Tag: Poetry

Writing a novel in 365 days – 20

Day 20

You’ve just written what you believe will become a modern classic, and then you read something written by Jack London, that a good joke will sell quicker than a good poem.

Measured in sweat and blood, your book is roughly the equivalent of 5,000 good jokes.

Don’t worry. I’ve been there. No, not to sell good jokes because I couldn’t invent one, let alone read one and recite the punch line.

But that second piece of advice, avoid unhappy endings, the harsh, the brutal, and the tragic if you wish to see your work published.

Maybe.

But you write not for the glory or the recompense (or maybe just a little) just to be read by appreciative readers whose glowing reviews make it all worthwhile.

Personally, I like happy endings and they often pop up in my stories. After a lot of drama before we get there. Just like life, actually.

WE don;t want to read about ourselves, we want to read about others, and the mistakes and remedies they have, if only to make ous feel a little better about our lot in life.

Writing a novel in 365 days – 20

Day 20

You’ve just written what you believe will become a modern classic, and then you read something written by Jack London, that a good joke will sell quicker than a good poem.

Measured in sweat and blood, your book is roughly the equivalent of 5,000 good jokes.

Don’t worry. I’ve been there. No, not to sell good jokes because I couldn’t invent one, let alone read one and recite the punch line.

But that second piece of advice, avoid unhappy endings, the harsh, the brutal, and the tragic if you wish to see your work published.

Maybe.

But you write not for the glory or the recompense (or maybe just a little) just to be read by appreciative readers whose glowing reviews make it all worthwhile.

Personally, I like happy endings and they often pop up in my stories. After a lot of drama before we get there. Just like life, actually.

WE don;t want to read about ourselves, we want to read about others, and the mistakes and remedies they have, if only to make ous feel a little better about our lot in life.

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 novel in 365 days – 20

Day 20

You’ve just written what you believe will become a modern classic, and then you read something written by Jack London, that a good joke will sell quicker than a good poem.

Measured in sweat and blood, your book is roughly the equivalent of 5,000 good jokes.

Don’t worry. I’ve been there. No, not to sell good jokes because I couldn’t invent one, let alone read one and recite the punch line.

But that second piece of advice, avoid unhappy endings, the harsh, the brutal, and the tragic if you wish to see your work published.

Maybe.

But you write not for the glory or the recompense (or maybe just a little) just to be read by appreciative readers whose glowing reviews make it all worthwhile.

Personally, I like happy endings and they often pop up in my stories. After a lot of drama before we get there. Just like life, actually.

WE don;t want to read about ourselves, we want to read about others, and the mistakes and remedies they have, if only to make ous feel a little better about our lot in life.

Writing a book in 365 days

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 – 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