Day 62 – Writing exercise

The first time he understood what hate felt like

…

Things don’t fall apart in a proverbial ball of fire, it’s the result of a single, almost invisible flame that takes time to take hold.

You see the smoke, a small tendril against a background that makes it almost invisible, and because you cannot definitively see it, it’s left to fester, then take hold.

And before you realise what’s happening, a gust of wind fans the embers and suddenly you have a forest fire.

It was an analogy my father told all of us when we were old enough to understand.

There were five of us: the eldest son, Harold, then me, Joseph, then Elizabeth, Mary, and Charles, the youngest.  We were members of a royal family, and one of five kingdoms, ours being Zarevia.

Our father was the King, a man who understood what it meant to be the ruler of a kingdom where the people looked for strength and fairness.  He was universally loved by everyone.  His Queen, our mother, was the epitome of kindness and light, and had taught us that what we had was not a divine right or privilege to be abused, but to be used for the betterment of our country and people.

The king understood that and led by example every day.  We, as children and successors, were allowed to practise every day.

Then, as time does to everyone, the current ruler ages and comes to the end of his reign, and a successor steps up and continues the work seamlessly.

Harold was the eldest son; he had spent his whole life preparing to continue as if nothing had changed.  Everything was as it should be.

Except…

One of the more interesting aspects of being a royal was the fact that the children’s lives were managed as tightly as the kingdom’s finances.  We had little say in our choice of partner, where the eldest son needed a wife fit to be queen, and the rest, whatever was left.

That might sound cruel, and to a certain extent it was, but it was tradition, and it had worked well for many centuries. 

Harold was matched with a princess from a distant kingdom, the eldest daughter, who was strong and forthright, which was more than what some would say about the future king.  It was a choice made solely to strengthen his position.

I was matched with what some might call an equivalent level princess, a rather condescending term I thought, but my station in the family dictated like-for-like, second son, second Princess.

But here’s the thing, I had known her since both of us were born, and I had adored her for the same amount of time.  She was charming, affable, approachable and adorable.  The people loved her, and mercifully, I wrapped myself in her bubble.

The others were equally fortunate in their matches, and it was only a matter of time before they would be married and living in their husbands’ kingdoms.

Everything was as it should be until…

…

Screams filled the castle when there should be peace and tranquillity.

The succession plan had been invoked, and over the next six months, my eldest brother would slowly step into the shoes of the monarch.

The screams put paid to that timeline.

I knew exactly what they meant.

The king had died suddenly, an outcome that had been predicted and prepared for.  That is to say, the Palace staff were prepared.  Harold was not.

Yet within an hour, Harold had been sworn in as the new King, and the first very small, almost invisible flame was lit. 

Eloise had leapt out of bed and gone straight to the Queen, thinking only of her pain at the premature loss of her husband and lifelong friend.  Theirs had been a match with a risky start, and love had developed over time.

Morgana, now Queen, decided that death was not on her agenda today, and pulled the covers over her and hoped it would all go away.

I just sat in the room with the man who was once my father, my mentor, and basically my whole life.  Even in death, he looked peaceful and content as if he knew he had done a good job.

Eloise had soothed my mother’s raw emotions and came with her to join me, and we sat on the lounge and quietly contemplated what this meant for each of us.

After an hour, Morgana stepped into the room, and the whole atmosphere changed.  There was not one ounce of sympathy in her condolences to my mother.  Then, that chore done, she looked around the room, wrinkling her nose.

“We are definitely going to have to do something about the gloomy room.  Not fit for a king, not at all.”

She was already taking over.  It was a side of her that none of us had seen, but rumours had filtered back from her kingdom, the princess they were glad to offload on someone else. 

Her own people hated her.

Until now I could not understand why.

Now I did.

My mother was too immersed in her grief to notice.

…

Harold was weak.  His father knew that and had worked hard on turning him into the man he needed to be.  But he hadn’t reckoned on the Morgana factor.

It was what I called it, and basically worked like this.  Harold made a decision, and if she liked it, it stayed; if she did not, it was not adopted.  Within a week, it was clear who was running the country.

Certainly not our family.

Harold’s saving grace was that she could not kill him and take over as monarch.  Ours was a kingdom that did not seat Queens, even if the line of succession was all female.

There had to be a king.  There was no other alternative.  Morgana may have thought something else, which is why she asked me about succession rules.  There was no reason for her to kill him; she needed him on the throne for her to be Queen.

Harold, of course, because of his training and father’s influence, was about maintaining the status quo.  In fact in his first speech to his people after the investiture, he said quite unequivocally there would be no changes and that life in the kingdom would continue as it had for hundreds of years.

I was proud to stand beside him that day, because I knew he had a kind heart.

But all of that changed subtly at first, until it was impossible to ignore it.  Morgana decided to assert herself.

The small flame and the embers flared.

I was in the King’s office, where he was sitting behind the large desk, completely clear of anything by the mace that proclaimed his authority.

Morgana was pacing impatiently.

When I walked in, she said, “You’re late.  When your king requests your presence, you will be here in time.”

“We’re family.  Time is irrelevant.”

“Not any more.  The king has finalised the reorganisation plan, and your role has been changed from Head of the King’s Guard to Parks and Gardens.  It also requires you to relinquish your current chambers and relocate to the east wing.  Effective immediately.”

I looked at Harold.  “You know the role of heading the King’s Guard is traditionally given to the second son.”

“That was when you were the son of the King.  You’re now my brother, and Morgana has reservations that you might kill me to become king yourself.  It makes sense.”

I laughed out loud at the thought.  I had no and never had any thoughts of killing him for his crown.  If anything, Morgana needed to separate us so that I wouldn’t try to influence him.

“Who’s taking my place?”

“The head of my personal guard,” she said. “He doesn’t have an axe to grind.”

No, but he was cruel and overbearing.  He just didn’t like Zavarians.  Why was I not surprised?

I looked at Harold, and he wouldn’t meet my eye.  “Is this what you’ll want, Harry?”

It elicited a sharp response.  “You will call your brother by his correct title.”

I turned slightly and glared at her.  “Let me be abundantly clear.  If you are asking for a pitch battle in the throne room, you’ll get it.  The King’s Guard are loyal to me.  Whatever dreams you might have in thinking that you can hijack this kingdom by manipulating my brother, think long and hard before you go down a road that you can’t turn back from.”

The smug look wavered for just a second before it returned with red spots of anger.  “You are no one in this kingdom.  You will do as your King commands.”

He raised his head, now aware this was spiralling.

“Joseph is by royal decree the Master at Arms and in charge of the King’s Guard.  It was proclaimed three hundred years ago, and we are not tampering with proclamations.  Nor will you reassign any of my family’s assigned roles or their accommodations.  Be content with being the Queen.  You have your role and position within the monarchy, as we all have.”

He stood and stretched as if to shed the shackles he believed were going to strangle him.  It was a subject we’d spoken of a week or so before.  I had told him then that I worried that Morgana might get overwhelmed if anything happened to the king and that he didn’t have to carry the burden alone.

I did not express my true thoughts about what Morgana might do if she assumed that he would not interfere with her plans.  From what I just heard, she had not consulted him first, and that might just tip the scales in our favour.

I say that not because i wanted a battle, but that I wanted the Harold I knew was there.  I had expected being overwhelmed himself might give her an opening, but perhaps I need not worry.

He looked at me.  “I appreciate your loyalty to me and this kingdom, Joseph.  There will be no pitch battles on the throne room.  Now or ever.  Perhaps in public you will defer to my title, in private with decorum.”

He turned to Morgana, who was barely containing her anger.  She had made her tilt too early, or perhaps when she believed the time was right.  Whatever she thought, she had completely misjudged him.  I might have wavered myself.

“You must never forget your place.  You are Queen, you have a title and responsibilities.  They do not include tossing my family aside.  If you want me to find roles for some of your family members, then we shall, but all requests must go through Elizabeth, who is the person in charge of the Palace people.  We do not under any circumstances put people in particular roles because of who they are or what they think they deserve.  And lastly, don’t ever use my name to push whatever agenda that suits your desires rather than the good of the kingdom.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly.”  It was said so quietly we both nearly missed it.

“You can go now, Joe.  They are being on time a little more.  Dad always gave you a little leeway, but I want more discipline in your manner and work.”

“As you wish, your royal highness.”  I kept the sarcasm out of my tone because he was right.  And it also conveyed respect, which had been somewhat lacking in all of us under the previous king.

“Now, go and alert your men to the fact that I’m bringing back the old rituals.  Instead of moping about, the Guard is going to be seen.  London has the Trooping of the Colour, parades, for their monarch and for the people to see that the monarchy is there for them.  I suggest you brush up on the exercises.  We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.”

A suggestion I had made, and believed it had gone through one ear and out the other.

“Excellent.”

Protocol demanded a bow and proper departure.  We had started overlooking these little things, and I missed it.

As I left, I wondered how he was going to deal with Morgana.  I would have liked to be a fly on the wall, but then what did it matter?  She had shown her hand, and it had failed.  And judging from the lost look she gave me, I had one less friend in the Palace.

…

The flames of the fire had subsided, but had not been extinguished.

We got through the funeral protocols with the appropriate amount of pageantry and celebration, the whole kingdom given a day to remember their old king and reflect on the new.

It was followed by a week-long tour of the whole kingdom so that Harold could meet the people. I had heard that Morgana detested the idea of mingling with the peasants, but this was ignored, and she had to play her part.

But it was clear she was still festering over me standing up to her and the dressing down by a totally different man to that she had married.

I was still coming to terms with the new Harold.

Eloise knew something had happened when I came back to our quarters.  I had tried to brush it off.

“Tell me,” was her first two words.  She knew me better than I knew myself.

“I threw down the gauntlet.  Harry let me slay the dragon in the room.”

“She did it.”

I gave my best effort at total surprise.  I often wondered just what sort of network she had in the Palace.

“She tried.  If it had been the old Harry, she would have seized the day.  He surprised me, and utterly shocked her, and rather on a more serious note, publicly rebuked her.

“You are the Master at Arms.  It’s your purview when there’s treachery afoot.”

“We all like to think that.”

I once thought that Palace security was within my purview, but others might think otherwise.  I didn’t know about the proclamation, and I was going to find out from the Palace historian.

“Don’t worry, it’ll take a lot more than bluster to get us out of here.  Besides were going to need the room.”

I had thought she had acquired a special glow about her, and from the lack of discussion about children i had thought she had given up.

“I figured something was afoot.  You have become even more beautiful than ever.”

“I am with child.  I was waiting, just to be sure.”

I hugged her tightly.

…

Two weeks later, after coming home from the new King’s first royal tour of the kingdom, a time-honoured tradition, the Palace Guard turned out to greet and escort him from the main gate to the Palace entrance.

As the Master at Arms, I would usually be the one who accompanies the elite group of Palace guards charged with the King’s protection when outside the Palace, but there had been a diplomatic problem that I was told needed my attention.

One of the neighbouring kingdoms had broken a long-standing rule of not hunting deer on their neighbours’ lands, not without formally requesting permission to do so.

The odd thing was that everyone, and especially these neighbours, always complied, and it was totally out of character.

Harold summoned me as told me to personally deal with the problem.  I protested, but he said my Sergeant could step up while I attended to the more important matters.  Almost as an aside, he said Morgana’s private guard was going home and would be accompanying them part of the way.

I thought about reminding him of protocols, but it seemed his mind was made up.  It might also have been a case of the changed relationship between him and Morgana after the episode in the throne room with Morgana.  He was the King, but she would not have accepted the rebuke.

Eloise was surprised when I told her of the change in plans, and though she didn’t say what she was thinking, I could guess.

Morgana.

I just shrugged.  My brother was the King, and I was his servant who must obey orders.

So,

The next day, the Royal party left to great fanfare, the new King on a mission of goodwill and the Queen looking very sullen. 

Later, I joined the Chancellor and, with far more men than was necessary, left for the other kingdom, by strange coincidence in totally the opposite direction.

Of course, with the Master and the King absent, the army was controlled by the Sergeant at Arms.  It was not a coincidence that the King had promoted him temporarily to command his personal guard.

It almost left the Palace guard and the castle, without leadership.  It did not.  Among the second tier of leaders, each responsible for twenty or so men, I had been secretly working on creating a new tier of leaders to draw from in the future.  In the meantime, they had orders to keep everyone close and not allow any groups of men to enter until the king or I returned.

We had not seen battle for a long time, as peace had reigned over the realm.  Or so it seemed.  A while back, a discontented villager from the Queen’s home kingdom had arrived in very poor shape with a harrowing tale.

I didn’t believe it.  Not at first, but I asked the scribe to take down his story from start to finish, asking questions, forgetting answers, the sort of answers a simple man could not invent.

He said quite simply that their King had become strange and had made life unbearable for the people.  They had suffered several famines in succeeding seasons and were forced to buy food from neighbouring kingdoms.  When the coffers emptied, taxes were imposed, and everyone gave what they could, and when it was not enough, he had his men take everything.

People were starving and dying.

Now, he said, they were waiting for our king to die and the new King to take his place.  Then Morgana would enact what he called the plan.

He did not know what that plan was.

At a guess, she was to take over, through Harold, and send what we have stored, wealth and food, back home.  I had interrupted that plan, so there had to be another plan.

I advised the Chancellor of parts of what I knew, enough to justify my departure before getting to the errant kingdom, where I suggested he would find they knew nothing of the allegations. 

I took most of the guard with me and took a parallel route to the king, where we would shadow on either flank.

Just in case.

…

I had hoped I was wrong. 

My imagination sometimes veered into mock battles and war-like scenarios, perhaps more out of a desire not just to be in charge of a whole army with nothing to do.

We had tournaments rotating through the Kingdoms each season, keeping the men sharp, with jousting, tests of strength, and archery.  The best of the best, the knights, took their skills to the field, and I had been in a few contests and come off second best more times than I cared to remember.

Those skills would be needed if anything happened, and at least our numbers were weighted on each of the possible fronts.

It took a day to catch up to the King’s procession.  We basically surrounded it and waited.

Four days passed with no sign of any trouble.  A rider returned with the news, it was as I had suspected, the neighbouring kingdoms had no idea what we were talking about.

I put everyone on high alert. 

We were waiting in the forest, not far from the town just visited.  As one of the larger towns, the festivities went on long into the night.  It was the closest point to the direct road to the Queen’s kingdom.

Everyone from the procession was still tired, and I doubted they would be alert to any trouble.  Perhaps that might be a tactic, because it was that time of day transitioning from dark to light.

The best time to attack.

One of the men from the Northern group came riding hard up to us.

A message.

Men on horseback.  Many men.

I told him to pass the word.  Before we had left the castle, I told the leaders the plan if we were attacked.  Stealthy, bold, and no survivors.  The King must never know.

Whilst the Royal procession slowly and obliviously wound along the narrow forest track, my men took care of a hundred ‘enemy soldiers’ from the Queen’s kingdom.

Her brother and the man who was in charge of her personal guard led the mission.  All of his men were slain, bar him, and he was brought before me.  He had not fared well in battle.

The plan was to kidnap the king and Queen and ransom them.  There was no intent to kill, nor to show their faces, so that he paid the ransom and everything went back to the way it was.

Foiled, there was no going back.  I personally executed him.  The men cleaned up, burying each of the bodies with military honour, despite my first command to just throw them into a chasm.

Then I went back to the castle, and having the Chancellor return, and work on a story that hopefully the King wouldn’t check.  The man who warned us had died and was buried in the graveyard.  I had worried about what I was going to do, especially if we had to keep the secret.

And…

On the day the king returned, there was much rejoicing and festivities to celebrate the start of a long and happy reign.

At the end, the King summoned me to his private chamber.  He could not have known about the deeds that had occurred.  My men, every single one of them, had been sworn to secrecy.

He looked tired.

“It was a success.  I had worried the people might not like me.”

‘What’s not to like, Harry?”

“They do not like Morgana.  To be honest, I have not seen so much hate for her.  She tries, but I don’t know, Joseph, ever since I became King, she has changed.”

“Perhaps this is who she has always been, and the fact that you both have had to take up the roles sooner than expected, and neither of you have had the time to settle into a routine.  We used to say when we were children how easy it would be, but I suspect it’s not easy at all.  You have all the people looking to you, you have the affairs of state, you have family duties, it all adds up.”

“We did, didn’t we?  Are you glad you were not born first?”

“I am where I’m supposed to be.  By your side.”

He sighed.  It did not seem to alleviate his mind.

“The Chancellor said the problem was a misunderstanding.”

“Such matters are, though at first it might seem serious.  These are people we have known and traded with for centuries.  It is good that it came to nothing.”

“Jacques tells me you locked down the castle.  Was that necessary?”

“I decided in your absence that I was going to run some battle plans to keep the men alert.  All this inactivity tends to make the men slack.”

“Are there any wars imminent.  I know you have spies in every kingdom.”

Not something he was supposed to be aware of, but necessary.  Long periods of peace could turn into war very quickly.  Which reminded me, my spy in the Queen’s kingdom had not reported recently, and I had to accept he had been discovered.

“None reported and none that I’m aware of.”

“Good.  Now, the Queen has requested that she return home briefly for a visit.  I am considering making it a state visit.  What do you think?”

“You command, I make it happen.”

He looked me up and down in a manner i had not seen before.  I was not sure it was admiration or utter horror.

“Perhaps the words, your Queen, sire, is a traitor, might be more appropriate.  You had to believe that I would find out what you did and why.”

“My job is to protect the King and the kingdom.  Sometimes it is better not to know the details, Sire.”

“Well, thankfully, you didn’t sulk.”

“It’s not in the job description, sire.”

“And you can stop calling me Sire, Joe.  Harry is more appropriate.  What do you recommend we do with her?”

“Nothing.  Once she realised that her brother was missing, she should get the message.  I would not recommend going to her kingdom on a state visit, given the circumstances.  You might agree to let her Hugo, but only with her own people.  If you do, she might not come back.”

“She was party to the plot?”

“I would not wish to comment, Harry.”

“Right.  Organise her visit.”  He stood.  “I’m going to bed, and hopefully tomorrow everything we be as it should be “

If only it were.

…

©  Charles Heath  2026

Day 62 – Writing exercise

The first time he understood what hate felt like

…

Things don’t fall apart in a proverbial ball of fire, it’s the result of a single, almost invisible flame that takes time to take hold.

You see the smoke, a small tendril against a background that makes it almost invisible, and because you cannot definitively see it, it’s left to fester, then take hold.

And before you realise what’s happening, a gust of wind fans the embers and suddenly you have a forest fire.

It was an analogy my father told all of us when we were old enough to understand.

There were five of us: the eldest son, Harold, then me, Joseph, then Elizabeth, Mary, and Charles, the youngest.  We were members of a royal family, and one of five kingdoms, ours being Zarevia.

Our father was the King, a man who understood what it meant to be the ruler of a kingdom where the people looked for strength and fairness.  He was universally loved by everyone.  His Queen, our mother, was the epitome of kindness and light, and had taught us that what we had was not a divine right or privilege to be abused, but to be used for the betterment of our country and people.

The king understood that and led by example every day.  We, as children and successors, were allowed to practise every day.

Then, as time does to everyone, the current ruler ages and comes to the end of his reign, and a successor steps up and continues the work seamlessly.

Harold was the eldest son; he had spent his whole life preparing to continue as if nothing had changed.  Everything was as it should be.

Except…

One of the more interesting aspects of being a royal was the fact that the children’s lives were managed as tightly as the kingdom’s finances.  We had little say in our choice of partner, where the eldest son needed a wife fit to be queen, and the rest, whatever was left.

That might sound cruel, and to a certain extent it was, but it was tradition, and it had worked well for many centuries. 

Harold was matched with a princess from a distant kingdom, the eldest daughter, who was strong and forthright, which was more than what some would say about the future king.  It was a choice made solely to strengthen his position.

I was matched with what some might call an equivalent level princess, a rather condescending term I thought, but my station in the family dictated like-for-like, second son, second Princess.

But here’s the thing, I had known her since both of us were born, and I had adored her for the same amount of time.  She was charming, affable, approachable and adorable.  The people loved her, and mercifully, I wrapped myself in her bubble.

The others were equally fortunate in their matches, and it was only a matter of time before they would be married and living in their husbands’ kingdoms.

Everything was as it should be until…

…

Screams filled the castle when there should be peace and tranquillity.

The succession plan had been invoked, and over the next six months, my eldest brother would slowly step into the shoes of the monarch.

The screams put paid to that timeline.

I knew exactly what they meant.

The king had died suddenly, an outcome that had been predicted and prepared for.  That is to say, the Palace staff were prepared.  Harold was not.

Yet within an hour, Harold had been sworn in as the new King, and the first very small, almost invisible flame was lit. 

Eloise had leapt out of bed and gone straight to the Queen, thinking only of her pain at the premature loss of her husband and lifelong friend.  Theirs had been a match with a risky start, and love had developed over time.

Morgana, now Queen, decided that death was not on her agenda today, and pulled the covers over her and hoped it would all go away.

I just sat in the room with the man who was once my father, my mentor, and basically my whole life.  Even in death, he looked peaceful and content as if he knew he had done a good job.

Eloise had soothed my mother’s raw emotions and came with her to join me, and we sat on the lounge and quietly contemplated what this meant for each of us.

After an hour, Morgana stepped into the room, and the whole atmosphere changed.  There was not one ounce of sympathy in her condolences to my mother.  Then, that chore done, she looked around the room, wrinkling her nose.

“We are definitely going to have to do something about the gloomy room.  Not fit for a king, not at all.”

She was already taking over.  It was a side of her that none of us had seen, but rumours had filtered back from her kingdom, the princess they were glad to offload on someone else. 

Her own people hated her.

Until now I could not understand why.

Now I did.

My mother was too immersed in her grief to notice.

…

Harold was weak.  His father knew that and had worked hard on turning him into the man he needed to be.  But he hadn’t reckoned on the Morgana factor.

It was what I called it, and basically worked like this.  Harold made a decision, and if she liked it, it stayed; if she did not, it was not adopted.  Within a week, it was clear who was running the country.

Certainly not our family.

Harold’s saving grace was that she could not kill him and take over as monarch.  Ours was a kingdom that did not seat Queens, even if the line of succession was all female.

There had to be a king.  There was no other alternative.  Morgana may have thought something else, which is why she asked me about succession rules.  There was no reason for her to kill him; she needed him on the throne for her to be Queen.

Harold, of course, because of his training and father’s influence, was about maintaining the status quo.  In fact in his first speech to his people after the investiture, he said quite unequivocally there would be no changes and that life in the kingdom would continue as it had for hundreds of years.

I was proud to stand beside him that day, because I knew he had a kind heart.

But all of that changed subtly at first, until it was impossible to ignore it.  Morgana decided to assert herself.

The small flame and the embers flared.

I was in the King’s office, where he was sitting behind the large desk, completely clear of anything by the mace that proclaimed his authority.

Morgana was pacing impatiently.

When I walked in, she said, “You’re late.  When your king requests your presence, you will be here in time.”

“We’re family.  Time is irrelevant.”

“Not any more.  The king has finalised the reorganisation plan, and your role has been changed from Head of the King’s Guard to Parks and Gardens.  It also requires you to relinquish your current chambers and relocate to the east wing.  Effective immediately.”

I looked at Harold.  “You know the role of heading the King’s Guard is traditionally given to the second son.”

“That was when you were the son of the King.  You’re now my brother, and Morgana has reservations that you might kill me to become king yourself.  It makes sense.”

I laughed out loud at the thought.  I had no and never had any thoughts of killing him for his crown.  If anything, Morgana needed to separate us so that I wouldn’t try to influence him.

“Who’s taking my place?”

“The head of my personal guard,” she said. “He doesn’t have an axe to grind.”

No, but he was cruel and overbearing.  He just didn’t like Zavarians.  Why was I not surprised?

I looked at Harold, and he wouldn’t meet my eye.  “Is this what you’ll want, Harry?”

It elicited a sharp response.  “You will call your brother by his correct title.”

I turned slightly and glared at her.  “Let me be abundantly clear.  If you are asking for a pitch battle in the throne room, you’ll get it.  The King’s Guard are loyal to me.  Whatever dreams you might have in thinking that you can hijack this kingdom by manipulating my brother, think long and hard before you go down a road that you can’t turn back from.”

The smug look wavered for just a second before it returned with red spots of anger.  “You are no one in this kingdom.  You will do as your King commands.”

He raised his head, now aware this was spiralling.

“Joseph is by royal decree the Master at Arms and in charge of the King’s Guard.  It was proclaimed three hundred years ago, and we are not tampering with proclamations.  Nor will you reassign any of my family’s assigned roles or their accommodations.  Be content with being the Queen.  You have your role and position within the monarchy, as we all have.”

He stood and stretched as if to shed the shackles he believed were going to strangle him.  It was a subject we’d spoken of a week or so before.  I had told him then that I worried that Morgana might get overwhelmed if anything happened to the king and that he didn’t have to carry the burden alone.

I did not express my true thoughts about what Morgana might do if she assumed that he would not interfere with her plans.  From what I just heard, she had not consulted him first, and that might just tip the scales in our favour.

I say that not because i wanted a battle, but that I wanted the Harold I knew was there.  I had expected being overwhelmed himself might give her an opening, but perhaps I need not worry.

He looked at me.  “I appreciate your loyalty to me and this kingdom, Joseph.  There will be no pitch battles on the throne room.  Now or ever.  Perhaps in public you will defer to my title, in private with decorum.”

He turned to Morgana, who was barely containing her anger.  She had made her tilt too early, or perhaps when she believed the time was right.  Whatever she thought, she had completely misjudged him.  I might have wavered myself.

“You must never forget your place.  You are Queen, you have a title and responsibilities.  They do not include tossing my family aside.  If you want me to find roles for some of your family members, then we shall, but all requests must go through Elizabeth, who is the person in charge of the Palace people.  We do not under any circumstances put people in particular roles because of who they are or what they think they deserve.  And lastly, don’t ever use my name to push whatever agenda that suits your desires rather than the good of the kingdom.  Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly.”  It was said so quietly we both nearly missed it.

“You can go now, Joe.  They are being on time a little more.  Dad always gave you a little leeway, but I want more discipline in your manner and work.”

“As you wish, your royal highness.”  I kept the sarcasm out of my tone because he was right.  And it also conveyed respect, which had been somewhat lacking in all of us under the previous king.

“Now, go and alert your men to the fact that I’m bringing back the old rituals.  Instead of moping about, the Guard is going to be seen.  London has the Trooping of the Colour, parades, for their monarch and for the people to see that the monarchy is there for them.  I suggest you brush up on the exercises.  We’ll talk more about this tomorrow.”

A suggestion I had made, and believed it had gone through one ear and out the other.

“Excellent.”

Protocol demanded a bow and proper departure.  We had started overlooking these little things, and I missed it.

As I left, I wondered how he was going to deal with Morgana.  I would have liked to be a fly on the wall, but then what did it matter?  She had shown her hand, and it had failed.  And judging from the lost look she gave me, I had one less friend in the Palace.

…

The flames of the fire had subsided, but had not been extinguished.

We got through the funeral protocols with the appropriate amount of pageantry and celebration, the whole kingdom given a day to remember their old king and reflect on the new.

It was followed by a week-long tour of the whole kingdom so that Harold could meet the people. I had heard that Morgana detested the idea of mingling with the peasants, but this was ignored, and she had to play her part.

But it was clear she was still festering over me standing up to her and the dressing down by a totally different man to that she had married.

I was still coming to terms with the new Harold.

Eloise knew something had happened when I came back to our quarters.  I had tried to brush it off.

“Tell me,” was her first two words.  She knew me better than I knew myself.

“I threw down the gauntlet.  Harry let me slay the dragon in the room.”

“She did it.”

I gave my best effort at total surprise.  I often wondered just what sort of network she had in the Palace.

“She tried.  If it had been the old Harry, she would have seized the day.  He surprised me, and utterly shocked her, and rather on a more serious note, publicly rebuked her.

“You are the Master at Arms.  It’s your purview when there’s treachery afoot.”

“We all like to think that.”

I once thought that Palace security was within my purview, but others might think otherwise.  I didn’t know about the proclamation, and I was going to find out from the Palace historian.

“Don’t worry, it’ll take a lot more than bluster to get us out of here.  Besides were going to need the room.”

I had thought she had acquired a special glow about her, and from the lack of discussion about children i had thought she had given up.

“I figured something was afoot.  You have become even more beautiful than ever.”

“I am with child.  I was waiting, just to be sure.”

I hugged her tightly.

…

Two weeks later, after coming home from the new King’s first royal tour of the kingdom, a time-honoured tradition, the Palace Guard turned out to greet and escort him from the main gate to the Palace entrance.

As the Master at Arms, I would usually be the one who accompanies the elite group of Palace guards charged with the King’s protection when outside the Palace, but there had been a diplomatic problem that I was told needed my attention.

One of the neighbouring kingdoms had broken a long-standing rule of not hunting deer on their neighbours’ lands, not without formally requesting permission to do so.

The odd thing was that everyone, and especially these neighbours, always complied, and it was totally out of character.

Harold summoned me as told me to personally deal with the problem.  I protested, but he said my Sergeant could step up while I attended to the more important matters.  Almost as an aside, he said Morgana’s private guard was going home and would be accompanying them part of the way.

I thought about reminding him of protocols, but it seemed his mind was made up.  It might also have been a case of the changed relationship between him and Morgana after the episode in the throne room with Morgana.  He was the King, but she would not have accepted the rebuke.

Eloise was surprised when I told her of the change in plans, and though she didn’t say what she was thinking, I could guess.

Morgana.

I just shrugged.  My brother was the King, and I was his servant who must obey orders.

So,

The next day, the Royal party left to great fanfare, the new King on a mission of goodwill and the Queen looking very sullen. 

Later, I joined the Chancellor and, with far more men than was necessary, left for the other kingdom, by strange coincidence in totally the opposite direction.

Of course, with the Master and the King absent, the army was controlled by the Sergeant at Arms.  It was not a coincidence that the King had promoted him temporarily to command his personal guard.

It almost left the Palace guard and the castle, without leadership.  It did not.  Among the second tier of leaders, each responsible for twenty or so men, I had been secretly working on creating a new tier of leaders to draw from in the future.  In the meantime, they had orders to keep everyone close and not allow any groups of men to enter until the king or I returned.

We had not seen battle for a long time, as peace had reigned over the realm.  Or so it seemed.  A while back, a discontented villager from the Queen’s home kingdom had arrived in very poor shape with a harrowing tale.

I didn’t believe it.  Not at first, but I asked the scribe to take down his story from start to finish, asking questions, forgetting answers, the sort of answers a simple man could not invent.

He said quite simply that their King had become strange and had made life unbearable for the people.  They had suffered several famines in succeeding seasons and were forced to buy food from neighbouring kingdoms.  When the coffers emptied, taxes were imposed, and everyone gave what they could, and when it was not enough, he had his men take everything.

People were starving and dying.

Now, he said, they were waiting for our king to die and the new King to take his place.  Then Morgana would enact what he called the plan.

He did not know what that plan was.

At a guess, she was to take over, through Harold, and send what we have stored, wealth and food, back home.  I had interrupted that plan, so there had to be another plan.

I advised the Chancellor of parts of what I knew, enough to justify my departure before getting to the errant kingdom, where I suggested he would find they knew nothing of the allegations. 

I took most of the guard with me and took a parallel route to the king, where we would shadow on either flank.

Just in case.

…

I had hoped I was wrong. 

My imagination sometimes veered into mock battles and war-like scenarios, perhaps more out of a desire not just to be in charge of a whole army with nothing to do.

We had tournaments rotating through the Kingdoms each season, keeping the men sharp, with jousting, tests of strength, and archery.  The best of the best, the knights, took their skills to the field, and I had been in a few contests and come off second best more times than I cared to remember.

Those skills would be needed if anything happened, and at least our numbers were weighted on each of the possible fronts.

It took a day to catch up to the King’s procession.  We basically surrounded it and waited.

Four days passed with no sign of any trouble.  A rider returned with the news, it was as I had suspected, the neighbouring kingdoms had no idea what we were talking about.

I put everyone on high alert. 

We were waiting in the forest, not far from the town just visited.  As one of the larger towns, the festivities went on long into the night.  It was the closest point to the direct road to the Queen’s kingdom.

Everyone from the procession was still tired, and I doubted they would be alert to any trouble.  Perhaps that might be a tactic, because it was that time of day transitioning from dark to light.

The best time to attack.

One of the men from the Northern group came riding hard up to us.

A message.

Men on horseback.  Many men.

I told him to pass the word.  Before we had left the castle, I told the leaders the plan if we were attacked.  Stealthy, bold, and no survivors.  The King must never know.

Whilst the Royal procession slowly and obliviously wound along the narrow forest track, my men took care of a hundred ‘enemy soldiers’ from the Queen’s kingdom.

Her brother and the man who was in charge of her personal guard led the mission.  All of his men were slain, bar him, and he was brought before me.  He had not fared well in battle.

The plan was to kidnap the king and Queen and ransom them.  There was no intent to kill, nor to show their faces, so that he paid the ransom and everything went back to the way it was.

Foiled, there was no going back.  I personally executed him.  The men cleaned up, burying each of the bodies with military honour, despite my first command to just throw them into a chasm.

Then I went back to the castle, and having the Chancellor return, and work on a story that hopefully the King wouldn’t check.  The man who warned us had died and was buried in the graveyard.  I had worried about what I was going to do, especially if we had to keep the secret.

And…

On the day the king returned, there was much rejoicing and festivities to celebrate the start of a long and happy reign.

At the end, the King summoned me to his private chamber.  He could not have known about the deeds that had occurred.  My men, every single one of them, had been sworn to secrecy.

He looked tired.

“It was a success.  I had worried the people might not like me.”

‘What’s not to like, Harry?”

“They do not like Morgana.  To be honest, I have not seen so much hate for her.  She tries, but I don’t know, Joseph, ever since I became King, she has changed.”

“Perhaps this is who she has always been, and the fact that you both have had to take up the roles sooner than expected, and neither of you have had the time to settle into a routine.  We used to say when we were children how easy it would be, but I suspect it’s not easy at all.  You have all the people looking to you, you have the affairs of state, you have family duties, it all adds up.”

“We did, didn’t we?  Are you glad you were not born first?”

“I am where I’m supposed to be.  By your side.”

He sighed.  It did not seem to alleviate his mind.

“The Chancellor said the problem was a misunderstanding.”

“Such matters are, though at first it might seem serious.  These are people we have known and traded with for centuries.  It is good that it came to nothing.”

“Jacques tells me you locked down the castle.  Was that necessary?”

“I decided in your absence that I was going to run some battle plans to keep the men alert.  All this inactivity tends to make the men slack.”

“Are there any wars imminent.  I know you have spies in every kingdom.”

Not something he was supposed to be aware of, but necessary.  Long periods of peace could turn into war very quickly.  Which reminded me, my spy in the Queen’s kingdom had not reported recently, and I had to accept he had been discovered.

“None reported and none that I’m aware of.”

“Good.  Now, the Queen has requested that she return home briefly for a visit.  I am considering making it a state visit.  What do you think?”

“You command, I make it happen.”

He looked me up and down in a manner i had not seen before.  I was not sure it was admiration or utter horror.

“Perhaps the words, your Queen, sire, is a traitor, might be more appropriate.  You had to believe that I would find out what you did and why.”

“My job is to protect the King and the kingdom.  Sometimes it is better not to know the details, Sire.”

“Well, thankfully, you didn’t sulk.”

“It’s not in the job description, sire.”

“And you can stop calling me Sire, Joe.  Harry is more appropriate.  What do you recommend we do with her?”

“Nothing.  Once she realised that her brother was missing, she should get the message.  I would not recommend going to her kingdom on a state visit, given the circumstances.  You might agree to let her Hugo, but only with her own people.  If you do, she might not come back.”

“She was party to the plot?”

“I would not wish to comment, Harry.”

“Right.  Organise her visit.”  He stood.  “I’m going to bed, and hopefully tomorrow everything we be as it should be “

If only it were.

…

©  Charles Heath  2026

Day 61 – Relativity

…

Creating the Un‑Relatable to Be Truly Relatable

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

---

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

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

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

---

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

1.1. A Comfort Zone for Studios and Marketers

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

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

1.2. The Psychological Counter‑Strike

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

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

---

2. Barry Jenkins: From the Specific to the Universal

2.1. The Personal Lens of Moonlight

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

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

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

2.2. The Power of “Specificity as a Gateway”

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

Specific Element	Why It Connects Universally
A single, lingering glance between two strangers	Captures the universal tension of unspoken longing
The sound of a sprinkler in a summer backyard	Evokes any memory of a quiet, nostalgic summer
The smell of burnt toast on a rainy morning	Triggers a sensory flashback that anyone can recall

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

---

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

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

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

---

4. The Counter‑Intuitive Path to True Relatability

4.1. Start With a “Micro‑Truth”

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

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

4.2. Layer the Universal Emotion

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

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

4.3. Show, Don’t Explain

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

4.4. Invite Multiple Interpretations

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

---

5. Real‑World Applications

5.1. Brand Storytelling

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

5.2. Product Design

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

5.3. Content Creation (YouTube, Podcast, Blog)

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

---

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

 Further Reading & Viewing

Format	Title	Why It Helps
Film	Moonlight (2016) – Barry Jenkins	A masterclass in specific storytelling that feels universal
Book	The Art of Possibility – Rosamund & Benjamin Zander	Explores how reframing specifics can unlock broader impact
Article	“The Power of Specificity in Storytelling” – Harvard Business Review	Academic perspective on why details matter in brand narratives
Podcast	Storytelling with Data – Episode “When Numbers Get Personal”	Shows how data can be humanized through specific anecdotes

---

Ready to make something that truly resonates?

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

Day 61 – Relativity

…

Creating the Un‑Relatable to Be Truly Relatable

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

---

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

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

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

---

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

1.1. A Comfort Zone for Studios and Marketers

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

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

1.2. The Psychological Counter‑Strike

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

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

---

2. Barry Jenkins: From the Specific to the Universal

2.1. The Personal Lens of Moonlight

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

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

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

2.2. The Power of “Specificity as a Gateway”

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

Specific Element	Why It Connects Universally
A single, lingering glance between two strangers	Captures the universal tension of unspoken longing
The sound of a sprinkler in a summer backyard	Evokes any memory of a quiet, nostalgic summer
The smell of burnt toast on a rainy morning	Triggers a sensory flashback that anyone can recall

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

---

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

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

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

---

4. The Counter‑Intuitive Path to True Relatability

4.1. Start With a “Micro‑Truth”

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

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

4.2. Layer the Universal Emotion

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

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

4.3. Show, Don’t Explain

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

4.4. Invite Multiple Interpretations

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

---

5. Real‑World Applications

5.1. Brand Storytelling

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

5.2. Product Design

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

5.3. Content Creation (YouTube, Podcast, Blog)

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

---

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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 Further Reading & Viewing

Format	Title	Why It Helps
Film	Moonlight (2016) – Barry Jenkins	A masterclass in specific storytelling that feels universal
Book	The Art of Possibility – Rosamund & Benjamin Zander	Explores how reframing specifics can unlock broader impact
Article	“The Power of Specificity in Storytelling” – Harvard Business Review	Academic perspective on why details matter in brand narratives
Podcast	Storytelling with Data – Episode “When Numbers Get Personal”	Shows how data can be humanized through specific anecdotes

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Ready to make something that truly resonates?

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

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.

…

©  Charles Heath  2026