Tag: creativity

NaNoWriMo – 2022 – Day 12

Not so ‘humble’

…

While David may have considered Boris the so-called humble policeman at the time, Boris, being the suspicious person he was, knew he was dealing with a foreign agent.

And he knew in time that letting him go provided two benefits, time to investigate who he really was, and how knowing him could be beneficial.  Pity then when after a few meetings in various cities in Europe, news came of David’s untimely death.

Thus, to get a call from a man who was supposed to be dead was intriguing, to say the least, and from one who was now married to a person of interest, the new Lady Featherington.

And to be asked about three Russian ‘maids’ piqued his interest.

Of course, the same could not be said for Prendergast who learns of this dubious Russian connection from his God-daughter Susan, complaining about David threatening her staff.

It’s the last thing on David’s mind as he heads off to Monaco, propelled by an anonymous text message with a place a date and a time.  Normally he wouldn’t care, but it appeared someone was trying to tell him something.

About Susan?

He would soon find out.

Booked into a hotel near the famous casino, and at a loose end, he goes to mingle with the rich and famous.  But not as himself, but his version of going ‘undercover’.

…

Words written today, 1,778, for a total of 25,968.

I need help planning my days

Do you have days when you feel like you’ve achieved nothing, even after getting through what might appear to be a lot?It’s the ancillary stuff that’s the bugbear of anyone who simply wants to get on with what’s important, and that’s writing.

You know, sit down in front of a blank page on the computer, for on your writing desk, if you have one, ready for the words to come.

Except there are emails to check.

There are ads on Twitter and the general Twitter feed to look at, just to keep up with what’s happening out there.

Then there’s the news usually digested from the feed from the major papers around the world, for me, the New York Times, in the US, the Times in The UK, and the Australian, in my country.

And, dammit, each has a challenging crossword that I really don’t have time to do, well, not in the morning.

Then there’s the stuff that has to be done around the house, I’m home but my wife still works so there’s washing, cooking, and domestics to be done which eats into the day.

Sometimes it’s not until mid-morning before I get to sit down with a cup of tea.

The point is, it’s not conducive to writing during the day because you can’t get a run at it, time enough to think about what you’re going to write before committing it to paper.

That is, before the phone rings with another scammer, and breaks your concentration.  Right, I hear you, cut the phone off.

So, three phone calls later, I’m about to give up.  It’s time to get the dinner on with family coming.  Perhaps I’ll have a few bottles of beer instead.

This is why I write at night, sometime after ten.  No phone calls, no distractions.  Well, that’s not necessarily true because what you didn’t get done earlier had a way of backing up if you don’t get through it in a timely manner.

Perhaps I’ll get a blog post or two done, another episode of the trip to China, upload another photo to Instagram, and look at the current novel I’m in the middle of editing.

By that time it will be two am, way past anyone’s decent time to go to bed.  In fact, it’s ten past two, and I’ve got an early morning.

NaNoWriMo – 2022 – Day 10

While the cats away

…

While David promises to be good, and not give the staff at the castle a hard time, Susan whiles away the time overseas tending to business.

Or is she?

A familiar sound from a familiar place tells David his wife is not where he says she is.

But, that’s a problem for another day.  He has a mission to plan and execute, and it’s going to involve the unwitting assistance of a most unlikely accomplice.

First, there’s a rather uncooperative and snotty cook to take care of.

And like all sorties, no amount of planning can cover every eventuality, but quick thinking saves the day, leaving him with more questions than answers.

And the household wondering if he was having an affair.  A talk the following morning with Susan, who seems to have a version of events, finds that, no, he can’t take his shadow back home when he leaves the castle.

Whether or not she is checking up on him, she arrived at the castle in person and makes an attempt to let him know she has not forgotten him.

Pity then she is gone the next morning before he wakes up.

Finally tired of meddling in castle affairs, it takes a very odd message from an anonymous source to get him on his way to Monaco to see what it all means.

…

Words written today, 2,171, for a total of 21,959

NaNoWriMo – 2022 – Day 11

Are you David, or are you, well, David?

…

Spies never really use their real names.  David was no exception, not that he was a spy anymore, but slipping back into that life again, if only for a few days, he travelled under the name of David Bentley.

He learned the hard way a long time ago to keep his first name, because sometimes, with another, you might not respond to it, and give the game away.

He also had a lot of expert help in transforming into someone else, and the man who landed in the Riviera looked nothing like David Cheney.

And it was oddly satisfying to have something to do.

…

But first things first, we have an interesting character to introduce, a man who is as enigmatic as David himself.

And one who knows David by various names, and whom David came across in Moscow in the middle of a mission that went sideways.

Boris, last name unpronounceable, was in the wrong place at the wrong time, or perhaps, in the end, the right place, depending on your point of view.

David ended up saving his life, and in the process of becoming friends, of a sort, when asked, Boris decided to tell him he was a humble policeman.

Of course, he is anything but a ‘humble’ policeman, and in making a new friend, considered one day that friendship might be mutually beneficial.

…

Words written today, 2,231 for a total of 24,190.

Where am I?

This could be anywhere in the world

Palms swaying in the breeze

This could be taken from the beach of any tropical island retreat.

It could be taken at any mainland resort anywhere in the world, whist lazing away the hours with a good book and a long, cool drink.

But it’s not.

It’s taken from my back yard in Brisbane where we’re in the grip of winter, and the wind is lowering the temperature from 19 degrees centigrade to a ‘feels like’ 12.

Still, in a sheltered corner, I’m having a nice cup of tea and reading a good book on what could be called a pretend holiday.

At least for the afternoon, anyway.

NaNoWriMo – 2022 – Day 9

How not to win friends

…

Here’s the thing

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

NaNoWriMo – 2022 – Day 10

While the cats away

…

While David promises to be good, and not give the staff at the castle a hard time, Susan whiles away the time overseas tending to business.

Or is she?

A familiar sound from a familiar place tells David his wife is not where he says she is.

But, that’s a problem for another day.  He has a mission to plan and execute, and it’s going to involve the unwitting assistance of a most unlikely accomplice.

First, there’s a rather uncooperative and snotty cook to take care of.

And like all sorties, no amount of planning can cover every eventuality, but quick thinking saves the day, leaving him with more questions than answers.

And the household wondering if he was having an affair.  A talk the following morning with Susan, who seems to have a version of events, finds that, no, he can’t take his shadow back home when he leaves the castle.

Whether or not she is checking up on him, she arrived at the castle in person and makes an attempt to let him know she has not forgotten him.

Pity then she is gone the next morning before he wakes up.

Finally tired of meddling in castle affairs, it takes a very odd message from an anonymous source to get him on his way to Monaco to see what it all means.

…

Words written today, 2,171, for a total of 21,959

“Trouble in Store” – Short stories my way: Actions have consequences

It’s time for the policewoman to arrive.

There is such a thing as pure dumb luck.

If she did not walk through the door when she did then Jack would have walked away.

From the policewoman’s perspective:

 

She crossed the street from the corner instead of remaining on the same side of the street as she did every other night.  When she reached the other sidewalk, she was about 20 yards from the nearest window of the store.

As she crossed, she got a better view of the three people in the store and noticed the woman, or girl, was acting oddly as if she had something in her hand, and, from time to time looked down beside her.

A yard or two from the window she stopped, took a deep breath, and then moved slowly, getting a better view of the scene with each step.

Then she saw the gun in the girl’s hand, and the two men, the shopkeeper and a customer facing her, hands up.

It was a convenience store robbery in progress.

She reached for her radio, but it wasn’t there.  She was off duty.  Instead, she withdrew, and called the station on her mobile phone, and reported the robbery.  The officer at the end of the phone said a car would be there in five minutes.

In five minutes there could be dead bodies.

She had to do something, and reached into her bag and pulled out a gun.  Not her service weapon, but one she carried in case of personal danger.

 

Guns are dangerous weapons in the hands of professional and amateur alike.  You would expect a professional who has trained to use a gun to not have a problem but consider what might happen in exceptional circumstances.

People freeze under pressure.  Alternately, some shoot first and ask questions later.

We have an edgy and frightened girl with a loaded gun, one bullet or thirteen in a magazine, it doesn’t matter.  It only takes one bullet to kill someone.

Then there’s the trigger pressure, light or heavy, the recoil after the shot and whether it causes the bullet to go into or above the intended target, especially if the person has never used a gun.

The policewoman, with training, will need two hands to take the shot, but in getting into the shop she will need one to open the door, and then be briefly distracted before using that hand to steady the other.

It will take a lifetime, even if it is only a few seconds.

Actions have consequences:

 

The policewoman crouched below the window shelf line so the girl wouldn’t see her, and made it to the door before straightening.  She was in dark clothes so the chances were the girl would not see her against the dark street backdrop.

Her hand was on the door handle about to push it inwards when she could feel in being yanked hard from the other side, and the momentum and surprise of it caused her to lose balance and crash into the man who was trying to get out.

What the hell…

A second or two later both were on the floor in a tangled mess, her gun hand caught underneath her, and a glance in the direction of the girl with the gun told her the situation had gone from bad to worse.

The girl had swung the gun around and aimed it at her and squeezed the trigger twice.

The two bangs in the small room were almost deafening and definitely disorientating.

Behind her, the glass door disintegrated when the bullet hit it.

Neither she nor the man beside her had been hit.

Yet.

She felt a kick in the back and the tickling of glass then broke free as the man she’d run into rolled out of the way.

Quickly on her feet, she saw the girl had gone, and wasted precious seconds getting up off the floor, then out the door to find she had disappeared.

She could hear a siren in the distance.  They’d find her.

 

If the policewoman had not picked that precise moment to enter the shop, maybe the man would have got away.

Maybe.

If he’d been aware of the fact he was allowed to leave.

He was lucky not to be shot.

Yet there were two shots, and we know at least one of them broke the door’s glass panel.

 

Next – the epilog

© Charles Heath 2016-2020

Does our education define us?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where is this going?

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

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

So the question did my education define me?

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

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

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

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

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

Hasn’t happened yet.

NaNoWriMo – 2022 – Day 8

David needs a sojourn

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

What conspiracy?

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

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

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

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

…

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