Dead men tell no tales… they tell the truth!

First… Happy Saint Patty’s Day!
Second… I apologize for the days in between blogging, but sometimes your life gets in the way of your living. Truth is, I have taken some mental days off from Charley and tried to live in my own life for a change. Sometimes that is a difficult thing to do for a writer, especially in the midst of a story where you are pulled deeper and deeper into the psyche of your characters. This is why writing I believe, is such a solitary business. It is all consuming in the same way I think the serious pursuit of most artforms are. A muse, regardless of her medium is a very jealous mistress who hates to be interrupted by such a banal segues as life. Apart from my thinly veiled distance, I have needed some down time to consider the appropriate couching for this story. The ratio of antagonist to protagonist now is staggering, as each day brings more evidence to the table and in like token more chaos to the plot. As author, I continue to seek a distinct voice for the protagonist/narrator and while I search for a character to fill such a void, it is my own voice that continues to seep through. Never before have I faced such a challenge. While every author provides his own narration, he is usually adept to find another vessel in which to carry it. Thus far, I have been confounded by the inability to throw my voice into another vessel. It is quite possible that Charley has meant for me to narrate, but there in lies the greater danger. Always the trap; when does the reporter become the story and not the story itself? This is where one must make the decision to be either the vehicle or the passenger… subtext, subtext, subtext!

My last session and subsequent correspondences with my colleague, the psychic detective has brought a great many new avenues to research. In deed, Charley’s message to me about being just the tip of the iceberg is right! Now I must steer this ship in even another direction towards an individual whom I thought not only peripheral, but inconsequential to the overall anatomy of this murder at best. The scope of this investigation increases with every session. We were however able to narrow the real estate of our search a bit, thanks to some recently revealed information. One would think that might make it easier, but not so, not so. While the parameters of the locale have become more defined, the plot thickens like chilled molasses. This case reminds me of the Labraya Tar Pits. Dark, deep and damn near impenetrable. The surface, viscous and smooth remains incapable of reflecting anything more than the face that looks upon it. It gives up nothing without probing relentlessly under its surface. Yet every time you stick your hand into the deep, black goop another set of bones is dragged up to the surface and you are face to face with yet another set of derelict remains to deal with and identify.

Still searching for the owner of badge #1439, the meaning of MOT and the red haired man who helped cover up the murder that night. I’ll find you though. Charley has promised! And there’s one thing I’ve learned about Charley through this investigation this past year…
Dead men tell no tales… they tell the truth!

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