Charles Heath's writing blog

 A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance: And, then, the words: I guess that Madeleine would not hear a bad word about her brother, not that he was all that kind towards her, but just that he was her brother. And, I knew, she was ashamed of his misdeeds, and she thought if we didn’t bring them up, he might not persist with his self-destructive nature. It was a forlorn hope, and I think she knew the ‘let’s ignore it, it’ll go away’ tactics were not going to work. Perry was spoilt, indolent, and hadn’t been taught the hard lessons of life. Come to think of it, Madeleine hadn’t either, but it had not affected her as much as it had Perry.  That, perhaps, was more down to the will of her mother in having Madeleine become something more than just a pretty face. And that, I suspect, came from the fact Madeleine’s mother came from the wrong side of the tracks.  Yes, there were men who like bad girls. There were aspects of her current situation that made her feel sca

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... I had to almost restrain Carlo from going up to the castle and singlehandedly kill everyone in it.  I didn’t doubt he could do it, for a short time at least, until they realized what was going on.  There were too many of them to take on alone. It would need a careful plan, and knowledge of the layout of the castle, and the likely spots where the soldiers were located.  It was a plan that had been slowly formulating in the back of my mind, especially after Carlo’s help with an internal ma

I'm back home and this story has been sitting on the 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 gave it about five minutes before I think I started breathing again and then headed back to Jennifer. Or where I thought I had left her. She wasn’t there.  I think, in the end, it didn’t surprise me.  She had been reluctant from the start so if I had to guess, she had done a bunk.  This was not her fight, nor mine, but she had a ticket out.  Why would you want to come back after being betrayed by the likes of Severin and Maury? I hope she left the car behind. Now that I was here there was no point leaving, so I took a few minutes to search the surrounding area, just in case she was still here, just someplace else, and when she wasn’t, I quickly and

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... Leonardo was a fool, not that any of those who followed him would say that to his face, but all of them knew it and accepted that he made the best leader. The reason for that, they all knew if anything went wrong, then the leader would be the first to be held accountable. They all also knew that what Leonardo had done to Martina and Chiara, and the cold-blooded murder of the villagers, justifying it by saying they were collaborators, was also wrong, and had refused to take part in it. Leonardo j