could see Elaine and Alison coming back, so I had to calm down.  I sucked in some deep breaths, and put my ‘manage a complete and utter disaster’ look on my face.

And I had to change the subject, quickly, so I said, “Jimmy, Elaine told Alison, who told me, you were something of a guru of the cause and effects of the global economic meltdown.  Now, I have a couple of friends who have been expounding this theory …”

Like flicking a switch, I launched into the well-worn practice of ‘running a distraction’, like at work when we needed to keep the customer from discovering the truth.  It was one of the things I was good at, taking over a conversation and pushing it in a different direction.  It was salvaging a good result from an utter disaster, and if ever there was a time that it was required, it was right here, right now.

When Alison sat down and looked at me, she knew something had happened between Jimmy and I.  I might have looked pale or red-faced, or angry or disappointed, it didn’t matter.  If that didn’t seal the deal for her, the fact I took over the dining engagement did.  She knew well enough the only time I did that was when everything was about to go to hell in a handbasket.  She’d seen me in action before and had been suitably astonished.

But I got into gear, kept the champagne flowing and steered the conversation, as much as one could from a seasoned professional like Elaine, and, I think, in Jimmy’s eyes, he saw the battle lines and knew who took the crown on points.  Neither Elaine nor Jimmy suspected anything, and if the truth be told, I had improved my stocks with Elaine.  She was at times both surprised and interested, even willing to take a back seat.

Alison, on the other hand, tried poking around the edges, and, once when Elaine and Jimmy had got up to have a cigarette outside, questioned me directly.  I chose to ignore her, and pretend nothing had happened, instead of telling her how much I was enjoying the evening.

She had her ‘secrets’.  I had mine.

At the end of the evening, when I got up to go to the bathroom, I was physically sick from the pent up tension and the implications of what Jimmy had told me.  It took a while for me to pull myself together; so long, in fact, Jimmy came looking for me.  I told him I’d drunk too much champagne, and he seemed satisfied with that excuse.  When I returned, both Alison and Elaine noticed how pale I was but neither made any comment.

It was a sad way to end what was supposed to be a delightful evening, which to a large degree it was for the other three.  But I had achieved what I set out to do, and that was to play them at their own game, watching the deception, once I knew there was a deception, as warily as a cat watches its prey.

I had also discovered Jimmy’s real calling; a professor of economics at the same University Alison was doing her law degree.  It was no surprise in the end, on a night where surprises abounded, that the world could really be that small.

We parted in the early hours of the morning, a taxi whisking us back to the Lower East Side, another taking the Blaine’s back to the Upper West Side.  But, in our case, as Alison reminded me, it would not be for much longer.  She showed concern for my health, asked me what was wrong.  It took all the courage I could muster to tell her it was most likely something I ate and the champagne, and that I would be fine in the morning.

She could see quite plainly it was anything other than what I told her, but she didn’t pursue it.  Perhaps she just didn’t care what I was playing at.

And yet, after everything that had happened, once inside our ‘palace’, the events of the evening were discarded, like her clothing, and she again reminded me of what we had together in the early years before the problems had set in.

It left me confused and lost.

I couldn’t sleep because my mind had now gone down that irreversible path that told me I was losing her, that she had found someone else, and that our marriage was in its last death throes.

And now I knew it had something to do with Barclay.

© Charles Heath 2015-2020

Sunday In New York

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 66

This story is now on the list to be finished so over the new few weeks, expect a new episode every few days.

The reason why new episodes have been sporadic, there are also other stories to write, and I’m not very good at prioritizing.

But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn’t take long to get back into the groove.

Things are about to get complicated…


Behind me, I could see Dobbin moving towards the door.

“You really don’t want to do this,” I said.

“He offered me a better deal.”

“I give you these, you will probably have about an hour, two at the most before he kills you.”

She shrugged.   She was a deadly shot, so it was not an option to talk her out of it.  I threw the plastic bag to her.

“This way, at least, you live.  You’re good, but too trusting.”

Dobbin opened the door.  “Enough chit-chat; let’s go before someone else turns up.  Walk away Jackson, don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

I watched them leave, then turned to Anna.  “This should please you immensely.”

“You mean you couldn’t see it coming?  Hell, with all that analysis it wasn’t hard to work out Dobbin was the one orchestrating everything.”

I pulled out my phone and dialled Joanne’s number.  When she answered I said, “They just left.”

“With the data?”

“With what they think is the data.”

“You have it?”

“No.  O’Connell had it, and someone got to him.  He’s dead next door, by the way, and we have two medical cases, one relatively serious, both requiring an ambulance sooner rather than later.”

“On it.  And thanks.”

I went over to Anna and sat beside her.

Jan was glaring at us.  “You said no one would get shot.”

We watched her slide over and join us against the wall.

“I said Jennifer was an unknown quantity.  I didn’t think she’d take me so literally, but on the other hand, the signs were there.  In training, she shot at three of the recruits.”

“Well, she didn’t recognise me, which, I guess, is something.”

“Who are you again?” Jan asked her.

“Yolanda.  I was at the training camp with Sam.  Severin made a pass at me, I kicked him in the you know what’s, and he kicked me out.  I never gave back the comms unit, and I used to listen in to the exercises and discovered they’d finally been activated, so I went to have a look.  Things got very scary when the target started taking out the surveillance team.  They were out of their depth.  Then I caught up with Sam, called him, and asked him what was going on.  He said the target was going to the café and for me to go around the back, no time for hello’s.  A minute or so later I see a guy toss something into the back of the café and take off.  Then it goes up and all hell broke loose.  Naturally, I got the hell out of there, and called him later, asked if he needed some off-book help, and here I am.”

“Could have been the death of you.”

“Nah.  Sam and I were the best two of that bunch, and then maybe Jennifer.  Damn that bitch to hell now.  Hope they give us five minutes with her.”

“So,” I could see Jan was still wrestling with details.  “Anna died in that explosion?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know who Anna was?”

“Not at first, but when I saw a photo of her, and the similarities I shared with her, Sam suggested I take her place, and we took it from there.  Sam told me where I could find O’Connell and it wasn’t hard to reconnect, it was six months and he didn’t notice the changes in Anna, which, to me, is a sign of bad tradecraft.  He still had the money, I pretended to still have the USB but not with me but back at the flat.  He tested the USB and found the right level of encryption, then gave me the five million pounds, and we parted.  Now he’s dead.  When Sam arrived, I thought it was going to be me next.”

“How did you know what sort of encryption was on the USB?”

Good question.  Jan was thinking outside the box, which is what any agent should be doing.

“We spend a few weeks off and on in training, studying encryption techniques, but concentrated on one, for reasons we were never told.  I realized that it was related to the eventual mission.  It wasn’t hard to emulate.  I made up about a dozen USBs just in case.”

“Just out of curiosity, what’s on those USB’s?”

“A PDF copy of War and Peace.”

© Charles Heath 2020-2023

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 61

Day 61 – Relativity

Creating the Un‑Relatable to Be Truly Relatable

What Barry Jenkins’ paradoxical warning tells us about art, storytelling, and the quest for genuine connection


“If you try to create something that everyone can relate to, you’re gonna make something that no‑one can relate to.” – Barry Jenkins

When the Academy‑winning director of Moonlight and If Beale Street Could Talk drops this line, it lands like a well‑timed plot twist: it feels obvious, yet it rattles the comfortable assumptions we make about “universal” storytelling. In the age of algorithm‑driven content and mass‑appeal franchises, Jenkins’ warning feels both a warning sign and a rallying cry for creators who dare to be specific, risky, and, paradoxically, deeply human.

Below, we unpack the paradox, trace its roots in Jenkins’s own work, explore why “universal” often translates to “vague,” and walk away with concrete takeaways you can apply to any creative medium—whether you’re writing a novel, directing a short, designing a product, or crafting a brand story.


1. The Myth of the “Everyone‑Can‑Relate” Story

1.1. A Comfort Zone for Studios and Marketers

In Hollywood boardrooms, “universal appeal” is a budget line item. It promises box‑office safety: “Make a love story that anyone, anywhere, can get.” The same logic runs through advertising agencies (“a message that resonates with every demographic”) and even software design (“features that anyone can use”).

But, as marketers define it, universality often collapses into genericness. When you try to flatten the myriad shades of human experience into one “average” feeling, you lose the texture that makes any emotion or situation feel real.

1.2. The Psychological Counter‑Strike

Human brains are wired to recognise patterns and seek novelty. When a story leans too heavily on clichés—“the underdog triumphs,” “the love triangle resolves,” “the hero’s journey”—the brain flags it as “already known.” The emotional impact dwindles, and the audience disengages.

Aiming for “everyone” inadvertently triggers that disengagement because the work becomes predictable and impersonal.


2. Barry Jenkins: From the Specific to the Universal

2.1. The Personal Lens of Moonlight

Moonlight follows three chapters of Chiron’s life—a Black, gay boy growing up in a Miami housing project. The specifics are unmistakable:

  • The heat of a Miami night.
  • The rhythm of a neighbourhood barbershop.
  • The ache of a mother battling addiction.

Yet the film’s emotional core—searching for identity, yearning for love, the pain of invisibility—resonates far beyond the particularity of Chiron’s experience. Jenkins never diluted those specifics; he amplified them with lyrical cinematography and an intimate sound design that let any viewer feel the ache, regardless of background.

2.2. The Power of “Specificity as a Gateway”

Jenkins has spoken about his writing process: “I write what I know, and I hope that what I know is something someone else has felt but can’t name.” The mantra is simple—be true to the moment you inhabit, and the universality will follow. In practice:

Specific ElementWhy It Connects Universally
A single, lingering glance between two strangersCaptures the universal tension of unspoken longing
The sound of a sprinkler in a summer backyardEvokes any memory of a quiet, nostalgic summer
The smell of burnt toast on a rainy morningTriggers a sensory flashback that anyone can recall

Jenkins doesn’t “add a universal subtitle” after the fact; his specifics are the universal signposts.


3. Why “Everybody‑Can‑Relate” = “No‑One‑Can‑Relate”

PitfallWhat It Looks LikeWhy It Fails
Over‑GeneralizationA love story where the couple never experiences conflict, and the conflict is always “a misunderstanding that’s quickly resolved.”Conflict drives narrative tension; without it, stakes evaporate.
Cultural SanitizationRemoving regional dialects, customs, or context to make a story “more global.”Strips away authenticity; the audience feels a lack rather than a bridge.
Emotion Dilution“Feeling sad” becomes the only emotional cue, with no particular cause.Sadness alone is a vague umbrella; audiences need a why to empathize.
Predictable StructureRelying solely on the classic three‑act model without twists.Predictability leads to emotional numbness—viewers already know the destination.

When creators chase a one‑size‑fits‑all, they often erase the very details that give an experience its magnetic pull. The result is a bland, “every person in the world” product that no one sees themselves in.


4. The Counter‑Intuitive Path to True Relatability

4.1. Start With a “Micro‑Truth”

A micro‑truth is a tiny, observable slice of life that feels honest—the way a mother’s hand trembles while she folds laundry, or how a teenager’s fingers ache after a night of gaming. Write it down. Let it be the seed.

Exercise: Pick a mundane habit you have (e.g., the way you sip coffee on a rainy day). Write a 100‑word vignette that captures the sensory details, emotions, and internal monologue. Now ask: what larger feeling does this tiny moment point to? (comfort? anxiety? nostalgia?)

4.2. Layer the Universal Emotion

Once you have the micro‑truth, ask: What universal feeling does this moment embody? The answer becomes the emotional core of your piece. The specifics remain the scaffolding; the universal feeling is the roof that shelters the audience.

  • Micro‑truth: A dad’s hands shaking as he ties his son’s shoelaces before school.
  • Universal Core: Fear of letting go / love in everyday gestures.

4.3. Show, Don’t Explain

Instead of telling the audience “this is about fear of loss,” let the scene show it. The audience will infer the universality themselves—an experience far more powerful than an explicit statement.

4.4. Invite Multiple Interpretations

When a story is steeped in specific detail, each viewer projects their own memories onto it. Moonlight contains a scene of two boys sharing a moment in a bathroom; Black viewers might recall similar spaces in their own neighbourhoods, while others may remember any cramped, intimate place where secrets were whispered. The specificity creates a canvas; the audience supplies their own colours.


5. Real‑World Applications

5.1. Brand Storytelling

Instead of a generic tagline like “We’re here for everyone,” craft a narrative around a real customer’s specific moment: “When Maya, a single mom in Detroit, pulled her son’s sock off after a long night shift, she needed shoes that wouldn’t slip.” The brand then becomes the solution to that precise pain point—yet anyone who’s ever struggled with tired feet can see themselves in Maya’s story.

5.2. Product Design

Designers often chase “the user who wants everything.” The opposite is to focus on a niche use case and then let that insight inform broader usability. For example, the Dyson Airwrap was built around a specific problem—protecting hair from heat damage. By mastering that micro‑need, it appealed to a massive market of hair‑care enthusiasts who value health over convenience.

5.3. Content Creation (YouTube, Podcast, Blog)

Instead of a “how‑to be productive” video that covers every generic tip, zero in on a concrete scenario: “How I built a writing habit while caring for a newborn in a two‑room apartment.” The specificity gives viewers a hook, while the underlying desire for productivity speaks to anyone juggling responsibilities.


6. A Checklist for Avoiding the “Everybody‑Can‑Relate” Trap

✅ Check❓ Ask Yourself
Specific SettingDo I name the city, the street, the sensory details?
Distinct VoiceDoes my character speak in a dialect or use phrasing unique to their background?
Concrete ConflictWhat is the exact obstacle (e.g., a broken faucet, an overdue bill, a silent phone call)?
Show, Not TellHave I shown the emotion through actions, not just dialogue?
Universal CoreWhat larger feeling does this moment tap into?
Room for ProjectionDoes the scene leave space for the audience’s personal memories to fill in?
Avoid Cliché FixesHave I resisted the urge to replace a specific detail with a generic shorthand?

If you can tick all of these boxes, you’re on the right side of Jenkins’s paradox.


7. The Takeaway: Embrace the Particular, Trust the Universal

Barry Jenkins didn’t coin the idea that “specificity breeds universality”; he lived it. His films prove that when you dig deep into a singular experience, you create a mirror in which a multitude can see their own reflections—even if those reflections are of lives you never walked.

In a world where data analytics push creators toward mass‑appeal formulas, Jenkins’s counsel feels rebellious—and it should. The rebellion is not against the audience; it is against the notion that the audience is a monolith. The rebellion is a call to honour the jagged edges of our stories, trusting that those edges are precisely what make a story graspable for anyone willing to reach out.

So the next time you sit down to write, design, or pitch, remember:

“Don’t try to be everyone’s every‑thing. Be someone’s something.”

When you choose a single, authentic voice, a single, vivid moment, you open a doorway—one that countless strangers will step through, each carrying their own stories, each finding a fragment of themselves in yours.


📚 Further Reading & Viewing

FormatTitleWhy It Helps
FilmMoonlight (2016) – Barry JenkinsA masterclass in specific storytelling that feels universal
BookThe Art of Possibility – Rosamund & Benjamin ZanderExplores how reframing specifics can unlock broader impact
Article“The Power of Specificity in Storytelling” – Harvard Business ReviewAcademic perspective on why details matter in brand narratives
PodcastStorytelling with Data – Episode “When Numbers Get Personal”Shows how data can be humanized through specific anecdotes

Ready to make something that truly resonates?

Pick one micro‑truth from your life today, flesh it out with sensory detail, and watch as the universal feeling behind it begins to surface. Your audience isn’t looking for a bland universal formula—they’re craving the real you, and that, paradoxically, is the most relatable thing of all.

What I learned about writing – Does your story germinate or evolve in your sleep?

There are sweet dreams, and there are nightmares.

For writers, they can be something else entirely.

Because I write mostly late at night and into the early morning hours, the story I’m working in is still fresh on my mind, and sometimes when I’m not sure where the story is going to go next, I put my head on the pillow with the express desire of working out what the next plot point is.

Most of the time, it works.  Sometimes, other ideas pop into my head.

The good thing is that I can use that time just before going to sleep to review what I have written and where it can go.  The real problem with that process is that I sometimes forget what I came up with when I wake up the next morning.

This is aside from the fact that I have been known to have nightmares, things from a past life that I’ve tried very hard to repress.  These are not the sort of dreams that fuel stories, but can lead to becoming an activist to prevent it from happening to others.

Not everyone has suffered in such a manner.

Then there are the dreams, not that there are many and those that I remember are quite weird, and sometimes when I could have a dream interpreter, I just don’t get how or why they happened. 

Or perhaps I should be questioning the interpretation.

What I would seriously like is to be able to drop back into a particular period and actually observe what it was like.  A story I am writing goes back to 1928. In London, I’m catching the night version of the Flying Scotsman, and it’s difficult because there aren’t many photographs or diaries from those who travelled back then.

I can imagine, but it’s not the same as being there.

There is another kind of dream I have had, and, to be honest, it was scary because it felt so real.  I went back in time, I don’t know how far back it had to be, 1700s or 1800s, a small cabin, sleeping in a bed near the kitchen, in a hut with no rooms. 

Could it be something to do with reincarnation, and I was dreaming of being back there in a previous life?  I know now for a fact our forbears lived in the country in the late 1800s, but before that, in Dorset, England, in villages, so it is quite possible they could have been there then.

It’s only happened twice, but it was very real. 

Searching for locations – Port Macquarie -Day 2 – Part 1

Wherever we go, we are always looking for historical sites, and points of interest.

For Coffs Harbour, it was the largest collection of old trains, both steam engines and passenger carriages, in the southern hemisphere.

And, of course, an old disused logging railway.

Here in Port Macquarie, there are no trains.

Here, there are a few remnants of the colonial past, and being on the coast, a rich history of ship wrecks.

But, sadly, I don’t dive, but they do have an excellent Maritime Museum, spread over various locations.

The first site we visited was the Pilot Boathouse.

Not exactly to sort of boat I would want to go out to a ship in, especially if it was a dark and stormy night.

Unfortunately, the sign doesn’t face the shed.

That’s the boatshed.

Inside, they also have model ships, which are for sale, if you like that sort of thing.