Glad to report I've exceeded my target of 50000 words as of today.
Saturday 24 November 2007
Thursday 22 November 2007
Word Count Widgets | National Novel Writing Month
Word Count Widgets National Novel Writing Month: "
"
Well I've got this far. Now at 48,000 words and counting. Novel now has some shape to it and a little characterisation, but is mostly outline and story only.
"Well I've got this far. Now at 48,000 words and counting. Novel now has some shape to it and a little characterisation, but is mostly outline and story only.
Monday 19 November 2007
NanNoWriMo 2007
Well I've passed the half way mark and I'm doing well on the word count.
I now have coming up to 40000 words in the bank.
HOOOOOORAYYYYYYY
I now have coming up to 40000 words in the bank.
HOOOOOORAYYYYYYY
Sunday 4 November 2007
Garda Parker ~ Help along the way
Write Your Novel in 30 Days
—A 10-Step Guide
by Garda Parker
Copyright 2001-2007 Garda Parker. All rights reserved in all media.
The content of this article may be forwarded in full without special permission provided it is used for not-for-profit purposes and full attribution and copyright notice are given. For all other purposes, contact Beth Mende Beth@WriteDirections.com.
If you've always wanted to write a novel but didn't know where to start or how long it would take to finish (if, indeed, you did finish!), this article is for you. It gives you the tips you need to finish a draft in 30 days. How can you do this? One page at time, and it's easier than you think.
1) Know the kind of book you want to write
You probably do already; after all, you've been thinking about it for what seems like forever. Is it a historical or contemporary literary novel? Does it fall into genre category: western, mystery, science fiction, romance, horror, true crime, suspense, etc.?
2) Know your lead character(s)
Again, you probably have thought through at least one or two characters already. If you have more, all the better. Your opening scene should contain your lead character(s), so your readers know who is central to the story.
3) Keep a project notebook
Designate this notebook for your novel work alone. Pick one you are drawn to (e.g., one with a bright cover, one from high school or college that meant something special to you). Carry it with you whenever and wherever you can. (If you can't, carry a reporter's notebook or pad, so you can jot down thoughts to transfer to your notebook later.)
Once you start your novel, you'll quickly learn that you'll be thinking about your story all the time. Ideas and scenes will come to you. So, too, will traits about your character(s)—things like eye color, hair length, quirky clothing, tone of voice, etc. You may like to think you'll remember them all later, but you might not.
The best thing, then, is to write these "flashes" down when they come to you or as soon thereafter. When you're not writing, you can organize your notes into sections.
4) Plunge in!
To give yourself momentum, open the book with a strong scene that grabs your readers and brings them directly into the actions and thoughts of the protagonist. Write a great first sentence that catapults your hero or heroine in a new direction, and which sets the tone and pace for your book. This sentence will get your creative juices flowing. Example: "His bed was in the street!" Those few words set up several story questions: Whose bed? Why is it in the street? Who did it? How did it get there? What's he going to do about it?
5) Write a set number of pages daily
Understand this: You will have nothing to expand on, edit, polish or turn into a salable manuscript if you don't first get your story on paper. So aim to write a set number of pages daily. Exceed that number whenever you can, but try not to write less, no matter how difficult the writing is.
As a point of reference: If you write one page a day for 30 days, you'll have a 30-page draft. If you write five pages a day, you'll have a 150-page draft. If you write 10 pages a day, you'll have a 300-page draft.
No matter what works for you, you will have a story at the end of the period—if you meet your quota.
6) Write a quick-and-dirty draft
Step #5 above will be of great help here, as you give yourself permission to just write, to simply tell the story. Don't judge yourself or your writing here. Resist self-editing! For example, don't be concerned with chapter length. Let chapter breaks occur naturally. Just write and write until you have followed your novel to the end.
Later, in the revision stage, you will develop and flesh out scenes—or discard some altogether. Don't be concerned with or afraid of any of that. At this stage you are in full control ... until, that is, your characters take over and start surprising and guiding you!
7) Keep your novel to yourself to maintain your excitement and momentum
Resist the urge to tell others you're writing a novel. They'll ask you what it's about, you'll tell them, and then they'll tell you that the idea won't work, or that they've already read a book just like it, or any number of things that will deflate your ego and dissipate the energy you and your project require.
If you must tell someone what you're doing in order to protect your writing time (e.g., a significant other), then do it in as cursory a way as possible.
Further, resist showing what you've written to anyone else. This stage of your writing is for you and you alone.
8) Identify your best time to write
If you can manage it, do your writing at this time. This will ensure the Muse knows where to find you, for contrary to popular opinion, writers don't wait for the Muse to tap them on the shoulder and say: "I'm ready now."
If you're in the same place at the same time every day, with your hands on the keyboard or your pencil and yellow pad poised, your Muse will be grateful for the place to perch!
Taking down notes and thoughts can happen at any time throughout the day, which is why you carry a notebook. Writing your daily pages cannot, which is why you need to create your own schedule.
9) Don't stop to research
Research can be one of the most enjoyable elements of writing a novel. Downright fun, even. But researching is not writing!
Don't let a lack of information stop your writing flow. Example: You may need to know what gauges are spread in front of your pilot protagonist if he or she is in an unfamiliar aircraft. Maybe you have a vague idea but need to know the exact placement of the airspeed indicator. As you're writing, just insert a phrase enclosed by brackets, such as [need detail here]. Later, during your "off-writing time," when you have finished researching what you need, you can go back to flesh out the details.
10) Understand—and use—manuscript format, even at the draft stage
Know that manuscript format means you use:
an 8-1/2 X 11 page
1-inch margins all around
double spacing
a clear type font in 10 or 12 pitch
opening chapter paragraphs that start halfway down the page
25 lines to a full page (could be a line or two less. Generally, a 25-line page equals 250 words. This is important information to have when, later, an editor asks you for a word count.)
a header at the top left of every page that includes your last name and a slash mark followed by your title (in this down-and-dirty stage you can replace a working title with "Best-selling Novel" for motivation, if you wish)
page number on the right.
Using proper formatting—along with writing a set number of pages at a set time—helps you develop the good habits that will carry over to all other aspects of your writing. Further, it will help you see your progress in a professional form, so you'll more deeply appreciate the incredible work you're doing.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Garda Parker is the author of nine contemporary and historical novels, and two novellas. She's a member of Novelists, Inc., Women Writing the West and Romance Writers of America. Garda has taught elements of fiction writing and given workshops at various national and regional conferences, and coaches aspiring and established romance writers. She can be contacted via Beth@WriteDirections.com.
Copyright 2001-2007 Garda Parker. All rights reserved in all media.
The content of this article may be forwarded in full without special permission provided it is used for not-for-profit purposes and full attribution and copyright notice are given. For all other purposes, contact Beth Mende Beth@WriteDirections.com.
—A 10-Step Guide
by Garda Parker
Copyright 2001-2007 Garda Parker. All rights reserved in all media.
The content of this article may be forwarded in full without special permission provided it is used for not-for-profit purposes and full attribution and copyright notice are given. For all other purposes, contact Beth Mende Beth@WriteDirections.com.
If you've always wanted to write a novel but didn't know where to start or how long it would take to finish (if, indeed, you did finish!), this article is for you. It gives you the tips you need to finish a draft in 30 days. How can you do this? One page at time, and it's easier than you think.
1) Know the kind of book you want to write
You probably do already; after all, you've been thinking about it for what seems like forever. Is it a historical or contemporary literary novel? Does it fall into genre category: western, mystery, science fiction, romance, horror, true crime, suspense, etc.?
2) Know your lead character(s)
Again, you probably have thought through at least one or two characters already. If you have more, all the better. Your opening scene should contain your lead character(s), so your readers know who is central to the story.
3) Keep a project notebook
Designate this notebook for your novel work alone. Pick one you are drawn to (e.g., one with a bright cover, one from high school or college that meant something special to you). Carry it with you whenever and wherever you can. (If you can't, carry a reporter's notebook or pad, so you can jot down thoughts to transfer to your notebook later.)
Once you start your novel, you'll quickly learn that you'll be thinking about your story all the time. Ideas and scenes will come to you. So, too, will traits about your character(s)—things like eye color, hair length, quirky clothing, tone of voice, etc. You may like to think you'll remember them all later, but you might not.
The best thing, then, is to write these "flashes" down when they come to you or as soon thereafter. When you're not writing, you can organize your notes into sections.
4) Plunge in!
To give yourself momentum, open the book with a strong scene that grabs your readers and brings them directly into the actions and thoughts of the protagonist. Write a great first sentence that catapults your hero or heroine in a new direction, and which sets the tone and pace for your book. This sentence will get your creative juices flowing. Example: "His bed was in the street!" Those few words set up several story questions: Whose bed? Why is it in the street? Who did it? How did it get there? What's he going to do about it?
5) Write a set number of pages daily
Understand this: You will have nothing to expand on, edit, polish or turn into a salable manuscript if you don't first get your story on paper. So aim to write a set number of pages daily. Exceed that number whenever you can, but try not to write less, no matter how difficult the writing is.
As a point of reference: If you write one page a day for 30 days, you'll have a 30-page draft. If you write five pages a day, you'll have a 150-page draft. If you write 10 pages a day, you'll have a 300-page draft.
No matter what works for you, you will have a story at the end of the period—if you meet your quota.
6) Write a quick-and-dirty draft
Step #5 above will be of great help here, as you give yourself permission to just write, to simply tell the story. Don't judge yourself or your writing here. Resist self-editing! For example, don't be concerned with chapter length. Let chapter breaks occur naturally. Just write and write until you have followed your novel to the end.
Later, in the revision stage, you will develop and flesh out scenes—or discard some altogether. Don't be concerned with or afraid of any of that. At this stage you are in full control ... until, that is, your characters take over and start surprising and guiding you!
7) Keep your novel to yourself to maintain your excitement and momentum
Resist the urge to tell others you're writing a novel. They'll ask you what it's about, you'll tell them, and then they'll tell you that the idea won't work, or that they've already read a book just like it, or any number of things that will deflate your ego and dissipate the energy you and your project require.
If you must tell someone what you're doing in order to protect your writing time (e.g., a significant other), then do it in as cursory a way as possible.
Further, resist showing what you've written to anyone else. This stage of your writing is for you and you alone.
8) Identify your best time to write
If you can manage it, do your writing at this time. This will ensure the Muse knows where to find you, for contrary to popular opinion, writers don't wait for the Muse to tap them on the shoulder and say: "I'm ready now."
If you're in the same place at the same time every day, with your hands on the keyboard or your pencil and yellow pad poised, your Muse will be grateful for the place to perch!
Taking down notes and thoughts can happen at any time throughout the day, which is why you carry a notebook. Writing your daily pages cannot, which is why you need to create your own schedule.
9) Don't stop to research
Research can be one of the most enjoyable elements of writing a novel. Downright fun, even. But researching is not writing!
Don't let a lack of information stop your writing flow. Example: You may need to know what gauges are spread in front of your pilot protagonist if he or she is in an unfamiliar aircraft. Maybe you have a vague idea but need to know the exact placement of the airspeed indicator. As you're writing, just insert a phrase enclosed by brackets, such as [need detail here]. Later, during your "off-writing time," when you have finished researching what you need, you can go back to flesh out the details.
10) Understand—and use—manuscript format, even at the draft stage
Know that manuscript format means you use:
an 8-1/2 X 11 page
1-inch margins all around
double spacing
a clear type font in 10 or 12 pitch
opening chapter paragraphs that start halfway down the page
25 lines to a full page (could be a line or two less. Generally, a 25-line page equals 250 words. This is important information to have when, later, an editor asks you for a word count.)
a header at the top left of every page that includes your last name and a slash mark followed by your title (in this down-and-dirty stage you can replace a working title with "Best-selling Novel" for motivation, if you wish)
page number on the right.
Using proper formatting—along with writing a set number of pages at a set time—helps you develop the good habits that will carry over to all other aspects of your writing. Further, it will help you see your progress in a professional form, so you'll more deeply appreciate the incredible work you're doing.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Garda Parker is the author of nine contemporary and historical novels, and two novellas. She's a member of Novelists, Inc., Women Writing the West and Romance Writers of America. Garda has taught elements of fiction writing and given workshops at various national and regional conferences, and coaches aspiring and established romance writers. She can be contacted via Beth@WriteDirections.com.
Copyright 2001-2007 Garda Parker. All rights reserved in all media.
The content of this article may be forwarded in full without special permission provided it is used for not-for-profit purposes and full attribution and copyright notice are given. For all other purposes, contact Beth Mende Beth@WriteDirections.com.
A taster ....................
Chapter 2 ~ The scene is set ~ 16th August, 1985
Vernon Goddard raised himself on one elbow, snatched at the ringing alarm clock that was to his left and shut it down quickly. Pity he couldn’t shut down the alarm bells ringing in his head. In the tiny bedroom at 38 Woodhall Road, Darfield, Barnsley he was entirely on his own. For this was to be his wedding day, and, of course, it would have been a serious breach of the ethical code of future mother-in-laws for him to have enjoyed the luxury of a sexual encounter with Carol the night before it was legalized. Except that for at least the past months rehearsals of various kinds had been progressing and they were in the process of delivering a very mature and fully rounded orgasm to match anything on earth.
But not for the 15th August. On the 15th he was to sleep alone and in mother-in-law’s house. It was 7 am for God’s sake. Who on earth would have set the time of the alarm for this god-forsaken time?
He knew the answer but couldn’t mouth her name.
He got up not having much choice and after showering and partially dressing made his way downstairs. It was 7.24 am ~ bit early to be going to a wedding.
Gladys and Colin were already having breakfast and were, already, fully dressed for the forthcoming event. This was to be as much Gladys’ day as Carol’s. A serious looking blue hat sat idly on the table. It had some fluffy feathers at its side. It kind of leaned over. It was dangerously near the marmalade. Ah, if he only had the courage.
Vernon Goddard raised himself on one elbow, snatched at the ringing alarm clock that was to his left and shut it down quickly. Pity he couldn’t shut down the alarm bells ringing in his head. In the tiny bedroom at 38 Woodhall Road, Darfield, Barnsley he was entirely on his own. For this was to be his wedding day, and, of course, it would have been a serious breach of the ethical code of future mother-in-laws for him to have enjoyed the luxury of a sexual encounter with Carol the night before it was legalized. Except that for at least the past months rehearsals of various kinds had been progressing and they were in the process of delivering a very mature and fully rounded orgasm to match anything on earth.
But not for the 15th August. On the 15th he was to sleep alone and in mother-in-law’s house. It was 7 am for God’s sake. Who on earth would have set the time of the alarm for this god-forsaken time?
He knew the answer but couldn’t mouth her name.
He got up not having much choice and after showering and partially dressing made his way downstairs. It was 7.24 am ~ bit early to be going to a wedding.
Gladys and Colin were already having breakfast and were, already, fully dressed for the forthcoming event. This was to be as much Gladys’ day as Carol’s. A serious looking blue hat sat idly on the table. It had some fluffy feathers at its side. It kind of leaned over. It was dangerously near the marmalade. Ah, if he only had the courage.
NaNoWriMo 2007
I've changed the title of the book to:
One death, three weddings, some christenings and a time-piece.
One death, three weddings, some christenings and a time-piece.
Thursday 1 November 2007
J.H.Smith....Thanks for your poem
This poem is about the time I spent in the early 1960's working on a conventional, undercut, "pick and shovel face" 8 yard long stent, 4'6" to the back of the cut, 3'3" maximum height, wooden props and flats.
My Working Day.
Ten past five and the bedside clock rings out its dreadful din,
I stumble wearily down the stairs; my day is about to begin.
A quick cold swill and a hurried cup of tea, no time for any fuss,
Then off I go with my "Tommy box" to catch the workmen's bus.
Six o'clock at the pithead baths, my clean clothes all are shed,
Now there's heavy boots on my feet and a hard hat on my head.
I take my lamp it's been fully charged, in the lamp-room over night,
The battery hangs down from my belt; on my hat I fix the light.
Half past six and I'm on the bond, descending at great speed,
Crammed in tight with all the rest, to hold on there's no need.
We hit pit bottom with a bump and set off for the face,
The walk is long and arduous to reach our working place.
Seven o'clock I'm at the face, the conveyor belt is filling,
Blast-picks hammer at the coal, the dust they make is killing.
Pick and shovel I use in turns, until my arms are tired and ache,
And bending over in the low, my back feels like it will break.
Ten o'clock it's time for our food, with hands all sweaty and black,
But the cheese and onion goes down a treat, a miner's favourite snack.
All too soon our short break is done and it's back to work we must,
Once more into the breach dear friends and the ever present dust.
One o'clock the days last coal's all shifted, I'm sat here blacker than tar,
The roof is made safe and supported and the tools are back on the bar.
I stretch as I get in the heading; it's nice to stand straight for a change,
Though tired I'm feeling light-hearted, for the end of the shift is in range.
Two o'clock in the pithead baths, I'm washing away the grime,
Now clean and refreshed I head for home, the bus it arrives on time,
On the table my dinner is waiting and it's devoured without delay,
With heavy eyes I slump in my chair, at the end of my working day.
J. H. Smith.
My Working Day.
Ten past five and the bedside clock rings out its dreadful din,
I stumble wearily down the stairs; my day is about to begin.
A quick cold swill and a hurried cup of tea, no time for any fuss,
Then off I go with my "Tommy box" to catch the workmen's bus.
Six o'clock at the pithead baths, my clean clothes all are shed,
Now there's heavy boots on my feet and a hard hat on my head.
I take my lamp it's been fully charged, in the lamp-room over night,
The battery hangs down from my belt; on my hat I fix the light.
Half past six and I'm on the bond, descending at great speed,
Crammed in tight with all the rest, to hold on there's no need.
We hit pit bottom with a bump and set off for the face,
The walk is long and arduous to reach our working place.
Seven o'clock I'm at the face, the conveyor belt is filling,
Blast-picks hammer at the coal, the dust they make is killing.
Pick and shovel I use in turns, until my arms are tired and ache,
And bending over in the low, my back feels like it will break.
Ten o'clock it's time for our food, with hands all sweaty and black,
But the cheese and onion goes down a treat, a miner's favourite snack.
All too soon our short break is done and it's back to work we must,
Once more into the breach dear friends and the ever present dust.
One o'clock the days last coal's all shifted, I'm sat here blacker than tar,
The roof is made safe and supported and the tools are back on the bar.
I stretch as I get in the heading; it's nice to stand straight for a change,
Though tired I'm feeling light-hearted, for the end of the shift is in range.
Two o'clock in the pithead baths, I'm washing away the grime,
Now clean and refreshed I head for home, the bus it arrives on time,
On the table my dinner is waiting and it's devoured without delay,
With heavy eyes I slump in my chair, at the end of my working day.
J. H. Smith.
First writings for NanNoWriMo
One Death, two weddings and some christenings
A novel
By David Vernon Goddard
First Draft starting on 1st November 2007
Version 1.0
©
DVG
Index for the novel
Section One
A death and the consequences
Section Two
Weddings are forever
Section Three
Christenings and all things bright
Section One
A death and its consequences
“And death shall have no dominion”
“Do not go gentle into that good night”
“Great is thy Faithfulness”
Chapter 1 ~ A Rising and a falling
Chapter 2 ~ Bad News travels fast
Chapter 3 ~ The funeral
Chapter 4 ~ Aftermath
Chapter 1 ~ A rising and a Falling
At 5 a.m.Will raised himself on one arm, looked in the direction of Mary, saw she was still sleeping, and so slipped away from his side of the bed. He tip-toed out of the bedroom picking up his work clothes from the back of a chair. The lino floor was cold and unforgiving on his bare feet. He had placed his boots and long socks downstairs the night before in readiness for the early morning shift. He whistled because of the cold and just because it gave him some comfort. It was his favourite hymn.
Downstairs he was soon at work on the fire coaxing it into some kind of combustion. At last it burst into life ~ he was a dab hand at lighting a good fire. Now for the tea. As he finished dressing, the kettle boiled and finally it too whistled against the cold, only more loudly than Will had done. He reached for the sooted kettle and took it into the scullery before its song could wake any one else. Better to leave them all sleep for a little while longer. It was only a little after 5.10.a.m on an early November day dawning with a touch of frost on the trees and ground. “Better to let hem sleep,” he whispered to himself. He knew how hard they all worked, even the young ones.
The tea tasted good and the cup was hot in his hands and made them tingle. With his boots now on and the laces tied tight he was able to go outside. He slipped on his coat jacket and took a scarf out of its pocket.
He made for the small orchard at the side of the house and looked forward to picking some of the last of the apples still on a branch. It had been a clear bright and starry night. The black was turning a dark blue and there were some streaks of lightness on the horizons. The apples were ripe. It had been a good crop; they had taken many of them to the Harvest festival at the Church in Penllegaer. Will stood in the orchard vaguely happy at the mingled thoughts of apple, the tea in the kitchen and the smell of early morning out of doors. But then the cold crept alongside his thoughts and reminded him of the day before him. Don’t get too comfortable it said. You’ve got to get the boys up, sort out the dogs, take some tea to Mary and get yourself off to No 3. The last thought jolted him. It was not a comfortable or comforting thought.
Back in the scullery he finished off his tea and fought to get a little more life into the fire in the main room, which was dying on him. That done, he took some tea to Mary. She was still asleep so he woke her gently. “Time to get up,” he said. This ritual had been established early in their marriage so they were both so used to this encounter that nothing special was expected of either of them. For him, merely to bring the cup; for her merely to drink from it. There were no other expectations. After years of being together and after the birth of seven children and after years of struggling to make ends meet and after some heartbreak and after the growing demands of work and some tears there were only the rituals left. But they both adhered to them as if any loss of their place in their lives would disturb something deep down. Disturb something irrevocably. He left Mary to the task of getting up and went to the nearest bedroom. It was now 5.23 am and the new day was edging in.
“Time to get up,” he said to whoever was awake. Possibly Ewart or Cyril or Ronnie, or Elvet since all shared this room. He heard one of them stirring. “Tea downstairs,” he heard himself say. There was no answer from the greyness of the bedroom but he knew they’d all be downstairs within ten minutes, half-dressed for work and wanting more than the cup of tea he’d prepared. But then that was Mary’s job. Cooking and serving breakfast. As it was her job to wake up Mansel, Brenda and Archie long after he’d gone. He glanced up to a small pocket watch which hung on a nail above the fire. It was a fine silver watch which he had hung there after buying it in Swansea.It had just turned 5.30 am.
He made his way outside and through the allotment to the fenced area containing the dogs ~ two greyhounds bought from hard-earned wages in the hope of further winnings and glory. Neither had been forthcoming over the last 2 years but they had at least given him good company on his walks through Penllegaer woods and when he’d done the occasional poaching on Sir John Llewellyn’s land. And did they love him both wanting his attention as he went into the compound to feed them, both vying for the food and the new water. He’d take them for a long walk later this afternoon, when the morning shift was over. He’d go down to the common with Archie and Brenda and give everyone a run ~ it would be good for them all. Perhaps Mary would come.
But then he corrected himself because Mary never came with him and the dogs. She’d said they were a waste of money when they were bought. She’d chastised Will and Ewart for clubbing together to buy them.
She’d said, “At least with chickens , they lay eggs and you get to eat them. But these animals are stupid and they eat too much.” After that they were never allowed in the house and having never won a race she was proved right time after time.
Will stirred himself from these thoughts and repeated perhaps with a little gusto, “ Yes, girls, we’ll go for a little walk to the common this afternoon.” They licked him with affection.
It was 5.45 am when he reappeared in the scullery. Each of the boys greeted him with quiet respect and Mary, who was now busying herself with breakfast, asked what he wanted by way of food for his tin. When the tin had been filled with bread and cheese and he had poured some cold tea into his bottle he was ready to get off. Coat on and scarf around his neck he was off. “See you all later ,” he shouted as he closed the back door. He didn’t catch any reply but he did hear the dogs barking fondly at him as he made for the gate.
It was a short walk to No 3 which was the main Penllegaer colliery on the common .He walked briskly knowing he was just a little late from feeding the dogs. As he approached he could see other men gathering, clones of himself in different hues of grey or black clutching their snap-tins and having a last smoke. Dawn was now fulsome and he could clearly make out the outline of the colliery against the sky, could hear the sounds of workmen, the clanking of the small train and the trams.
And then suddenly the hooter calling them all together for a last search before the descent and another hard day at the face. Will talked to his friends as they took their turns in handing in the matches, cigarettes and other paraphernalia.
And too soon they were at the cage.
Will had never been totally comfortable in a cage ~ he walked forward, was carried forward until they were all in. Perhaps he was the only one with fears ~ the others never showed anything and he had never mentioned anything to them. But as they descended his apprehension grew until the relief of reaching the bottom and h comfort of stillness, a complete blackness and then the turning on of the individual lamps.
Will was noted and respected for his strength. If anyone wanted extra help, something moved, perhaps some brute force,, they called on William Goddard or as they called him when down the pit, Will “OneTon”. Will was ideally built for working down a mine: not tall, but very broad with a strong physique and muscled arms. It was reputed that when he really got going he could outpace all the other shift workers in cutting and gathering coal.
Today they would be opening a new seam and he would need all his strength in getting the coal shifted into the drams.
From the base of the cage they moved forward to the edge of what looked like an entrance to a cave but smaller. Lights flickered on surfaces or caught an eye or a nose. It was black and light, black on light, light reflecting black, light reflecting back.
From the base of the cage they moved forward to the edge of what looked like an entrance to a cave but smaller. Lights flickered on surfaces or caught an eye or a nose. It was black and light, black on light, light reflecting black, liht reflecting back.And in the blacllightnightday as they set off down the tunneled cave someone started to sing.
At first just on his own but then others joined in. They were singing “Great is thy faithfulness”, Will’s favourite hymn ~ the one he’d been whistling earlier..
They sang and echoed down the narrowing cave.:
Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my father!
There is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not:
As thou hast been Thou forever wilt be.
Great is Thy faithfulness, Great is Thy faithfulness,
Morning by morning new mercies I see:
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me!
Summer and winter, and springtime and harvest,
Sun, moon and stars in their courses above,
Join with all nature in manifold witness
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.
Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth.
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide,
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!
They reached the end of the tunnel and were ready for the day’s work. The blasters had come ahead of them and were preparing to open a new seam, which, it was promised by the Pit manager, to be rich in the best anthracite and easy to pick.This was a good day and all the men were happy.
A novel
By David Vernon Goddard
First Draft starting on 1st November 2007
Version 1.0
©
DVG
Index for the novel
Section One
A death and the consequences
Section Two
Weddings are forever
Section Three
Christenings and all things bright
Section One
A death and its consequences
“And death shall have no dominion”
“Do not go gentle into that good night”
“Great is thy Faithfulness”
Chapter 1 ~ A Rising and a falling
Chapter 2 ~ Bad News travels fast
Chapter 3 ~ The funeral
Chapter 4 ~ Aftermath
Chapter 1 ~ A rising and a Falling
At 5 a.m.Will raised himself on one arm, looked in the direction of Mary, saw she was still sleeping, and so slipped away from his side of the bed. He tip-toed out of the bedroom picking up his work clothes from the back of a chair. The lino floor was cold and unforgiving on his bare feet. He had placed his boots and long socks downstairs the night before in readiness for the early morning shift. He whistled because of the cold and just because it gave him some comfort. It was his favourite hymn.
Downstairs he was soon at work on the fire coaxing it into some kind of combustion. At last it burst into life ~ he was a dab hand at lighting a good fire. Now for the tea. As he finished dressing, the kettle boiled and finally it too whistled against the cold, only more loudly than Will had done. He reached for the sooted kettle and took it into the scullery before its song could wake any one else. Better to leave them all sleep for a little while longer. It was only a little after 5.10.a.m on an early November day dawning with a touch of frost on the trees and ground. “Better to let hem sleep,” he whispered to himself. He knew how hard they all worked, even the young ones.
The tea tasted good and the cup was hot in his hands and made them tingle. With his boots now on and the laces tied tight he was able to go outside. He slipped on his coat jacket and took a scarf out of its pocket.
He made for the small orchard at the side of the house and looked forward to picking some of the last of the apples still on a branch. It had been a clear bright and starry night. The black was turning a dark blue and there were some streaks of lightness on the horizons. The apples were ripe. It had been a good crop; they had taken many of them to the Harvest festival at the Church in Penllegaer. Will stood in the orchard vaguely happy at the mingled thoughts of apple, the tea in the kitchen and the smell of early morning out of doors. But then the cold crept alongside his thoughts and reminded him of the day before him. Don’t get too comfortable it said. You’ve got to get the boys up, sort out the dogs, take some tea to Mary and get yourself off to No 3. The last thought jolted him. It was not a comfortable or comforting thought.
Back in the scullery he finished off his tea and fought to get a little more life into the fire in the main room, which was dying on him. That done, he took some tea to Mary. She was still asleep so he woke her gently. “Time to get up,” he said. This ritual had been established early in their marriage so they were both so used to this encounter that nothing special was expected of either of them. For him, merely to bring the cup; for her merely to drink from it. There were no other expectations. After years of being together and after the birth of seven children and after years of struggling to make ends meet and after some heartbreak and after the growing demands of work and some tears there were only the rituals left. But they both adhered to them as if any loss of their place in their lives would disturb something deep down. Disturb something irrevocably. He left Mary to the task of getting up and went to the nearest bedroom. It was now 5.23 am and the new day was edging in.
“Time to get up,” he said to whoever was awake. Possibly Ewart or Cyril or Ronnie, or Elvet since all shared this room. He heard one of them stirring. “Tea downstairs,” he heard himself say. There was no answer from the greyness of the bedroom but he knew they’d all be downstairs within ten minutes, half-dressed for work and wanting more than the cup of tea he’d prepared. But then that was Mary’s job. Cooking and serving breakfast. As it was her job to wake up Mansel, Brenda and Archie long after he’d gone. He glanced up to a small pocket watch which hung on a nail above the fire. It was a fine silver watch which he had hung there after buying it in Swansea.It had just turned 5.30 am.
He made his way outside and through the allotment to the fenced area containing the dogs ~ two greyhounds bought from hard-earned wages in the hope of further winnings and glory. Neither had been forthcoming over the last 2 years but they had at least given him good company on his walks through Penllegaer woods and when he’d done the occasional poaching on Sir John Llewellyn’s land. And did they love him both wanting his attention as he went into the compound to feed them, both vying for the food and the new water. He’d take them for a long walk later this afternoon, when the morning shift was over. He’d go down to the common with Archie and Brenda and give everyone a run ~ it would be good for them all. Perhaps Mary would come.
But then he corrected himself because Mary never came with him and the dogs. She’d said they were a waste of money when they were bought. She’d chastised Will and Ewart for clubbing together to buy them.
She’d said, “At least with chickens , they lay eggs and you get to eat them. But these animals are stupid and they eat too much.” After that they were never allowed in the house and having never won a race she was proved right time after time.
Will stirred himself from these thoughts and repeated perhaps with a little gusto, “ Yes, girls, we’ll go for a little walk to the common this afternoon.” They licked him with affection.
It was 5.45 am when he reappeared in the scullery. Each of the boys greeted him with quiet respect and Mary, who was now busying herself with breakfast, asked what he wanted by way of food for his tin. When the tin had been filled with bread and cheese and he had poured some cold tea into his bottle he was ready to get off. Coat on and scarf around his neck he was off. “See you all later ,” he shouted as he closed the back door. He didn’t catch any reply but he did hear the dogs barking fondly at him as he made for the gate.
It was a short walk to No 3 which was the main Penllegaer colliery on the common .He walked briskly knowing he was just a little late from feeding the dogs. As he approached he could see other men gathering, clones of himself in different hues of grey or black clutching their snap-tins and having a last smoke. Dawn was now fulsome and he could clearly make out the outline of the colliery against the sky, could hear the sounds of workmen, the clanking of the small train and the trams.
And then suddenly the hooter calling them all together for a last search before the descent and another hard day at the face. Will talked to his friends as they took their turns in handing in the matches, cigarettes and other paraphernalia.
And too soon they were at the cage.
Will had never been totally comfortable in a cage ~ he walked forward, was carried forward until they were all in. Perhaps he was the only one with fears ~ the others never showed anything and he had never mentioned anything to them. But as they descended his apprehension grew until the relief of reaching the bottom and h comfort of stillness, a complete blackness and then the turning on of the individual lamps.
Will was noted and respected for his strength. If anyone wanted extra help, something moved, perhaps some brute force,, they called on William Goddard or as they called him when down the pit, Will “OneTon”. Will was ideally built for working down a mine: not tall, but very broad with a strong physique and muscled arms. It was reputed that when he really got going he could outpace all the other shift workers in cutting and gathering coal.
Today they would be opening a new seam and he would need all his strength in getting the coal shifted into the drams.
From the base of the cage they moved forward to the edge of what looked like an entrance to a cave but smaller. Lights flickered on surfaces or caught an eye or a nose. It was black and light, black on light, light reflecting black, light reflecting back.
From the base of the cage they moved forward to the edge of what looked like an entrance to a cave but smaller. Lights flickered on surfaces or caught an eye or a nose. It was black and light, black on light, light reflecting black, liht reflecting back.And in the blacllightnightday as they set off down the tunneled cave someone started to sing.
At first just on his own but then others joined in. They were singing “Great is thy faithfulness”, Will’s favourite hymn ~ the one he’d been whistling earlier..
They sang and echoed down the narrowing cave.:
Great is Thy faithfulness, O God my father!
There is no shadow of turning with Thee;
Thou changest not, Thy compassions, they fail not:
As thou hast been Thou forever wilt be.
Great is Thy faithfulness, Great is Thy faithfulness,
Morning by morning new mercies I see:
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me!
Summer and winter, and springtime and harvest,
Sun, moon and stars in their courses above,
Join with all nature in manifold witness
To Thy great faithfulness, mercy and love.
Pardon for sin and a peace that endureth.
Thine own dear presence to cheer and to guide,
Strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow
Blessings all mine, with ten thousand beside!
They reached the end of the tunnel and were ready for the day’s work. The blasters had come ahead of them and were preparing to open a new seam, which, it was promised by the Pit manager, to be rich in the best anthracite and easy to pick.This was a good day and all the men were happy.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)