Tag: Fiction

Writing a book in 365 days – 16

Day 16

Today we have a writing exercise – at last.

The theme, nothing like anything that will fit the outline of the story I have in mind, but maybe I can use a little poetic licence.

It is: “I never liked rain, so I moved to the desert. The clouds followed.”

Metaphorically speaking, and not literally the clouds followed, or I would be feeling like Charlie Brown who says it always rains on the unloved, which to him was a daily occurrence.

So…

A friend of mine once said if I did not like the rain, move to the desert. I never quite understood what that meant until I saw my name in the newspaper and a not-too-flattering profile.

Then, when I spoke to him a few days after reading the profile, he said, “You can run but you can’t hide.”

OK, enough with the metaphors.

When pressed he told me that going to another town no matter how remote from the last did not guarantee me anonymity, not when I used my real name, and fabricated the rest. Not too many white lies, but just enough.

Of course, he said, it was the internet, that juggernaut of information, good and bad, that follows us everywhere and destroys a good person and extols a criminal.

I tried to tell everyone that what was written about me was wrong, a distortion of the facts, but it seemed people wanted to believe what they wanted to believe, not what was true. I had done nothing wrong. People had lied to save themselves and when you throw mud, some of it sticks. Even when it’s proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was lies.

And, like all good newspapers, never let the truth get in the way of a good story.

The pity of it was the journalist who wrote the story was someone I cared about, and not without reason decided to do a check on the new guy who moved into town and seemed too good to be true. I realised that was the case the moment she said it.

I also knew that whatever relationship we may have had was over.

It taught me a valuable lesson and one that took nearly six months in a remote cabin in the wilderness to rectify.

I changed my name, changed everything. I had read a dozen different spy novels and followed the guide to changing who I was. Finding a small place in the middle of nowhere that had a graveyard with someone my age who had died in their first year. Started with a birth certificate, and went from there, until I had a whole new identity.

And then, and only then, did I come out of hiding, remembering the cardinal rule, keep to myself, do not entertain having a relationship, and at the top of the list, don’t date a journalist.

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

Writing a book in 365 days – 15

Day 15

Set yourself a reading list, and don’t limit yourself to the sort of genre of books that you wish to write. But, I have to admit I’m guilty of not necessarily reading everything because there are genres that I do not like.

But, for the purposes of this exercise, what you are looking for are:

  • Descriptions of locations, the methods by which the author conveys the setting, whether, dark, light, eerie, scary, dripping with menace, or inspiring fear. A dark room can be just a dark room, but it can be so much more.
  • Descriptions of people. If anyone who witnessed a crime was asked to describe the guilty, ten different people would give ten different descriptions and unless there was a distinguishing factor like he only had one arm, it might describe a quarter to half the population. Your job is to see how others do it and refine it for your characterisations.
  • Conversation. We all have conversations but when it comes to writing them down and making them sound plausible, that’s another story. Conversation is the hardest part of this writing thing, or at least I think so.
  • Writing style. You will eventually get your own, but to begin with, it might be a little strange. Reading many similar-themed or genre books will give you some idea of what the publisher’s editors are looking for.

You will have to read quite a few, I have a library with about 3,000 books, having accumulated them over 50 years. And I think I have learned a thing or two from reading nearly all of them.

Writing a book in 365 days – 15

Day 15

Set yourself a reading list, and don’t limit yourself to the sort of genre of books that you wish to write. But, I have to admit I’m guilty of not necessarily reading everything because there are genres that I do not like.

But, for the purposes of this exercise, what you are looking for are:

  • Descriptions of locations, the methods by which the author conveys the setting, whether, dark, light, eerie, scary, dripping with menace, or inspiring fear. A dark room can be just a dark room, but it can be so much more.
  • Descriptions of people. If anyone who witnessed a crime was asked to describe the guilty, ten different people would give ten different descriptions and unless there was a distinguishing factor like he only had one arm, it might describe a quarter to half the population. Your job is to see how others do it and refine it for your characterisations.
  • Conversation. We all have conversations but when it comes to writing them down and making them sound plausible, that’s another story. Conversation is the hardest part of this writing thing, or at least I think so.
  • Writing style. You will eventually get your own, but to begin with, it might be a little strange. Reading many similar-themed or genre books will give you some idea of what the publisher’s editors are looking for.

You will have to read quite a few, I have a library with about 3,000 books, having accumulated them over 50 years. And I think I have learned a thing or two from reading nearly all of them.

Writing a book in 365 days – 13

Day 13

The bible, believe it or not, is just a collection of stories handed down over the years, from one language to the next, ending up in English so we English-speaking people could read it.

But, originally, these stories were told by people, not written down and read out, not for a long time when someone thought it would be a good idea to get them down before they were lost in the mists of time.

It’s not unlike the stories we tell our children about those who came before them, of what we knew about them, and sometimes a few embellishments to make them sound larger than life. I mean, who wants to have boring relatives?

Coming from another angle, when writing a story, sometimes it’s a good idea to read it out aloud. That will tell you if there are any problems. The first time I did this, I had to ask myself what I was thinking … people didn’t talk like that!

Now I get the text-to-voice feature working on the words, which is just as good. It tries to interpret the badly and wrongly spelled words. AI is good but not that good.

Then, if you write a good enough story, you can hold readings in bookstores and libraries, and not have storage looks cast in your direction when something is not quite right.

Everybody’s a critic, yes?

Writing a book in 365 days – 13

Day 13

The bible, believe it or not, is just a collection of stories handed down over the years, from one language to the next, ending up in English so we English-speaking people could read it.

But, originally, these stories were told by people, not written down and read out, not for a long time when someone thought it would be a good idea to get them down before they were lost in the mists of time.

It’s not unlike the stories we tell our children about those who came before them, of what we knew about them, and sometimes a few embellishments to make them sound larger than life. I mean, who wants to have boring relatives?

Coming from another angle, when writing a story, sometimes it’s a good idea to read it out aloud. That will tell you if there are any problems. The first time I did this, I had to ask myself what I was thinking … people didn’t talk like that!

Now I get the text-to-voice feature working on the words, which is just as good. It tries to interpret the badly and wrongly spelled words. AI is good but not that good.

Then, if you write a good enough story, you can hold readings in bookstores and libraries, and not have storage looks cast in your direction when something is not quite right.

Everybody’s a critic, yes?

Writing a novel in 365 days

Day 13

The bible, believe it or not, is just a collection of stories handed down over the years, from one language to the next, ending up in English so we English-speaking people could read it.

But, originally, these stories were told by people, not written down and read out, not for a long time when someone thought it would be a good idea to get them down before they were lost in the mists of time.

It’s not unlike the stories we tell our children about those who came before them, of what we knew about them, and sometimes a few embellishments to make them sound larger than life. I mean, who wants to have boring relatives?

Coming from another angle, when writing a story, sometimes it’s a good idea to read it out aloud. That will tell you if there are any problems. The first time I did this, I had to ask myself what I was thinking … people didn’t talk like that!

Now I get the text-to-voice feature working on the words, which is just as good. It tries to interpret the badly and wrongly spelled words. AI is good but not that good.

Then, if you write a good enough story, you can hold readings in bookstores and libraries, and not have storage looks cast in your direction when something is not quite right.

Everybody’s a critic, yes?

Writing a novel in 365 days

Day 13

The bible, believe it or not, is just a collection of stories handed down over the years, from one language to the next, ending up in English so we English-speaking people could read it.

But, originally, these stories were told by people, not written down and read out, not for a long time when someone thought it would be a good idea to get them down before they were lost in the mists of time.

It’s not unlike the stories we tell our children about those who came before them, of what we knew about them, and sometimes a few embellishments to make them sound larger than life. I mean, who wants to have boring relatives?

Coming from another angle, when writing a story, sometimes it’s a good idea to read it out aloud. That will tell you if there are any problems. The first time I did this, I had to ask myself what I was thinking … people didn’t talk like that!

Now I get the text-to-voice feature working on the words, which is just as good. It tries to interpret the badly and wrongly spelled words. AI is good but not that good.

Then, if you write a good enough story, you can hold readings in bookstores and libraries, and not have storage looks cast in your direction when something is not quite right.

Everybody’s a critic, yes?

Writing a novel in 365 days – 25/26

Days 25 and 26

We have another writing exercise, this time a thousand words about a storm, a cat, and a disease, an interesting combination.

This is what I came up with:

…

Chester first alerted me to the situation. Animals seemed to have that sixth sense.

It was the usual Tuesday. I got up late after he jumped on the bed and started patting my head with his paw and using his loudest meow right near my ear.

He usually did that when he was hungry, but this was an hour earlier than usual.

Going from the bedroom to the kitchen, I noticed that it was darker than usual for this time of year, and Chester was following me, making strange sounds.

When I reached the kitchen, I went over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that lined the wall that overlooked the ocean, opened the blinds, and was met by a sight I’d never seen before.

Dark clouds stretched all the way to the horizon, and rain fell, a huge stream of whitish blue slowly coming towards us.

Below the cloud, hundreds, thousands of birds heading away from the clouds, the storm that was coming.

I turned on the radio and searched the stations until I found one that was broadcasting a weather report.
I had tried to get the television to work, but it was showing a notice that there was no signal.

That had never happened before.

Then I heard the announcer say, “People are advised to stay indoors and find a safe place. It is expected that in the next one and two hours, the coastal areas will be hit by hurricane-force winds and high seas. All those below 250 feet above sea level are requested to move to higher ground. There will be a list of alternative accommodation locations available.”

I didn’t believe what I was hearing. Chester meowed loudly, that same tortured sound he made when I was taking him to the vet for a check-up.

“I know,” I said. “We don’t have hurricanes. We’ve never had hurricanes ever.”

I heard a sudden buffeting, the wind picking up and blowing loose debris against the windows. Those windows were not going to withstand a hurricane.

“I think we’re going to have to leave.”

That statement was accompanied by a pounding on the door. Chester shrunk back. Was that an omen?

I went to the door and opened it. A fireman. “We’re directly in line with the incoming storm. This place will be a death trap. You have fifteen minutes to get anything you want to keep and get out. There’s a bus at the end of the street.”

I was going to ask a question, but he put his hand up. “Fourteen minutes. Don’t make me come back.” A severe look then he was gone.

I looked at Chester. He wasn’t happy, and neither was I. I had just taken possession of my new home three days ago, and now it looked like it might be my last.

“We have to go.”

Another guttural sound from him told me he was all of a sudden terrified, so terrified he came straight to me and almost jumped into my arms.

A second later, there was an explosion, and something hit the end window as it literally just exploded.

Time to go.

We made it to the bus, that exploding window impetus to forget about getting anything but the cat and what I had with me, and get out.

The bus didn’t wait the full fifteen minutes, but left as the last stragglers in sight ran to get on board, the last person, a teenage girl running to jump on the running board and get on before the door closed.

The wind had already reached us, and the fireman on board said the storm was moving faster than anyone anticipated.

For the last ten minutes, we sat in a traffic jam of buses heading to the underground bus station, the safest place for us to stay. People in cars were also trying to escape, but the winds had created obstacles on the road, and confusion and tempers were causing serious problems for those trying to run an orderly evacuation.

The last thing I saw before we went under was torrential rain and high winds buffeting a sign that just collapsed on a dozen cars.

For the next fourteen days, we lived in what I thought was a huge underground space, but when twenty-three thousand terrified individuals were thrown together, it was a living nightmare.

We were told that not one but a dozen storms started from the same confluence in the Atlantic Ocean, but nobody could explain why.

After the first night and the total disorganisation that came from having a calamity thrust on totally unprepared people with very little notice, and the sound of the endless e
What sounded like explosions, howling winds, and rain, combined with the relative calm of the next morning, made it no surprise that people wanted to leave.

They were told that was only the first. No one believed them and at the behest of one man who whipped everyone into a rebellion, led a group back out into the open. We didn’t know what was out there, well, we did, but we didn’t.

Most stayed. Several hours later, the wind and rain returned. Those who left never came back.

Others left at various intervals, particularly when it was calm. Some came back, and the rest didn’t. Those who came back didn’t speak. All of them were asked and speechless.

We asked the people running the shelter. They said they had no other communications except with the weather people. That’s how they knew more storms were coming.

And, after fourteen days, it was over. We woke to silence. The original twenty-three thousand had been reduced to fourteen.

Three things were clear.

The first, which might have started as a storm, didn’t end as a storm. Something else had happened, and those stultified people who’d left and returned almost empty shells of themselves had seen something they couldn’t explain or comprehend.

The second, starting from a few days ago. People were getting sick, really sick, and the hushed whispers said it was Ebola, but it was worse than that. It killed all the animals without exception.

Chester hadn’t stood a chance.

The third, while it was good to escape the confines of that underground labyrinth and away from the sick people, what was outside was far more unimaginable, even incomprehensible. Whatever the city had been before, it was no longer. It had been levelled, and all that remained was ashes, smoke, and death.

And something else. Several very large objects looked to me like spaceships. What those who went out and came back were trying to tell us was that we had been invaded by aliens from outer space.

The only question I had was who won?

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

Writing a book in 365 days – 11/12

Days 11 and 12

It’s a writing exercise, not one I particularly like, but it’s another step – building characters

This one, a car lover, has more interest in his car than anything else. We’re looking to gauge his reactions when various events occur.

I must say, I don’t really know anyone like this.

Firstly, the car was stolen but returned a week later undamaged and a full tank of petrol.

Well, it’s certainly not a group of 12 to 14-year-olds stealing cars, they’d wrap it around a lamp post and kill everyone but the driver who would be unscathed, taken to the station, charged, let out because he’s a juvenile, and get caught the following week doing the same thing.

But that’s not the brief.

What really happened? A relative borrowed the vehicle. Who else would do such a thing?

Second, a tree falls on it and wrecks it, and the son of the car lover thinks it’s funny.

It probably is, to a certain degree. The irony of someone who so lovingly cares for it, watches it get destroyed with such ease? There’s always insurance, isn’t there?

Third, While cleaning the truck he finds a secret compartment and a note.

Yes, this is the stuff to feed a fertile imagination. My reaction, a note left by a previous lover after they made out on the back seat, advising him he’s a father. The fact he had a girlfriend, married her, and had children already, this has to be a shock.

There is a dozen other scenarios, and maybe it might fuel a story … one day.

Writing a book in 365 days – 11/12

Days 11 and 12

It’s a writing exercise, not one I particularly like, but it’s another step – building characters

This one, a car lover, has more interest in his car than anything else. We’re looking to gauge his reactions when various events occur.

I must say, I don’t really know anyone like this.

Firstly, the car was stolen but returned a week later undamaged and a full tank of petrol.

Well, it’s certainly not a group of 12 to 14-year-olds stealing cars, they’d wrap it around a lamp post and kill everyone but the driver who would be unscathed, taken to the station, charged, let out because he’s a juvenile, and get caught the following week doing the same thing.

But that’s not the brief.

What really happened? A relative borrowed the vehicle. Who else would do such a thing?

Second, a tree falls on it and wrecks it, and the son of the car lover thinks it’s funny.

It probably is, to a certain degree. The irony of someone who so lovingly cares for it, watches it get destroyed with such ease? There’s always insurance, isn’t there?

Third, While cleaning the truck he finds a secret compartment and a note.

Yes, this is the stuff to feed a fertile imagination. My reaction, a note left by a previous lover after they made out on the back seat, advising him he’s a father. The fact he had a girlfriend, married her, and had children already, this has to be a shock.

There is a dozen other scenarios, and maybe it might fuel a story … one day.