Post 14 - Peer review story "Strike"

 Here follows my piece for peer review. We were asked for 200 - 350 words, which I found really difficult to keep to. I wrote it in a bit of a hurry because I was getting behind on the course. I know it's not my best work and it didn't get a sparkling review which did not surprise me. I didn't edit at all at this stage as I thought the idea was that we would do that after the review.

STRIKE

“Strike!” Karen was startled, “No, never, not me. I couldn't”

“ I don't like it either but we have to do something. The Government are taking the piss.”

So it was that on a chilly November morning Karen found herself outside her hospital with a placard in her hand. Surrounding her were other health workers, ambulance staff, porters and other midwives. Rush hour commuters expressed their support with their car horns. Each time this happened the assembled staff cheered and waved.

Karen still had her doubts that this was a wise course of action.

“ What harm does it do the Government? It's the patients who suffer and our colleagues who aren't striking.” she was saying to the paramedic standing alongside her. She stamped her feet as much for emphasis as against the cold.

An old lady hobbling by caught her words and before the paramedic could answer she butted in.

“Quite right. My hip operation has been cancelled three times already. It might not be an emergency but the pain is getting me down and I'm struggling to look after myself these days. Just getting the shopping is a nightmare”

“But madam, we haven't had a pay rise in four years and staff are leaving the health service in droves. Soon there won't be anyone left to care for you when you do get your operation.” the paramedic protested.

“Oh, I sympathise, really I do, but there has to be a better way than strikes, it hurts the very people you set out to help” and with that she limped away.

The paramedic sighed and Karen watched the old lady, as she struggled to cross the road.

“What's the alternative, that's what I'd like to know.” The paramedic said over his shoulder as he went to the old ladies aid, raising his hand to stop the oncoming cars and assisting her across to the other side. Karen grinned, the urge to care was so strong in most health care staff they couldn't help themselves.

Jennifer Spencer

How was the central character portrayed and was this portrayal clear and interesting?

quite interesting, the main character was sure of herself but the dialogue wasn't very specific about what in particular provoked this strike.

What made you think this piece was a story and did you want to read on?

Yes I wanted to know what happened next. I think it was a story because their was some kind of conclusion to it, but he ending could have been stronger.

What were the most, and least, successful aspects of the writing?

I liked the writing style. The dialogue (particularly the elderly passer-by) was a bit forced, could be more natural.

Post 13 - Tax Avoidance re-edited

So I've had another shot at this and really struggled to be ruthless.

The gnawing wind scything down Castlegate had the shoppers clutching at their clothing against the onslaught.Great Grandfather Kenneth, with Lydia, his great granddaughter in tow, tackled the wind head on.

“I'm cold Grandy can we go to Starbucks for a hot chocolate?” the little one pleaded, catching sight of the coffee shop on the next corner.

“Certainly not with those tax avoiding b's” replied her great Grandfather, remembering just in time to moderate his language for his darling Lydia, “we'll go somewhere much nicer”

Two minutes later they were pushing open the ornate door of Brucciani's tea rooms and were embraced by the gush of warm chocolate-coconut scented air. A wide eyed Lydia gave a contented sigh.

From behind the counter bustled a dark haired, portly man beaming a welcome.

“Kenneth, how lovely to see you, my friend,” He said extending his hand, “and who is this lovely lady?” turning to Lydia.

Tweaking her fleecy cap of her head Kenneth replied, “ Allow me to present my great Granddaughter Lydia. Lydia meet Alberto, the proprietor of this wonderful establishment.”

Lydia smiled shyly but a magnificent display of cakes was drawing her towards the counter.

Alberto turned to Kenneth and asked what he could get them.

“ An expresso for me Alberto and a small hot chocolate for Lydia, please”

“Not small, Grandy, not small.” said an indignant Lydia, “ and one of those please.” she wheedled, pointing to an enormous chocolate eclair.

Her Great Grandfathers eyebrows rose and Alberto chuckled.

“She know her own mind, that young lady”

“ She may do but if she's going to have that huge cake she's most definitely having a small hot chocolate or she'll be sick” said Kenneth and turning to Lydia added “ You wouldn't have got one of those in Starbucks.”

Kenneth should have known better than to mention the coffee chain in Alberto's vicinity. The expression on Alberto's amiable face immediately became thunderous

“You weren't thinking of going to those thieving devils?” he spat out, “wherever they go, places like mine suffer. The first month they opened down the road my takings were halved, halved I tell you.”

Kenneth was piloting Lydia towards an empty table. She looked a little alarmed at the sudden change in the man she had instantly warmed to. She was yet to learn that Italians often have volatile personalities and Alberto was no exception.

“ And now?” asked Kenneth calmly, looking round at the crowded tables and the queue at the counter.

“ Well, yes, OK, it's better now. But it's only because good loyal customers like you didn't desert us that we kept our heads above the water.”

“Nonsense Alberto, it was just novelty. Who wouldn't come in here in favour of Starbucks. Those chains are all corporate image and “Have a Nice Day” from staff who don”t give a damn.”

Lydia lost interest in the adult conversation as she stared about the magical place to which her Grandy had brought her. It was quite unlike anywhere she had been with her mother.

Like the Tardis, it was considerably bigger on the inside than it appeared outside. At six, Lydia knew little about style but this place, with its green leather benches and bent wood chairs was much more cosy than any Starbucks.

Her reverie was interrupted when a waitress slid a plate holding an eclair towards her.

“ …...... millions of pounds, Alberto, they owe the taxman. They've paid some back but not what they really owe. I'll bet you've never tried to avoid paying your dues have you.”

The incomprehensible conversation was still going on above her head so Lydia picked up her eclair, wrapped her small mouth around one end and bit firmly. Cream and custard oozed over her fingers and around her mouth. The two men engrossed in their talk failed to notice.

“Never! Britain took us in when life was so hard in Italy, why would we want to cheat?” Alberto winked, “don't tell my Mafia cousins though!”

He rose to leave and looking across to Lydia, burst out laughing. The little girl was a mess of chocolate, custard and cream.

“I get a cloth.” pronounced Alberto “And a spoon”

I've got it down to 713 words but I already feel its lost something on the way.

I've such had a horrible thought. The topic was tax avoidance and because it didn't inspire me I have essentially avoided writing about it in favour of something more interesting! Truth to tell I don't know a lot about tax avoidance other than I don't like Multinationals which make millions anyway, failing to pay their dues just because they can.

I'm now done with this exercise. I get the point and will try harder on subjects that float my boat.

Post No. 12 Ruthless editing!

First I had to find out how to get a word count from Open Office!

That done, how to set about reducing my story from 999 words to 500?

First I analysed how I set about my initial idea for the piece. We were asked to randomly turn on the radio and make note of what we first heard and use that as inspiration for a story.

I'm afraid that an item on the news involving tax avoidance did not inspire me at all, even though I feel quite strongly about it. However that was the task so I sat and thought about it.

1st thought - Multi-nationals e.g. Starbucks
2nd thought - An old soldiers disgust at such behaviour (my dearly departed Dad springing to mind)
3rd thought - Contrast Starbucks with an established family firm.

With that I began and as usual my characters turned up and introduced themselves and the story told itself. Brucciani's is a real place, slightly embellished to suit my purposes.

How does one go about editing ruthlessly? An odd word here and there, a sentence or two or a whole sale re-write attempting to put the essence of a paragraph into one sentence.

Next move I've thought of is to reduce my story to a simple abstract or scenario. Boy meets girl. Girl ditches boy. Boy gets motorbike. Boy gets killed. Girl bereft. That sort of thing.

Tax Avoidance

A great grandfather is babysitting his 6 year old great granddaughter. It's a cold day. The child wants hot chocolate and suggest Starbucks.  Great Grandfather is disgusted by their past tax avoidance and suggests going to an old established family firm. The child is entranced with the new place and its owner. The subject of tax avoidance continues above the child's head and comprehension. She is left to her own devices and gets messy.

74 words

That suggests I need about 6 -7 paragraphs to get the correct word count. Surely Dickens didn't write like this. It feels so uncreative.

Tax Avoidance - Edited

It took me longer to get back to edit this than I hoped.  Family affairs interrupted.

I haven't shortened this piece at all but I have made some changes for the sake of clarity and better grammar.

I would be grateful if anyone would care to comment on any cuts I might usefully have made. In so short a piece everything I feel my reader ought to know must be there now as i can't expand on it later as one would in a novel.

 A gnawing wind scythed down Castlegate as if intent on stripping the Christmas shoppers of their clothes. They in their turn were holding coats and scarves close, in defiance of the onslaught. An elderly gent with a distinct military bearing was tackling the wind head on, towing a small girl behind him. Her padded jacket and trousers made her look like a large stuffed toy, incongruous next to his long black woollen coat and bright shiny black shoes.

“I'm cold Grandy can we go to Starbucks for a hot chocolate?” the little one pleaded, catching sight of the coffee shop on the next corner.

“Certainly not with those tax avoiding b's” replied her great Grandfather, remembering just in time to moderate his language for his darling Lydia, “we'll go somewhere much nicer”

Two minutes later they were pushing open the ornate door of Brucciani's tea rooms and were embraced by the gush of warm chocolate-coconut scented air. A wide eyed Lydia gave a contented sigh.

The old man was obviously a well known and respected customer as the staff greeted him with waves and smiles. From behind the counter bustled a dark haired, portly man beaming a welcome.

“Kenneth, how lovely to see you, my friend,” He said extending his hand, “and who is this lovely lady?” turning to Lydia.

Tweaking her fleecy cap of her head Kenneth replied, “ Allow me to present my great Granddaughter Lydia. Lydia meet Alberto, the proprietor of this wonderful establishment.”

Lydia smiled shyly and wondered if being “the proprietor of the wonderful establishment” was the reason he spoke differently, in the same way that her friend Anita spoke differently because “she was an immigrant from Bangladesh”. The wondering didn't last long as a magnificent display of cakes drew her towards the counter.

Taking his admiring gaze from the little girl Alberto turned to Kenneth and asked what he could get them.

“ An expresso for me Alberto and a small hot chocolate for Lydia, please”

“Not small, Grandy, not small.” said an indignant Lydia, “ and one of those please.” she wheedled, pointing to an enormous chocolate eclair.

Her Great Grandfathers eyebrows rose and Alberto chuckled.

“She know her own mind, that young lady”

“ She may do but if she's going to have that huge cake she's most definitely having a small hot chocolate or she'll be sick” said Kenneth and turning to Lydia added “ You wouldn't have got one of those in Starbucks.”

Kenneth should have known better than to mention the coffee chain in Alberto's vicinity. The expression on Alberto's amiable face immediately became thunderous

“You weren't thinking of going to those thieving devils?” he spat out, “wherever they go, places like mine suffer. The first month they opened down the road my takings were halved, halved I tell you.”

Kenneth was piloting Lydia towards an empty table. She looked a little alarmed at the sudden change in the man she had instantly warmed to. She was yet to learn that Italians often have volatile personalities and Alberto was no exception.

“ And now?” asked Kenneth calmly, looking round at the crowded tables and the queue at the counter.

“ Well, yes, OK, it's better now. But it's only because good loyal customers like you didn't desert us that we kept our heads above the water.”

“Nonsense Alberto, it was just novelty. Who wouldn't come in here in favour of Starbucks. Those chains are all corporate image and “Have a Nice Day” from staff who don”t give a damn.”

Storing the “damn” way for later use, Lydia lost interest in the adult conversation as she stared about the magical place to which her Grandy had brought her. It was quite unlike anywhere she had been with her mother.

Apart from anything else it was a regular Tardis, considerably bigger on the inside than it appeared outside. The table at which they were sitting was one of many arranged around the walls of the bigger section at the back of the shop. Lydia was sitting on a green leather bench whilst her great grandfather sat on an old fashioned looking chair with a curved back. The chairs looked really old. The whole place looked old, but in a nice way. Comfortable, somehow. Above the benches were panels of mirrors and above those there was writing on the walls. At six Lydia hadn't mastered many long words but was able to easily read Tea and Bovril, but Speciality had her foxed. On one wall there were three flying duck ornaments soaring towards the ceiling.

Lydia had noticed that covering the walls of front of the cafe were black and white photographs of celebrities. She was about to ask if they'd all been customers when a waitress appeared and slid a plate holding an eclair over the table to her.

“ …...... millions of pounds, Alberto, they owe the taxman. They've paid some back since all the fuss but not what they really owe. I'll bet you've never tried to avoid paying your dues have you.”

The incomprehensible conversation was still going on above her head so Lydia picked up her eclair, wrapped her small mouth around one end and bit firmly. Cream and custard oozed out of the sides, over her fingers and all around her mouth. The two men engrossed in their talk failed to notice.

“ Kenneth, my family is so grateful to Britain taking us in in the 1930's when life was so hard in Italy why would we want to cheat?” Alberto winked, “don't tell my Mafia cousins though!”

He pushed down on the table to raise his ample bottom from his chair and looked across to Lydia and burst out laughing. The little girl was a mess of chocolate, custard and cream, she was pushing cream from her cheeks into her mouth and desperately licking her fingers.

“I get a cloth.” pronounced Alberto “And a spoon”

And that's 999 words. Oh dear if I'm to follow Derek"s instructions to the letter, half of them have to go. I am going to struggle with this. A whole re draft is called for. Arrgh.

Building on "Tax Avoidance" awaiting editing

A gnawing wind funnelled down Castlegate as if intent on ripping the clothes off the Christmas shoppers. They in their turn were holding coats and scarves close to deny the onslaught. An elderly gent with a distinct military bearing was tackling the wind head on, towing a small girl behind him. Her padded jacket and trousers made her look like an over large stuffed toy, incongruous next to his long black woolen coat and bright shiny black shoes.

“I'm cold Grandy can we go to Starbucks for a hot chocolate?” the little one pleaded, catching sight of the coffee shop on the next corner.

“Certainly not with those tax avoiding b's” replied her great Grandfather, remembering just in time to moderate his languauge for his darling Lydia, “we'll go somewhere much nicer”

Two minutes later they were pushing open the ornate door of Brucciani's tea rooms and were embraced by the gush of warm chocolate, coconut scented air. A wide eyed Lydia gave a contented sigh.

The old man was obviously a well known and respected customer as the staff greeted him with waves and smiles. From behind the counter bustled a dark haired portly man beaming a welcome.

“Kenneth, how lovely to see you, my friend,” He said extending his hand, “and who is this lovely lady?” turning to Lydia.

Tweaking her fleecy cap of her head Kenneth replied, “ Allow me to present my great Granddaughter Lydia. Lydia meet Alberto, the proprietor of this wonderful establishment.”

Lydia smiled shyly and wondered if being “the proprietor of the wonderful establishment” was the reason he spoke differently in the same way that her friend Anita spoke differently because “she was an immigrant from Bangladesh”. The wondering didn't last long as the magnificent display of cakes drew her towards the counter.

Taking his admiring gaze from the little girl Alberto turned to Kenneth and asked what he could get them.

“ An expresso for me Alberto and a small hot chocolate for Lydia, please”

“Not small, Grandy, not small.” said an indignant Lydia, “ and one of those please.” she wheedled, pointing to an enormous chocolate eclair.

Her Great Grandfathers eyebrows rose and Alberto chuckled.

“She know her own mind, that young lady”

“ She may do but if she's going to have that huge cake she's most definitely having a small hot chocolate or she'll be sick” said Kenneth and turning to Lydia added “ You wouldn't have got one of those in Starbucks.”

Kenneth should have known better than to mention the coffee chain in Alberto's vicinity.

The expression on Alberto's amiable face immediately became thunderous

“You weren't thinking of going to those thieving devils?” he spat out, “wherever they go, places like mine suffer. The first month they opened down the road my takings were halved, halved I tell you.”

Kenneth was piloting Lydia towards an empty table. She looked a little alarmed at the sudden change in a man she had instantly warmed to. She was yet to learn that Italians often have volatile personalities and Alberto was no exception.

“ And now?” asked Kenneth calmly, looking round at the crowded tables and the queue at the counter.

“ Well, yes, OK, it's better now. But it's only because good loyal customers like you didn't desert us that we kept our heads above the water.”

“Nonsense Alberto, it was just novelty. Who wouldn't come in here in favour of Starbucks, with its corporate image and its “Have a Nice Day” from staff who don”t give a damn.”

Storing the “damn” way for later use, Lydia lost interest in the adult conversation as she stared about the magical place to which her Grandy had brought her. It was quite unlike anywhere her mother had taken her.

Apart from anything else it was a regular Tardis, considerably bigger on the inside than it appeared outside. The table at which they were sitting was one of many arranged around the walls of the bigger section at the back of the shop. Lydia was sitting on a green leather bench whilst her great grandfather sat on an old fashioned looking chair with a curved back. The chairs looked really old. The whole place looked old, but in a nice way. Comfortable, somehow. Above the benches were panels of mirrors and on the walls there was writing. At six Lydia hadn't mastered many long words but was able to easily read, tea

and Bovril but speciality had her foxed. On one wall there were three flying duck ornaments soaring towards the ceiling. Lydia couldn't see them easily from her seat but covering the walls of front of the cafe were black and white photographs of celebrities.

Lydia was about to ask if they'd all been customers when a waitress slid a plate holding her eclair over the table to her.

“ …...... millions of pounds, Alberto, they owe to the taxman. They've paid some back since all the fuss but not what they really owe. I'll bet you've never tried to avoid paying your dues have you.”

The incomprehensible conversation was still going on above her head so Lydia picked up her eclair, wrapped her small mouth around one end and bit firmly. Cream and custard oozed out of the sides, over her fingers and all around her mouth. The two men engrossed in their talk failed to notice.

“ Kenneth, my family is so grateful to Britain taking us in in the 1930's when life was so hard in Italy why would we want to cheat?” Alberto winked, “don't tell my Mafia cousins though!”

He pushed down on the table to raise his ample bottom from his chair and looked across to Lydia and burst out laughing. The little girl was a mess of chocolate, custard and cream, she was pushing cream from her cheeks into her mouth and desperately licking her fingers.

“I get a cloth.” pronounced Alberto “And a spoon”

First draft of "Tax Avoidance"

Inspiration from randomly turning the radio on and writing about the first thing I heard. This is actually my second attempt as turning on Radio 4extra produced the following "Martian Martians. Riding Martian bicycles." SciFI is definitely not my genre, so I turned to Radio 4 News and there was an item on tax avoidance. Not sure if I could make anything of that but gave it a shot

A gnawing wind funnelled down Castlegate as if intent on ripping the clothes off the Christmas shoppers. They in their turn were holding coats and scarves close to deny the onslaught. An elderly gent with a distinct military bearing was tackling the wind head on, towing a small girl behind him. Her padded jacket and trousers made her look like an over large stuffed toy, incongruous next to his long black woolen coat and bright shiny black shoes.

“I'm cold Grandy can we go to Starbucks for a hot chocolate?” the little one pleaded, catching sight of the coffee shop on the next corner.

“Certainly not with those tax avoiding b's” replied her great Grandfather, remembering just in time to moderate his languauge for his darling Lydia, “we'll go somewhere much nicer”

Two minutes later they were pushing open the ornate door of Brucciani's tea rooms and were embraced by the gush of warm chocolate, coconut scented air. A wide eyed Lydia gave a contented sigh.

A different perspective

Why, why, why? I don't ask for much but just once in a while it would be nice if  someone gave me their undivided attention. This morning I thought today was the day. Amanda's at Uni, David's at CCF camp and the twins are sleeping over at Auntie Gwenn's. When I woke this morning the house was eerily quiet, I lay absorbing the silence. Bliss. Don't get me wrong, I love my family, it's just that sometimes there's just too many of them. At breakfast Mum suggested we go into town to shop and have lunch. Brilliant. Then Dad asked if he could come too. Double Brilliant. So I take care with my outfit and put on my new Uggs. On the way Mum's phone goes and before you know it she's invited Gran and Grandad plus Auntie Lynne's lot to join us at Booths. I never, ever get them to myself.