Tag: Book

NaNoWriMo – Day 9

With the first three sections down, I’m now onto the fourth, the series of events that kicks off the quest.

I’m juggling a lot of characters at the moment, and it’s getting difficult to get the time line of each event, and character, in chronological order. I don’t want to have a character at two events when it is not possible.

So, slowing down the process, I have implemented a chart, much like a spreadsheet, detailing events, characters in it, and when. Overall, there is a timeline, so I can see when two events are happening at the same time.

And this is hard to put to words because only one scene can be written at a time, and sometimes this makes the story a little disjointed. I’m working on how to minimise it, and make sure everyone ends up where they’re supposed to be, before, during, and after.

So much for that.

Something else I had in the back of mind, one of those thoughts you have just before going to sleep, and thinking about the next part, I think I will make a slight change to one characters motivation, the one I had in mind for a while doesn’t fit the new narrative of the new chapters written.

I guess it happens, as you proceed, things change.

“One Last Look”, nothing is what it seems

A single event can have enormous consequences.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NaNoWriMo – Day 8

I have roughly written the first 3 sections of the story now, about 16 chapters of varying sizes, and I’m up to the cataclysmic event that sets the real story in motion.

I sometimes find that setting up the story can sometimes take longer than writing the part I really wanted to get to.

Equally, I sometimes find that I will write a chapter, or piece that is further on in the story, because inspiration for that seems to fill my head rather than for the part I’m trying to write.

Oddly, sometimes when I finally catch up, it fits right in, perfectly.

And sometimes it doesn’t.

But this usually only happens when I have roughly mapped the story out in outline form, which, because I want to get this finished, I have done.

Progress today was excellent, and I’m pleased with the parts I’ve done, or revised simply because when I was looking at it, it didn’t look right. Perhaps I’ll be less fussy as the time runs out and there’s much to be done.

For the statisticians, I wrote 1,782 words today, for a total of 17,439 so far.

An excerpt from “Betrayal” – a work in progress

It could have been anywhere in the world, she thought, but it wasn’t.  It was in a city where if anything were to go wrong…

She sighed and came away from the window and looked around the room.  It was quite large and expensively furnished.  It was one of several she had been visiting in the last three months.

Quite elegant too, as the hotel had its origins dating back to before the revolution in 1917.  At least, currently, there would not be a team of KGB agents somewhere in the basement monitoring everything that happened in the room.

There was no such thing as the KGB anymore, though there was an FSB, but such organisations were of no interest to her.

She was here to meet with Vladimir.

She smiled to herself when she thought of him, such an interesting man whose command of English was as good as her command of Russian, though she had not told him of that ability.

All her knew of her was that she was American, worked in the Embassy as a clerk, nothing important, who life both at work and at home was boring.  Not that she had blurted that out the first tie she met, or even the second.

That first time, at a function in the Embassy, was a chance meeting, a catching of his eye as he looked around the room, looking, as he had told her later, for someone who might not be as boring as the function itself.

It was a celebration, honouring one of the Embassy officials on his service in Moscow, and the fact he was returning home after 10 years.  She had been there one, and still hadn’t met all the staff.

They had talked, Vladimir knew a great deal about England, having been stationed there for a year or two, and had politely asked questions about where she lived, her family, and of course what her role was, all questions she fended off with an air of disinterested interest.

It fascinated him, as she knew it would, a sort of mental sparring as one would do with swords, if this was a fencing match.

They had said they might or might not meet again when the party was over, but she suspected there would be another opportunity.  She knew the signs of a man who was interested in her, and Vladimir was interested.

The second time came in the form of an invitation to an art gallery, and a viewing of the works of a prominent Russian artist, an invitation she politely declined.  After all, invitations issued to Embassy staff held all sorts of connotations, or so she was told by the Security officer when she told him.

Then, it went quiet for a month.  There was a party at the American embassy and along with several other staff members, she was invited.  She had not expected to meet Vladimir, but it was a pleasant surprise when she saw him, on the other side of the room, talking to several military men.

A pleasant afternoon ensued.

And it was no surprise that they kept running into each other at the various events on the diplomatic schedule.

By the fifth meeting, they were like old friends.  She had broached the subject of being involved in a plutonic relationship with him with the head of security at the embassy.  Normally for a member of her rank it would not be allowed, but in this instance it was.

She did not work in any sensitive areas, and, as the security officer had said, she might just happen upon something that might be useful.  In that regard, she was to keep her eyes and ears open, and file a report each time she met him.

After that discussion she got the impression her superiors considered Vladimir more than just a casual visitor on the diplomatic circuit.  She also formed the impression the he might consider her an ‘asset’, a word that had been used at the meeting with security and the ambassador.

It was where the word ‘spy’ popped into her head and sent a tingle down her spine.  She was not a spy, but the thought of it, well, it would be fascinating to see what happened.

A Russian friend.  That’s what she would call him.

And over time, that relationship blossomed, until, after a visit to the ballet, late and snowing, he invited her to his apartment not far from the ballet venue.  It was like treading on thin ice, but after champagne and an introduction to caviar, she felt like a giddy schoolgirl.

Even so, she had made him promise that he remain on his best behaviour.  It could have been very easy to fall under the spell of a perfect evening, but he promised, showed her to a separate bedroom, and after a brief kiss, their first, she did not see him until the next morning.

So, it began.

It was an interesting report she filed after that encounter, one where she had expected to be reprimanded.

She wasn’t.

It wasn’t until six weeks had passed when he asked her if she would like to take a trip to the country.  It would involve staying in a hotel, that they would have separate rooms.  When she reported the invitation, no objection was raised, only a caution; keep her wits about her.

Perhaps, she had thought, they were looking forward to a more extensive report.  After all, her reports on the places, and the people, and the conversations she overheard, were no doubt entertaining reading for some.

But this visit was where the nature of the relationship changed, and it was one that she did not immediately report.  She had realised at some point before the weekend away, that she had feelings for him, and it was not that he was pushing her in that direction or manipulating her in any way.

It was just one of those moments where, after a grand dinner, a lot of champagne, and delightful company, things happen.  Standing at the door to her room, a lingering kiss, not intentional on her part, and it just happened.

And for not one moment did she believe she had been compromised, but for some reason she had not reported that subtle change in the relationship to the powers that be, and so far, no one had any inkling.

She took off her coat and placed it carefully of the back of one of the ornate chairs in the room.  She stopped for a moment to look at a framed photograph on the wall, one representing Red Square.

Then, after a minute or two, she went to the mini bar and took out the bottle of champagne that had been left there for them, a treat arranged by Vladimir for each encounter.

There were two champagne flutes set aside on the bar, next to a bowl of fruit.  She picked up the apple and thought how Eve must have felt in the garden of Eden, and the temptation.

Later perhaps, after…

She smiled at the thought and put the apple back.

A glance at her watch told her it was time for his arrival.  It was if anything, the one trait she didn’t like, and that was his punctuality.  A glance at the clock on the room wall was a minute slow.

The doorbell to the room rang, right on the appointed time.

She put the bottle down and walked over to the door.

A smile on her face, she opened the door.

It was not Vladimir.  It was her worst nightmare.

…

© Charles Heath 2020

An excerpt from “If Only” – a work in progress

Investigation of crimes don’t always go according to plan, nor does the perpetrator get either found or punished.

That was particularly true in my case.  The murderer was very careful in not leaving any evidence behind, to the extent that the police could not rules out whether it was a male or a  female.

At one stage the police thought I had murdered my own wife though how I could be on a train at the time of the murder was beyond me.  I had witnesses and a cast-iron alibi.

The officer in charge was Detective Inspector Gabrielle Walters.  She came to me on the day after the murder seeking answers to the usual questions when was the last time you saw your wife, did you argue, the neighbors reckon there were heated discussions the day before.

Routine was the word she used.

Her Sargeant was a surly piece of work whose intention was to get answers or, more likely, a confession by any or all means possible.  I could sense the raging violence within him.  Fortunately, common sense prevailed.

Over the course of the next few weeks, once I’d been cleared of committing the crime, Gabrielle made a point of keeping me informed of the progress.

After three months the updates were more sporadic, and when, for lack of progress, it became a cold case, communication ceased.

But it was not the last I saw of Gabrielle.

The shock of finding Vanessa was more devastating than the fact she was now gone, and those images lived on in the same nightmare that came to visit me every night when I closed my eyes.

For months I was barely functioning, to the extent I had all but lost my job, and quite a few friends, particularly those who were more attached to Vanessa rather than me.

They didn’t understand how it could affect me so much, and since it had not happened to them, my tart replies of ‘you wouldn’t understand’ were met with equally short retorts.  Some questioned my sanity, even, for a time, so did I.

No one, it seemed, could understand what it was like, no one except Gabrielle.

She was by her own admission, damaged goods, having been the victim of a similar incident, a boyfriend who turned out to be a very bad boy.  Her story varied only in she had been made to witness his execution.  Her nightmare, in reliving that moment in time, was how she was still alive and, to this day, had no idea why she’d been spared.

It was a story she told me one night, some months after the investigation had been scaled down.  I was still looking for the bottom of a bottle and an emotional mess.  Perhaps it struck a resonance with her; she’d been there and managed to come out the other side.

What happened become our secret, a once-only night together that meant a great deal to me, and by mutual agreement, it was not spoken of again.  It was as if she knew exactly what was required to set me on the path to recovery.

And it had.

Since then we saw each about once a month in a cafe.   I had been surprised to hear from her again shortly after that eventful night when she called to set it up, ostensibly for her to provide me with any updates on the case, but perhaps we had, after that unspoken night, formed a closer bond than either of us wanted to admit.

We generally talked for hours over wine, then dinner and coffee.  It took a while for me to realize that all she had was her work, personal relationships were nigh on impossible in a job that left little or no spare time for anything else.

She’d always said that if I had any questions or problems about the case, or if there was anything that might come to me that might be relevant, even after all this time, all I had to do was call her.

I wondered if this text message was in that category.  I was certain it would interest the police and I had no doubt they could trace the message’s origin, but there was that tiny degree of doubt, whether or not I could trust her to tell me what the message meant.

I reached for the phone then put it back down again.  I’d think about it and decide tomorrow.

© Charles Heath 2018-2020

NaNoWriMo – Day 7

I don’t feel like this book is getting anywhere fast, but I have managed to complete the first and second sections, after a fashion. Some editing is going to be needed.

That basically gets the introductions to the principal characters out of the way.

Now, it’s onto the a rather horrible few chapters where there’s fighting, death, mostly death (those who saw The Princess Bride will know what this means) and general mayhem where in the confusion a daring escape is made, and a mission of utmost importance is carried out.

And this before the real story gets underway.

The next day or so will tidy these chapters up, and then we can get onto the fun part.

For the statisticians, todays effort was 2,551 words for a total of 15,657.

NaNoWriMo – Day 6

I’ve turned my sights on the other side, what might be called the bad guys. Oddly what was going through my mind was the old Hollywood maxim that bad guys wear black, and as I was writing their introduction to the story, I had two if them definitely dressed in black.

It also speaks of dark times that are coming, and might easily be mistaken, at the beginning, of just another storm front that heralds the cold and bitter winter.

And it also sows the seeds of what causes a certain event that invokes a period of upheaval in the realm, and those that are major players at the outset, and some who find themselves thrust unwillingly into fray later on.

There will be other events before we get down to the main story.

As for the logistics, todays word total is 2,028, for a total so far of 13,106 words. Progress is being made, but today was a little difficult.

NaNoWriMo – Day 5

Progress is good, at least we’re heading in the right direction.

It’s curious what you think about when you’re creating characters, and then breathe life into them.

Like Marigold, who is loosely based around my eldest granddaughter, who likes to toss a bit of inspiration into the mix. She wants Marigold to be a vain, annoying, abrupt so and so, much like what she calls the rich kids who have too much time and money on their hands, and a deep contempt for the plebs as she calls them.

Royalty, much like movie stars, well some anyway, are demanding, greedy, and difficult. Well, that’s Marigold from the start. It doesn’t mean she won’t learn a few life lessons soon enough, but she will be the proverbial fish out of water.

Ophelia is a lot different, the explorer type, not exactly Dora the explorer, but my middle granddaughter liked the idea of her being a scientist, or in those days of yore, an alchemist, though back in those days people often though of those type of people as witches or worse.

Then there’s James, who had his story charted today, the Prince who would be king, one day, He has an enormous responsibility on his shoulders, an the burden of having to meet expectations that he believes are far beyond his capabilities. He’s 18, needs to become a knight, and a leader, and sooner rather than later.

His biggest enemy is his fear of failure.

Well, there it sits for the moment. We have more characters, but the real story is about to begin, and the children of the crown are about to be tested.

The boring stuff: A total of 2,794 words were written today, some joyfully others with difficulty, for a running total of 11,078.

“One Last Look”, nothing is what it seems

A single event can have enormous consequences.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

NaNoWriMo – Day 4

With a head start last night which gave me the inspiration to write this section, I was able to finish it off and get it down.

Actually, I’m quite pleased with myself in that regard, but disappointed in the fact I didn’t get time to work on the next part before tomorrow.

Too many other distractions, like elections in other countries, though I’m still wondering why it had any interest for me.

One thing that has surprised me is the lengths some people will go to trash another candidate, and that, to me, is scraping the bottom of the barrel. Surely there’s another way to make a point, like point out all the problems that will happen with policy decisions, or the fact there are no policies.

Anyway, the next few days will be in the news, no doubt.

Thank heaven we don’t have any of that nonsense here. We just call both leaders and the politicians idiots, and vote for the one whose policy aligns with our views, and let them get on with their boozy lunches, affairs, and childlike spats in the parliamentary chambers, and hope, eventually, something gets done.

Just in case you were wondering, today’s word count is 2,480, for a total so far of 8,284 words.