Writing a book in 365 days – 350

Day 350 – Writing exercise

He had never liked the desert, or anywhere hot, if he was telling the truth.

…

It started out as a joke and ended up as the reason for defunding my project, but irrespective of the reason given, it was not unexpected because of the lack of progress and cost overruns.

And the fact that I had suffered a minor breakdown, having laboured day and night, in very hot, dusty, trying conditions for longer than I expected.

Of course, the fact that I had assured the Management team that I would be available 24/7, and was forced to go on indefinite sick leave, was probably the final nail in the coffin.

That, and the fact that I had participated in an interview where I had confessed, in a moment of reflection, that I preferred to live in the cooler climate of the mountains than in the middle of the desert, the place where I had been running a major investigation into underground rivers.

Or, as my hard-working and cynical assistant project manager had put it, they didn’t want a woman taking my place, and worse, they didn’t want anyone to know they had run out of funding.

In the end, none of it mattered. They shut down the site.

…

Melanie, Acting Project Manager, resident cynic, and all-around conspiracy theorist, had dropped in on her way home, or as she put it, a welcome deviation before returning to a ‘rat hole’ at her sister’s residence while in transit between jobs.

I had just left the hospital, and arrived at my ‘Shangrila’ the day before. She had just wrapped up the operation in Mexico. She looked as exhausted as I still felt.

When Melanie watched the replay of the post-project interview, curious to see what had been said, she realised one very important point. “You were led. The interviewer had a definite plan to lead you down a particular path and then took a run with it.”

“I was tired and wanted to get it over with.”

“You didn’t ask for the slate of questions ahead of time?”

“I did and was given a folder. There was nothing about climate preferences, or the possibility of exhaustion, in them.”

“There you are. It was nothing less than a set-up, clearly designed to derail your project.”

Melanie always suspected the organisation that funded the projects to be exactly the sort of people they portrayed to the outside world, and she had been very vocal at the first meeting, and several since, citing the world needed water, not geothermal energy.

In the beginning, it had been a hard sell. Until suddenly they changed their minds from a hard no to a three-year deal.

That was until the two board members who agreed with her had retired in the last six months.

“If they hadn’t retired, we wouldn’t be here.”

Actually, we would. We had not found irrefutable evidence that there was water under the impenetrable rock. It was somewhere near there, I just wasn’t sure exactly where, and drilling bores wasn’t cheap.

I had been assured they’d come back to it later.

Meanwhile…

I was on administrative leave. Melanie was supposed to go to Peru or Chile. Instead ,she stayed with me.

…

Melanie had also suspected the Project Management organisation of having ulterior motives. I had also heard the rumours that somewhere of the projects had two purposes.

The most recent, an archaeological dig turned into a search for oil, in a place where the local government had been prevented from prospecting.

Our project had the security team ‘enhanced’ because of ‘perceived’ threats to our safety, which, in the end, didn’t materialise.

Just before the funding dried up.

It was not as if they didn’t have a reason. Suddenly, we found it difficult to bore through the hard rock to get down to the suspected cavern where an underground river ran from the Arctic to the north to the equator.

We had found what was believed to be the entrance in northern Scandinavia, but not the outlet, other than ancient evidence of water feeding a flourishing Aztec city, not just dry dusty ruins. It had been paradise.

And as much as I would like to also give my archaeological skills a run, that hadn’t been our focus. We just had to work around the archaeological aspects of the site.

Even so, I had a feeling someone was poking around the ruins, with people going missing, and strange noises at night.

Melanie was adamant that the ghosts of the city’s once-inhabitants were rising up to protect their final resting place from us invaders.

It became the subject of a conversation one morning, after about a week, the amount of time it took for Melanie doing nothing to start getting bored.

She had just latched onto the archaeological aspects of the site, just arriving at a conclusion I had considered a possibility, but unlikely given the local government’s stand on exploration of the ruins.

“It’s an unjustified cost to bore through impassable rock, especially when we cannot prove an outcome.”

“What if it wasn’t and they’re just telling you that?”

I looked at her over the conference table with surprise. Melanie was my guru for superstitions and conspiracy theories and was often closer to the bone than most.

She had said once after a few too many margaritas that the site we were working at had been an old Aztec temple and place of worship and sacrifice, and more than one ghost had been seen at night.

I thought I had seen one myself, but I didn’t believe in such things. But I did suspect that there might be an element of truth in another myth she had uncovered, that somewhere within the boundaries of the site was a reputed entrance to a network of caverns and tunnels, where artifacts had been hidden from the Spanish conquerors, and which several items had been found nearby.

It would make more sense to think we had been shut down so that another clandestine expedition was being funded to locate the entrance or determine whether there was any truth to the supposition that gold and or artifacts were hidden there. That would make more money than finding underground watercourses.

“Then what are you telling me?”

“Those extra security staff sent to save us from the revolting masses would know one end of a gun from the other. Did they look like mercenaries?”

After a few more margaritas, she confessed her ideal man was that Hollywood stereotype mercenary. This stereotype was not supported by the members of the security team or the additional people sent.

“Not really, but do we really know that security people have a ‘type’?”

“Girls who look like they just came from a fashion show in Milan. You remember Joanne and Louisa?”

I don’t think anyone could forget them. She had a point, but by that time, I was almost overcome by exhaustion.

“You think they were archaeology students?”

“Isn’t that how digs work? One or two experts and a dozen students are working towards their degrees. You went through that process.”

I had, though, not been so lucky to find a dig so rich in history. “We were strictly forbidden from any archaeological exploration.”

“And Management knew you’d assure them that nothing like that was going on. They relied on your reputation, one of the main reasons the local government allowed the project. That you’d run it and you’d find water. Especially if you found water. When I stopped by the mayor’s office to give him the keys, half a dozen of the newbies, including the girls, were still there. They were supposed to be on a plane a week ago.”

“They don’t have permission to conduct archaeological exploration of the ruins.”

“Who needs permission to do anything, other than us good guys. We’ve been running a distraction. I think they’ve discovered the tunnels and caverns. And they, more than anything else, might lead us to the water. We were looking in the wrong place. I think the city was built on top of the water outlet, and the Aztecs destroyed it themselves to spite the Spanish”

“But we were not in the business of treasure hunting.”

Or were we?

“Why don’t we go and find out?”

…

Writing a book in 365 days – 349

Day 349

The Gift of Creating Life with Words: Innate Talent, Learned Skill, or a Bit of Both?

“Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, the most powerful tool we have ever created.” – J.K. Rowling

When a story sweeps us off our feet, a poem makes our hearts ache, or a speech moves a crowd to tears, we instinctively label the author a “gifted” or “talented” writer. It feels as if they possess a mysterious, almost magical ability to conjure whole worlds from thin air.

But is the art of breathing life into language something you’re born with, or can anyone learn to wield it with equal flair? In this post we’ll explore the science and the folklore behind writing excellence, dissect the myths of the “born writer,” and lay out practical pathways for anyone who wants to transform words into living, breathing experiences.

1. The Allure of the “Natural Talent” Narrative

1.1. Why We Romanticise the Gifted Writer

Heroic storytelling – Just as societies celebrate prodigies in music, sport, and mathematics, literature loves its “genius” figures (Shakespeare, Hemingway, Toni Morrison).
Cognitive bias – The availability heuristic makes us recall the few celebrated authors, overlooking the countless writers who arrived at greatness through deliberate practice.
Cultural mythos – The Romantic era glorified the solitary muse, cementing the idea that true art springs from a mystical well within.

1.2. What Research Really Says

Neuroscientists have mapped the brain activity of skilled writers, and the findings are enlightening:

Brain Region	Role in Writing	What the Data Shows
Broca’s area	Syntax, grammar	Highly active in both novice and expert writers, suggesting that basic language processing is universal.
Prefrontal cortex	Planning, organization	Shows increased connectivity in seasoned writers, indicating that strategic thinking can be honed.
Default mode network (DMN)	Imagination, mind‑wandering	Stronger activation correlates with creative ideation, but DMN activity can be cultivated through practices like free‑writing.

The takeaway? There are no “magic” brain circuits that only a few possess. The same neural hardware is available to everyone; the difference lies in how it’s trained, wired, and used over time.

2. The Science of Skill Acquisition

2.1. Deliberate Practice—The Engine of Mastery

Psychologist K. Anders Ericsson introduced the concept of deliberate practice: intentional, feedback‑rich, and just beyond your current ability. In writing, this translates to:

Targeted exercises (e.g., “write a scene using only dialogue” or “describe a setting in 100 words”).
Immediate feedback from peers, mentors, or software tools.
Iterative revision—the willingness to rewrite, re‑structure, and re‑think.

2.2. The 10,000‑Hour Rule—A Misinterpretation

Gladwell popularised the idea that 10,000 hours leads to mastery. While practice matters, the quality of those hours matters far more. A novice who writes 10,000 bland sentences won’t rival a diligent writer who spends 2,000 hours on focused storytelling drills.

2.3. Neuroplasticity—Your Brain Can Rewire

Every time you craft a sentence, you’re forging new synaptic pathways. Studies in adult neuroplasticity demonstrate that consistent writing practice enlarges language‑related brain regions and improves narrative comprehension. In short: You can literally rewire yourself to be a better writer.

3. The Role of Reading: The Unsung Curriculum

“If you want to write, write, and if you want to read, read.” – C. S. Lewis

Reading is the foundational apprenticeship for any writer. Here’s why:

Aspect	How Reading Helps	Practical Tip
Vocabulary	Exposure to varied diction builds lexical richness.	Keep a “word‑bank” notebook; add a new, striking word each week.
Structure	Mimic a paragraph in the style of your favourite author, then rewrite it in your voice.	After each book, outline its structure in 5–7 bullet points.
Voice	Understanding expectations lets you subvert or honour them intelligently.	Analysing plot arcs, pacing, and chapter organisation reveals the scaffolding behind stories.
Genre Conventions	Understanding expectations lets you subvert or honor them intelligently.	Read at least three classic works in any genre you plan to write.

In other words—reading is the silent teacher that precedes formal instruction.

4. Teaching the Craft: What Formal Education (and Informal Mentorship) Offers

4.1. What Writing Courses Actually Teach

Fundamentals of Storytelling – Hero’s journey, three‑act structure, conflict types.
Tools of the Trade – Dialogue tags, sensory description, active vs. passive voice.
Revision Strategies – Macro‑editing (plot, pacing) vs. micro‑editing (sentence flow, grammar).
Critique Techniques – Giving and receiving constructive feedback without ego.

4.2. Mentorship vs. Classroom

Mentorship—Personalised, often informal. One‑on‑one feedback accelerates growth because it’s tailored to your specific blind spots.
Workshops—Group environments foster diverse perspectives, exposing you to styles you’d never encounter alone.

4.3. Digital Resources: The New‑Age Writing Academy

Online courses (MasterClass, Coursera, edX) – Structured curricula from bestselling authors.
Writing communities (r/WritingPrompts, Scribophile, Critique Circle) – Peer review loops.
AI‑assisted tools (Grammarly, ProWritingAid, ChatGPT) – Real‑time suggestions for grammar, style, and even plot brainstorming.

5. Practical Steps to Turn “Potential” into “Prose”

Below is a 12‑week sprint that anyone can follow, regardless of background. Think of it as a bootcamp for the “gift of creating life with words.”

Week	Focus	Action Item	Time Commitment
1	Observation	Keep a daily 5‑minute “sensory log” of what you see, hear, smell.	5 min/day
2	Micro‑Storytelling	Write 100‑word flash fiction using only one sense.	15 min/day
3	Dialogue Drill	Transcribe a real conversation, then rewrite it to reveal subtext.	30 min total
4	Structural Mapping	Outline the plot of your favorite novel in three acts.	1 hour
5	Voice Exploration	Imitate a paragraph from three different authors; then rewrite it in your own voice.	45 min
6	Feedback Loop	Share a 1,000‑word piece with a peer group; receive and integrate feedback.	2 hours
7	Revision Mastery	Take a piece you wrote in Week 2 and perform a macro‑edit (plot, pacing).	1 hour
8	Genre Deep Dive	Read a classic in a new genre; write a 500‑word piece that follows its conventions.	2 hours reading + 1 hour writing
9	Narrative Tension	Write a scene where the stakes are revealed only through action, not exposition.	1 hour
10	Mentor Session	Arrange a 30‑minute call with a more experienced writer (could be via a forum).	30 min
11	Polish & Publish	Edit a short story for submission to a literary journal or online platform.	2 hours
12	Reflection	Write a 500‑word essay on how your writing has changed over the program.	30 min

Consistency beats intensity. Even 15 minutes a day, if focused, yields measurable improvement.

6. Common Myths Debunked

Myth	Reality
“You’re either born a writer or you’re not.”	Writing is a skill that can be systematically improved, much like learning a musical instrument.
“Good writers don’t need to edit.”	Even the most celebrated authors (e.g., Stephen King) claim they spend 90 % of their time editing.
“Inspiration is magical and uncontrollable.”	While moments of inspiration happen, they are often the byproduct of sustained preparation.
“Only formal education matters.”	Self‑directed learning, reading, and community critique often produce equally adept writers.

7. The Bottom Line: Talent Meets Training

The truth lies somewhere in the middle:

Innate predispositions—such as a keen sense of observation, empathy, or an early love for language—can give a head start.
Deliberate practice—the daily grind of writing, reading, revising, and seeking feedback—turns that potential into proficiency.
Guided instruction—whether through a university course, an online tutorial, or a mentorship—provides the scaffolding that accelerates growth.

So, the “gift of creating life with words” isn’t a static, hereditary trait; it’s a dynamic, learnable craft that flourishes when curiosity meets discipline.

8. Takeaway Action: Your First Step Right Now

Grab a notebook (or open a note‑app).
Set a timer for five minutes and write whatever you see out the window, without judging.
Repeat tomorrow, adding one new sensory detail.

In just a week, you’ll have a mini-catalogue of lived experience to draw upon—one of the most valuable reservoirs any writer can own.

Writing a book in 365 days – 349

Day 349

The Gift of Creating Life with Words: Innate Talent, Learned Skill, or a Bit of Both?

“Words are, in my not-so-humble opinion, the most powerful tool we have ever created.” – J.K. Rowling

1. The Allure of the “Natural Talent” Narrative

1.1. Why We Romanticise the Gifted Writer

Heroic storytelling – Just as societies celebrate prodigies in music, sport, and mathematics, literature loves its “genius” figures (Shakespeare, Hemingway, Toni Morrison).
Cognitive bias – The availability heuristic makes us recall the few celebrated authors, overlooking the countless writers who arrived at greatness through deliberate practice.
Cultural mythos – The Romantic era glorified the solitary muse, cementing the idea that true art springs from a mystical well within.

1.2. What Research Really Says

Neuroscientists have mapped the brain activity of skilled writers, and the findings are enlightening:

Brain Region	Role in Writing	What the Data Shows
Broca’s area	Syntax, grammar	Highly active in both novice and expert writers, suggesting that basic language processing is universal.
Prefrontal cortex	Planning, organization	Shows increased connectivity in seasoned writers, indicating that strategic thinking can be honed.
Default mode network (DMN)	Imagination, mind‑wandering	Stronger activation correlates with creative ideation, but DMN activity can be cultivated through practices like free‑writing.

The takeaway? There are no “magic” brain circuits that only a few possess. The same neural hardware is available to everyone; the difference lies in how it’s trained, wired, and used over time.

2. The Science of Skill Acquisition

2.1. Deliberate Practice—The Engine of Mastery

Psychologist K. Anders Ericsson introduced the concept of deliberate practice: intentional, feedback‑rich, and just beyond your current ability. In writing, this translates to:

Targeted exercises (e.g., “write a scene using only dialogue” or “describe a setting in 100 words”).
Immediate feedback from peers, mentors, or software tools.
Iterative revision—the willingness to rewrite, re‑structure, and re‑think.

2.2. The 10,000‑Hour Rule—A Misinterpretation

2.3. Neuroplasticity—Your Brain Can Rewire

3. The Role of Reading: The Unsung Curriculum

“If you want to write, write, and if you want to read, read.” – C. S. Lewis

Reading is the foundational apprenticeship for any writer. Here’s why:

Aspect	How Reading Helps	Practical Tip
Vocabulary	Exposure to varied diction builds lexical richness.	Keep a “word‑bank” notebook; add a new, striking word each week.
Structure	Mimic a paragraph in the style of your favourite author, then rewrite it in your voice.	After each book, outline its structure in 5–7 bullet points.
Voice	Understanding expectations lets you subvert or honour them intelligently.	Analysing plot arcs, pacing, and chapter organisation reveals the scaffolding behind stories.
Genre Conventions	Understanding expectations lets you subvert or honor them intelligently.	Read at least three classic works in any genre you plan to write.

In other words—reading is the silent teacher that precedes formal instruction.

4. Teaching the Craft: What Formal Education (and Informal Mentorship) Offers

4.1. What Writing Courses Actually Teach

Fundamentals of Storytelling – Hero’s journey, three‑act structure, conflict types.
Tools of the Trade – Dialogue tags, sensory description, active vs. passive voice.
Revision Strategies – Macro‑editing (plot, pacing) vs. micro‑editing (sentence flow, grammar).
Critique Techniques – Giving and receiving constructive feedback without ego.

4.2. Mentorship vs. Classroom

Mentorship—Personalised, often informal. One‑on‑one feedback accelerates growth because it’s tailored to your specific blind spots.
Workshops—Group environments foster diverse perspectives, exposing you to styles you’d never encounter alone.

4.3. Digital Resources: The New‑Age Writing Academy

Online courses (MasterClass, Coursera, edX) – Structured curricula from bestselling authors.
Writing communities (r/WritingPrompts, Scribophile, Critique Circle) – Peer review loops.
AI‑assisted tools (Grammarly, ProWritingAid, ChatGPT) – Real‑time suggestions for grammar, style, and even plot brainstorming.

5. Practical Steps to Turn “Potential” into “Prose”

Below is a 12‑week sprint that anyone can follow, regardless of background. Think of it as a bootcamp for the “gift of creating life with words.”

Week	Focus	Action Item	Time Commitment
1	Observation	Keep a daily 5‑minute “sensory log” of what you see, hear, smell.	5 min/day
2	Micro‑Storytelling	Write 100‑word flash fiction using only one sense.	15 min/day
3	Dialogue Drill	Transcribe a real conversation, then rewrite it to reveal subtext.	30 min total
4	Structural Mapping	Outline the plot of your favorite novel in three acts.	1 hour
5	Voice Exploration	Imitate a paragraph from three different authors; then rewrite it in your own voice.	45 min
6	Feedback Loop	Share a 1,000‑word piece with a peer group; receive and integrate feedback.	2 hours
7	Revision Mastery	Take a piece you wrote in Week 2 and perform a macro‑edit (plot, pacing).	1 hour
8	Genre Deep Dive	Read a classic in a new genre; write a 500‑word piece that follows its conventions.	2 hours reading + 1 hour writing
9	Narrative Tension	Write a scene where the stakes are revealed only through action, not exposition.	1 hour
10	Mentor Session	Arrange a 30‑minute call with a more experienced writer (could be via a forum).	30 min
11	Polish & Publish	Edit a short story for submission to a literary journal or online platform.	2 hours
12	Reflection	Write a 500‑word essay on how your writing has changed over the program.	30 min

Consistency beats intensity. Even 15 minutes a day, if focused, yields measurable improvement.

6. Common Myths Debunked

Myth	Reality
“You’re either born a writer or you’re not.”	Writing is a skill that can be systematically improved, much like learning a musical instrument.
“Good writers don’t need to edit.”	Even the most celebrated authors (e.g., Stephen King) claim they spend 90 % of their time editing.
“Inspiration is magical and uncontrollable.”	While moments of inspiration happen, they are often the byproduct of sustained preparation.
“Only formal education matters.”	Self‑directed learning, reading, and community critique often produce equally adept writers.

7. The Bottom Line: Talent Meets Training

The truth lies somewhere in the middle:

Innate predispositions—such as a keen sense of observation, empathy, or an early love for language—can give a head start.
Deliberate practice—the daily grind of writing, reading, revising, and seeking feedback—turns that potential into proficiency.
Guided instruction—whether through a university course, an online tutorial, or a mentorship—provides the scaffolding that accelerates growth.

So, the “gift of creating life with words” isn’t a static, hereditary trait; it’s a dynamic, learnable craft that flourishes when curiosity meets discipline.

8. Takeaway Action: Your First Step Right Now

Grab a notebook (or open a note‑app).
Set a timer for five minutes and write whatever you see out the window, without judging.
Repeat tomorrow, adding one new sensory detail.

In just a week, you’ll have a mini-catalogue of lived experience to draw upon—one of the most valuable reservoirs any writer can own.

Writing a book in 365 days – 347/348

Days 347 and 348

Use alternative words for Good, Afraid, Trouble, Look and Quiet…

…

The question was: sum your life up in five words.

I’d heard about the show, one with a funny title that when people asked, they couldn’t quite get it exactly right, but close enough to “This was your life”.

I thought it was about dead people, odd, because I knew it was impossible to interview dead people, though those days, someone told me, anything was possible on television.

Then I thought it was about people almost at the end of their life, as a celebration of a celebrity, or someone famous.

It was a surprise to learn it was about ordinary people.

Like me. You couldn’t find anyone more ordinary, or as several people told me, utterly forgettable.

That hurt, but in a sense, they were right.

Which made me wonder just how it was that I received a letter in the mail telling me I had been selected for an episode.

Of course, I thought someone was playing a hoax, and rang them, expecting to be laughed at, but no. I was being asked to go on the show.

I have no idea why I agreed.

…

When I arrived at the studio, I was taken to an office where the executive producer told me what was going to happen: sign some papers to say I was not going to divulge details of the show before it was broadcast, and what my five words were.

They were different for each participant.

Today, they were recording five episodes. I was going to be the last.

…

My words were Good, Afraid, Trouble, Look and Quiet. I had plenty of time to think about them in relation to my story.

And that was the odd thing … I actually had a story.

“So,” the host said, in that mesmerising voice of hers that had both the audience and the objects entranced, “Tell us what the word Good means to you.”

Of course, it wasn’t just the word good, it was a better word that meant the same thing.

“It wasn’t just a good day, it was a fantastic, unbelievable day.”

I remembered it well, that last day of high school, when it was, in a lot of cases, the last time I would see my fellow classmates.

Most of them I never wanted to see again, because that final year had been marked by more lows than highs, culminating in my date for the Prom falling ill, and so I didn’t go. Then I discovered she lied, went with my so-called best friend, and made those last weeks unbearable.

So much so, I headed straight for the railway station and intended to hide at my grandmother’s house on the other side of the country.

The day started badly, arguing with my parents, arguing with my siblings, getting into three separate scuffles at school, then coming home and throwing a few things into a backpack and leaving before I saw anyone at home.

Every step from the house to the railway depot was a reminder of each betrayal, so by the time I sat in the waiting room, an hour before the train was due, I was mentally and physically exhausted.

I expected someone from home would come and try to persuade me to stay.

They didn’t.

Perhaps that was the final betrayal. The fact that not one of my own family cared whether I stayed or left.

Very few people took the train. Most people leaving town went to the airport and got a plane. There was a bus, but it took forever to get anywhere, and the train was an acceptable alternative.

I was the only one leaving town by train.

Until I wasn’t.

There were five students in that final year that I had to say shared my disposition, in that we preferred to study, get good grades and then go to college. The other three left a week before, have all gained admission to an Ivy League university.

I hadn’t applied.

The other person was Alison Breton.

She was one of those people who no one gave a second look at, or so much as a first. She was clever, and all the boys didn’t like girls who were smarter than they.

She was also plain, or so it appeared, which caused most of the boys to point out her faults, such as how she presented herself. Unlike the other girls who dressed to impress, wore make-up and looked stunning, even if it was an objectifying description, she preferred to be different.

I thought she was brave.

We barely spoke, though we were in the same study group with the three Ivy Leaguers. Two of them were keen on her, but she was not the dating sort. Or so they said.

Ten minutes before the train arrived, another person came and sat in the waiting room.

Alison Breton.

I ignored her for five whole minutes. I mean, what could I say to her?

It was where the host mentioned the second word, afraid.

It was part of the truth, and summed up how I felt about her. I was afraid of her. Afraid, or, more to the point, literally terrified.

I had imagined in my mind many times what I would say to her, fabricating long and, I thought, interesting conversations.

And if I let my imagination stretch a little further, I might have to admit I liked her, perhaps more than I should, but could and would never admit it. One humiliation by a girl in a lifetime was enough, and my completely shattered ego couldn’t take another rejection.

Five whole minutes before she said, “So you’re leaving this dump too?”

It was obvious I was, though the dump was harsh.

And then words came out that were not my own. “What’s your excuse?”

I knew the moment I tried to speak to her, it would be over. Maryanne, the betrayer, was different. I could speak to her, and because of that, I thought she was the one.

She smiled. “Probably the same as yours. James told me he loved me, but he didn’t. Apparently, I’m the subject of a bet.”

I’d heard a rumour and couldn’t believe it. Or perhaps I could. Small town, small-minded boys, one ambition, to have what they couldn’t.

“Best get out of town then.” My solution to the problem wasn’t a one-size-fits-all all.

But it was a response to the host dropping the word trouble. And then looked, and was quiet. It seemed they were all intertwining in the narrative that was unfolding.

“That doesn’t explain your desire to leave, other than the Maryanne humiliation. I guess a month away from here might make it go away.”

“It won’t. I have brothers who will never let me forget. You grow up in this place, no one forgets the trouble, or more appropriately, your legacy.”

“It’s always us quiet kids, eh, the ones who don’t make a fuss, who are studious and respectful, who don’t want to be noticed. No matter how we look or feel. I tried to be invisible.”

“It made you stand out more than the Maryannes. I was just fodder for girls like her, pandering to the mores of the football team, and you know what they were like.”

Being smart didn’t make us immune from being hurt or hoping against hope we had a chance.

We both heard the sound of the horn in the distance, a warning that the train was approaching the railway crossing, about two or three miles outside of town.

The train, like always, was running late.

She stood. “Where are you going?”

“San Francisco. My grandmother. She has a large house and many unusual friends. She was an actress once, when Hollywood was going through its black and white phase.”

“I’m going there too. My mother’s sister, though I suspect she isn’t. Maybe we can pretend we’re brother and sister, to be safe.”

I shrugged. Why not? Once we got there, I’d probably never see her again.

…

“Except,” Alison said, holding my hand, and talking to the host with that whimsical expression she had when telling others the story of how we met, “we talked and talked and fell in love, got married, have five amazing children, twelve equally amazing grandchildren, and just lived our lives. Nothing special, and yet to us, very, very special.”

And then, surprisingly, our time was up. I had expected it would take half the time allotted. Instead, it was two hours later, and no one, not any of us, had noticed.