Tag: Thoughts

Writing about writing a book – Day 19 Continues

I’ve just been watching Air America, a fictionalised movie of goings on that could hardly be believed as possible, and yet there is the CIA and some of the stuff they’ve done, well, it gives pause for thought.

So, I asked Google for an opinion

…

Cargo of Shadows: Unpacking the CIA’s Air America and the Vietnam War’s Dark Underbelly

The Vietnam War, a conflict already steeped in tragedy and controversy, has spawned countless legends and dark whispers. Among the most enduring is the story of Air America – a seemingly innocent civilian airline operating in Southeast Asia, but widely believed to be a clandestine arm of the CIA, flying not just supplies, but also engaging in drug trafficking, weapon running, and other “shady operations.”

So, how likely is it that the CIA had a thing called Air America running in the Vietnam War, shifting drugs and weapons, and running shady operations? Let’s unpack the layers of secrecy and come to a conclusion that’s more nuanced than a simple yes or no.

What Was Air America, Officially?

From 1950 to 1976, Air America was a U.S. proprietary airline, owned and operated by the CIA. Its official mission was to provide air support for covert operations in Southeast Asia, particularly Laos, which was caught in a brutal “Secret War” between the Royal Lao Government and the communist Pathet Lao, supported by North Vietnam.

Given that Laos was officially neutral, direct U.S. military involvement was prohibited. Enter Air America. Operating out of bases like Udorn in Thailand and Long Tieng in Laos, its pilots, often ex-military, flew everything from fixed-wing transports like C-47s and C-123s to helicopters like the Bell 204/205 (Huey).

Their supposed tasks were benign: resupplying remote outposts, ferrying personnel, evacuating refugees, and delivering humanitarian aid. But beneath this veneer of legitimacy lay a far more complex and morally ambiguous reality.

The “Secret War” and Plausible Deniability

The need for Air America stemmed directly from the CIA’s efforts to fight communism in Indochina without direct military intervention. The agency armed and advised indigenous forces, most notably the Hmong ethnic minority led by General Vang Pao, who became key allies against the Pathet Lao.

These were guerrilla fighters operating in incredibly difficult, mountainous terrain. Regular supply lines were impossible. Air America became their lifeline, delivering weapons, ammunition, food, and other necessities to sustain the fight. This aspect – running weapons and essential supplies to proxy forces – is not just likely; it is a documented and undeniable fact of Air America’s mission. That was its primary, stated (within covert circles) purpose.

The Allegations: Drugs and Shady Operations

Now, to the darker allegations:

  1. Drug Trafficking (Opium & Heroin): This is where the story gets truly controversial. The highlands of Laos were part of the “Golden Triangle,” a prime opium-producing region. Many of the Hmong, the CIA’s primary allies, were traditional opium growers. As their communities were disrupted by war, and as they fought on the CIA’s behalf, their need for income became desperate.
    • The Allegation: Air America aircraft, it is widely claimed, were used to transport raw opium and even refined heroin from remote poppy fields to larger airfields for distribution. Some accounts suggest the CIA actively facilitated this trade, either directly profiting or, more plausibly, “turning a blind eye” or even assisting the drug trade of their allies to fund their war effort and secure their loyalty.
    • The Evidence: While no smoking-gun document has ever explicitly shown the CIA itself directly running a drug syndicate for profit, numerous credible historical accounts, particularly Alfred W. McCoy’s seminal book “The Politics of Heroin: CIA Complicity in Global Drug Trafficking,” present substantial circumstantial evidence and eyewitness testimonies. McCoy argues that the CIA’s actions created an environment where drug trafficking flourished, and that Air America aircraft were indeed used to move drugs, sometimes out of necessity for their allies, sometimes as a means of payment, and sometimes simply because they were the only available transport. The U.S. State Department even acknowledged that Lao government generals, who were U.S. allies, were involved in the drug trade.
    • Likelihood: It is highly probable that Air America aircraft, wittingly or unwittingly by some of its personnel, transported opium and heroin for its allies. It is also highly probable that the CIA, at a minimum, tolerated or ignored the drug trade of its Hmong and Lao allies, understanding it was a vital source of income for them to continue fighting. Whether the CIA itself directly profited from this trade is less clear and less substantiated, but its indirect complicity in facilitating it, or at least enabling it by controlling the only air transport network, is very difficult to dispute.
  2. Shady Operations: This is a broad category, but given the nature of a covert airline operating in a secret war, it’s almost a given.
    • Personnel Insertion/Extraction: Dropping off or picking up intelligence operatives, special forces (often disguised as civilians), and allied commanders in hostile territory.
    • Intelligence Gathering: Reconnaissance flights, monitoring enemy movements.
    • Black Operations: While less commonly documented in detail, the infrastructure of Air America certainly provided the means for clandestine actions, sabotage, or psychological warfare if needed.
    • Likelihood: Undoubtedly true. These “shady operations” are exactly what a covert intelligence agency’s proprietary airline is designed for. The entire existence of Air America was a “shady operation” in itself, designed to obscure U.S. involvement.

Conclusion: How Likely?

Let’s break it down:

  • Running Air America as a CIA front airline: 100% likely. This is an officially acknowledged historical fact.
  • Shifting weapons and essential supplies to proxy forces: 100% likely. This was the core mission and extensively documented.
  • Running other “shady operations” (covert personnel transport, intelligence gathering, etc.): Extremely likely, bordering on certainty. This is standard operating procedure for a covert airline.
  • Shifting drugs (opium/heroin) for profit or as a critical part of their allies’ financing: Highly probable. While direct CIA profit is debated, the evidence strongly suggests Air America’s network was used to facilitate drug transport for its allies, and the CIA was, at minimum, complicit through tolerance or indirect assistance, seeing it as a necessary evil to maintain the war effort.

The story of Air America is a stark reminder of the moral compromises and complex realities of covert warfare. In the shadows of neutrality, an airline became an indispensable tool for a secret war, its legacy forever entwined with both heroism and the dark underbelly of the Golden Triangle’s illicit trade. It’s a testament to how far nations will go, and what lines they will blur, in the pursuit of geopolitical objectives.

You are free to make up your own mind, but it does give pause for thought…

What are your thoughts on Air America’s role in the Vietnam War? Share your perspective in the comments below!

Writing a book in 365 days – 291/292

Days 291 and 292

Writing exercise

…

Taking a cross-country trek together, two people discover secrets about each other.

…

It was a silly ritual, but when four of us graduated high school, we made a pact on Prom Night that we would meet up every year, New Year’s Eve, on the 81st floor lookout of the Empire State Building, every year until we couldn’t, literally the only excuse not to be there was death.

We thought it was original, but of course, lots of movies immortalised the same thing, making it a little passe. And with it, there were gaps when others didn’t make it.

I, on the other hand, had been to every one. When others didn’t, I was disappointed, but then that wasn’t the only disappointment in my life.

John Rogers, who was keen on Alison West, prom king and queen, didn’t stay together very long; their fields of study and universities meant the tyranny of distance would eventually take its toll. Daniel Franks, that was me, and Marjourie Leyton were not a couple but had gone to the prom together, because we could have been an item, but neither of us pressed it. We parted and saw each other from time to time, and now, mostly at the Empire State Building. She was the second most attended member.

We had eventually all gone in different directions, and the last time we met was at the high school reunion. The other three were married, successful, great partners and children they were proud to show off, and I, well, I was the odd one out. The girl that I wanted to marry just didn’t know I existed, and though I had tried with others, from home and away, it just didn’t have the same thing about it.

Maybe one day, before I die.

…

The cell phone rang shrilly, waking me from a restless sleep. I glanced over at the clock on the far bedside table, and it read 2:37 a.m.

I normally had it switched off overnight for just that reason, not to be woken in the middle of the night. It was always difficult to fall asleep; it was far worse if I was woken soon after.

I looked at the screen. ‘Private Number’.

No one that I would normally answer. I let it ring out and then switched it off.

Five minutes later, another cell phone rang, a phone that I had used three times in eighteen years, the last time precipitating the most anxious three weeks of my life.

It was a call I could not ignore.

I dragged myself out of bed and got to it just as it rang out. No matter, I knew who it was, and called straight back.

“Danny. Bad time?”

“Very.”

“Still a light sleeper?”

“One eye open and a gun under the pillow, some things never change. What do you want, Fred?”

“Texting an address. Extraction. You have thirteen hours and five minutes.”

After the last time he called, I thought I’d drawn a line under this sort of affair. “I don’t do this anymore.”

“You left the phone on. Naughty boy. Sorry. On your horse.”

The phone went dead.

I glared at it, then put it on the desk. It chimed. Message, the address, and when I looked it up, it was a back alley in the financial district of St Louis in Illinois. I lived in Minneapolis in Minnesota, and to get to St Louis in Missouri, and would have to take I-35 south. Easy as. It was just that it was a 9-hour drive, without breaks, so I just had enough time to get there.

I shook my head, considering I should just ring back and say I was done with him and his antics.

Should, but wouldn’t. Perhaps this was what I needed to get me out of the despondency I’d fallen into.

…

A half hour later, refreshed and ready to go, I headed to the lockup at the rear of the property I lived on and dragged the cover off the 2016 Silver Ford Fusion sedan. It was once described as the ultimate invisible car, and the reason why I owned one. It had fifteen sets of plates, and today it was running with my home state. That would change when I got to St Louis, and again, depending on where I was told to take the target.

When I reached Cedar Rapids, I stopped for an hour for coffee and breakfast of pancakes, bacon and eggs, at a diner where the place was clean, the staff were friendly, and the service was quick. The food wasn’t bad either.

Outside St Louis I changed the plates and paperwork, changed into different clothes, the sort that when the police asked a witness to describe me, it would be average height, average weight, average clothes, you know, check shirt, well-worn North Face parka, well-worn hiking boots, faded well-worn jeans, and a well-worn face that had had spent a lot of time outdoors.

The sort of person a mother wouldn’t recognise if he were standing next to her on a bus. It was the part of the training I liked the most – becoming invisible.

Then, ten minutes before the appointed time, I sent the location to a burner number, a street corner where I could stop for just long enough for someone to get in, and we could keep moving. This was a critical part of the operation and required precision timing. The only thing that could mess this up was an accident, and I’d checked the route; nothing was going to cause a problem.

At the precise moment, I stopped the car, released the door lock, and someone got in the back. They were covered, protected from the cold, and I didn’t look other than to make sure they were in and the door closed before I drove off. In all, I was there for 7 seconds.

After sending an acknowledgement text to the boss, he sent the destination. There was generally no conversation with the target; it was pick up and deliver. Food was in a hamper on the back seat. We would not be stopping for anything other than gas and restroom visits.

…

There was no communication with the target; it was just my job to take them from point A to point B, which this time, was outside Saks, Fifth Avenue, New York. I would have guessed a safe house, not a place where the target could do some indulgent shopping. I sighed inwardly.

A glance in the back told me very little, other than this time it was a woman, and that she would not be recognisable as anyone I would know or attempt to guess at. Because we both worked for the same man, she would have the same training as I had, except I didn’t get to go into the field as a primary agent; I had only qualified for work in Section 5, support services.

There had been times when I was disappointed, but sometimes running support could also be as dangerous as an agent on the ground, especially when it was a hot extraction.

At the first restroom stop, I pulled into the carpark close to the building, and she got out, taking a small backpack with her. I had not seen it when she got in, but that meant little. I waited half an hour, the maximum time before I had to go check, but she reappeared, having changed her appearance, but still as anonymous as before.

I was not meant to, but I watched her walk from the front door of the cafe, towards the car before turning to the front as she neared. It reminded me of someone from a distant past, but exactly who eluded me.

The door shut, and I drove off.

Once past the city limits, she asked, quite unexpectedly, “What’s your name?” The voice was distorted through the mask.

“Against protocol, ma’am.”

“We’re out in the middle of nowhere. Surely it doesn’t matter.”

“Not my call. The boss is insistent. No names, no conversation.”

I heard a sigh, and then she settled into the seat. The car wasn’t exactly the most comfortable, but Services had upgraded the seating, especially for the driver, knowing how long we might have to drive in a single sitting. Moving an agent was by car. Any other form of travel left a trail.

A half hour later, I heard the sounds of sleep. I would get mine after I dropped her off.

…

Darkness settled slowly until the inky blackness swallowed us up, and then it was a matter of watching the headlights of the cars opposite come and go, and the cars and trucks behind and in front pass or get passed. There was a reasonable amount of traffic, and for the first few hours of darkness, it was almost boring.

There was no movement from the back seat.

Then, “I need a break. Find some facilities.”

I checked the GPS and there was one ten minutes ahead. “Ten minutes or so.”

“Thanks.”

Ten minutes, I pulled off the main road and stopped at a BP petrol station at a place called Straughan. She got out and went inside. I filled the tank with Premium, paid the bill in cash and got back in the car.

That’s when I saw a car, sitting in the truck park, no lights, but suddenly, the flaring of a match lit a cigarette. Not enough light to see the driver’s face, but an outline. A large man in a small car.

It could be nothing.

The door opened and closed. I started the car and drove out slowly. I watched the car behind me. It didn’t move. I turned and went back the way we came to the on ramp of the I-70 and soon was back up to speed.

Back on the highway, I switched on the cruise control and relaxed. A glance every now and then in the exterior rear vision mirror showed the usual traffic, except after an hour, a set of headlights appeared a distance back and then stayed there, sometimes falling back, sometimes moving faster, but never beyond a certain point.

Damn!

It could be my imagination, but I didn’t think so. There was that car on the side of the road back at the gas station, but the fact that it had taken hours to locate us suggested only one possibility.

“Excuse me?”

A few seconds of silence, then “I thought we were not to speak.”

“True, but there might be a problem. I would like you to check everything you have and make sure there isn’t a tracking device.”

“We have a tail?”

“We might, or it might be my paranoia.”

“It’s not possible.”

“Humour me.”

I heard her mutter something under her breath, and then reluctantly search. A minute later, a sharp gasp, the window opening and then closing.

“How?” I asked.

“I was with the target, who seemed a little more anxious than usual. I left as soon as I could without raising suspicion, called the controller and requested extraction. There were other red flags, and it was time.”

“Once they realise you tossed the tracker, the excitement begins.”

I had three guns, a modified car that could outrun the car behind me, theoretically, but they had time to set up a blockage further along, depending on how desperate they were to capture my passenger. I guess we’d soon find out.

“Settle in. This could take a while.”

Except, not long after, the headlights appeared behind me again. There were two trackers. I wouldn’t bother her about the second, just wait and see what they were prepared to do. I was on a major highway, and there were a lot of trucks to use as cover.

…

At the next gas station, near Akron, I sent a text message requesting another car and a device that would knock out anything transmitting a signal, which meant we would not have any communications. That would not be a problem for the short time it took for us to get away. I also requested her to double-check everything she had with her and on, just to make sure.

I didn’t ask, and she didn’t say whether there was another device, but it was clear she had completely changed everything and left the other clothes and belongings behind.

At Akron, we changed cars.

I also made an alarming discovery. The woman in the back of my car was a girl I used to know back in high school, the one who never gave me a second look. When I did know her, it was she who had suggested, with the grades I had, that I should apply to the FBI. She didn’t say she was, but it surprised me that she suggested it.

Annabel Tyler.

Undercover agent for? I was tempted to ask, but it was not my business. She wouldn’t remember me, not if she had evolved into many different identities and personas. She probably didn’t know who she was herself.

We lost the tail. There were no more trackers, and I arrived at Saks Fifth Avenue.

When I stopped the car outside the building, she leaned forward and offered a card. It had a number scribbled on it.

“What’s this?”

“My number, Daniel. I was far too focused on turning into whatever this is I am now, and lost sight of everything that should matter. I’m tired and need a break. You call this number, and I;’ll answer, any time of the day or night.”

“Why?”

“You now know my secret, and I know yours. You are the only person I can trust. What do you think? Don’t disappoint me a second time.”

And then she was gone. Just like that. Into thin air. I put the card in my pocket and pulled out into the traffic.

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

Writing a book in 365 days – 291/292

Days 291 and 292

Writing exercise

…

Taking a cross-country trek together, two people discover secrets about each other.

…

It was a silly ritual, but when four of us graduated high school, we made a pact on Prom Night that we would meet up every year, New Year’s Eve, on the 81st floor lookout of the Empire State Building, every year until we couldn’t, literally the only excuse not to be there was death.

We thought it was original, but of course, lots of movies immortalised the same thing, making it a little passe. And with it, there were gaps when others didn’t make it.

I, on the other hand, had been to every one. When others didn’t, I was disappointed, but then that wasn’t the only disappointment in my life.

John Rogers, who was keen on Alison West, prom king and queen, didn’t stay together very long; their fields of study and universities meant the tyranny of distance would eventually take its toll. Daniel Franks, that was me, and Marjourie Leyton were not a couple but had gone to the prom together, because we could have been an item, but neither of us pressed it. We parted and saw each other from time to time, and now, mostly at the Empire State Building. She was the second most attended member.

We had eventually all gone in different directions, and the last time we met was at the high school reunion. The other three were married, successful, great partners and children they were proud to show off, and I, well, I was the odd one out. The girl that I wanted to marry just didn’t know I existed, and though I had tried with others, from home and away, it just didn’t have the same thing about it.

Maybe one day, before I die.

…

The cell phone rang shrilly, waking me from a restless sleep. I glanced over at the clock on the far bedside table, and it read 2:37 a.m.

I normally had it switched off overnight for just that reason, not to be woken in the middle of the night. It was always difficult to fall asleep; it was far worse if I was woken soon after.

I looked at the screen. ‘Private Number’.

No one that I would normally answer. I let it ring out and then switched it off.

Five minutes later, another cell phone rang, a phone that I had used three times in eighteen years, the last time precipitating the most anxious three weeks of my life.

It was a call I could not ignore.

I dragged myself out of bed and got to it just as it rang out. No matter, I knew who it was, and called straight back.

“Danny. Bad time?”

“Very.”

“Still a light sleeper?”

“One eye open and a gun under the pillow, some things never change. What do you want, Fred?”

“Texting an address. Extraction. You have thirteen hours and five minutes.”

After the last time he called, I thought I’d drawn a line under this sort of affair. “I don’t do this anymore.”

“You left the phone on. Naughty boy. Sorry. On your horse.”

The phone went dead.

I glared at it, then put it on the desk. It chimed. Message, the address, and when I looked it up, it was a back alley in the financial district of St Louis in Illinois. I lived in Minneapolis in Minnesota, and to get to St Louis in Missouri, and would have to take I-35 south. Easy as. It was just that it was a 9-hour drive, without breaks, so I just had enough time to get there.

I shook my head, considering I should just ring back and say I was done with him and his antics.

Should, but wouldn’t. Perhaps this was what I needed to get me out of the despondency I’d fallen into.

…

A half hour later, refreshed and ready to go, I headed to the lockup at the rear of the property I lived on and dragged the cover off the 2016 Silver Ford Fusion sedan. It was once described as the ultimate invisible car, and the reason why I owned one. It had fifteen sets of plates, and today it was running with my home state. That would change when I got to St Louis, and again, depending on where I was told to take the target.

When I reached Cedar Rapids, I stopped for an hour for coffee and breakfast of pancakes, bacon and eggs, at a diner where the place was clean, the staff were friendly, and the service was quick. The food wasn’t bad either.

Outside St Louis I changed the plates and paperwork, changed into different clothes, the sort that when the police asked a witness to describe me, it would be average height, average weight, average clothes, you know, check shirt, well-worn North Face parka, well-worn hiking boots, faded well-worn jeans, and a well-worn face that had had spent a lot of time outdoors.

The sort of person a mother wouldn’t recognise if he were standing next to her on a bus. It was the part of the training I liked the most – becoming invisible.

Then, ten minutes before the appointed time, I sent the location to a burner number, a street corner where I could stop for just long enough for someone to get in, and we could keep moving. This was a critical part of the operation and required precision timing. The only thing that could mess this up was an accident, and I’d checked the route; nothing was going to cause a problem.

At the precise moment, I stopped the car, released the door lock, and someone got in the back. They were covered, protected from the cold, and I didn’t look other than to make sure they were in and the door closed before I drove off. In all, I was there for 7 seconds.

After sending an acknowledgement text to the boss, he sent the destination. There was generally no conversation with the target; it was pick up and deliver. Food was in a hamper on the back seat. We would not be stopping for anything other than gas and restroom visits.

…

There was no communication with the target; it was just my job to take them from point A to point B, which this time, was outside Saks, Fifth Avenue, New York. I would have guessed a safe house, not a place where the target could do some indulgent shopping. I sighed inwardly.

A glance in the back told me very little, other than this time it was a woman, and that she would not be recognisable as anyone I would know or attempt to guess at. Because we both worked for the same man, she would have the same training as I had, except I didn’t get to go into the field as a primary agent; I had only qualified for work in Section 5, support services.

There had been times when I was disappointed, but sometimes running support could also be as dangerous as an agent on the ground, especially when it was a hot extraction.

At the first restroom stop, I pulled into the carpark close to the building, and she got out, taking a small backpack with her. I had not seen it when she got in, but that meant little. I waited half an hour, the maximum time before I had to go check, but she reappeared, having changed her appearance, but still as anonymous as before.

I was not meant to, but I watched her walk from the front door of the cafe, towards the car before turning to the front as she neared. It reminded me of someone from a distant past, but exactly who eluded me.

The door shut, and I drove off.

Once past the city limits, she asked, quite unexpectedly, “What’s your name?” The voice was distorted through the mask.

“Against protocol, ma’am.”

“We’re out in the middle of nowhere. Surely it doesn’t matter.”

“Not my call. The boss is insistent. No names, no conversation.”

I heard a sigh, and then she settled into the seat. The car wasn’t exactly the most comfortable, but Services had upgraded the seating, especially for the driver, knowing how long we might have to drive in a single sitting. Moving an agent was by car. Any other form of travel left a trail.

A half hour later, I heard the sounds of sleep. I would get mine after I dropped her off.

…

Darkness settled slowly until the inky blackness swallowed us up, and then it was a matter of watching the headlights of the cars opposite come and go, and the cars and trucks behind and in front pass or get passed. There was a reasonable amount of traffic, and for the first few hours of darkness, it was almost boring.

There was no movement from the back seat.

Then, “I need a break. Find some facilities.”

I checked the GPS and there was one ten minutes ahead. “Ten minutes or so.”

“Thanks.”

Ten minutes, I pulled off the main road and stopped at a BP petrol station at a place called Straughan. She got out and went inside. I filled the tank with Premium, paid the bill in cash and got back in the car.

That’s when I saw a car, sitting in the truck park, no lights, but suddenly, the flaring of a match lit a cigarette. Not enough light to see the driver’s face, but an outline. A large man in a small car.

It could be nothing.

The door opened and closed. I started the car and drove out slowly. I watched the car behind me. It didn’t move. I turned and went back the way we came to the on ramp of the I-70 and soon was back up to speed.

Back on the highway, I switched on the cruise control and relaxed. A glance every now and then in the exterior rear vision mirror showed the usual traffic, except after an hour, a set of headlights appeared a distance back and then stayed there, sometimes falling back, sometimes moving faster, but never beyond a certain point.

Damn!

It could be my imagination, but I didn’t think so. There was that car on the side of the road back at the gas station, but the fact that it had taken hours to locate us suggested only one possibility.

“Excuse me?”

A few seconds of silence, then “I thought we were not to speak.”

“True, but there might be a problem. I would like you to check everything you have and make sure there isn’t a tracking device.”

“We have a tail?”

“We might, or it might be my paranoia.”

“It’s not possible.”

“Humour me.”

I heard her mutter something under her breath, and then reluctantly search. A minute later, a sharp gasp, the window opening and then closing.

“How?” I asked.

“I was with the target, who seemed a little more anxious than usual. I left as soon as I could without raising suspicion, called the controller and requested extraction. There were other red flags, and it was time.”

“Once they realise you tossed the tracker, the excitement begins.”

I had three guns, a modified car that could outrun the car behind me, theoretically, but they had time to set up a blockage further along, depending on how desperate they were to capture my passenger. I guess we’d soon find out.

“Settle in. This could take a while.”

Except, not long after, the headlights appeared behind me again. There were two trackers. I wouldn’t bother her about the second, just wait and see what they were prepared to do. I was on a major highway, and there were a lot of trucks to use as cover.

…

At the next gas station, near Akron, I sent a text message requesting another car and a device that would knock out anything transmitting a signal, which meant we would not have any communications. That would not be a problem for the short time it took for us to get away. I also requested her to double-check everything she had with her and on, just to make sure.

I didn’t ask, and she didn’t say whether there was another device, but it was clear she had completely changed everything and left the other clothes and belongings behind.

At Akron, we changed cars.

I also made an alarming discovery. The woman in the back of my car was a girl I used to know back in high school, the one who never gave me a second look. When I did know her, it was she who had suggested, with the grades I had, that I should apply to the FBI. She didn’t say she was, but it surprised me that she suggested it.

Annabel Tyler.

Undercover agent for? I was tempted to ask, but it was not my business. She wouldn’t remember me, not if she had evolved into many different identities and personas. She probably didn’t know who she was herself.

We lost the tail. There were no more trackers, and I arrived at Saks Fifth Avenue.

When I stopped the car outside the building, she leaned forward and offered a card. It had a number scribbled on it.

“What’s this?”

“My number, Daniel. I was far too focused on turning into whatever this is I am now, and lost sight of everything that should matter. I’m tired and need a break. You call this number, and I;’ll answer, any time of the day or night.”

“Why?”

“You now know my secret, and I know yours. You are the only person I can trust. What do you think? Don’t disappoint me a second time.”

And then she was gone. Just like that. Into thin air. I put the card in my pocket and pulled out into the traffic.

…

©  Charles Heath  2025

NANOWRIMO – November 2025 – Day 4

…

The Third Son of a Duke

…

So, here’s the quandary that research can dump on you.  Trains in 1914 traditionally left from Fenchurch Street Station for Tilbury, but there is other evidence that special Tilbury trains ran from Paddington.  What do you pick for your story?

The thing is, once you start poking around, looking for dated photos of the dock at Tilbury that was at the end of the railways, the fact that there was a shed when the shipping agents were waiting for baggage that wasn’t sent ahead. And passengers who would show their tickets and be directed to the correct gangway, if, of course, the ship was tied up at the wharf, because there is evidence that the ships were moored off the pier and people were taken by tender to the ship.

What is the truth, what is inferred, what is known?  Research sometimes can leave you with an incomplete picture.

Then, we have to get the passengers aboard the ship, boarded by the correct gangway for their class, because the class system was alive and well in Edwardian England, and then, well, you get the picture.  Travelling on a state-of-the-art 10,000-ton vessel that took about 1400 passengers, much have been some undertaking.

How I would have loved to have been there in person.

…

1245 words, for a total of 6225 words.

Writing a book in 365 days – My Story 44

The end is not the place to start finding plot holes

…

Third Edit, Big Plot Hole? It’s a Gift, Not a Disaster (and How to Fix It!)

You’re deep into your third edit. The words are starting to gleam, the narrative arc feels solid, and you can almost taste that “FIN” key. Then it hits you. A moment, a scene, a fundamental piece of your carefully constructed world… and it makes no sense.

Your stomach drops. Your heart sinks. A gaping, undeniable plot hole stares back at you from the page, like a canyon you somehow missed seeing until now. “Third edit?!” you scream internally. “How could I have missed this? My book is fundamentally broken! I’m a fraud! It’s over!”

Stop. Breathe. You’re not alone, and this isn’t the end. In fact, finding a big plot hole late in the game is not a disaster – it’s an opportunity.

Why You Absolutely Should NOT Panic

Let’s talk you off the ledge, writer. Here’s why this unexpected discovery is actually a good thing:

  1. You Found It! This is the single most important reason not to panic. Imagine if a reader found it after publication. Ouch. You, the diligent author, caught it before it became a problem for anyone else. Give yourself a pat on the back for your keen editorial eye.
  2. It Means You’re Getting Better. Spotting a plot hole on the third edit, rather than the first, shows your critical faculties are sharpening. You’re viewing your work with fresh, more discerning eyes, like a seasoned detective.
  3. It’s Fixable (Seriously). Very few plot holes are truly unfixable without rewriting the entire book. Most can be patched, rewoven, or even transformed into something stronger.
  4. It Can Make Your Story Stronger. Often, fixing a plot hole isn’t just about patching a flaw; it’s about deepening character motivation, adding a surprising twist, or solidifying your world-building in a way you hadn’t considered before. What felt like a weakness can become a new strength.
  5. It Happens to Everyone. Every single writer, from debut authors to multi-published bestsellers, grapples with plot logic. Stories are complex beasts, and human brains are fallible. This is part of the process.

How to Fix That Pesky Plot Hole: A Step-by-Step Guide

Okay, now that we’ve established your book isn’t doomed, let’s roll up our sleeves.

Step 1: Disengage and Diagnose

  • Step Away: The worst thing you can do is try to fix it immediately while you’re still in “panic mode.” Go for a walk, make some tea, watch an episode of your favorite show. Let your subconscious marinate.
  • Pinpoint the Genesis: Identify the exact moment or decision where the logic breaks. Is it a character doing something illogical? A timeline inconsistency? A magical rule being broken? A piece of information that shouldn’t exist yet?
  • Trace the Impact: How far does this plot hole ripple through your story? What other scenes, character motivations, or plot points does it implicitly invalidate? Don’t just look at the hole; look at what falls into it.

Step 2: Brainstorm Solutions (No Bad Ideas Yet!)

Get out a fresh notebook or open a blank document. For 15-20 minutes, just write down any idea that comes to mind, no matter how silly or impossible.

  • “Character X secretly had a twin!” (Probably too much, but write it down.)
  • “The magic system actually has this obscure loophole!”
  • “That scene never happened, it was a dream!” (Again, likely not the best, but capture it.)
  • “What if Character Y’s motivation was actually Z, which explains the moment?”
  • “Could I add a short scene earlier to explain this?”
  • “What if I just cut that entire problematic subplot?”

The goal here is quantity, not quality. Don’t filter.

Step 3: Employ Your Writer’s Toolbox

Now, let’s get strategic with some common plot-hole-fixing techniques:

  1. The Foreshadow/Setup: This is often the cleanest solution. Can you add a small detail, a throwaway line, an earlier scene, or even a brief internal thought a few chapters (or even many chapters) before the plot hole appears, that subtly explains or justifies it?
    • Example: If your character can suddenly fly, have them dream about flying earlier, or overhear a strange comment about ancient powers.
  2. Reverse-Engineer the Logic: What needs to be true for the problematic moment to work? Can you build that truth into your world or character history?
    • Example: Character had to be at Location A, but they were established at Location B. What if the journey from B to A is shorter than you thought? Or what if there’s a secret tunnel? Or what if they sent a proxy?
  3. Deepen Character Motivation: Often, a plot hole stems from a character making an inconsistent or illogical choice. Can you:
    • Give them a secret motivation for that action?
    • Add internal conflict or external pressure that forces their hand?
    • Show them making a flawed, very human decision under stress?
    • Sometimes a character’s mistake IS the plot point.
  4. World-Building Expansion/Clarification: If the hole is due to inconsistencies in your magic system, technology, or societal rules, can you:
    • Add a new rule or caveat that explains it?
    • Clarify an existing rule?
    • Show a character misunderstanding or misinterpreting a rule?
  5. The “Consequences” Approach: Instead of trying to erase the illogical moment, what if you embrace it and explore its consequences? The plot hole becomes a new catalyst for conflict.
    • Example: If a character’s decision was illogical, what are the immediate, negative repercussions? How do they deal with the fallout? This can be incredibly rich for storytelling.
  6. Information Management: Did you give the reader too much or too little information at a crucial point?
    • Too much: Can you withhold a detail for longer to maintain suspense and prevent the reader from spotting the flaw too soon?
    • Too little: Can you provide a key piece of information subtly earlier to make the problematic moment click into place?
  7. The Pruning Shears: Is the problematic scene, character, or subplot truly essential? Sometimes, the most elegant solution is to simply remove the offending element entirely. If it’s creating more problems than it solves, it might not belong.

Step 4: Implement and Re-read (with a Partner if Possible)

Once you’ve chosen a solution, carefully integrate it. This might mean adding a few lines, a paragraph, or even rewriting a small scene. Then, read through the entire section, or even the whole manuscript again, specifically looking for new inconsistencies your fix might have created.

If you have a trusted beta reader or critique partner, this is an excellent time to get their eyes on it. Explain the original plot hole and your proposed solution, and ask them if it now makes sense and feels organic.

You Got This.

Finding a big plot hole on your third edit isn’t a sign of failure; it’s a badge of honor. It means you care enough about your story, and your readers, to make it the absolute best it can be. Embrace the challenge, apply these strategies, and watch as that gaping chasm transforms into a seamlessly integrated, stronger part of your narrative.

Harry Walthenson, Private Detective – the second case – A case of finding the “Flying Dutchman”

…

What starts as a search for a missing husband soon develops into an unbelievable story of treachery, lies, and incredible riches.

…

It was meant to remain buried long enough for the dust to settle on what was once an unpalatable truth, when enough time had passed, and those who had been willing to wait could reap the rewards.

The problem was, no one knew where that treasure was hidden or the location of the logbook that held the secret.

At stake, billions of dollars’ worth of stolen Nazi loot brought to the United States in an anonymous tramp steamer and hidden in a specially constructed vault under a specifically owned plot of land on the once docklands of New York.

It may have remained hidden and unknown to only a few, if it had not been for a mere obscure detail being overheard …

… by our intrepid, newly minted private detective, Harry Walthenson …

… and it would have remained buried.

Now, through a series of unrelated events, or are they, that well-kept secret is out there, and Harry will not stop until the whole truth is uncovered.

Even if it almost costs him his life.  Again.

Writing a book in 365 days – My Story 44

The end is not the place to start finding plot holes

…

Third Edit, Big Plot Hole? It’s a Gift, Not a Disaster (and How to Fix It!)

You’re deep into your third edit. The words are starting to gleam, the narrative arc feels solid, and you can almost taste that “FIN” key. Then it hits you. A moment, a scene, a fundamental piece of your carefully constructed world… and it makes no sense.

Your stomach drops. Your heart sinks. A gaping, undeniable plot hole stares back at you from the page, like a canyon you somehow missed seeing until now. “Third edit?!” you scream internally. “How could I have missed this? My book is fundamentally broken! I’m a fraud! It’s over!”

Stop. Breathe. You’re not alone, and this isn’t the end. In fact, finding a big plot hole late in the game is not a disaster – it’s an opportunity.

Why You Absolutely Should NOT Panic

Let’s talk you off the ledge, writer. Here’s why this unexpected discovery is actually a good thing:

  1. You Found It! This is the single most important reason not to panic. Imagine if a reader found it after publication. Ouch. You, the diligent author, caught it before it became a problem for anyone else. Give yourself a pat on the back for your keen editorial eye.
  2. It Means You’re Getting Better. Spotting a plot hole on the third edit, rather than the first, shows your critical faculties are sharpening. You’re viewing your work with fresh, more discerning eyes, like a seasoned detective.
  3. It’s Fixable (Seriously). Very few plot holes are truly unfixable without rewriting the entire book. Most can be patched, rewoven, or even transformed into something stronger.
  4. It Can Make Your Story Stronger. Often, fixing a plot hole isn’t just about patching a flaw; it’s about deepening character motivation, adding a surprising twist, or solidifying your world-building in a way you hadn’t considered before. What felt like a weakness can become a new strength.
  5. It Happens to Everyone. Every single writer, from debut authors to multi-published bestsellers, grapples with plot logic. Stories are complex beasts, and human brains are fallible. This is part of the process.

How to Fix That Pesky Plot Hole: A Step-by-Step Guide

Okay, now that we’ve established your book isn’t doomed, let’s roll up our sleeves.

Step 1: Disengage and Diagnose

  • Step Away: The worst thing you can do is try to fix it immediately while you’re still in “panic mode.” Go for a walk, make some tea, watch an episode of your favorite show. Let your subconscious marinate.
  • Pinpoint the Genesis: Identify the exact moment or decision where the logic breaks. Is it a character doing something illogical? A timeline inconsistency? A magical rule being broken? A piece of information that shouldn’t exist yet?
  • Trace the Impact: How far does this plot hole ripple through your story? What other scenes, character motivations, or plot points does it implicitly invalidate? Don’t just look at the hole; look at what falls into it.

Step 2: Brainstorm Solutions (No Bad Ideas Yet!)

Get out a fresh notebook or open a blank document. For 15-20 minutes, just write down any idea that comes to mind, no matter how silly or impossible.

  • “Character X secretly had a twin!” (Probably too much, but write it down.)
  • “The magic system actually has this obscure loophole!”
  • “That scene never happened, it was a dream!” (Again, likely not the best, but capture it.)
  • “What if Character Y’s motivation was actually Z, which explains the moment?”
  • “Could I add a short scene earlier to explain this?”
  • “What if I just cut that entire problematic subplot?”

The goal here is quantity, not quality. Don’t filter.

Step 3: Employ Your Writer’s Toolbox

Now, let’s get strategic with some common plot-hole-fixing techniques:

  1. The Foreshadow/Setup: This is often the cleanest solution. Can you add a small detail, a throwaway line, an earlier scene, or even a brief internal thought a few chapters (or even many chapters) before the plot hole appears, that subtly explains or justifies it?
    • Example: If your character can suddenly fly, have them dream about flying earlier, or overhear a strange comment about ancient powers.
  2. Reverse-Engineer the Logic: What needs to be true for the problematic moment to work? Can you build that truth into your world or character history?
    • Example: Character had to be at Location A, but they were established at Location B. What if the journey from B to A is shorter than you thought? Or what if there’s a secret tunnel? Or what if they sent a proxy?
  3. Deepen Character Motivation: Often, a plot hole stems from a character making an inconsistent or illogical choice. Can you:
    • Give them a secret motivation for that action?
    • Add internal conflict or external pressure that forces their hand?
    • Show them making a flawed, very human decision under stress?
    • Sometimes a character’s mistake IS the plot point.
  4. World-Building Expansion/Clarification: If the hole is due to inconsistencies in your magic system, technology, or societal rules, can you:
    • Add a new rule or caveat that explains it?
    • Clarify an existing rule?
    • Show a character misunderstanding or misinterpreting a rule?
  5. The “Consequences” Approach: Instead of trying to erase the illogical moment, what if you embrace it and explore its consequences? The plot hole becomes a new catalyst for conflict.
    • Example: If a character’s decision was illogical, what are the immediate, negative repercussions? How do they deal with the fallout? This can be incredibly rich for storytelling.
  6. Information Management: Did you give the reader too much or too little information at a crucial point?
    • Too much: Can you withhold a detail for longer to maintain suspense and prevent the reader from spotting the flaw too soon?
    • Too little: Can you provide a key piece of information subtly earlier to make the problematic moment click into place?
  7. The Pruning Shears: Is the problematic scene, character, or subplot truly essential? Sometimes, the most elegant solution is to simply remove the offending element entirely. If it’s creating more problems than it solves, it might not belong.

Step 4: Implement and Re-read (with a Partner if Possible)

Once you’ve chosen a solution, carefully integrate it. This might mean adding a few lines, a paragraph, or even rewriting a small scene. Then, read through the entire section, or even the whole manuscript again, specifically looking for new inconsistencies your fix might have created.

If you have a trusted beta reader or critique partner, this is an excellent time to get their eyes on it. Explain the original plot hole and your proposed solution, and ask them if it now makes sense and feels organic.

You Got This.

Finding a big plot hole on your third edit isn’t a sign of failure; it’s a badge of honor. It means you care enough about your story, and your readers, to make it the absolute best it can be. Embrace the challenge, apply these strategies, and watch as that gaping chasm transforms into a seamlessly integrated, stronger part of your narrative.

NANOWRIMO – November 2025 – Day 3

…

The Third Son of a Duke

…

I get started on the first few chapters

…

We need a central character around whom the story will revolve.  For the moment, it is in the first person.  This might change later.

We need a reason for him to travel on the ship, other than it was the same one my grandmother on my father’s side travelled to Australia on.  I have access to diaries, and I have a very good idea of what it was like on board, where everything is, samples of the menu for dining, and activities.

I know when it was stormy, when it was calm, what ports they stopped at, and when it was hot.  I can also see in my mind what it was like travelling from Port Said to Aden through both the Suez Canal and the Red Sea, and how hot it could be.

When I close my eyes, I am on the ship.

But we’re not there yet.

Our third son of a duke, is home for Christmas when he gets the news he’s going to Australia to check on his father’s investment, and one in particular, a cattle station in remote Queensland. 

His girlfriend, the woman that his parents had made arrangements for him to marry, is there, knows of his travel plans, and she is not going with him.  It is, perhaps, the death knell of that arranged marriage.

Christmas 1913 will be memorable.

…

1955 words, for a total of 4980 words.

Writing a book in 365 days – 290

Day 290

There’s always a reason to learn more

…

The Unending Classroom: Why Even Experts Never Stop Learning

You’ve done it. You’ve reached that career pinnacle, published that book, mastered a skill, or achieved a long-sought goal. You’re an expert, an authority, a “somebody.” The world might even be looking to you for answers. It’s a fantastic feeling, a testament to hard work, talent, and dedication.

But then what?

The common wisdom often implies that once you’ve “arrived,” the hard part is over. The learning, surely, is mostly done. You’ve earned the right to simply be the expert.

Here’s the radical truth: No matter how accomplished you are – whether you’re a published author with a string of bestsellers or a seasoned professional at the top of your field – there is always, always, always a reason to learn more.

This isn’t just about staying relevant in a rapidly changing world (though that’s certainly part of it). It’s about something far more profound.

The World Doesn’t Stand Still (And Neither Should You)

Think about it. Technology evolves at warp speed. New research constantly reshapes our understanding of everything from psychology to physics. Industries pivot, methodologies are refined, and cultural landscapes shift. The “best practice” of yesterday might be obsolete tomorrow.

For a published author, this could mean learning about new marketing channels, experimenting with different narrative structures, or even delving into the latest scientific discoveries to add depth to their next fictional world. For a CEO, it might be understanding emerging leadership theories, mastering a new data analytics tool, or exploring the intricacies of global economies. Stagnation, even for a moment, means falling behind.

The Humility of True Mastery

Paradoxically, the more you learn, the more you realize how much you don’t know. This isn’t disheartening; it’s liberating. True masters often possess a deep sense of humility, recognizing that their expertise is merely a lighthouse in an infinite ocean of knowledge.

This humility fuels curiosity. It allows open-mindedness to new ideas, even those that challenge deeply held beliefs. It prevents intellectual arrogance and the dangerous assumption that you have all the answers. The most accomplished individuals are often the most ardent students, perpetually seeking to refine their craft, broaden their understanding, and test their own assumptions.

Fueling Creativity and Innovation

Learning isn’t just about accumulating facts; it’s about making new connections. When you expose yourself to diverse fields, new theories, or different cultural perspectives, you create fertile ground for innovation. A solution to a problem in your industry might come from an insight gained from studying ancient philosophy, quantum mechanics, or even a completely unrelated hobby.

Think of an acclaimed artist who studies engineering, or a top chef who delves into the science of fermentation. This cross-pollination of ideas is where true breakthroughs happen, allowing you to approach challenges with fresh eyes and discover novel solutions.

The Sheer Joy of Growth

Beyond all the practical benefits, there’s a simple, undeniable joy in learning. It keeps your mind sharp, your spirit engaged, and your life enriched. It’s about personal growth, challenging yourself, and experiencing the thrill of mastering something new – even if it’s just a tiny piece of a vast puzzle.

That feeling you had when you first accomplished something significant? You can tap into that feeling again and again, simply by choosing to remain a student.

So, What’s Your Next Lesson?

No matter where you are on your journey, take a moment to consider:

  • What’s one thing you’re genuinely curious about, even if it seems unrelated to your primary expertise?
  • What new skill could enhance your current capabilities, even slightly?
  • Whose perspective could you seek out to challenge your own understanding?

Pick up that book, enroll in that course, listen to that podcast, or engage in that conversation. Embrace the unending classroom. Because the most profound accomplishment isn’t just reaching a destination; it’s recognizing that the journey of learning never truly ends, and that’s precisely where the magic happens.

Writing a book in 365 days – 290

Day 290

There’s always a reason to learn more

…

The Unending Classroom: Why Even Experts Never Stop Learning

You’ve done it. You’ve reached that career pinnacle, published that book, mastered a skill, or achieved a long-sought goal. You’re an expert, an authority, a “somebody.” The world might even be looking to you for answers. It’s a fantastic feeling, a testament to hard work, talent, and dedication.

But then what?

The common wisdom often implies that once you’ve “arrived,” the hard part is over. The learning, surely, is mostly done. You’ve earned the right to simply be the expert.

Here’s the radical truth: No matter how accomplished you are – whether you’re a published author with a string of bestsellers or a seasoned professional at the top of your field – there is always, always, always a reason to learn more.

This isn’t just about staying relevant in a rapidly changing world (though that’s certainly part of it). It’s about something far more profound.

The World Doesn’t Stand Still (And Neither Should You)

Think about it. Technology evolves at warp speed. New research constantly reshapes our understanding of everything from psychology to physics. Industries pivot, methodologies are refined, and cultural landscapes shift. The “best practice” of yesterday might be obsolete tomorrow.

For a published author, this could mean learning about new marketing channels, experimenting with different narrative structures, or even delving into the latest scientific discoveries to add depth to their next fictional world. For a CEO, it might be understanding emerging leadership theories, mastering a new data analytics tool, or exploring the intricacies of global economies. Stagnation, even for a moment, means falling behind.

The Humility of True Mastery

Paradoxically, the more you learn, the more you realize how much you don’t know. This isn’t disheartening; it’s liberating. True masters often possess a deep sense of humility, recognizing that their expertise is merely a lighthouse in an infinite ocean of knowledge.

This humility fuels curiosity. It allows open-mindedness to new ideas, even those that challenge deeply held beliefs. It prevents intellectual arrogance and the dangerous assumption that you have all the answers. The most accomplished individuals are often the most ardent students, perpetually seeking to refine their craft, broaden their understanding, and test their own assumptions.

Fueling Creativity and Innovation

Learning isn’t just about accumulating facts; it’s about making new connections. When you expose yourself to diverse fields, new theories, or different cultural perspectives, you create fertile ground for innovation. A solution to a problem in your industry might come from an insight gained from studying ancient philosophy, quantum mechanics, or even a completely unrelated hobby.

Think of an acclaimed artist who studies engineering, or a top chef who delves into the science of fermentation. This cross-pollination of ideas is where true breakthroughs happen, allowing you to approach challenges with fresh eyes and discover novel solutions.

The Sheer Joy of Growth

Beyond all the practical benefits, there’s a simple, undeniable joy in learning. It keeps your mind sharp, your spirit engaged, and your life enriched. It’s about personal growth, challenging yourself, and experiencing the thrill of mastering something new – even if it’s just a tiny piece of a vast puzzle.

That feeling you had when you first accomplished something significant? You can tap into that feeling again and again, simply by choosing to remain a student.

So, What’s Your Next Lesson?

No matter where you are on your journey, take a moment to consider:

  • What’s one thing you’re genuinely curious about, even if it seems unrelated to your primary expertise?
  • What new skill could enhance your current capabilities, even slightly?
  • Whose perspective could you seek out to challenge your own understanding?

Pick up that book, enroll in that course, listen to that podcast, or engage in that conversation. Embrace the unending classroom. Because the most profound accomplishment isn’t just reaching a destination; it’s recognizing that the journey of learning never truly ends, and that’s precisely where the magic happens.