Charles Heath's writing blog

 A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: I don't remember 40th birthday parties being all that interesting. It was going to be a momentous year as each of our friends celebrated theirs.  We were of a group that had formed strong friendships at school, and they had lasted over the next 25 years, even when some had ventured further afield, and others had stayed at home. I was one of those who had remained in place, as had my wife, and several of the neighbors.  I never had dreams of venturing any further than the next state, and except for a couple of years on transfer for the company I worked for, I had lived all my life in the city I was born. The same could not be said for Janine, my wife, who once had a vision for herself, a career in law in either New York or Washington, and had ventured there after graduating law school, stayed a for a few years, and then returned in circumstances that she had never talked about.  She had accep

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 I had a change of mind before I went on an odyssey to Peaslake.  I needed help, and I was going to try and convince Jennifer to help me.  If she had been injured, that might be more difficult. I caught a train and a bus to Putney and then walked the remaining fifty years to her front door.  It was a flat over the top of a shop, and, when I read the name of the shop, I thought I knew why she was there.  The shop, and quite likely the building belonged to her family, not that it was her surname, but I could be hopeful. I went up the side stairs and reached the landing.  There were two doors, one with 1A on it, and one with 1B on it.  Hers was 1A. I knock

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... Johannsen hadn’t signed up for this.  He’d been in the room when Leonardo reported to Wallace, to tell him that the villagers had been neutralized, and he brought the ring leaders of the so-called resistance to the castle. By his reckoning, Leonardo and his men had killed probably 20 or so people who had nothing to do with the war, other than try to live around the war going on in their backyard. In fact, when he had arrived at the castle, the intention was to work with the locals and the resist

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance:       And, then, the words:     Latanzio had given up the notion he was going to go free and escape with Angelina.  Amy had made it very clear that her father, Benito, wanted him dead, and that was a chip towards making him make a mistake. He hadn’t denied the fact he’d tried to kill me, or seem concerned that Amy had referred to me as a very dangerous character.  Perhaps he was too dumb to be scared. But the fact he chose Gabrielle over Angelina, that said a lot.  Now I suspect it was time he tried to explain the situation to her.  Amy had implied that his escape and subsequent survival was by no means assured. I also knew she had been in discussions with her Hollywood friends, so that meant we were about to indulge in another theatrical presentation.  As the masters of illusion, I couldn’t wait to see what it was. Back in front of the monitors, this time it was to see Fabio with Gabrielle.  Amy had joined

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, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission. At least the helicopter pilot hadn’t hit the fuel tanks or any of the control wires. Because of the holes in the fuselage, we couldn’t fly any higher than between two and five thousand feet or go as fast as Davies would like, but the plane settled into a routine and got us where we wanted to go. Just a few miles from the base, fuel almost exhausted, we got a fighter escort. At first, I thought the base commander thought we were an unidentified flying object, mainly because something else had been hit, our communications.  We couldn’t tell the base we w

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. Aside from working on what I was going to tell my mother, and Boggs for that matter, where I’d been all night, the last thing I could say was that I spent the night with Nadia. It had a curious ring to it when I said to myself, I slept with Nadia.  Most people would take it the wrong way, but, by a quirk of fate, it was true.  I guess that little gem of truth would have to stay locked away in my head. One the other hand, if I told my mother I was out doing reconnaissance work for Boggs, she would get very angry, messing around in Boggs’ fantasies.  She had no time for people who didn’t want to get a job and work hard for a living. At least I’d

 A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance:       And, then, the words:     There's a point where you suddenly realized you've been tricked into doing something you wouldn't normally do, and, worse, by someone you thought was your friend. That thought, along with others, floated around in my mind while considering my fate; in a small room in the basement of a house that belonged to, what I now knew to be a criminal.    Everyone knew of Joe Delaneo as a wealthy philanthropist, not the head of a gang that had barely registered on the crime scale, and not on the police radar. Their crimes were, but it was a matter of fact the police had no substantial leads, nor any idea who was purporting the crimes. But I knew.  Now. However, the chances of escaping with this knowledge and passing it on were somewhere between impossible and needing a miracle. I had time to reflect on how I got here. Basic human failings.  The desire to take people at face

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, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission. It took longer, as everything does when you’re in a hurry. The plane was loaded, the fuel truck had just disconnected the final hose, and was leaving the field, and Davies was firing up the engines. Everyone was on board and strapped in.  I gave my thanks to the Colonel and shut the door before joining Davies in the cockpit. Looking at her cool, calm demeanor gave me confidence.  If anyone could get us out of here in one piece, she could. I put the headphones on and put on the seat belt, just as she revved the engines, saw the wave from the ground crew

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.   For instance: And, then, the words:   Last days were supposed to be joyous, the end of your working life and the start of the rest of your life. I'd spent the last 35 years working for the company, navigating through three buyouts, five name changes, and three restructures.  I was surprised I was still employed after the last, only two years before. But, here I was, sitting in the divisional manager's office, my office for one more day, with my successor, Jerry, and best friend, sitting on the other side. "Last day, what are you thinking?" He asked casually. It might have been early, but we both had a glass of scotch, a sin l e malt I'd kept aside for an important occasion and this seemed like one. I picked up the glass and surveyed the contents, giving myself a few moments to consider an answer to what could be a difficult question.  To be honest, the thinking had started on the subway on the way in, whe

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... Jackerby came back and sat down.  It was clear he was annoyed his lunch was interrupted. “Atherton’s not among those Leonardo brought back.” Johannsen silently breathed a sigh of relief.  While he was still outside there was hope he would not get hurt.  If he had the sense to keep his head down.  Anyone else, Johannesen would not have cared. “Who did Leonardo bring in?” “Some woman called Martina, the one he says is in charge of the resistance.  He said he raided their last strong