Tag: Charles Heath

Writing a book in 365 days – 280

Day 280

Writing exercise

Was this how it was going to end?

…

How did we get here?

That was easy.  I got out of bed this morning, even when I didn’t want to, because that work ethic my father had instilled in me from a very early age kicked in at 6:05 that morning, the same as it did every morning.

Without fail.

And i hated it.

I had said once in a conversation fuelled by too many bottles of beer that it would kill me in the end, and it was like a self-fulfilling prophesy.

A gun pointing at me by a person who self-confessed they had an itchy trigger finger.

I believed them.

Earlier that morning on the way to the office, the boss’s wife had called me and said her husband had forgotten an important file and since i was passing his house would I call in and collect it?

It was no problem; it was on the way and would not cause me to be late.

Not a problem.

Except… the boss’s wife was a problem and in calling it sometimes meant if was difficult to get away.

I drew the line in the sand before i stepped across the threshold, and that meant bring decent.

Stories abounded of her opening the door in her birthday suit.

She had done it to me before and I had asked her not to do it again.

Water off a duck’s back.

She had a weird idea about out of work fun.

This morning it was not a problem because something else was in play.  She had opened the door and stood to one side, allowing me to pass

I hadn’t taken 10 steps when two men appeared with guns and had me tied up in a matter of seconds.

It was not her idea.  She was too scared to have been the one to initiate it.  Not even when they roughly tied her up too.

They, whoever they were knew all of this before they got her to call me.  Yes, they knew we had been exploring the possibilities but not yet gone down that path.

Now it would be quite unlikely, depending on what happened over the next hour.

I was sat down after they tied me up.  Tightly.  Perhaps they thought i was the reincarnation of Harry Houdini.

I probably was.  Once.

Genevieve sat in another chair and made no bones about showing her legs under the short skirt.  Men being men they could be distracted.

Was that her plan?

If it was it was different from the one i expected.

She was a spy novel aficionado and was often rambling in about spy novel plotlines and conspiracies, and what she would have done differently.

I was one of those aficionados and had seem from the outset that combination of beauty and brains her husband failed.  She was to him a trophy wife.

He just saw a pretty girl he could exploit.

She was hoping to run distraction, and I was going to get us out of this mess.

Before her husband came home and made a mess of everything.

He was adept at stuffing the simplest of problems up.  Just look at his marriage.

I wondered if the two thugs had run surveillance on the location and knew what her true potential was.

I’d seen it, and a lot more at the last Christmas party.  Some gate crashers had taken her for an easy mark.

He ended up with fractured eye sockets a broken left arm broken right arm and a stiletto that just missed an eyeball.

He still held all the cards but was not quite so cocky, until she hit him with the baseball bat.

The 3vil underlying smile on her face told me that she was perhaps reliving that same moment in her mind.

An hour passed, several phone calls back and forth between one of the thugs and someone else, and judging by the thugs attitude, not happy with delays.

Who was he waiting for?

It was obvious whoever it was, was coming here otherwise we would have left by now.

Her husband?

Why?

I heard the front door open and close then hushed voices.  I’d also noticed that one of the thugs had gone missing, not that without his presences it would be any easier to escape.

What was also interesting was that she had not tried to speak to me since we were tied up.  Id asked a question or two but had been met with stony silence

Perhaps that was to establish there was no rapport between us.

Did she suspect it was her husband going off the deep end.

Then I heard the boss’s voice.

He had gone off the deep end.

She had too, and yelled out, “What the hell is this about?”

He came to the doorway and stopped.

I glared at him.  No point yelling.

“I would never have suspected you two.  The guy next door, maybe.”  He glared at me. “It just goes to show you can’t trust anyone.”

Was I supposed to answer that?  No.  Proably not.  He would have an answer for everything I said nothing.

He came over and stood in front of her.  “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“You’re an idiot, and you’ve lost the plot.  Whatever you think I’m doing, I’m not.”

“I have graphic images of you.”

That look of fury melted into a smile, a complete change.  If i was to guess, she was about to explode and all that would remain of the immediate 100-meter perimeter: shrapnel.

“Of my sister, perhaps, but not me.  You know about Angelique.  She was the stripper you screwed at the bucks party you said you never had.”

A momentary flicker, just enough to turn the self-righteous man into a doubting Thomas.

She had me investigate the nonattendance, where I discovered the missing tapes that were not as missing as they were supposed to be.

Everything had a price.

She nodded towards the TV.  “Play the tape.”

He had a death wish; he played the tape.  I’d seen it several times.  Her sister was much bigger in various places but to a drunk that would be the last of his concerns.  That and removing the mask she wore.

Yep.  Death wish.

“So, whatever this is Dave, you made a mistake.  Your third strike.  Call this off.”

He watched, ignoring her.  Perhaps he was reliving the moment.  I shook my head.

I was going to add my advice but didn’t.  He stopped the tape and the screen displayed static.

The thug waiting on the other side of the room.  “Take her to the shed.”

He looked like he was going to disobey then shrugged.  He came over dragged her to her feet by the hair and shoved his gun in her face.  ‘Any trouble I shoot you.  Dead.  Got it?”

The gun was enough.  The snarl was icing on the cake.

She left obediently.

He came over to me.  “I should shoot you but that would cause a mountain of problems I don’t need.”

“What are you going to do to her?”

“Teach her a lesson.”

“Not to use her sister to set you up?”

He pulled a gun out of his pocket and hit me with it.

It hurt.

I looked up at him.  “Now you’re going to have to kill me.”

Guns with suppressors made a particular type of sound.  People who didn’t understand the dynamics would call them silenced.  The thing is they are not silent, and if you listen hard enough, they can be heard over distance.  In the room, the silenced sound is quite loud.

He never heard anything.

Which was not surprising.  When I turned, returning from the outside was Genevieve, gun in hand and very distracting.  The second thug didn’t have time to put his eyes back in their sockets

Leo managed to turn his head just as she came in the door.  Two shots, two knees.

Accuracy of a woman who spent a lot of time at the gun range

This was now officially a crime scene.

She cut the bindings.  “Leave by the back, though the rear gate.  Like you’re not running from a crime scene.  Ill fix this.”

Spoken like lines out of a script.

A line ran though my head, was this how it was going to end?

I didn’t run, just looked like I was heading towards the back shed.  A short distance away was the gate.  Before I went through it i looked back.

A mess.

I shrugged and closed the gate behind me.

“Cut.”

The group outside the gate up until that moment highly focussed on getting the scene.  It was the fourth take.  The husband kept making mistakes.

And Genevieve kept improvising.

“This time,” I asked the assistant director.

“Finally.  Take a break.  Oh, and well done.”

One small step for mankind…and all that.

An assistant handed me a cold bottle of water.

“Just got the word.  It’s a wrap.”

She smiled.

And, at last I let out a sigh of relief.

Until I heard the blood curdling scream.

“What the hell…?”

The assistant put her hand to her ear, listening.  Then she looked at me.  “They were real bullets.  Two dead, one critical.  Oh my God.”

“Genevieve?”

“Gone.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

Writing a book in 365 days – 279

Day 279

Riveting prose for the dull banality of life

…

The Unsung Epic: How Everyday Life Becomes Riveting Prose

“Drama is life with the dull bits cut out.”

It’s a line that resonates deeply with anyone who loves a good story. We crave the heightened stakes, the emotional rollercoasters, the twists and turns that define our favorite books, films, and series. But what if I told you that the “dull bits” aren’t always so dull? What if the real magic lies not in eliminating them, but in learning to see the drama hidden beneath their unassuming surface?

The challenge is enticing: Can we take everyday events and turn them into riveting prose? My answer, unequivocally, is yes. And in doing so, we don’t just write better stories; we learn to live a richer, more observant life.

Beyond Explosions: What Is Drama, Really?

First, let’s redefine “drama.” It’s not always grand gestures or world-ending stakes. At its core, drama is about conflict, tension, and emotion. It’s about a character wanting something and facing obstacles in getting it. It’s about choices, consequences, and the raw vulnerability of being human.

Consider that infamous “dull bits” pile: commuting, waiting in line, doing laundry, making coffee. On the surface, these are the unglamorous necessities of existence. But with a writer’s eye, they become potential stages for micro-dramas.

The Writer’s Superpower: Perspective and Pressure

The secret weapon for transforming the mundane is perspective. It’s about zooming in, acknowledging the internal monologue, and applying pressure.

  1. Zoom In: A spilled coffee isn’t just a stain; it’s the sudden, hot shock, the ruined shirt on the morning of a crucial presentation, the ripple effect of lateness. The drama isn’t the coffee itself, but what it means to the person experiencing it.
  2. Internal Monologue: We rarely share the full, rich narrative of our minds. What anxieties bubble up while waiting for a delayed train? What silent arguments play out as we fold a partner’s forgotten items? The internal world is a universe of untold stories, rife with hope, fear, regret, and determination.
  3. Apply Pressure: Take any everyday event and ask: What if something goes wrong? What if the stakes are slightly higher for this particular character?
    • The Commute: It’s not just a drive; it’s a desperate race against the clock to pick up a child from daycare before late fees kick in. The brake lights ahead aren’t just an inconvenience; they’re a physical manifestation of rising panic.
    • The Grocery Store: It’s not just a shopping trip; it’s the careful balancing act of an elderly person on a fixed income, trying to make healthy food last an entire week from a dwindling budget. Every price tag is a small, quiet battle.
    • The Awkward Conversation: It’s not just polite small talk; it’s a son trying to delicately broach a sensitive subject with his aging father, hoping to connect before it’s too late, fearing misinterpretation or dismissal.

Unearthing the Micro-Conflicts

Everyday life is brimming with small conflicts:

  • Person vs. Self: The internal debate over whether to speak up, to forgive, to take a risk, or to stick to the comfort of routine.
  • Person vs. Nature/Environment: The unexpected downpour when you forgot your umbrella, the power outage during a critical deadline, the unreliable public transport.
  • Person vs. Person (Subtle): The passive-aggressive note from a roommate, the slight that goes unaddressed, the unspoken tension across a dinner table, the small power plays in a queue.

These mini-struggles, when given the prose treatment, become relatable and powerful. They remind readers of their own quiet battles and hidden heroics.

The Art of Observation and Sensory Detail

To write riveting prose from the ordinary, you must become an exceptional observer.

  • What do you see? Not just objects, but the way light falls, the subtle expressions on faces, the wear and tear of time.
  • What do you hear? The hum of the refrigerator, the distant rumble of traffic, the specific cadence of a voice.
  • What do you feel? The cold ceramic of a mug, the ache in tired muscles, the prickle of irritation.
  • What do you smell and taste? The comforting aroma of baking bread, the metallic tang of fear, the bitterness of burnt toast.

These details ground your reader in the moment, making even the most mundane scene vivid and immersive.

So, Can We Do It?

Absolutely. By acknowledging the inherent drama in our struggles, choices, and interactions – no matter how small – we unlock a boundless reservoir of material. We aren’t cutting out the dull bits; we’re illuminating the hidden drama within them.

Next time you’re waiting in line, stuck in traffic, or simply watching the world go by, challenge yourself. What’s the story here? What’s at stake for the person beside you? What internal monologue is playing out in your own mind?

The world isn’t just a stage for grand narratives; it’s a collection of countless, intricate, and often riveting personal epics, waiting for us to notice, understand, and perhaps, to write them down.

What “dull bit” of your day do you think holds a hidden story? Share in the comments below!

Writing a book in 365 days – 279

Day 279

Riveting prose for the dull banality of life

…

The Unsung Epic: How Everyday Life Becomes Riveting Prose

“Drama is life with the dull bits cut out.”

It’s a line that resonates deeply with anyone who loves a good story. We crave the heightened stakes, the emotional rollercoasters, the twists and turns that define our favorite books, films, and series. But what if I told you that the “dull bits” aren’t always so dull? What if the real magic lies not in eliminating them, but in learning to see the drama hidden beneath their unassuming surface?

The challenge is enticing: Can we take everyday events and turn them into riveting prose? My answer, unequivocally, is yes. And in doing so, we don’t just write better stories; we learn to live a richer, more observant life.

Beyond Explosions: What Is Drama, Really?

First, let’s redefine “drama.” It’s not always grand gestures or world-ending stakes. At its core, drama is about conflict, tension, and emotion. It’s about a character wanting something and facing obstacles in getting it. It’s about choices, consequences, and the raw vulnerability of being human.

Consider that infamous “dull bits” pile: commuting, waiting in line, doing laundry, making coffee. On the surface, these are the unglamorous necessities of existence. But with a writer’s eye, they become potential stages for micro-dramas.

The Writer’s Superpower: Perspective and Pressure

The secret weapon for transforming the mundane is perspective. It’s about zooming in, acknowledging the internal monologue, and applying pressure.

  1. Zoom In: A spilled coffee isn’t just a stain; it’s the sudden, hot shock, the ruined shirt on the morning of a crucial presentation, the ripple effect of lateness. The drama isn’t the coffee itself, but what it means to the person experiencing it.
  2. Internal Monologue: We rarely share the full, rich narrative of our minds. What anxieties bubble up while waiting for a delayed train? What silent arguments play out as we fold a partner’s forgotten items? The internal world is a universe of untold stories, rife with hope, fear, regret, and determination.
  3. Apply Pressure: Take any everyday event and ask: What if something goes wrong? What if the stakes are slightly higher for this particular character?
    • The Commute: It’s not just a drive; it’s a desperate race against the clock to pick up a child from daycare before late fees kick in. The brake lights ahead aren’t just an inconvenience; they’re a physical manifestation of rising panic.
    • The Grocery Store: It’s not just a shopping trip; it’s the careful balancing act of an elderly person on a fixed income, trying to make healthy food last an entire week from a dwindling budget. Every price tag is a small, quiet battle.
    • The Awkward Conversation: It’s not just polite small talk; it’s a son trying to delicately broach a sensitive subject with his aging father, hoping to connect before it’s too late, fearing misinterpretation or dismissal.

Unearthing the Micro-Conflicts

Everyday life is brimming with small conflicts:

  • Person vs. Self: The internal debate over whether to speak up, to forgive, to take a risk, or to stick to the comfort of routine.
  • Person vs. Nature/Environment: The unexpected downpour when you forgot your umbrella, the power outage during a critical deadline, the unreliable public transport.
  • Person vs. Person (Subtle): The passive-aggressive note from a roommate, the slight that goes unaddressed, the unspoken tension across a dinner table, the small power plays in a queue.

These mini-struggles, when given the prose treatment, become relatable and powerful. They remind readers of their own quiet battles and hidden heroics.

The Art of Observation and Sensory Detail

To write riveting prose from the ordinary, you must become an exceptional observer.

  • What do you see? Not just objects, but the way light falls, the subtle expressions on faces, the wear and tear of time.
  • What do you hear? The hum of the refrigerator, the distant rumble of traffic, the specific cadence of a voice.
  • What do you feel? The cold ceramic of a mug, the ache in tired muscles, the prickle of irritation.
  • What do you smell and taste? The comforting aroma of baking bread, the metallic tang of fear, the bitterness of burnt toast.

These details ground your reader in the moment, making even the most mundane scene vivid and immersive.

So, Can We Do It?

Absolutely. By acknowledging the inherent drama in our struggles, choices, and interactions – no matter how small – we unlock a boundless reservoir of material. We aren’t cutting out the dull bits; we’re illuminating the hidden drama within them.

Next time you’re waiting in line, stuck in traffic, or simply watching the world go by, challenge yourself. What’s the story here? What’s at stake for the person beside you? What internal monologue is playing out in your own mind?

The world isn’t just a stage for grand narratives; it’s a collection of countless, intricate, and often riveting personal epics, waiting for us to notice, understand, and perhaps, to write them down.

What “dull bit” of your day do you think holds a hidden story? Share in the comments below!

“The Things we do for Love”, the story behind the story

This story has been ongoing since I was seventeen, and just to let you know, I’m 71 this year.

Yes, it’s taken a long time to get it done.

Why, you might ask.

Well, I never gave it much interest because I started writing it after a small incident when I was 17, and working as a book packer for a book distributor in Melbourne

At the end of my first year, at Christmas, the employer had a Christmas party, and that year, it was at a venue in St Kilda.

I wasn’t going to go because at that age, I was an ordinary boy who was very introverted and basically scared of his own shadow and terrified by girls.

Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them

Also, other members of the staff in the shipping department were rough and ready types who were not backwards in telling me what happened, and being naive, perhaps they knew I’d be either shocked or intrigued.

I was both adamant I wasn’t coming and then got roped in on a dare.

Damn!

So, back then, in the early 70s, people looked the other way when it came to drinking, and of course, Dutch courage always takes away the concerns, especially when normally you wouldn’t do half the stuff you wouldn’t in a million years

I made it to the end, not as drunk and stupid as I thought I might be, and St Kilda being a salacious place if you knew where to look, my new friends decided to give me a surprise.

It didn’t take long to realise these men were ‘men about town’ as they kept saying, and we went on an odyssey.  Yes, those backstreet brothels where one could, I was told, have anything they could imagine.

Let me tell you, large quantities of alcohol and imagination were a very bad mix.

So, the odyssey in ‘The things we do’ was based on that, and then the encounter with Diana. Well, let’s just say I learned a great deal about girls that night.

Firstly, not all girls are nasty and spiteful, which seemed to be the case whenever I met one. There was a way to approach, greet, talk to, and behave.

It was also true that I could have had anything I wanted, but I decided what was in my imagination could stay there.  She was amused that all I wanted was to talk, but it was my money, and I could spend it how I liked.

And like any 17-year-old naive fool, I fell in love with her and had all these foolish notions.  Months later, I went back, but she had moved on, to where no one was saying or knew.

Needless to say, I was heartbroken and had to get over that first loss, which, like any 17-year-old, was like the end of the world.

But it was the best hour I’d ever spent in my life and would remain so until I met the woman I have been married to for the last 48 years.

As Henry, he was in part based on a rebel, the son of rich parents who despised them and their wealth, and he used to regale anyone who would listen about how they had messed up his life

If only I’d come from such a background!

And yes, I was only a run away from climbing up the stairs to get on board a ship, acting as a purser.

I worked for a shipping company and they gave their junior staff members an opportunity to spend a year at sea working as a purser on a cargo ship that sailed between Melbourne, Sydney and Hobart in Australia.

One of the other junior staff members’ turn came, and I would visit him on board when he would tell me stories about life on board, the officers, the crew, and other events. These stories, which sounded incredible to someone so impressionable, were a delight to hear.

Alas, by that time, I had tired of office work and moved on to be a tradesman at the place where my father worked.

It proved to be the right move, as that is where I met my wife.  Diana had been right; love would find me when I least expected it.

…

lovecoverfinal1

Writing a book in 365 days – 277/278

Days 277 and 278

Beta Readers

…

The Delicate Art of Beta Reading: Who to Trust With Your First Draft (And How to Ask)

Congratulations. You did the impossible. You typed “The End.”

That rush of relief, accomplishment, and sheer terror is the signature cocktail of the first-draft writer. You have a manuscript—a beautiful, messy, wonderful secret—and now you need to expose it to the light.

But who do you trust with your raw, vulnerable creation?

Sending your draft out for feedback is like choosing a mechanic for a car that’s barely held together with duct tape and hope. You don’t need a cheerleader; you need an expert who knows how to spot engine failure. Asking the wrong people can lead to useless praise, crippling negativity, or advice that sends you spiraling down the wrong revision path.

Here is your professional guide on curating the perfect feedback team and asking them the right questions.

Tier 1: The Inner Circle (The Mechanics)

These are the people who will look at the bones of your story. They are not focused on typos or beautiful prose—they are hunting for structural integrity and inherent flaws.

1. The Critique Partner (CP)

Who they are: A fellow working writer. Ideally, someone who writes in your genre or a similar one, and who understands the difference between a first draft and a finished product.

Why you need them: CPs see the craft. They can identify a weak inciting incident, inconsistent character motivation, pacing problems, and major plot holes. They understand the mechanics of story development and won’t confuse their personal preferences with necessary improvements.

The Golden Rule: Choose someone with whom you have an established reciprocal relationship. Critique is a two-way street; you should be dedicated to giving them thoughtful, critical feedback as well.

2. The Professional (The Editor)

Who they are: Someone who understands the publishing industry, perhaps a developmental editor you respect, or a writing coach.

Why you need them: While you might not hire a full developmental editor for your first draft, getting a manuscript evaluation from a professional can save you months of wasted revision time. They offer an objective, market-aware perspective that no friend or spouse can provide.

Tier 2: The Broader Circle (The Target Audience)

Once the structure is sound, you need to know if the book is enjoyable and if it hits the right notes for the people who will actually buy it. This is where you broaden your scope.

3. The Avid Reader

Who they are: Someone who reads 5-10 books per month, specifically in your genre. If you wrote a space opera, they must be a space opera fan. If you wrote gritty domestic suspense, they must devour psychological thrillers.

Why you need them: They represent your market. They are looking purely for the reading experience.

  • Do the tropes feel fresh?
  • Is the world immersive?
  • Did the ending satisfy me as a fan of this type of story?

This group provides essential data on market viability and reader expectation. They don’t care about your comma splices—they care about the emotional arc and the page-turning factor.

4. The “Non-Genre” Neutral Reader

Who they are: A highly literate individual who enjoys good stories but doesn’t necessarily specialize in your genre.

Why you need them: This reader tests the universality of your story. If your narrative relies too heavily on niche terminology or genre conventions, the neutral reader will get lost. If they love the characters, even if they never read Sci-Fi, you know you have something special. Just be careful: if they hate your book, make sure it’s not just because they inherently dislike the genre itself.

The Feedback Blacklist: Who to Avoid Asking

The biggest pitfall for first-time sharers is asking the wrong people—those whose feedback is either too gentle or entirely irrelevant.

PersonWhy You Should Avoid Them
Your Spouse/ParentsThey love you, not necessarily your draft. They will offer useless kindness that doesn’t help you improve.
People Who Hate Your GenreThey will critique the genre conventions (e.g., “Why did it have dragons?”) rather than your execution (e.g., “The dragons felt unnecessary to the plot.”).
The Overly Critical CoworkerIf their feedback is designed to make them feel superior or crush your spirit, it serves no purpose. Seek constructive criticism, not malicious dissection.
Someone Who Doesn’t ReadThey won’t understand pacing, structure, or reader expectation. Their notes will likely focus on surface-level issues easily fixed later.

The Secret Ingredient: How to Ask (The Feedback Toolkit)

Sending an email that says, “Tell me what you think,” is a recipe for vague, unhelpful responses. You need to give your readers a job description.

Before sending the manuscript, do three things:

1. Set the Stage (Manage Expectations)

Remind your reader that this is a first draft. It is messy. There are typos. The pacing might be terrible in Act II. This preemptive honesty frees them from trying to be polite about the obvious flaws and allows them to focus on the big picture.

2. Provide Targeted Questions

This is the most critical step. Instead of asking for a general opinion, give them 3–5 specific tasks related to your known weaknesses.

Examples of Targeted Questions:

  • “Did the protagonist’s actions in Chapter 12 feel consistent with their personality in Chapter 4?” (Testing character arc/consistency)
  • “Where exactly did you feel the tension drop? (Please mark the page number.)” (Testing pacing)
  • “Was the antagonist’s motivation clear and compelling, or did they feel like a cliché villain?” (Testing antagonist development)
  • “As a fan of [Genre], did the opening chapter hook you effectively?” (Testing the entry point/voice)

3. Offer Clear Instructions

Use a common format (Word Doc with Tracked Changes enabled, or Google Docs with Comments). Set a reasonable deadline (4–6 weeks for a novel-length work) and stick to it. If they miss the deadline, move on. Your writing schedule is paramount.

The Final Filter

Once the feedback starts rolling in, the work is not over. Your last, and most important, job is to be the Chief Executive Officer of Your Novel.

Not all feedback is created equal. If one reader hates a scene, but five others loved it, ignore the outlier. If three different people flag the same exact problem (e.g., “The middle section dragged”), you have identified a factual flaw that needs fixing.

Your first draft is an experiment. Feedback is the data. Learn to read the data dispassionately, apply what helps the story, and toss the rest with confidence. Now, take a deep breath, hit ‘send,’ and prepare for the rewrite.

Searching for locations: Hutongs, Beijing, China

Hutongs, Beijing, China

What are Hutongs?

In Beijing Hutongs are formed by lines of traditional courtyard residences, called siheyuan.  Neighborhoods were formed by joining many hutongs together. These siheyuan are the traditional residences, usually occupied by a single or extended family, signifying wealth, and prosperity. 

Over 500 of these still exist.Many of these hutongs have been demolished, but recently they have become protected places as a means of preserving some Chinese cultural history.  They were first established in the Yuan Dynasty (1279-1368)Many of these Hutongs had their main buildings and gates built facing south, and lanes connecting them to other hutongs also ran north to south.

Many hutongs, some several hundred years old, in the vicinity of the Bell Tower and Drum Tower and Shichahai Lake are preserved and abound with tourists, many of which tour the quarter in pedicabs.

The optional tour also includes a visit to Shichahai, a historic scenic area consisting of three lakes (Qianhai, meaning Front Sea; Houhai, meaning Back Sea and Xihai, meaning West Sea), surrounding places of historic interest and scenic beauty and remnants of old-style local residences, Hutong and Courtyard.  

First, we had a short walk through the more modern part of the Hutong area and given some free time for shopping, but we prefer just to meander by the canal.  

There is a lake, and if we had the time, there were boats you could take.

With some time to spare, we take a quick walk down one of the alleyways where on the ground level are small shops, and above, living quarters.

Then we go to the bell and drum towers before walking through some more alleys was to where the rickshaws were waiting.
The Bell tower

And the Drum tower. Both still working today.

The rickshaw ride took us through some more back streets where it was clear renovations were being made so that the area could apply for world heritage listing.  Seeing inside some of the houses shows that they may look dumpy outside but that’s not the case inside.

The rickshaw ride ends outside the house where dinner will be served, and is a not so typical hose but does have all the elements of how the Chinese live, the boy’s room, the girl’s room, the parent’s room, the living area, and the North-south feng shui.

Shortly after we arrive, the cricket man, apparently someone quite famous in Beijing arrives and tells us all about crickets and then grasshoppers, then about cricket racing.  He is animated and clearly enjoys entertaining us westerners.

I’m sorry but the cricket stuff just didn’t interest me.  Or the grasshoppers.

As for dinner, it was finally a treat to eat what the typical Chinese family eats, and everything was delicious, and the endless beer was a nice touch.

And the last surprise, the food was cooked by a man.

Writing a book in 365 days – 277/278

Days 277 and 278

Beta Readers

…

The Delicate Art of Beta Reading: Who to Trust With Your First Draft (And How to Ask)

Congratulations. You did the impossible. You typed “The End.”

That rush of relief, accomplishment, and sheer terror is the signature cocktail of the first-draft writer. You have a manuscript—a beautiful, messy, wonderful secret—and now you need to expose it to the light.

But who do you trust with your raw, vulnerable creation?

Sending your draft out for feedback is like choosing a mechanic for a car that’s barely held together with duct tape and hope. You don’t need a cheerleader; you need an expert who knows how to spot engine failure. Asking the wrong people can lead to useless praise, crippling negativity, or advice that sends you spiraling down the wrong revision path.

Here is your professional guide on curating the perfect feedback team and asking them the right questions.

Tier 1: The Inner Circle (The Mechanics)

These are the people who will look at the bones of your story. They are not focused on typos or beautiful prose—they are hunting for structural integrity and inherent flaws.

1. The Critique Partner (CP)

Who they are: A fellow working writer. Ideally, someone who writes in your genre or a similar one, and who understands the difference between a first draft and a finished product.

Why you need them: CPs see the craft. They can identify a weak inciting incident, inconsistent character motivation, pacing problems, and major plot holes. They understand the mechanics of story development and won’t confuse their personal preferences with necessary improvements.

The Golden Rule: Choose someone with whom you have an established reciprocal relationship. Critique is a two-way street; you should be dedicated to giving them thoughtful, critical feedback as well.

2. The Professional (The Editor)

Who they are: Someone who understands the publishing industry, perhaps a developmental editor you respect, or a writing coach.

Why you need them: While you might not hire a full developmental editor for your first draft, getting a manuscript evaluation from a professional can save you months of wasted revision time. They offer an objective, market-aware perspective that no friend or spouse can provide.

Tier 2: The Broader Circle (The Target Audience)

Once the structure is sound, you need to know if the book is enjoyable and if it hits the right notes for the people who will actually buy it. This is where you broaden your scope.

3. The Avid Reader

Who they are: Someone who reads 5-10 books per month, specifically in your genre. If you wrote a space opera, they must be a space opera fan. If you wrote gritty domestic suspense, they must devour psychological thrillers.

Why you need them: They represent your market. They are looking purely for the reading experience.

  • Do the tropes feel fresh?
  • Is the world immersive?
  • Did the ending satisfy me as a fan of this type of story?

This group provides essential data on market viability and reader expectation. They don’t care about your comma splices—they care about the emotional arc and the page-turning factor.

4. The “Non-Genre” Neutral Reader

Who they are: A highly literate individual who enjoys good stories but doesn’t necessarily specialize in your genre.

Why you need them: This reader tests the universality of your story. If your narrative relies too heavily on niche terminology or genre conventions, the neutral reader will get lost. If they love the characters, even if they never read Sci-Fi, you know you have something special. Just be careful: if they hate your book, make sure it’s not just because they inherently dislike the genre itself.

The Feedback Blacklist: Who to Avoid Asking

The biggest pitfall for first-time sharers is asking the wrong people—those whose feedback is either too gentle or entirely irrelevant.

PersonWhy You Should Avoid Them
Your Spouse/ParentsThey love you, not necessarily your draft. They will offer useless kindness that doesn’t help you improve.
People Who Hate Your GenreThey will critique the genre conventions (e.g., “Why did it have dragons?”) rather than your execution (e.g., “The dragons felt unnecessary to the plot.”).
The Overly Critical CoworkerIf their feedback is designed to make them feel superior or crush your spirit, it serves no purpose. Seek constructive criticism, not malicious dissection.
Someone Who Doesn’t ReadThey won’t understand pacing, structure, or reader expectation. Their notes will likely focus on surface-level issues easily fixed later.

The Secret Ingredient: How to Ask (The Feedback Toolkit)

Sending an email that says, “Tell me what you think,” is a recipe for vague, unhelpful responses. You need to give your readers a job description.

Before sending the manuscript, do three things:

1. Set the Stage (Manage Expectations)

Remind your reader that this is a first draft. It is messy. There are typos. The pacing might be terrible in Act II. This preemptive honesty frees them from trying to be polite about the obvious flaws and allows them to focus on the big picture.

2. Provide Targeted Questions

This is the most critical step. Instead of asking for a general opinion, give them 3–5 specific tasks related to your known weaknesses.

Examples of Targeted Questions:

  • “Did the protagonist’s actions in Chapter 12 feel consistent with their personality in Chapter 4?” (Testing character arc/consistency)
  • “Where exactly did you feel the tension drop? (Please mark the page number.)” (Testing pacing)
  • “Was the antagonist’s motivation clear and compelling, or did they feel like a cliché villain?” (Testing antagonist development)
  • “As a fan of [Genre], did the opening chapter hook you effectively?” (Testing the entry point/voice)

3. Offer Clear Instructions

Use a common format (Word Doc with Tracked Changes enabled, or Google Docs with Comments). Set a reasonable deadline (4–6 weeks for a novel-length work) and stick to it. If they miss the deadline, move on. Your writing schedule is paramount.

The Final Filter

Once the feedback starts rolling in, the work is not over. Your last, and most important, job is to be the Chief Executive Officer of Your Novel.

Not all feedback is created equal. If one reader hates a scene, but five others loved it, ignore the outlier. If three different people flag the same exact problem (e.g., “The middle section dragged”), you have identified a factual flaw that needs fixing.

Your first draft is an experiment. Feedback is the data. Learn to read the data dispassionately, apply what helps the story, and toss the rest with confidence. Now, take a deep breath, hit ‘send,’ and prepare for the rewrite.

Writing a book in 365 days – My Story 41

More about finishing my story

…

The Editing Dilemma: How To Know When Your Story Is Truly Done

You’ve done it. You’ve wrestled with the blank page, battled plot holes, breathed life into characters, and finally, triumphantly, typed “The End.” A moment of profound satisfaction, right?

Well, yes. And then the next phase begins: editing.

For many writers, this is where the real battle starts. The initial triumph gives way to a creeping anxiety. You read it again. And again. And suddenly, that beautiful, hard-won story feels less like a polished gem and more like a lump of clay you’re endlessly reshaping.

This is the Editing Dilemma: The powerful, almost irresistible temptation to tinker. To adjust just one more sentence, to rephrase that paragraph, to reconsider an entire subplot. The nagging question echoes in your mind: Have I got the story just right?

The Lure of the Endless Tweak

Why do we fall into this loop?

  • Perfectionism: We want our work to be flawless, to resonate deeply, to stand the test of time.
  • Love for the Craft: We genuinely enjoy the process of refining, shaping, and polishing.
  • Fear of Exposure: Once it’s “done,” it’s out there for judgment. Keeping it in edit mode is a form of procrastination, a shield against potential criticism.
  • The “What If”: What if there’s a better word? A stronger metaphor? A more impactful opening?

While the desire for excellence is admirable, allowing ourselves to be trapped in an endless editing cycle is detrimental. It can lead to burnout, stale prose, and worst of all, a graveyard of unfinished (or unreleased) stories.

So, how do we break free? How do you know when enough is enough?

The Art of Knowing When to Stop Editing

It’s not about achieving absolute perfection – that’s an illusion. It’s about reaching a point of optimal readiness. Here are some strategies to help you recognize it:

  1. Step Away, Then Return with Fresh Eyes: This is non-negotiable. Finish a draft, then put it aside for a few days, a week, or even a month if possible. Work on something else, live your life. When you return, you’ll catch errors and awkward phrasings you swore weren’t there before.
  2. Define Your Editing Passes: Instead of just “editing,” break it down into specific goals.
    • Pass 1: Big picture – plot, pacing, character arcs.
    • Pass 2: Scene-level – dialogue, description, showing vs. telling.
    • Pass 3: Sentence-level – clarity, conciseness, word choice.
    • Pass 4: Proofreading – grammar, spelling, punctuation. Once you’ve completed these targeted passes, you’ve addressed the major areas.
  3. Read It Aloud (or Use a Text-to-Speech Reader): Your ears catch things your eyes miss. Awkward rhythms, repetitive phrases, clunky sentences – they all become glaringly obvious when spoken. If it sounds good, it probably is good.
  4. Get Objective Feedback: Hand your manuscript to trusted beta readers or, ideally, a professional editor. Their feedback is invaluable. If multiple people are flagging the same issue, address it. If they’re all saying “This is great, just a few tiny tweaks,” it’s a strong sign you’re close. Crucially, listen to their feedback, don’t just collect it.
  5. Look for Diminishing Returns: Are your new edits making a significant difference, or are you just moving commas around, swapping synonyms that are equally good, or changing something back to how it was a few drafts ago? When the changes become tiny, subjective, and don’t improve the core story, you’ve hit the wall of diminishing returns.
  6. Check Your Core Intent: Does the story achieve what you set out to do? Is the message clear? Are the characters compelling? Is the plot resolved? If the answer is yes, then the foundational work is solid. The rest is frosting.
  7. Trust Your Gut – The Deep Quiet: There comes a point, after all the passes, all the feedback, all the hard work, where you feel a profound sense of quietude about the manuscript. It’s not “perfect,” but it feels right. It’s humming. You feel a sense of completion, a subtle understanding that to continue tinkering would be to chip away at its essence rather than enhance it.

The Courage to Let Go

Editing is an essential, transformative part of the writing process. It refines your vision and elevates your craft. But learning when to stop is just as vital as knowing how to start.

Your story isn’t meant to be locked away in an eternal revision loop. It’s meant to be shared, to be experienced, to connect with readers. Have the courage to say, “This is the best I can make it right now.” Celebrate your hard work, and then, with a deep breath, send your story out into the world.

It’s done. And it’s ready.

Searching for locations: Hutongs, Beijing, China

Hutongs, Beijing, China

What are Hutongs?

In Beijing Hutongs are formed by lines of traditional courtyard residences, called siheyuan.  Neighborhoods were formed by joining many hutongs together. These siheyuan are the traditional residences, usually occupied by a single or extended family, signifying wealth, and prosperity. 

Over 500 of these still exist.Many of these hutongs have been demolished, but recently they have become protected places as a means of preserving some Chinese cultural history.  They were first established in the Yuan Dynasty (1279-1368)Many of these Hutongs had their main buildings and gates built facing south, and lanes connecting them to other hutongs also ran north to south.

Many hutongs, some several hundred years old, in the vicinity of the Bell Tower and Drum Tower and Shichahai Lake are preserved and abound with tourists, many of which tour the quarter in pedicabs.

The optional tour also includes a visit to Shichahai, a historic scenic area consisting of three lakes (Qianhai, meaning Front Sea; Houhai, meaning Back Sea and Xihai, meaning West Sea), surrounding places of historic interest and scenic beauty and remnants of old-style local residences, Hutong and Courtyard.  

First, we had a short walk through the more modern part of the Hutong area and given some free time for shopping, but we prefer just to meander by the canal.  

There is a lake, and if we had the time, there were boats you could take.

With some time to spare, we take a quick walk down one of the alleyways where on the ground level are small shops, and above, living quarters.

Then we go to the bell and drum towers before walking through some more alleys was to where the rickshaws were waiting.
The Bell tower

And the Drum tower. Both still working today.

The rickshaw ride took us through some more back streets where it was clear renovations were being made so that the area could apply for world heritage listing.  Seeing inside some of the houses shows that they may look dumpy outside but that’s not the case inside.

The rickshaw ride ends outside the house where dinner will be served, and is a not so typical hose but does have all the elements of how the Chinese live, the boy’s room, the girl’s room, the parent’s room, the living area, and the North-south feng shui.

Shortly after we arrive, the cricket man, apparently someone quite famous in Beijing arrives and tells us all about crickets and then grasshoppers, then about cricket racing.  He is animated and clearly enjoys entertaining us westerners.

I’m sorry but the cricket stuff just didn’t interest me.  Or the grasshoppers.

As for dinner, it was finally a treat to eat what the typical Chinese family eats, and everything was delicious, and the endless beer was a nice touch.

And the last surprise, the food was cooked by a man.

Another excerpt from “Strangers We’ve Become” – A sequel to ‘What Sets Us Apart’

…

It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone.  It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air.  In summer, it was the best time of the day.  When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.

On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’.  This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.

She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable.  The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day.  So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.

It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her.  It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.

I sat in my usual corner.  Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner.  There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around.  I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria.  All she did was serve coffee and cake.

When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?”  She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.

“I am this morning.  I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating.  I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise.  I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”

“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me.  I have had a lot worse.  I think she is simply jealous.”

It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be.  “Why?”

“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”

It made sense, even if it was not true.  “Perhaps if I explained…”

Maria shook her head.  “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole.  My grandfather had many expressions, David.  If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her.  Before she goes home.”

Interesting advice.  Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma.  What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?

“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.

“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much.  Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone.  It was an intense conversation.  I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell.  It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”

“It is indeed.  And you’re right.  She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one.  She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office.  Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”

And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful.  She had liked Maria the moment she saw her.  We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived.  I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.

She sighed.  “I am glad I am just a waitress.  Your usual coffee and cake?”

“Yes, please.”

Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.

I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one.  What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.

There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it.  We were still married, just not living together.

This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her.  She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.

It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.

There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd.  She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right.  It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.

But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings.  But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.

Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart.  I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit.  The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.

I knew I was not a priority.  Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.

And finally, there was Alisha.  Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around.  It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties. 

At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata.  Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.

Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.

When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan.  She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores.  We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated.  It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.

It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard.  I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.

She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top.  She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.

Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak.  I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.

Neither spoke nor looked at each other.  I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”

Maria nodded and left.

“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests.  I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence?  All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”

My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.

“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us.  There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”

“Why come at all.  A phone call would have sufficed.”

“I had to see you, talk to you.  At least we have had a chance to do that.  I’m sorry about yesterday.  I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her.  I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”

An apology was the last thing I expected.

“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington.  I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction.  We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”

“You’re not coming with me?”  She sounded disappointed.

“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”

“Why?”

“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress.  You are so much better doing your job without me.  I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband.  Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less.  You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it.  I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”

It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement.  Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points.  I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever.  The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.

Then, her expression changed.  “Is that what you want?”

“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways.  But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”

“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”

That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud.  “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan.  You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy.  While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”

“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance.  I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother.  She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right.  Why do you think I gave you such a hard time?  You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously.  But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”

“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”

“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”

“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”

I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead.  Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers.  Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen.  Gianna didn’t like Susan either.

Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her.  She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.

She stood.  “Last chance.”

“Forever?”

She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face.  “Of course not.  I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship.  I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”

I had been trying.  “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan.  I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”

She frowned at me.  “As you wish.”  She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table.  “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home.  Please make it sooner rather than later.  Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”

That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car.  I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.

No kiss, no touch, no looking back. 

…

© Charles Heath 2018-2025

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