Nigel Gordon

If anything this one is better than it predecessors, if that is possible.

Bruin, I liked it. There is definitely the start of a story here. Might have liked a bit more characterization but the character foundation is clearly there and there is scope for development as the story progresses, so overall well done.

Well, here is my assignment for week three. Please comment on it but if you are on the course I hope some of you get this as your review assignment but that seems unlikely as it is a random allocation. The splash of the drop falling from the leaf into the carp pond called Paul’s attention back from the past to the present. He sat still in the classic pose of a zen adept, portraying a sense of calmness and inner peace, it was a masterful illusion. The rain fresh fragrance of the garden drifted in on him, carrying with it more memories that added to the turmoil that existed within him. It was over thirty years since those memories were formed and now he was back to deal with them, what though was there to deal with? A bush warbler started to sing, confirming that despite the bitter chill spring had arrived. Paul sat motionless looking out across the garden through the open doors, waiting. The shadow of the cherry tree moved round and fell upon the pond, the warbler ceased to sing. Gravel crunched under geta. Paul’s attention focused on the ascending path that led up to the tea garden. He was amazed that his visitor looked so small, he could only remember a giant. The man walked slowly up the path, supporting himself on a stick at points, Paul noticed that despite the geta raising him up above the wet ground splashes of red mud stained the bottom of his white hakama. The man approached and stood outside the doors to the tea house. He was small and old, nothing like what Paul remembered. Their eyes met and for a moment they held each others gaze then Paul’s hands moved forward onto the mat in front of him, his body bent forward in a bow. Yashiro-san he whispered in a voice that reverberated around the tea house.

I bet there was some swearing in the Kremlin last night, the Russians got booed during the Eurovision Song Contest and it was won by a Bearded Drag Queen, who Russia had said should have been excluded from competing.

Graeme, many thanks for this story, it was well written and delightfully insightive where it needed to be. I can't wait to see the sequel.

Having not been to a Public School, I can't say how much socialization there is between forms. I do have some friends who met at Eton where one was in the fifth form and the other third form, so I think some mixing does take place. Actually from what I know about such schools there is quite a bit of cross form activity, such as music and sports. Also I did not say the boy was in the third form, what I said was he was in the third year but doing fifth form mathematics. To be honest I don't know what form he is in. Also, if you read Mihangel's writing about public school you will see that there is mixing between the forms. More important than your form is your house, there will be boys from all the forms in the house.

Cole, I think the confusion arises from the difference between Form and Year. Normally ones year in the independent sector school equates to one's form, e.g. when you are in your first year at a school you will be in the first form, but this is not a hard and fast rule. Someone who is particularly bright might be pushed up a form, overall or for specific subjects. A friend has been very keen on telling me that his nephew, who is in his third year at a nearby public school is in the fifth form for mathematics. One reason the forms reset in public schools (remember in England that means the elite private schools) at the start of each school is that pupils may be coming in from a number of different educational backgrounds, not all will be arriving via the prep school route. Some will be coming from overseas institutions which will have their own system, some from state education system (which has a different system based on years not forms) and others from home education.

You are so right there Des, I've fallen into that trap more than once.

Personally I would agree with you Cole but Ishiguro did not leave me with that option.

That is something I came across in another creative writing course I did. We were often given exercises with very tight word count limits. The one thing that the teacher always stated we needed to get into any story was the Who, When and Where no matter how short it was. I think my shortest was: She ran breathless onto the platform to see the twenty fifteen for St Pancras vanishing into the distance. Unfortunately that was three words over the limit. The problem is, when trying to cut a story to a limit, that you have such a knowledge of the background to a story that you often think something is obvious so it can be cut out, whilst in fact it is not obvious to the reader who has no idea of the background. I think the Who, When and Where rule is a useful guide.

Cole, I read your piece and enjoyed it, my apologies for not commenting sooner. There was one thing though that I found off putting, I got no sense of place. Where was it that these two characters were interacting? If I had that I would have more feeling as to what the relationship between them was. I could not work out if they were boyfriends, room-mates or just friends. Nigel

Oh, you must meet Miss Jenkins. I am just about to send off to my editor a story "Miss Jenkin's Work". The little old lady is certainly the nasty Miss Marple. Hopefully Mike will accept it in due course. Nigel

Thanks Cole for your comments and my apologies for not commenting on yours, must admit I have been rather lacks in participating after I started this discussion. Can only plead time pressure. Retirement turns out to be very busy. Agnus is a variation on Agnes though I believe its usage is very localized to part of Northern England, I had a Great Aunt Agnus which is where I got the name from. She once told me, when I was about eight and I think she was in her nineties, that it meant Lamb, my comment was something to the effect I thought she was more the sheepdog to which according to family legend she laughed and said "a bloody great Alsatian no doubt." I can't remember it but the story was told a number of times at family gatherings. Your point about the bitter cold being driven out by something warm is an area where I had problems. I wanted to suggest that it had been very cold and was now less cold but still cold, as stated by the fact that there was still ice underfoot. I'm not really certain how to cope with that, isn't that why we have editors? They have not mentioned that part of writing yet. The eight or nine steps is totally a continuity error on my part. There was a paragraph in which the young man crossed the road before Agnus got to the ally but I cut it out due to word count and it did not really add anything. However, I forgot to amend the following paragraph to allow for the change. “Tommy darling, I’ve a package that needs disposing of…” I really was trying to be a bit too cleaver here, there was a TV series in the 1960s, which I cannot now remember the title of, but when the hero had a dead body he would phone up his backup and say he had a package for disposal. Hopefully this story might well one day escape from the shackles of the limited word count. Agnus Grey is a character I have had floating around for years. The name is from my Great Aunt but the character is from somebody I knew who had a rather questionable past, was a crack shot but looked like Joan Hickson as Miss Marples http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/b/b5/Joan_Hickson.jpg. I have the outline for a book but have never quite been able to pull the storyline together. The story above came out of a comment during a radio interview where a elderly lady said how frighting it was to get money from a ATM when there were young people watching, how much nicer it had been when you could go into the bank and get it.

Well here is my story for this weeks exercise: Agnus Grey walked carefully along the pavement, stopping occasionally to glance into the shop windows. The bitter cold of the previous week had been driven out by the first brightness of spring but there were still patches of ice underfoot in places and at her age Angus could not afford a fall. She had caught sight of the young man as she was withdrawing some cash at the machine outside the bank. Now she had the impression that he was following her, though he was on the other side of the road. She disliked the feeling of being watched. Pausing for a moment outside the opticians, where she momentarily considered going in and making an appointment for a test, she adjusted her hat, taking advantage of the reflection in the window. The young man was still there, looking at her from across the street. As briskly as she dared, considering conditions underfoot, she turned into ally that led through to the bus station. Increasing her pace she took eight or nine steps before a hand on her shoulder pulled her round and pushed her into the ally wall. The smirk on the young man’s face as he reached for her bag changed first to surprise then to agony as six inches of steel hat pin slid in between his fifth and sixth ribs. Agnus looked down at the body and wondered if he was just an opportunistic petty criminal out of his depth or a professional who had identified her. Not that it mattered, the outcome was the same. She removed her phone from her handbag and called an unlisted number. “Tommy darling, I’ve a package that needs disposing of…” Once she had given instructions she proceeded on down the ally to the bus stop, catching the three forty five to Hendon. She seated herself next to elderly black lady, clearly on her way to church. By time they left the bus neither was carrying the hand bag they had boarded with.

Carny, I like you story, will be interested in seeing what comments it gets on the course discussion.. Nigel

I must admit that when I started to read this story I found myself somewhat put off by the references to Australian Rules Football, something I have no knowledge off and like most people on this side of the world, find completely baffling. Since then I have found myself increasingly drawn into this story and I have found myself, somewhat against my original expectation, fully involved with the characters. This is a fine and compelling story that deals with a number of issues very well and is exceptional well constructed and highly compelling. Can't wait for the next chapter.

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So will I, unfortunately it will not be till next week, I also doing two other FutureLearn course plus research for a PhD so I'm not in a position to get a week ahead at the moment.

I was on it from 07:50 GMT to 09:00 GMT with no problems.

Don't worry I did the same. Strangely enough I was in the British Library today and went to the cafe for some lunch, it was packed and had to share a table. The lady I was sharing with is also doing the course and she is a teacher of English Lit, she had the same opinion. So that is three of us who have got it wrong, or maybe the course has, they not infallible!

Cole, if you go to the courses page you will see that on the top right there is something that looks a bit like a wire clothes hanger. Click on that and you will get a menu which has the link to your profile on it. Nigel

Bruin, that is a problem with the platform they are using at the moment, it is almost impossible to find somebodies submission or even your own so you can look for comments. It is a problem I have had on other MOOCs I have done. Did raise this with FutureLearn a few weeks ago and they said they were working on a solution but it would be a few months before it was implemented. I gather the FutureLearn IT team at the British Library is quite small. Once you have found one of your fellow ADers if you select to Follow them you can then see their postings quite easily by going to your profile and selecting them from the list of those who you follow.

Colin I got a sufficient impression of the character to make me interested but not so much detail that I could not build my own image of the character.

Here is what I did for my first weeks exercises: One Truth, Three Fictions. The two nuns rode down the cycle path side by side balancing between their bikes a bath that sat precariously across the two luggage rakes. Niether Sister Angelic nor Sister Anna appeared put out by the load they were carrying as they chatted about the new Pope. “You say Sister Maria knows him Sister?” Sister Angelic turned slightly towards the source of the question. “Yes, Sister, it seems she comes from the same small village in Poland where the Holy Father was born. From what she said they virtually grew up together.” “I thought Sister that the Holy Father was younger than that,” Sister Anna commented, “Is it right that he was a Young Communist?” “Of course Sister any youth in the communist block had to be a Young Communist, it was a legal requirement.” “Ah, then it is good his faith was strong enough to make him a good Bishop.” One Fiction Three Truths The small Chinese man stood on the stage, towards stage left rear, holding a small round plate in front of him. He looked across the diagonal of the stage where his assistant raised the gun and pointed it towards him. As on so many nights the assistant took careful aim at the centre of the plate. He had done this hundreds of time before but tonight when he pulled the trigger the kick from the musket seemed stronger than normal and black smoke completely hid his view of the Chinese magician. There was a gasp from the audience. As the smoke cleared the assistant could see the magician lying there on the stage of the Wood Green Empire, blood seeping across his silk robes and frothing out of his mouth. Character Miss Grey checked her watch and then shook her head with a resigned sign of disappointment. It had been fifteen minutes since she had given the waitress her order and if it did not come soon she would not be able to enjoy her pensioner’s lunch before she had to leave for her appointment. She hated having to rush meals, anyway false teeth, even very good false teeth, made eating quickly difficult. The fingers of her liver spotted hand played a light tattoo of annoyance on the table top. She made a mental note to have a word with Maureen the manager next time she was in, unfortunately today was her day off.

Yes, religious freedom is something that can be used two ways.