Tag: Books

Does our education define us?

It’s 2am here, and I’m feeling philosophical, instead of being sleepy and going to bed.

It’s probably the problem most writers have when they’re working on a novel, a short story, or a blog post, or something else.

The other day a thought ran through my mind, whether or not my first school was still standing and if so, would it remember me?

Probably not.  I went there in 1958, I think when I was five.  I stayed there till I finished Grade six and then moved onto secondary school.

In those days, we could stay at secondary school till Form four and then, if we were 15 or over, we could leave.  I went to a technical school, i.e. one that taught a trade, rather than going to a High School which was for the more academically minded and who would go on to University.

But in my day, you had to have rich parents to get into a University, and we were decidedly poor.  It was a technical trade for me, and become a builder was to be my lot in life.

I wasn’t very good and sheet metal, the precursor to plumbing, or machine ship practice the forerunner to being a mechanic, or technical drawing, the forerunner to being a draughtsman

I could have just as easily been a farmer or gardener, it too was on the curriculum.

Where is this going?

Oh, yes.  My old primary school.  Yes, it’s still there, and it still looks like the gothic nightmare it used to.  Gothic or not, I guess those years in that school were good, and I don’t seem to have any bad memories, except,. of course, of the teachers, but that’s only natural.

secondary school, that was a nightmare, so different, and much like going to university, with different classes, different teachers, different rooms, and a lot of other kids who were older, larger, meaner, and made the navigation of early teens an annabilus horribilis four times over.

So the question did my education define me?

No.  I was a builder for a while, but my aspirations led me towards office work, the sort where you start at the bottom and languish there till you’re noticed.

Failing that, you work for a relative, then get headhunted, watch that opportunity slip away, and become an IT teacher that leads to computer programming.

But, as they say, always have a backup plan.

Yep!  Writing.  Been doing it since I was fifteen.

Now, those years I was at school have provided me with a diverse collection of people who have become characters in my stories, and I’m still waiting for the know on the door from the process server to tell me one of them finally recognized him or herself and didn’t like my impression of them.

Hasn’t happened yet.

NaNoWriMo – 2022 – Day 8

David needs a sojourn

…

The Featherington empire has residences in various places, including a castle and estate in the country.

Susan’s mother tolerated it, and Susan hated it.

David thought it was all very Old English.  Since the castle now belonged to Susan, and he was currently her husband, a title that could become very tenuous unless he started behaving like one, he got the notion he could be almost lord of the manor.

But it was not with that intention he was going there.

He just liked the idea of living, if not briefly, in a real castle.

Sadly, the fantasy does not live up to reality, and he is instantly submersed into a new chapter of the ever-evolving conspiracy.

What conspiracy?

It’s old, draughty, almost out of a dream, or nightmare, especially if it had dungeons and he ended up in one, and it brought a whole new cast of characters.

Fiercely loyal to their mistress, and very sceptical of their new master.

An initial inspection shows endless repairs and improvements being undertaken, not unexpected since the place was a few hundred years old, but what was really going on, under the surface?

All he had to do was shake off his constant shadow, as beautiful and she was beguiling, and like everything else, too good to be true.

…

Words written today, 2,387, for a total of 17,205.

NaNoWriMo – 2022 – Day 9

How not to win friends

…

Here’s the thing

It is far harder for people who are not used to keeping secrets to keep a secret from someone who has been trained to uncover them.

Whilst David had been to the castle before, there seemed to be new people there, as well as those he remembered, and he took an instant dislike to some.  The estate manager, the construction manager, and the cook.

Perhaps the cook was possibly the wrong person to get on the wrong side, but David never had any qualms about rubbing people up the wrong way.  If only he could shoot her and get away with it.

A private tour of the estate would require the subtle sidelining of his shadow, whom he discovers is really part of the surveillance team, and a secret way in and out of the castle, not all that hard because all castles have a secret, and not so secret, passageways, and this was no exception.  The construction within the castle walls turns out to be useful camouflage.

But, like any sortie under the eyes of the enemy, he nearly gets caught.

And cops a rebuke from Susan when his shenanigans are reported.

Not that he learns any real intelligence from what seems to be run-of-the-mill repairs and enhancements, though the new stables seem to be much bigger and more sophisticated than he would have thought necessary.

But Susan does like riding, and the estate is large enough to indulge that passion.

…

Words written today, 2,583, for a total of 19,788

There ain’t no mountain high enough

If only it was as easy to write one line of a song as it is to write a sentence, a paragraph, or a page of a book.  Of course, if you were to ask a songwriter the same question, he or she would probably twist it around, and not without reason.

The bottom line in all scenarios, whether writing a story, writing a song, or writing a letter, at times it feels like it is like climbing a mountain.

It’s why we have waste paper bins, and imaginary shooting practice sessions.  By the way, I don’t get very many scrunched paper balls in.

Curiously, we seem to categorize almost insurmountable problems in terms of climbing mountains.  Of course, I’ve yet to attempt to climb the north face of Mount Everest, but I suspect I’ll have to do a lot of practice to do so.

Maybe that’s what I need to do as a writer.  Practice, not climbing mountains.

Mountains have always been part of the metaphor for overcoming obstacles.  So, metaphorically, to overcome this ‘obstacle’, we can choose to climb over it, blow it up, or tunnel through it.

But the salient point is the same in all cases, obstacles, metaphorical or not, are not insurmountable, they just need time to find a solution.

So, in my case, there are two items to note when it comes to mountains, the first, I prefer to go through a tunnel, and the second, there’s not a mountain I’ve been up that hasn’t had a magnificent view.  Of course, getting to the top has been easy, I just hopped on the tram or the gondola.

After all, isn’t that what they’re there for?

Ok, flippancy aside, I have had to climb a few mountains of my own over the years, and, yes, it’s hard work, and, at times, I’ve wanted to give up.

But, not today.  Today is a good day.

And as the title says, ‘There ain’t no mountain high enough!’

 

 

NaNoWriMo – 2022 – Day 7

Some people just don’t go away

…

Why do all the heads of clandestine operations look like they’re a hundred years old?…

Prendergast is no exception.

David thought once he had inexplicably exited the service, he would no longer see or hear of the old man again.

Susan had to disappear, and David has to go after her, and yes, he needed the old departmental resources.  And, it didn’t take long to realise taking anything from Prendergast came with a steep price.

Except for Alisha.  She takes more than a passing interest in David and has him on her radar, so when he gets into trouble, she’s there.  More than once.

Like himself, she was not a resource that Prendergast could completely control, and she is investigating, off book, an interesting relationship between Susan and Russia, so it was inevitable David and Alisha’s paths should cross again.

David is also intrigued that Prendergast is apparently more involved with Susan than ever before, an added complication to his path back into her life.

And with everything Prendergast did, there was always an ulterior motive. 

It might be to police that promise he made, that he got back together with Susan, or go back to work for Prendergast, or it might not.

It was yet another layer of intrigue surrounding the mysterious enigma that was the new Lady Featherington.

…

Words written today, 2,011, for a total of 14,818.

NaNoWriMo – 2022 – Day 8

David needs a sojourn

…

The Featherington empire has residences in various places, including a castle and estate in the country.

Susan’s mother tolerated it, and Susan hated it.

David thought it was all very Old English.  Since the castle now belonged to Susan, and he was currently her husband, a title that could become very tenuous unless he started behaving like one, he got the notion he could be almost lord of the manor.

But it was not with that intention he was going there.

He just liked the idea of living, if not briefly, in a real castle.

Sadly, the fantasy does not live up to reality, and he is instantly submersed into a new chapter of the ever-evolving conspiracy.

What conspiracy?

It’s old, draughty, almost out of a dream, or nightmare, especially if it had dungeons and he ended up in one, and it brought a whole new cast of characters.

Fiercely loyal to their mistress, and very sceptical of their new master.

An initial inspection shows endless repairs and improvements being undertaken, not unexpected since the place was a few hundred years old, but what was really going on, under the surface?

All he had to do was shake off his constant shadow, as beautiful and she was beguiling, and like everything else, too good to be true.

…

Words written today, 2,387, for a total of 17,205.

“Trouble in Store” – Short stories my way: Point of view

If this story was being written the first person the only perspective or point of view would be that of the narrator.

Since we need to have a number of perspectives it is better done in the third person so we can change between characters and try to understand their motivation.

We might look at the first-person perspective for each of the characters later.

The second of the protagonists is the girl with the gun.  How did she get it?  How did the situation deteriorate so quickly?   What is she going to do?

This is a short story and we need to know something about her, so we have to get to the heat of the matter quickly, so let’s start with:

Her mother said she would never amount to anything, and here she was, with a broken drug addict coming apart because she had been cut off from her money, dragged into coming to this shop to leverage drugs from his dealer at the end of a gun.  It was her fault, Jerry said and made her feel responsible, much the same as her parents and everyone else in her life.

One of life’s losers or just a victim?  This theme can go in any direction.

Then a moment to reflect on why she was here:

Why had she agreed to go with Jerry?  At that moment when she picked up the gun off the floor, she realized it was not out of responsibility or fault, it was out of fear.

That gives us the why; he had obviously tried to make her feel responsible and when that failed, he threatened her.  But now there’s a bigger issue, the gun and a situation spiraling out of control.  The thing is, she has the gun and the power to walk away or make matters worse.

The problem was, she has outed the shopkeeper as a dealer in front of someone who had not known.  That now made him a victim as much as she was.

She looked at the two men facing her, a shopkeeper who was a dealer and a customer scared shitless.  As much as she was.  Her gun hand was shaking.

The scene is set, something has to give.

Time for the shopkeeper to weigh in.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.  Please, put the gun down before someone gets hurt.”

It’s a typical response from a man who realizes he’s in trouble and is trying to make time while he thinks of how to rescue himself from a potentially dangerous situation.

Time to change the perspective again and explore the shopkeeper.

If only Jack hadn’t come in when he did.  He would have the gun, called the police, and brazened his way out of trouble.  Who would the police believe a pair of addicts or a respectable shopkeeper?

Now he had to deal with the fallout, especially if the girl started talking.

 

Next, actions have consequences, building the tension.

 

This section rewritten, moving from Jack as the narrator to the girl, and then to the shopkeeper:

 

Annalisa looked at the two men facing her, a shopkeeper who, despite his protestations, was a dealer and a customer scared shitless.

The poor bastard was not the only one.  This was meant to be simple, arrive at the shop just before closing, force the shopkeeper to hand over the shit, and leave.  Simple.

Except …

The shopkeeper told them to get out.  Simmo started ranting waving the gun around, then collapsed.  A race for the gun which spilled out of his hand, she won.

He was getting the stuff when the customer burst into the shop.

Shit, shit, shit, shit, she thought.

Why had she agreed to go with Jerry?  It was her fault, Jerry had said, and he made her feel responsible for his problems, much the same as her parents and everyone else in her life.

Her mother said she would never amount to anything, and here she was, with a drug addict coming apart because she had been cut off from her money, dragged into coming to this shop to pick up his score from his dealer at the end of a gun.

She heard a strange sound come from beside her and looked down.  Simmo was getting worse, like he had a fever, and was moaning.

The shopkeeper saw an opportunity.  “Listen to me, young lady, I have no idea what you are talking about.  Please, put the gun down before someone gets hurt.  Your friend needs medical help and I can call an ambulance.”

The girl switched her attention back to him.  “Shut up, let me think.  Shit.”

The storekeeper glanced over at the customer.  He’s been in once or twice, probably lived in the neighborhood, but looked the sort who’d prefer to be anywhere but in his shop.  More so now.  If only he hadn’t burst in when he did.  He would have the gun, called the police, and brazened his way out of trouble.  Who would the police believe a pair of addicts or a respectable shopkeeper?

Now he had to deal with the fallout, especially if the girl started talking.

 

© Charles Heath 2016 – 2020

 

Where is that glamorous life of an Author?

I’m currently sitting in my car waiting to pick the grandchildren up from school wondering where that dream of the glamorous life of an author went.

Can it be said that any author leads a glamorous life, except for maybe J K Rowling, James Patterson, and a handful of others?

That dream is of course only a dream.  I did not start this writing caper to become rich and famous or live a glamorous life.  I started It, and it continues in the same vein, that I have a lot of stories in my head that I want to get on paper.

If anyone else wants to read them, then that’s a bonus.  If I happen to make enough money, rather than live high on the hog, an expression my father often used to describe the rich, I would happily invest in programs that get young people reading more.

It also strikes me that it would be difficult to write a literary novel in the vein of Jane Austen or the Bronte sisters, to name a few because modern-day life has no real meaning like it did then.

Instant news, instant communications, and the rest of the country, as well as the world, do close, we can go anywhere, and communicate instantly.  In the days of classic literature, the protagonist’s exchange of letters, and the arduous traveling to another part of the same country would be enough to generate a chapter, or the visit itself could generate several.

But those tales of life were always about people of means, not the ordinary people.  Stories that have the minutiae of daily life do not appeal.  No one wants to read about their lives, they want to be transported to another world where there is no such inanity like cooking, cleaning, washing, and picking up children.

I’m using this time to write another episode or chapter, or, in this case, a blog post.

As any parent will tell you, it is the calm before the storm.

NaNoWriMo – 2022 – Day 6

Your friends are not my friends

…

So, integration into the Featherington empire is not going according to plan.

Whose plan, it might be asked.

Instead of just settling into a life of luxury and being the plus one for a woman who simply needed a consort, David has the nagging feeling everything around him is not as it should be.

He could cite the pain-killing drugs sending him into a world of conspiracies and hallucinations, that not everything around him was suspicious.

Take, for instance, her new business partners, far too handsome for their own good, and why is Susan flirting so openly with them?

Then there are the three Russian maids.  See no evil, hear no evil, speak evil, if they’re maids, why did they look and act like Russian spies?

Perhaps an old friend might be able to clear that up for him/

And why does the old family Butler, the only authentic person, other than the housekeeper who truly is both British to the core, and as genuine as they get, whispering in David’s ear that the mistress has changed, and he is concerned/

On day one in the London residence, it doesn’t take long to realize the walls have both eyes and ears, and thus the games afoot.

Once more he finds himself back in the murky world of lies and deceit.

…

Words written today, 1,917, for a total of 12,807.

NaNoWriMo – 2022 – Day 7

Some people just don’t go away

…

Why do all the heads of clandestine operations look like they’re a hundred years old?…

Prendergast is no exception.

David thought once he had inexplicably exited the service, he would no longer see or hear of the old man again.

Susan had to disappear, and David has to go after her, and yes, he needed the old departmental resources.  And, it didn’t take long to realise taking anything from Prendergast came with a steep price.

Except for Alisha.  She takes more than a passing interest in David and has him on her radar, so when he gets into trouble, she’s there.  More than once.

Like himself, she was not a resource that Prendergast could completely control, and she is investigating, off book, an interesting relationship between Susan and Russia, so it was inevitable David and Alisha’s paths should cross again.

David is also intrigued that Prendergast is apparently more involved with Susan than ever before, an added complication to his path back into her life.

And with everything Prendergast did, there was always an ulterior motive. 

It might be to police that promise he made, that he got back together with Susan, or go back to work for Prendergast, or it might not.

It was yet another layer of intrigue surrounding the mysterious enigma that was the new Lady Featherington.

…

Words written today, 2,011, for a total of 14,818.