I was sitting down and wondering just what I could write that would create a sense of astonishment, or even shock the reader.
Then my news feed arced up and – well, I have to say I’m astonished.
At the state of American politics, and the lengths political parties will go to avoid getting caught, especially when they’ve been caught.
I utterly refuse to believe that the Democratic Party is to blame for absolutely everything in America. It takes a long time to completely stuff everything up, and both parties have a hand in all the problems.
It’s the same in Australia. We’ve got a lot of problems, but no one party has caused them; they are caused by both, and a lot to do with election cycles. No one wants to set in place the 10-year cycle it would take to fix things.
Then, I have to say it is the same everywhere.
The next thing that flashes up in the news cycle, pedophiles. OK, not the domain of one party, but everyone has a hand in this. And it is abhorrent, and we say we don’t tolerate it, but the fact is, politicians, judges, policemen, lawyers, doctors, priests and even presidents are complicit. The thing is, we all know they’re complicit, we want answers and arrests, and somehow it all gets buried.
Shock!
Or not.
It’s no surprise, no shock, and we are not even astonished when the politicians from the top down, and then the law enforcement officers, all lie, lie, lie, and then lie again.
And we let them.
There’s the shock, right there.
And the next shock? Nothing is going to happen. We’ll be talking about this in four years, and no one will be arrested. Someone might commit suicide (ha bloody ha), absolving the guilty.
If the Republicans are in power, it’s all the Democrats who are pedophiles, and if the Democrats are in power then it’s all the Republicans who are pedophiles, and when you can’t even believe in or trust your president, well, what hope is there for all those victims?
Oh, hang on, we seem to have forgotten about the victims. I was a victim. I know what it’s like to be abused. I know what it’s like not to get justice. I know what it’s like to listen to the lies of the perpetrator and watch him get away with it.
I cannot be shocked, surprised or astonished anymore.
What would shock me?
Just one of those turds being hung at noon in a public square as a reminder that it will not be tolerated.
Could you write a fantasy story to avoid getting too serious
For years, people used to tell me I was living in my own fantasy land.
What amazed me was that they could see into my mind that I wanted to be a knight in shining armour, a superhero, a billionaire who wanted for nothing, and a spy who beat the bad guys and won over the girl.
Of course, none of this could ever happen in reality, only in my imagination.
With the arrival of three grandchildren and being asked to take up child-minding, came the time to read them stories before they went to bed.
I used to think that the violence that was within those stories would keep any sane person up all night, but I was quick to realise that any sort of cartoon or fantasy story always carried an indecent level of violence.
Perhaps from a young age, we are supposed to be taught that good triumphs over evil and the bad guys always come off second best.
However….
After reading a lot of fairy tales to the girls, I thought to myself I could do better and decided to write my own.
A snotty, egotistical princess is about to be married off to the prince in the kingdom next door, and he isn’t very nice. The thing is, no one likes her, and everyone is glad she’s going away to be with her prince.
She’s been betrothed since they were children, and that notion she could marry for love was dashed many years before.
But…
There’s a legend that comes once in a millennium called ‘the conflagration’, where the firstborn eldest daughter from one of the kingdoms in the realm is selected to become ‘the saviour’, who has to go on a quest to find the twelve pieces of the tablet needed to restore peace and order.
It just happens that after the invasion of her kingdom by another, that of her prince, soon to be husband, the conflagration begins. Her ‘knight in shining armour’ comes to collect her, only it is not marriage he has in mind.
Her father’s trusted Master-at-Arms is sent to save her from the prince and take her on the quest, sent to him in his dreams. The problem is, the king believes the Gods have made a mistake, but trusts his personal knight to guide her in her role.
Of course, the knight doesn’t believe she will get past the first task. For that reason, he doesn’t tell her the real reason why they are heading into the Kingdom of Magic. Not until it’s time to find the first artefact.
There are twelve to find, and by the time she locates the last piece of the puzzle, she transforms from the whiny, self-indulgent brat into a fearless leader.
Everything a saviour needed to be.
By the time the first draft was finished, it was 1,100 pages of the story called The Enchanted Horse.
Well, Mr Disney, I’ve just created your next Disney Princess, The Princess Marigold!
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.
Could you write a fantasy story to avoid getting too serious
For years, people used to tell me I was living in my own fantasy land.
What amazed me was that they could see into my mind that I wanted to be a knight in shining armour, a superhero, a billionaire who wanted for nothing, and a spy who beat the bad guys and won over the girl.
Of course, none of this could ever happen in reality, only in my imagination.
With the arrival of three grandchildren and being asked to take up child-minding, came the time to read them stories before they went to bed.
I used to think that the violence that was within those stories would keep any sane person up all night, but I was quick to realise that any sort of cartoon or fantasy story always carried an indecent level of violence.
Perhaps from a young age, we are supposed to be taught that good triumphs over evil and the bad guys always come off second best.
However….
After reading a lot of fairy tales to the girls, I thought to myself I could do better and decided to write my own.
A snotty, egotistical princess is about to be married off to the prince in the kingdom next door, and he isn’t very nice. The thing is, no one likes her, and everyone is glad she’s going away to be with her prince.
She’s been betrothed since they were children, and that notion she could marry for love was dashed many years before.
But…
There’s a legend that comes once in a millennium called ‘the conflagration’, where the firstborn eldest daughter from one of the kingdoms in the realm is selected to become ‘the saviour’, who has to go on a quest to find the twelve pieces of the tablet needed to restore peace and order.
It just happens that after the invasion of her kingdom by another, that of her prince, soon to be husband, the conflagration begins. Her ‘knight in shining armour’ comes to collect her, only it is not marriage he has in mind.
Her father’s trusted Master-at-Arms is sent to save her from the prince and take her on the quest, sent to him in his dreams. The problem is, the king believes the Gods have made a mistake, but trusts his personal knight to guide her in her role.
Of course, the knight doesn’t believe she will get past the first task. For that reason, he doesn’t tell her the real reason why they are heading into the Kingdom of Magic. Not until it’s time to find the first artefact.
There are twelve to find, and by the time she locates the last piece of the puzzle, she transforms from the whiny, self-indulgent brat into a fearless leader.
Everything a saviour needed to be.
By the time the first draft was finished, it was 1,100 pages of the story called The Enchanted Horse.
Well, Mr Disney, I’ve just created your next Disney Princess, The Princess Marigold!
I don’t remember anything about last night or last week!
When I woke, the sun was streaming through the window. Odd, I thought, because I had closed the curtains the night before.
While everything looked the same as I’d left it the night before, why did I have a sudden feeling of unease with a shiver going down my spine?
I could hear the sound of running water coming from within the bathroom.
I looked sideways and could see that the bedding was turned over like someone had been sleeping on the other side of the bed. The pillow had a slight dent in it.
Someone had spent the night with me.
I shuddered. I couldn’t remember anything other than coming home, having a precooked dinner, watching the news, reading for an hour, and then going to bed.
In fact, I could not remember ever bringing a girl home to my flat, simply because I didn’t think she would stay. It was that bad.
I waited, the water stopped, rustling in the bathroom, and then the door opened.
I didn’t recognise her. “Who are you?”
Her cheerful expression changed slightly, one of surprise. “Of course, you know who I am. You’re just playing with me, Robert. You said you had a wicked sense of humour.”
I was an accountant, and I knew my colleagues considered I was the last person who would have any sort of humour as part of my persona.
Something was awfully wrong because I could not remember anything from the previous night, no matter how hard I tried.
“Be that as it may, let’s just assume for the moment I can’t remember anything. I suspect I might have uncharacteristically got drunk and now have temporary amnesia. I’ve heard it can happen. Please remind me who you are and why you are here?”
“Seriously?” She sighed. “Alright, you were quite tipsy, I’ll say that. You were at a party, reluctantly, and your friends, though I have to say they were not very friendly, were plying you with drinks, and I felt I had to rescue you. You were grateful, we went to another bar briefly, then I brought you home. You were not well, and I asked you if you wanted me to stay. You agreed, and I did.”
It felt like the truth. What she described was possible, even probable. It was just that I couldn’t remember. Would I have asked a random woman up to my flat? Definitely not, not if I wanted to impress her. I would have asked her to go to a hotel room.
She had a towel around her and was using another to dry her hair. My imagination went to a place it shouldn’t have, but I still wondered if she was naked under that towel. I don’t think I was myself.
I’d realised the moment I woke, I was not dressed in my usual pyjamas. I was trying not to think of the ramifications of that discovery.
“Did I suggest…”
“…we go to a hotel? Yes. You said your place was a dump, but I said you had to see my place before you described yours. It’s far worse than this. In fact, I find this place quaint, and best of all, your bathroom has hot water.”
OK, so that sounds like me. I was still stuck in the notion I could have gelled with a random woman in a bar, anywhere. I couldn’t string two words together when it came to talking to Jenny at work, and she was as amazing as the one standing in the bathroom door.
This girl was among the type that wouldn’t give me a second look, let alone a first. Drunk or sober.
“What day is it?”
“Wednesday. Why?”
Now she was looking concerned. Perhaps she had just realised she’d come home with an axe murderer.
And Wednesday? The last day I remember was a Thursday, the day of the party. Oh shit! It was not a day I couldn’t remember. It was a whole week.
She switched from drying her hair to brushing it. I don’t know why it piqued my interest. Where did she get the brush from?
“How long have you been here?”
“Just last night. I stayed because you asked me, very sweetly. And then promptly threw up, mercifully not over anything.”
“Did we…”
“No. I’m not that sort of girl.”
“Did I….?”
“Try to seduce me? No. You were the perfect gentleman, except for being drunk.”
I shook my head. “Sorry.”
I tried not to look at her, but she was one of those girls you just notice, and if she walked into a room, even in a hessian sack, all eyes and attention would be on her.
Even with amnesia, there’s no way I would forget her.
“Don’t be.”
Finished brushing her hair, she put the brush down and came over to my side of the bed and sat down. She smiled, brushed a few straying hairs out of my eyes, and said, “You really don’t remember last night, do you?”
I didn’t. Nor the week before that. I was surprised the company didn’t call to find out where I was. Or come looking for me.
I shook my head. “No.”
I heard the vibration of my cell phone on the table beside the bed. She picked up the phone and handed it to me.
“It might be your work. I’ll just finish up in the bathroom.”
I watched her walk back to the bathroom and close the door behind her. If my imagination was playing me tricks, she would now disappear.
I brought up the messages. Only two, one from last Thursday from Mr Graham, head partner, to say the company was sorry to see me go and wished me success in my next venture, and the one that just arrived, a horoscope that said, ‘while one door closes another will open, a friendly face just might not be friendly, so beware.”
Had I really quit my job? There was absolutely no reason why I would, not after the head of the practice had said that if I put my head down, I could expect an invitation to become a partner in the new year.
It’s sometimes true to say that books that are not well written or on subjects that we like to think should not be published sometimes become best-sellers.
It’s like the old advertising adage, “sex sells.”
Lady Chatterley’s Lover, banned, but generated a huge following.
Fifty shades of grey, terribly written, but a huge seller along with the sequels.
The point is, no one really knows what the definition of a bestseller is because at any time, any book can suddenly go gangbusters in sales.
I’ve not had the pleasure.
I write books on the same subjects as my favourite authors, who are best-sellers and very famous names. Thrillers, detective cases, even Mills & Boon romances.
What do these books have in common? They take ordinary people out of their ordinary lives and put them into a world that can only exist in their imagination.
That’s the world I need to tap into if I am ever going to be a success in the field of spies and thrillers. I even wrote a romance once, but I’m still waiting to hear back from the publisher. No, it was not a Mills and Boon, so that might be the reason why I’m still waiting.
This story has been ongoing since I was seventeen, and just to let you know, I’m 71 this year.
Yes, it’s taken a long time to get it done.
Why, you might ask.
Well, I never gave it much interest because I started writing it after a small incident when I was 17, and working as a book packer for a book distributor in Melbourne
At the end of my first year, at Christmas, the employer had a Christmas party, and that year, it was at a venue in St Kilda.
I wasn’t going to go because at that age, I was an ordinary boy who was very introverted and basically scared of his own shadow and terrified by girls.
Back then, I would cross the street to avoid them
Also, other members of the staff in the shipping department were rough and ready types who were not backwards in telling me what happened, and being naive, perhaps they knew I’d be either shocked or intrigued.
I was both adamant I wasn’t coming and then got roped in on a dare.
Damn!
So, back then, in the early 70s, people looked the other way when it came to drinking, and of course, Dutch courage always takes away the concerns, especially when normally you wouldn’t do half the stuff you wouldn’t in a million years
I made it to the end, not as drunk and stupid as I thought I might be, and St Kilda being a salacious place if you knew where to look, my new friends decided to give me a surprise.
It didn’t take long to realise these men were ‘men about town’ as they kept saying, and we went on an odyssey. Yes, those backstreet brothels where one could, I was told, have anything they could imagine.
Let me tell you, large quantities of alcohol and imagination were a very bad mix.
So, the odyssey in ‘The things we do’ was based on that, and then the encounter with Diana. Well, let’s just say I learned a great deal about girls that night.
Firstly, not all girls are nasty and spiteful, which seemed to be the case whenever I met one. There was a way to approach, greet, talk to, and behave.
It was also true that I could have had anything I wanted, but I decided what was in my imagination could stay there. She was amused that all I wanted was to talk, but it was my money, and I could spend it how I liked.
And like any 17-year-old naive fool, I fell in love with her and had all these foolish notions. Months later, I went back, but she had moved on, to where no one was saying or knew.
Needless to say, I was heartbroken and had to get over that first loss, which, like any 17-year-old, was like the end of the world.
But it was the best hour I’d ever spent in my life and would remain so until I met the woman I have been married to for the last 48 years.
As Henry, he was in part based on a rebel, the son of rich parents who despised them and their wealth, and he used to regale anyone who would listen about how they had messed up his life
If only I’d come from such a background!
And yes, I was only a run away from climbing up the stairs to get on board a ship, acting as a purser.
I worked for a shipping company and they gave their junior staff members an opportunity to spend a year at sea working as a purser on a cargo ship that sailed between Melbourne, Sydney and Hobart in Australia.
One of the other junior staff members’ turn came, and I would visit him on board when he would tell me stories about life on board, the officers, the crew, and other events. These stories, which sounded incredible to someone so impressionable, were a delight to hear.
Alas, by that time, I had tired of office work and moved on to be a tradesman at the place where my father worked.
It proved to be the right move, as that is where I met my wife. Diana had been right; love would find me when I least expected it.
It’s sometimes true to say that books that are not well written or on subjects that we like to think should not be published sometimes become best-sellers.
It’s like the old advertising adage, “sex sells.”
Lady Chatterley’s Lover, banned, but generated a huge following.
Fifty shades of grey, terribly written, but a huge seller along with the sequels.
The point is, no one really knows what the definition of a bestseller is because at any time, any book can suddenly go gangbusters in sales.
I’ve not had the pleasure.
I write books on the same subjects as my favourite authors, who are best-sellers and very famous names. Thrillers, detective cases, even Mills & Boon romances.
What do these books have in common? They take ordinary people out of their ordinary lives and put them into a world that can only exist in their imagination.
That’s the world I need to tap into if I am ever going to be a success in the field of spies and thrillers. I even wrote a romance once, but I’m still waiting to hear back from the publisher. No, it was not a Mills and Boon, so that might be the reason why I’m still waiting.
It was the first time in almost a week that I made the short walk to the cafe alone. It was early, and the chill of the morning was still in the air. In summer, it was the best time of the day. When Susan came with me, it was usually much later, when the day was much warmer and less tolerable.
On the morning of the third day of her visit, Susan said she was missing the hustle and bustle of London, and by the end of the fourth she said, in not so many words, she was over being away from ‘civilisation’. This was a side of her I had not seen before, and it surprised me.
She hadn’t complained, but it was making her irritable. The Susan that morning was vastly different to the Susan on the first day. So much, I thought, for her wanting to ‘reconnect’, the word she had used as the reason for coming to Greve unannounced.
It was also the first morning I had time to reflect on her visit and what my feelings were towards her. It was the reason I’d come to Greve: to soak up the peace and quiet and think about what I was going to do with the rest of my life.
I sat in my usual corner. Maria, one of two waitresses, came out, stopped, and there was no mistaking the relief in her manner. There was an air of tension between Susan and Maria I didn’t understand, and it seemed to emanate from Susan rather than the other way around. I could understand her attitude if it was towards Alisha, but not Maria. All she did was serve coffee and cake.
When Maria recovered from the momentary surprise, she said, smiling, “You are by yourself?” She gave a quick glance in the direction of my villa, just to be sure.
“I am this morning. I’m afraid the heat, for one who is not used to it, can be quite debilitating. I’m also afraid it has had a bad effect on her manners, for which I apologise. I cannot explain why she has been so rude to you.”
“You do not have to apologise for her, David, but it is of no consequence to me. I have had a lot worse. I think she is simply jealous.”
It had crossed my mind, but there was no reason for her to be. “Why?”
“She is a woman, I am a woman, she thinks because you and I are friends, there is something between us.”
It made sense, even if it was not true. “Perhaps if I explained…”
Maria shook her head. “If there is a hole in the boat, you should not keep bailing but try to plug the hole. My grandfather had many expressions, David. If I may give you one piece of advice, as much as it is none of my business, you need to make your feelings known, and if they are not as they once were, and I think they are not, you need to tell her. Before she goes home.”
Interesting advice. Not only a purveyor of excellent coffee, but Maria was also a psychiatrist who had astutely worked out my dilemma. What was that expression, ‘not just a pretty face’?
“Is she leaving soon?” I asked, thinking Maria knew more about Susan’s movements than I did.
“You would disappoint me if you had not suspected as much. Susan was having coffee and talking to someone in her office on a cell phone. It was an intense conversation. I should not eavesdrop, but she said being here was like being stuck in hell. It is a pity she does not share your love for our little piece of paradise, is it not?”
“It is indeed. And you’re right. She said she didn’t have a phone, but I know she has one. She just doesn’t value the idea of getting away from the office. Perhaps her role doesn’t afford her that luxury.”
And perhaps Alisha was right about Maria, that I should be more careful. She had liked Maria the moment she saw her. We had sat at this very table, the first day I arrived. I would have travelled alone, but Prendergast, my old boss, liked to know where ex-employees of the Department were, and what they were doing.
She sighed. “I am glad I am just a waitress. Your usual coffee and cake?”
“Yes, please.”
Several months had passed since we had rescued Susan from her despotic father; she had recovered faster than we had thought, and settled into her role as the new Lady Featherington, though she preferred not to use that title, but go by the name of Lady Susan Cheney.
I didn’t get to be a Lord, or have any title, not that I was expecting one. What I had expected was that Susan, once she found her footing as head of what seemed to be a commercial empire, would not have time for details like husbands, particularly when our agreement made before the wedding gave either of us the right to end it.
There was a moment when I visited her recovering in the hospital, where I was going to give her the out, but I didn’t, and she had not invoked it. We were still married, just not living together.
This visit was one where she wanted to ‘reconnect’ as she called it, and invite me to come home with her. She saw no reason why we could not resume our relationship, conveniently forgetting she indirectly had me arrested for her murder, charges both her mother and Lucy vigorously pursued, and had the clone not returned to save me, I might still be in jail.
It was not something I would forgive or forget any time soon.
There were other reasons why I was reluctant to stay with her, like forgetting small details, an irregularity in her character I found odd. She looked the same, she sounded the same, she basically acted the same, but my mind was telling me something was not right. It was not the Susan I first met, even allowing for the ordeal she had been subjected to.
But, despite those misgivings, there was no question in my mind that I still loved her, and her clandestine arrival had brought back all those feelings. But as the days passed, I began to get the impression my feelings were one-sided and she was just going through the motions.
Which brought me to the last argument, earlier, where I said if I went with her, it would be business meetings, social obligations, and quite simply her ‘celebrity’ status that would keep us apart. I reminded her that I had said from the outset I didn’t like the idea of being in the spotlight, and when I reiterated it, she simply brushed it off as just part of the job, adding rather strangely that I always looked good in a suit. The flippancy of that comment was the last straw, and I left before I said something I would regret.
I knew I was not a priority. Maybe somewhere inside me, I had wanted to be a priority, and I was disappointed when I was not.
And finally, there was Alisha. Susan, at the height of the argument, had intimated she believed I had an affair with her, but that elephant was always in the room whenever Alisha was around. It was no surprise when I learned Susan had asked Prendergast to reassign her to other duties.
At least I knew what my feelings for Alisha were, and there were times when I had to remember she was persona non grata. Perhaps that was why Susan had her banished, but, again, a small detail; jealousy was not one of Susan’s traits when I first knew her.
Perhaps it was time to set Susan free.
When I swung around to look in the direction of the lane where my villa was, I saw Susan. She was formally dressed, not in her ‘tourist’ clothes, which she had bought from one of the local clothing stores. We had fun that day, shopping for clothes, a chore I’d always hated. It had been followed by a leisurely lunch, lots of wine and soul searching.
It was the reason why I sat in this corner; old habits die hard. I could see trouble coming from all directions, not that Susan was trouble or at least I hoped not, but it allowed me the time to watch her walking towards the cafe in what appeared to be short, angry steps; perhaps the culmination of the heat wave and our last argument.
She glared at me as she sat, dropping her bag beside her on the ground, where I could see the cell phone sitting on top. She followed my glance down, and then she looked unrepentant back at me.
Maria came back at the exact moment she was going to speak. I noticed Maria hesitate for a second when she saw Susan, then put her smile in place to deliver my coffee.
Neither spoke nor looked at each other. I said, “Susan will have what I’m having, thanks.”
Maria nodded and left.
“Now,” I said, leaning back in my seat, “I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation as to why you didn’t tell me about the phone, but that first time you disappeared, I’d guessed you needed to keep in touch with your business interests. I thought it somewhat unwisethat you should come out when the board of one of your companies was trying to remove you, because of what was it, an unexplained absence? All you had to do was tell me there were problems and you needed to remain at home to resolve them.”
My comment elicited a sideways look, with a touch of surprise.
“It was unfortunate timing on their behalf, and I didn’t want you to think everything else was more important than us. There were issues before I came, and I thought the people at home would be able to manage without me for at least a week, but I was wrong.”
“Why come at all. A phone call would have sufficed.”
“I had to see you, talk to you. At least we have had a chance to do that. I’m sorry about yesterday. I once told you I would not become my mother, but I’m afraid I sounded just like her. I misjudged just how much this role would affect me, and truly, I’m sorry.”
An apology was the last thing I expected.
“You have a lot of work to do catching up after being away, and of course, in replacing your mother and gaining the requisite respect as the new Lady Featherington. I think it would be for the best if I were not another distraction. We have plenty of time to reacquaint ourselves when you get past all these teething issues.”
“You’re not coming with me?” She sounded disappointed.
“I think it would be for the best if I didn’t.”
“Why?”
“It should come as no surprise to you that I’ve been keeping an eye on your progress. You are so much better doing your job without me. I told your mother once that when the time came I would not like the responsibilities of being your husband. Now that I have seen what it could possibly entail, I like it even less. You might also want to reconsider our arrangement, after all, we only had a marriage of convenience, and now that those obligations have been fulfilled, we both have the option of terminating it. I won’t make things difficult for you if that’s what you want.”
It was yet another anomaly, I thought; she should look distressed, and I would raise the matter of that arrangement. Perhaps she had forgotten the finer points. I, on the other hand, had always known we would not last forever. The perplexed expression, to me, was a sign she might have forgotten.
Then, her expression changed. “Is that what you want?”
“I wasn’t madly in love with you when we made that arrangement, so it was easy to agree to your terms, but inexplicably, since then, my feelings for you changed, and I would be sad if we parted ways. But the truth is, I can’t see how this is going to work.”
“In saying that, do you think I don’t care for you?”
That was exactly what I was thinking, but I wasn’t going to voice that opinion out loud. “You spent a lot of time finding new ways to make my life miserable, Susan. You and that wretched friend of yours, Lucy. While your attitude improved after we were married, that was because you were going to use me when you went to see your father, and then almost let me go to prison for your murder.”
“I had nothing to do with that, other than to leave, and I didn’t agree with Lucy that you should be made responsible for my disappearance. I cannot be held responsible for the actions of my mother. She hated you; Lucy didn’t understand you, and Millie told me I was stupid for not loving you in return, and she was right. Why do you think I gave you such a hard time? You made it impossible not to fall in love with you, and it nearly changed my mind about everything I’d been planning so meticulously. But perhaps there was a more subliminal reason why I did because after I left, I wanted to believe, if anything went wrong, you would come and find me.”
“How could you possibly know that I’d even consider doing something like that, given what you knew about me?”
“Prendergast made a passing comment when my mother asked him about you; he told us you were very good at finding people and even better at fixing problems.”
“And yet here we are, one argument away from ending it.”
I could see Maria hovering, waiting for the right moment to deliver her coffee, then go back and find Gianna, the café owner, instead. Gianna was more abrupt and, for that reason, was rarely seen serving the customers. Today, she was particularly cantankerous, banging the cake dish on the table and frowning at Susan before returning to her kitchen. Gianna didn’t like Susan either.
Behind me, I heard a car stop, and when she looked up, I knew it was for her. She had arrived with nothing, and she was leaving with nothing.
She stood. “Last chance.”
“Forever?”
She hesitated and then shook away the look of annoyance on her face. “Of course not. I wanted you to come back with me so we could continue working on our relationship. I agree there are problems, but it’s nothing we can’t resolve if we try.”
I had been trying. “It’s too soon for both of us, Susan. I need to be able to trust you, and given the circumstances, and all that water under the bridge, I’m not sure if I can yet.”
She frowned at me. “As you wish.” She took an envelope out of her bag and put it on the table. “When you are ready, it’s an open ticket home. Please make it sooner rather than later. Despite what you think of me, I have missed you, and I have no intention of ending it between us.”
That said, she glared at me for a minute, shook her head, then walked to the car. I watched her get in and the car drive slowly away.
This is not meant to be a treatise on short story writing. Far be it for me to advise anyone on the subject. I prefer to say how it is that I do it so you can learn all of the pitfalls in one go.
I find inspiration in the most unlikely places.
Shopping malls are great, there is so many things going on, so many different types of people, there’s often enough to fill a journal.
Driving on the roads, you get to see some of the most amazing stunt driving, and it’s not even being filmed, it’s just playing out before your very eyes.
Waiting in hospitals, waiting for doctors, accountants, dentists, friends, hanging around coffee shops, cafes, bistros, restaurants, the list is endless.
But the best source, newspapers, and the more obscure the headline the better, and then just let your imagination run free, like:
Four deaths, four mysteries, all homeless.
This poses a few interesting scenarios, such as, were they homeless or were they made to look like they’re homeless. Are they connected in any way?
The point is, far from the original story that simply covers four seemingly random murders, a writer can turn this into a thriller very easily.
It could follow a similar headline in another country where three headlines could be found, say, in London, where a man is found dead in an abandoned building, a week after he died, with no obvious signs of how he died.
A woman is killed in what seems from the outset an accident involving two cars, where, after three days, the driver of the second vehicle just simply disappears.
A man is reported missing after not reporting for work when he was supposed to return from a vacation in Germany.
Where an obscure piece says that a man was found at the bottom of a mountain, presumed to have fallen in a climbing accident.
Thrills, Spills, and just a dash of Romance 