24/05/2009
The Lost Piece
I’m putting the adventures of Inspector Hughes on hold for the time being. As you’re no doubt aware, this blog is really only for practice purposes. The current story mainly dealt with writing in the first person form. The constant use of ‘I’ didn’t bug me as much as I thought it would, though I did constantly find myself having to try and write around it. It was also nice writing from a character’s perspective (rather than third person)
Needless to say, I do feel like it’s becoming a little bit of a chore having to plan and execute any stories that are more complex than they should. As we all know, when things stop becoming fun and become more of hard work, we tend to do them less or just stop completely altogether. The journey of Inspector Hughes and the elusive Kerry Marsh will no doubt continue at some point in the future, but for now, I’m going to leave it where it is and maybe start on something entirely new next week.
Oh, and if there are any mistakes or grammatical errors/inconsistancies, feel free to drop a comment down.
Thanks for reading.
[024] Kerry Marsh – END
Now, in my line of work you occasionally get to hear both sides of the story. Usually it was through a quarrel or some disagreement between neighbours or people having an affair. You only had to step back, take yourself out of the equation, so to speak, and you can often see what the end motive is.
One of the reasons I’ve been so successful is that I understand what people think purely by their actions, even if they themselves aren’t aware of what they want. Human nature is a system that never fails because everyone is driven by a motive, a goal of some sort which ultimately guides their actions. If you can figure out the end of the route they’re taking before they get to the destination, well, it makes my job a lot easier.
On the faded-leather couch in my office laid Emma Kilts, the only daughter of the now deceased Charlie Kilts, businessman and expert of vice. She was there because she tried to stop someone from murdering her father, an event she was tipped off by phone calls from an unknown source.
I myself had received phone calls from what we can only assume to be the same source. I had also been sent on a goose chase through the city for information and new leads on a case that should have died last year.
I poured another glass. The bottle had almost gone.
When my clients first come by and explain their problems, and I agree to take their case, I usually get an image in my head of how it’ll turn out. Probability scales on the most common scenarios. I’m usually correct, good or bad, but it’s that experience I’ve gained which allows me to be damn good at what I do.
Not with this case. Anything I can think up always stays just out of reach like a word on the tip of your tongue. It’s there, but just out of your perceptive scope. As I’d gone through the day and added to the information I had, it seemed this story was turning out to be a very unique one. A puzzle that held an image only to be revealed when the last piece was placed.
The lost piece.
Kerry Marsh.
