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...

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 ...

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 mot...

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....

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...