Yesterday, I was perusing one of my dad’s old exercise books from way back, possibly the 1950’s. There, first page, neatly written in his handwriting, a poem. I had read this a few months back and didn’t think much of it. But yesterday, reading it again, it resonated with me about the beauty of God’s creation. Dad having taught at Hermannsburg Mission, Northern Territory in the 1950’s was particularly taken with the vibrant colours and striking formation of the land and mountains up there. He fell in love with the land and would make regular pilgrimages to the Centre, taking my brother and I, plus other family and friends, on safaris to explore his beloved part of the world.
Incubating an idea for a story is an interesting process. As a novelist my inspiration most often comes from a theme. It might be the rights of women, the importance of family or equality and fairness. At other times the theme emerges as I write.
When I reflect on the themes that are important to me as a writer I can trace the influences on my life. My mother was a strong feminist even before it was a movement. Her actions in life were all about doing things her way, standing up for those less fortunate and being a strong advocate for what she considered right for her family.
My education as a Social Worker strengthened my principles of feminism, justice, equality and being non-judgemental. I learned to respect a person’s self-determination, even if it was outside the norm. I’m also a pacifist and abhor violence and war.
Stop Pushing was a story where the themes emerged without pre-planning. At a writers’ group we were given a ten-minute exercise to complete a piece of writing inspired by a sentence that contained the words stop pushing. I just wrote. Top of my head the story just emerged with flow of consciousness. It wrote itself. I liked the original and took it home to refine. “Stop Pushing” is the final short story and I like to think it is one of my best pieces of writing. I hope readers enjoy it and also look for the themes that are entrenched in the story.
Stop Pushing
It was a peculiar name. Who would ever call a bloke Stop Pushing? Snowy Jones reckoned it was him that got it wrong. Said he had asked the new bloke for his name and got told it was Pushenko, or something foreign like that. Now Snowy was ‘bout eighty-five at the time, deaf as a post and with a few wallabies loose in the top paddock, so it makes sense he got it wrong. Snowy decided it must be Pushing, and that was that.
I never found out where the Stop came from; but it is Australia, and everyone gets called something short that’s fitting. Stop Pushing sort of emerged, settled and became part of the lingo, and that was that.
Stop arrived in the early fifties. Bought Warren, the goat’s old place on the edge of town. The sheila’s tried to do the neighbourly thing and get him to the RSL chook night, but Stop wouldn’t have any of it. But he turned up in the front bar every Friday, have two beers and then go home at closing time, did that all of his life. And he always fronted at the dawn service on Anzac Day, stood at the back, then drifted away like a drizzle on a breeze.
Stop was a funny bloke. You wouldn’t believe he had a sense of humour; and he didn’t! Never smiled or laughed. Ordered his beers with a nod to the barman and said nothing else; to anyone. There were no laughter lines on Stop’s dial. He had deep gauges around his mouth, sunken cheeks and eyes that emerged from the black pits of hell. He was thin as a long dead cadaver and looked no different in forty-odd years.
What Stop did on the small holding we never knew. He kept himself to himself, and we were alright with that. He was quiet, clean, and took up very little room at the bar. After, a few years, his bar stool became a protected zone on Friday nights. “Oi, you can’t sit there, that’s Stops’ corner.”
It was in the nineties and the local fire crew had just mopped up after a blaze that grazed right up to the edge of town. The pub put a couple of hundred on the tab and everyone got plastered, really plastered. A few of the younger fella’s got a bit out of hand; as you do when you face off a fire for the first time. A kerfuffle broke out over some bloke’s missis, and the two Romeos took to some shoving, right into Stops’ corner of the bar.
Stop was jostled, he swayed, then toppled sideways, fell to the floor. The fire chief rushed over and tried for a pulse, but then shook his head sadly. They propped the poor old bastard back up on his stool and raised their glasses in remembrance. Stop Pushing was no more.
Now Stop Pushing could have just faded into obscurity, but a couple of months after the funeral, a bloke in a suit called a meeting in the front bar of the pub. The suit said he was a “lawyer for the deceased known as Stop Pushing.” Turns out Stop was worth a bob or two and left all his money to the town. He was some sort of fancy writer. Not a Steven King type writer, but he did history books which he sold to schools and universities, for a fair bit of money.
Well, the CFS got a new fire truck, the oval got a new stand with change rooms underneath and Warren, the goat’s place, got turned into a community library with meeting rooms and even computers.
He also donated a new park bench at the war memorial. The plaque was short and to the point, “In memory of Stephan Pushenko”
There was a lot of talk about Stop for a few years after his passing. One of the teachers did a bit of digging and found out the poor bloke had come from Poland and done time in Auschwitz. There was some speculation that he was from some rich Jewish family, or he was a Romany or even a poof, but I don’t think that mattered to anyone in the pub.
I reckon Stop found his way to our small place in Australia. He was taken in, given a new name, and left to be himself. He never did anybody any harm and ended up doing everyone a lot of good. Whatever ghosts he needed to bed, he did it quietly.
I like to believe Stop found serenity here. He took in the ordinary life; the fires battled, the footy games won, the cricket games lost, the jokes, the gossip and the yarns. We gave him back a life, and he took what he needed, then gave back in spades.
Visitors to the pub may find it a bit strange but at closing time every Friday, to this day, some joker will raise his glass and shout, “Stop Pushing” and everyone will raise a glass and repeat “Stop Pushing” and have a laugh. For a memorial, you can’t get better than that.
If I had my way, I’d ban alphabet books for all pre-schoolers. Ideally no child should see an alphabet book until it’s at least eight years old and had learnt to write and read. And as for the Alphabet Song!! Grrrr! But we’ll come to that later.
“Why on earth?” I hear you say. Or are you quietly thinking to yourself, “Poor thing, she’s finally lost it”? Or (somewhat more kindly) “Years and years of teaching small children has got to her. Stress, you know.”
Au contraire. It’s the years and years of teaching all those children who came to school singing the Alphabet Song; minds stuffed full of alphabet books with their pages and pages of pretty pics; confident of their ability to master all this reading and writing stuff… Then they get as confused as all get up.
Confused? you say. How come? Isn’t the alphabet the basis of our written language? Yes indeed – but only in a way.
You see the letters of the alphabet are symbols; mere squiggles if you like; that we use to represent the sounds of our spoken language. It’s a code, but sadly, not a straight-forward one for a number of reasons.
Aeons ago, when mankind first sought a way to record information that did not rely on memory (and therefore personal contact) they drew pictures on whatever came to hand using whatever they had that worked. Over time the pictures became stylised until eventually some bright spark got fed up with the labour involved in learning the meaning of thousands of picture-symbols. Whoever it was, they were obviously a radical and an original thinker with particularly good hearing ability in the way of auditory discrimination. He/she realised that it was only a small number of different sounds that were put together in a myriad of diverse ways to make up all the words used by his/her community.
Yes, I know – a flight of fancy. We’ll never really know for sure how it happened, and I seriously doubt if it was that simple. Rather than a single bright spark, I’m sure it was more a process of refinement over dozens of decades with contributions from many as well as adoption by neighbours who adjusted, adapted, added to, subtracted from… to suit their own situation and language.
And this is still happening today – we add words; we invent new ones; we drop ones we see as no longer useful, pretentious, or “bad” or we change the meaning… When I was young and went to a beaut party where I’d had a lot of good, clean fun with laughter, friends, food (really yummy food, that is!) I usually reported that “We’d had a gay old time.” No longer would I dream of saying such a thing. Back in Elizabethan times (the Francis Drake/Walter Raleigh ones, that is) “nice” was a far from complimentary word. Only two, of but many examples.
Anyway, back to my entry point: banning books for babies (alphabet books, that is), if you’ll remember.
Rather than learning the alphabet, it is much more important for little children to learn to differentiate the sounds we use to make up the words we use to communicate with others. Once they can do that, it is an easy matter to learn an appropriate symbol (squiggle!) to match each one. At which point they can write. And reading will follow on. Simple.
Sadly, not so simple because our alphabet is full of glitchy bits: some letters can be used for more than one sound; several letters are used for the same sound; some letters in some words do not represent any sound at all (blame history for that one because they once did). Additionally, we don’t have enough letters to represent all the sounds we use so we solve that problem by putting two together (e.g.: ch/sh/th).
Another problem with these books for babies is that they always partner the two forms of the same letter (upper case/lower case) side by side along with the picture it “illustrates”. This gives the impression that the two forms of that letter are interchangeable which is not so – not at all. Capitals (upper case) should only ever be used when there is extra information to be conveyed.
You’ll notice I put “illustrates” in quotes. This is because one of my pet hates is that so many pictures have little connection with the actual beginning sound of the letter they are meant to represent. To use egg/ostrich/cat is OK. But eagle or eight/owl or orchestra/ chair or centipede is quite definitely NOT. Books using such as these are concentrating on the names of the letters and letter names are no help at all when learning to write and read. They are more a source of confusion and, therefore, frustration.
Reciting the alphabet, singing the song (which means we’ve learned the names of the letters in a particular order) is a handy skill but one we only need when called upon to search for information in written material arranged alphabetically – which no child will need to do until it is able to read competently. To make things worse, the middle bit of the Alphabet Song gets run together, coming out as a single word (elemenopee) so many children think of it as needing only one single letter to represent it. Which is very confusing for them.
To wind up: my biggest hate of all; my absolute bete noir? Alphabet books that have come to us from the USA. The reason: over there what we on this side of the Pacific call a ‘bucket’ they refer to as a “pail”. Which, because a small child’s vision often does not fully stabilise until seven or eight years of age, can lead to awful confusion between p and b for our littlies. This lack of stabilisation can take the form of visual reversals, both side to side or top to bottom, resulting in, for instance, ‘was’ for ‘saw’ or ‘p’ for ‘b’ (or vice versa).
I’m at the tail end of my third novel “A Suitable Passion” (working title). It’s about slavery at the time of the abolition movement and has been the most challenging of my novels so far. It started out as a historical romance and that genre usually has a happy ending. But when a happy ending just doesn’t fit with the history, what do you do?
In a nutshell, the British Jamaican slave trade started in 1655 when the British overthrew the Spanish colonialists and finished on August 1st, 1834, with an Act in the British Parliament that gave slaves in all British colonies freedom. Well sort of, as the wealthy plantation owners in the West Indies managed to finagle an apprenticeship system that gave them free labour for another six years. This system was designed so the slaves could learn to become a paid labour force. Not surprisingly it didn’t work, and the scheme was abandoned 1838 due to the appalling behaviour of the plantation owners and managers. After that, most of the African people in the West Indies walked away, choosing to live in their own villages and grow their own food rather than work for the men who had owned and abused them. The sugar industry collapsed.
To make matters even more unfair, the plantation owners were given compensation for freeing their slaves. Like cows or sheep, slaves were considered property. The slave owners demanded compensation and it cost the British public twenty million pounds (approximately $40,000,000 AU). The money was distributed to some of the richest and most influential families and institutions in Britain. The slaves got nothing. This huge debt was only paid off in 2015.
Into this mix came the abolitionists. The movement started in the mid 1780’s with predominately Quakers establishing committees and making presentations to Parliament. In 1807 the shipping of slaves from Africa to British colonies was banned but slavery continued in British colonies for another twenty-seven years. The abolition movement was slow growing but by the 1820’s the new middle classes became involved. They formed societies throughout Britain to actively work against slavery, many of the societies were organised and ran by women.
The historical research to tackle this book was extensive. I read five different PhD. dissertations to get the social, religious, economic and political dynamics that led to the abolition of slavery. I read first-hand accounts of slaves and the terrible deprivations and punishments they endured. I gleaned information about how the sugar industry worked and even visited sugar museums in Queensland to get a sense of the process of sugar production. I read articles from newspapers at the time and attended a meeting of the Quakers to experience first-hand their remarkable religion.
I set my novel in 1829. The plot revolved around the question:
What if a young heiress discovers her family’s wealth and prestige come from slavery and she is expected to marry a man who will continue the cruel practice of the plantation system in Jamaica? How will she comply with her family’s expectations when she is an abolitionist?
I sent my protagonists to Jamaica where they experienced slavery first hand and confronted their relatives who profited from slaves. I had hoped to end the story on a positive note with my protagonist’s relative having an epiphany and freeing his slaves. But the research could not be denied. There was no happy ending. I could not find one example of a slave owner who showed one iota of compassion and freed his slaves. Avarice abounded and was rewarded and the plight of enslaved people in the West Indies was appalling even after emancipation.
My novel became an exploration of a shameful chapter in British history. I found that I had to follow the history rather than a romantic plot. The romance became a secondary consideration and the history took over. I changed the characters to make the villains more realistic and my protagonists end up together but are powerless to change the outcome for the slaves. A sadder ending than I wanted but I hope the novel sheds light on the history of racism and still delivers a satisfying read.
My venture into the world of Murder Mystery/Crime Writing has guided my path to digging into life and death of a different kind—Family History. Crimes, even cold case crimes are being solved by DNA analysis and technology from which family trees are built.
As I have delved into the realms of ancestry, through the My Heritage site and the wonderful tool of crowdsourcing that is available there, I have stumbled on some historical “crimes” that would make even the resident artificial intelligence (AI) called “My Heritage Consistency Checker” laugh or more likely jump up and down (virtually) in conniptions of frustration.
Before I launch into a few of these amusing tales, I might remind you fellow writers that such errors can easily be made when one thinks the research is all too hard or that editing is boring and makes one fall asleep.
My all-time favourite historical faux pas—I get a “Smart Match” from a fellow family historian who has ticked the box that my great-grandfather, born in 1839, is still alive. Quite a feat, he’d be almost 200-years old if he is. And, if he is still in the land of the living, where is he? I have few questions I want to ask him. His answers, I’m sure would make for great reading. I can see the title now: “How my great-grandfather met my great-grandmother.” Oh, and of course, what’s his secret for staying alive?
For two weeks, ye old “My Heritage Consistency Checker” complained that my dad’s cousin’s grandmother was too young at 14 years of age to be married. Good on it for picking this detail up. More like the morality police than an AI (artificial intelligence) with knowledge of historical context (we’re talking mid 1800’s here in Australia). Anyway, the mystery spurred me down that proverbial rabbit-hole where it seemed, according to official birth and marriage records, a certain ancestor had to get married, if you know what I mean. So, I’m guessing that her parents gave consent for the “shot gun” wedding. The young couple (well, the groom with the shotgun to his head wasn’t so young, but) went on to have at least ten children.
How does this angry AI relate to writing?
You may have developed an uneasy relationship with your editor, or fellow writer/test reader who questions certain details of your story. For example, from my experience, my writing mentor was adamant that a planet can’t have two suns. Another time, a fellow writer insisted that cattle did not exist in Central Australia. I did my research, and armed with the evidence to the contrary, I proved them incorrect.
A friend asked me to type up and edit their relative’s biography. I began reading the story and soon discovered key details relating to birth and marriage were missing or vague. Now, I’m not adverse to a few “circas” now and then. I plop them in all the time when acknowledging my grandfather’s photos in my posts, or when “playing” with my family tree for centuries-long gone ancestors, in the hope a “smart match” or record might show up courtesy of a more obliging My Heritage AI.
But with a biography, a historical record of this person’s forebears, the lack of detail bothered me. I asked the friend if they had any documents. No, they replied, all too hard, and expensive.
So, putting on my Indie Scriptorium hat, and having the resources and research skills, I offered to do the relevant investigation for them.
When writing a history, it is vital to get the right dates, places, times and people. This is true also for drafting a novel or story. If you want your story to be believable, you need to do the research and at least get your timeline sorted. Make note of significant events in that period which may impact your characters. Take time to plot the dates and places to ensure it’s do-able and believable.
There are other examples, but I will reserve those for another time, another blog post.
All my life, words have fascinated me – their meanings and double meanings, along with puns, jokes, and varied pronunciations. How we put them together for impact; to make poems or stories or paint pictures in a reader’s imagination is grist to my mill, floats my intellectual boat.
So choosing English as a major subject when I got to university was a no-brainer. And when I discovered that Linguistics was one of the third year options, I couldn’t wait to enrol.
Before this, High School Latin had opened my eyes to the fact that languages other than English have very different rules; can be structured differently; are often quite a different kettle of fish. This was amazing! Putting the verb at the end of the sentence? Changing the last syllable of the word instead of using one of the “little words” (e.g: to/for/by/with/from…) as those ancient Romans had done? Wow!!
All this opened up the wide world of translation and how tricky it can be to “get it right”; get the original author’s attitude and intentions across accurately; convey as many as possible, of the subtleties of the original.
Conversations with multi-cultural friends, some of whom were fluent speakers in not just two but several languages were frustrating as these people took all the differences for granted. None shared my passion for words; so they quickly found our “chats” boring. And me weird.
Consequently, I was forced to turn to books in my quest for enlightenment. The only books readily available that provided varied renditions of the original text was the Bible. So I go down all sorts of rabbit holes, spanning several centuries of translations in this adventure.
And after all that long-winded background bumph we come to the point of this blog; a blog designed for those of us who write. Finally I hear you say (if you are still with me, of course!!).
A couple of days ago I read and compared several accounts of the Last Supper; that final, pivotal meal before the crucifixion, that Jesus shared with his disciples; the meal which Judas walked out of to meet with the High Priests and betray him.
Several of the modern translations wound up their account with:
“So Judas left, going out into the night”.
Others (including the King James Version) rendered the same incident as:
“So Judas left. And it was night.”
Only a very small difference – a single sentence of eight letters versus two sentences of seven letters.
But it hit me like a bomb.
The strength and implicit emotion; the sense of impending doom, that that second sentence gave when contrasted with the first was palpable. The first was an accurate but matter-of-fact, almost journalistic rendition. The first, set alongside the heart-wrenching vividness of the second, was just ordinary writing in my eyes.
Of course you may not agree. We all see and interpret things very differently. Which is a good thing; makes life interesting!
When we speak we add to our words with both our voice and our facial expressions, as well as gesture, stance… There are a hundred and one ways of getting our meaning across as we become aware of responses from those to whom we are speaking. There is an immediacy in the spoken that is not available in the written. So we have to compensate.
As writers, we need to develop awareness of those aspects of writing that are more than merely putting words together. This is what divides great writing from the simply pedestrian. How those words are arranged, organized, juxtaposed one with the other is important. How our words are divided into sentences and punctuated can make a huge difference to how we get our message across to the reader. These are the things that make our writing truly impactful.
Scams, it seems we’re inundated with them and in the publishing world it is no different. A fellow WordPress blogger, Scam Hunter has offered an excellent and detailed post on this subject.
Indie Scriptorium is beginning a new tradition in 2024. Every fourth Sunday of the month we will be featuring a guest writer.
This week, the Indie Scriptorium team have invited fellow Adelaide artist and writer, Robert Richardson to share a poem from his recently published book on poetry, Words and Rhyme.
Some months ago, Mary McDee wrote a post giving tips on writing good poetry. We had quite a bit of interest in the article and some further questions pertaining to the mechanics of an effective poem.
The following poem by Robert Richardson is an excellent and catchy summary of the main types of poetry and how to write them.
If you’d like to read more of Robert Richardson’s poetry book, click on the link below:
Cheers,
Lee-Anne Marie Kling (c) 2024
Feature Photo: Words and Rhyme cover(c) Robert Richardson 2023
We writers consider words as our stock-in-trade; valuable servants to our need for self-expression; treasured allies in our creative pursuits. They have meanings that give messages; messages that, at times, are subtle or can be misinterpreted or confusing. Consequently they must be treated with care and respect if we are aiming for clarity and impact when we use them.
I learned this lesson many decades ago so let me tell you how it happened.
“A house is not a home.” My father was adamant.
I must have been about ten or twelve years old; it was a mealtime and I had been sounding off about something or other. I have no idea what I’d said to elicit this from Dad but my memory of that situation and his response to me is very clear. He was firm, very firm. But gently so as he went on to explain what he saw as the difference.
“A house is a building”, he said; “nothing more – bricks and mortar; walls and a roof. A house is not a home until people are occupying this sheltering structure. Even then it is not a proper home if those residing there do not care about each other; were not considerate, respectful of each other; welcoming to strangers and willing to share whatever they had, however little that might be.
A shed, a tent or a bark humpy could be just as much a home as a fancy mansion. Indeed, a fancy mansion where there is no peace; where people are always fighting, abusive, rude, or out to take others down is no home at all. A place where everything is only for show, designed to impress; aligned to elicit awe and admiration from visitors but is, in fact, a veneer for misery could never ever be a home.”
My parents lived their beliefs and, apart from the values such conversations inculcated in me, this particular episode stuck. It gave me a great respect for the importance of accuracy in my use of language as well as triggering a lifelong fascination for the subtle differences in the meanings of words.
A few years later, a High School English teacher emphasised the point but in a different way. He was talking about the nature of poetry and told us that, in essence, poetry was:
“The very best words arranged in the very best order”
As a budding writer I remember thinking, “Surely that applies to anything I write, not just poetry?” At the time, like Brer Rabbit, I just lay low and said nuffin’ – I was far too shy to question someone I saw as an expert. But those words stuck and became a guiding light; a light that is far from easy to follow all the time, believe me!!
Many, many years later my sister-in-law, Nancy, completely and unintentionally in this matter of word precision, turned the tables by setting me straight on the use of another word (as well as the importance of care when conversing with littlies).
This time it was her grandchildren who were involved. They’d been excitedly telling me about something planned for their father that was to be a surprise. I’d responded along the lines of “So you’re being careful to keep it a secret?” At which point Nancy told me that, in their home, they don’t talk about “having secrets”. It was always “Keep the surprise”.
Discussing it later, out of earshot of the small ones, she told me that they wanted to ensure the children were brought up in an atmosphere where openness was the norm as they felt that “keeping secrets” could lead to trouble down the track.
Despite my fascination with words and unrelenting passion for accurate usage, it was something I’d never thought of before! Point taken! And appreciated!!
Language is communication. It can be subtle and suggestive. Words are powerful. And the implications of those words can be even more powerful. So it behoves us as writers to consider every word we write with the utmost care – but not in the initial first draft stage where we simply spit out our ideas; get it all down out of our heads and onto paper.
The “working with words” bit is part of the editing process. But that is another story for another day.
Over Christmas break, I was asked to read through and critique a friend’s murder/mystery novel. It was a historical novel set in a South Australian location. I had previously got the gist of the storyline from the author’s presentation to the critique group we both attend.
LE the author provided me with a proof copy of her novel. This is a brilliant idea and has inspired me to produce a proof version of my next novel for my beta readers and reviewers. The beauty of a proof copy is that you read the novel as if it is a completed novel but you can scribble comments and use a red pen on the proof. Getting a proof copy through a self-publishing platform or a local printer is usually low cost so you can get several copies for your critique readers. The author can then amend the downloaded novel on whatever platform is used and release the edited final version.
I got a proof copy of my first novel from Draft2Digital and believe the cost was $40+ dollars. Proofs through Amazon are cheaper. It would be a good idea to do some research prior to getting a proof copy printed.
LE also provided a questionnaire for her critique readers. Another really sensible option that gets you the feedback you want. The questionnaire covered:
Title feedback
Plot clarity.
Setting place and time
Interest engagement
Character engagement
Dialogue suiting each character
Character arcs for the main protagonists
Pacing
Word usage and wordiness/repetition
Consistent POV
Show and tell
Tone/style of writing suit the period
Amount of description vs action
Satisfying ending
Overall readability and clarity
Additional feedback
In addition, I would have asked if the cover and blurb accurately reflect the content and engage the readers’ interest.
LE’s questionnaire mostly covers the type of feedback one would get from a structural edit. This may also be called a manuscript appraisal. It is the bones of the novel and generally doesn’t include items such as spelling, grammar and punctuation but that depends on the person doing the critique what, and how much they choose to focus on. The structural edit focuses on the plot, pacing and if the characters engage with the reader. It is about ensuring the book is interesting enough for the reader to get to the end with a satisfied smile.
A line or copy edit usually covers correct word usage, research accuracy, time lines, un-necessary repetition, consistency with names, places and descriptions. It also covers overuse of words or phrases, dialogue tags, too many adverbs, head hopping with POVs and grammar, punctuation and spelling. The copy edit makes your work more readable and easier to understand so you can get to the end with a satisfied smile.
The proof edit may pick up some of the above if they’ve slipped through the eagle eyes of the copy editor but usually focus on formatting, typos and glitches rather than major problems with the writing style. Some readers find glitches and typos really annoying but unfortunately they do sneak in even with novels that are traditionally published. Annoying but it shouldn’t be so pervasive that they stop your reader getting to the end with a satisfied smile.
I have read LE’s novel once through and made some initial comments but will read it again to focus on the structural elements requested in the feedback.
Being in a critique group provides me with a wonderful opportunity to really study my fellow writers’ work and makes me think through what a good novel is all about. I have found I’m getting better at picking up my own mistakes and my own work improves in this process.
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