By Mark W. Danielson
I just returned from another successful Men of Mystery event in Irvine, California. In my twelfth consecutive year and with Alexander
“Sandy” McCall Smith and Scott Turow as primary speakers, the event sold out fifteen
percent beyond its planned capacity. As
always, our guest speakers and wonderful hosts made it another memorable event.
During my time there, I swapped tales with fellow authors
and recalled memorable scenes and characters from my stories with mystery lovers. When several people at my table began
discussing trains in Europe, my mind flashed back to train ride from Paris to Domaine
De Chantilly.
My co-pilot spoke French so I gave him the lead to get us
there. Looking on, I was impressed with
his communicative skills as he purchased tickets for the two of us. We easily navigated our way through the train
station and enjoyed the view as the train headed north. Predictably, the commuter train stopped
several times along the way while my cohort and I talked and enjoyed the beauty. Most stops had been short, but one seemed curiously
long. The scene became even more
peculiar as we found ourselves alone with one sleeping passenger. Being optimists, we stayed and continued to
chat in spite of the oddity.
Perhaps fifteen minutes later, people began to embark
again. Five minutes later, we were
underway – heading south! Needless to
say, we got off at the first stop, bought new tickets and boarded the next
train going north. Upon arriving in
Chantilly, we were lectured by the ticket agent because we had not purchased
the correct tickets. (I didn’t need to speak
French to understand her anger.) Lumbering
into town, stinging from the train adventure, our excitement returned as we
came upon a magnificent structure we soon learned was the horse barn in the above photo. Beyond that was the castle, complete with
moat. Smiling again, touring the ground
proved well worth the frustration.
Sadly, our misadventures were not over.
Having purchased the correct tickets this time, I looked
forward to an easy return trip. All was well
until my astute first officer failed to notice our stop until the train pulled
away from the station. Less than amused
at repeating our northbound flub, we disembarked at the next stop, bought new
train tickets and headed back to Paris.
Once we left the train station, I told my FO I was resuming the lead and
led him back to the hotel. We joked
about the experience on our return pond crossing.
The moral of this story is you may be able to speak a
language, but that doesn’t mean you can communicate. As writers, it is our mission to ensure we
convey clear thoughts in an entertaining manner. Sounds easy, right? If it was, everyone would be a published
author. Choose your words carefully and
keep writing.
