365 Days of writing, 2026 – 59/60

Days 59 and 60 – Writing Exercise

…

“Hate is a strong word,” I said, adopting a soothing, placatory tone.

The air in the room was fairly thick with emotion, and understandably so. HR had just issued an edict which, to me, was utterly stupid.

“Try detest,” said another.

“Or abhor,” from yet another, a voice down the back of the room, one I instantly recognised, but kept my surprise to myself.

As I said, the mood of the room was understandable. They were being punished because of one person’s actions.

The crux of the matter, employees who had previously been given a five-minute leeway to get to and from the company cafeteria now had to absorb that time into the mandated half hour set for lunch, and fifteen minutes for morning and afternoon tea.

And, of course, everyone liked to push the envelope, and that extra five minutes had turned into ten, and then, at times, fifteen. That management would eventually react was expected.

It was not expected that they had silently implemented it to begin with, put surveillance equipment in and then logged everyone breaking the rules, and then used that evidence to fire one employee.

That in itself was a violation, but times were tough, and decisions had to be made. They issued a memo to everyone highlighting the net loss to the company in productivity, and it was staggering.

But…

It was not the fact that they had fired someone, but who they fired.

I’d heard on the grapevine that a group of employees were gathering to plan retaliatory action. Not a good idea given that management had recently changed and the son, not the father, was now running what he called a white elephant.

He was wrong; it was just using outdated machinery and methodology, simply because there weren’t sufficient profits to reinvest, but he had a plan.

I’d sat in on the transition committee headed by the new CEO and came away with a very bad feeling. So did most of the board members, but they were older men still clinging to the old ways, and very much attached to their paychecks.

My job: I had to sell the plan, if and when it was completed.

And quell any intermediate spot fires.

The working hours were the first, and willful time wasting was the top of the agenda.

Then, “We all know what’s going on here.”

Yes, some would, and the voice that made that statement, Harry Bones, a man who joined the company the same day I did.

We both had dreams back then, when the company was riding the crest of popularity and prosperity.

He went into the production department, and I took administration. The other notable recruit, Joseph Brooks, the man who was now CEO.

But back in those days in College there was no distinction; he was just one of the boys. He only changed when his father decided to give him power, and that mean side we knew lurked beneath that affable surface started coming out.

“And what’s that, Harry?

“He invented those rules so he could get rid of a problem he created.”

And there it was. I was surprised that his daughter Rowena would accept a role in a company she openly disparaged as toxic, let alone work for Joseph Brooks as his personal assistant, only to become his girlfriend, which for a while seemed to work.

Of course, no one in the company knew of the romantic relationship, except perhaps those in the executive, and her NDA forbade discussion of the details of her dismissal. And adhering to that NDA, she couldn’t tell her father, so he just made the assumption that someone had to be an example, and it was the agitator’s daughter.

The reality was that neither could stay in their positions, and one had to go. It was a pity it was her, but in situations like that, the lesser employee always loses. All it did was embitter the agitator.

“That’s one interpretation, Harry.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You are up there in the ivory tower, you see everything.”

“Not everything, Harry.”

“You’re not that stupid, Jack. He’s coming for all of us. Word on the floor is that they’re replacing us with robots.”

It was true they were looking at that option. The thing was, the initial investment was beyond their means, and I was there when the CFO got the call from the bank turning down the loan.

But then he knew that was going to happen.

There was a murmur rippling through the crowd at the mention of robots.

The previous year, we had tendered to build those same robots and didn’t get the tender. If we had got it, we wouldn’t be here now.

I was expecting ten or so hard-line agitators to turn up to the session, and four hundred had downed tools when they learned about the session. I had to move the session to the cafeteria.

The executive heard there was a rumour of a strike, and asked me, as the employee liaison manager, to find out what was going on.

The fact that they didn’t realise that sacking employees on trumped up excuses because the boss’s son couldn’t manage a simple relationship, or worse, thought he could play with the affections of employees, the very definition of sexualising garnishment, beggared belief.

Legal understood the ramifications and had instituted a remedy, but HR was still stuck in the 1950s, which said a lot about our management.

I was trying to put out a forest fire with a garden hose. Whatever I was going to suggest, that would be the equivalent of throwing petrol on that same fire.

“OK.” I tried wresting control of the meeting and getting back on track.

“What are you going to do? This used to be an amazing place to work.”

“The best. My father worked here, and his father before him.”

“It was a great place, you wanted to come to work, you wanted to be part of it, you weren’t part of the success.”

“You worked hard and the company looked after you. Where has that gone?”

That was easy. We sat on our hands while the rest of the world moved on. Instead, I said, “Where overseas companies that can make products cheaper are. We once had a monopoly; now we’re just one of fifty competing in a smaller market. Times are tough. Everyone is feeling it. They have avoided lay-offs, but if this place keeps going the way it is…”

It was true, but something else was also true.

The voice from the back of the room: “And yet there’s plenty for the bosses to have their overseas holidays, live in multi-million dollar estates, and have a different car for each day of the week. We can barely afford to put food on the table.”

It was a headline that made the papers once a month. The cost of living is the great divide between the wealthy and the workers.

I could argue that in the beginning, it was their money and their labour that created the jobs they had, and were still providing against the odds, but that didn’t fit their optics. But that person was also right. I’d done the comparison. Giving the employees that extra few minutes didn’t come close to the executive expenditure. It’s why there were no profits, and how the board could deny promised raises, the negotiators had agreed to tie raises to profits.

It had been a strange, if not unbelievable, outcome where the negotiators had gone in hard and in the end surrendered with a whimper.

“I don’t believe you, or them.”

A roar of approval from the assembly. Harry had become their spokesman.

“Tell them to restore the original break conditions, or there will be a strike, and there’ll be a lot more on the table.”

He stood, glared at me, and walked off, taking the others with him.

Bar one.

Rowena.

“How did you get in here? No, don’t tell me. The less I know, the better. What happened between you and Joey?”

The once-upon-a-time nickname we created for the now CEO back in school days was used only out of his hearing.

“I wouldn’t bend to his will. I’m not that type of girl. But I should have known. We all knew what he was like, and I fell for the charisma. My bad.”

“But sacking you. That was wrong.”

“Legal said as much. A job back, same salary and conditions or a settlement. It’s shitty he gets away with being an ass, but the money is eyewatering.”

“What did your dad say?”

“I didn’t tell him. You of all people would understand why. But now I’m free, I want to take up your offer.”

It was accompanied by a whimsical smile, one I knew from long ago and at a time when I was hopelessly in love with her, and all she did was ignore me.

“What makes you think it still stands?”

I remember making it, almost too drunk to care, and definitely in no condition to be anything but completely honest. That was when I told her how I felt, believing that she liked me. I asked her if she would like to have a trial relationship. She laughed at me.

The hangover wasn’t the worst part of waking up the next morning.

“You did nothing wrong, Jack, but you took me by surprise, and I wasn’t ready for it. Then I went on to make a huge mistake, and I’ve had more than enough regrets over the years. Why are you still single?”

Did she really need an answer to that question?

“Oh. Then what say you?”

I shook my head. There was only one answer. “When does this trial start?”

She smiled. “Now.”

…

I could have said my arrival on the executive level was interesting in the total lack of reaction, but it was more measured than I expected.

Even wary.

That was because none of the executives knew how to handle a version of them that was at least 30 years younger than the youngest of them.

I was not the enemy, but equally, they didn’t think I was in their class of maturity and respectability.

Of course, if you had seen the members at their exclusive parties, and word respectability would have been left at the door, and replaced with others like drunkenness and debauchery.

All funded by the company and hidden in the accounts, by the creative accountant titled the Chief Financial Officer.

The secrets I knew and could do nothing about.

Every time I sat at the board table and looked around at what this city called its most revered and respected citizens, I had to work very hard not to laugh.

But, on the other side of that, they managed to keep their benefits, and still kept over 4,000 of the townsfolk employed. A single small percentage parish would wreck that, as projections had shown them at the last board meeting.

The next would be crunch time. The workers were going to revolt, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Still…

The Chief Administrative Officer was a dour but practical man, and was the one responsible for my position. If all went well, he had said about a year before Joey took the crown, I would succeed him.

Under old management rules, that was true. Under new management rules, that was not necessarily the case. I would now have to apply for the job when it came up.

It was the bad part of the good news bad news Monday briefing.

Now, it was my turn.

I knocked on his door and went in. He was standing at the window looking down on the car park and gardens where the Christmas party was held each year.

When he turned, he had an odd, unfathomable expression. “How was the meeting?”

“The expected ten turned into four hundred.”

“Harry?”

“As you predicted, the ring leader. It’s not without reason, though. We can use the lack of profits only so far. What they don’t realise is that there is a clause in the last agreement that gives the union the right to investigate why there are no profits, if they believe there is bad management.”

I’d found it when I was asked to read through and analyse exactly what was in it. A junior council in the department had been looking at the staff contracts and found something else, which set off alarm bells.

“What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“Until the first round of lay-offs. The CFO had said quite categorically that something had to go. Staff or management perks.”

He slumped into his chair, as it groaned under his weight. He had been in the company for nearly 50 years, and it was approaching retirement day.

“We had a good run, but now the Chinese have taken it away. We watched it happen.”

“It was inevitable. Their costs are lower, even with shipping. Tariffs aren’t going to save a sinking ship. Does Joseph know?”

“What do you think?”

“Still pretending he’s the captain of the Titanic. Full steam ahead?”

The one thing Joey was not was financially gifted. He failed economics and didn’t understand rudimentary accounting. He was an ideas man, a fearless leader, a man among men. He told me so himself. His father said he would find his way.

He shrugged.

“What do you believe is going to happen?”

“A strike.”

“No way you can talk them out of it?”

“Without telling them the truth, no. And if we do tell them the truth, there will be a lynching. More than one, possibly.”

“Then put in a report and call an extraordinary board meeting for tomorrow.”

…

The company was not a public company with lots of shareholders who had to be paid dividends. It was owned by Joseph and his family, all of whom had made a lot of money from it and squandered it just as quickly.

Joseph’s father had seen the tide turning too late, and had spent a lot of his fortune keeping the business going. He knew the value of it to the town and its people and had rewarded loyalty and hard work. Joseph didn’t understand those sentiments and was more interested in living the high life than managing the business.

He was a fly in fly out leave it to the experts kind of guy. It only worked if the company made money and cut corners rather than investing and diversifying, as he had been told the first day he acceded the throne, it was quite possible the ship would not be about to founder on that hidden reef.

The board meeting was notable for:

The CFO reported that in three months, the positive bank balance would turn negative and would stay there.

He also tendered his resignation.

The CIO tendered a report that said the computer systems had to be replaced because the software company that provided the manufacturing systems were about to cease supporting our version, and basically said if we didn’t upgrade, they would not be responsible for the problems.

And the new version needed far better systems to run on. The quoted upgrade was eye-watering.

HR reported that they believed a strike was imminent, but there was no way they could afford pay rises without sacrificing at least a third of the employees. And that meant shutting down parts of the operation.

The head of Production said that without the new software the might as well close the plant. What other ideas he had he put back in his folder.

I could see Joseph, after each report, getting more and more discouraged, perhaps wondering how his father had managed to dump the mess in his lap and escape to a well-earned retirement, in a place I noted didn’t have an extradition treaty.

I noticed before the meeting started that Joseph was talking privately with Legal, the CFO, and two board members, personal friends of the family.

He had a red file. To me, red was a bad omen.

After all the damning reports, Joseph looked around the table. He had not commented, nor had he looked worried. Perhaps he had found a private investor who wanted a share in the sinking ship though I could not fathom why they would.

Unless they converted the site to make munitions, what had happened during the Second World War. It wasn’t that hard to retool.

I had seen a report in a financial magazine about the retooling of car factories to build armoured tanks and aircraft frames. My father had once told me that the country only flourished when there was a world war raging.

“In the face of what is going to be a losing battle, I think the way forward it the sell. I have an offer. It’s not startling, nor is it generous. It’s time to walk away.”

His new PA came in on cue and handed each one a folder, the terms of the sale. All of them would get a full payout. The employees, next to nothing.

I hadn’t seen that coming. No one else would either. A private family-owned company didn’t have to advertise, so no one would know until it was too late. And yes, the new company would be hiring. Not the whole 4,000, but some of them.

I just managed to catch the last thing Joseph said, holding up a glass.

“To the end of an era.”

That was the moment the workers arrived, and all hell broke loose.

…

Another excerpt from “Strangers We’ve Become” – A sequel to ‘What Sets Us Apart’

…

It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone. It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air. In summer, it was the best time of the day. When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.

On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’. This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.

She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable. The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day. So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.

It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her. It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.

I sat in my usual corner. Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner. There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around. I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria. All she did was serve coffee and cake.

When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?” She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.

“I am this morning. I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating. I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise. I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”

“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me. I have had a lot worse. I think she is simply jealous.”

It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be. “Why?”

“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”

It made sense, even if it was not true. “Perhaps if I explained…”

Maria shook her head. “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole. My grandfather had many expressions, David. If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her. Before she goes home.”

Interesting advice. Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma. What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?

“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.

“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much. Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone. It was an intense conversation. I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell. It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”

“It is indeed. And you’re right. She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one. She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office. Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”

And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful. She had liked Maria the moment she saw her. We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived. I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.

She sighed. “I am glad I am just a waitress. Your usual coffee and cake?”

“Yes, please.”

Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.

I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one. What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.

There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it. We were still married, just not living together.

This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her. She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.

It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.

There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd. She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right. It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.

But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings. But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.

Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart. I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit. The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.

I knew I was not a priority. Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.

And finally, there was Alisha. Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around. It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties.

At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata. Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.

Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.

When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan. She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores. We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated. It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.

It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard. I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.

She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top. She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.

Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak. I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.

Neither spoke nor looked at each other. I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”

Maria nodded and left.

“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests. I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence? All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”

My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.

“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us. There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”

“Why come at all. A phone call would have sufficed.”

“I had to see you, talk to you. At least we have had a chance to do that. I’m sorry about yesterday. I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her. I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”

An apology was the last thing I expected.

“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington. I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction. We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”

“You’re not coming with me?” She sounded disappointed.

“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. You are so much better doing your job without me. I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband. Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less. You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it. I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”

It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement. Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points. I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever. The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.

Then, her expression changed. “Is that what you want?”

“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways. But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”

“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”

That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud. “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan. You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy. While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”

“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance. I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother. She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right. Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously. But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”

“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”

“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”

“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”

I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead. Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers. Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen. Gianna didn’t like Susan either.

Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her. She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.

She stood. “Last chance.”

“Forever?”

She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face. “Of course not. I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship. I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”

I had been trying. “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan. I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”

She frowned at me. “As you wish.” She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table. “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home. Please make it sooner rather than later. Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”

That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car. I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.

No kiss, no touch, no looking back.

…

365 Days of writing, 2026 – My Second Story 9

More about my second novel

…

We are now up to the part where we introduce Isobel properly and find out why such a talented person is drifting in the doldrums of Rupert’s private detective agency.

Aside from being a once high-flying legal eagle, she is also a computer hacker, or perhaps that’s what she evolved into in a devil finds work for idle hands type person.

This hacking is going to be useful, but it’s also going to bring problems, especially when she starts tracking down Zoe.

And, it seemed she had struck up a dark online relationship with another hacker with the handle Tzar. What are the odds he is Russian?

She’s digging for information, and Tzar helps, and, suddenly, it appears, briefly, then is gone, with a warning. Stop digging.

And if she doesn’t.

People were coming for her.

Meanwhile, in the basement, Zoe has had enough time to devise a mask that might stave of the effects of the gas long enough to effect an escape.

And, it almost works, the mask that is.

She manages to get past all of the guards, but Romanov is waiting.

He doesn’t kill her, but he does give her some information, then leaves. He knows how dangerous she can be, especially when wounded.

What I learned about writing – Some days are great, a lot are not

Great are the days when writing flows easily, and bad are the days when it doesn’t flow at all. What you’re striving for is somewhere in the middle.

If that is at all possible.

Conditions have to be conducive, which means it doesn’t necessarily follow that you can write just anywhere.

That means you need, if it is at all possible, to set up a little or big writing nook somewhere in your residence where you can write.

It doesn’t necessarily have to be free of distractions, except, of course, the electronic kind. Of course, if you are writing on a computer of any sort,t it would be better if it were not connected to the internet, where every few seconds there’s an alert, an email, a phone call, or breaking news headlines.

Nor do you really want to be near a phone, except if you’re expecting a call from your agent telling you you just got a multi-million dollar three-film contract.

OK, I’m projecting my own desires here…

But…

A writing room or nook would to me be a room with a view, my preference overlooking the ocean high on a cliff so that I could see the roiling ocean and dhimips battling against the odds.

Distraction.

Not necessarily, but on summery days it can provide the background for a lengthy piece of prose, or even a poem, an ode to days of leisure.

And to dream…

Yes inspired.

In such a computable and familiar place, it is possible to write without hindrance. I do not have a room with a view, but I am surrounded by a thousand books, lounge chairs, and the tools to inspire me.

Writing isn’t difficult. It’s more about getting out there because the daily routine often gets in the way

But my best writing happens at night after everyone has retired for the day, and the words come. Often, it is no trouble to write a whole short story or several chapters of a novel.

But, then, having participated in the yearly A to Z blog month and twice yearly NANOWRIMO novel writing month has conditioned me to getting the job done.

365 Days of writing, 2026 – My Second Story 9

More about my second novel

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We are now up to the part where we introduce Isobel properly and find out why such a talented person is drifting in the doldrums of Rupert’s private detective agency.

Aside from being a once high-flying legal eagle, she is also a computer hacker, or perhaps that’s what she evolved into in a devil finds work for idle hands type person.

This hacking is going to be useful, but it’s also going to bring problems, especially when she starts tracking down Zoe.

And, it seemed she had struck up a dark online relationship with another hacker with the handle Tzar. What are the odds he is Russian?

She’s digging for information, and Tzar helps, and, suddenly, it appears, briefly, then is gone, with a warning. Stop digging.

And if she doesn’t.

People were coming for her.

Meanwhile, in the basement, Zoe has had enough time to devise a mask that might stave of the effects of the gas long enough to effect an escape.

And, it almost works, the mask that is.

She manages to get past all of the guards, but Romanov is waiting.

He doesn’t kill her, but he does give her some information, then leaves. He knows how dangerous she can be, especially when wounded.

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 58

Day 58 – Self motivation

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The Hidden Engines that Keep Writers Moving

Why some authors seem to write on autopilot while others need a constant push

Introduction

If you’ve ever stared at a blank screen while a friend’s manuscript slides from page 1 to page 400, you’ve probably wondered what the secret sauce is. Sure, deadlines and a good editor can prod a writer into action, but the most prolific word‑smiths never rely on external pressure alone. They’ve cultivated internal “motors” that keep the ink flowing even when the muse is on vacation.

In this post we’ll unpack the less‑obvious levers that power a writer’s stamina: mindset tweaks, environmental hacks, social circuits, and ritualistic anchors. Think of them as the invisible gears that keep a writer’s engine humming—no alarm clock required.

1. Purpose‑Fuelled Writing (The “Why” Over the “What”)

The difference between goal and purpose

Goal: Finish a 2,000‑word article by Friday.
Purpose: Communicate a message that changes the way readers think about climate justice.

When the purpose is vivid, the work becomes a conduit rather than a chore. Ask yourself: What will happen when this piece lands in a reader’s hands? Write that answer down and keep it visible on your desk.

Practical tip

Create a “mission card” (index‑card or digital note) that states your purpose in a single sentence. Place it where you start writing every day. When resistance spikes, glance at the card and let the larger mission pull you forward.

2. The Micro‑Commitment Loop

Large projects feel intimidating because the brain treats them as a single, massive decision. Break the task into micro‑commitments that take 5–10 minutes each:

Micro‑commitment	How it works
Open the document and type the title	Signals the brain that the work has begun
Write one sentence describing the opening scene	Reduces the “blank‑page” anxiety
Set a timer for 7 minutes and draft a paragraph	Creates a low‑stakes sprint
Highlight the paragraph you just wrote	Provides instant gratification

The loop is simple: commit → act → reward (the reward can be as subtle as a mental “yes!” or a sip of coffee). Over time these micro‑wins accumulate into a full draft without the need for a looming deadline.

3. The “Storytelling” Habit: Treat Your Life Like a Narrative

Humans are wired to seek stories. If you start seeing your own day as a plot, you’ll naturally want to move the story forward.

Act 1 – Morning routine (setup)
Act 2 – Conflict (the “write‑or‑don’t‑write” dilemma)
Act 3 – Resolution (the first 300 words)

Write a one‑sentence “scene description” for each block of time you plan to work. For example: “In this scene, the protagonist (me) battles the distracting siren of social media and emerges with a fresh paragraph about the protagonist’s childhood.”

When you treat each writing block as a scene, you get the same momentum you’d feel watching a thriller—because you are living one.

4. Environmental Triggers: Design Your “Writing Habitat”

a. Sensory Anchors

Sound: A specific playlist, white‑noise, or the hum of a coffee shop can become a Pavlovian cue. Play the same 30‑second intro each time you sit down.
Smell: Light a scented candle (citrus for focus, sandalwood for calm) only during writing sessions. Your brain will associate that aroma with productivity.

b. Physical Boundaries

Dedicated space: Even a small corner of a couch can become “the writing nook” if you only ever sit there to write. The space itself becomes a trigger.
Desk posture: Sit upright, feet flat, screen at eye level. The subtle physical alertness reduces the temptation to slump into procrastination.

c. Digital Minimalism

Use a distraction‑free writing app (e.g., iA Writer, Scrivener’s “Compose” mode) that hides menus and notifications.
Keep a “browser whitelist” with only essential tabs (research, reference). Anything else is a deliberate, timed “break” activity.

5. Social Magnetism: The Power of “Writing with Others”

You don’t have to be in a co‑working space to benefit from community; you only need accountability signals.

Method	How to Implement
Writing buddy	Pair up with a peer. Agree on a weekly word‑count exchange and a short debrief call.
Word‑count streaks	Join a public platform (e.g., NaNoWriMo, Camp NaNoWriMo) and post your daily totals. The fear of breaking a streak is a strong motivator.
Live‑stream writing	Open a Twitch or YouTube “write‑with‑me” stream. Knowing an audience is watching forces you to keep the keyboard moving.
Micro‑review circles	Share a 200‑word excerpt every two days for quick feedback. The anticipation of feedback fuels forward motion.

Social pressure isn’t about shaming; it’s about creating a network of tiny expectations that keep you honest to yourself.

6. The “End‑Game” Visualizer

Imagine the finished piece, not as a distant abstract, but as a concrete moment:

The cover page of a printed manuscript on your bookshelf.
An email notification that a publication accepted your article.
A reader’s comment that says, “This changed my perspective.”

Write down this visual in vivid detail (colour, sound, emotions) and place it where you start writing. When the words start to feel heavy, pull that mental image forward. It’s a form of future‑self alignment, where today’s effort is mapped directly to tomorrow’s payoff.

7. Energy Management: Write When You’re Naturally “On”

Not all writers thrive on a 9‑to‑5 schedule. Track your energy peaks for a week:

Day	Time Slot	Energy Level (1‑10)	Writing Output
Mon	7‑9 am	8	1,200 words
Tue	2‑4 pm	6	500 words
Wed	10‑11 am	9	1,600 words
…	…	…	…

Schedule your most demanding drafting sessions during the top‑tier slots. Use low‑energy periods for lighter tasks (research, outlining, editing). Aligning work with natural rhythms removes the “I’m too tired to write” excuse entirely.

8. The “Zero‑Draft” Mindset

Perfectionism is the silent killer of motivation. Adopt a zero‑draft approach:

Write anything—even nonsense.
Label it “draft 0.”
Commit to moving to draft 1 after a preset time (e.g., 30 minutes).

Because the goal is just to get something on the page, the inner critic stays quiet. Later you can sculpt, cut, and polish. The key is to remove judgment from the first pass; judgment belongs in revision, not creation.

9. Rituals that Signal “Start”

A ritual is a repeatable, symbolic action that tells your brain: “It’s go‑time.” Some writers swear by:

Brewing a specific tea before the first paragraph.
Lighting a candle and reciting a single line of a favourite poem.
Doing a 2‑minute physical stretch or a short walk around the block.

Pick a ritual that takes less than five minutes—long enough to be meaningful, short enough not to become a procrastination loop. Consistency turns the ritual into a cue that bypasses decision fatigue.

10. The “Feedback Loop” of Intrinsic Rewards

External validation (likes, publication acceptance) is a nice bonus, but the real driver is an internal reward system:

Progress markers: Each 500‑word milestone triggers a small celebration (a piece of chocolate, a 5‑minute dance).
Narrative ownership: Remind yourself that the characters, arguments, or scenes belong to you—you are the creator, not a clerk.
Learning curve: Notice how each session adds a new skill (a tighter sentence, a more vivid metaphor). Celebrate that growth.

When you consciously notice these micro‑wins, dopamine floods the brain, reinforcing the habit loop without any external deadline.

TL;DR: Your Personal Motivation Blueprint

Secret	How to Activate
Purpose‑fuel	Write a mission card and keep it visible
Micro‑commitments	5‑minute sprints with instant rewards
Story‑frame your day	Treat each block as a narrative scene
Sensory/environmental cues	Consistent sound, scent, and space
Social magnetism	Buddy system, streaks, or live‑stream writing
Future‑self visualizer	Paint a vivid picture of the finished piece
Energy alignment	Write during natural high‑energy windows
Zero‑draft mindset	Remove judgment from the first pass
Start rituals	Simple, repeatable cues (tea, stretch, candle)
Intrinsic feedback loop	Celebrate progress, skill gain, ownership

Closing Thought

Motivation isn’t a mysterious force that appears only when a deadline looms. It’s a network of tiny, repeatable habits and mental tricks that you can design, test, and refine. The moment you start treating writing as a system—rather than a solitary act—you’ll find that the words begin to flow even on the days when the muse seems to be on holiday.

Give yourself permission to experiment with the tools above. Pick one (perhaps the mission card) and commit to it for a week. Then add another. Before long you’ll have assembled a custom‑built engine that powers your writing, deadline or no deadline.

Happy writing!

What I learned about writing – So here’s the deal – you’re not as good as you think you are

I can attest to that. I’ve been through a story a dozen times, and still, there is something to be changed, or a detail or nuance missed. Our eyes play tricks on us; they seem to see what you want them to see rather than what is there.

It’s why we have other people look at our work.

Everyone can get hold of a style manual, a thesaurus and a dictionary.

My biggest bugbear is continuity and names, plot timing, and making sure events happen when they’re supposed to, not just when you write about it and hope it fits the timeline.

I have a problem with that right now with a story I’m writing, where people are living the events in two different time zones, and I need to get it right.

This is where a spreadsheet comes in handy, because you can use a formula to work out the time in a different time zone and run the event timeline in both zones.

It’s always great when the pilot tells you just before you land what time it is at the destination. Scary too sometimes when you’re flying from Brisbane backwards through time to London and find you’re landing 13 or so hours before. I left at 10 pm, and I’m landing at 5:30 in the morning on the same day.

A surefire way of discovering what your text sounds like is to run it through an AI text-to-speech converter and listen. When it sounds really weird, and it will at least once, then you know where to fix it.

Searching for locations: Port Macquarie – Day 1 – Part 1

In keeping with the new travel plan, we are picking places in Australia, where we can exchange our timeshare week.

Some people consider timeshares as a waste of time and money, and the process of getting one is very painful, which it can be.

Certainly, in some of the places we have gone, they tried hard to sell you another which can be a downside to staying, but the fact we get to stay in a three-bedroom fully kitted apartment of bungalow for $200 for the week far outweighs the small inconveniences.

Previously, we stayed at Coffs Harbour, but this time, we decided to stay at Port Macquarie.

Our bungalow, as they are called, is on the edge of the lagoon, which has an island and has been stocked with fish, though I doubt we would be allowed to go fishing in it.

For the more adventurous, there are canoes. I think I would prefer the BBQ, and watch the planes taking off and landing at the airport just on the other side of the tree line on the other side of the lagoon.

At least they are only smaller planes like the De Havilland Dash 8.

And, knowing the airport was only minutes away, we dropped in for a quick photo op and got the following

365 Days of writing, 2026 – 58

Day 58 – Self motivation

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