Conversations with my cat – 53

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This is Chester.  He’s feeling poorly today.

When I used this expression, he looked at me quizzically, which is not bad for a cat with a constant poker face.

Where did you get that from?

It’s a favourite expression of my mother’s when she wasn’t feeling very well.  She had another, ‘not feeling elegant’ today.

It stops and makes me wonder where these expressions come from, and I suspect, because my mother’s mother was of German descent, that it was one of those translation to English things.

Chester seems disinterested.  I’m beginning to think there may be something wrong with him because he’s not his usual sardonic self.

Perhaps, I say, it’s time to go to the vet, get checked out.  You’re not getting any younger.

His head pops up at the mention of the vet.  He knows what this means.  The cat basket.

He leaps up with newfound energy and heads for the door.

I get out of my chair to follow, and he’s gone, moving quickly up the passage to one of his hiding spots.

Maybe he’s not that bad.  I’ll monitor the situation.

“You’re safe,” I yell out.  “For now.”

The first case of PI Walthenson – “A Case of Working With the Jones Brothers”

This case has everything, red herrings, jealous brothers, femme fatales, and at the heart of it all, greed.

Coming soon!

PIWalthJones1

Trying to pick up the pieces

I can see how it is that a writer’s life is one that, at times, has to be shut off from the outside world.

It’s a bit hard to keep a stream of thoughts going when in one ear is some banal detective show, and in the other, a conversation that you have to keep up with.  I know how hard it is because I’ve tried doing three things at once, and failed miserably in all three.

So, out I slink to the writing room and start by re-reading the previous chapters, to get back into the plot.  I should remember where I am, and get straight to it, but the devil is in the detail.

Going back, quite often I revise, and a plotline is tweaked, and a whole new window is opened.  God, I wish I didn’t do that!

Then I get to the blank page, ready to go, and…

The phone rings.

Damn.  Damn.  Damn.

Phone answered, back to the blank page, no, it’s gone, got yo go back, blast, another revision, and back to the blank page.

Half an hour shot to pieces.

The phone rings again.

Blast scam callers.  I nearly rip the cord out of the wall.

All through this the cat just watches, and, is that a knowing smile?

It can’t be, I’ve just learned that cats can’t smile, or make any sort of face.

I’m sure his thoughts are not a vague or scrambled, or wrestling with the ploys of several stories on the go, getting locations right, getting characters to think and do their thing with a fair degree of continuity.

The cat’s world is one of which chair to lie on, where is that elusive mouse be it real or otherwise, and is this fool going to feed me, and please, please, don’t let it be the lasagna.  I am not that cat!

Unlike other professions, it’s a steady, sometimes frustrating, slog where you can’t just walk away, have a great time, and come back and pick up where you left off.  Stories have to be written from beginning to end, not a bit here and a bit there.

It’s a bit like running a marathon.  You are in a zone, the first few miles are the hardest, the middle is just getting the rhythm and breathing under control, and then you hope you get to the end because it can seem that you’ve been going forever and the end is never in sight.

But, when you reach the end, oh, isn’t the feeling one of pure joy and relief.

Sorry, not there yet.

And no comment is required from the cat gallery, thankyou!

 

In a word: Not

You will not go outside, you will not go to the movies.

The word not, when used by your parents when you are a child is the key in the lock keeping you from having fun.

It is the very definition of everything negative, and much harsher than just a plain no.

That you will ‘not…’ has been the gateway for many an exploit or adventure, because anything you have done contrary to the ‘not’ is all that much sweeter.

Until you get into trouble, but, then, isn’t that how you learn life’s lessons?

But if you are a programmer like me, not takes on a whole new meaning in a language like,

‘If not like …. then’

meaning in layman’s terms if something isn’t like a specific value then do something else.

Hang on, isn’t that a bit like reality?

This is not to be confused with the work Knot which is,

A blemish in a piece of wood

The speed of a ship, winds, and sometimes a plane

But basically,

Something you tie to keep your shoes on, or around your finger to remind you to tie your shoes before getting on the 36-knot high-speed ferry made of knotty wood.

It is also something you find in tangled hair and is very painful trying to remove it.

It is also an unpleasant tightness in body muscles and you need a masseuse to get rid of them.

“The Things We Do For Love” – Coming soon

Is love the metaphorical equivalent to ‘walking the plank’; a dive into uncharted waters?

For Henry the only romance he was interested in was a life at sea, and when away from it, he strived to find sanctuary from his family and perhaps life itself.  It takes him to a small village by the sea, s place he never expected to find another just like him, Michelle, whom he soon discovers is as mysterious as she is beautiful.

Henry had long since given up the notion of finding romance, and Michelle couldn’t get involved for reasons she could never explain, but in the end both acknowledge that something happened the moment they first met.  

Plans were made, plans were revised, and hopes were shattered.

A chance encounter causes Michelle’s past to catch up with her, and whatever hope she had of having a normal life with Henry, or anyone else, is gone.  To keep him alive she has to destroy her blossoming relationship, an act that breaks her heart and shatters his.

But can love conquer all?

It takes a few words of encouragement from an unlikely source to send Henry and his friend Radly on an odyssey into the darkest corners of the red light district in a race against time to find and rescue the woman he finally realizes is the love of his life.

The cover, at the moment, looks like this:

lovecoverfinal1

That notion that I could be organised…

Well, toss that baby out with the bathwater.

It’s something that I have never been able to get a handle on, and I seem to stagger from one day to the next without getting anything done.  I guess I’m one of those freeform sorts of people and I guess it goes with the star sign, Gemini.

Over the years many people tried, some with limited success, others completely failing.

I’ve created outlines and created chapters as sections, and scenes within chapters, as best I could.   Once upon a time, I used to teach Microsoft Project, and having this application on hand, I used this to create a timeline, using ‘slack’ time to make up for my inability to keep to a schedule.

This is like taking a sledgehammer to a tack.

Just the time to set it up took longer than it would to just sit down and write the blasted novel.

But, I’m a fly by the seat of my pants writer.  The book starts, often with a start and a finish, and the rest fills itself in, not necessarily in the order of final events.  Of course, this means some backwards revision from time to time, but I get there in the end.

Perhaps a little longer than it should but at least I don’t get halfway and suddenly decide on going in a different direction because I’ve suddenly got writers’ block.  That doesn’t happen.  It usually plays out as the start of another story, and then I mull over the changes necessary to get the original story back on track.

Yes, I’ve been to those time management courses with the books and diaries to seem to want you to time manage your life.  it works to a certain extent, but you live your like inside another type of book.

Nor do I work well with deadlines.

But oddly enough most of the jobs I’ve had over the years have involved time management of one sort or another and I have survived.

Now, in retirement, I really need something to organize my days so something gets done.  As a writer allocating 12 midnight to 2am for writing doesn’t seem to be a good idea.

Unfortunately, it is the best time for me to write.

Anyone else out there with the same problem, and if so what was your answer to the getting stuff done?

It’s been an interesting afternoon

We live in a country that has a unique sport, which is something a lot of countries can’t boast.

England has soccer and cricket, America has baseball and basketball, Canada has ice hockey, all sports that are played all over the world.

Australia has this strange game called Australian Rules Football, and it is true to say ask anyone anywhere else in the world about they would only look at you strangely and say “What?”

It would be true to say that this form of football is a religion, such is the devotion of the fans. It’s not unusual to hear of waiting to be buried in your favourite player’s guernsey. You pick a team, or generally, a team is picked for you, and it’s your team for life. You don’t desert them and stick with them through the highs and lows, and sometimes the lows can be for a long time.

And like religion, there are such things as mixed marriages, each spouse will support a different team, and when these teams play each other, well, it’s best to be someone else after the final siren.

But, be that as it may…

We reached the pinnacle of our season, the playing of the Grand Final in the home of AFL, the MCG, one of the largest stadiums in the country, holding over 100,000 fans, an ideal venue for this game.

And, although the game was not the expected exciting and close spectacle we were hoping to see, at least all of the supporters of the winners will be deliriously happy. For the losers and their fans, there is no describing the depths of despair.

I know how that feels because I’ve been on both sides of the emotional spectrum.

Our team wasn’t playing this year so we were spared the emotional roller coaster, but we still watched the game, and no, we’ve never been to a grand final in person, and it’s unlikely we ever will.

But it’s a great way to spend an afternoon watching our team play on TV, and have a pie, traditional fast food, chips, and a few bottles of beer.

And, now football season is over, we now switch to ice hockey and our adopted team, the Toronto Maple Leafs. Fortunately, their season starts when ours ends and vice versa.

Go leafs, go!!!

“Echoes From The Past”, buried, but not deep enough

What happens when your past finally catches up with you?

Christmas is just around the corner, a time to be with family. For Will Mason, an orphan since he was fourteen, it is a time for reflection on what his life could have been, and what it could be.

Until a chance encounter brings back to life the reasons for his twenty years of self-imposed exile from a life only normal people could have. From that moment Will’s life slowly starts to unravel and it’s obvious to him it’s time to move on.

This time, however, there is more at stake.

Will has broken his number one rule, don’t get involved.

With his nemesis, Eddie Jamieson, suddenly within reach, and a blossoming relationship with an office colleague, Maria, about to change everything, Will has to make a choice. Quietly leave, or finally, make a stand.

But as Will soon discovers, when other people are involved there is going to be terrible consequences no matter what choice he makes.

http://amzn.to/2F7gqAL

newechocover5rs

 

The past and how it affect us

As much as we profess that we have left the past in the past and that we are firmly focussed on the present and even more so, the future, it isn’t always the case.

I’ve already had a discussion about whether the past defines us. In the majority of cases that may be true to a very small extent, but in everyone there is a basic understanding of what is right and what is wrong, and if we are wronged during that valuable learning period as a child, there is nearly always someone there to guide you in the right direction.

For the most part, during that time, it’s your parents.

And if the are the perpetrators of that wrong, then hopefully you know enough that it is wrong, and that you have the courage to tell someone else, like a grandparent or school counsellor, or even the police.

That’s now, of course, where we live in a far more transparent world children who are being abused have a voice that will be heard.

Wind this back 60 years.

There were no such protections. Any stray aunt, uncle, neighbour, or just a good friend of the family could get away with sexual assault, or any sort of domestic violence because society then had a different set of rules.

Grownups would first believe their fellow grownups before they listened to the ramblings of a child. In those days a child never had a voice, and we are now discovering just how many children were abused.

The same went for women. There are untold numbers of women out there that spent many years cowering lest they were beaten or verbally and mentally abused. Trying to protect their children from a bullying father copped the harshest treatment, but there wer many reasons, the simplest being not having dinner on the t sable when he got home.

As young children seeing this behaviour and not understanding it’s significance, can lead to the practice being handed down simply because a young child will accept it as the norm. It’s still the reason why some children are still bullies at school, that boys treat girls badly and swearing is very common among children as young as six or seven.

Back 69 odd years ago the results of parental behaviour had far more serious ramifications because the people who should have done something about it, thought nothing of it. Why? Although some people thought it was wrong, it was the people who mattered that didn’t. A woman who depended on a man who bashed her was far less likely to leave than one today.

Back then there were no half way houses, no protection from the bullies, and no social welfare systems in place to help these women or their children.

My mother was one of those women.

Me and my elder brother were two of those children. Don’t ask me how we came out the other side, totally different people to what we might have been.

Perhaps it was down to my grandmother with whom we spent enough time to learn there was a different type of world out there, and all we had to do was embrace it.

And, for the few years my father finally come to his senses, and leaving us all alone, life wasn’t normal but it was better.. We just kept moving, so loneliness was a way of life.

But, it seems, he changed in a different ways, and became controlling, especially in my mother’s case, and though I didn’t really understand then the results of it, the full extent of this behaviour came out when I had to make the decision to separate my mother from him in their nursing home because he was verbally and mentally abusing her. There were other aspects to this controlling behavior that tipped the scales.

Having done that, he turned his rage and vitriol on me. Imagine right there and then, every terrible memory came flooding back and the fear and despair I felt.

We had a blazing row, I was denounced as a conspirator and a lot of other unrepeatable things, and I have not spoken to him since.

Mercifully my mother is safe from him now, but she has full blown dementia, and it is, I suspect the end result of the beatings she suffered.

But there’s always a silver lining, as my grandmother used to say, and that was for me to write, and from a very early age I would read any book I could get my hands on, and then behind to invent an alternate works to live in, one where there wasn’t the violence and misery we suffered.

And using that imagination, and using the many books I had read began to write my own stories. I have a trove of material written back then which I pull out every now and then, and which have fuelled many stories now.

Perhaps it was a side effect from my younger years that I was introverted and had very low self esteem. Because if that it too years, being married to the most remarkable and generous woman, that I finally found the courage to publish my stories.

They’re not bestsellers, but their mine, and ar the result of self achievement I never though, all those years ago, was possible.

It’s nearly the end of another month

And where am I in the greater scheme of things?

I don’t feel like I’ve made any progress.

Well, that’s not exactly true.

With ‘The Things We Do For Love’, the final edit is about halfway through, and in a mad moment, I decided to flesh out Chapter Thirty, which was altogether too brief and didn’t say how certain events came about.  That’s been rectified now, and instead of one chapter, it’s now five.

OK, I know the reason for editing is to reduce the size of the book and weed out unnecessary words, but I assure you this is for plot continuity more than anything else.

I’m still not happy with Chapter Twenty Nine, but I’ve revised it about seven times now, and I think one or two more might do it.  I should learn not to keep tinkering and leave it to the editor to sort out.

Being Inspired, Maybe has finally come back from the editor and there’s a pile of pages sitting in my in-tray … waiting.

As for my four episodic stories, the treasure hunt, the surveillance exercise gone wrong, the world war two story, and what started with a helicopter crash and became way too complicated, they all need new episodes.

The other two, an icy rescue, and motive means and opportunity are still in limbo.  After all, there are only so many stories you can write at once.

Perhaps a crossover is in order, like in the Flash, Supergirl and others universe.

If only there were enough hours in a day.

Sigh.

Now NANOWRIMO is almost upon us and I have to get my next story for it into the planning stage with an outline and summary of chapters and daily schedule that will accommodate 1667 or something like that words a day.

Double sigh.

And the cat, well, just don’t get me started!