Charles Heath's writing blog

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance:     And, then, the words:   Almost a year to the day, Kyle had been surprised to get an email from Janine, the wife of his brother Daniel. When Daniel had arrived on his doorstep, he wasn't exactly a mess, but he had been struggling to understand why his wife of over twenty years would betray him as she had. To Kyle, though, it wasn't exactly a revelation. He had known the moment he saw her, just before the wedding, what type of woman she was. Definitely not monogamous. After all, he had seen her off and on during the six months he had been working in Washington, not only with Michael, but with several other men of varying degrees of importance, and not once as just good friends. And, after he left, to get away from that toxic environment, and an equally toxic relationship with a woman he accidentally discovered was lying to him about not being married, he had learned that Janine had been having not one affair

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... The Standartenfuhrer checked his gun and settled his nerves for an onslaught.  If they were going to die, then he was going to kill as many of them as he could. He threw his hand pistol to Mayer.  “Shoot anything that comes in the door.” Mayer fumbled the weapon, dropping it on the floor, then finding it hard, with cold hands, to pick it up.  Perhaps his life wasn’t sufficiently in danger to be more proactive. The Standartenfuhrer shook his head.  Boffins were all the same.  The slightest threat

A picture paints ... well, as many words as you like.  For instance:       And, then, the words:   ... When it came to holidays, I preferred to get as far away from everyone as possible. I saw my parents, and sister who lived with them, every week on Sunday, for lunch and cross-examination of why I was not married with children yet. Explaining I was only 27 was not a reason because, "your brother married at 21 and he's got three children, a fantastic job, his own house."  and on and on it went. And I saw my brother every other Saturday just to tell him that I was Ok.  He was considerate in one sense; it was just the matchmaking wife always inviting what she considered suitable women for me. That fortnight off work was an oasis in a desert full of well-meaning people. I'd tried dating several girls at work, but they never got past the family inquisition.  If I had been in their shoes, I'd just say it was all too much too.  The lesson I learned there was to never ta

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. ... Our local area had six churches.  We really only needed two, the catholic church, a big, imposing stone structure that was almost a mini cathedral, showing the wealth and influence of the church, commanding the best location. The other, a protestant church, a very old, simple wooden structure that had been on its less salubrious site, once belonging to the missionaries who inhabited the land with the first settlers, before the Pope saw an opportunity, and moved in. Nadia and her family were catholic.  So were the Benderby’s. My family was protestant, well, not really churchgoers at all, which was a contradictory standpoint because nearly everyone els