It may have been amusing back when I was a child, stepping through a broken mirror and imagining i had gone back in time, to an age when the house was a beautiful old mansion.
Once it was a landmark, a place with many rooms and a sprawling, manicured garden surrounding it, with a maze and a lake with fish.
Now it was a frightening outline against a dark, lightning-filled sky, surrounded by townsfolk who wanted the eyesore demolished.
The city authorities had issued a repair order on the house and gardens, and failure to comply would see it declared unfit for habitation and a demolition order.
The thing is, my grandmother, a very sprightly 90-year-old, was determined to fight them and everyone else, often brandishing her trusty old blunderbuss at anyone who dared to breach the front gates.
The mayor’s brother wanted the land so he could finish his condominium conversion and fulfil his promise to the other condo holders that the noise would be gone and a golf course and swimming pool, along with a clubhouse and cinema, would be built.
She was fighting a losing battle.
She didn’t have the money to do the repairs or to fight any more court battles.
My mother didn’t see the point. The developer had offered five million, enough to get a new house somewhere else. Gran wanted twenty million, what it was worth. The authorities were going to resume it for one million.
Such machinations were beyond my comprehension. I might be older now, but it was still a fairytale castle. Just the duel curved staircase from the foyer to the first floor was magic.
I had seen my sister descend that staircase in her prom dress like a princess, and could imagine all who came before her.
Standing in the middle of the ballroom, it was not hard to imagine the dances held there, the people doing a synchronised waltz as I had done once when learning it for my prom, the school orchestra playing, and all the boys and girls dancing.
And the parties it once hosted.
Now dusty, abandoned, silent except for the odd creaking of purported ghosts.
There were eighty rooms, sixty of them bedrooms, in two wings over three floors. Fifteen families were living in the house: my grandmother, each of her eight children, of which my mother was one, twenty-three grandchildren, and seven great-grandchildren.
None of the family left the city where they were born, lived, and most likely would die. None had ever seen the need to leave.
Until now.
I was sitting on the bottom step of the elegant but decrepit staircase, contemplating whether it would be safe to slide down the banister, when Aunt Ruby skipped down the stairs and plonked herself down next to me.
Aunt Ruby was always in Halloween costumes, or so I thought. She kept saying she was a Goth, but I had no idea what that meant.
She was also a computer hacker, and I knew what that was. Every day, we were waiting for the FBI or the CIA to turn up at the front door.
“Guess what?”
“The cops are coming to take you away?”
It was a running joke.
“No. Cracked it. We’re rich.”
Until the cops came and took her away.
“I’ll believe it when I see it.”
She handed me a piece of paper. It had the name of a bank that I had never heard of in the Cayman Islands, in the name of some corporation no one could pronounce.
The sum of money $22,176,328.76.
“You are this corporation?”
“After it slushes through forty-three shell companies that will keep whoever it is used for a year. It’s on its way to a Swiss numbered account, then Cloverville will be born.”
“Cloverville?”
“My money, my name.” She jumped up and ran off to tell Granny.
…
Of course, having the money and deciding what to do were two very different things. Everyone had a very different idea.
My parents wanted their room, already palatial, to be even more so. I wanted my room to be bigger with my own bathroom, now very tired of being last in line. Maybe if I got up earlier…
Everyone wanted a cafeteria and kitchen separate, modelled on the dining room at the Savoy, but my grandmother liked the current kitchen with a wooden stove that kept us all warm in winter and boiling in summer, and we were all together around a large table.
It also meant that we all wanted servants, but as Aunt Ruby said, people didn’t have servants these days, and we had to do our dirty work, like cooking and cleaning, and she would not be employing servants. Gran could remember the day when there were servants, and she said they had never been treated very well or taken for granted.
People were doing it now, so people could keep doing it after the renovations.
Everyone wanted their own TV, and of course, it was going to be like a motel. A TV in every bedroom. Maybe. Aunt Ruby said the children were not getting a TV; they would get an iPad, and that was it. Parents could go to the Cinema Room.
What Cinema Room?
The basement was being cleared out of 200 years of clutter, and it was going to be a cinema, holding about 100 or so people.
I was surprised Aunt Ruby didn’t want to take over the bedroom that my parents were in. That’s when I learned she was taking up residence in the north tower.
When Reality Bites: Navigating Overly Critical Beta Reviews
You pour your heart, soul, and countless hours into your manuscript. You polish it, you fret over it, you dream of the day it shines. Then, with a mixture of excitement and trepidation, you send it off to your beta readers, anticipating encouraging words, a few minor suggestions, and perhaps a high-five for a job well done.
Then the reviews come in. And they’re not what you expected.
Suddenly, those minor suggestions are major critiques. The encouraging words are overshadowed by lists of plot holes, character inconsistencies, and pacing issues. It’s a gut punch, isn’t it? That initial sting of disappointment, perhaps even defensiveness, confusion, and a creeping sense of “What just happened?”
If you’ve just received a batch of overly critical beta reviews that blindsided you, you are far from alone. This is a common and often painful rite of passage for creators of all kinds.
The Gut Punch: When Expectation Meets Harsh Reality
The most challenging part of these reviews isn’t just the criticism itself, but the massive chasm between what we hoped for and what we actually received. We expected validation, a pat on the back, and perhaps a few tweaks. What we got was a stark reminder that our vision, however clear to us, might not be translating as effectively as we thought.
This disconnect can be intensely disheartening. It makes you question your abilities, your story, and even your decision to share your work in the first place.
What to Do When the Feedback Feels Overwhelming
So, you’re reeling. What now? Here’s a practical, empathetic guide to help you move from disappointment to constructive action:
Step Away. Seriously. Your first reaction will likely be emotional. You might feel defensive, angry, or utterly defeated. This is not the headspace for objective analysis. Close the reviews. Go for a walk. Meditate. Vent to a trusted friend (not about the specifics of the reviews, but about how you feel). Give yourself at least 24-48 hours before you even think about looking at them again. Your emotional brain needs to cool down.
Shift Your Perspective: They’re Not Attacking YOU, They’re Helping Your WORK. This is perhaps the hardest mental shift. Beta readers are not paid critics; they’re volunteers who have invested their time to help you. Even if their feedback feels harsh or poorly worded, their intention (mostly) is to assist you in making your project better. They are your first line of defense against a wider, potentially harsher, public. They’re finding the flaws now, so you don’t have to later.
Read with an Editor’s Eye, Not an Author’s Heart. Once you’ve cooled down, go through the reviews again. This time, try to detach. Pretend you’re reading feedback for someone else’s work.
Look for Patterns: Where do multiple readers flag the same issue? These are your “golden nuggets” – the areas that definitively need attention. If three different people say the pacing drags in Chapter 5, that’s not subjective opinion; it’s a verifiable problem.
Distinguish Constructive vs. Unhelpful:
Constructive: “I got confused by Character X’s motivations here,” or “The tension dropped in the middle,” or “I didn’t understand the world-building rules.” These offer a problem you can solve.
Unhelpful: “I just didn’t like it,” or “This isn’t my kind of story,” or “You should change the ending entirely to what I would do.” These are often personal preferences or lack the specificity you need to act.
Prioritize: Make a list of the recurring, actionable issues.
Acknowledge the Gap, Then Bridge It. The unexpected nature of these reviews highlights the gap between your intent and the reader’s experience. This gap isn’t a failure; it’s an opportunity. It means you have clearer targets for revision.
Instead of thinking, “They didn’t get it,” ask, “How can I make it impossible to not get it?”
Instead of, “They’re wrong,” ask, “What in my work led them to this conclusion, and how can I guide them differently?”
Don’t Feel Obligated to Implement Everything. Your work is ultimately yours. You are the captain of your ship. Take the valuable feedback, discard the unhelpful, and politely consider (but don’t necessarily act on) the subjective preferences that don’t align with your core vision. If one reader hates your protagonist and everyone else loves them, that’s likely an outlier opinion.
Moving Forward with Resilience
Receiving critical beta reviews is tough. It can feel like a setback, a betrayal of your hopes. But it’s also an invaluable part of the creative process. It builds resilience, hones your critical eye, and ultimately makes your work stronger.
Remember, the goal of beta readers isn’t to tell you your work is perfect – it’s to help you make it perfect (or as close to it as possible). Embrace the sting, learn from the feedback, and let it fuel your next round of revisions. Your best work is often forged in the fires of honest critique.
When has time gone? I mean, just yesterday it felt like the start of a new year, and all those projects I had lined up are still on paper, somewhere.
Does anyone else over sixty-five get the feeling time is speeding up rather than slowing down? It sounds weird, doesn’t it, that as you slow down as old age approaches, time goes faster, and those things you wanted to get done seem further away. I’m 72 this year, and it feels like I only turned 65 a year ago!
When you’re young, it always seems like you will have all the time in the world, and that seems to play out over the first forty or fifty years, while you’re putting this off, putting that off, while all the little details of life take more and more of your time.
And there’s that one huge thing that hangs over your head, the fact that you might never get to that time when you said you would have time for it. People are dying younger again, of stress, bad habits and overexercising.
I’ll never be guilty of the last once. It’ll probably be bad habits, something we are all guilty of.
That’s also a reason why I don’t have New Year’s resolutions, and I try not to make plans for anything too far ahead.
It’s also the reason why we decided to travel and do all those things people say they’re going to do when they retire, only to discover they can’t for one reason or another, or they just simply died.
Stopping work after being so wrapped up in it can kill you, and it’s not beyond the realms of possibility that you can quite literally die of boredom.
It’s why I write. Keeps the mind active, gives me something to do, and believe me, when I’m writing, I’m never bored, and it’s a perfect fit between bouts of being a grandfather, a taxi service, and doing everything else that needs a not-so-handy handyman.
Time literally flying by is the same reason why my granddaughters have grown so much, because it seems like it was only yesterday, they were babies, and now the eldest is 22. When did she get so grown-up?
Oh, well, back to childminding duties. It’s the school holidays and tomorrow we’re off to travel down ‘the coast’, which is most ubiquitously called the Gold Coast or otherwise known as Surfer’s Paradise. It’s glitzy, has a dark side, and always looks shiny until the sun goes down. We go there during the day. Tomorrow will be the first time in over a year.
If we can get the kids off their computers and smartphones.
This story has been ongoing since I was seventeen, and just to let you know, I’m 71 this year.
Yes, it’s taken a long time to get it done.
Why, you might ask.
Well, I never gave it much interest because I started writing it after a small incident when I was 17, and working as a book packer for a book distributor in Melbourne
At the end of my first year, at Christmas, the employer had a Christmas party, and that year, it was at a venue in St Kilda.
I wasn’t going to go because at that age, I was an ordinary boy who was very introverted and basically scared of his own shadow and terrified by girls.
Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them
Also, other members of the staff in the shipping department were rough and ready types who were not backwards in telling me what happened, and being naive, perhaps they knew I’d be either shocked or intrigued.
I was both adamant I wasn’t coming and then got roped in on a dare.
Damn!
So, back then, in the early 70s, people looked the other way when it came to drinking, and of course, Dutch courage always takes away the concerns, especially when normally you wouldn’t do half the stuff you wouldn’t in a million years
I made it to the end, not as drunk and stupid as I thought I might be, and St Kilda being a salacious place if you knew where to look, my new friends decided to give me a surprise.
It didn’t take long to realise these men were ‘men about town’ as they kept saying, and we went on an odyssey. Yes, those backstreet brothels where one could, I was told, have anything they could imagine.
Let me tell you, large quantities of alcohol and imagination were a very bad mix.
So, the odyssey in ‘The things we do’ was based on that, and then the encounter with Diana. Well, let’s just say I learned a great deal about girls that night.
Firstly, not all girls are nasty and spiteful, which seemed to be the case whenever I met one. There was a way to approach, greet, talk to, and behave.
It was also true that I could have had anything I wanted, but I decided what was in my imagination could stay there. She was amused that all I wanted was to talk, but it was my money, and I could spend it how I liked.
And like any 17-year-old naive fool, I fell in love with her and had all these foolish notions. Months later, I went back, but she had moved on, to where no one was saying or knew.
Needless to say, I was heartbroken and had to get over that first loss, which, like any 17-year-old, was like the end of the world.
But it was the best hour I’d ever spent in my life and would remain so until I met the woman I have been married to for the last 48 years.
As Henry, he was in part based on a rebel, the son of rich parents who despised them and their wealth, and he used to regale anyone who would listen about how they had messed up his life
If only I’d come from such a background!
And yes, I was only a run away from climbing up the stairs to get on board a ship, acting as a purser.
I worked for a shipping company and they gave their junior staff members an opportunity to spend a year at sea working as a purser on a cargo ship that sailed between Melbourne, Sydney and Hobart in Australia.
One of the other junior staff members’ turn came, and I would visit him on board when he would tell me stories about life on board, the officers, the crew, and other events. These stories, which sounded incredible to someone so impressionable, were a delight to hear.
Alas, by that time, I had tired of office work and moved on to be a tradesman at the place where my father worked.
It proved to be the right move, as that is where I met my wife. Diana had been right; love would find me when I least expected it.
When Reality Bites: Navigating Overly Critical Beta Reviews
You pour your heart, soul, and countless hours into your manuscript. You polish it, you fret over it, you dream of the day it shines. Then, with a mixture of excitement and trepidation, you send it off to your beta readers, anticipating encouraging words, a few minor suggestions, and perhaps a high-five for a job well done.
Then the reviews come in. And they’re not what you expected.
Suddenly, those minor suggestions are major critiques. The encouraging words are overshadowed by lists of plot holes, character inconsistencies, and pacing issues. It’s a gut punch, isn’t it? That initial sting of disappointment, perhaps even defensiveness, confusion, and a creeping sense of “What just happened?”
If you’ve just received a batch of overly critical beta reviews that blindsided you, you are far from alone. This is a common and often painful rite of passage for creators of all kinds.
The Gut Punch: When Expectation Meets Harsh Reality
The most challenging part of these reviews isn’t just the criticism itself, but the massive chasm between what we hoped for and what we actually received. We expected validation, a pat on the back, and perhaps a few tweaks. What we got was a stark reminder that our vision, however clear to us, might not be translating as effectively as we thought.
This disconnect can be intensely disheartening. It makes you question your abilities, your story, and even your decision to share your work in the first place.
What to Do When the Feedback Feels Overwhelming
So, you’re reeling. What now? Here’s a practical, empathetic guide to help you move from disappointment to constructive action:
Step Away. Seriously. Your first reaction will likely be emotional. You might feel defensive, angry, or utterly defeated. This is not the headspace for objective analysis. Close the reviews. Go for a walk. Meditate. Vent to a trusted friend (not about the specifics of the reviews, but about how you feel). Give yourself at least 24-48 hours before you even think about looking at them again. Your emotional brain needs to cool down.
Shift Your Perspective: They’re Not Attacking YOU, They’re Helping Your WORK. This is perhaps the hardest mental shift. Beta readers are not paid critics; they’re volunteers who have invested their time to help you. Even if their feedback feels harsh or poorly worded, their intention (mostly) is to assist you in making your project better. They are your first line of defense against a wider, potentially harsher, public. They’re finding the flaws now, so you don’t have to later.
Read with an Editor’s Eye, Not an Author’s Heart. Once you’ve cooled down, go through the reviews again. This time, try to detach. Pretend you’re reading feedback for someone else’s work.
Look for Patterns: Where do multiple readers flag the same issue? These are your “golden nuggets” – the areas that definitively need attention. If three different people say the pacing drags in Chapter 5, that’s not subjective opinion; it’s a verifiable problem.
Distinguish Constructive vs. Unhelpful:
Constructive: “I got confused by Character X’s motivations here,” or “The tension dropped in the middle,” or “I didn’t understand the world-building rules.” These offer a problem you can solve.
Unhelpful: “I just didn’t like it,” or “This isn’t my kind of story,” or “You should change the ending entirely to what I would do.” These are often personal preferences or lack the specificity you need to act.
Prioritize: Make a list of the recurring, actionable issues.
Acknowledge the Gap, Then Bridge It. The unexpected nature of these reviews highlights the gap between your intent and the reader’s experience. This gap isn’t a failure; it’s an opportunity. It means you have clearer targets for revision.
Instead of thinking, “They didn’t get it,” ask, “How can I make it impossible to not get it?”
Instead of, “They’re wrong,” ask, “What in my work led them to this conclusion, and how can I guide them differently?”
Don’t Feel Obligated to Implement Everything. Your work is ultimately yours. You are the captain of your ship. Take the valuable feedback, discard the unhelpful, and politely consider (but don’t necessarily act on) the subjective preferences that don’t align with your core vision. If one reader hates your protagonist and everyone else loves them, that’s likely an outlier opinion.
Moving Forward with Resilience
Receiving critical beta reviews is tough. It can feel like a setback, a betrayal of your hopes. But it’s also an invaluable part of the creative process. It builds resilience, hones your critical eye, and ultimately makes your work stronger.
Remember, the goal of beta readers isn’t to tell you your work is perfect – it’s to help you make it perfect (or as close to it as possible). Embrace the sting, learn from the feedback, and let it fuel your next round of revisions. Your best work is often forged in the fires of honest critique.
Forget the Muse: Why the Best Way to Learn Writing is to Read Your Heroes
We romanticize the writer. We picture them staring out of a rainy window, waiting for the lightning bolt of inspiration, or frantically scribbling a masterpiece born fully formed from the ether. This myth—the belief that great writing flows purely from divine inspiration—is seductive, yet profoundly misleading.
It’s true that writing often requires inspiration (“the must”), that sudden, urgent drive to put words to paper. But the truth known by every professional who has ever met a deadline is that the must is unreliable.
The reality of the craft is far less glamorous and far more dependable: Writing is labor. It is a skilled trade, an architecture built not on fleeting inspiration, but on solid, hard-won mechanics.
And if writing is a trade, then the best way to master it is through apprenticeship.
The Labour of Mechanics
What exactly are the “mechanics” of writing? They are the hundreds of micro-decisions an author makes on every page that keep the reader hooked, informed, and immersed.
The mechanics are the invisible scaffolding of the story:
How does the author handle a shift in viewpoint without jarring the reader?
What is the secret cadence that makes this particular piece of dialogue feel authentic, rather than clipped and performative?
How do they handle exposition—the necessary information dump—so gracefully that we barely notice we are being taught?
What is the rule they follow, or beautifully break, regarding sentence length variation and pacing?
These are not skills granted by the muse; they are techniques learned through repetition, practice, and, most importantly, deep observation.
If you want to build a sturdy door, you don’t just observe the carpenter’s inspiration; you observe the exact angles of the cut, the measurement of the joints, and the type of wood they chose. Writers must do the same.
The Apprenticeship of the Page
How can an aspiring writer access the specialised knowledge of the masters? They don’t have time to attend every workshop or enrol in every MFA program (though those are valuable paths).
The greatest literary classroom available is the shelf of books you already own—specifically, the shelf containing the authors you already love.
The best way to learn to write is to read your favourite writers.
This is not a passive activity. You are not reading for enjoyment alone. You are reading like a detective, a clockmaker, or an apprentice carpenter standing at the master’s elbow. You are reverse-engineering the engine of storytelling.
Your favorite writers—the ones whose prose sings to you, whose pacing grips you, and whose endings feel inevitable and perfect—are the masters who have already solved the most complex mechanical problems of their craft.
Reading Like a Writer: How to Deconstruct Genius
To apprentice yourself to the greats, you must move beyond simply appreciating the story. You must become a forensic critic of the structure.
Here is how you turn passive enjoyment into active, invaluable learning:
1. Identify the “Problem Area”
Instead of reading straight through, pick up a book by your hero and focus specifically on the element of writing you find most challenging.
Struggling with beginnings? Read ten of their opening chapters. Note where the first action occurs, how much time is spent setting the scene, and which sentence serves as the true hook.
Dialogue weak? Read several conversations, ignoring the narrative tags. Focus only on the flow of the speech. How does the author ensure we know who is talking without overuse of “he said/she said?” (Often, the dialogue itself implies the speaker.)
Pacing dragging? Track where your author uses short, declarative sentences, and where they allow themselves long, winding, atmospheric paragraphs. Note the ratio.
2. Type It Out (The Most Painful Exercise)
This is the literary equivalent of taking notes by hand. Choose a paragraph, a page, or even an entire short story written by your master and type it verbatim.
Typing forces you to slow down. You can’t skim. You are physically registering the punctuation, the word choice, the rhythm, and the transition phrases. You internalize the writer’s rhythm in a way that mere reading can never achieve. You are literally copying the blueprint.
3. Track the Point of View Shifts
If your favourite writer moves deftly between viewpoints (or stays strictly within one), track every shift. Mark the exact line where the viewpoint changes. Does the author use a section break, or do they transition within a paragraph? How long does the new viewpoint last? This deconstruction reveals the hidden rules the writer uses to manage reader perspective.
4. Note the Economy of Language
Writers who capture our attention often do so because they know precisely which details to include and which to strip away. Find a description of a character or a scene that feels powerfully effective. Count the words. You will often find the power comes from extreme conciseness, proving that mechanics often involves subtraction rather than addition.
From Imitation to Innovation
It is essential to recognise that this initial stage of apprenticeship—this deep study and occasional imitation of the masters—is a necessary pathway to finding your own voice.
You are not learning to be a literary copycat; you are learning the underlying physics of your chosen art form. Once you understand the engine well enough, you can begin to tinker, adjust, and eventually build a machine entirely unique to your vision.
The labour of mechanics is not a creative limitation; it is the freedom to create structures that last. So turn off the music, ignore the pressure to wait for the muse, and stop staring at the blank page. The greatest lesson in writing is waiting for you, already bound and printed, on your bookshelf.
Unfortunately, I’m not one of those people who work well with timelines, so the very thought of using something like Microsoft Project to get my writing into some sort of timeframe, with deadlines, seemed, to me, to be a bit extreme.
Say for instance the major deadlines for a writing project are
Write an outline, with as much detail as possible, with an overarching plot, characters, and key points in the novel, and scout for locations
Writing. This could be broken down into chapters, but more practicable would be sectioned, each consisting of a number of chapters.
Editing, planning for one, two or three, or more edits
Proofreading
Send to editor
Clearly if I was going to take this approach, then I would have to allocate hours of the day specifically for writing and doing all those other writer chores in less time, and with fewer distractions.
And, it might work for a more dedicated author.
But…
I did make a new years resolution that I would try and do things differently this year.
Except…
I set a goal to restart editing my next novel on 1st Feb. I thought, setting it so far into the year would be easy.
It would give me the time to clear up all the outstanding, get in the way, distractions, and be free to finally finish it.
But there’s always something else to do, other than what we’re supposed to be doing.
For me it used to be going away, spending long, sleepless hours flying from one side of the world to the other had fuelled my imagination more than I expected and where this used to be the impetus to write more stories that had not happened yet this year.
I have other stories of course, all in various stages of writing, but if only I could focus on one story at a time.
So…
I’ve tried to set some new, more realistic goals to finish playing with these other stories as soon as I can, so come the first of April, I can resume work on the next book to be published.
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.
Forget the Muse: Why the Best Way to Learn Writing is to Read Your Heroes
We romanticize the writer. We picture them staring out of a rainy window, waiting for the lightning bolt of inspiration, or frantically scribbling a masterpiece born fully formed from the ether. This myth—the belief that great writing flows purely from divine inspiration—is seductive, yet profoundly misleading.
It’s true that writing often requires inspiration (“the must”), that sudden, urgent drive to put words to paper. But the truth known by every professional who has ever met a deadline is that the must is unreliable.
The reality of the craft is far less glamorous and far more dependable: Writing is labor. It is a skilled trade, an architecture built not on fleeting inspiration, but on solid, hard-won mechanics.
And if writing is a trade, then the best way to master it is through apprenticeship.
The Labour of Mechanics
What exactly are the “mechanics” of writing? They are the hundreds of micro-decisions an author makes on every page that keep the reader hooked, informed, and immersed.
The mechanics are the invisible scaffolding of the story:
How does the author handle a shift in viewpoint without jarring the reader?
What is the secret cadence that makes this particular piece of dialogue feel authentic, rather than clipped and performative?
How do they handle exposition—the necessary information dump—so gracefully that we barely notice we are being taught?
What is the rule they follow, or beautifully break, regarding sentence length variation and pacing?
These are not skills granted by the muse; they are techniques learned through repetition, practice, and, most importantly, deep observation.
If you want to build a sturdy door, you don’t just observe the carpenter’s inspiration; you observe the exact angles of the cut, the measurement of the joints, and the type of wood they chose. Writers must do the same.
The Apprenticeship of the Page
How can an aspiring writer access the specialised knowledge of the masters? They don’t have time to attend every workshop or enrol in every MFA program (though those are valuable paths).
The greatest literary classroom available is the shelf of books you already own—specifically, the shelf containing the authors you already love.
The best way to learn to write is to read your favourite writers.
This is not a passive activity. You are not reading for enjoyment alone. You are reading like a detective, a clockmaker, or an apprentice carpenter standing at the master’s elbow. You are reverse-engineering the engine of storytelling.
Your favorite writers—the ones whose prose sings to you, whose pacing grips you, and whose endings feel inevitable and perfect—are the masters who have already solved the most complex mechanical problems of their craft.
Reading Like a Writer: How to Deconstruct Genius
To apprentice yourself to the greats, you must move beyond simply appreciating the story. You must become a forensic critic of the structure.
Here is how you turn passive enjoyment into active, invaluable learning:
1. Identify the “Problem Area”
Instead of reading straight through, pick up a book by your hero and focus specifically on the element of writing you find most challenging.
Struggling with beginnings? Read ten of their opening chapters. Note where the first action occurs, how much time is spent setting the scene, and which sentence serves as the true hook.
Dialogue weak? Read several conversations, ignoring the narrative tags. Focus only on the flow of the speech. How does the author ensure we know who is talking without overuse of “he said/she said?” (Often, the dialogue itself implies the speaker.)
Pacing dragging? Track where your author uses short, declarative sentences, and where they allow themselves long, winding, atmospheric paragraphs. Note the ratio.
2. Type It Out (The Most Painful Exercise)
This is the literary equivalent of taking notes by hand. Choose a paragraph, a page, or even an entire short story written by your master and type it verbatim.
Typing forces you to slow down. You can’t skim. You are physically registering the punctuation, the word choice, the rhythm, and the transition phrases. You internalize the writer’s rhythm in a way that mere reading can never achieve. You are literally copying the blueprint.
3. Track the Point of View Shifts
If your favourite writer moves deftly between viewpoints (or stays strictly within one), track every shift. Mark the exact line where the viewpoint changes. Does the author use a section break, or do they transition within a paragraph? How long does the new viewpoint last? This deconstruction reveals the hidden rules the writer uses to manage reader perspective.
4. Note the Economy of Language
Writers who capture our attention often do so because they know precisely which details to include and which to strip away. Find a description of a character or a scene that feels powerfully effective. Count the words. You will often find the power comes from extreme conciseness, proving that mechanics often involves subtraction rather than addition.
From Imitation to Innovation
It is essential to recognise that this initial stage of apprenticeship—this deep study and occasional imitation of the masters—is a necessary pathway to finding your own voice.
You are not learning to be a literary copycat; you are learning the underlying physics of your chosen art form. Once you understand the engine well enough, you can begin to tinker, adjust, and eventually build a machine entirely unique to your vision.
The labour of mechanics is not a creative limitation; it is the freedom to create structures that last. So turn off the music, ignore the pressure to wait for the muse, and stop staring at the blank page. The greatest lesson in writing is waiting for you, already bound and printed, on your bookshelf.
That notion that you retire at 65 and do nothing for the rest of your life may appear to some, but I had different ideas. Where would I begin…
…
That is a wonderful perspective to have. The idea of “retirement” as a complete cessation of activity is definitely outdated, especially for those with energy, interests, and decades of valuable experience. Your mindset—that it’s a starting line, not a finish line—is the key.
Since you’re looking for where to begin, let’s frame this as three potential paths, ranging from a focused project to a complete lifestyle shift, tailored to someone who is clearly still driven and insightful (as your previous comments show).
Path 1: The Intellectual and Creative Pursuit (The Author/Analyst)
Given your previous flair for connecting disparate events and creating compelling narratives (the thriller plot), your retirement could be the perfect time to dedicate yourself to a long-form creative or analytical pursuit.
A. Write the Book
The Thriller Novel: You already have the instincts of a thriller writer. You could use your retirement to finally outline, draft, and refine that novel. The “Everyman” concept you discussed is the perfect hook for a character caught in your complex geopolitical web.
Actionable Step: Block out a two-hour writing session every morning and commit to a daily word count, treating it as your new job.
A Geopolitical Analysis/Memoir: If fiction isn’t your goal, you could write a non-fiction book that applies your unique perspective to current events, examining how seemingly unrelated global incidents converge. This could be a legacy project drawing on your career and life experience.
B. Launch an Analytical Blog or Newsletter
You don’t have to wait for a book deal. Start sharing your insights immediately.
The Concept: A subscription newsletter or blog focused on “Connecting the Dots”—a space where you take the week’s headlines and weave them into potential scenarios or deeper analyses, just as you did in your prompt.
Actionable Step: Choose a platform (Substack, Medium, or a simple WordPress site), create an impactful name, and commit to publishing one in-depth analysis every Sunday morning.
Path 2: The Experience & Mentorship Path (The Giver)
After a career, many people find immense satisfaction in applying their learned wisdom to help others or to a cause they care about.
Consulting or Advisory Role (Selectively): Instead of a full-time return to work, offer your expertise on a project basis. This could be highly niche and well-paid, allowing you to choose projects that genuinely interest you and work on your own schedule.
Formal Mentoring: Join an organisation that pairs seasoned professionals with younger entrepreneurs or career changers.
Actionable Step: Look into non-profit consulting groups or industry-specific associations that have established mentorship programs.
Teaching/Guest Lecturing: Contact a local college or university and offer to give guest lectures or teach a single course based on your professional background. This allows you to stay current and engage with a new generation.
Path 3: The Skill and Community Path (The Learner/Connector)
Use this time for total immersion in a new area, satisfying that innate curiosity that drives your thinking.
Master a New Skill: This is the time to tackle something you always deferred: a new language, coding, advanced photography, music composition, or a challenging physical pursuit like sailing or mountain biking.
Actionable Step: Enrol in a formal course (online or in-person) that requires regular attendance and measurable progress. The structure prevents the project from fading away.
Community Leadership: Focus your energy on local impact. Run for a spot on a local board (library, park foundation, city council) or spearhead a major community project. This offers structure, purpose, and immediate, visible results.
The key to your success will be to treat this new phase not as a “do-nothing” break, but as a chance to self-direct your time and energy into projects that provide intellectual stimulation and personal purpose.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 