Stuart Aken's Blog, page 268

Whether and When to Use The Definite Article?

The problem of 'the' isever 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 aspecial item. So, 'an oak tree' is an entirely different proposition from 'theoak tree'. The former is just one member of the forest, without distinction andlacking the importance of that definite article. The latter, of course, iselevated into a position of superiority by its adjective, which identifies itas not just one of the crowd, but a particular tree. It may be that thisspecimen 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 theirtime renowned for their displays of alfresco affection. Maybe it was thelocation chosen by furtive agents who secreted their folded and encryptedmessages within that famous knot hole only five feet from the ground and thusalmost brought the State to a state of collapse.
You get the drift.
The 'the' can, and oftendoes, convey an idea of importance on the subject it describes.But, what of thoseoccasions when writers use it to describe the ordinary? 'Jonathan walked thelength of the lake shore, skimming the flat stones over its surface.' Here wehave a sentence with three instances of 'the' in just 15 words: 20% of thesentence consists of the definite article! Can we improve it without alteringthe sense?
'Jonathan walked thelength of the lake shore, skimming flat stones over its surface.' Because, inthis case, the 'the' is immaterial with regard to the stones, we can exclude itwithout 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 stonesover the lake surface, as he walked its (entire) shore.' Reduced wordage,cutting the definite article to one example, but saying the same thing. Whetherit's a better sentence, I leave to your judgement.
Let's try another:
'The weary travellerwandered lost in the forest, surrounded by the trees; the leaves cutting outthe light of the sun and making the experience frightening.'
This is a terriblesentence. Oh, it says everything the writer intended. But the pace is poor andthere are far too many words, especially definite articles. Let's try toimprove it.
'The weary travellerwandered lost in the forest, surrounded by trees; leaves cutting out sunlightand making the experience frightening.'
Better: the pace is betterafter removal of the unnecessary definite articles, but the sentence stilllacks sparkle. It tells the reader what is happening, but fails to show it.
'Lost amongst endlesstrees, Aglydron trembled and longed for rest and an end to his difficult journey.'I'm not suggesting this isby any means perfect. But, I think you'll agree it's an improvement. We've lostthe 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 shownthe reader how he feels, instead of telling him, giving the whole a greater emotionaldepth. And we've reduced the original 26 word sentence to 17 words, therebyincreasing pace. The final sentence retains not a single definite article, butthe 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 haveyour suggestions, if you wish, along with your comments.
'The sexy woman walkedacross the sand of the beach, conscious of the eyes of the men following the progressshe made, as the bikini barely concealed the parts of the lovely body she movedquickly toward the sea, so the waves would hide the shyness she felt.'
Another silly questionfor you to ponder: Why, oh why, do we always press harder and harder on aremote control when we know the batteries are dying?

The Writing Week

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.

Alphabetical Order, a Play by Michael Frayn, Reviewed

Michael Frayn - Cambridge - 2011 (Photo credit: Chris Boland)
Plays are, of course, intended to beseen, experienced, rather than read. However, as a writer who has had a radioplay broadcast by the redoubtable BBC, I have an interest in play scripts, andenjoy reading them as well.
Michael Frayn has a reputation as aplaywright who understands comedy. And AlphabeticalOrder is a great example of his strength in creating humour. The stagesetting remains unchanged throughout the 2 acts, except for some 'tidying'essential to the story. So, the whole action takes place within the library ofa local newspaper and involves the librarians and some of the reporting andeditorial staff.
Having worked on a local paper, as aphotographer, I have some empathy with the characters portrayed and someunderstanding of their peculiar pressures and priorities. The characters arewell drawn, using the playwright's only real tool; that of dialogue. It'spossible to picture them on the stage from the script, because they are so welldescribed by their chosen words and what they have to say or what is said aboutthem 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 andrelationship development. There are plenty of jokes and many occasions given tolaughter, both with and at the characters. But there is pathos too. The aura ofgentle decay and the overriding sense of futility combine with the overallfrivolity of the dialogue, which hides those secrets that lurk beneath thesurface of the spoken text. So, there are some surprises but the drama playsout more or less as expected.
The denouement is slightly surprising inthe way it happens, but the reader realises that the outcome was, in fact,inevitable, given the natures of the characters and their employment. Typicalof the very English setting and characterisation, there is a lot more beneaththe surface, unstated but alluded to, making the play a multi-layeredexperience.
I enjoyed this, and recommend it tothose who enjoy their drama in thoughtful but gentle comedy form.

Read My Novel, Free: Chapter 6.

Breaking Faith is publishedas 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.



If you missed the start, here'sthe link: http://stuartaken.blogspot.com/2012/01/read-free-my-novel-here.html
I posted Chapter 1 on 13January, following chapters appear each Friday and can be found via thearchive.
Read, enjoy, invite yourfriends.
Chapter 6
Tuesday 16th March
The kitchen was warm withthe 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 revealingsupport tights clinging to her size twenty-two thighs.'How about it, big boy? Want a good time with abig, 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 ofany woman's husband, Leighton Longshaw? Any case, he'd be pleased if anotherman 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'tyou? Been here a couple of months. Don't usually last that long.'Ma slipped bacon, eggs and mushrooms from thefrying 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 marryhim.''Oh, Ma! You've made him go all pale, look. He'dbest not have that breakfast, feeling as sick as that.''Hands off, Jenny. Hop it, and let me eat inpeace.''Such charm. No wonder he has them all falling athis 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 andyelled out of the back door for Old Hodge to come in for his breakfast. Jenny bent close, apparently intent on kissing myear, but pinched a mushroom off my plate instead. She grinned and backed outthrough the office door.'Tomorrow, you'll pay for that.'From the office, she shouted her obscene reply ofhope and closed the door before I had time to accept or reject.Ma returned to dish out Old Hodge's breakfast. Theold man came in and lifted his cap to scratch his head before he sat downopposite me. 'T'old ash in yon corner'll not last through another storm.''You've been predicting the felling of that tree forsixteen years; ever since I came to live here.''Longer than that, Leigh. He used to tell yourUncle Fred it were in imminent danger every spring. I reckon that tree'lloutlast the lot on us.'I began opening the post; a lilac enveloperevealing a four-page letter. A photograph fell from between the sheets,followed by a folded promotional leaflet. I picked up the picture and studiedthe smiling woman in her body paint, before turning to the pale leaves of handwritten text. 'Zizi sends her love to both of you. Hopes to pop up for mybirthday.''Don't know why you don't marry Zoë. She adoresyou and she's so kind.''Sexy, stunning, heart of gold.' Old Hodgeexamined the photograph appreciatively and passed it to Ma.'Never changes. You'd not think she was the sameage 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'tleave London, and I'm certainly not leaving Longhouse to live down there, forall the business it might bring.' I lay the letter aside and looked at theleaflet. 'It's the Photographic Show at Olympia end of May. I'll probably godown for a couple of days. Zizi's invited me to stay.''You take advantage of that girl. She deservesbetter.''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 haveto 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 hearthe radio this morning? Prices have risen by seventy per cent in the past threeyears! Ridiculous; no wonder everyone's going bust.'The last two letters were from overseas and Iviewed the envelopes suspiciously. From the German one I pulled out a singlesheet typewritten in schoolboy English with a smaller piece of paper stapled tothe back of the top left corner. 'Bugger me!' I looked at the cheque and passedit 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 thecheque. 'Well, that'll keep the house warm for a while anyroad. What's it for?'I read the letter again. 'I've no idea whatthey're talking… hang on. Of course! You remember the place that madeindustrial fastenings, went bust and was bought by a German firm?''Did a catalogue and some advertising stuff forthem as I recall. Never paid you a penny.''They have now. It's funny; the letter refers tomy communication to them and apologizes for the delay in paying. Last time Iwrote 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, butthat can't be right.''What about the one from the States?'I opened the other envelope and pulled out anotherletter with a cheque attached. This time I looked at the amount before I readthe letter. 'Bloody hell! Must be my lucky day. It's in dollars but I'd sayit's for twice the other one! Someone up there loves me.''Letter mention anything about a reminder from youon 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 anyslides, but that's how they say they identified them as mine, and I definitelydidn't write a letter to …''Faith did. She told me she'd been going throughyour bad debtors file. Said there were over thirty unsettled accounts in thereand none of 'em touched for nearly three years.''I've been busy.''Aye. I reckon she's brought in her salary for ayear and a half, or more, Leigh. Shame you got shot of her. Wonder who'sgaining from her efforts now?''Shit!'Ma and Old Hodge exchanged meaningful glances andI knew I was in for advice or criticism; probably both.'Look, it wasn't my fault she left. I never meantfor her to go.''Perhaps you should've told her.'I couldn't out-stare Old Hodge so I looked at theletter 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 lasswith no experience is bound to have a proper grasp of the big bad world. Boundto know more'n a businessman who's travelled and seen life, been educated andhad a few advantages. No, you're right, Leigh; bound to be her fault there wasa 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 heunderstands them or owt.''True enough. Always been honest about that, hasour Leigh. Still, bright and able lass like that shouldn't have any troublefinding work with only a million or more out of work and no transport out thevillage, should she?''None at all. Mind, let's be fair, Ma. He's notsaid he'll not try to get her back, has he?'I knew I was beaten. But I wasn't ready to admitit. Faith's accusation had stung and still irked me. That I could see sometruth in her assessment made it even more difficult to accept. I looked at thetwo cheques and the accompanying letters again. Her efforts had brought in afifth of my annual turnover. There was no doubt I owed her. And I certainlymissed 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 hisplate. '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 andOld Hodge took it. He turned in the doorway, lifted his cap and scratched hishead, all the time looking at me as if he expected something. 'Terribleaffliction, blindness.' He shook his head slowly and plodded off into thegarden, his body shouting disappointment.Merv was tying the apron round his waist as Ientered the finishing room. 'You're up for a bonus for that special job lastweek. 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 withthe other no-hopers. Fuckin' good whippin' from her father an' all if he's anysense. Serves 'er right, if you ask me.''I didn't ask you, Merv. But I want you to knowyou'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 'aveher tight little arse back 'ere if I were you.''Just as well you're not, then, isn't it? Sufficeit to say, if she decides to return, I expect you to treat her with morerespect.''Can't respect a skinny tart that don't know 'owto be a woman.''It's not a request, Merv, it's a requirement.' Istayed 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 butexposed 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 andpraised Faith.'So you're going to beg her to return? Doubtshe'll get any more for you. Can't be that many bad debtors in your files, canthere?''A few more, those two were by far the biggest.''There you are, then. She's done you a favour bydoing her job. I'd let her stay where she is. I mean, do you really want asquare 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 softand 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 inBradford. I'll be all today and most of tomorrow. Might stay over at Abdul's ifhe's got something on.''You mean if he's lined up one of his escort girlsfor you.''Me? Involve myself with a woman who sells it? Idon't think so. Not even if someone else is paying the bill.''Come back tonight, Leigh. I'll make it worth yourwhile.''I don't doubt it. Depends how long it takes andwhat 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 perfumemingled with the spray she used liberally.She stretched an arm up to pull me closer, hertongue parting my lips before she disengaged to speak. 'Don't go.''Living to earn.' I let her fall back onto therumpled ultramarine sheet. 'See you later.' 'Tease!''I'll make it up when I get back.'She groaned with frustration and punched thepillow as I left. I resisted the temptation and hurried downstairs.Packing my gear in the office, I missed Faith. Shewould have everything prepared and would wait by the gate to close it after me.As I was about to leave, Abby wandered in, wrappedin 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 placegoing.'She tongued her parted lips and stroked her handdown the flat of her belly to loiter in the short blonde curls.'Temptress. I'll see you later. 'Bye.' It wasn'teasy, but I left.            At the gate, I turned to look at the house and suddenly Imissed the way Faith would stand there until I left the lane end, not wavingbut watching and wishing me a safe journey. I wondered whether she would comeback after the way I'd let her go###
It's great that you wantto read the book here. But, if you can't wait for next week's instalment, checkthe links below. They'll take you to places you can buy either as a paperbackor 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

Image via Wikipedia
Howdo you go about reviewing a work that must have been described, analysed andgenerally pulled apart by thousands of readers, writers, scholars andprofessional reviewers? Well, as I see it, the only thing to do is give a very personalopinion.
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 atarget and I'm determined to hit it. The target? As a writer, to read andreview at least 52 books this year, all taken from my 'to read' list'. So, youhave my motivation.
Ihave yet to read most of the Bard's work. What I've so far managed has beenvery good. But I can't say that for All's Well That Ends Well. It reads like anapprentice piece, almost as if it was written by a different author, in fact.
Incommon with much of his work, Shakespeare took the original plot fromBoccaccio'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 texttedious. There was little that made me laugh and a great deal that felt likeunnecessary complication. In fact, the play, for me, would have worked muchbetter without a number of the scenes; some of which seemed to have no bearing onthe story at all.
Ofcourse, the language is brilliant most of the time, of course the charactersare written with the usual sureness of style and genius. But the whole doesn'tquite add up to the parts in this one. Naturally, there is the ever presentproblem for a modern reader that certain references no longer have the meaningthey did for the contemporary audience and this means that some of the jokesfall flat. Some of the words used have not been included in the staggeringtotal of new words that Will added to our language and context is then the onlyclue to their meaning.
Iwas able to follow the story, the plot, relatively easily. But some of thecharacters failed to display the qualities they were reported to carry by theirfellows. So, I could see no evidence, until the scene where he is hooded andtricked, of Parolles' reported wickedness. He came across as no more a villainthan others in the play. Even his diatribe against Lafeu seemed relativelyjustified in light of the Old Lord's treatment of him. And it was difficult tounderstand Helena's infatuation for the superficial, opportunist and selfishBertram.
So,not a play I'm likely to go out of my way to watch, though it's my personalexperience that Shakespeare always comes alive when performed, especially by agood ensemble cast. I'm sorry if I've offended or upset the lovers of ournational poet, amongst which I count myself, but this one was a disappointment.

Faith Introduces Herself to Readers

Stuart's asked me to giveyou 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 BreakingFaith along with Leigh. I hope that some of my rather strange background camethrough that narrative but there will be elements that you will either not knowor be unfamiliar with, of course.When I first started towork for Leigh, I was still imbued with my father's rather strange brand ofChristianity and I was determined to develop Leigh's conscience and convert himinto a devout follower of my religion. I don't tell you a lot about that aspectin the book, because I didn't want to come across as too evangelical. As ithappened, I quickly learned that Heacham was in the wrong and that Leigh, forall his unusual and, dare I say, unconventional ways, was often in the right.But I'm getting ahead ofmyself. Let me set the scene. I was brought up for the first few years as partof 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, tome, relatively normal and although he was always a very strict parent, heseemed no more odd or different than any other parent, until Mother left himand took my youngest sister, Charity, with her. It was then that I certainlynoticed changes in my life. I was very young but I was expected to take over mostof the duties my mother had carried out. Heacham was a man who gavethe impression of being pious. It was only later I learned how truly awful hewas, not only as a father but as a man. However, I was placed in a positionwhere I was required to look after him domestically as well as nurse myseverely disabled sister, Hope. She, of course, had no hope of ever becominganything other than a baby in a woman's body. But I didn't know that until Iwas a lot older. My life was difficult and restricted, as I was no longerallowed to attend the local school but was taught by Heacham. His teaching tookthe form of indoctrination with his peculiar form of narrow-minded Christianitytaken from the Bible and some books of sermons by a rather extreme clergyman. Iwas allowed an atlas, and a dictionary and two volume encyclopaedia, both of whichhe censored for all sexual matters apart from the purely biological aspects. Wehad no television, no radio and he would allow no magazines or newspapers inthe house. Living in an isolated cottage well out of the small Dales village, Ihad virtually no contact with children or with other adults. This obviouslyleft me with a very odd view of the world. But I was a quick learner and lovedto read. As a result, I picked up a wide vocabulary and a knowledge of manythings that most people never come across.For exercise, I did thehousework, kept Hope free of bedsores by massaging and manipulating her limbsand body, walked the local hills and swam in the isolated tarn up the hill fromour cottage. I loved the freedom of those few hours, away from home andfather's constant watchfulness. I would strip to my skin and plunge into thefreezing clear water and splash about until I was thoroughly tired. By the timeI 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 ofcover. He told me it was to save my clothes from becoming stained and dirty. I knownow that it was to afford him a sexual thrill of both watching me andcontrolling me in a state of more or less permanent exposure.He indoctrinated me tobelieve that most men and women were inherently evil and would eventually spendeternity in the fires of Hell. If I erred, even slightly, he would beat me withhis hand, a cane or his belt, always on my naked skin. He told me he was savingmy soul and I believed him. We prayed together every morning and each eveningbefore bed. He attended some old barn that he and a few other men with similarviews had converted into their meeting place, which he called their chapel. When I first started towork with Leigh and discovered his free-thinking ideas and his openness towardnudity and sex, I thought he must be the most wicked man alive. His models wereall beautiful and showed no shame or shyness in displaying their entire bodiesfor his camera. I was initially incensed and later intrigued. But, though Leighgave all the appearance to my uneducated mind of being a wicked heathen, Iquickly learned that he was a kind, warm, generous and basically good man. Isuppose it was inevitable that I would fall in love with him, as the only othermature male I had any contact with. Apart, that is, from his printingassistant, 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 andthose I came into contact with. If you haven't read it yet, I can only pointyou in the direction of this blog, where Stuart's posting the whole book for youto read, free of charge, a chapter at a time. I hope you get as much out of readingmy story as I did from telling it from my point of view and learning Leigh's viewof things along the journey.

Dead Men's Fingers, by Tyler Brentmore, Reviewed.

Asa teenager, when our first TV arrived, I loved to watch Westerns. But I'venever read one, until Tyler Brentmore's DeadMen's Fingers came my way. I downloaded this book to Kindle for PC, readingfrom the screen in a way I generally avoid. That's how involving a story itwas. Against all the odds, I felt compelled to read it.
Theauthor has a great facility with words and molds language into sentences andparagraphs that drive the story forward at a gallop. But, at the same time, thecharacters are graphically drawn in a way that brings them alive. The action issuperbly presented and grips the reader as each challenge increases thetension. The hero and his female counterpart are fully rounded, both possessinghidden qualities, and pasts, that are only vaguely hinted at until the storydemands revelation.
Thatthe writer has researched extensively is evident by the period detail and theway that the reader is not merely talked through the landscape but actuallyexperiences it with all its fierce and wide-open qualities. You taste the dust,feel the burning sun, drown in the swollen river, cower in the darkness of astarless sky in the centre of a continent peopled mostly by enemies, and wonderat the vast spaces to be crossed by the wagon train.
Thisis more than merely a traditional western tale, though the book can easily beread on that level. Multi-layered, the story examines prejudice, the mind-setof the mob, courage, honesty, evil versus good, and even love.
Iwould have read this at one sitting, had circumstances allowed. As it was, I hadto take a break and read it in two sessions. I thoroughly enjoyed theexperience and can happily recommend this to anyone who enjoys stories starringreal heroes and heroines.

The Writing Week.

Another busy, if interrupted, week.
I had begun the read aloud edit session of the NaNoWriMo novel (provisionally titled An Avenger Unseen) and got as far as chapter 15 before I realised it needed some major surgery. I'm writing this as a comedy thriller, with the emphasis on the comedy. But I realised I'd gone too deeply into the thriller aspect, and my male protagonist had adapted a tone unsuitable to his narrative. So, I went back to the beginning and I've so far re-written the first 5 chapters.
I've written a short story, which will need editing next week. And I completely re-wrote a story I'd started some time ago and never submitted. This one has gone to the Writers & Artists Yearbook contest. Wish me luck! If you're interested in entering writing competitions, you might have a glance at the page tabbed 'Writing Contests' above. There are a great many links to such contests there.
And I finished reading and have therefore reviewed, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes. The review is just below this post if you're interested.
Kate was home for the weekend and she's just returned, her boyfriend driving her to the station for her train.
It's my brother, Steve's, birthday tomorrow, so we had he and his lovely wife, Alison, round for the evening last night. Great night, but too much wine meant I wasn't up to much writing this morning!
The car has now been serviced and is again safe and quieter for the replacement of the box on the exhaust.
And the drive is now clear of snow, which is slowly melting away anyway.
Those are the interruptions I mentioned. I like to think of them as reasons for not having done much, but I know they're really excuses.
That, however, is enough for now.

The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, Reviewed.

Itmust all have been said, of course. So, this review is likely to say more aboutme than about the author or his tales. In common with most people, I'vewitnessed the transfer of the written words onto the small screen in manyversions and for many of the stories held in this collection. That connectionnaturally informs the reader. I enjoyed the reading, but, unusually for me,found the TV programs more entertaining and even more credible.
Thereare passages of fairly wooden dialogue and some of the descriptions of eventsleave a lot to be desired. The plots are, of course, wonderfully intricate,surprising and satisfying, as you'd expect. But there is a lot that thereader's expected to accept on trust. I suspect that much of the 'deduction' isopen to question if analysed in any depth. Holmes expresses certainty aboutmatters than can often only really be conjecture. But none of this detractsfrom the experience, of course.
ConanDoyle is as much a part of the English psyche as Dickens and Shakespeare andit's a brave man who would criticise such genius.
Ittook me rather longer to read this anthology than I'd expected; all sorts ofinterruptions took me away from the reading, but I also found I wasn't ascompelled to read as I have been with many other books.
Gentleand often quite homely, apart from the more violent stories, the style isdefinitely of its time. I suspect many young readers will find some of thereferences so obscure as to be meaningless, but that's part of the charm. Likemost readers, I approached this book fully aware that my previous exposure tothe characters and some of the stories was bound to influence the experience.
Onesmall technical niggle: whoever formatted the book for the Kindle, on which Iread this, made a poor job of work on the symbols and the foreign punctuation.There's hardly a story that doesn't contain an odd set of characters eitherrepresenting the £ sign or some of the French accents.
Thiswas an interesting read without being astounding or particularly instructivefor a writer. Would I read more? Probably not. Did I enjoy what I read? By andlarge, yes.

Read My Novel, Free: Chapter 5.

Breaking Faith is publishedas 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.



If you missed the start, here'sthe link: http://stuartaken.blogspot.com/2012/01/read-free-my-novel-here.html
I posted Chapter 1 on 13January, following chapters appear each Friday and can be found via thearchive.
Read, enjoy, invite yourfriends.
Chapter 5
Friday 12th March
'Can't understand it, OldHodge; lass 'as been eating my dinners for a month or more and she's not put anounce on. If owt, she's getting thinner.'Old Hodge looked up from his steaming mug of teaand assessed me before he turned to her and replied. 'Ma, for a wise old woman,you're lacking in summat if you can't see what's blindingly obvious.'She said nothing, knowing he would explain.'Where's this lovely lass live?'Ma nodded. ''Course, every day she walks four milehere and four mile back across them fields and fells.'Nothing much had changed in the weeks since thatfirst night. My routine at home was just the same but, since starting work atLonghouse, I was happier than I had ever been, in spite of the tiredness.I came out of my reverie to find Old Hodge and Malooking at me as if they expected me to say something.'Your father has your supper ready when you gethome, o'course?' Ma's question was phrased in such a way I could not tellwhether she was being sarcastic.'Oh aye, bound to, a good Christian gentleman like'im. He'll like as not have a nice warm bath ready and your slippers warming bythe fire.' Old Hodge, however, made it patently obvious by his tone what hethought of Father.'And there'll be no question of you nursing thatlump o' dead meat that's your sister.''Leave Hope out of this, both of you.''Am I daft, Old Hodge, that I never thought onit?''Nay, Ma. Soft in t'ead, perhaps, but I'd not goas far as daft.''You're a comfort and no mistake.'I took the mug of tea Ma offered me and dunked achocolate digestive in it. 'The way that terrible old man insults you, Ma.''I know. Things you 'ave to put up with whenyou're married.''Perhaps you should leave him?''He'd only starve without me. That, or more likelyfind some pretty young wench willing to share his bed and send him on his waybefore his time.'I smiled through my blush. The colour deepenedwhen Old Hodge leant forward and whispered in my ear, loud enough for Ma tohear. 'You'd teck care on a wise old man, Faith, wouldn't you? You'd not let mepine away for lack of affection, I know.'I had changed so much in those weeks that Ilaughed and pushed him softly away with my palm over his face. 'You're wicked,Old Hodge. You'll never get to Heaven.''Happen I'm not off there anyroad. T'other placesounds warmer and more interestin'. All them 'arps an' singing's not for me.''Old Hodge!' I almost quoted the Bible at him butstopped myself: things that were Father's entire life impressed no one at Longhouse.'You go too far! Faith's still got beliefs, evenif you haven't. Wicked man. Finish that tea and get back outdoors to thatgarden where you belong.' Old Hodge grinned at his wife and winked at me.Unable to condemn him, I responded with a rueful smile.'Look, that's no good at all, Faith. How am Isupposed to keep him under control if you undermine all my efforts?''Him, under control?' We turned at Abby's remark. She had come inunnoticed and smiled at our surprise. 'Old Hodge has only ever been controlledby Old Hodge. And always will be.'The old man made a great play of crossing to whereAbby waited. They embraced in a way that made me turn away, scandalized. Ma laughed delightedly at them, however. 'That'llcost you tonight, Old Hodge. And if you think you're getting a cuppa afterthat, you brazen hussy, you can think again.'They parted and pretended shame until Ma gave in.'Get out to your flowers and trees, you wicked oldman.' And she poured a cup of tea for Abby.'Any idea when Leigh's due back?' Abby sat besideme at the scrubbed kitchen table and stretched long legs out of pink hot-pantsonto a spare chair. Old Hodge made a great play of sneaking a look at hershapely limbs, whistled in admiration and then ducked out through the utilityroom before Ma could chuck her last bit of biscuit at him.'He expected to finish at the factory about two,so he'd be due back about half an hour ago, but he said he might drop intoJessop's on the way back for some film.''I thought it was your job to order stock? Why'she having to go into a shop?''It was something we don't normally keep.''And he has to have it in such a hurry that hethinks it's all right to be late back for my session?''As far as I know, Abby, it's for your session.She managed to flounce without standing. 'He'll belate and then we won't have time to do everything.''I shouldn't worry, I'm sure Leigh'll give you allthe attention you want, both in front of the camera and afterwards.''Not jealous, are we?''Of course I'm not jealous!' But I felt my colourrise and I wondered why.'He's not going to ask you to pose for him, orscrew you, till you've got some meat on your bones, sweetie. If you want Leighto notice you, and you do, you'll have to develop some curves to show you're a woman.He's not going to notice a bag of bones in dead women's cast-offs.''That's enough, Abby. You know Faith's no …''It's all right, Ma. I don't care about theopinion of a … a tart like her.''Tart, fart. Your problem, sweetie, is yourfanny's too tight.''Rather that than be open to any man willing toexpose his penis.' I had recently learned the word, after asking Leigh when Iwas trying to describe something Mervin had done to upset me. I had to askLeigh because Father had censored my encyclopaedia and dictionary.Abby cringed for an instant. 'Cow! I'm notsleeping with anyone but Leigh, and you know it.''For now. But I saw you with that rep the otherday. I wonder how long he'd have kept his trousers on if Leigh hadn't beenhome.''Bitch! At least I know what mine's for. You wantto get with it, Fay. You're so square you'd slot into a cardboard box.''Just because you've burnt your bra and allow yourbreasts their freedom, Abby, it doesn't mean your mind's liberated.' I waslearning more every day by reading Leigh's newspaper and listening to the radioin the kitchen. Two new and fascinating experiences.'At least my bra's worth setting on fire. Yourswouldn't warm a saucer of milk for the cat, even if you piled them all up andset fire to the lot. I've got tits. See? These are tits, Fay. All you've got isa pair of advanced boils. Tits look like this.''And very nice they are, too. But I'm not sureFaith's impressed.'We turned at Leigh's words, Ma shaking her head indespair, me just grateful for somewhere to look after Abby's display. But Abbysimply untucked the rest of her blouse and whipped it off, the better to showLeigh.'Lovely. But you might like to ditch the hot pantsif we're having a full on shoot. You know I can't have marks on your skin.'Abby stripped quickly and checked for impressionsleft by her clothes. A faint dimpled line circled her hips, marking the placewhere the hot pants had made contact. She wore nothing else, so there were noother marks on her perfect skin. 'It'll soon go.'Ma humphed at her and turned to Leigh. 'Have youeaten, Lad?''I'm fine, Ma. Grabbed a bite in the Directors'canteen. They like to call it their restaurant but it's nowt more than aglorified canteen. Food's not a patch on yours, but not too bad for a factory.''How did the job go, Leigh?''Fine, thanks. Take the films up for Merv, willyou, and tell him I need the proofs by tomorrow afternoon, so he'd best getthem deved now.'Being, as Leigh put it, out in the sticks, he hadto show he was up to speed with everything so he tended to do jobs in less timethan most of his competitors. It seemed to work; most of the businesses cameback for more once Leigh had done a job for them, anyway.I left the kitchen for the office, grateful to getaway from Abby's display but reluctant to visit Merv's den. I opened thealuminium case on Leigh's desk and took the films from the compartment. Pokingmy head round the kitchen door, I found Abby wrapped around Leigh as Ma made afresh pot of tea. 'Not left a part film in the 'Blad, have you, Leigh?''Do I ever? Should be five, love.'I left for the studio, my lips tight and my bodystill set with anger at Abby's words and actions. Empty and silent, the hugeroom continued to impress me. With no sun, soft grey skylight filtered throughthe windows. I wheeled a standard spot from the centre of the floor to thewall, its small rubber wheels rumbling along the wooden boards. I wasdetermined to keep the place tidy.In the darkroom, Merv was at the enlarger, maskinga shot of a hand holding a spanner. I could now recognize such things innegatives. The shot was for the cover of a tool catalogue Leigh was doing for amanufacturer in a city to the south.'What you want, Stick?'At least he no longer habitually used that otherword for me. I could put up with his insulting nickname. I put the films on thedry bench. 'Leigh wants you to dev these today and print them ready fortomorrow afternoon.''An' I want to shove this up you, but you'rescared of it, aren't you, Stick?'The gloom of the orange safety lamp hid myoutrage. He liked to make me blush. In spite of myself, my eyes wandered to theobject of his insult, its head barely peeping from the fist he had curled roundit.The first time he had shown me it, I had beenshocked. Later I had seen Leigh without his clothes for the first time. I foundLeigh as fascinating as Mervyn was repulsive and wondered why I should feelthis difference.'Staring, eh? Interested? Must want it up.'His insinuation inflamed my annoyance more becausehis words highlighted my guilty contemplation of Leigh than because of what hesaid.'Leigh warned you not to talk to me like…''You tell 'im an' I'll fuck you till you split andbleed…''I tell him, Mervyn and you're out of work. Thinkabout that.' And I left before either of us could say more.Churning over the experience and frightened anddisgusted by his threat to hurt me in that way, I went down the ladder to thestudio floor, arriving just as Leigh entered with Abby. I could not avoid thecomparison: Leigh was larger, limp, than Mervyn, erect. I looked up intoLeigh's face and raised my eyebrows in question, not really wanting to be therewhilst the pair of them cavorted in their skins. I still found Leigh'snakedness in the studio disturbing and embarrassing, even though it was Abbywho demanded it.'Just whilst we get set up. Once you've helped mearrange the lighting and background, you can run off back to the safety of theoffice.' He said it with a hint of condescension that had me bristling.Tight lipped, angry because of Mervyn's threat,Abby's scathing display and Leigh's implied criticism, I pulled spots, floodsand reflectors away from the walls into the centre of the room. I dropped thewhite background paper down, pulling it along to the foot of the tripod andfolding the soiled section underneath. The small mat and stool I plonked closeto the edge. Abby sat on the stool and imperiously held out her hand for atowel to wipe dust from the soles of her feet before she stepped onto the pristinesurface.Leigh set up the Hasselblad and took the lightmeter from his case, before he, too, wiped his feet and walked up to Abby.I watched her pose, thrusting her hips forwards inan effort to reach his as he stood before her. 'Am I lighting you for pornographyor are you going to skip the photography and go straight to the sex?' I don'tknow what made me say it.Abby gasped and stood up straight. Leigh turnedslowly to face me. I knew I had upset him, but I was angry and I felt confusedby some emotion inside me that I could not identify but that made me resentAbby's behaviour with Leigh. Her comment about jealousy still rankled and thatmade me angrier with her and myself.'The issue of sex is between Abby and I. As forpornography, you know I don't hold with it.'I recognized the warning in his voice but I wasboiling inside with feelings repressed for too long. 'I wonder why you engagein it so often, if you dislike it so much.'Abby watched with her hands clutched together andher mouth agape. Leigh gripped the light meter tightly and shook it at me. 'Idon't know what this is about, Faith, but I advise you to cut it out.''Advise away. It won't alter the fact that youtake pornographic pictures and try to pass them off as something you call art.Anyone with half an eye can see it's just an excuse to get women to take offtheir clothes in front of you and make promises with their bodies. Art! It'ssex. That's all it is. Sex.''There's nowt wrong with sex. But what I do withmy camera isn't connected with sex in that way. My pictures of women celebratetheir beauty.'His measured tone should have warned me. This moodwas a step away from temper. But I had to say what had been building in me forweeks as I learned more facts and more language than I had ever encounteredunder Father's narrow tutelage. 'Celebration? Women showing all they've got toall and sundry? It's exploitation and you know it. No matter how you wrap itup, no matter how you describe it, Leigh, it all comes down to pornography in theend. I just wish you'd be more honest about it, that's all.'Leigh must have been doubly insulted, hearing hisown words re-arranged and thrown back at him by the pupil he had so recentlytried to teach about art and morality.Abby was almost as cross as Leigh but remainedsensibly dumb. Leigh took a step forward and stopped, his control plain in thetense muscles of his whole body. His voice dropped almost to a whisper. 'If youfeel like that, Faith, you'd better leave now. Go!''With pleasure.' I turned and strode from thestudio, my footsteps echoing and hollow. At the door I turned. 'Will you postmy P45 or should I come back for it?''I'll post the bloody thing, if that's how youfeel.'I glared at him for a long moment before I turnedaway. In the office, I gathered my things together, put on my coat and shoesand left at once. I did not tidy up, fearing Leigh might come in and saysomething else.Even before I reached the gate, I wondered if hehad really meant I was sacked. Had he just expected me to leave the studio? Itwas too late now. It was done.I set off down the damp cold lane for the cottage,to face scorn, anger and the well-deserved shame and pain of punishment fromFather for losing my job by voicing my own ill-informed opinions.

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