A photograph from the inspirational bin – 20

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Suburbia, yes, reddish sky at night, yes, but what else might it be?

For just a moment, close your eyes, toss away everything you might accept as normal, and then, after a minute, open them again, and look at the photo with a new perspective.

Imagine…

 

It took two days for the dust to settle, figuratively and literally.

We heard screaming jet fighters overhead, followed by multiple explosions, then nothing but smoke and ash.  We assumed one of the jets had crashed.

Two days the media was saying it was an unfortunate accident.

On the third day, we discovered it was the result of multiple missile strikes on our power stations and oil refineries.  The jets had arrived too late to stop the attack.

And we only found out because an Army officer who lived in our street came home to collect his family and told us to leave, go anywhere but stay in the city.

The ash in the air was going to get worse, the sun was going to disappear altogether, and, well, he didn’t stay long enough to tell us the rest, but already the air was almost unbreathable.

But the leaving was easy, just take what we could in the car.  The problem was, everyone had the same idea, and by the time we reached the highway, it was a virtual carpark.

By then, it was day four.

That’s when the bombs started to fall.

 

It might not be an exact match for the photo, but that was the idea that came from it.

I’m sure there could be a far simpler and more pleasant story to be told.

 

 

 

The cinema of my dreams – Was it just another surveillance job – Episode 39

I’m back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written.

The trouble is, 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.

Chasing leads, maybe

…

Sometimes the best-laid plans worked out, but today it was as if the Gods were trying to ruin my day.  Earlier days this week had been getting darkish between three and four, but today it was a little later.

It meant we had to spend a little more quality time together before we embarked on some breaking and entering.

Of course, it might have helped if I’d told her what I was intending to do before I brought her along for the ride, but it was exactly for that reason I did because if she didn’t like the idea, there would be little option to change he mind.

But the initial displeasure was expected.

“Breaking and entering is not exactly how I envisioned my first few days on the job market.”

“You learned all of the requisite skills in training.  I know, I was your partner in crime more than once.”

And that was a question I had once told myself I’d ask her if I ever ran into her again outside of work.

Which I did now.  “Why was that?”

At a guess, it had to be because I knew what I was doing whereas the other men were more like blunt instruments.  They’d taught us the finesse in breaking into a wide variety of entrances, but they seemed to like and use bashing the door in.

“I knew I had a better chance of success if I stuck with you.”

“What about Yolanda?”

She was another woman I had put into the same category as Jennifer, she was possessed of a calm demeanor in a crisis, and actually took the time to lean the subtitles of her tradecraft.  I had been disappointed when she didn’t make the final cut, though I suspect there was more to her ‘failing’ than met the eye.

And, I never got to find out the real reason.

I had liked her and had thought the feelings were mutual, but after she left, I’d not heard from her again.  I guess I could have tried to reach out, and might still do if this ever came to an end where I didn’t finish up dead.

“She was never going to stick the distance.  I got the impression she wasn’t happy about one of the others making life uncomfortable for her.”

“Student or instructor?”

Interesting she should say that because I had thought there was something going on between her and Maury, and when I asked her she didn’t deign to answer.

“Both.  She considered it was best just to leave.”

Which apparently, she did.

But, back to our current problem.  “All I need you to do is have my back.  I’ll go in, see if he is there, or anyone else, and if the coast is clear, we’ll search the place and leave.  No need to be there one second longer than we have to be.”

But I will; be disappointed if the USB is not there.

“That means we have about an hour to kill,” she said.

Which is why I decided to stop off at a traditional English pub and have an early dinner of bangers and mash.  I was not sure why it just appealed to me.  I’d feel so much better breaking in with a full stomach.

And a mobile phone with the sound turned off.

…

© Charles Heath 2020

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 33

Day 33 – Point of view

…

Point of View: A Simple Lens or a Complex Prism?

When you pick up a novel, a short story, or even a piece of creative nonfiction, the very first thing you notice (even before you meet the characters) is who is telling the story. That “who” is what writers call point of view (POV), and it’s the invisible scaffolding that shapes everything you read—from the smallest visual detail to the deepest emotional undercurrent.

At first glance, POV might look as straightforward as this: “Find a spot in the story, look around, and write what you see.” In other words, the narrator is just a neutral observer, jotting down facts like a journalist on a beat. But seasoned writers and literary scholars will tell you that POV is far more complicated—a multi‑layered, often deliberately ambiguous choice that can turn a bland recount into an unforgettable experience.

In this post, we’ll peel back the layers of point of view, explore why it matters, and give you concrete tools to decide which “lens” best serves your story. By the end, you’ll see that POV is both a place to stand and a set of choices that shape perception, meaning, and emotional resonance.

1. The Classic Taxonomy: “Finding a Spot” in the Narrative Landscape

Before we dive into the nuances, let’s recap the textbook categories most writing courses teach. Think of them as the basic “views” you can take from a hilltop:

POV CategoryWhat It Looks LikeTypical “Spot” on the Hill
First‑person (I/We)“I walked into the kitchen, and the smell of cinnamon hit me.”The narrator is inside the story, a character who sees, feels, and thinks.
Second‑person (You)“You step onto the cracked sidewalk, and the rain catches you off guard.”A rarely‑used “you” that drags the reader directly into the action.
Third‑person limited“She stared at the clock, wishing she could turn back time.”An external observer who knows only what one character thinks/feels.
Third‑person omniscient“While Amelia worried about the presentation, James was already rehearsing his jokes.”An all‑seeing bird’s‑eye view that can dip into any mind at any moment.
Objective (camera‑eye)“The rain fell. The bus pulled away. A man waited.”The narrator records only what could be observed externally—no thoughts, no internal commentary.

These categories are useful starting points. They give you a practical way to “find a place” and describe what you see (or don’t see). But they also hide the richness that makes POV a literary weapon, not just a grammatical label.

2. Beyond the Labels: Why POV Is More Than “What You See”

A. Narrative Voice ≠ Narrative Knowledge

A narrator can have a distinct voice—the way they phrase sentences, their rhythm, their humor—while having limited knowledge. A first‑person narrator can be witty, cynical, or poetic, yet still only know what they personally experience. Conversely, an omniscient narrator can adopt a neutral, detached tone yet peek into any mind.

Example: In The Great Gatsby, Nick Carraway narrates in first person with a reflective, almost scholarly voice, yet he admits he only knows Gatsby through “the rumors and gossip that swirled.” His voice and his knowledge are deliberately mismatched, creating an unreliable yet compelling narrator.

B. Reliability (or Its Absence)

A narrative can be reliable (you trust the narrator’s version of events) or unreliable (the narrator misinterprets, lies, or omits). Unreliability isn’t limited to first person. An omniscient narrator can be unreliable if the story is framed as a historical account that may have been distorted, or if the narrator is a fictional editor who chooses which facts to present.

Example: Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl is famous for its dual first‑person narrators. Each chapter forces readers to reconsider the truth, showing that POV shapes not just what we see but whether we trust what we see.

C. Subjectivity of Perception

Even “objective” camera‑eye descriptions are filtered through a selection process. Deciding to mention the rain, the bus, and the waiting man—and to omit a stray cat—already tells you something about the narrator’s focus, bias, or thematic agenda.

Example: Ernest Hemingway’s Hills Like White Snow is told in a third‑person objective style, but the choice of dialogue and sparseness makes us feel the tension between the couple without ever stating it directly. The POV is “objective,” yet the narrative’s emotional weight is built upon what’s left unsaid.

D. Temporal Manipulation

POV can also dictate when the story is told. A first‑person narrator might recount events years later, inserting hindsight and revision. An omniscient narrator can hop forward in time to show consequences before cause. The temporal horizon—how far back or ahead the narrator can see—adds further complexity.

Example: In One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez uses an omniscient narrator who jumps across centuries, giving readers a panoramic view of a family’s destiny while also sprinkling in foreknowledge that creates a sense of inevitable tragedy.

E. Cultural and Social Lens

Point of view is rarely neutral; it carries the narrator’s social position, cultural background, and worldview. By choosing a narrator from a specific demographic, the writer implicitly (or explicitly) comments on issues of power, privilege, marginalisation, and representation.

Example: The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Kid uses a teenage narrator from a low‑income, biracial background. His first‑person voice is peppered with humor and self‑deprecation, which provides an authentic lens on the challenges of poverty and identity.

3. How to Choose the “Right” POV for Your Story

If POV were just “find a spot and write what you see,” you could pick any perspective at random. In reality, the decision should be strategic, aligning with the story’s goals, themes, and emotional arc.

Decision PointQuestions to AskPossible POV Choice
What does the reader need to know?Do they need intimate access to a character’s thoughts? Or a broader social context?First‑person / limited for intimacy; omniscient for breadth.
Who is the story about?Is the protagonist also the narrator, or is the story about a group?First‑person if central; third‑person limited if following a protagonist but keeping a slight distance.
Do you want to play with reliability?Will you use twists that hinge on reader deception?Unreliable first‑person or biased omniscient (e.g., a “historian” narrator).
What tone do you aim for?Formal, humorous, lyrical, gritty?Voice can be independent of POV, but certain combos feel natural (e.g., second‑person for immersive, experimental tone).
Is the narrative temporal?Do you need flashbacks, foreshadowing, or a non‑linear structure?First‑person with retrospective narration; omniscient for free‑wheeling time jumps.
Who is missing?Whose perspective is absent but could add depth?Consider multiple POVs (alternating chapters) or a chorus of narrators.

Tip: Write a short scene in two or three different POVs. You’ll instantly see how the emotional texture changes. If you feel a version “locks the door” on certain revelations, that’s a clue about what the rest of your story should (or should not) reveal.

4. Experimenting with Hybrid and Unconventional POVs

Modern literature is full of hybrid approaches that blur the textbook categories:

Hybrid TechniqueHow It WorksWhy It Can Be Powerful
Multiple first‑person narratorsAlternating chapters narrated by different characters, each in “I”.Creates a kaleidoscopic view; readers assemble a fuller truth.
Epistolary POVStory told through letters, diary entries, emails.Gives a sense of authenticity and immediacy; the gaps between messages become narrative tension.
Narrator as character + editorA narrator claims to be retelling someone else’s story, adding footnotes or commentary.Allows meta‑commentary and questions about storytelling itself.
Unreliable omniscientAn all‑knowing narrator who admits to gaps or errors.Subverts the expectation that omniscience equals truth; adds a layer of mystery.
Second‑person immersion“You hear the rustle of leaves…” invites the reader to become the protagonist.Engages readers directly; works well in interactive fiction or “choose‑your‑own‑adventure” style stories.
Collective or “We” narrators“We walked the streets of the old town…”Evokes community, shared experience, or cultural memory.

These forms demonstrate that point of view can be a narrative experiment, not just a grammatical decision. They also illustrate how POV can reveal or conceal information in creative ways, affecting pacing, suspense, and thematic depth.

5. Common Mistakes (and How to Fix Them)

MistakeWhy It HappensFix
“Head‑hopping” without signalsSwitching characters’ inner thoughts mid‑paragraph confuses readers.Keep POV switches clear—new paragraph, chapter break, or explicit cue (“Meanwhile,…”).
Using first‑person for a story that needs broad scope“I” feels intimate but can’t naturally convey events far from the narrator.Either expand the narrator’s reach (e.g., through letters, news reports) or switch to limited/omniscient.
Writing an “objective” camera‑eye that still slips into thoughtsThe urge to explain motives leads to hidden omniscience.Stay strictly to observable actions, dialogue, and sensory detail—or choose limited POV.
Forgetting the narrator’s voiceTreating POV as a mechanical label without developing its tone.Give the narrator distinct diction, rhythm, and worldview—treat them as a character.
Using unreliable POV without payoffUnreliable narrators intrigue but must reveal the unreliability eventually.Plant clues (contradictions, missing details) and deliver a reveal that reshapes the story’s meaning.

6. A Mini‑Exercise: From “What You See” to “What You Feel”

Step 1 – Pick a Scene
Write a brief description of a coffee shop: the clatter of cups, the barista’s smile, the rain outside.

Step 2 – Choose Three POVs

  1. First‑person (intimate) – “I tugged my coat tighter as the rain splashed against the window. The scent of espresso wrapped around me like a warm blanket, but my stomach knotted with the interview I’d just missed.”
  2. Third‑person limited (focused) – “Mara watched the rain slide down the glass, feeling the tremor of nerves that made her fingers tremble as she lifted the coffee cup.”
  3. Third‑person omniscient (panoramic) – “The rain hammered the city, flooding streets and pooling in the coffee shop’s doorframe. Inside, the barista rehearsed his smile while the regulars whispered about the storm’s arrival, each lost in their own thoughts.”

Step 3 – Reflect
Notice how each version does more than describe; it filters reality through feelings, backstory, and scope. The “place” you found in the story is now a gateway into a particular emotional world.

7. Bottom Line: POV Is Both a Spot and a Strategy

  • Yes, point of view does involve physically locating yourself in the story—deciding whether you’re a participant, a bystander, or an all‑seeing bird.
  • But it also encompasses voice, knowledge, reliability, temporal reach, cultural lens, and narrative intent. Those layers turn a simple “what you see” into a complex prism that refracts meaning.

When you write, ask not only “Where am I standing?” but also “What do I want the reader to feel, know, or question because of where I’m standing?” The answer will guide you to a POV that does more than report; it creates the story’s emotional architecture.

Takeaway Checklist

  • ☐ Identify the core emotional aim of your piece.
  • ☐ Choose a POV that naturally grants the right amount of knowledge.
  • ☐ Develop the narrator’s voice as a character in its own right.
  • ☐ Decide on reliability—and plant clues if you’re going unreliable.
  • ☐ Keep POV switches clear and purposeful.
  • ☐ Remember that even an “objective” narrator is a selection—be intentional about what you include and exclude.

By treating point of view as both geography (the spot you occupy) and architecture (the design of perception), you’ll transform your storytelling from a simple walk‑through into a richly layered journey that readers can see, feel, and ultimately never quite forget. Happy writing!

If I only had one day to stop over in – Berlin – what would I do?

The One Place to Make Your Berlin Stopover Unforgettable

So, you’ve got just one day in Berlin. One whirlwind, jet-lagged, adventure-packed day in a city that could easily fill a month. Between the Brandenburg Gate, the remnants of the Wall, and the endless museums, how do you choose where to spend your precious hours? Skip the stress of trying to see it all. Instead, focus on one unforgettable experience. And for that, there’s only one place that truly captures Berlin’s soul: the East Side Gallery.

Why the East Side Gallery?

Berlin is a city painted in layers of history, resilience, and reinvention. Nowhere tells that story more powerfully—or more colourfully—than the East Side Gallery. It’s not just a sight to see; it’s an emotion to feel.

Stretching 1.3 kilometres along the banks of the Spree River, this open-air gallery is the longest remaining section of the Berlin Wall. But instead of the grim, grey barrier that once divided a city, it now stands as the largest outdoor gallery in the world. After the Wall fell in 1989, over 100 artists from around the globe transformed this symbol of separation into a monumental canvas of hope, freedom, and protest.

What Makes It So Memorable?

1. Art That Speaks Volumes
You’ll walk alongside iconic murals that have become symbols of Berlin itself. The most famous, Dmitri Vrubel’s “My God, Help Me to Survive This Deadly Love” (often called the “Fraternal Kiss”), depicts the embrace between Soviet leader Leonid Brezhnev and East German leader Erich Honecker. It’s surreal, ironic, and deeply human—a perfect snapshot of Berlin’s complex history.

Other pieces, like Birgit Kinder’s “Test the Rest” (a Trabi car breaking through the Wall), capture the explosive joy and defiance of a city set free. Every mural has a story, and together they form a powerful narrative of pain, hope, and rebirth.

2. A Walk Through History
As you stroll, you’re literally tracing the former “death strip.” Stand with one hand on the concrete, look toward the river, and imagine the city split in two. Then look again at the vibrant art covering that same concrete. That contrast—between what was and what is—is Berlin in a nutshell. It’s a visceral, moving experience no museum can replicate.

3. The Vibe of Berlin Today
The East Side Gallery isn’t frozen in time. It’s alive. Street musicians play nearby, locals bike past, and the adjacent Spree buzzes with riverboats and afternoon drinkers. Grab a coffee or a Currywurst from a nearby stand, sit by the water, and just absorb the energy. This is where Berliners remember, reflect, and celebrate—and you’re right there with them.

How to Make the Most of Your Visit

  • Go Early or Late: Midday can get crowded. For a more contemplative experience, visit in the early morning or late afternoon when the light is golden and the crowds are thin.
  • Take Your Time: Don’t rush. Let yourself read the plaques, sit on a bench, and really look at the art. The magic is in the details.
  • Extend the Moment: Afterwards, cross the Oberbaum Bridge—a gorgeous brick double-decker bridge linking Friedrichshain and Kreuzberg. The view of the Spree with the Gallery in the background is unforgettable.
  • Refuel in Style: Head into nearby Friedrichshain for a cozy café or a Berlin-style craft beer. Try Schneeeule for a local brew, or visit Simon-Dach-Straße for a lively meal.

One Place, a Lifetime of Meaning

Your one day in Berlin could be spent ticking off famous landmarks. But at the East Side Gallery, you don’t just see Berlin—you feel it. You touch its history, witness its creativity, and join its ongoing story of transformation. In a city defined by change, this place reminds us that even the darkest divisions can become canvases for light.

So, when your plane lands and you step into Berlin with just hours to spare, go straight to the East Side Gallery. Let the art, the history, and the spirit of this city leave its mark on you. Because some places don’t just fill your camera—they fill your soul.

Have you visited the East Side Gallery or have another Berlin favourite for a short stopover? Share your stories in the comments below!

Safe travels, and enjoy every moment of your Berlin day.

What I learned about writing – Where does inspiration come from – 1

A particular author who wrote a book on writing, one of many, it seems, opined that the main source of inspiration is … you!

Just look at your family … there’s a definite gold mine of characters right there, and mine is no exception. I could write a story for each of them, and what might happen if they all came together at a reunion. Yes, perhaps that’s not a good idea.

Who’s been to a wedding, or funeral, and …

Then there are your friends. You know the saying, you can pick your friends and not your relatives. Yes, true, but sometimes they pick themselves. These friends are from school, though I no longer have any from that time, the workplace, as you transition through your work life these change, and for me, the earlier characters were just that, characters, and a lot of them turn up in stories.

There is where you live, the city, the country, places you’ve been on holiday, the people you meet, and the regions.

I know when I go on holiday, it is another source of information and experiences, and I take lots of photos and make copious notes of everything, people, food, sights, events, and experiences.

What happens to you in those first years, from primary school to graduation, then perhaps university or trade school, to where you start working, the changes in vocations for many different reasons, the partners you find, stay, leave, forget, or pine over, all these emotions are grist to the mill.

Later in life, those experiences are not quite as poignant or perhaps as memorable, but that’s most likely because you are more settled and less adventurous. I found that with the coming of grandchildren and reading to them as young children, it was a time when I started inventing my own stories for them, and then for them to read the stories back to me.

Now I have a three-volume princess story that was written over time for them, about their growing up, and exploration of the world around them, becoming a vast source of material.

Inspiration is, quite literally, all around you.

An excerpt from “What Sets Us Apart”, a mystery with a twist

See the excerpt from the story below, just a taste of what’s in store…

http://amzn.to/2Eryfth

whatsetscover

McCallister was old school, a man who would most likely fit in perfectly campaigning on the battlefields of Europe during the Second World War. He’d been like a fish out of water in the army, post-Falklands, and while he retired a hero, he still felt he’d more to give.

He’d applied and was accepted as head of a SWAT team, and, watching him now as he and his men disembarked from the truck in almost military precision, a look passed between Annette, the police liaison officer, and I that said she’d seen it all before. I know I had.

There was a one in four chance his team would be selected for this operation, and she had been hoping it would be one of the other three. While waiting for them to arrive she filled me in on the various teams. His was the least co-operative, and the more likely to make ad-hoc decisions rather than adhere to the plan, or any orders that may come from the officer in charge.

This, she said quite bluntly, was going to end badly.

I still had no idea why Prendergast instructed me to attend the scene of what looked to be a normal domestic operation, but as the nominated expert in the field in these types of situations, it was fairly clear he wasn’t taking any chances. It was always a matter of opinion between us, and generally I lost.

In this case, it was an anonymous report identifying what the authorities believed were explosives in one of the dockside sheds where explosives were not supposed to be.

The only reason why the report was given any credence was the man, while not identifying himself by name, said he’d been an explosive expert once and recognized the boxes. That could mean anything, but the Chief Constable was a cautious man.

With his men settled and preparing their weapons, McCallister came over to the command post, not much more than the SUV my liaison and I arrived in, with weapons, bulletproof vests, and rolls of tape to cordon off the area afterward. We both had coffee, steaming in the cold early morning air. Dawn was slowly approaching and although rain had been forecast it had yet to arrive.

A man by the name of Benson was in charge. He too had groaned when he saw McCallister.

“A fine morning for it.” McCallister was the only enthusiastic one here.

He didn’t say what ‘it’ was, but I thought it might eventually be mayhem.

“Let’s hope the rain stays away. It’s going to be difficult enough without it,” Benson said, rubbing his hands together. We had been waiting for the SWAT team to arrive, and another team to take up their position under the wharf, and who was in the final stages of securing their position.

While we were waiting we drew up the plan. I’d go in first to check on what we were dealing with, and what type of explosives. The SWAT team, in the meantime, were to ensure all the exits to the shed were covered. When I gave the signal, they were to enter and secure the building. We were not expecting anyone inside or out, and no movement had been detected in the last hour since our arrival and deployment.

“What’s the current situation?”

“I’ve got eyes on the building, and a team coming in from the waterside, underneath. Its slow progress, but they’re nearly there. Once they’re in place, we’re sending McKenzie in.”

He looked in my direction.

“With due respect sir, shouldn’t it be one of us?” McCallister glared at me with the contempt that only a decorated military officer could.

“No. I have orders from above, much higher than I care to argue with, so, McCallister, no gung-ho heroics for the moment. Just be ready to move on my command, and make sure you have three teams at the exit points, ready to secure the building.”

McCallister opened his mouth, no doubt to question those orders, but instead closed it again. “Yes sir,” he muttered and turned away heading back to his men.

“You’re not going to have much time before he storms the battlements,” Benson quietly said to me, a hint of exasperation in his tone. “I’m dreading the paperwork.”

It was exactly what my liaison officer said when she saw McCallister arriving.

The water team sent their ‘in position’ signal, and we were ready to go.

In the hour or so we’d been on site nothing had stirred, no arrivals, no departures, and no sign anyone was inside, but that didn’t mean we were alone. Nor did it mean I was going to walk in and see immediately what was going on. If it was a cache of explosives then it was possible the building was booby-trapped in any number of ways, there could be sentries or guards, and they had eyes on us, or it might be a false alarm.

I was hoping for the latter.

I put on the bulletproof vest, thinking it was a poor substitute for full battle armor against an exploding bomb, but we were still treating this as a ‘suspected’ case. I noticed my liaison officer was pulling on her bulletproof vest too.

“You don’t have to go. This is my party, not yours,” I said.

“The Chief Constable told me to stick to you like glue, sir.”

I looked at Benson. “Talk some sense into her please, this is not a kindergarten outing.”

He shrugged. Seeing McCallister had taken all the fight out of him. “Orders are orders. If that’s what the Chief Constable requested …”

Madness. I glared at her, and she gave me a wan smile. “Stay behind me then, and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Believe me, I won’t be.” She pulled out and checked her weapon, chambering the first round. It made a reassuring sound.

Suited up, weapons readied, a last sip of the coffee in a stomach that was already churning from nerves and tension, I looked at the target, one hundred yards distant and thought it was going to be the longest hundred yards I’d ever traversed. At least for this week.

A swirling mist rolled in and caused a slight change in plans.

Because the front of the buildings was constantly illuminated by large overhead arc lamps, my intention had been to approach the building from the rear where there was less light and more cover. Despite the lack of movement, if there were explosives in that building, there’d be ‘enemy’ surveillance somewhere, and, after making that assumption, I believed it was going to be easier and less noticeable to use the darkness as a cover.

It was a result of the consultation, and studying the plans of the warehouse, plans that showed three entrances, the main front hangar type doors, a side entrance for truck entry and exit and a small door in the rear, at the end of an internal passage leading to several offices. I also assumed it was the exit used when smokers needed a break. Our entry would be by the rear door or failing that, the side entrance where a door was built into the larger sliding doors. In both cases, the locks would not present a problem.

The change in the weather made the approach shorter, and given the density of the mist now turning into a fog, we were able to approach by the front, hugging the walls, and moving quickly while there was cover. I could feel the dampness of the mist and shivered more than once.

It was nerves more than the cold.

I could also feel rather than see the presence of Annette behind me, and once felt her breath on my neck when we stopped for a quick reconnaissance.

It was the same for McCallister’s men. I could feel them following us, quickly and quietly, and expected, if I turned around, to see him breathing down my neck too.

It added to the tension.

My plan was still to enter by the back door.

We slipped up the alley between the two sheds to the rear corner and stopped. I heard a noise coming from the rear of the building, and the light tap on the shoulder told me Annette had heard it too. I put my hand up to signal her to wait, and as a swirl of mist rolled in, I slipped around the corner heading towards where I’d last seen the glow of a cigarette.

The mist cleared, and we saw each other at the same time. He was a bearded man in battle fatigues, not the average dockside security guard.

He was quick, but my slight element of surprise was his undoing, and he was down and unconscious in less than a few seconds with barely a sound beyond the body hitting the ground. Zip ties secured his hands and legs, and tape his mouth. Annette joined me a minute after securing him.

A glance at the body then me, “I can see why they, whoever they are, sent you.”

She’d asked who I worked for, and I didn’t answer. It was best she didn’t know.

“Stay behind me,” I said, more urgency in my tone. If there was one, there’d be another.

Luck was with us so far. A man outside smoking meant no booby traps on the back door, and quite possibly there’d be none inside. But it indicated there were more men inside, and if so, it appeared they were very well trained. If that were the case, they would be formidable opponents.

The fear factor increased exponentially.

I slowly opened the door and looked in. A pale light shone from within the warehouse itself, one that was not bright enough to be detected from outside. None of the offices had lights on, so it was possible they were vacant. I realized then they had blacked out the windows. Why hadn’t someone checked this?

Once inside, the door closed behind us, progress was slow and careful. She remained directly behind me, gun ready to shoot anything that moved. I had a momentary thought for McCallister and his men, securing the perimeter.

At the end of the corridor, the extent of the warehouse stretched before us. The pale lighting made it seem like a vast empty cavern, except for a long trestle table along one side, and, behind it, stacks of wooden crates, some opened. It looked like a production line.

To get to the table from where we were was a ten-yard walk in the open. There was no cover. If we stuck to the walls, there was equally no cover and a longer walk.

We needed a distraction.

As if on cue, the two main entrances disintegrated into flying shrapnel accompanied by a deafening explosion that momentarily disoriented both Annette and I. Through the smoke and dust kicked up I saw three men appear from behind the wooden crates, each with what looked like machine guns, spraying bullets in the direction of the incoming SWAT members.

They never had a chance, cut down before they made ten steps into the building.

By the time I’d recovered, my head heavy, eyes watering and ears still ringing, I took several steps towards them, managing to take down two of the gunmen but not the third.

I heard a voice, Annette’s I think, yell out, “Oh, God, he’s got a trigger,” just before another explosion, though all I remember in that split second was a bright flash, the intense heat, something very heavy smashing into my chest knocking the wind out of me, and then the sensation of flying, just before I hit the wall.

I spent four weeks in an induced coma, three months being stitched back together and another six learning to do all those basic actions everyone took for granted. It was twelve months almost to the day when I was released from the hospital, physically, except for a few alterations required after being hit by shrapnel, looking the same as I always had.

But mentally? The document I’d signed on release said it all, ‘not fit for active duty; discharged’.

It was in the name of David Cheney. For all intents and purposes, Alistair McKenzie was killed in that warehouse, and for the first time ever, an agent left the Department, the first to retire alive.

I was not sure I liked the idea of making history.

© Charles Heath 2016-2020

If I only had one day to stop over in – Warsaw – what would I do?

How to Make a One-Day Warsaw Stopover Unforgettable: Your Ultimate Guide

So, you’ve got a one-day stopover in Warsaw, and you’re wondering how to make the most of it. Maybe it’s a layover on your way to another European city, or perhaps it’s a quick visit squeezed into a packed itinerary. Either way, Warsaw—a city of resilience, history, and vibrant culture—is waiting to surprise you. With just 24 hours, it might seem impossible to capture the essence of Poland’s capital, but trust me: one place can make your day truly memorable.

The challenge? Warsaw is packed with incredible spots: the historic Old Town (a UNESCO World Heritage site), the hauntingly powerful Warsaw Uprising Museum, the lush Łazienki Park, and the bustling Nowy Świat street. But if you only have time for one standout experience, I’d point you straight to the Warsaw Uprising Museum.

Why the Warsaw Uprising Museum?

Yes, it’s a museum—but not just any museum. This is a visceral, immersive journey into the soul of Warsaw. In 1944, the city’s residents rose up against Nazi occupation in a brave, tragic 63-day struggle. The museum doesn’t just tell that story; it makes you feel it. From the moment you step inside, you’re surrounded by the sights, sounds, and emotions of that pivotal moment in history. It’s a tribute to courage, sacrifice, and the incredible rebirth of a city that was nearly destroyed.

What Makes It So Special for a Short Visit?

  1. Emotional Impact: You’ll leave moved and inspired. It’s a powerful reminder of why Warsaw is called the “Phoenix City”—rebuilt from ashes with unwavering spirit.
  2. Central Location: Easily accessible by public transport or taxi from the city centre or airport (Chopin Airport is just a 20-minute drive away).
  3. Efficient Experience: You can spend 2–3 hours here and come away feeling like you’ve truly connected with Warsaw’s heart. It’s time well spent, offering more depth than a quick stroll through tourist spots.

Making Your Stopover Memorable: A Quick Plan

  • Morning: Head straight to the Warsaw Uprising Museum (book tickets online to skip lines). Allow yourself to absorb the exhibits—don’t rush.
  • Afternoon: Grab a traditional Polish lunch at a nearby milk bar (like “Bar Bambino”) for pierogi or żurek soup. Then, take a short walk to the reconstructed Old Town to see the Royal Castle and Market Square—it’s a beautiful contrast to the museum’s history, showcasing Warsaw’s renewal.
  • Evening: If time allows, enjoy a coffee or craft beer in the trendy Powiśle district before heading back to the airport.

But What If Museums Aren’t Your Thing?

If you’re craving something lighter, Warsaw’s Old Town is a fantastic alternative. Stroll through its colourful streets, admire the meticulous post-war reconstruction, and climb the bell tower of St. Anne’s Church for panoramic views. It’s a testament to beauty rising from destruction.

Final Tips for Your One-Day Adventure

  • Transport: Use Warsaw’s efficient public transport or Bolt/Uber for convenience.
  • Currency: Have some Polish złoty for small purchases, though cards are widely accepted.
  • Mind the Time: Keep an eye on your flight schedule—allow ample time to return to the airport.

A one-day stopover in Warsaw doesn’t have to be a blur. By choosing one meaningful place—like the Warsaw Uprising Museum—you’ll take home more than just photos; you’ll carry a piece of Warsaw’s indomitable spirit. Whether you’re a history buff, a curious traveller, or someone seeking authentic experiences, this city will leave a lasting impression.

So, go ahead—turn that layover into a memorable chapter of your journey. Warsaw is ready to welcome you.

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 33

Day 33 – Point of view

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Point of View: A Simple Lens or a Complex Prism?

When you pick up a novel, a short story, or even a piece of creative nonfiction, the very first thing you notice (even before you meet the characters) is who is telling the story. That “who” is what writers call point of view (POV), and it’s the invisible scaffolding that shapes everything you read—from the smallest visual detail to the deepest emotional undercurrent.

At first glance, POV might look as straightforward as this: “Find a spot in the story, look around, and write what you see.” In other words, the narrator is just a neutral observer, jotting down facts like a journalist on a beat. But seasoned writers and literary scholars will tell you that POV is far more complicated—a multi‑layered, often deliberately ambiguous choice that can turn a bland recount into an unforgettable experience.

In this post, we’ll peel back the layers of point of view, explore why it matters, and give you concrete tools to decide which “lens” best serves your story. By the end, you’ll see that POV is both a place to stand and a set of choices that shape perception, meaning, and emotional resonance.

1. The Classic Taxonomy: “Finding a Spot” in the Narrative Landscape

Before we dive into the nuances, let’s recap the textbook categories most writing courses teach. Think of them as the basic “views” you can take from a hilltop:

POV CategoryWhat It Looks LikeTypical “Spot” on the Hill
First‑person (I/We)“I walked into the kitchen, and the smell of cinnamon hit me.”The narrator is inside the story, a character who sees, feels, and thinks.
Second‑person (You)“You step onto the cracked sidewalk, and the rain catches you off guard.”A rarely‑used “you” that drags the reader directly into the action.
Third‑person limited“She stared at the clock, wishing she could turn back time.”An external observer who knows only what one character thinks/feels.
Third‑person omniscient“While Amelia worried about the presentation, James was already rehearsing his jokes.”An all‑seeing bird’s‑eye view that can dip into any mind at any moment.
Objective (camera‑eye)“The rain fell. The bus pulled away. A man waited.”The narrator records only what could be observed externally—no thoughts, no internal commentary.

These categories are useful starting points. They give you a practical way to “find a place” and describe what you see (or don’t see). But they also hide the richness that makes POV a literary weapon, not just a grammatical label.

2. Beyond the Labels: Why POV Is More Than “What You See”

A. Narrative Voice ≠ Narrative Knowledge

A narrator can have a distinct voice—the way they phrase sentences, their rhythm, their humor—while having limited knowledge. A first‑person narrator can be witty, cynical, or poetic, yet still only know what they personally experience. Conversely, an omniscient narrator can adopt a neutral, detached tone yet peek into any mind.

Example: In The Great Gatsby, Nick Carraway narrates in first person with a reflective, almost scholarly voice, yet he admits he only knows Gatsby through “the rumors and gossip that swirled.” His voice and his knowledge are deliberately mismatched, creating an unreliable yet compelling narrator.

B. Reliability (or Its Absence)

A narrative can be reliable (you trust the narrator’s version of events) or unreliable (the narrator misinterprets, lies, or omits). Unreliability isn’t limited to first person. An omniscient narrator can be unreliable if the story is framed as a historical account that may have been distorted, or if the narrator is a fictional editor who chooses which facts to present.

Example: Gillian Flynn’s Gone Girl is famous for its dual first‑person narrators. Each chapter forces readers to reconsider the truth, showing that POV shapes not just what we see but whether we trust what we see.

C. Subjectivity of Perception

Even “objective” camera‑eye descriptions are filtered through a selection process. Deciding to mention the rain, the bus, and the waiting man—and to omit a stray cat—already tells you something about the narrator’s focus, bias, or thematic agenda.

Example: Ernest Hemingway’s Hills Like White Snow is told in a third‑person objective style, but the choice of dialogue and sparseness makes us feel the tension between the couple without ever stating it directly. The POV is “objective,” yet the narrative’s emotional weight is built upon what’s left unsaid.

D. Temporal Manipulation

POV can also dictate when the story is told. A first‑person narrator might recount events years later, inserting hindsight and revision. An omniscient narrator can hop forward in time to show consequences before cause. The temporal horizon—how far back or ahead the narrator can see—adds further complexity.

Example: In One Hundred Years of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez uses an omniscient narrator who jumps across centuries, giving readers a panoramic view of a family’s destiny while also sprinkling in foreknowledge that creates a sense of inevitable tragedy.

E. Cultural and Social Lens

Point of view is rarely neutral; it carries the narrator’s social position, cultural background, and worldview. By choosing a narrator from a specific demographic, the writer implicitly (or explicitly) comments on issues of power, privilege, marginalisation, and representation.

Example: The Absolutely True Diary of a Part-Time Kid uses a teenage narrator from a low‑income, biracial background. His first‑person voice is peppered with humor and self‑deprecation, which provides an authentic lens on the challenges of poverty and identity.

3. How to Choose the “Right” POV for Your Story

If POV were just “find a spot and write what you see,” you could pick any perspective at random. In reality, the decision should be strategic, aligning with the story’s goals, themes, and emotional arc.

Decision PointQuestions to AskPossible POV Choice
What does the reader need to know?Do they need intimate access to a character’s thoughts? Or a broader social context?First‑person / limited for intimacy; omniscient for breadth.
Who is the story about?Is the protagonist also the narrator, or is the story about a group?First‑person if central; third‑person limited if following a protagonist but keeping a slight distance.
Do you want to play with reliability?Will you use twists that hinge on reader deception?Unreliable first‑person or biased omniscient (e.g., a “historian” narrator).
What tone do you aim for?Formal, humorous, lyrical, gritty?Voice can be independent of POV, but certain combos feel natural (e.g., second‑person for immersive, experimental tone).
Is the narrative temporal?Do you need flashbacks, foreshadowing, or a non‑linear structure?First‑person with retrospective narration; omniscient for free‑wheeling time jumps.
Who is missing?Whose perspective is absent but could add depth?Consider multiple POVs (alternating chapters) or a chorus of narrators.

Tip: Write a short scene in two or three different POVs. You’ll instantly see how the emotional texture changes. If you feel a version “locks the door” on certain revelations, that’s a clue about what the rest of your story should (or should not) reveal.

4. Experimenting with Hybrid and Unconventional POVs

Modern literature is full of hybrid approaches that blur the textbook categories:

Hybrid TechniqueHow It WorksWhy It Can Be Powerful
Multiple first‑person narratorsAlternating chapters narrated by different characters, each in “I”.Creates a kaleidoscopic view; readers assemble a fuller truth.
Epistolary POVStory told through letters, diary entries, emails.Gives a sense of authenticity and immediacy; the gaps between messages become narrative tension.
Narrator as character + editorA narrator claims to be retelling someone else’s story, adding footnotes or commentary.Allows meta‑commentary and questions about storytelling itself.
Unreliable omniscientAn all‑knowing narrator who admits to gaps or errors.Subverts the expectation that omniscience equals truth; adds a layer of mystery.
Second‑person immersion“You hear the rustle of leaves…” invites the reader to become the protagonist.Engages readers directly; works well in interactive fiction or “choose‑your‑own‑adventure” style stories.
Collective or “We” narrators“We walked the streets of the old town…”Evokes community, shared experience, or cultural memory.

These forms demonstrate that point of view can be a narrative experiment, not just a grammatical decision. They also illustrate how POV can reveal or conceal information in creative ways, affecting pacing, suspense, and thematic depth.

5. Common Mistakes (and How to Fix Them)

MistakeWhy It HappensFix
“Head‑hopping” without signalsSwitching characters’ inner thoughts mid‑paragraph confuses readers.Keep POV switches clear—new paragraph, chapter break, or explicit cue (“Meanwhile,…”).
Using first‑person for a story that needs broad scope“I” feels intimate but can’t naturally convey events far from the narrator.Either expand the narrator’s reach (e.g., through letters, news reports) or switch to limited/omniscient.
Writing an “objective” camera‑eye that still slips into thoughtsThe urge to explain motives leads to hidden omniscience.Stay strictly to observable actions, dialogue, and sensory detail—or choose limited POV.
Forgetting the narrator’s voiceTreating POV as a mechanical label without developing its tone.Give the narrator distinct diction, rhythm, and worldview—treat them as a character.
Using unreliable POV without payoffUnreliable narrators intrigue but must reveal the unreliability eventually.Plant clues (contradictions, missing details) and deliver a reveal that reshapes the story’s meaning.

6. A Mini‑Exercise: From “What You See” to “What You Feel”

Step 1 – Pick a Scene
Write a brief description of a coffee shop: the clatter of cups, the barista’s smile, the rain outside.

Step 2 – Choose Three POVs

  1. First‑person (intimate) – “I tugged my coat tighter as the rain splashed against the window. The scent of espresso wrapped around me like a warm blanket, but my stomach knotted with the interview I’d just missed.”
  2. Third‑person limited (focused) – “Mara watched the rain slide down the glass, feeling the tremor of nerves that made her fingers tremble as she lifted the coffee cup.”
  3. Third‑person omniscient (panoramic) – “The rain hammered the city, flooding streets and pooling in the coffee shop’s doorframe. Inside, the barista rehearsed his smile while the regulars whispered about the storm’s arrival, each lost in their own thoughts.”

Step 3 – Reflect
Notice how each version does more than describe; it filters reality through feelings, backstory, and scope. The “place” you found in the story is now a gateway into a particular emotional world.

7. Bottom Line: POV Is Both a Spot and a Strategy

  • Yes, point of view does involve physically locating yourself in the story—deciding whether you’re a participant, a bystander, or an all‑seeing bird.
  • But it also encompasses voice, knowledge, reliability, temporal reach, cultural lens, and narrative intent. Those layers turn a simple “what you see” into a complex prism that refracts meaning.

When you write, ask not only “Where am I standing?” but also “What do I want the reader to feel, know, or question because of where I’m standing?” The answer will guide you to a POV that does more than report; it creates the story’s emotional architecture.

Takeaway Checklist

  • ☐ Identify the core emotional aim of your piece.
  • ☐ Choose a POV that naturally grants the right amount of knowledge.
  • ☐ Develop the narrator’s voice as a character in its own right.
  • ☐ Decide on reliability—and plant clues if you’re going unreliable.
  • ☐ Keep POV switches clear and purposeful.
  • ☐ Remember that even an “objective” narrator is a selection—be intentional about what you include and exclude.

By treating point of view as both geography (the spot you occupy) and architecture (the design of perception), you’ll transform your storytelling from a simple walk‑through into a richly layered journey that readers can see, feel, and ultimately never quite forget. Happy writing!

An excerpt from “The Things We Do for Love”; In love, Henry was all at sea!

In the distance, he could hear the dinner bell ringing and roused himself.  Feeling the dampness of the pillow and fearing the ravages of pent-up emotion, he considered not going down but thought it best not to upset Mrs Mac, especially after he said he would be dining.

In the event, he wished he had reneged, especially when he discovered he was not the only guest staying at the hotel.

Whilst he’d been reminiscing, another guest, a young lady, had arrived.  He’d heard her and Mrs Mac coming up the stairs and then shown to a room on the same floor, perhaps at the other end of the passage.

Henry caught his first glimpse of her when she appeared at the door to the dining room, waiting for Mrs Mac to show her to a table.

She was in her mid-twenties, slim, with long brown hair, and the grace and elegance of a woman associated with countless fashion magazines.  She was, he thought, stunningly beautiful with not a hair out of place, and make-up flawlessly applied.  Her clothes were black, simple, elegant, and expensive, the sort an heiress or wife of a millionaire might condescend to wear to a lesser occasion than dinner.

Then there was her expression; cold, forbidding, almost frightening in its intensity.  And her eyes, piercingly blue and yet laced with pain.  Dracula’s daughter was his immediate description of her.

All in all, he considered, the only thing they had in common was, like him, she seemed totally out of place.

Mrs Mac came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron.  She was, she informed him earlier, chef, waitress, hotelier, barmaid, and cleaner all rolled into one.  Coming up to the new arrival, she said, “Ah, Miss Andrews, I’m glad you decided to have dinner.  Would you like to sit with Mr Henshaw, or would you like to have a table of your own?”

Henry could feel her icy stare as she sized up his appeal as a dining companion, making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.  He purposely didn’t look back.  In his estimation, his appeal rating was minus six.  Out of a thousand!

“If Mr Henshaw doesn’t mind….”  She looked at him, leaving the query in mid-air.

He didn’t mind and said so.  Perhaps he’d underestimated his rating.

“Good.”  Mrs Mac promptly ushered her over.  Henry stood, made sure she was seated properly and sat.

“Thank you.  You are most kind.”  The way she said it suggested snobbish overtones.

“I try to be when I can.”  It was supposed to nullify her sarcastic tone, but it made him sound a little silly, and when she gave him another of her icy glares, he regretted it.

Mrs Mac quickly intervened, asking, “Would you care for the soup?”

They did, and, after writing the order on her pad, she gave them each a look, imperceptibly shook her head, and returned to the kitchen.

Before Michelle spoke to him again, she had another quick look at him, trying to fathom who and what he might be.  There was something about him.

His eyes mirrored the same sadness she felt, and, yes, there was something else, that it looked like he had been crying.  There was a tinge of redness.

Perhaps, she thought, he was here for the same reason she was.

No.  That wasn’t possible.

Then she said, without thinking, “Do you have any particular reason for coming here?”  Seconds later, she realised she’d spoken it out loud, hadn’t meant to actually ask, it just came out.

It took him by surprise, obviously not the first question he was expecting her to ask of him.

“No, other than it is as far from civilisation, and home as I could get.”

At least we agree on that, she thought.

It was obvious he was running away from something as well.

Given the isolation of the village and lack of geographic hospitality, it was, from her point of view, ideal.  All she had to do was avoid him, and that wouldn’t be difficult.

After getting through this evening first.

“Yes,” she agreed.  “It is that.”

A few seconds passed, and she thought she could feel his eyes on her and wasn’t going to look up.

Until he asked, “What’s your reason?”

Slightly abrupt in manner, perhaps, because of her question and how she asked it.

She looked up.  “Rest.  And have some time to myself.”

She hoped he would notice the emphasis she had placed on the word ‘herself’ and take due note.  No doubt, she thought, she had completely different ideas of what constituted a holiday than he, not that she had said she was here for a holiday.

Mrs Mac arrived at a fortuitous moment to save them from further conversation.

Over the entree, she wondered if she had made a mistake coming to the hotel.  Of course, there had been no conceivable way she could know that anyone else might have booked the same hotel, but she realised it was foolish to think she might end up in it by herself.

Was that what she was expecting?

Not a mistake then, but an unfortunate set of circumstances, which could be overcome by being sensible.

Yet, there he was, and it made her curious, not that he was a man, by himself, in the middle of nowhere, hiding like she was, but for quite varied reasons.

On discreet observation, whilst they ate, she gained the impression his air of light-heartedness was forced, and he had no sense of humour.

This feeling was engendered by his looks, unruly dark hair, and permanent frown.  And then there was his abysmal taste in clothes on a tall, lanky frame.  They were quality but totally unsuited to the wearer.

Rebellion was written all over him.

The only other thought crossing her mind, and incongruously, was that he could do with a decent feed.  In that respect, she knew now from the mountain of food in front of her, he had come to the right place.

“Mr Henshaw?”

He looked up.  “Henshaw is too formal.  Henry sounds much better,” he said, with a slight hint of gruffness.

“Then my name is Michelle.”

Mrs Mac came in to take their order for the only main course, gather up the entree dishes, and then return to the kitchen.

“Staying long?” she asked.

“About three weeks.  Yourself?”

“About the same.”

The conversation dried up.

Neither looked at the other, but rather at the walls, out the window, towards the kitchen, anywhere.  It was, she thought, unbearably awkward.

Mrs Mac returned with a large tray with dishes on it, setting it down on the table next to theirs.

“Not as good as the usual cook,” she said, serving up the dinner expertly, “but it comes a good second, even if I do say so myself.  Care for some wine?”

Henry looked at Michelle.  “What do you think?”

“I’m used to my dining companions making the decision.”

You would, he thought.  He couldn’t help but notice the cutting edge of her tone.  Then, to Mrs Mac, he named a particular White Burgundy he liked, and she bustled off.

“I hope you like it,” he said, acknowledging her previous comment with a smile that had nothing to do with humour.

“Yes, so do I.”

Both made a start on the main course, a concoction of chicken and vegetables that were delicious, Henry thought when compared to the bland food he received at home and sometimes aboard my ship.

It was five minutes before Mrs Mac returned with the bottle and two glasses.  After opening it and pouring the drinks, she left them alone again.

Henry resumed the conversation.  “How did you arrive?  I came by train.”

“By car.”

“Did you drive yourself?”

And he thought, a few seconds later, that was a silly question; otherwise, she would not be alone, and certainly not sitting at this table. With him.

“After a fashion.”

He could see that she was formulating a retort in her mind, then changed it, instead, smiling for the first time, and it served to lighten the atmosphere.

And in doing so, it showed him she had another, more pleasant side despite the fact she was trying not to look happy.

“My father reckons I’m just another of ‘those’ women drivers,” she added.

“Whatever for?”

“The first and only time he came with me, I had an accident.  I ran up the back of another car.  Of course, it didn’t matter to him that the other driver was driving like a startled rabbit.”

“It doesn’t help,” he agreed.

“Do you drive?”

“Mostly people up the wall.”  His attempt at humour failed.  “Actually,” he added quickly, “I’ve got a very old Morris that manages to get me where I’m going.”

The apple pie and cream for dessert came and went, and the rapport between them improved as the wine disappeared and the coffee came.  Both had found, after getting to know each other better, that their first impressions were not necessarily correct.

“Enjoy the food?” Mrs Mac asked, suddenly reappearing.

“Beautifully cooked and delicious to eat,” Michelle said, and Henry endorsed her remarks.

“Ah, it does my heart good to hear such genuine compliments,” she said, smiling.  She collected the last of the dishes and disappeared yet again.

“What do you do for a living?” Michelle asked in an offhand manner.

He had a feeling she was not particularly interested, and it was just making conversation.

“I’m a purser.”

“A what?”

“A purser.  I work on a ship doing the paperwork, that sort of thing.”

“I see.”

“And you?”

“I was a model.”

“Was?”

“Until I had an accident, a rather bad one.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

So that explained the odd feeling he had about her.

As the evening wore on, he began to think there might be something wrong, seriously wrong with her because she didn’t look too well.  Even the carefully applied makeup, from close, didn’t hide the very pale, tired look, or the sunken, dark-ringed eyes.

“I try not to think about it, but it doesn’t necessarily work.  I’ve come here for peace and quiet, away from doctors and parents.”

“Then you will not have to worry about me annoying you.  I’m one of those fall-asleep-reading-a-book types.”

Perhaps it would be like ships passing in the night, and then he smiled to himself about the analogy.

Dinner over, they separated.

Henry went back to the lounge to read a few pages of his book before going to bed, and Michelle went up to her room to retire for the night.

But try as he might, he was unable to read, his mind dwelling on the unusual, yet compellingly mysterious person he would be sharing the hotel with.

Overlaying that original blurred image of her standing in the doorway was another of her haunting expressions that had, he finally conceded, taken his breath away, and a look that had sent more than one tingle down his spine.

She may not have thought much of him, but she had certainly made an impression on him.

…

© Charles Heath 2015-2024

lovecoverfinal1

“One Last Look”, nothing is what it seems

A single event can have enormous consequences.

A single event driven by fate, after Ben told his wife Charlotte he would be late home one night, he left early, and by chance discovers his wife having dinner in their favourite restaurant with another man.

A single event where it could be said Ben was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Who was this man? Why was she having dinner with him?

A simple truth to explain the single event was all Ben required. Instead, Charlotte told him a lie.

A single event that forces Ben to question everything he thought he knew about his wife, and the people who are around her.

After a near-death experience and forced retirement into a world he is unfamiliar with, Ben finds himself once again drawn back into that life of lies, violence, and intrigue.

From London to a small village in Tuscany, little by little Ben discovers who the woman he married is, and the real reason why fate had brought them together.

It is available on Amazon here:  http://amzn.to/2CqUBcz