Tag: Charles Heath

Setting goals, bad idea

Unfortunately, I’m not one of those people who work well to plans, so setting goals is not a good idea.

But…

I did make a new years resolution that I would try and do things differently this year.

Except…

I set a goal to restart editing of my next novel on 1st Feb. I thought, setting it so far into the year it would be easy.

It would give me the time to clear up all the outstanding, get in the way, distractions, and be free to finally finish it.

No such luck.

Going away, spending long, sleepless hours flying from one side of the world to the other had fuelled my imagination more than I expected and I now have three more stories that need either a continuing plot outline or be written as ideas come to me.

If only I could focus on one story at a time.

So…

I’ve re-jigged the plan and set a goal to finish playing with these other stories by the end of the month, so come the first of March, I can resume work on the next book to be published.

Let’s see if I can stick to it.

A story inspired by Castello di Brolio – Episode 2

Another story inspired from a visit to an old castle in Italy.  It was, of course, written while traveling on a plane, though I’m not sure if it was from Calgary to Toronto, or New York to Vancouver.

But, there’s more to come.  Those were long flights…

I calculated the odds.  Twenty to one.  I wasn’t going to add Jack to the team, because he could never understand what was going on.

I was finding it hard myself.  Someone I had trusted with my life, for a very long time, was not the person I thought they were.

That was the basis of the message I’d received.  I hadn’t believed it.  Not at first.  But it had one other piece of information as proof, one when I thought about, made sense of everything that had been happening.

The word coincidence had become overused in the last week.

Jack had found the passage when he and I had been doing some reconnaissance of the old castle.  I thought it odd that no one knew of any secret passages when all of these old places usually had at least a few.  The lord of the manor would want to be able to move about secretly, visiting mistresses, escaping from enemies, or just sneaking about checking up on staff and family

We’d found one that ran from the guard tower to the grand hall.  A lot of cobwebs, a musty odor, and signs it hadn’t been used for a long time, it was perfect for my soon to be unannounced arrival.

The passage ended at a large wooden cabinet which had a compartment that opened out into the hall.  From within, it was possible to hear conversations and see a veiled view of any activity.

Johansson and my commander, Wallace.  He was not supposed to be here, he’d been the one who sent me the warning, about another of the command officers, Nicholson.

I could see Wallace was angry.  “I thought I told you I wanted this mess sorted out before I got here.”

Just then Jackerby came in and looked flustered.  “He’s gone.”

“What the hell do you mean, he’s gone.  Gone where, for God’s sake.  There’s nowhere to go.”

Who’s gone, I wondered.

Jack was nudging my leg.  What was he trying to tell me?

“He was in the south tower with that mangy dog of his, where he usually hangs out.”

Me.  They were referring to me.

“Then he can’t be far.  Find him and bring him, to me.  Pity that bomb didn’t kill him and we wouldn’t be in this situation.”

So, there was a traitor.  It just wasn’t who I thought it would be.

I kneeled down, “Well, Jack,” I whispered.  “It looks like we are both in serious trouble.  What’s say we get out of here?”

A lick on the side of my face told me all I needed to know.

© Charles Heath 2019

Conversations with my cat – 12

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This is Chester.  He has broken the agreement we had when we first bought the settee.

No cats allowed to sit on it.

Pleading will not cut it.  He is in serious trouble.

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No.  You cannot plead your case with Rosemary.

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Yes.  Hang your head in shame.

And get off the settee now!

“One Last Look”, a thriller

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 favorite 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.

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I’d like to write a political thriller

But, I don’t understand politics.

The question is, do you really have to?

I mean all you have to do is read the papers and read between the lines. It doesn’t take much imagination to find something worth writing about

For instance,

How could it possibly happen that a leader of a very powerful country become a spy for another?

It doesn’t seem plausible, but is it possible?

It depends I’m guessing, on power and wealth, well, perhaps not so much the power, but it is true that money and wealth are great motivators.

How could it happen when the leader is in the public eye nearly all of the time? And even if that leader has closed-door conversations, which is doubtful he would be on his own, the red not really be an opportunity to sell out to the other side.

Even an exchange of gifts, like apartments or dacha, wouldn’t be enough of an incentive, well, not for me anyway. But a clear path to investment in a rival country, maybe.

Perhaps then rather than becoming a spy, the leader could adopt a policy of appeasement.  We have history to tell us how well that works, and the fact giving concessions to another county only emboldens it to take advantage of apparent weakness, and then, hey presto, we have another war.

So…

What do we really have?

A lot of speculation and conjecture. It’s easy to construe what might be the truth from a set of circumstances and behavioral patterns of the individuals involved.

It could be likened to two cats circling each other in a cage before the fight begins.

The waters can be muddied by a constant stream of incendiary tweets which fire the readers’ imagination, all intended as a smoke screen, or feelers to see which was the wind is blowing.

Is that leader masterful and clever or is he a naive fool?

My political thriller might have a working title of,

‘Which Way Does The Wind Blow’

I don’t usually have a title for any of the books until after the first draft, or sometimes something might spring out as it’s being written.

But, for now, let’s sit back and see which way the wind is blowing.

That word ‘line’ again

There’s more to that word ‘line’, a lot more, making it more confusing, especially for those learning English as a second language.

I keep thinking how I could explain some of the sayings, but the fact is, it’s only my interpretation, which could possibly have nothing to do with its real meaning if it has one.

Such as,

Hook, line, and sinker

We would like to think that this is only used in a fishing depot, but while it is generally, there are other meanings, one of which is, a con artist has taken in a victim completely, or as the saying goes, hook, line, and sinker.

At the end of the line

Exactly what it t says though the connotations of this expression vary.

For me, the most common use is when you’re waiting, like for a table in a restaurant with a time-specific reservation, and you see people who arrive after you, getting a table before you, it’s like being continually sent to the end of the line.

Line ball decision

This is a little more obscure, but for me, it means the result could go either way, and it’s a matter of making a call. The problem is both decisions are right, and unfortunately, you’re the poor sod who has to decide.

It of course partners very well with you can’t please everyone all of the time.

These are the most difficult because one side is going to be aggrieved at the decision especially when it is supposed to be impartial and sometimes isn’t.

Get it over the line

This, of course, has many connotations in sport, particularly rugby when the aim is to get the ball over the try line.

But another more vicarious meaning might be from a senior salesman to a junior, get [the sale] over the line, i.e. get it signed sealed and delivered by any means possible by close of business.

Line of credit

A more straight forward use of the word, meaning the bank will extend credit up to a certain limit, but it’s generally quite large and can feel like its neverending.

Until you have to pay it back.

There’s more, but it can wait till another day.

A story inspired by Castello di Brolio – Episode 1

Another story inspired from a visit to an old castle in Italy.  It was, of course, written while traveling on a plane, though I’m not sure if it was from Calgary to Toronto, or New York to Vancouver.

But, there’s more to come.  Those were long flights…

 

“You have got the guards set up on the back wall,” I asked Jackerby, the officer in charge of the rearguards.

“Can you see them?” he said in a tone that dripped sarcasm.

 

I didn’t like Jackerby, he seemed far too sure of himself and his men, and so far, we hadn’t had to rely on them.

But that time was coming, and sooner than any of us wanted to believe.

“No.”

“Then no one else will either.  Trust me, no one will be coming over the back wall.  I’ll be in the command post, and it has a clear view of anything coming.”

“Excellent,” I said, trying to sound more confident that I felt.

 

Jackerby was Johannson’s man.  He had recruited him, in circumstances that seemed a little too coincidental for my liking.  Johannson was too easy going for me, and although he had not made a mistake, yet, I felt sure one was going to happen on my watch.

I think that’s why I’d been sent to keep an eye on operations.

There’d already been one attempt at an incursion, and we’d been saved by a dog, one I found on the roadside, injured by the same roadside bomb that had nearly killed me as well, and brought him with me.  The thought of doing so, at the time, had been on the end of a single idea, a dog could not betray me, men and women could.

And the fact its name was Jack seemed to me to be rather poetic, if not somewhat ironic in the circumstances.

There was a coded communication in my pocket, one I’d received earlier in the afternoon, uncoded from the signal room.  My special code.  A warning of a second incursion.

Tonight.

 

Jack and I were in the guard tower at the south-western corner of the castle.  It overlooked the valley and gave a clear view of anyone or anything coming from that quadrant. 

Of course, if it came by air, you’d expect to hear it.

I didn’t, but Jack did.  He suddenly stood and made a small moaning noise, as if he knew quiet communication was needed.  The stiffness in his body told me it was danger.

I heard it, before I saw it, a glider, and following the swooping sound, the land of men on the gravel walkways just down from the tower.  A precision flight and precision landing of a dozen stormtroopers.

And Jackerby’s guards were nowhere to be seen.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

Will this heat ever let up?

Just think, a month ago we were driving around in sub-zero temperatures.

But, it could have been worse…

When we were in New York it was a range between 4 degrees and minus six degrees Fahrenheit.

A week later, after we left, those temperatures dropped to minus fifty, not necessarily in New York but in other places quite near, like Chicago.

Wow, did we get out of dodge at the right time?

Now, having been back for a month, what was a welcome relief from the freezing cold has become a monotonous heat wave, where to venture out in the endless heat and, worse, humidity is more than a chore.

Dare I say it but the air conditioning is going night and day, and the only saving grace is the fact we have solar power, and that endless sunshine works for us.

In a manner of speaking.

But..

I’m now on a quest for a place that is more temperate to visit, you know, not too hot, not too cold, but does such a place exist?

Have we managed through global warming to destroy anything that could be described as paradise?

Is there such a thing as global warming?

Have we been on this planet long enough, with the science to prove it, that what’s apparently happening now, hasn’t happened before at one time or another?

I have no doubt paradise exists somewhere, but why would you tell anyone about it?  Once everyone does, it ceases to be paradise.

So much for that quest.

Perhaps I should be grateful we have air conditioning.

And next year try to find somewhere less cold to visit.

Conversations with my cat – 11

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This is Chester.  It has been a long, hard day.

Don’t be fooled into thinking he’s asleep.

He isn’t.

It’s late afternoon, and he’s done his rounds, sitting at the back door, the side door, and the front door.

We’re having a continual discussion about food, which, at the moment, he is being very fussy about.

I’ve sent him to bed without dinner.  I can see this is going to be another test of wills.

 

It’s Friday afternoon … again

And…

Now the school year has started again, its back to my usual Friday afternoon job, picking up grandchildren from school.

Only this year there is a change in that one still goes to primary school and the other secondary school, both schools miles apart, so I can only be in one place.

So, my job is to get the youngest granddaughter from primary school, and my wife has to get the other which, coincidentally, is more or less on the way home from work

The Friday afternoon routine of having both over for the afternoon and then dinner before we take them home is maintained.

Of course, who knows how long this will remain in place as children’s ideas about post-school activities might not eventually include spending time with grandparents.

At some point, the idea of hanging out with old people like us becomes a chore rather than a treat, though I’m guessing the open pantry and being spoilt might sway them for a little bit longer.

We are, I’m guessing, somewhat less restrictive than their parents, and we do not insist they do their homework which is probably what they should be doing.

But…

For the time being, it is a time to discover what makes children tick in this modern world, which to me seems to be very different to when I was their age.  We did not give television, computers, mobile phones or social media.

If you wanted to talk to your friends out of school, a parent had to take you, otherwise, it could wait.  There was no calling them up on the phone, sending an email or a text.  Not like these days where both have mobile phones

And, where we had to do homework or play outside using our imagination or hanging out with other street kids, these days both seem glued either to their computers or phones, playing games on the computer, texting friends, or watching TV.

It’s not the sort of TV I would watch, all screaming and violence, and it’s no wonder a lot of small children are traumatized at such a young age.  Computer games are no better with extreme and very graphic violence.  What do we really expect feeding them this sort of material?

And talking them into outdoor activities might be possible if it was not for the possibility of them being snatched off the street.  It is indicative of the times, and whose to say it will not happen even if it hasn’t happened before in the neighborhood. Now it seems predators are everywhere.

Not in our time as children.  Back then you were more likely to be assaulted by a parent or a relative.  It was nothing to walk, as a seven or eight years old, for a mile or two alone on the street, to and from school, and not even think about being whisked away by a predator.

So, Friday afternoon, it’s not a time to dredge up the past.  It’s where it belongs in the past.  What I have to look forward to is another session with my youngest granddaughter playing a game that rewards you with carrots.

Oh, and having to be quite the horsewoman, fending off rivals, dodging bombs and dragons, in order to build up your carrots so that you can breed a better horse, and. of course, win more carrots.

I’m sure there’s a message there somewhere.