Tag: Creative Writing

“What Sets Us Apart”, a mystery with a twist

David is a man troubled by a past he is trying to forget.
Susan is rebelling against a life of privilege and an exasperated mother who holds a secret that will determine her daughter’s destiny.
They are two people brought together by chance. Or was it?
When Susan discovers her mother’s secret, she goes in search of the truth that has been hidden from her since the day she was born.
When David realizes her absence is more than the usual cooling off after another heated argument, he finds himself being slowly drawn back into his former world of deceit and lies.
Then, back with his former employers, David quickly discovers nothing is what it seems as he embarks on a dangerous mission to find Susan before he loses her forever.

http://amzn.to/2Eryfth

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In a word: Line

The English language has some marvelous words that can be used so as to have any number of meanings

For instance,

Draw a line in the sand

We would all like to do this with our children, our job, our relationships, but for some reason, the idea sounds really good in our heads, but it never quite works out in reality. What does it mean, whatever it is, this I’d where it ends or changes because it can’t keep going the way it is.

Inevitably it leads to,

You’ve crossed the line

Which at some point in our lives, and particularly when children, we all do a few times until, if we’re lucky we learn where that line is. It’s usually considered 8n tandem with pushing boundaries.

Of course, there is

A line you should never cross

And I like to think we all know where that is. Unfortunately, some do not and often find their seemingly idyllic life totally shattered beyond repair. An affair from either side of a marriage or relationship can do that.

You couldn’t walk a straight line if you tried

While we might debate what straight might mean in this context, for this adaptation it means staying on the right side of legality. Some people find a life of crime more appealing than doing honest days work.

This goes hand in hand with,

You’re spinning me a line

Which means you are being somewhat loose with the truth, perhaps in explaining where you’ve been and what you’ve been doing. I think sometimes liars forget they need to have good memories.

Then there are the more practical uses of the word, such as

I have a new line of products

Is that a new fishing line?

Those I think most of us get, but it’s the more ambiguous that we have trouble with. Still, ambiguity is a writer’s best friend and we can make up a lot of stuff from just using one word.

What a difference a day makes

Yesterday the dark clouds were swirling overhead, and there was an air of impending doom all around.

Much like those few hours before a storm is about to hit, one of those really big ones with very loud thunder that feels like it’s over your roof and not moving, and, a short time later, the deafening sound of torrential rain.

You know the feeling, you could cut the air with a knife.

I’ve been in that state of mind for some time now, but yesterday something changed.

It wasn’t the internet, that was still as dreadful as ever, despite the assurances we get that we will have the best internet in the world.  The best joke, I think they mean, after spending $50 billion on it, I had better speeds on my 300 baud modem 20 odd years ago.

Sorry, I had to have another whinge about it.  Politicians are such liars.

No, it was not something I could put my finger on.

But…

What was it?

I found I could write again.

Well, I could always write, but it was a matter of forcing myself to sit down and do like it was a chore I really didn’t want to do.   And how easy it was to get sidetracked in social media.

Not today.

Today I simply looked at the writing I wanted to do, and it all came to me, without having to stare at the blank screen before the words would come, and then find myself deleting them over and over.  500 words really meant writing 5,000 crappy words and continually revising.

Today I could write 5,000 words and it was all good.

Let’s hope it continues into tomorrow.

 

A matter of life and … what’s worse than death? – Episode 2

This is a story inspired by 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…

And sadly when I read what I’d written, off the plane and in the cold hard light of dawn, there were problems, which now in the second draft, should provide the proper start.

 

I calculated the odds.  Thirty 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.  

The man who sent me on this mission, the man whom I had given a detailed report on what I thought was happening at the castle, gleaned from soldiers passing through and the local resistance, had taken me aside in London, told me the mission he was sending me on was top secret and I could tell no one.

Only now did I realize the import of those words.  Someone I had trusted with my life, for a very long time, was not the person I thought they were.

That was in the second the message I’d received, read, and immediately destroyed.  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.

But I didn’t have time to think about it now, I had to try and get away if only as far as the resistance, to get help and report on what had just happened.

But I couldn’t understand what the enemy would gain from retaking the castle.  Behind enemy lines, it would only be a matter of time before they were caught, or killed.

Enough.  I could hear the footsteps approaching.

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 that man I’d been warned about, that man I had trusted, Lieutenant General Wallace.  I could only assume he had arrived with the stormtroopers, so for a moment, I was confused as to whether they were ours or the enemy.

I could see Wallace was angry. “I thought I told you I wanted Atherton neutralized before I got here.  Where is he?”

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.”

I wondered what neutralized meant.  It didn’t sound very pleasant.  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.”

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

Why did it have to be Wallace?  I actually liked the man.  Until now.  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

What happens after the action-packed start – Part 16

Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.

The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

Now he faces questions, not only his own but that of his commanding officer.

And the answers might not be what he wants to hear.

 

Breeman returned later that day, an agitated look on her face, the sort that reminded me she was having a bad day, and more often than not after a secure video conference with the powers that be at the Pentagon.

At least this time I was about to speak but had still not made the decision on whether I should tell her anything.  It depended on if she had any questions for me, and how specific they were.  I would tell her the truth.

She sat and head hunched forward in her hands, she rubbed her eyes and looked at the floor for a minute before looking back up at me.

“Your disappearance has set off a shit storm.”

“Because we were in the no-fly zone?”

“You knew where you were?”

“No.  One part of the sky over the desert is the same as any other.  I had no idea where we were when we were shot down, but I figured there are not many civilians armed with rocket launchers, particularly wandering around in the middle of the normal desert just waiting for a US military helicopter.”

“I would tend to agree with you.  Did Jerry tell you why he was there?”

“Jerry doesn’t talk to us enlisted me, nor deems it any of our business where he goes.  He did say, however, he was on a training run to supplement his flying hours.  But, whatever he was doing or where he was going, he needed your signoff.”

Did I just say that in an angry manner?  Not the way to speak to your commanding officer, friend or not.  I should apologize quickly, and did.  It didn’t change her expression, in fact, to me, it now looked more severe.

“There’s a flight plan with my signature on it, but it’s not my signature, but a very good counterfeit.”

“Any idea who the forger is?”

“No.  But they are on the base, here, what could possibly be a traitor.”

“Does it show whether the pilot intended to cross into the no-fly some?”

“No.  It was a usual path on our side, following the boundary.  It doesn’t explain the wreckage 60 miles inside the border.  Did you see anyone?”

Now it gets tricky.

“Just a rocket launcher out the side of a Toyota aimed at us followed quickly by a rocket coming straight at us.  There wasn’t much time to think.”

“You jumped.  It’s the sort of thing I’d expect from you.”

“Aside from hitting the sand, that’s about all I remember.”  It was a direct lie, but it could be modified or rescinded later.  This room was not secure.

“Did you see anything else?”

“Other than desert and sky?  No.”

She gave me a very long and considered look, and yes, I blinked first.  I had the awful feeling she knew I was lying to her.

“There’s a camp out there, somewhere, and what happened to you proves it.”

It was as far as she got with that statement, whether of fact or supposition, she didn’t tell me.

Colonel Bamfield just walked into my hospital room.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

Conversations with my cat – 23

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This is Chester.   He had asked the question; why doesn’t he get to go on holidays

I think we both know the answer to that.

It’s not the first time he’s asked, but this ‘simply forgetting he’s asked before’ is a ruse.

If he asks enough times, maybe…

But…

A few questions first,

Do you often find the sunniest spot, lie down and have a nap?

Hmmm, thinking

Do you only turn up in the dining room at meal times expecting the food to be ready?

Hmmm, thinking

Do you sleep in every morning?

Hmmm, thinking

Do you find your self thinking more about relaxing and less about working?

Same questions as the last time, and same no answer.

I think we both know you’re already and have been for a while, on holiday!

 

 

“One Last Look”, nothing is what it seems

A single event can have enormous consequences.

A single event driven by fate, after Ben told his wife Charlotte he would be late home one night, he left early, and by chance discovers his wife having dinner in their 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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The cinema of my dreams – Treasure Hunt – 6

My mind will not rest.

Down here, it is summer, and the last few days have been rather hot, well, it is summer after all, but tonight it is particularly hot.

So, as I can’t sleep, I’m lying on the couch staring at the ceiling, otherwise known as the cinema of my dreams.

Where am I?

Well, the location is in keeping with the weather, hot, humid, and cold drinks are mandatory.

I’m going to get another one now!

 

There is such a thing as being in the right place at the right time, as much as there is being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I think I got a dose of both that morning.

I ignored the call from Boggs reluctantly, but I still had the world-weary look on my mother’s face fresh in my memory.  As much as I didn’t want to, I headed towards the warehouse and the office where old man Benderby would be, in his Italian suit and cigar, the signs of his prosperity.

Everyone hated him.

In the employee car park, opposite the front gate, I could see Rico and one of Benderby’s sons in earnest conversation.  The sons were as bad as the father, and because we went to school with them, and they were bullies then, not much had changed.

I was curious and tried to get closer, without being seen.

Benderby Junior was yelling, “You’re as useless as that brother in law of yours.  He thought he was smarter than us too, and look what happened to him.  You still owe us ten grand Rico, and my father is getting impatient.”

“Look, I have a special project, it’ll take a few weeks, then you’ll get your money.”

“It better not be some treasure hunt I hear you’re on.  There is no treasure.  That was what your brother in law tried to float, said he had a real map but never showed it to anyone.  It doesn’t exist.  He offered to sell it to me.  Do I look like a fool?”

“No.  But, it’s real.  I’ve seen it.”

Benderby just shook his head.  “Tell you what.  Bring it to me, and if I think it’s real, then we’ll talk.”

With that, Benderby Junior walked off.

Rico didn’t look happy.  Not surprising, because if Benderby thought it was real, then Rico just lost the rights to the treasure.  Or, most likely, any part of it.

Telling Benderby was the last thing he should have done.

 

I went it to the office where I was greeted by the girl on reception.  I;d been to school with her, and she had been friends with Alex Benderby.  It was how she got the job.  It was not what you knew, it was who you knew.

I also knew Alex Benderby, but it was not the same.  He didn’t like people who were smarter than he was, we were, he once told me, threats.  To what, I had no idea.

“Sam.  How are you, haven’t seen you for a while.”

We had been friends of a sort at school, but now working for Benderby, she moved in different social circles.

“Fine, Jenny, as well as can be expected.”  Not one for small talk, I cut to the chase.  “I came to see if there was a job.  My mother keeps at me to do something with my life other than hanging out at home waiting for a ship to come in.”

“I thought you were going to university?”

“Needs money we haven’t got.

At that moment Alex walked in and saw me.  His face was all hostility.

“What are you doing here?”

“The same as every other unemployed person is, looking for work.”

“I thought you university types were too good to work in the warehouse?”  No mistaking the sneer in his tone, or the superiority.

“Alex.”  A bark from behind made both Alex and Jenny jump.  “Get the hell back to work.”  Then he saw me.  “You’re Grace’s kid, Sam?”

“Yes, sir.”  I may hate him but I still knew how to be polite.

“Grace told me you were coming down.”  He looked at Jenny.  “Tell Williams I’m sending over his new paperwork guy.  Tell him I said to treat him properly or he’ll answer to me.”  Then back at me.  “Say hello to your mother from e when you see her.  And that she still owed me dinner.”

Then he was gone.

“Congratulations,” Jenny said.  “Right place, right time.”

It seemed so.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

What happens after the action-packed start – Part 15

Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.

The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

But, it seems our hero has ‘escaped’ and had found his way back home.

Except not quite how he expected it would be.

 

Rest was impossible while so many thoughts about my recent experiences were swirling around in the back of my head.  Now, when thinking it through, it made sense that they make sure I was found alive, but in very bad shape.

Two reasons, one, to remind me that they could do whatever they liked to me, and the second, to appease Breeman, who, no doubt realizing a helicopter was missing, would send out search teams, a no-fly zone or not.

But it was a calculated risk assuming I would not tell Breeman, or someone else, about what had happened to me, whether they believed it or not.

That led to the next thought, why was I still alive.  It would be just as easy to kill me and be discovered after dying from injuries received in the crash.  Supposition, they still needed me, or, and this was a hail Mary at best, they needed access to the base, and Breeman.

Did that mean either of the two men I’d seen at the other camp would suddenly turn up?  My money was on Colonel Bamfield.  He was my first Commanding Officer, he had a keen interest in me from the get-go, and he was the one who facilitated my transfer to my current base before I knew he was working for ‘other interests’. 

I still didn’t want to think it was the enemy.

Another question popped into my head, what was his, or their, interest in Breeman because the line of questioning centered on her.

My best guess was that it was no accident I was on that helicopter, that she had directed the pilot to make a flyover, and wasn’t expected that we would be shot down and that she had assumed there would be no repercussions on either myself or the pilot.

It was also clear that if she had to explain how I came to be where they found me, and the fact no one had launched a similar attack of the rescue team, that what happened was simply a breach of orders, and a court-martial offense.

It would solve Bamfield and his new friend’s problem.  Whatever the outcome of the court-martial she would be sent home, relieved of her command.

It seemed the military, as always, had a mind of its own, and not always have the best interests of its personnel at heart.

I’d soon find out.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

 

A funny thing happened on the way to the typewriter

And therein lies the first humorous thing about that statement, I don’t use a typewriter.

I did once upon a time, but not for some time. I could no longer buy ribbons for my IBM Selectric, so it had to go the way of the dinosaurs.

Maybe I should entitle this piece, a funny thing happened on the way to the keyboard.

So…

What did actually happen, and was it funny?

I suspect not.

Its just that in that short distance, from, say, the couch where you were reading the latest blog posts in the WordPress reader, and the writers chair, your preparation for writing ends up boggling at the mindless stupidity of some of the pro-Trump and anti Trump bloggers, because it’s hard to find anything relevant to the man and his politics.

People seem to be radically for or radically opposed and there’s no middle ground. How does Government work in such a political climate?

But, there you are, my attention has been distracted and unless I’m about to indulge in political satire, I’m off track, with an out of balance mindset, and therefore unable to write.

Perhaps I should not read blog posts, but the newspapers.

Or not, because they all have an editorial policy that leans either and one way or another, which means their views are not necessarily unbiased.

On other occasions, my writing will take place during snatched moments in between chores.

I guess it’s best left to the dark hours of the night when you would think all the distractions like family have gone to bed.

Except that’s when the ghosts come out to play.

I think.

Was that the lounge room door opening?