Charles Heath's writing blog

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.   For instance: And, then, the words: The invitation arrived at the editor's office and he had summoned me,  Thinking it was for another bollocking, it was a surprise to learn it was the date and time I was to join two other reporters to tour the facility behind the wall. Speculation was rife about what was there. That speculation was about to be dispelled by what was being described in our newspapers as the three wise reporters.  I would have gone with monkeys but kept that to myself. There were so many myths out there, surrounding the building some said was a portal to another world, the visible part of a huge interstellar starship, or just a museum.  The impenetrable security at the site fuelled those outlandish theories because people preferred to think their government was more interested in hiding something terrible than to acknowledge it might just be something very ordinary. I personally like

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way. Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war. And, so, it continues... Rolf Mayer had always had a dream to travel to other planets, and when he heard that the government was putting together a team of scientists with the express intention of building rockets, he gathered up his few belongings and traveled to Pennemunde to join the group being led by Werner von Braun. At first, he had been turned away, but a chance meeting with von Braun changed his fortune.   But, when Adolf Hitler came to power, it seemed that quest to reach the other planets became a

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 we’re back on the treasure hunt. When I woke the next morning, it was to the sound of voices in the front of the house.  One of the voices was my mothers.  The other I had trouble placing, and I initially thought it was Benderby, calling in on the way to work. When I threw on some clothes and came out, still a little bleary-eyed, I found it was the Sherriff.  It seemed, all of a sudden, my mother had become the most popular girl in town. The thing is, I knew little of the history of what went on in my mother’s time in a city where she had been born, raised, and remained.  Married and divorced her high school sweetheart, there was talk of her being one of the popular girl

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.   For instance: And, then, the words: There was method in my madness. Find somewhere where there are lots of people and blend into the crowd until I could work out what to do It was a quirk of fate that I discovered I was being followed.  Two people, a man, and a woman, but it was the man I recognized having seen before. Or it was just a case of severe paranoia. But, with my mind racing with endless possibilities, it was a battle not to run, and if anyone took a closer look, they'd see a haunted expression, perspiration at a time when cold should preclude it, with nervous head movements and constantly checking behind me. All the hallmarks, I realized, of the FBI running sheet for a possible terrorist.  I couldn't rule out that it wasn't the FBI tracking me simply because I fitted the profile. I came to a stop by the George M Cohen statue and took a slow 360-degree turn, taking in the lights, w

For a story that was conceived during those long boring hours flying in a steel cocoon, striving to keep away the thoughts that the plane and everyone in it could just simply disappear as planes have in the past, it has come a long way. Whilst I have always had a fascination with what happened during the second world war, not the battles or fighting, but in the more obscure events that took place, I decided to pen my own little sidebar to what was a long and bitter war. And, so, it continues... While waiting for Carlo and Chiara to return with the villagers, and taking some time to consider the plan that had almost formed in my mind, I went back to my room, which, I was guessing was once used for wine storage, because now that I had taken a moment to stop and consider my surroundings, I could smell the aroma of spilled wine. With a little more light, I could see the arches within which the bottles would be stacked.  I’d also noticed while I’d been outside, that there were vine

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.   For instance: And, then, the words: I often wondered what it meant to go 'stir crazy,'. I think it had something to with being in prison, locked away in solitary confinement, and, if it was, then I knew exactly what it was like. I'd been locked away in this room for nearly two months, waiting to testify against a criminal that had, up until now, managed to 'remove' any obstacle in his path to remaining free to continue his illegal activities. Not that I had any intention of ending up in what was the tightest, secure facility in the world.  It happened because Joe Latanzio, one of the most dangerous crime bosses, decided to kill someone in front of me.  Well, not exactly in front of me, but I did witness it, and I was able to very clearly identify him without ambiguity.  It had him arrested and sent to jail. He knew there was a witness, but although he had a name, it was not mine, and it

I'm back home and this story has been sitting on a back burner for a few months, waiting for some more to be written. The trouble is, there are also other stories to write, and I'm not very good at prioritizing. But, here we are, a few minutes opened up and it didn't take long to get back into the groove. Chasing leads, maybe My next call was to Severin, also a number on a card. It rang five times before he answered.   “Yes?” No name, but I recognized the voice. “It’s Sam Jackson.” “You have found the USB?” “No.   But I did find the flat he was supposedly living in, and it’s a front.   And so clean you could eat off the floor.   Nothing there.   And nothing to indicate where his real residence is.” “That’s a shame.” “So is the discovery that you are less than trustworthy.   Explain why I should continue to help.   I assume Maury is your attack dog, so if you’re sending him after me, then you don’t trust me.” “I don’t trust anyone.” No hesitation