The Analects, Confucius, Reviewed

on Monday, February 27, 2012

Disappointing. That's a bald statement and perhaps not the most expected, considering the reputation of this Chinese man of…wisdom? I didn't find that, to be honest. From several hundred short passages of supposed erudition I listed ten I thought worthy of spreading to the wider world.

All the Confucianists will, of course be screaming abuse and possibly foaming at the mouth, because Confucius, rather like other famed wise men, has taken a role close to that of a god for many.

I found him conservative, unimaginative, intolerant and a man who seemed to express a singular self-preservationist philosophy, no doubt intended to keep him alive in what was a very violent society. I gleaned this, by the way, from this book, not from a reading of history.

It's clear that his insistence on the 'Way' is a plea to men (he has no time for women, who were clearly no more than playthings and servants in his time) to be of good character. By which he appears to mean, obey those set above you socially and politically. That a man so revered could be such a supporter of the tyranny of his time and yet accrue disciples merely serves to underline my own impression that there are those in society who'll accept leadership and direction regardless of its merit or otherwise. Faith, in general, is an illustration of this.

It's likely that, in common with Buddha, Jesus and Mohammed, his actual words have been usurped and deliberately distorted to suit the ends of those who wished to make capital from his aura of celebrity. I found little to admire in the words I was offered here. Much, rather like the Qur'an, is banal, repetitive and uninspiring. There is a deal of meaningless, to the modern western mind, ceremonial and social reportage that would require a deep knowledge of Chinese history to appreciate. I felt disinclined to spend the time and effort necessary to extract any worthwhile meaning from these passages, since the rest of the supposed words of wisdom were, in fact, anything but.

So, it was, for me, a disappointing read. I can't recommend it. There are, however, a round ten short sayings that carry some resonance in the modern world and I'll happily spread those, in the hope that the reputation of the originator will, at least, lend some authority to these aphorisms for those who might otherwise discount them out of hand.

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Review of Breaking Faith

Breaking Faith has been recently reviewed on another blog. Click this link to read the review.

The Writing Week

on Sunday, February 26, 2012
Weary. Been a long week. But, then, it probably has been for you, too.
So, what have I been doing?
A new blog post - 7 common grammatical errors - scheduled for 15th March.
The first of a proposed series of debates, with an invitation to join the discussion. and taking the form of a chat between two invented characters. This week was on the subject of honesty and is posted below, if you'd like to join in.
8000 words of a short story written. Short story? Well, that's how it started out. I reckon there's another 1500 to go before it's finished.
But, to my regret, only 2 chapters of the NaNoWriMo novel edited this week.
There have been mitigating circumstances, with which I will not bore you.
Oh, and I updated the Writing Contests page, see the tab above if interested. That's actually quite a time consuming process, due to the research involved.
So, now, at just after 9.0 o'clock on Sunday evening, I think I'm ready for a rest.
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The Debate Begins: Are You Up For It?

on Saturday, February 25, 2012
English: Icon of U.S. currency.
Image via Wikipedia

Allow me to introduce myself: Theo: I believe in honesty, truth, reason and equality. I'm rational, passionate, caring, neutral and considerative as well, I hope, as considerate. That's really all you need know about me.

Hi there, I'm Dave. Opinion's the only thing that counts on the web. Mine's as valid as anyone's. I don't really care about anything enough to get involved but I like to put my point of view out there. I'm not consistent and sometimes I fight for the other side just for the hell of it; know what I mean? For me, this debating lark's just that: a lark. So, listen up, join in and have a go at both, either or neither of us.

Today, by way of introduction to the idea, we're going to discuss the question:

Is Honesty Absolute or Can it be Measured in Degrees?

Dave: Easy. You're either honest or you're not. No discussion.

Theo: Not quite the spirit of the idea, Dave. But I understand why you might say that. The problem, I think, is that 'honesty' covers such a wide range, encompassing so much within its definition.

Dave: You'll get used to this with Theo. He's a great bloke but he loves his long words. If you mean there's a lot of stuff called honesty, why not just say so, Theo?

Theo: I thought I just did. But let's stick to the topic at hand, shall we? For instance, is stealing something you'd include under the umbrella title?

Dave: I guess so, but let's not include it here. That's got to make a topic all on its own, surely?

Theo: Excellent. So, we'll consider the idea of honesty as a quality, a way of approaching life, shall we?

Dave: Sure.

Theo: Then I'll ask, is honesty the best policy? Which, I suppose, is where we should have started.

Dave: Good thought, Theo. Best policy? Well, depends how you view life in general doesn't it? I mean, if you're honest, you're going to have to pass up on all those chances fate chucks at your feet, aren't you?

Theo: Give us an example, Dave.

Dave: Okay. You're walking down the street and you come across a small value note lying there. D'you pocket it or leave it, spend it or take it to the cops? If you're absolutely honest, you'd have to take it to the cops, wouldn't you?

Theo: Absolute honesty would demand that action, yes. But, let's consider the consequences. By taking this small note; we'll say a fiver if you're British or a $10 bill if you're from the States. The rest of you will, unfortunately, have to do the conversion to your own currency, if you don't mind. So, you have this small amount of currency and you take it to the police. They take your details and you fill in a form and sometime in the future (after 30 days in UK), you get the call to say it's not been claimed and it's therefore yours, legally.

Dave: Sounds okay to me. But I'd not bother to report something as small as a fiver.

Theo: You probably employ common sense in this decision, Dave. I know you're not a man who takes frivolous decisions. The question expands into the discussion and consideration of consequences. In reporting this small matter, you've used some of your own valuable time, caused the duty officer at the police station to use time he might otherwise have spent more usefully in preventing crime, and probably used fuel in the journeys. The latter, of course, means that you've added to the general pollution of the planet, risked lives by driving further miles, and put more mileage on the clock of your car, thus reducing its value and bringing the time for the service nearer.
So, was this act of honesty actually worth it?

Dave: Like I said, I wouldn't bother for just a fiver. And looks like you've decided you wouldn't, either.

Theo: So, would you do it for a tenner?

Dave: No.

Theo: Twenty?

Dave: Probably not. There's loads of them around.

Theo: Fifty?

Dave: Now you're talking. Yeah, I'd go to the bother for a fifty.

Theo: And your reasons?

Dave: Well, for a start, I've never had a fifty myself and I don't think many people have. Fifty's a lot to lose. You'd notice it, wouldn't you? The person who lost it might think it's worth bothering the cops to see if some honest person's reported it. So, yeah. Fifty's the starting point for me to record it. Anything from there up and I'd take it to the cops.

Theo: And you'd do this because you think it's the morally right thing to do, not because you think you might be in danger of being accused of theft if you failed to report it?

Dave: I don't think most people think like that. It's not mine, the cops won't be wasting their time, because someone's likely to report it lost. So, it just makes sense to give it in. If no one claims it, you're fifty to the good and you can spend it with a clear conscience, can't you?

Theo: And you've been honest, into the bargain. Do you think it was dishonest not to return the smaller notes?

Dave: Not exactly dishonest. It's about priorities and amounts, isn't it? I mean, we decided it wouldn't be worth if to anyone for under a fifty. So, it's just common sense, really.

Theo: So, not a question of honesty, but one of expediency, then?

Dave: If you say so. Are we done with this one?

Theo: In the way that I think we can say that honesty, in the sense it's used in everyday matters, isn't an absolute, but an attitude that encompasses such qualities as degree, common sense and personal priorities. Thank you, Dave. I look forward to our next debate.

Dave: Yeah, right. And you lot out there reading this, let's have your thoughts, eh? Have your say. That's what this is about after all.

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Read My Novel, Free: Chapter 7

on Friday, February 24, 2012

Breaking Faith is a paperback and an ebook. I'm posting individual chapters here, each week, so that those who wish can read the book in full and free of charge.


Chapter 1 appeared on 13 January and following chapters appear each Friday. You can find them via the archive.

Read, enjoy, invite your friends.

Chapter 7

Friday 19th March

‘You’re a fool, girl. Always have been, always will be. I’ve a mind to scourge that sin from you again. What do you suppose we’ll live on? Fresh air and your idiot pride?’
Father had been angry since I had been out of work but what had caused this particular outburst I did not know. He had made the beating as humiliating as it was painful. The pride I had gained from Leigh was gone. My back, bottom and thighs were still striped.
Hope, at least, was better for my constant attention and I was pleased the redness and discharge had gone during the past few days. I assumed Father did not clean her properly, but dare not tell him until he was in a better mood.
‘I’ll find another job, Father. But it won’t be easy with so many people out of work.’ 
‘Of course it won’t be easy, girl! You should’ve thought of that before you insulted the wretched sinner. I’ve told you before to keep your fool’s mouth shut. Who cares for the opinions of a stupid, ignorant maid like you? Nobody. Keep your words to yourself in future, or I’ll flog you till I spill your blood.’
‘Yes, Father.’
Hope tossed her cover off again and I put down my encyclopaedia to fix it.
‘Leave her be. It’s warm enough. She needs air to keep her skin healthy. Why must you always be covering her up?’
‘I just thought… well, she’ll be nineteen soon, Father. I mean, is it seemly for her to be…?
‘Seemly? Seemly? There’s only you and me here, girl. Hardly a public spectacle, is she? Leave her be and get me a cup of tea if you’ve nothing better to do. The Devil makes work for idle hands, you know. It’s a shame you don’t show such concern about me instead of insulting your bosses every few minutes.
‘You’ve managed to get yourself banned by the main employer in the neighbourhood because you imagined some sort of assault. As if a respectable man like Furnswurth’s going to do a thing like that. As if any man worth his salt is going to show a second’s interest in an ugly, stupid strip of a girl like you.
‘Now you’ve offended your new employer. What do you suppose people are going to say about you? I’ll tell you what, girl. They’ll say you’re unemployable. They already say you’re an idiot. I worked hard to get Furnswurth to take you on, and what do you do in return? Insult the man and accuse him of an act he’d never commit. I gave you the benefit of the doubt before, but I’m inclined to think you made it up, except you haven’t the wits. If I thought you had, I’d give you a thrashing you’d not forget in a hurry, I can tell you. Obviously, you just misunderstood the man. Now everyone’s got you marked down as argumentative and troublesome. How you’re going to get employment again, I don’t know. We’ll all starve. My word, but I’ve a good mind to whip your foolish hide off…’
‘I’ll make you a pot of tea, Father.’ I dashed into the kitchen and filled the kettle. With Father working himself up to a temper, being out of sight was the best way to avoid another belting on my already sore skin. It was one thing to accept the righteous punishment for my sins but I didn’t think I deserved another bout of penitence just yet.
From the window over the sink, I frowned as a car pull in at the foot of the track. Only Father’s friends from the chapel ever visited and they generally arranged in advance. In any case, none of them had a car like that. It looked just like Leigh’s. I gasped as Leigh opened the car door and stepped out.
Watching him approach up the rough track, I allowed the kettle to overflow and spill cold water down my front. That alerted me to my state and I put the kettle on the stove and lit the gas before leaving the kitchen.
Father looked up from his book and stared at the wet patch spreading down the front of my old white underskirt. ‘Where’re you going, girl?’
‘I’ve got to go and put…’
‘Make the tea. I’ll tell you when you can change.’
‘But, Father there’s a...’
‘I can see the wet patch. Leave it. If you’re cold and uncomfortable, all the better. You might be more careful next time.’ He licked his lips and swallowed as if his mouth was watering.
‘It’s not that. I must go and change before….’
‘Don’t argue with me, girl!’
His tone was dangerous and I had learned over the years not to push him, especially in this mood. ‘Sorry, Father. But I really think you …’
‘Think? I don’t care what you think!’ He pushed himself up out of his chair by the fire. ‘You don’t think. You’re a fool, girl, an imbecile and an ugly, useless selfish one, at that. If it wasn’t for my constant vigilance, you’d be a whore like your mother and the rest of your sex.’ His hands were at the buckle of his belt.
I was trapped. Leigh was almost at the door and I was in a skimpy black bra, more lace than fabric, and a short white underskirt made transparent by water; my alternative housework clothes. I dare not argue more with Father as he pulled the belt out of its loops. I retreated to the kitchen.
The knock at the door was loud and Father could not ignore it. He was caught between replacing his belt, covering Hope, getting me through the front parlour to the stairs and answering that insistent knock. I knew he would leave me in the kitchen until the visitor had gone, if necessary, even if that was all day. Hesitation brought a further knock and he replaced his belt and went to open the door. In his anxiety, he pulled it harder than he meant to and it swung back rapidly, showing us all to a startled Leigh.
I dashed from the kitchen to the stairs before Father had time to even greet him. I don’t know why I paused at the foot of the stairs, but Leigh looked disturbed as he met my eyes. Then I was up the stairs and pulling on my skirt and jumper.
When I returned to the parlour, the front door was closed and Leigh was standing on the mat, looking irritated as Father tried to pull the quilt from under Hope so he could cover her. In other circumstances, the scene might have been comical, but Father’s puritan stance coupled with my modesty led only to embarrassment.
‘Stupid girl! How many times have I told you to keep her covered, and not to go around half dressed yourself?’
I wondered if Father’s lie sprang from his desperate need to keep his reputation pure.
Leigh glared at Father and then turned his gaze to me with an abrupt smile of what looked, incredibly, like pleasure. ‘I’m sorry to intrude on your privacy. I’d like a quiet word with you, Faith, if you don’t mind?’
‘She’s sorry she argued with you, Mr Longshaw. She’s a stupid girl and I’ve punished her, of course. I told her she doesn’t deserve to be employed by a generous and respectable man like you. I must apologize for her stupidity, but she…’
Father halted as he realized Leigh was staring at him with utter contempt.
‘As I said, Mr Heacham, I’m here to speak with Faith.’ He addressed his next question to me. ‘Is there somewhere we can talk, Faith, please?’
‘Only the kitchen, Leigh.’ But his manner gave me courage to ask. ‘I expect my bedroom’s out of the question?’ I glanced at Father.
‘It shouldn’t take long. Wherever you’ll feel most comfortable; outside if you’d rather, though it’s a bit cold.’
To my amazement, Father nodded at the stairs, nodding more vigorously as I arched my eyebrows in question.
‘Please.’ I pointed. ‘Right, at the top of the stairs.’
As always, my room was tidy and fresh. There was so little in it that it took seconds to keep neat. Leigh waited for me to enter and suggested I close the door. I had to kick away the wooden wedge for the first time in years. Leigh took in everything with a sweeping glance and his face clouded briefly before he smiled broadly at me.
‘First of all…’
‘Please, Leigh, do sit down.’
He perched on the edge of my narrow bed, patting the space beside him. ‘I’ve come, first of all, to apologize for Friday.’
‘I’m sorry, too, Leigh. I was unforgivably rude.’
‘You were passionately vociferous, honest as always, and frank in your opinions. Mistaken but not rude. I was harsh and unjust, and I’m sorry.’
‘Thank you, Leigh. But there was no need…’
He held up his hand and I fell silent, wondering what he wanted.
‘Secondly, I want to thank you, Faith. Thank you for all your hard work at Longhouse, but especially for doing a job, on your own initiative, that I’ve put off far too long. You never said you’d written to the bad debtors. On Tuesday, I had a reply from a couple and a third replied today. All positive, all clearing their debts. I can only assume you used some sort of magic in your letters. You’ve brought in significantly more than your salary for the year.’
He paused and I wondered if I was supposed to say something. I could think of nothing so I just nodded and smiled my uncertainty.
‘The main reason I’m here, Faith, is to offer you your job back.’
I jumped up, surprised, delighted; not believing my great good fortune and about to accept the offer before it vanished.
‘Oh, I know I don’t deserve you, but if I were to offer you a pay rise, say ten, no, hang it, you’re worth it, fifteen per cent, would you be willing to return? Please?’
My mind reeled. I almost admitted I would go back without the extra money, but the thought of Father’s anger appeased by the increase stopped me. I blushed with guilt as I accepted. ‘Thank you, Leigh; I’d be delighted to return. But I think we should make some rules about certain things.’
He smiled and relaxed. ‘I think we only need mutual respect for each other’s positions. Do you think that would do it?’
‘It’d be a starting point.’
‘We’ll have a good talk; see if we can’t at least understand each other’s point of view?’
‘I’ll look forward to that.’
He held out his hand and I placed mine in it and we looked at each other until he let me go again.
‘If you want, and you’ve time to wait for me to get ready, I can return with you now.’
‘There’s no need to rush, Monday would …’
‘I’d really much rather start right now if I could, Leigh.’
‘I’d like that, too. I’ll wait in the car.’
‘I’m sorry to seem awkward, but would you mind waiting downstairs? I promise I’ll be no more than five minutes. I just need to… change my clothes.’
‘Okay. Best change that wet underskirt and that sexy black bra, eh?’
I blushed again and he shook his head at me in a way that made me feel he cared. He winked, a gesture I had seen given to others but never to me. ‘Don’t worry, I saw nothing I shouldn’t. And don’t be long.’ Then he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.
For the first time since Mother had left, I changed my clothes with my bedroom door shut.
Father was standing awkwardly at the foot of Hope’s bed when I returned to the parlour. He had managed to cover her up. Leigh was by the front door, impatient to leave.
‘I’m off to Longhouse, Father. Leigh’s given me another chance.’
‘More accurate to say Faith’s given me another chance, Mr Heacham. You have a remarkable daughter.’
Father glanced at me and sneered. ‘I know her better.’
At the front door, I paused to collect my coat from the peg and faced Father. ‘I’ll be home, as usual, about six fifteen.’
‘You’ll be home just after five. I’ll be giving you a lift in future, work permitting. From time to time, you might have to wait the odd half hour, morning or afternoon, but I’ll still get you home earlier than if you were walking.’
I was about to protest but the expression on Leigh’s face, coupled with Father’s recent lecture about arguing, stopped me. ‘Thank you, Leigh, I’d really appreciate that.’
‘You’ll spoil the girl. She needs firm discipline and…’
He turned to face Father. ‘What she needs, Heacham, is love. Allowing Faith to walk nine miles a day so she can work to support you and her sister, suggests a less than Christian attitude. I’m only sorry I didn’t realize sooner just what a strain it was on her. It’s a pity you didn’t see fit to help her out.’
Father opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. Leigh waited for a few seconds before he opened the door and gently urged me ahead of him.
All the way down the track, Father’s expression of unspent rage at Leigh’s accusation floated before me. I feared I might suffer on my return home, because of Leigh’s criticism, but I had seen that Father was not the man I thought he was and that Leigh was a better man than I had believed. I would never feel quite the same about either of them again.
At the car, Leigh opened my door first and helped me with the seat belt before he climbed in to drive. ‘Will your father be watching?’
‘Why?’
‘I’d like to give you a thank you kiss and welcome you back.’
‘And you want his permission?’
‘Your permission, Faith. It’s his reaction and treatment of you that worries me.’
A kiss would be terrible, in Father’s eyes. ‘Can it wait until we’re at Longhouse?’
‘I’d rather have Abby jibe about me taking advantage of an innocent virgin than risk your father’s anger causing you suffering. Yes, it can wait.’
I tried not to let him know it was my first journey in a car, pretending hard to relax. ‘Did Father say anything to you?’
‘He insulted your intelligence again, made excuses for the woman on the bed… your sister, Hope?’
‘She suffers from a rare brain disorder. They tried to operate when she was a baby but it went wrong. She has the mental age of a year-old infant but the body of …. Well, you saw. She developed into the shape of a woman but she’s never menstruated. Oh! Is it all right to say that to a man?’
He nodded. ‘Better than being coy about it. Every woman bleeds and I prefer the proper term to any of the multitude of euphemisms. I’ve noticed that about you, Faith. Most people call body parts and functions by anything other than the right name, but you always use the correct medical term.’
‘That’s all I know. It’s what I read in my encyclopaedia or what Father says.’
‘Is Hope’s lack of body hair natural?’
‘It just never grew.’
‘And is she always naked?’
‘Father says it’s better for her skin to have the air to it. And it’s easier if she has an accident, you know. She has a nappy in the night and I take her to the toilet morning and last thing, of course. It makes washing and oiling her simpler.’
‘Faith Heacham, you’re amazing. Absolutely amazing.’
He pulled the car up at the side of the road. We were well out of sight of the cottage and out of the village. There was no one about. He leant across and kissed my cheek. ‘Abso-bloody-lutely amazing.’ And he drove off again.
I touched my cheek. His lips had brushed my skin so lightly it was almost as if I had imagined it, but the sensation was lovely. If that was kissing, no wonder people enjoyed it.
‘Faith, I know you respect the privacy of others and I know you value privacy for yourself. But I also know how honest and open you are. May I ask you a personal question? I have my own very good reasons for asking but you don’t have to answer if you’d rather not.’
Leigh did not normally go around the houses so I wondered what he wanted to know. ‘Ask away.’
‘Do you normally wander around the house dressed… like that?’
I thought he might ask me to do the same at Longhouse. ‘At home I do. Father won’t have me ruin my office clothes by doing housework in them. And, of course, with there being only him and Hope there it doesn’t matter how I’m dressed, does it?’
‘Perhaps not. Has your father ever touched you, in the way Furnswurth did when…?’
‘Leigh! He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t ever do a thing like that. He said I should never let a man see or touch my breasts or my bottom or my genitalia, because it’s sinful and makes men lust for the flesh. He said I mustn’t show my body because men’ll think I’m offering it to them.’
‘But it’s okay to be naked or half dressed in front of him? He won’t lust after your flesh?’
‘He’s my father, Leigh. He’s a Christian. He’d rather die than do anything like that! No, Leigh. He’d never, ever touch me like that. In fact, apart from when… well, he never touches me at all, really.’
Leigh looked at me curiously; he knew I had been about to tell him something. ‘What did he mean about you being punished, by the way?’
The beatings were humiliating and, as Father had made clear, they were private; between him and me and God. There was no need for anyone else to know about his attempts to save my soul from damnation.
‘He …er …I think that’s private, really. A family thing, you know?’
‘I see.’
It was hard to imagine anyone putting so much meaning into two words. I felt he did see, all too well. I no longer felt certain about what I should tell him. Something inside me wanted him to know everything about the life I shared with Father. But another part of me wanted to keep the whole thing private and hide it from him forever.
It was impossible to decide which was right and the only way to stop the argument going round and round inside my head was to change the subject. I said the first thing that came to me. ‘I’ve missed you, Leigh. That is, I’ve missed working at Longhouse.’
We were driving up the lane toward the gate and I wanted to get out to open it, but I had no idea how to unfasten the seat belt.
Leigh looked at me as the car slowed to a halt. ‘You’re a funny lass, Faith. I’ve missed you, too. Welcome back.’
He twisted to unfasten my seat belt but I held my face ready, expecting another kiss. He shook his head at me before he kissed my cheek again as he unclipped the belt. ‘God, but you’re a puzzle, you are. Intriguing and fascinating. Go on, hop it and open the gate, wench.’
He had called me that before. I had no idea what it meant, but he said it with such good humour that I smiled and did as I was told. He was still shaking his head at me and smiling as he drove in through the gate.

###

I'm pleased that you want to read the book. But if you can't wait for next week's instalment, check the links below. They'll let you buy it as either a paperback or an ebook, depending on your preference.
Those who live in East Riding of Yorkshire can borrow the book from your local library.

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Whether and When to Use The Definite Article?

on Thursday, February 23, 2012

The problem of 'the' is ever with us. The definite article, as opposed to the indefinite 'a' and 'an', tends to place a claim of specificity on the attached noun, rendering it a special item. So, 'an oak tree' is an entirely different proposition from 'the oak tree'. The former is just one member of the forest, without distinction and lacking the importance of that definite article. The latter, of course, is elevated into a position of superiority by its adjective, which identifies it as not just one of the crowd, but a particular tree. It may be that this specimen has some dubious history, perhaps once employed to suspend the bodies, if not the disbelief, of those who were hanged from one of its lower boughs. Or, it may bear the initials of passion-consumed lovers now long dead but in their time renowned for their displays of alfresco affection. Maybe it was the location chosen by furtive agents who secreted their folded and encrypted messages within that famous knot hole only five feet from the ground and thus almost brought the State to a state of collapse.

You get the drift.

The 'the' can, and often does, convey an idea of importance on the subject it describes.
But, what of those occasions when writers use it to describe the ordinary? 'Jonathan walked the length of the lake shore, skimming the flat stones over its surface.' Here we have a sentence with three instances of 'the' in just 15 words: 20% of the sentence consists of the definite article! Can we improve it without altering the sense?

'Jonathan walked the length of the lake shore, skimming flat stones over its surface.' Because, in this case, the 'the' is immaterial with regard to the stones, we can exclude it without detriment to the sentence and, thereby, improve pace. The other two 'the's, however, are necessary to the sentence in its current construction, as, without them, it wouldn't make sense.

'Jonathan skimmed stones over the lake surface, as he walked its (entire) shore.' Reduced wordage, cutting the definite article to one example, but saying the same thing. Whether it's a better sentence, I leave to your judgement.

Let's try another:

'The weary traveller wandered lost in the forest, surrounded by the trees; the leaves cutting out the light of the sun and making the experience frightening.'

This is a terrible sentence. Oh, it says everything the writer intended. But the pace is poor and there are far too many words, especially definite articles. Let's try to improve it.

'The weary traveller wandered lost in the forest, surrounded by trees; leaves cutting out sunlight and making the experience frightening.'

Better: the pace is better after removal of the unnecessary definite articles, but the sentence still lacks sparkle. It tells the reader what is happening, but fails to show it.

'Lost amongst endless trees, Aglydron trembled and longed for rest and an end to his difficult journey.'
I'm not suggesting this is by any means perfect. But, I think you'll agree it's an improvement. We've lost the subject's anonymity by naming him (he's a character from the epic fantasyI'm writing at present) and, in so doing, removed another 'the'. We've shown the reader how he feels, instead of telling him, giving the whole a greater emotional depth. And we've reduced the original 26 word sentence to 17 words, thereby increasing pace. The final sentence retains not a single definite article, but the original contained no fewer than seven 'the's.

Okay, you're turn next. Here's an excruciating sentence for you to work on and improve. Let me have your suggestions, if you wish, along with your comments.

'The sexy woman walked across the sand of the beach, conscious of the eyes of the men following the progress she made, as the bikini barely concealed the parts of the lovely body she moved quickly toward the sea, so the waves would hide the shyness she felt.'

Another silly question for you to ponder: Why, oh why, do we always press harder and harder on a remote control when we know the batteries are dying?


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The Writing Week

on Sunday, February 19, 2012
A busy and relatively productive week, though not quite as good as I'd hoped.
The NaNoWriMo novel, An Unseen Avenger, continues well with the edit; up to Chapter 10 of the re-write now.
Another blog post completed and scheduled for a couple of week's time. This one on the dangers of distraction.
Managed to finish reading and to review three books this week. First was Tyler Brentmore's Dead Men's Fingers, a western novelette that's a good read. Second was Shakespeare's All's Well That Ends Well. And, finally, came Michael Frayne's Alphabetical Order, a humorous stage play script. All are reviewed below.
I started writing a short story, got to 2000 words, and realised it wasn't a short story at all, but something quite different. It gave me an idea for more regular posts on the blog. I intend to start this series next Saturday, so watch this space, and please feel free to comment, since I'm looking to start some serious and lively discussions with this item.
That was all this week. Had the final appointment with the dentist on Wednesday afternoon after work, so I'm now crowned and no longer have a gap in my teeth. Took a pleasant walk with Valerie on Thursday, when we visited the local canal at Pocklington; placed a few pics on my Facebook album, My Homeland. This series has attracted a lot of comment and many people have been inspired by the pics. Many are of the same county that inspired David Hockney's recent exhibition.
Felt a little under the weather Friday and Saturday (I have a long-standing condition that occasionally come up and bites me when I'm not looking. Tiring rather than seriously harming, but it makes concentration difficult).
This morning turned out so bright and clear that we decided on another walk, just our local saunter this time.
And, of course, Valerie's team was involved in the FA Cup competition, so I watched that with her.
Started reading Confucius, The Analects, which I suspect will take a little longer than a week to read, so probably no reviews for a little while. Still, I'm ahead of my reading target, so that's not bad.
I hope I find all of you well and active. Those who write, keep at it. Those who read, thank you and keep buying and reading those books, and reviewing them to encourage and inform others.
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Alphabetical Order, a Play by Michael Frayn, Reviewed

Michael Frayn - Cambridge - 2011
Michael Frayn - Cambridge - 2011 (Photo credit: Chris Boland http://www.distantcloud.co.uk/ )

Plays are, of course, intended to be seen, experienced, rather than read. However, as a writer who has had a radio play broadcast by the redoubtable BBC, I have an interest in play scripts, and enjoy reading them as well.

Michael Frayn has a reputation as a playwright who understands comedy. And Alphabetical Order is a great example of his strength in creating humour. The stage setting remains unchanged throughout the 2 acts, except for some 'tidying' essential to the story. So, the whole action takes place within the library of a local newspaper and involves the librarians and some of the reporting and editorial staff.

Having worked on a local paper, as a photographer, I have some empathy with the characters portrayed and some understanding of their peculiar pressures and priorities. The characters are well drawn, using the playwright's only real tool; that of dialogue. It's possible to picture them on the stage from the script, because they are so well described by their chosen words and what they have to say or what is said about them by other characters; the essence of a stage play.

The action is minimal, as is the plot, but the play covers a great deal of ground in terms of character building and relationship development. There are plenty of jokes and many occasions given to laughter, both with and at the characters. But there is pathos too. The aura of gentle decay and the overriding sense of futility combine with the overall frivolity of the dialogue, which hides those secrets that lurk beneath the surface of the spoken text. So, there are some surprises but the drama plays out more or less as expected.

The denouement is slightly surprising in the way it happens, but the reader realises that the outcome was, in fact, inevitable, given the natures of the characters and their employment. Typical of the very English setting and characterisation, there is a lot more beneath the surface, unstated but alluded to, making the play a multi-layered experience.

I enjoyed this, and recommend it to those who enjoy their drama in thoughtful but gentle comedy form.

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Read My Novel, Free: Chapter 6.

on Friday, February 17, 2012

Breaking Faith is published as a paperback and an ebook. I'm posting individual chapters here, each week, so that anyone who wishes can read the book in full and free of charge.





I posted Chapter 1 on 13 January, following chapters appear each Friday and can be found via the archive.

Read, enjoy, invite your friends.

Chapter 6

Tuesday 16th March

The kitchen was warm with the succulent aroma of frying bacon. I grinned at Jenny, the post woman, pretending to pose for me; saucily lifting the hem of her skirt and revealing support tights clinging to her size twenty-two thighs.
‘How about it, big boy? Want a good time with a big, and I do mean bi..i..i..g girl?’
‘You’re incorrigible, Jenny. What’d George say?’
‘Since when did you give a toss for the opinion of any woman’s husband, Leighton Longshaw? Any case, he’d be pleased if another man found me sexy enough to have his wicked way with me. All talk and trousers, you are. Bet that Abigail Churchfell’s not really here at all.’
‘Still in bed, exhausted after another night.’
‘Braggin’ again. Losing your touch there, aren’t you? Been here a couple of months. Don’t usually last that long.’
Ma slipped bacon, eggs and mushrooms from the frying pan onto a plate with beans and fried bread. ‘Got her hooks into him, that one. If he’s not careful, she’ll be persuading him to ask her to marry him.’
‘Oh, Ma! You’ve made him go all pale, look. He’d best not have that breakfast, feeling as sick as that.’
‘Hands off, Jenny. Hop it, and let me eat in peace.’
‘Such charm. No wonder he has them all falling at his feet.’
‘I know. How can they resist?’
I took a forkful of bacon to my mouth and paused. ‘Ma’s my favourite. No one can touch her cooking.’
‘Flatterer.’ Ma went through the utility room and yelled out of the back door for Old Hodge to come in for his breakfast.
Jenny bent close, apparently intent on kissing my ear, but pinched a mushroom off my plate instead. She grinned and backed out through the office door.
‘Tomorrow, you’ll pay for that.’
From the office, she shouted her obscene reply of hope and closed the door before I had time to accept or reject.
Ma returned to dish out Old Hodge’s breakfast. The old man came in and lifted his cap to scratch his head before he sat down opposite me. ‘T’old ash in yon corner’ll not last through another storm.’
‘You’ve been predicting the felling of that tree for sixteen years; ever since I came to live here.’
‘Longer than that, Leigh. He used to tell your Uncle Fred it were in imminent danger every spring. I reckon that tree’ll outlast the lot on us.’
I began opening the post; a lilac envelope revealing a four-page letter. A photograph fell from between the sheets, followed by a folded promotional leaflet. I picked up the picture and studied the smiling woman in her body paint, before turning to the pale leaves of hand written text. ‘Zizi sends her love to both of you. Hopes to pop up for my birthday.’
‘Don’t know why you don’t marry Zoë. She adores you and she’s so kind.’
‘Sexy, stunning, heart of gold.’ Old Hodge examined the photograph appreciatively and passed it to Ma.
‘Never changes. You’d not think she was the same age as you, Leigh.’
‘Zizi’s fine for short spells. I love her to bits, but I couldn’t settle down with her. She’ll never stop smoking and she won’t leave London, and I’m certainly not leaving Longhouse to live down there, for all the business it might bring.’ I lay the letter aside and looked at the leaflet. ‘It’s the Photographic Show at Olympia end of May. I’ll probably go down for a couple of days. Zizi’s invited me to stay.’
‘You take advantage of that girl. She deserves better.’
‘Zizi knows the score, Ma. She’s a big girl.’
‘Zoë’s too kind hearted by half.’
I opened a couple of bills and cursed. ‘We’ll have to cut down on electricity and coal; they’re costing me a small fortune.’
‘Long as you and your wenches go naked, you’ll ‘ave to pay to keep it warm or freeze your assets.’
‘Anybody’d think I was made of money. Did you hear the radio this morning? Prices have risen by seventy per cent in the past three years! Ridiculous; no wonder everyone’s going bust.’
The last two letters were from overseas and I viewed the envelopes suspiciously. From the German one I pulled out a single sheet typewritten in schoolboy English with a smaller piece of paper stapled to the back of the top left corner. ‘Bugger me!’ I looked at the cheque and passed it to Old Hodge for confirmation. ‘That say what I think it does?’
‘More’n you pay Ma in a year!’
Ma looked over her husband’s shoulder at the cheque. ‘Well, that’ll keep the house warm for a while anyroad. What’s it for?’
I read the letter again. ‘I’ve no idea what they’re talking… hang on. Of course! You remember the place that made industrial fastenings, went bust and was bought by a German firm?’
‘Did a catalogue and some advertising stuff for them as I recall. Never paid you a penny.’
‘They have now. It’s funny; the letter refers to my communication to them and apologizes for the delay in paying. Last time I wrote any threatening letters was over two years ago. Why now, I wonder?’
‘Does it give the date of your letter?’
‘It says twenty-third of February this year, but that can’t be right.’
‘What about the one from the States?’
I opened the other envelope and pulled out another letter with a cheque attached. This time I looked at the amount before I read the letter. ‘Bloody hell! Must be my lucky day. It’s in dollars but I’d say it’s for twice the other one! Someone up there loves me.’
‘Letter mention anything about a reminder from you on February twenty-third, by any chance?’
I screwed up my face at Ma but read the letter. ‘This is too weird. I don’t recall sending details of the serial numbers of any slides, but that’s how they say they identified them as mine, and I definitely didn’t write a letter to …’
‘Faith did. She told me she’d been going through your bad debtors file. Said there were over thirty unsettled accounts in there and none of ‘em touched for nearly three years.’
‘I’ve been busy.’
‘Aye. I reckon she’s brought in her salary for a year and a half, or more, Leigh. Shame you got shot of her. Wonder who’s gaining from her efforts now?’
‘Shit!’
Ma and Old Hodge exchanged meaningful glances and I knew I was in for advice or criticism; probably both.
‘Look, it wasn’t my fault she left. I never meant for her to go.’
‘Perhaps you should’ve told her.’
I couldn’t out-stare Old Hodge so I looked at the letter again.
‘Said you’d lost a gem there, didn’t I?’
‘Look, it wasn’t my fault she misunderstood…’
‘Course not, Leigh. I mean, innocent little lass with no experience is bound to have a proper grasp of the big bad world. Bound to know more’n a businessman who’s travelled and seen life, been educated and had a few advantages. No, you’re right, Leigh; bound to be her fault there was a misunderstanding.’
‘Now, Ma, don’t be too hard on the lad. I mean, it’s not as if he prides hissen on knowing women. Not like he believes he understands them or owt.’
‘True enough. Always been honest about that, has our Leigh. Still, bright and able lass like that shouldn’t have any trouble finding work with only a million or more out of work and no transport out the village, should she?’
‘None at all. Mind, let’s be fair, Ma. He’s not said he’ll not try to get her back, has he?’
I knew I was beaten. But I wasn’t ready to admit it. Faith’s accusation had stung and still irked me. That I could see some truth in her assessment made it even more difficult to accept. I looked at the two cheques and the accompanying letters again. Her efforts had brought in a fifth of my annual turnover. There was no doubt I owed her. And I certainly missed her being about the place. It was not just her work and organisation, but something strangely compelling about her mere presence.
‘Course, problem is, Ma, pride can blind a man.’ Old Hodge slurped the last of his tea and picked up the bacon rind from his plate. ‘I’ll be back at it now. Want yours, Leigh, or can the birds have it?’
I nodded at the rind on the edge of my plate and Old Hodge took it. He turned in the doorway, lifted his cap and scratched his head, all the time looking at me as if he expected something. ‘Terrible affliction, blindness.’ He shook his head slowly and plodded off into the garden, his body shouting disappointment.
Merv was tying the apron round his waist as I entered the finishing room. ‘You’re up for a bonus for that special job last week. I can pay you now. And I want you to know you’ve Faith to thank.’
‘That little twat? ‘Ow’s that then?’
‘She was doing her job.’
‘Not now she ain’t. Skinny tart’s signing on with the other no-hopers. Fuckin’ good whippin’ from her father an’ all if he’s any sense. Serves ‘er right, if you ask me.’
‘I didn’t ask you, Merv. But I want you to know you’ve reason to thank her. There’s a chance I might ask her back, you see?’
‘After what the bitch said to you? I’d never ‘ave her tight little arse back ‘ere if I were you.’
‘Just as well you’re not, then, isn’t it? Suffice it to say, if she decides to return, I expect you to treat her with more respect.’
‘Can’t respect a skinny tart that don’t know ‘ow to be a woman.’
‘It’s not a request, Merv, it’s a requirement.’ I stayed long enough for the message to sink in.
In the bedroom, Abby was diagonal across the bed, the quilt wrapped round her upper body but one leg uncovered from thigh to toe. Her blonde hair, like a halo against the deep blue pillow, hid one eye but exposed a small ear. I tried to ease the bedding from beneath her but she woke, as I’d hoped, and twisted to frown up at me. I told her about the cheques and praised Faith.
‘So you’re going to beg her to return? Doubt she’ll get any more for you. Can’t be that many bad debtors in your files, can there?’
‘A few more, those two were by far the biggest.’
‘There you are, then. She’s done you a favour by doing her job. I’d let her stay where she is. I mean, do you really want a square like that working here with her yesterday attitude? Leave her be, Leigh, you’re well shot of her. She’s not cool, not sexy, not in the groove, man.’
‘You can be a hard bitch, Abby.’
She sat up and shrugged the covers off. ‘But soft and sexy with it.’
I nodded. She was beautiful to look at. ‘Aye, well, you might as well stay where you are for the moment. I’ve a job in Bradford. I’ll be all today and most of tomorrow. Might stay over at Abdul’s if he’s got something on.’
‘You mean if he’s lined up one of his escort girls for you.’
‘Me? Involve myself with a woman who sells it? I don’t think so. Not even if someone else is paying the bill.’
‘Come back tonight, Leigh. I’ll make it worth your while.’
‘I don’t doubt it. Depends how long it takes and what Abdul has in mind. It doesn’t do to reject the hospitality of an Afghan, you know, especially a well heeled one.’ I bent and kissed her. Her own perfume mingled with the spray she used liberally.
She stretched an arm up to pull me closer, her tongue parting my lips before she disengaged to speak. ‘Don’t go.’
‘Living to earn.’ I let her fall back onto the rumpled ultramarine sheet. ‘See you later.’
‘Tease!’
‘I’ll make it up when I get back.’
She groaned with frustration and punched the pillow as I left. I resisted the temptation and hurried downstairs.
Packing my gear in the office, I missed Faith. She would have everything prepared and would wait by the gate to close it after me.
As I was about to leave, Abby wandered in, wrapped in the sheet from the bed. She let it fall around her feet as I looked at her. ‘Come back to bed with Abby, baby.’
‘Work to do. Someone’s got to keep this place going.’
She tongued her parted lips and stroked her hand down the flat of her belly to loiter in the short blonde curls.
‘Temptress. I’ll see you later. ‘Bye.’ It wasn’t easy, but I left.
            At the gate, I turned to look at the house and suddenly I missed the way Faith would stand there until I left the lane end, not waving but watching and wishing me a safe journey. I wondered whether she would come back after the way I’d let her go
###

It's great that you want to read the book here. But, if you can't wait for next week's instalment, check the links below. They'll take you to places you can buy either as a paperback or an ebook, depending on your preference.
For those who live locally (East Riding of Yorkshire) you can borrow the book from your local library.

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All's Well That Ends Well, by Will Shakespeare, Reviewed

Sir John Gilbert's 1849 painting: The Plays of...
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How do you go about reviewing a work that must have been described, analysed and generally pulled apart by thousands of readers, writers, scholars and professional reviewers? Well, as I see it, the only thing to do is give a very personal opinion.

Shakespeareis, of course, our national bard, our cultural hero, if we write in English. So, the reviewer better beware if he says anything untoward. But I set myself a target and I'm determined to hit it. The target? As a writer, to read and review at least 52 books this year, all taken from my 'to read' list'. So, you have my motivation.

I have yet to read most of the Bard's work. What I've so far managed has been very good. But I can't say that for All's Well That Ends Well. It reads like an apprentice piece, almost as if it was written by a different author, in fact.

In common with much of his work, Shakespeare took the original plot from Boccaccio's Decameron and embellished it with his own characters and additions. But, for me, he hasn't done his usual magic here. I found much of the text tedious. There was little that made me laugh and a great deal that felt like unnecessary complication. In fact, the play, for me, would have worked much better without a number of the scenes; some of which seemed to have no bearing on the story at all.

Of course, the language is brilliant most of the time, of course the characters are written with the usual sureness of style and genius. But the whole doesn't quite add up to the parts in this one. Naturally, there is the ever present problem for a modern reader that certain references no longer have the meaning they did for the contemporary audience and this means that some of the jokes fall flat. Some of the words used have not been included in the staggering total of new words that Will added to our language and context is then the only clue to their meaning.

I was able to follow the story, the plot, relatively easily. But some of the characters failed to display the qualities they were reported to carry by their fellows. So, I could see no evidence, until the scene where he is hooded and tricked, of Parolles' reported wickedness. He came across as no more a villain than others in the play. Even his diatribe against Lafeu seemed relatively justified in light of the Old Lord's treatment of him. And it was difficult to understand Helena's infatuation for the superficial, opportunist and selfish Bertram.

So, not a play I'm likely to go out of my way to watch, though it's my personal experience that Shakespeare always comes alive when performed, especially by a good ensemble cast. I'm sorry if I've offended or upset the lovers of our national poet, amongst which I count myself, but this one was a disappointment.

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Faith Introduces Herself to Readers

on Thursday, February 16, 2012

Stuart's asked me to give you some insight into how I think, what matters to me, why I'm the person I am. Let me introduce myself. I'm Faith Heacham and I narrated the story of Breaking Faith along with Leigh. I hope that some of my rather strange background came through that narrative but there will be elements that you will either not know or be unfamiliar with, of course.
When I first started to work for Leigh, I was still imbued with my father's rather strange brand of Christianity and I was determined to develop Leigh's conscience and convert him into a devout follower of my religion. I don't tell you a lot about that aspect in the book, because I didn't want to come across as too evangelical. As it happened, I quickly learned that Heacham was in the wrong and that Leigh, for all his unusual and, dare I say, unconventional ways, was often in the right.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me set the scene. I was brought up for the first few years as part of a small family with my mother, and two younger sisters as well as Heacham. I'm sorry, I can't refer to him as my father knowing what I do now. He was, to me, relatively normal and although he was always a very strict parent, he seemed no more odd or different than any other parent, until Mother left him and took my youngest sister, Charity, with her. It was then that I certainly noticed changes in my life. I was very young but I was expected to take over most of the duties my mother had carried out.
Heacham was a man who gave the impression of being pious. It was only later I learned how truly awful he was, not only as a father but as a man. However, I was placed in a position where I was required to look after him domestically as well as nurse my severely disabled sister, Hope. She, of course, had no hope of ever becoming anything other than a baby in a woman's body. But I didn't know that until I was a lot older. My life was difficult and restricted, as I was no longer allowed to attend the local school but was taught by Heacham. His teaching took the form of indoctrination with his peculiar form of narrow-minded Christianity taken from the Bible and some books of sermons by a rather extreme clergyman. I was allowed an atlas, and a dictionary and two volume encyclopaedia, both of which he censored for all sexual matters apart from the purely biological aspects. We had no television, no radio and he would allow no magazines or newspapers in the house. Living in an isolated cottage well out of the small Dales village, I had virtually no contact with children or with other adults. This obviously left me with a very odd view of the world. But I was a quick learner and loved to read. As a result, I picked up a wide vocabulary and a knowledge of many things that most people never come across.
For exercise, I did the housework, kept Hope free of bedsores by massaging and manipulating her limbs and body, walked the local hills and swam in the isolated tarn up the hill from our cottage. I loved the freedom of those few hours, away from home and father's constant watchfulness. I would strip to my skin and plunge into the freezing clear water and splash about until I was thoroughly tired. By the time I returned home, my clothes had mostly dried on my body. Not that it mattered, since Heacham required me to work in the house wearing the bare minimum of cover. He told me it was to save my clothes from becoming stained and dirty. I know now that it was to afford him a sexual thrill of both watching me and controlling me in a state of more or less permanent exposure.
He indoctrinated me to believe that most men and women were inherently evil and would eventually spend eternity in the fires of Hell. If I erred, even slightly, he would beat me with his hand, a cane or his belt, always on my naked skin. He told me he was saving my soul and I believed him. We prayed together every morning and each evening before bed. He attended some old barn that he and a few other men with similar views had converted into their meeting place, which he called their chapel.
When I first started to work with Leigh and discovered his free-thinking ideas and his openness toward nudity and sex, I thought he must be the most wicked man alive. His models were all beautiful and showed no shame or shyness in displaying their entire bodies for his camera. I was initially incensed and later intrigued. But, though Leigh gave all the appearance to my uneducated mind of being a wicked heathen, I quickly learned that he was a kind, warm, generous and basically good man. I suppose it was inevitable that I would fall in love with him, as the only other mature male I had any contact with. Apart, that is, from his printing assistant, Mervin. He was the embodiment of true evil in my eyes. A crude, ugly, cruel and utterly selfish monster of a man.
If you've read the book, you'll know how I came to change and what those changes involved for me and those I came into contact with. If you haven't read it yet, I can only point you in the direction of this blog, where Stuart's posting the whole book for you to read, free of charge, a chapter at a time. I hope you get as much out of reading my story as I did from telling it from my point of view and learning Leigh's view of things along the journey.

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