Tag: Reading

“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

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

The hardest chore of all – shopping

It’s one of those events that we all hate.  Ok let me qualify that statement, it’s an event that we men hate when of other half goes clothes shopping.

Here’s the deal, why is it they head straight to the right clothes rack to begin with, select the clothes they eventually buy, then proceed to spend the next hour and a half looking at everything else, none of which they eventually purchase.

I asked once, a rather dangerous thing to do, and I was told that everything else had to be eliminated to justify the original selections.

Ok, I think I’d rather negotiate a stretch of quicksand than to ask again.

So what does one do while waiting?

There is that heart sinking feeling that will not leave you, that you will be asked that inevitable but unanswerable question, ‘how does this look on me?’

Sadly there is no correct answer.  As all men are aware it doesn’t matter what you say, it will come back to either of, if you like it, ‘so you don’t care what I get?’, or if you don’t like it (and bearing in mind that this is never a view to put forward under any circumstances), ‘so you don’t really care at all?’

And while you have those dreaded thoughts running through your mind, there is the fact all waiting chairs for men are uncomfortable, probably intentionally, while you wait patiently listening to the in-store music which in this case is quite good.

I cannot identify the songs because it’s not the normal rock and roll but something with a pleasant beat and to a certain extent soothing.

Perhaps a team of very highly paid psychiatrists have especially worked up a playlist of such music because it tends to put the shopper in the mood to relax and buy more.  That also is aided but the very helpful and polite sales staff, who might convince you to make that extra purchase without you realizing it.  To them, you look good in everything.

Welcome to the world of 21st-century salesmanship.

Of course, I have shazam checking out the playlist and to me, it’s a rather obscure list of songs that I’d not really heard before.

Currently its playing ‘It’s all about love’ by Wild Royal Coast.  Tell me, have you heard of them?  Next, ‘Crazy’ by Friendless Feat Dem Feels.  Ok, now we’re going down that rabbit hole of obscure bands.

Moving on, it’s now time to look at the clientele.  Well, perhaps not.  It’s all shapes and sizes and ages but the one common denominator there are very few men accompanying the women.  Perhaps unlike me, they have perfected the art of excusing themselves from the quicksand of having to offer an opinion that can quite possibly lead to either a breakup or, at worst, a messy and complicated divorce.

And by a quirk of ironical fate, he will be left all of her clothes as part of the settlement.

A matter of life and … what’s worse than death – Episode 11

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way.

Whilst I have always had a fascination in what happened during the second worlds war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war.

And, so, it continues…

 

There were tyre tracks leading up to the doorways from trucks that had recently made deliveries, or taken people away, maybe.

It was a short lane leading to another narrow roadway which I could see led away towards the front of the castle and the main road.  It was not part of the original castle and the track had been made recently, no doubt because of the need for secrecy.

We went across the laneway and continued into the trees where we would have enough coverage to reach the stream, it was a stream now but in winter I was sure it would be a river and able to allow a boat to navigate. 

Jack seemed to know where he was going, but he, like me, probably just wanted to get as far away from the castle as we could.  The undergrowth was denser as we approached the stream bank, and I had to pick my way carefully, and as quietly as I could.

It had sounded like a herd of elephants passing by.

At the stream edge, I looked at the water level.  Not very deep, and in places just thinly connected pools of stagnant water.  A boat could not be launched, not even a small rowboat.

I had previously committed a map of the area to memory, and I remembered the stream lead towards the village, veering off in two directions about half a mile before it got there.  I wanted the right branch, which I was hoping had more water in it, and hoping I might find a house with a boat.

Jack seemed nervous, coming up to me and moving his head, as if to say, let’s get moving. 

He was right.  I had no doubt it wouldn’t be long before they found me missing.

I had no idea who my saviour was, or why he had helped, but I was sure he was one of the men who’d parachuted in the day before.  How had my superior, if it was him, manage to get a man to infiltrate that group?

Or was it something else?

Had this been orchestrated so they could let me lead them to the other members of the resistance, and take care of that problem.  I doubted, with the compartmentalisation that ? would have insisted on, that the whole resistance in this area had been caught and neutralised.

Damn.

I hadn’t thought that far, or consider the possibility.

I would have to be careful.

I stopped, and immediately Jack came over to me.  His eyes were telling me, no stopping.  

Unfortunately, I would have to, and, worse, might have to backtrack to test my theory.

I knelt down beside him.  “Sorry.  I have to go back a little to see if we’re being followed.  You stay here and keep an eye open.”

He just looked at me.  Perhaps he only understood German.

I started moving back the way I had come, and he followed.  I stopped, he stopped.   Then I heard it, a laugh, and the cracking of a dry branch.  I’d been trying to avoid them.

There was a sort of track beside the stream we’d been following.  It wasn’t very distinguishable because I didn’t think it had been used in years, and it was hard to say if it was one that led from the castle to the village, but if I was to guess, it probably was the means for the castle owner to take a shortcut, as the crow flies.

No point going back now, we headed in the opposite direction, with haste, until we reached a small offshoot of the stream that leads into the woods, but there was no path beside it, so obviously there was nothing of interest along it.  I slid down into the stream and walked on the rocks in the water along the offshoot.

I hoped it covered my tracks.

Jack and I managed to get about twenty yards along, having in the last five, pick our way through the undergrowth, to a point where it stopped at the side of a hill.  Water ran down the hillside into the stream, but not today.  It was dry, but it would be a different story if it was raining, and with the rocky outcrop I suspected there might be something akin to a waterfall.

At least it proved cover and my pursuers would have to climb through the undergrowth to get to me, and then they would have to contend with Jack.

I could only hope they just kept on going.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

Being Inspired – the book

Over the past year or so I have been selecting photographs I’ve taken on many travels, and put a story to them.

When I reached a milestone of 50, I decided to make them into a book, and, in doing so, I have gone through each and revised them, making some longer, and almost a short story.

50 photographs, 50 stories.  I’ve called it, “Inspiration, Maybe”

It will be available soon.

InspirationMaybe1v1

Is ‘The End’ the end, or is it the start of something else?

Can you actually say you know the exact moment a story is done, finished, and that’s it?

For me, the end never quite seems to be the end, that point where you finally draw a line in the sane and say, that’s it, I’m done, step away from the typewriter.

But are we ever satisfied the story is done, can we not make one more change, it’s just a little tweak, it won’t take long.

Please!

My editor tolerated three ‘minor’ changes.

Firstly, a change of name for a character

Secondly, consistency of word use, such as times and contractions

Thirdly, I wasn’t happy with the overall story, and it needed some more action.  More writing, more editing, more prevaricating.

It took three weeks to sort out all of those issues, and last night I send the final draft to the Editor.

It’s like watching your child go to school on their first day.  Not knowing what will happen but expecting everything will be fine.

This morning I sat in front of the computer, a blank sheet of paper on the screen.  I know it’s not a matter of starting the next story from scratch; I have so many started and finished, sitting in the wings to be ‘tinkered with’.

It’s my way of savoring the moment.

Just before I dive back into the murky waters.

“What Sets Us Apart”, a mystery with a twist

David is a man troubled by a past he is trying to forget.

Susan is rebelling against a life of privilege and an exasperated mother who holds a secret that will determine her daughter’s destiny.

They are two people brought together by chance. Or was it?

When Susan discovers her mother’s secret, she goes in search of the truth that has been hidden from her since the day she was born.

When David realizes her absence is more than the usual cooling off after another heated argument, he finds himself being slowly drawn back into his former world of deceit and lies.

Then, back with his former employers, David quickly discovers nothing is what it seems as he embarks on a dangerous mission to find Susan before he loses her forever.

http://amzn.to/2Eryfth

whatsetscover

What happens after the action-packed start – Part 22

Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.

The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in.

 

Lallo was gone ten minutes, perhaps a specific amount of time that was supposed to make me sweat.  It was warm in the ward so it wasn’t his presence or the questions that made me feel uncomfortable.

It was fear of the unknown.

If anything, it was more likely I’d be going to a black site rather than rest and recuperation in Germany.  And apparently over an operation, I had little or no knowledge of its inception or execution beyond being used for target practice.

Unless the army in its infinite wisdom was looking for a scapegoat, they’d tried pinning it on Treen, but he didn’t play ball, so now it was my turn.  However, just to complicate that thought, why didn’t they just kill me on the ground when they had the chance?

Because they needed me alive.

My mind went back to that fateful operation.

I went over as many of the crew as I could remember.  Ledgeman, Sergeant, explosives expert, he was with me until he was shot, caught in the crossfire, which now made me consider my first assessment of what has happened to him, that it might have been one of us who shot him, was the likely outcome.

Willies, Corporal, also explosives expert, sent with Mason, Gunnery Sergeant like me, who was providing cover for Willies.

Breen, Lieutenant, Leader, although it didn’t exactly appear to be the case, the more I thought about it, there seemed an undertone of indifference from the team towards its leader, one I should have picked up on.  Informal command never worked when push came to shove.

Andrews, Cathcar, Edwards and Sycamore, regular soldiers with combat experience along for protection, Andrews and Sycamore were with us and had worked together before, their camaraderie didn’t extend to me, but they were professional soldiers.

Of all the people in that entire group, why did Treen survive?  In putting the pieces together now in my mind, and if what I remembered was right, he should have been the first to die.

I mean, drugs and paranoia aside, that was the one single damning conclusion I could draw from events.  If he had, then a lot of the others might have survived.

But time was up; Lallo was back, squirming in his seat, and armed with a different coloured notebook.

First question, “What was your opinion of Treen?”

Relevance?  “Competent, but perhaps not truly in charge of his men.”

“How so?”

“I got the impression it was a case of familiarity breeds contempt.”

“You question his ability to command?”

“Just his style.”

Groups who worked together in close combat as a unit, from the top to the bottom, acquired a level of camaraderie that transcended rank.  It was not supposed to, but it did.  It was built on mutual respect and got to a point where everyone knew what they were doing without being asked, or ordered.  I got the impression that had been the case for Treen and his team up till that operation.  Perhaps the loss of one of the team had changed the dynamic.

“He’s there to lead, not be liked.”

“Then why ask me what I thought?  You’d know what I meant by that if you were out on the front line and your life depended on your team.  Something was not right.”

“How did you fit in,” he asked, with an emphasis on the word ‘fit’.

I didn’t, but I was not going to tell him that.  In the end, I just didn’t trust them.  You can get a measure of a man in that first meeting with or speaking with them, and they closed me out from the start.

“I had a job to do and I did it.”

And, it was probably the reason why I walked away.

 

© Charles Heath 2019

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

In a word: Arm

Like leg, arm is a word that is mostly associated with a body part.

Like being legless, another description for being drunk, being rendered ‘armless’ means you are no threat, in a rather awful but funny way by saying it.

I guess we all have a dash of ‘sick’ humour in all of us.

However, arm can also be used to describe a part of a structure too.

It could also describe the arm of an ‘armchair’.

But…

Arm also means to give people weapons like guns, usually from an armoury.

I’m guessing that a whole lot of people with arms is an army!

You can also say that taking those weapons away would be to disarm them.

It might take the long arm of the law to do it, too.

And to disarm someone doesn’t necessarily mean to take away their arms, but to ‘charm’ them with your wit and humour.

An arm can also be a river or streams tributary, so I could say instead of staying on the main river, I’ll take the ‘named’ arm, but just remember, sometimes this can be dangerous, getting off the main route.

On a boat, there is a yardarm, and this was once used to hang seamen who committed serious crimes such as mutiny.

A call to arms was to declare war,

And lastly, an arm of the defence services could be any one of Army, Navy, Marines or Airforce.

Just steer clear of the Navy for the aforementioned reasons.