Day 69

People are plotters

…

The plot line for any story is about the actions of people and the consequences of their actions.

Let’s face it, people, well most people are plotters and schemers, looking to do good or bad, though we always seem to focus on the bad. It wouldn’t;t be much of a story if everyone wanted to do good, would it?

So we have an example, the Gunpowder Plot, you know back in the dark ages someone wanted to blow up the houses of parliament in London.

It wouldn’t be a plot without the plotter, Sir Guy Fawkes. A plotter. A schemer. The person who got the gunpowder convinced a few conspirators and nearly got away with it.

Stories often lurch from one thing to the next as the people involved make decisions and take actions rightly or wrongly that lead to an inevitable conclusion.

That inevitable conclusion may not necessarily be the original inevitable conclusion you considered in the master plan, but having an eventuality in mind can give you a basis to reverse plot the actions needed to get there.

And like in real life when you plan for an outcome, sometimes it doesn’t quite go to plan.

I know quite a few of my stories have rather interesting endings, but that’s simply because characters, like real people, sometimes have a mind of their own, and another plot in mind. How can they, if they are just characters in your imagination?

I’ll let you think about that, and we’ll revisit it later on.

Days 67 and 68

Writing exercise – instead of using yourself as the protagonist, be someone else…

…

I think I had reached the point where I had so fully immersed myself in the role that I no longer knew who or what I had been before.

I had said it wouldn’t happen, and they said it would, and as time passed, they could see it, and I could not.

The gig was over.

The message came over the phone in their cryptic code, devised so that if anyone else saw it, it would look just like the title of a book, which it was.

“Where Eagles Dare”.

I had dared to fly higher than the mythical Icarus, but they said it was too close to the sun.

They were right.

Ballinger, the boss, was seated opposite me, gun in lap, giving me his most menacing look. He didn’t have to try too hard, the result of many beatings when he was a boy had given his face the look of a world-weary boxer who had to retire early.

Ever since I first met him, he had always been a man of short patience.

“I really am disappointed, Spence. Really disappointed.”

He glanced sideways at one of his henchmen, an equally scary gorilla called Lefty. He had another name but I couldn’t pronounce it. Neither could anyone else.

Lefty said, as was expected of him, “Really disappointed.”

I was not sure if it was to emphasise Ballinger’s disappointment, or that he could parrot words on command like a dutiful henchman.

I would ask why, but I knew. There had been a ten-minute diatribe about how another of his henchmen, Wally, had discovered I was an undercover cop. He didn’t say how he came upon this interesting discovery.

“I was disappointed you didn’t promote me a month back, but I didn’t tie you up and express disappointment.”

Lefty slapped me so hard it knocked me sideways to the floor.

It hurt.

“Don’t be insolent to the boss,” Lefty said.

Another sideways glance from Ballinger at Lefty, and he picked me back up.

After shaking my head, I said, “You’re wrong by the way. Do I look smart enough to be an undercover cop?”

“There aren’t any smart cops, Spence, so you fit the bill perfectly. What did you hope to gain?”

“Let’s cut the charade. How the hell could anybody ever assume I’m anything but just another dumb schmuck on your payroll? Seriously? A cop? I’ve seen what cops make and couldn’t survive on a cop’s salary. It’s why there are corrupt cops. You know that as well as I do, you’ve got about half a dozen on the payroll.”

“How do you know that?”

“You don’t exactly make it a secret. I’m sure their bosses know who they’re consorting with. Besides, when I got dragged into the station after Wally botched the simple job you gave him, and the cops were called, they told me I’d be smart if I walked away. I’m hoping it wasn’t Wally who’s suggesting I’m a cop simply because they hauled me away for questioning.”

His look confirmed what I already knew. Wally was working for the cops, and there were rumours there was an undercover cop in Ballinger’s crew. Wally was spreading the blame to me to cover his backside after he nearly blew his cover. Wally was a rank amateur.

“You need to look closer to home.”

That interview with the police, about a week ago, was the first time I’d been back in over six months, the time it had taken to worm my way into the gang, albeit inside, but outside the part that mattered.

At first, they didn’t know who I was and treated me like a hard case, which was what I was portraying. Then the head of the task force discovered I was in the cells and came to see me. It hadn’t been like anything I’d expected.

He’d completely lost it.

Ballinger by comparison was a nice guy.

I told the head of the task force that keeping up regular contact with him was how they discovered the undercover cop who had preceded me, through a combination of surveillance and crooked cops on the payroll.

I said I wouldn’t get caught and yet here I was.

There was a commotion outside, a woman loudly arguing with someone outside the door, and then a loud crashing sound.

Tina.

Ballinger’s daughter; very loud, very brassy, very spoilt.

She came into the room and stopped a short distance from her father.

“What are you doing?”

“Dealing with Spence. He’s an undercover cop.”

She looked at me, then her father, and then she laughed so hard she nearly fell over. “Spence a cop? Are you serious or have you completely lost your mind?”

Lefty said, “Wally reckons he is.”

“Wall is dumb as dog shit, Lefty. He bungled the job so simply he’s the one you should shoot. Spence got caught up in his mess.”

Ballinger looked at her, then Lefty, then me.

“Where’s Wally?”

“You’re asking me where your henchmen are? He’s probably down the copshop spilling his guts and asking for witness protection. You’re doing just what he wants, wasting your time on the wrong people while he gets away.”

Ballinger glared at Lefty. “Cut Spence free, then find Wally and kill him. Now.”

To the rest of the men in the room, “Don’t come back till Wally’s dead.” He looked at Tina. “Yiu coming?”

“A word with Spence then I’m right behind you.”

We both watched him and the men leave. I flexed my arms and legs to get the circulation flowing, then stood, slightly unsteadily.

“Thanks.”

She shrugged. “It’s either you or Wally, or the both of you. i like you Spence so it better not be you. OK.”

“I’m too stupid to be playing both sides of the fence, Tina.”

She looked at me with a bemused expression. “One thing you ain’t, Spence, and that’s stupid. I don’t miss much Spence so don’t let me down.”

I shrugged. “Count on it.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

Days 67 and 68

Writing exercise – instead of using yourself as the protagonist, be someone else…

…

I think I had reached the point where I had so fully immersed myself in the role that I no longer knew who or what I had been before.

I had said it wouldn’t happen, and they said it would, and as time passed, they could see it, and I could not.

The gig was over.

The message came over the phone in their cryptic code, devised so that if anyone else saw it, it would look just like the title of a book, which it was.

“Where Eagles Dare”.

I had dared to fly higher than the mythical Icarus, but they said it was too close to the sun.

They were right.

Ballinger, the boss, was seated opposite me, gun in lap, giving me his most menacing look. He didn’t have to try too hard, the result of many beatings when he was a boy had given his face the look of a world-weary boxer who had to retire early.

Ever since I first met him, he had always been a man of short patience.

“I really am disappointed, Spence. Really disappointed.”

He glanced sideways at one of his henchmen, an equally scary gorilla called Lefty. He had another name but I couldn’t pronounce it. Neither could anyone else.

Lefty said, as was expected of him, “Really disappointed.”

I was not sure if it was to emphasise Ballinger’s disappointment, or that he could parrot words on command like a dutiful henchman.

I would ask why, but I knew. There had been a ten-minute diatribe about how another of his henchmen, Wally, had discovered I was an undercover cop. He didn’t say how he came upon this interesting discovery.

“I was disappointed you didn’t promote me a month back, but I didn’t tie you up and express disappointment.”

Lefty slapped me so hard it knocked me sideways to the floor.

It hurt.

“Don’t be insolent to the boss,” Lefty said.

Another sideways glance from Ballinger at Lefty, and he picked me back up.

After shaking my head, I said, “You’re wrong by the way. Do I look smart enough to be an undercover cop?”

“There aren’t any smart cops, Spence, so you fit the bill perfectly. What did you hope to gain?”

“Let’s cut the charade. How the hell could anybody ever assume I’m anything but just another dumb schmuck on your payroll? Seriously? A cop? I’ve seen what cops make and couldn’t survive on a cop’s salary. It’s why there are corrupt cops. You know that as well as I do, you’ve got about half a dozen on the payroll.”

“How do you know that?”

“You don’t exactly make it a secret. I’m sure their bosses know who they’re consorting with. Besides, when I got dragged into the station after Wally botched the simple job you gave him, and the cops were called, they told me I’d be smart if I walked away. I’m hoping it wasn’t Wally who’s suggesting I’m a cop simply because they hauled me away for questioning.”

His look confirmed what I already knew. Wally was working for the cops, and there were rumours there was an undercover cop in Ballinger’s crew. Wally was spreading the blame to me to cover his backside after he nearly blew his cover. Wally was a rank amateur.

“You need to look closer to home.”

That interview with the police, about a week ago, was the first time I’d been back in over six months, the time it had taken to worm my way into the gang, albeit inside, but outside the part that mattered.

At first, they didn’t know who I was and treated me like a hard case, which was what I was portraying. Then the head of the task force discovered I was in the cells and came to see me. It hadn’t been like anything I’d expected.

He’d completely lost it.

Ballinger by comparison was a nice guy.

I told the head of the task force that keeping up regular contact with him was how they discovered the undercover cop who had preceded me, through a combination of surveillance and crooked cops on the payroll.

I said I wouldn’t get caught and yet here I was.

There was a commotion outside, a woman loudly arguing with someone outside the door, and then a loud crashing sound.

Tina.

Ballinger’s daughter; very loud, very brassy, very spoilt.

She came into the room and stopped a short distance from her father.

“What are you doing?”

“Dealing with Spence. He’s an undercover cop.”

She looked at me, then her father, and then she laughed so hard she nearly fell over. “Spence a cop? Are you serious or have you completely lost your mind?”

Lefty said, “Wally reckons he is.”

“Wall is dumb as dog shit, Lefty. He bungled the job so simply he’s the one you should shoot. Spence got caught up in his mess.”

Ballinger looked at her, then Lefty, then me.

“Where’s Wally?”

“You’re asking me where your henchmen are? He’s probably down the copshop spilling his guts and asking for witness protection. You’re doing just what he wants, wasting your time on the wrong people while he gets away.”

Ballinger glared at Lefty. “Cut Spence free, then find Wally and kill him. Now.”

To the rest of the men in the room, “Don’t come back till Wally’s dead.” He looked at Tina. “Yiu coming?”

“A word with Spence then I’m right behind you.”

We both watched him and the men leave. I flexed my arms and legs to get the circulation flowing, then stood, slightly unsteadily.

“Thanks.”

She shrugged. “It’s either you or Wally, or the both of you. i like you Spence so it better not be you. OK.”

“I’m too stupid to be playing both sides of the fence, Tina.”

She looked at me with a bemused expression. “One thing you ain’t, Spence, and that’s stupid. I don’t miss much Spence so don’t let me down.”

I shrugged. “Count on it.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

Back to my book again

….

What we need at the beginning is some light among all of the dark.  Being in a country whose human rights record is not exemplary and being a foreign journalist who they might consider biased coming from other countries who pretend they don’t have a problem, and trying not to write about it, provides enough of a contrast when our protagonist runs into what we might call a ray of sunshine.

Of course, being single-minded on the job, and not in the business of coming across sassy women, when he does, not necessarily by accident, it proves a little relief. 

He does not believe in coincidence.

Then there’s the catacombs.  Yes, this city has a vast network of underground caves and tunnels that ruin from the middle of the city to the shoreline, and much is made of the tourist aspects of the old smuggler trade, most in people a long time ago, and the fact the port was once a home to many lesser-known pirates.

Just to add a little colour to the location, and another distraction for our protagonist.

Time to add another layer to the story and introduce a new character.

Our protagonist is used to working alone, especially after the last time when his partner was killed in what was a botched mission. 

His boss goes looking for the perfect person for the job – in a high-security prison for women.  He figures she will do almost anything to get out, and of course, he’s never wrong.  Yes, we’re going to have one of those bosses.

And this girl, she’s more dangerous than a rattlesnake.

Back to my book again

….

What we need at the beginning is some light among all of the dark.  Being in a country whose human rights record is not exemplary and being a foreign journalist who they might consider biased coming from other countries who pretend they don’t have a problem, and trying not to write about it, provides enough of a contrast when our protagonist runs into what we might call a ray of sunshine.

Of course, being single-minded on the job, and not in the business of coming across sassy women, when he does, not necessarily by accident, it proves a little relief. 

He does not believe in coincidence.

Then there’s the catacombs.  Yes, this city has a vast network of underground caves and tunnels that ruin from the middle of the city to the shoreline, and much is made of the tourist aspects of the old smuggler trade, most in people a long time ago, and the fact the port was once a home to many lesser-known pirates.

Just to add a little colour to the location, and another distraction for our protagonist.

Time to add another layer to the story and introduce a new character.

Our protagonist is used to working alone, especially after the last time when his partner was killed in what was a botched mission. 

His boss goes looking for the perfect person for the job – in a high-security prison for women.  He figures she will do almost anything to get out, and of course, he’s never wrong.  Yes, we’re going to have one of those bosses.

And this girl, she’s more dangerous than a rattlesnake.

Day 66

Brevity, without losing meaning or context

…

We’re back to our old friend, writing concisely, and making the point in as few words as possible. Most of Alistair MacLean’s earlier books were just that, an economy of words that were a joy to read.

And, believe me, I have aspired to be like him, and most of the time failed.

Writing in such a way takes practice, but who has the time to practise when all you want to do is get words on paper?

But there is more than one way to set a scene or describe a person, for instance,

It was a dark and stormy night

It assumes that we all know what a dark and story night is, but then there’s that problem that everyone has their own definition of what a dark and stormy night is to them. And, of course, we have to refrain from using idioms and allegories.

So…

Fred woke to the sound of rain pattering on the lush foilage outside his window. He had left it slightly ajar to get the last whisps of the late evening breeze, and the cooling air when the storm finally arrived. A flask of lightning lit the room for a brief moment, enough time to see the curtains push back before a long rumble of thunder filled the air. Darkness returned, the sound of the rain soothing, Fred closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

While it may be a bit wordy, it paints a picture in our minds, more so if we have had the experience, and can leave us wondering if something good or something awful is about to happen.

The last word: don’t sacrifice words for the sake of sacrificing words.

Day 66

Brevity, without losing meaning or context

…

We’re back to our old friend, writing concisely, and making the point in as few words as possible. Most of Alistair MacLean’s earlier books were just that, an economy of words that were a joy to read.

And, believe me, I have aspired to be like him, and most of the time failed.

Writing in such a way takes practice, but who has the time to practise when all you want to do is get words on paper?

But there is more than one way to set a scene or describe a person, for instance,

It was a dark and stormy night

It assumes that we all know what a dark and story night is, but then there’s that problem that everyone has their own definition of what a dark and stormy night is to them. And, of course, we have to refrain from using idioms and allegories.

So…

Fred woke to the sound of rain pattering on the lush foilage outside his window. He had left it slightly ajar to get the last whisps of the late evening breeze, and the cooling air when the storm finally arrived. A flask of lightning lit the room for a brief moment, enough time to see the curtains push back before a long rumble of thunder filled the air. Darkness returned, the sound of the rain soothing, Fred closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

While it may be a bit wordy, it paints a picture in our minds, more so if we have had the experience, and can leave us wondering if something good or something awful is about to happen.

The last word: don’t sacrifice words for the sake of sacrificing words.

Day 65

Writing well

…

I guess this means don’t write badly, but whether your writing is bad or not subjective.

But there is such a thing as bad writing. There are rules, and as long as you try not to break any, or more than a few, and then everything’s OK.

Of course, there’s always the fallback, sending the manuscript to an editor and paying for them to iron out all the spelling, grammatical and other errors. It will cost you but it is worth it.

The last thing you want to do is offend the reader charged with deciding whether the publishing house will publish your novel or not.

Then there’s that other problem, especially if you do not have a comprehensive time scale, and extensive character definitions, such as family trees with dates that make sense, and continuity.

I am guilty of that, starting a character with one name and ending with another, forgetting the names of other characters, getting plot points out of order, having things happen before they’re supposed to, and even worse, weaving an actual event into the story and get it wrong.

Even very expensive Hollywood productions sometimes get things wrong, and the research on what’s available, like a 1920s Rolls Royce Phantom, a particular watch, or a certain item of clothing.

There’s no substitute for meticulous research.

Day 65

Writing well

…

I guess this means don’t write badly, but whether your writing is bad or not subjective.

But there is such a thing as bad writing. There are rules, and as long as you try not to break any, or more than a few, and then everything’s OK.

Of course, there’s always the fallback, sending the manuscript to an editor and paying for them to iron out all the spelling, grammatical and other errors. It will cost you but it is worth it.

The last thing you want to do is offend the reader charged with deciding whether the publishing house will publish your novel or not.

Then there’s that other problem, especially if you do not have a comprehensive time scale, and extensive character definitions, such as family trees with dates that make sense, and continuity.

I am guilty of that, starting a character with one name and ending with another, forgetting the names of other characters, getting plot points out of order, having things happen before they’re supposed to, and even worse, weaving an actual event into the story and get it wrong.

Even very expensive Hollywood productions sometimes get things wrong, and the research on what’s available, like a 1920s Rolls Royce Phantom, a particular watch, or a certain item of clothing.

There’s no substitute for meticulous research.

Day 64

Writers must read, or perhaps it should be, writers should read.

Why?

Well, it is said that you cannot become a quarterback if you have not seen what a quarterback does during a game of gridiron.

And whilst a writer can be good at writing, it helps to have read the sort of books that you intend to write to get some idea of what publishers are looking for.

Certainly, if you are writing nonfiction, there’s definitely going to be a great deal of reading in store.

I actually have a library of books, about three thousand of them, not all of the genre that I choose to write, but certainly, a good cross-section to lay the groundwork of the structure of the stories and how they will play out.

There is a formula behind writing a Mills and Boon romance book.

Of course, I’ve tried to write one, but my usual tendency to drift into thriller land gets me in the end, and I have a romance for half the book, and then all the thriller trimmings to bring it home.

I also have a penchant for writing spy stories, and my shelves are filled with the usual suspects, Charles Cummins, John LeCarre, and Led Deighton just to name a few. I particularly like those of Len Deighton.

And everyone can see the influence James Patterson and Clive Cussler have had on my writing. If only I was half as good as they are…