Tag: Thoughts

NANOWRIMO – November 2025 – Day 2

…

The Third Son of a Duke

…

WE needed a central character

…

So, in writing the outline, I came up with a premise that might change, but it seems a likely scenario, given that the title of the book is The Third Son of a Duke. It means that he is like having a spare tyre, or in the same position as the younger brother who is heir to the throne.

Here, it’s nothing quite so radical, just that he will inherit the title or the estate, which goes to the eldest son, yes, no equality, because I set it to start in the year 1913, that is, the Christmas before the First World War.  Remember, I was going to wrap something big around the story, and you can’t get any bigger than a world war. 

It’s a time when the classes were starting to break down and the aristocracy was becoming less relevant to everyone else.  It’s the Edwardian Era, and everyone is clinging to the last vestiges of the ruling class and the working class.  What was eminently workable in the 1800s is no longer viable. Nobility is finding it harder or impossible to maintain their lifestyles, fortunes are being lost, and a new class of wealthy people are emerging.

In 1913, there were still first class, second class, and third class.  On ships, on trains, and in life.  And something else is in the air, the coming of the Suffragette.  Women no longer want to stay at home, do as they were told and have no say over their lives.

We are going to start in that small world of classes, travelling together on a ship, one of the biggest for that time, with over 1300 passengers.

Soon.

…

Today, 1235 words, for a total of 3025 words.

Writing a book in 365 days – 289

Day 289

I don’t want to retire – just yet!

…

Not Done Yet: Why I Won’t Put the Pen Down (Unless You Pry It Loose)

There are moments in life that hit you like a carefully aimed brick. The day you realize you’re paying full price for admission instead of the student rate. The first time a colleague suggests you mentor them because they “remember reading your work when they were in college.”

But nothing compares to the quiet horror of the Mirror Shock.

You wake up, perhaps a little stiffly, wander into the bathroom, and catch a truly unguarded reflection. And there it is: concrete evidence that the passage of time is not just an abstract concept discussed by philosophers—it’s etched onto your face. Suddenly, you realize old age hasn’t approached politely; it has just snuck up on you, giggling maniacally from the periphery.

And with that physical realization comes the societal whisper, amplified by well-meaning friends and persistent internal voices: The notion of putting the pen away, hanging up the computer, finally taking a step back has come.

It’s time to retire.

And yet, for some of us, that suggestion feels less like liberation and more like an existential threat.

The Conflict: Passion vs. The Sabbatical Police

Retirement, in its classic definition, is a beautiful idea: the well-deserved pause. Years of hard work traded for limitless travel, afternoon naps, and the blissful freedom from deadlines.

For most folks, the idea of having their primary tool—a calculator, a hammer, a briefcase—confiscated sounds glorious.

But for those of us whose professional lives are intrinsically tied to creation, communication, and connectivity—the writers, the consultants, the artists, the lifelong learners—the pen and the keyboard aren’t just tools. They are conduits. They are how we process the world, how we contribute, and often, who we fundamentally are.

When the world suggests you stop doing the thing that makes you you, the reaction isn’t gratitude; it’s cognitive dissonance.

The mirror may be showing a few new wrinkles, but the internal drive—the wellspring of ideas, the need to connect dots, the urge to capture a thought before it vanishes—is still running at high speed. The engine hasn’t sputtered; it’s just settled into a low, rumbling idle.

The Heresy of the Hard Stop

The assumption that everyone must pivot from 100 mph to 0 mph on their 65th birthday is an outdated construct of a mid-20th-century economy. When work involved significant physical strain or rote, repetitive tasks, the need for a hard break was undeniable.

But in the creative, intellectual, and digital spheres, the opposite is often true. Our knowledge, our networks, and our insight are compounding assets that only increase with time.

Why, then, should we stop when we are finally reaching the peak of our observational powers?

If your professional life has been one long, passionate conversation with the world, cutting off the microphone simply because the calendar dictates it feels absurd. It’s like telling a seasoned musician to stop writing songs because their hair is graying.

For those of us who feel this way, the concept of retirement is not an ending; it’s a necessary (and perhaps slightly aggressive) re-negotiation.

My Mantra: Cold, Dead Hands and the Keyboard

If you are facing the societal pressure to step away, and feel an absolute, visceral refusal blooming in your chest, congratulations—you are likely one of the few who understands the true meaning of the rebellious mantra:

The computer/pen has to be confiscated out of my cold, dead hands.

This isn’t stubbornness; it’s the ultimate expression of professional identity. It’s the declaration that my purpose is not dependent on my age, but on my ability to contribute.

If you share this fierce dedication, the answer isn’t to quit. The answer is to adapt the way you work, without surrendering the work itself.

How to Defy Retirement Without Burning Out

If you’ve decided you’re not hanging up your boots, you need a strategy to prove that your value increases with age, proving that the Mirror Shock was an alarm clock, not a finish line.

1. Shift from Production to Curation

You don’t need to write five articles a week, but you can distill a lifetime of experience into one powerful annual essay or a keynote speech. Instead of being the primary producer, become the ultimate curator, mentor, and editor. Your job moves from generating volume to providing invaluable context.

2. Embrace the Scalpel, Ditch the Sledgehammer

Scale back without cutting off. If your schedule was fifty hours, trim it to twenty of the most impactful hours. Eliminate the administrative drudgery and focus solely on the projects that truly engage your intellect and creativity. Preserve your energy for the soul work.

3. Redefine “Success”

Success is no longer measured in promotions or quarterly earnings. It’s measured in impact, legacy, and genuine enjoyment. If a project stops being fun, drop it. Your experience has earned you the right to be highly selective.

4. The Laptop is the Travel Companion

One of the great promises of retirement is travel. Why separate the two? If your work is digital, your office is portable. The pen doesn’t need to be put away; it simply needs a passport. Continue writing, designing, or consulting from places that inspire you.

The Final Word

The sudden realization of age is a profound moment. It forces you to confront mortality, but more importantly, it forces you to confront the passion that still burns within.

They say you spend your lifetime building a career so you can eventually stop. But for the dedicated writer, creator, or thinker, the career is the life. We don’t want to stop doing it; we just want the freedom to keep doing it better, smarter, and with fewer corporate meetings.

I’ve looked in the mirror, acknowledged the lines, and heard the societal call to step aside. But the pen is still in my hand, the laptop is still charged, and there are far too many thoughts left unwritten.

Tell the Sabbatical Police they’ll need to bring heavy equipment. Because until the very end, this keyboard is mine.

First Dig Two Graves

A sequel to “The Devil You Don’t”

…

Revenge is a dish best served cold – or preferably so when everything goes right

Of course, it rarely does, as Alistair, Zoe’s handler, discovers to his peril. Enter a wildcard, John, and whatever Alistair’s plan for dealing with Zoe was dies with him.

It leaves Zoe in completely unfamiliar territory.

…

John’s idyllic romance with a woman who is utterly out of his comfort zone is on borrowed time. She is still trying to reconcile her ambivalence, after being so indifferent for so long.

They agree to take a break, during which she disappears. John, thinking she has left without saying goodbye, refuses to accept the inevitable, calls on an old friend for help in finding her.

After the mayhem and being briefly reunited, she recognises an inevitable truth: there is a price to pay for taking out Alistair; she must leave and find them first, and he would be wise to keep a low profile.

But keeping a low profile just isn’t possible, and enlisting another friend, a private detective and his sister, a deft computer hacker, they track her to the border between Austria and Hungary.

What John doesn’t realise is that another enemy is tracking him to find her too. It could have been a grand tour of Europe. Instead, it becomes a race against time before enemies old and new converge for what will be an inevitable showdown.

Writing a book in 365 days – 289

Day 289

I don’t want to retire – just yet!

…

Not Done Yet: Why I Won’t Put the Pen Down (Unless You Pry It Loose)

There are moments in life that hit you like a carefully aimed brick. The day you realize you’re paying full price for admission instead of the student rate. The first time a colleague suggests you mentor them because they “remember reading your work when they were in college.”

But nothing compares to the quiet horror of the Mirror Shock.

You wake up, perhaps a little stiffly, wander into the bathroom, and catch a truly unguarded reflection. And there it is: concrete evidence that the passage of time is not just an abstract concept discussed by philosophers—it’s etched onto your face. Suddenly, you realize old age hasn’t approached politely; it has just snuck up on you, giggling maniacally from the periphery.

And with that physical realization comes the societal whisper, amplified by well-meaning friends and persistent internal voices: The notion of putting the pen away, hanging up the computer, finally taking a step back has come.

It’s time to retire.

And yet, for some of us, that suggestion feels less like liberation and more like an existential threat.

The Conflict: Passion vs. The Sabbatical Police

Retirement, in its classic definition, is a beautiful idea: the well-deserved pause. Years of hard work traded for limitless travel, afternoon naps, and the blissful freedom from deadlines.

For most folks, the idea of having their primary tool—a calculator, a hammer, a briefcase—confiscated sounds glorious.

But for those of us whose professional lives are intrinsically tied to creation, communication, and connectivity—the writers, the consultants, the artists, the lifelong learners—the pen and the keyboard aren’t just tools. They are conduits. They are how we process the world, how we contribute, and often, who we fundamentally are.

When the world suggests you stop doing the thing that makes you you, the reaction isn’t gratitude; it’s cognitive dissonance.

The mirror may be showing a few new wrinkles, but the internal drive—the wellspring of ideas, the need to connect dots, the urge to capture a thought before it vanishes—is still running at high speed. The engine hasn’t sputtered; it’s just settled into a low, rumbling idle.

The Heresy of the Hard Stop

The assumption that everyone must pivot from 100 mph to 0 mph on their 65th birthday is an outdated construct of a mid-20th-century economy. When work involved significant physical strain or rote, repetitive tasks, the need for a hard break was undeniable.

But in the creative, intellectual, and digital spheres, the opposite is often true. Our knowledge, our networks, and our insight are compounding assets that only increase with time.

Why, then, should we stop when we are finally reaching the peak of our observational powers?

If your professional life has been one long, passionate conversation with the world, cutting off the microphone simply because the calendar dictates it feels absurd. It’s like telling a seasoned musician to stop writing songs because their hair is graying.

For those of us who feel this way, the concept of retirement is not an ending; it’s a necessary (and perhaps slightly aggressive) re-negotiation.

My Mantra: Cold, Dead Hands and the Keyboard

If you are facing the societal pressure to step away, and feel an absolute, visceral refusal blooming in your chest, congratulations—you are likely one of the few who understands the true meaning of the rebellious mantra:

The computer/pen has to be confiscated out of my cold, dead hands.

This isn’t stubbornness; it’s the ultimate expression of professional identity. It’s the declaration that my purpose is not dependent on my age, but on my ability to contribute.

If you share this fierce dedication, the answer isn’t to quit. The answer is to adapt the way you work, without surrendering the work itself.

How to Defy Retirement Without Burning Out

If you’ve decided you’re not hanging up your boots, you need a strategy to prove that your value increases with age, proving that the Mirror Shock was an alarm clock, not a finish line.

1. Shift from Production to Curation

You don’t need to write five articles a week, but you can distill a lifetime of experience into one powerful annual essay or a keynote speech. Instead of being the primary producer, become the ultimate curator, mentor, and editor. Your job moves from generating volume to providing invaluable context.

2. Embrace the Scalpel, Ditch the Sledgehammer

Scale back without cutting off. If your schedule was fifty hours, trim it to twenty of the most impactful hours. Eliminate the administrative drudgery and focus solely on the projects that truly engage your intellect and creativity. Preserve your energy for the soul work.

3. Redefine “Success”

Success is no longer measured in promotions or quarterly earnings. It’s measured in impact, legacy, and genuine enjoyment. If a project stops being fun, drop it. Your experience has earned you the right to be highly selective.

4. The Laptop is the Travel Companion

One of the great promises of retirement is travel. Why separate the two? If your work is digital, your office is portable. The pen doesn’t need to be put away; it simply needs a passport. Continue writing, designing, or consulting from places that inspire you.

The Final Word

The sudden realization of age is a profound moment. It forces you to confront mortality, but more importantly, it forces you to confront the passion that still burns within.

They say you spend your lifetime building a career so you can eventually stop. But for the dedicated writer, creator, or thinker, the career is the life. We don’t want to stop doing it; we just want the freedom to keep doing it better, smarter, and with fewer corporate meetings.

I’ve looked in the mirror, acknowledged the lines, and heard the societal call to step aside. But the pen is still in my hand, the laptop is still charged, and there are far too many thoughts left unwritten.

Tell the Sabbatical Police they’ll need to bring heavy equipment. Because until the very end, this keyboard is mine.

Another excerpt from ‘Betrayal’; a work in progress

…

My next destination in the quest was the hotel we believed Anne Merriweather had stayed at.

I was, in a sense, flying blind because we had no concrete evidence she had been there, and the message she had left behind didn’t quite name the hotel or where Vladimir was going to take her.

Mindful of the fact that someone might have been following me, I checked to see if the person I’d assumed had followed me to Elizabeth’s apartment was still in place, but I couldn’t see him. Next, I made a mental note of seven different candidates and committed them to memory.

Then I set off to the hotel, hailing a taxi. There was the possibility the cab driver was one of them, but perhaps I was slightly more paranoid than I should be. I’d been watching the queue, and there were two others before me.

The journey took about an hour, during which time I kept an eye out the back to see if anyone had been following us. If anyone was, I couldn’t see them.

I had the cab drop me off a block from the hotel and then spent the next hour doing a complete circuit of the block the hotel was on, checking the front and rear entrances, the cameras in place, and the siting of the driveway into the underground carpark. There was a camera over the entrance, and one we hadn’t checked for footage. I sent a text message to Fritz to look into it.

The hotel lobby was large and busy, which was exactly what you’d want if you wanted to come and go without standing out. It would be different later at night, but I could see her arriving about mid-afternoon, and anonymous among the type of clientele the hotel attracted.

I spent an hour sitting in various positions in the lobby simply observing. I had already ascertained where the elevator lobby for the rooms was, and the elevator down to the car park. Fortunately, it was not ‘guarded’ but there was a steady stream of concierge staff coming and going to the lower levels, and, just from time to time, guests.

Then, when there was a commotion at the front door, what seemed to be a collision of guests and free-wheeling bags, I saw one of the seven potential taggers sitting by the front door. Waiting for me to leave? Or were they wondering why I was spending so much time there?

Taking advantage of that confusion, I picked my moment to head for the elevators that went down to the car park, pressed the down button, and waited.

The was no car on the ground level, so I had to wait, watching, like several others, the guests untangling themselves at the entrance, and an eye on my potential surveillance, still absorbed in the confusion.

The doors to the left car opened, and a concierge stepped out, gave me a quick look, then headed back to his desk. I stepped into the car, pressed the first level down, the level I expected cars to arrive on, and waited what seemed like a long time for the doors to close.

As they did, I was expecting to see a hand poke through the gap, a latecomer. Nothing happened, and I put it down to a television moment.

There were three basement levels, and for a moment, I let my imagination run wild and considered the possibility that there were more levels. Of course, there was no indication on the control panel that there were any other floors, and I’d yet to see anything like it in reality.

With a shake of my head to return to reality, the car arrived, the doors opened, and I stepped out.

A car pulled up, and the driver stepped out, went around to the rear of his car, and pulled out a case. I half expected him to throw me the keys, but the instant glance he gave me told him was not the concierge, and instead brushed past me like I wasn’t there.

He bashed the up button several times impatiently and cursed when the doors didn’t open immediately. Not a happy man.

Another car drove past on its way down to a lower level.

I looked up and saw the CCTV camera, pointing towards the entrance, visible in the distance. A gate that lifted up was just about back in position and then made a clunk when it finally closed. The footage from the camera would not prove much, even if it had been working, because it didn’t cover the life lobby, only in the direction of the car entrance.

The doors to the other elevator car opened, and a man in a suit stepped out.

“Can I help you, sir? You seem lost.”

Security, or something else. “It seems that way. I went to the elevator lobby, got in, and it went down rather than up. I must have been in the wrong place.”

“Lost it is, then, sir.” I could hear the contempt for Americans in his tone. “If you will accompany me, please.”

He put out a hand ready to guide me back into the elevator. I was only too happy to oblige him. There had been a sign near the button panel that said the basement levels were only to be accessed by the guests.

Once inside, he turned a key and pressed the lobby button. The doors closed, and we went up. He stood, facing the door, not speaking. A few seconds later, he was ushering me out to the lobby.

“Now, sir, if you are a guest…”

“Actually, I’m looking for one. She called me and said she would be staying in this hotel and to come down and visit her. I was trying to get to the sixth floor.”

“Good. Let’s go over the the desk and see what we can do for you.”

I followed him over to the reception desk, where he signalled one of the clerks, a young woman who looked and acted very efficiently, and told her of my request, but then remained to oversee the proceeding.

“Name of guest, sir?”

“Merriweather, Anne. I’m her brother, Alexander.” I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out my passport to prove that I was who I said I was. She glanced cursorily at it.

She typed the name into the computer, and then we waited a few seconds while it considered what to output. Then, she said, “That lady is not in the hotel, sir.”

Time to put on my best-confused look. “But she said she would be staying here for the week. I made a special trip to come here to see her.”

Another puzzled look from the clerk, then, “When did she call you?”

An interesting question to ask, and it set off a warning bell in my head. I couldn’t say today, it would have to be the day she was supposedly taken.

“Last Saturday, about four in the afternoon.”

Another look at the screen, then, “It appears she checked out Sunday morning. I’m afraid you have made a trip in vain.”

Indeed, I had. “Was she staying with anyone?”

I just managed to see the warning pass from the suited man to the clerk. I thought he had shown an interest when I mentioned the name, and now I had confirmation. He knew something about her disappearance. The trouble was, he wasn’t going to volunteer any information because he was more than just hotel security.

“No.”

“Odd,” I muttered. “I thought she told me she was staying with a man named Vladimir something or other. I’m not too good at pronouncing those Russian names. Are you sure?”

She didn’t look back at the screen. “Yes.”

“OK, now one thing I do know about staying in hotels is that you are required to ask guests with foreign passports their next destination, just in case they need to be found. Did she say where she was going next?” It was a long shot, but I thought I’d ask.

“Moscow. As I understand it, she lives in Moscow. That was the only address she gave us.”

I smiled. “Thank you. I know where that is. I probably should have gone there first.”

She didn’t answer; she didn’t have to, her expression did that perfectly.

The suited man spoke again, looking at the clerk. “Thank you.” He swivelled back to me. “I’m sorry we can’t help you.”

“No. You have more than you can know.”

“What was your name again, sir, just in case you still cannot find her?”

“Alexander Merriweather. Her brother. And if she is still missing, I will be posting a very large reward. At the moment, you can best contact me via the American Embassy.”

Money is always a great motivator, and that thoughtful expression on his face suggested he gave a moment’s thought to it.

I left him with that offer and left. If anything, the people who were holding her would know she had a brother, that her brother was looking for her, and equally that brother had money.

…

© Charles Heath – 2018-2025

NANOWRIMO – November 2025 – Day 1

…

The Third Son of a Duke

…

Where do I begin?

…

Like the words to a song, it’s just getting the ball rolling.

Perhaps at times, the easiest part of writing the story is to have that one paragraph premise around which all else revolves.

So,

A chance encounter brings together a group of people who in other circumstances may never have met.  The time they spend together changes some in ways they could never have imagined possible, and others, a chance to be someone else, if only for a short time.  In one case, however, it brings together two unlikely people who will find that anything that can keep them apart will.  Until, of course, fate intervenes.

Sounds good, and I could see myself pitching this to a movie studio because as I was writing it, I could see the characters assembling, I can see the expressions of both curiosity and interest, but not in a bad way, and then the ongoing interactions where the wall begins to fall, just a little.

It needs to have something big wrapped around it, but today, it will just be an outline of how it will start, and maybe a few lines, just to get the feel of pen in hand again.

Yes, we’ll be writing the first draft in longhand.

…

Today, 1800 words, for a total of 1800 words.

Writing a book in 365 days – 288

Day 288

The call of the weird…

…

The Call of the Weird: When an Oddball Writing Offer Knocks

As professional writers, we tend to operate within established lanes. Maybe you dominate B2B white papers, or you’re the wizard of lifestyle blogs, or perhaps your niche is technical documentation for the aerospace industry.

Then, one day, it happens.

The email arrives that makes your eyebrow twitch. It’s an offer to write something completely outside your experience—a script for a puppet show about quantum physics, a historical fiction piece told entirely from the perspective of moss, or maybe the manifesto for a highly niche, possibly fictitious, startup focused on sustainable moon mining.

This is the Oddball Offer. It’s wildly different, maybe a little intimidating, and possibly way “out there.”

The critical question immediately surfaces: What do you do? Do you politely decline and stick to what you know, or do you take the leap into the creative unknown?

Before you hit ‘archive’ or ‘accept,’ here is your professional roadmap for assessing and navigating those delightfully bizarre writing briefs.

1. Defining “Oddball”: The Initial Assessment

The first step is to categorize the offer. Not all unusual requests are equal.

A. The Niche Stretch

This type of offer is bizarre in subject matter but standard in format. (Example: Writing case studies about specialized farming equipment.) This is usually a safe bet. You apply your existing writing skill set to new content.

B. The Format Fluke

This is an offer that requires a totally new skill or output. (Example: You’re a blogger, and they want you to write a 12-act stage play.) This requires significant new learning and a pricing adjustment.

C. The Truly Out There (The “What Is This?”)

This is the offer that carries a real whiff of the bizarre, potentially involving questionable ethics, unknown legal territory, or simply a concept that seems too fringe to be real.

When you receive the email, strip away the novelty and ask yourself three key questions:

  1. Is the client legitimate? (Look up their company. Does it exist? Do they have a clear mission, even if that mission is strange?)
  2. Is the request morally or legally sound? (If the material is hateful, deceitful, or involves breaking laws, the answer is an immediate, firm “no.”)
  3. Does it require a time commitment I can afford to risk? (If it’s a massive project, the risk is higher.)

2. Addressing the Elephant: Is the Client Just Fishing for Ideas?

This is the most common fear when dealing with vague or highly creative briefs: the client wants free brainstorming, hoping you’ll deliver the “Aha!” concept they can then execute in-house or give to a cheaper writer.

If the client is vague, overly enthusiastic about “vision,” and hesitant to talk budget or milestones, this risk is high.

Strategy 1: Institute a Paid Discovery Phase

Never, under any circumstance, provide detailed concepts, outlines, or proprietary strategies for free. If the project requires heavy ideation, frame the initial engagement as a Paid Discovery Phase.

This might look like a single, fixed-rate consultation that includes:

  • A 60-minute strategy call.
  • One brief, non-transferable conceptual outline (200 words max).
  • A formal pricing structure for the full project.

If they won’t pay for the idea stage, they were almost certainly just fishing. If they balk, you’ve saved yourself hours of unpaid labor.

Strategy 2: Get an NDA Signed Immediately

If the project involves genuinely novel or proprietary concepts, protect yourself. Request a simple, standard Non-Disclosure Agreement (NDA) before you start sharing specific ideas on execution.

A serious client with a serious idea will not hesitate to sign an NDA. A client wary of intellectual property protection is likely trying to gather free resources.

3. The Professional Reckoning: Weighing the Risk vs. Reward

Assuming the offer is legitimate and you have protective measures in place, the decision comes down to the upside.

The Arguments FOR Taking the Oddball Offer

1. Portfolio Differentiation

This is perhaps the biggest win. A truly unique project provides “secret sauce” for your portfolio. If you’re trying to pivot or stand out from a crowded market, having a sample that no one else has—like a successful, funded Kickstarter campaign narrative for a wearable tech startup that monitors pigeon health—will get attention.

2. Higher Rates

Weird work often commands premium rates. Clients who need highly specialized or conceptual work know they can’t get it from a generalist. Their need is high, and your unusual ability to step up is valuable. Price the novelty, the complexity, and the risk appropriately.

3. Creative Expansion

Getting outside your comfort zone is good for your professional brain. It breaks up routine and prevents burnout. If you feel stale writing the same three types of articles, tackling the manifesto for a collective of subterranean mycologists might be the recharge you need.

The Arguments AGAINST Taking the Oddball Offer

1. Scope Creep and Ambiguity

Oddball projects, by their nature, lack standard precedents. The client may not know what they want, leading to endless revisions and a constantly shifting goalpost (Scope Creep). Before accepting, demand an ironclad Scope of Work (SOW) that clearly defines the deliverables, rounds of revision, and what “success” looks like.

2. Reputation Risk

If the project is deeply unconventional or touches on controversial elements (even if legitimate), consider if it could negatively impact your appeal to your core client base. If you primarily write for reputable financial institutions, perhaps writing the text for a speculative cryptocurrency art project might need careful consideration.

3. The Time Sink

Unique projects often require disproportionate research time. You may need to learn a new lexicon, a new industry, or a new format from scratch. Factor this extra research time into your pricing model.

4. Securing the Deal: Practical Steps for Proceeding

If you decide the reward outweighs the risk, proceed professionally and firmly:

  1. Define the SOW (Again, and in Detail): List exactly what you are writing (e.g., “5 blog posts, 800 words each, 2 rounds of revisions”). State what you are not doing (e.g., “Not responsible for graphic design or legal compliance review”).
  2. Demand a Deposit: For unique or speculative projects, a 50% upfront deposit is standard and non-negotiable. This protects you against the client disappearing after the first conceptual submission.
  3. Set Clear Boundaries: Communicate your communication style and availability clearly. Because the project is already unusual, managing expectations on process is vital.
  4. Embrace the Learning: Treat the research and concept generation as professional development. Even if the project fails, the knowledge you gain (e.g., how to format a technical comic book script) is now part of your toolkit.

Conclusion: Strategic Risk-Taking is the Writer’s Edge

The oddball offer is often not a distraction; it’s a test. It asks if you are adaptable, creatively courageous, and professional enough to manage complexity.

Don’t dismiss the weird simply because it’s unfamiliar. Instead, screen rigorously, protect your intellectual property fiercely, and if the client and concept pass the professional sniff test, take the leap.

Stepping way ‘out there’ is sometimes the only way to find your next, most lucrative, and most fascinating niche. Happy writing!

Writing a book in 365 days – 288

Day 288

The call of the weird…

…

The Call of the Weird: When an Oddball Writing Offer Knocks

As professional writers, we tend to operate within established lanes. Maybe you dominate B2B white papers, or you’re the wizard of lifestyle blogs, or perhaps your niche is technical documentation for the aerospace industry.

Then, one day, it happens.

The email arrives that makes your eyebrow twitch. It’s an offer to write something completely outside your experience—a script for a puppet show about quantum physics, a historical fiction piece told entirely from the perspective of moss, or maybe the manifesto for a highly niche, possibly fictitious, startup focused on sustainable moon mining.

This is the Oddball Offer. It’s wildly different, maybe a little intimidating, and possibly way “out there.”

The critical question immediately surfaces: What do you do? Do you politely decline and stick to what you know, or do you take the leap into the creative unknown?

Before you hit ‘archive’ or ‘accept,’ here is your professional roadmap for assessing and navigating those delightfully bizarre writing briefs.

1. Defining “Oddball”: The Initial Assessment

The first step is to categorize the offer. Not all unusual requests are equal.

A. The Niche Stretch

This type of offer is bizarre in subject matter but standard in format. (Example: Writing case studies about specialized farming equipment.) This is usually a safe bet. You apply your existing writing skill set to new content.

B. The Format Fluke

This is an offer that requires a totally new skill or output. (Example: You’re a blogger, and they want you to write a 12-act stage play.) This requires significant new learning and a pricing adjustment.

C. The Truly Out There (The “What Is This?”)

This is the offer that carries a real whiff of the bizarre, potentially involving questionable ethics, unknown legal territory, or simply a concept that seems too fringe to be real.

When you receive the email, strip away the novelty and ask yourself three key questions:

  1. Is the client legitimate? (Look up their company. Does it exist? Do they have a clear mission, even if that mission is strange?)
  2. Is the request morally or legally sound? (If the material is hateful, deceitful, or involves breaking laws, the answer is an immediate, firm “no.”)
  3. Does it require a time commitment I can afford to risk? (If it’s a massive project, the risk is higher.)

2. Addressing the Elephant: Is the Client Just Fishing for Ideas?

This is the most common fear when dealing with vague or highly creative briefs: the client wants free brainstorming, hoping you’ll deliver the “Aha!” concept they can then execute in-house or give to a cheaper writer.

If the client is vague, overly enthusiastic about “vision,” and hesitant to talk budget or milestones, this risk is high.

Strategy 1: Institute a Paid Discovery Phase

Never, under any circumstance, provide detailed concepts, outlines, or proprietary strategies for free. If the project requires heavy ideation, frame the initial engagement as a Paid Discovery Phase.

This might look like a single, fixed-rate consultation that includes:

  • A 60-minute strategy call.
  • One brief, non-transferable conceptual outline (200 words max).
  • A formal pricing structure for the full project.

If they won’t pay for the idea stage, they were almost certainly just fishing. If they balk, you’ve saved yourself hours of unpaid labor.

Strategy 2: Get an NDA Signed Immediately

If the project involves genuinely novel or proprietary concepts, protect yourself. Request a simple, standard Non-Disclosure Agreement (NDA) before you start sharing specific ideas on execution.

A serious client with a serious idea will not hesitate to sign an NDA. A client wary of intellectual property protection is likely trying to gather free resources.

3. The Professional Reckoning: Weighing the Risk vs. Reward

Assuming the offer is legitimate and you have protective measures in place, the decision comes down to the upside.

The Arguments FOR Taking the Oddball Offer

1. Portfolio Differentiation

This is perhaps the biggest win. A truly unique project provides “secret sauce” for your portfolio. If you’re trying to pivot or stand out from a crowded market, having a sample that no one else has—like a successful, funded Kickstarter campaign narrative for a wearable tech startup that monitors pigeon health—will get attention.

2. Higher Rates

Weird work often commands premium rates. Clients who need highly specialized or conceptual work know they can’t get it from a generalist. Their need is high, and your unusual ability to step up is valuable. Price the novelty, the complexity, and the risk appropriately.

3. Creative Expansion

Getting outside your comfort zone is good for your professional brain. It breaks up routine and prevents burnout. If you feel stale writing the same three types of articles, tackling the manifesto for a collective of subterranean mycologists might be the recharge you need.

The Arguments AGAINST Taking the Oddball Offer

1. Scope Creep and Ambiguity

Oddball projects, by their nature, lack standard precedents. The client may not know what they want, leading to endless revisions and a constantly shifting goalpost (Scope Creep). Before accepting, demand an ironclad Scope of Work (SOW) that clearly defines the deliverables, rounds of revision, and what “success” looks like.

2. Reputation Risk

If the project is deeply unconventional or touches on controversial elements (even if legitimate), consider if it could negatively impact your appeal to your core client base. If you primarily write for reputable financial institutions, perhaps writing the text for a speculative cryptocurrency art project might need careful consideration.

3. The Time Sink

Unique projects often require disproportionate research time. You may need to learn a new lexicon, a new industry, or a new format from scratch. Factor this extra research time into your pricing model.

4. Securing the Deal: Practical Steps for Proceeding

If you decide the reward outweighs the risk, proceed professionally and firmly:

  1. Define the SOW (Again, and in Detail): List exactly what you are writing (e.g., “5 blog posts, 800 words each, 2 rounds of revisions”). State what you are not doing (e.g., “Not responsible for graphic design or legal compliance review”).
  2. Demand a Deposit: For unique or speculative projects, a 50% upfront deposit is standard and non-negotiable. This protects you against the client disappearing after the first conceptual submission.
  3. Set Clear Boundaries: Communicate your communication style and availability clearly. Because the project is already unusual, managing expectations on process is vital.
  4. Embrace the Learning: Treat the research and concept generation as professional development. Even if the project fails, the knowledge you gain (e.g., how to format a technical comic book script) is now part of your toolkit.

Conclusion: Strategic Risk-Taking is the Writer’s Edge

The oddball offer is often not a distraction; it’s a test. It asks if you are adaptable, creatively courageous, and professional enough to manage complexity.

Don’t dismiss the weird simply because it’s unfamiliar. Instead, screen rigorously, protect your intellectual property fiercely, and if the client and concept pass the professional sniff test, take the leap.

Stepping way ‘out there’ is sometimes the only way to find your next, most lucrative, and most fascinating niche. Happy writing!

NANOWRIMO – November 2025 – Day

…

The Third Son of a Duke

…

Day 0 – What’s it all about

…

So this is what happens when you become so wrapped up in your family history that a story screams out from under the names, dates, and places.

Perhaps it’s not the history you were hoping for, but some of your ancestors could be incorporated into a story.

A lot of mine came out from England on various ships, from sail to steam, small and large.

A lot of them were farmers, farmhands, or the modern-day roustabout called a labourer.

A lot of these came to Australia to improve their lot in life.  Some did.

WE had no convict ancestors

We had no rich people, perhaps the one that might have been was a builder and stone mason from Dorchester in England.

It was his daughter who was the reason for my existence.

But a story can’t be just about ancestors; it needs a thread to pull it all together.  That’s why I’m working on a package to wrap my family story in.

It starts in England over Christmas 1913, with the third son of a Duke, David.

His parents are sending him to Australia to check on how his father’s investment in his uncle’s enterprise, a cattle station in outback Queensland, is performing.

The real reason, his parents want to shield him from the possibility of war, just around the corner in 1914.

In going to Australia, he will meet my grandmother, on her way out to visit relatives in Footscray, but I think something else was afoot.

It’s going to be a fun ride imagining what my grandmother might have been like at the age of 25, coming to Australia as an adventure, and definitely not the sort of thing girls her age did.

Writing a book in 365 days – 287

Day 287

Writing exercise

…

The race was over before it began

If something is too good to be true, then it generally is.  Those words bounced around in my head only moments after the winner of the award had been announced.

And it wasn’t me.  I had worked hard, done everything that was asked of me, and yet at the eleventh hour, I had been usurped

Of course, I had only myself to blame.

Some other words that rattled around in what could probably now be called an empty space in my head, because no sane person would have believed that McGurk was a worthy recipient, were that good guys come last.

They did.

I have been too trusting.

I wanted to believe that McGurk honestly wanted to help me win, but all the time he was getting the information needed to win the award for himself.

After all, the prize was worth a million pounds.

And he was never going to stay long enough to show them anything for the money.  The proposal was slick, the pitch was slick, and the man himself was slick personified.

However, one item I did know about him was that he had done this before.  A number of times, and after each success, he disappeared with the money and wasn’t seen again.

It was exactly what he would do this time if we let him.

Everyone was also oblivious to the deception.  He was far too affable, far too obliging, far too kind.  And too accommodating.  He was everybody’s friend.

Except mine.

Jason McMaster, the head of the selection committee, came over to offer his commiserations.

“Sorry, old boy,” he began, “but it was a close call, 4 to 5.  You put in a brilliant prospectus, but the numbers didn’t quite add up.”

I noticed far too late that someone had slipped in a revised budget, and it had the look of a grade six student’s horrible attempt to balance a small budget.

I had tried to fix it, but the committee decided the submissions would be as is, where is.  I knew McGurk had a hand in getting those papers, and I was sure it was someone on the selection team who helped him; without proof, I was not going to change the result.

At least one of the members dared to tell me what had happened and not let me be shocked on the night.

Evelyn had worked as hard as I had, and it seemed to me he had not approached her.  Perhaps she would have seen him for what he was.  More than once, she told me to be wary.

Like I said, it was on me.

McGurk was in his element, the centre of attention, soaking in the adulation as the man who had beaten the sure thing.

Some people didn’t like me, not many, because what they mistook for determination was really the desire to be fair and equitable.

His acceptance speech was the sort to be expected, praising the competition, acknowledging the help I’d given him, and stating that he was going to make a lot of people’s futures much brighter.

I was not sure who those people were, because no one in this county would.

After shaking the selection committee’s hands and thanking them all, he wandered over to see me.

He was brave or stupid, I wasn’t sure which, but then he didn’t know what I knew.

“You do realise the race was over before it began.”

He was all smiles and shaking my hand for the cameras.

I was all smiles for a different reason.

“Not at first, but I did get a sense of it towards the end.”

“You didn’t seem to be all that well-liked.”

No.  I got that.  Alfred Knopper, next door neighbour and staunch enemy when I won the council election over him, was on the committee.

I should have tried harder to win him over.

“Happens in small towns.  You can’t please everyone all of the time.  You will discover that “

“I’m sure I won’t.  I understand the brief.”

I smiled.  “I hope you do.”

I could see Evelyn coming over, and so could he.  Her face was set, and I could feel the heat from where I was standing.  Seeing her approach, he quickly excused himself.

Her eyes followed him as he retreated.

“Snake.”

“He’s the one they deserve.”

“No one deserves a creature like that.”

I shrugged.  “Well, like him or lump him, he’s all they’ve got.”

Until he cashed the check.

A week is a long time in politics, or so I was told the first time I ran for council.

I didn’t want to, but a lot of people said that it was time for a change.

I rode the crest of that wave of change for three terms, after which those same people voted for another change.  It didn’t bother me. I had tried to be fair and equitable, but not everybody’s definition of those words was the same.

I tried to please all of the people all of the time and failed miserably.

We lived in a different world from the one I thought I knew.

It was time to move on, and the plans Evelyn and I had made a few months before, plan B, were in motion.  The children had moved on.  We had sold the house, where I had lived my whole life and my father before me.

All I was waiting for was…

The phone rang, its shrill insistence penetrating the fog of sleep, and only years of training forced me to answer it.

“Yes.”

“He’s gone.”  Jason McMaster sounded panicked.

“Who has gone?”

“McGurk.  Office cleaned out, residence as clean as the day he walked into it.”

McMaster had been very generous in giving him the house rent-free until he was settled.

“The funding.”

Silence.  Then, it’s not in the corporate account.”

Of course not.

“It was transferred to a Cayman Islands bank.”

“You called them?”

“Transferred to a JN Corporation, a shell company.  It’s going to take an army of forensic accountants to find it, and McGurk, if that’s his real name.”

It wasn’t, but I wasn’t going to tell him that.

“Why are you telling me?”

“The selection committee asked me to ask you to come back and maintain continuity while we sort this mess out.”

“Too late.  I’m off on holiday this morning.  Time to take a break from everything.”

“Then, in a few weeks, when you get back.  We’ll talk.”

“Can’t.  Not coming back.  Not getting the award settled a few things for me, and the main one, our future.  Twelve months in a cottage in Tuscany and then, well, who knows.  Have a nice life, Jason.”

I hung up.

Evelyn rolled over. “McGurk?”

“Not at the office for his first day.”

“Jason?”

“Nearly hysterical.  He went to the house, and there’s no sign he had ever been there.”

“McGurk wasn’t.  He’s been dead since the day after he was born, but Michael Oliphant, that’s a different story.”

“That his real name?”

“So Viktor told me.  Took three days, but he broke him.  They all break eventually.”

“And the money.”

“It’ll be in Geneva by the time we get there.  Now, come back to bed.”

…

©  Charles Heath  2025