Charles Heath's writing blog

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: Every morning I took the same route, a creature of habit my ex-girlfriend, Christine, once told me, along with other so-called home truths before she left. Basically, she called me boring. I tried to explain that routine was important, but she was a more spontaneous sort of person. But it never occurred to me that someone might take that routine I took for granted, and use it against me. Not until I stumbled over Christine's body, in the park, along the route of my morning run. It was a part of the park that was not used very often, at least I'd never seen anyone there when I went for my morning and nightly run, and put there in such a way as to make a statement. I didn't recognize her at first, such was the transformation the killer had made (or she had, because she was training to be an actor in the movies, or so she told me) and when I did, I felt a s

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: There is this old house, or perhaps it was a mansion, on the outskirts of town, a few hundred yards off the main road, owned by a writer whose fame was built on one book, and whose bohemian lifestyle was the stuff of legends. With it was vast gardens, once maintained by a staff of 10, where they used to hold the most amazing afternoon tea parties.  In the middle of those gardens was a pavilion, and there were many stories about what used to happen there. Artists, writers, actors, movie stars, and a variety of other famous people.  Alcohol, drugs, adultery, and in the end, murder. Now it was empty, not quite derelict, waiting for a new owner, to be demolished, and have something even grander put in its place.  As for the restoration of the gardens, that might take a miracle. And, as the mayor of Lesterville was oft heard to say, it would take someone with more money than sen

Here’s the thing. Every time I close my eyes, I see something different. I’d like to think the cinema of my dreams is playing a double feature but it’s a bit like a comedy cartoon night on Fox. But these dreams are nothing to laugh about. Once again there's a new installment of an old feature, and back on the treasure hunt. My mother was happy that I’d been given a job, and when I relayed Benderby’s message, she said she would have to call and thank him. It was in a tone that surprised me, and if I had not known better, I was left with the impression she might actually go out with him.  Aside from the fact Benderby was married, he also hit on every woman he could, especially those at work. I shrugged.  My mother was old enough to look after herself. Boggs came around, having realized I was not going to answer his calls and demanded to know what my problem was. “Some of us have to work, Boggs.  It’s taken a while but I realize my mother cannot do it on

Another story inspired from a visit to an old castle in Italy.  It was, of course, written while traveling on a plane, though I'm not sure if it was from Calgary to Toronto, or New York to Vancouver. But, there's more to come.  Those were long flights... And sadly when I read what I'd written, off the plane and in the cold hard light of dawn, there were problems, which now in the second draft, should provide the proper start. I calculated the odds.  Thirty to one.  I wasn't going to add Jack to the team, because he could never understand what was going on.  I was finding it hard myself.   The man who sent me on this mission, the man whom I had given a detailed report on what I thought was happening at the castle, gleaned from soldiers passing through and the local resistance, had taken me aside in London, told me the mission her was sending me on was top secret and I could tell no one. Only now did I realize the import of those words.  Someone I had

Another story inspired from a visit to an old castle in Italy.  It was, of course, written while traveling on a plane, though I'm not sure if it was from Calgary to Toronto, or New York to Vancouver. But, there's more to come.  Those were long flights... And sadly when I read what I'd written, off the plane and in the cold hard light of dawn, there were problems, which now in the second draft, should provide the proper start. "You have got the guards set up on the back wall," I asked Jackerby, the officer in charge of the rearguards. "Can you see them?" he said in a tone that dripped sarcasm. I didn't like Jackerby, he seemed far too sure of himself and his men, and so far, we hadn't had to rely on them. But I expected that time was coming, and sooner than both of us wanted to believe. "No." "Then no one else will either.  Trust me; no one will be coming over the back wall.” That was a matter of opinion,

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: So here's the thing... I have a friend who is a girl, Julie, who is not a girlfriend if you know what I mean, that has this thing about Sleepless in Seattle. On the other hand, I have this other friend, Wally, a mate, if you could call him that, who likes to play practical jokes on his friends. Who often cease to be his friend because of said practical jokes. And he played one on me. So, where do the two fit into the problem, which I guess is not really a problem unless I was interpreting events incorrectly! Which, sadly I'm prone to doing. Let me explain. My so-called friend decided that I was not trying hard enough to get myself 'out there' after I lamented one Friday night over one too many bottles of beer, that life could be better. The next day he took it upon himself to create a profile for me on a dating site. On the other side of the count

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: "So, you're telling me this building is haunted?" I was surprised that Jake was telling me this because he was the last person on the planet who believed in the paranormal, little green me, and everything else in between.  For him, everything had a scientific answer. "I'm telling you what the city building manager told me. The fact it only happens at night seems to me there's something else in play." When Jake had brought the idea of refurbishing old buildings to me, as out of work carpenters, a trade that was dying fast, I laughed at him.  They were pulling the old buildings down and replacing them with concrete and glass, not treat them as fixer-uppers. He wasn't looking for an opinion, just a yes or no.  Of course, it had to be yes. Now for the question uppermost in my mind, "Why is this relevant?" "Because we

My mind will not rest. Down here, it is summer, and the last few days have been rather hot, well, it is summer after all, but tonight it is particularly hot. So, as I can't sleep, I'm lying on the couch staring at the ceiling, otherwise known as the cinema of my dreams. Where am I? Well, the location is in keeping with the weather, hot, humid, and cold drinks are mandatory. I’ve got one now! There is such a thing as being in the right place at the right time, as much as there is being in the wrong place at the wrong time. I think I got a dose of both that morning. I ignored the call from Boggs reluctantly, but I still had the world-weary look on my mother’s face fresh in my memory.  As much as I didn’t want to, I headed towards the warehouse and the office where old man Benderby would be, in his Italian suit and cigar, the signs of his prosperity. Everyone hated him. In the employee car park, opposite the front gate, I could see Rico and one of Benderby’

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: "We're going to die up here, aren't we?" My traveling companion was, to a certain extent, a fatalist, and had been reluctant to come with me, but persuasion was one of my strong points. That, of course, was not the driving factor for this excursion in the wild. My friend had been languishing in a pit of self-pity and despondency, one I thought she would never get out of.  She's had a run of back luck if you could call it that, and one disaster piled up upon another. As a distraction, and a means to get her out of her apartment where I could see the walls gradually closing in on her, I thought a hike across a mountain would be just the ticket. When we left, the weather forecast had been for fine weather for the three days it would take. But, as all deeds that have good intentions seem to go, the weather turned bad, the snow began, and after a day,

Our hero knows he's in serious trouble. The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy if it was the enemy, simply because it didn't look or sound or act like the enemy. Now he faces questions, not only his own but that of his commanding officer. And the answers might not be what he wants to hear. Breeman returned later that day, an agitated look on her face, the sort that reminded me she was having a bad day, and more often than not after a secure video conference with the powers that be at the Pentagon. At least this time I was about to speak but had still not made the decision on whether I should tell her anything.   It depended on if she had any questions for me, and how specific they were.   I would tell her the truth. She sat and head hunched forward in her hands, she rubbed her eyes and looked at the floor for a minute before looking back up at me. “Y

My mind will not rest. Down here, it is summer, and the last few days have been rather hot, well, it is summer after all, but tonight it is particularly hot. So, as I can't sleep, I'm lying on the couch staring at the ceiling, otherwise known as the cinema of my dreams. Where am I? Well, the location is in keeping with the weather, hot, humid, and cold drinks are mandatory. I’ve got one now! A sleepless night did nothing to make the idea of going on a treasure hunt and more palatable. I couldn’t say I didn’t see it coming, because Boggs had been hinting he’d found something of his father’s when poking through his old stuff. I was hoping it was money. And visiting the bar, I thought that he had found a lead in his quest to find some information about his parents, two people he realized now, he knew very little about. In that quest, I was only too willing to help. When he finally told me about the treasure, I didn’t think he was the sort to believe

It's still a battle of wits, but our hero knows he's in serious trouble. The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because the enemy if it is the enemy, doesn't look or sound or act like the enemy. It was the smell, all hospitals seemed to smell the same.  Antiseptic. And the first face I saw was Breeman’s. How? If  I could speak, which for some reason I knew I couldn’t, the first question would be, ‘Where am I?’ “Welcome back,” Breeman said.  “You gave us a few days of grave concern at the crash.  You’re in the base hospital, and lucky to be alive.” OK, a few days missing, but lucky to survive?  I got out without a scratch, or did I? I looked sideways and down.  Nothing but bandages, and, yes, plaster.  Broken bones? “How you survived being thrown from the wreckage is anyone’s guess.  A search party found you last night, almost dead.  Broken legs, shattered shoulder, ribs,