I'd asked a friend (Michael Gould, author of Filfy O'Durr) to comment on the novel I'd just finished - The Importance of Being Arthur. He's a learned and great writer and very gentle (loving) with me, in his assessment of my words. I actually had to agree with nearly everything he said and he did put a huge amount of time and consideration into this project. However, despite that, I still had to brace myself before reading his constructive comments. Having been with this story for over a year, I'm constantly surprised at how attached I am to what I've written, despite Anna and I having given the story a good "going over" many, many times.
I'd asked a friend (Michael Gould, author of Filfy O'Durr) to comment on the novel I'd just finished - The Importance of Being Arthur. He's a learned and great writer and very gentle (loving) with me, in his assessment of my words. I actually had to agree with nearly everything he said and he did put a huge amount of time and consideration into this project. However, despite that, I still had to brace myself before reading his constructive comments. Having been with this story for over a year, I'm constantly surprised at how attached I am to what I've written, despite Anna and I having given the story a good "going over" many, many times.
They're only words but, with so much invested in them - my creative past and hopeful future - it is difficult to hear anything about them, good or bad, without my heart popping up into my mouth.
We mould our children and then let go to the rest of the world to buff up and add shine to. We must let them go and trust they know what's best for themselves. And so with this baby of mine that is bound to have many more buffings from agents and publishers, to make it shine even more.
So, thank you, Michael, for your loving commitment to helping improve the story and for helping me to learn to let my baby, The Importance of Being Arthur, go.
So, here's more of Arthur's story, continued from the previous blog ...
"It's like accounting where we only have the most primitive, paper ledgers, or the most advanced, computers," said Ahmed, looking excitedly at Halee. "Where are all the intermediate accounting technologies like the abacus, the slide rule, the accounting machine and so on, for developing nations to do their accounting with? They've all disappeared."
"Okay! Okay you two," snapped Mary. "We're in a taxi with a case load of papers that, apparently, contain some inherent danger to us. This is all very interesting about technologies and stuff but what value has any of it to us, right here now …. with Sam, AIL or anything else?"
"Oh yeah, right," said Halee, looking mollified.
"Well, let's brainstorm," suggested Ahmed, putting on his logical hat. "We haven't seen all the papers but what we've seen is Power Corporation accounts, Olympic contracts and intermediate technology. Let's keep these big headings in mind and keep looking."
"Oh, we're nearly there," said Mary, putting the last file back in the bottom of the briefcase, just as she had found it. "Halee, please come up with me, switch my phone over - it's not really my thing, this technology - and you, Ahmed, can you hold the fort here and keep a lookout for saboteurs, please?"
"Yes, absolutely, Miss Collins, and I'll keep the case here," said Ahmed. "Then you can fly on winged feet, as we say!"
The taxi driver was happy to continue the fare for an indefinite time, especially as some of it would be paid without actually having to move. He got out for a smoke while the two women dashed inside.
Ahmed was sorely tempted to delve into the case again but disciplined himself to stay alert and keep watching, which was just as well. A car soon parked behind him and two men leapt out and ran into the building. Ahmed recognised one as the tall one who had handed Mary the envelope and then ran into the crowd. The other man was shorter, solid and dark skinned. Without thinking, Ahmed leapt out and told the cabbie not to go but to be ready to take off.
"Just like in the movies, yeah!" said the taxi driver, laughing, as Ahmed dashed up the steps to find the two men in the shadows, pushing buttons, one after another, in an attempt to gain admittance to Mary's apartment.
"Oh hell, where'd you come from?" asked the taller man, obviously not British, looking confused as Ahmed drew out the pistol he told Mary he wouldn't carry.
"Get away from the door, down the steps and be gone!" ordered Ahmed.
"Okay, okay bro', no need to get heavy," said the shorter, dark skinned man. "We're just goin', we're just goin' …"
Ahmed stepped back to keep space between himself and the men as they backed awkwardly down the steps. He kept his pistol trained on them as they turned and fled to their car. His pistol followed their car as it leapt from the parking spot, with a screech of tyres, and disappeared into the night. His eyes went to the taxi and he realised, with alarm, the driver had disappeared. He looked around and back again, to see a head tentatively appearing from below the driver's window.
"I'm sorry Sir, I won't shoot you!" said Ahmed, realising his pistol was still aimed over the taxi, in the direction the other car went. He quickly pocketed his pistol. "Please wait. We won't be a minute!"
He turned and pressed the intercom number he knew was Mary's. He waited. He pushed again. He waited. He pushed again and heard Mary's voice.
"We need to go now!" he yelled impatiently. "We've been followed so you need to get out here now!"
"Oh, right," said Mary.
"I just wanted to get some girly things," said Mary, puffing as she was bundled into the taxi. "So I could get this men's stuff off."
"Sorry ladies, no time. We must away!" said Ahmed gallantly, calmly. "I'm really sorry to have scared you, Sir. This is not something we normally do," said Ahmed, explaining inadequately to a frightened looking taxi driver, to whom he gave the address of his apartment.
"Well, at least you'll hear from Mr Lord now," said Halee, as ever, looking for the bright side as they were driven to Ahmed's apartment in Kensington. "But why do I get the nagging feeling we're still being followed, somehow?"
"I don't think we'll see them again," said Ahmed, confidently.
"How did you do that? And two of them? Did you recognise either?" asked Mary, wanting to know everything immediately.
"Yes, one of them was the one who gave you the envelope, back at Trafalgar," said Ahmed, suddenly remembering the envelope. He pulled it out of his pocket and tore it open. On it were typed the words: 'We do not give up searching the taonga for anyone or anything. Give it up now and you will not be hurt. Arohanui'.
"Taonga? Arohanui?" said Ahmed, saying the strange words slowly. "What do they mean?"
"They're Maori words," said Halee. "Taonga is a gift and arohanui is love, big love, universal love. It means they will honour their promise - we won't be hurt if we give it up now."
"Well, that's too bad. I'm not giving this case this up for anyone!" said Mary grimly. "And how exactly did you scare these two men off, Ahmed?" She had distinctly uneasy feelings about Ahmed's methods.
"Oh, I just shouted 'boo' and they ran!" said Ahmed, probably hoping humour would disperse her concerns.
"Why do I get the feeling you used the gun you said you wouldn't?" asked Mary.
"Oh dear, you've caught me out," said Ahmed, smiling sheepishly.
"You have been remiss, Ahmed, but I forgive you," said Mary, smiling at him. "I dread to think where we'd be if you hadn't done what you did, whatever it was. And you might be right about our safety, Ahmed, but something tells me they' re still tailing us, somehow."
"Me too," said Halee, quietly.
I'd asked a friend (Michael Gould, author of Filfy O'Durr) to comment on the novel I'd just finished - The Importance of Being Arthur. He's a learned and great writer and very gentle (loving) with me, in his assessment of my words. I actually had to agree with nearly everything he said and he did put a huge amount of time and consideration into this project. However, despite that, I still had to brace myself before reading his constructive comments. Having been with this story for over a year, I'm constantly surprised at how attached I am to what I've written, despite Anna and I having given the story a good "going over" many, many times.
They're only words but, with so much invested in them - my creative past and hopeful future - it is difficult to hear anything about them, good or bad, without my heart popping up into my mouth.
We mould our children and then let go to the rest of the world to buff up and add shine to. We must let them go and trust they know what's best for themselves. And so with this baby of mine that is bound to have many more buffings from agents and publishers, to make it shine even more.
So, thank you, Michael, for your loving commitment to helping improve the story and for helping me to learn to let my baby, The Importance of Being Arthur, go.
So, here's more of Arthur's story, continued from the previous blog ...
"It's like accounting where we only have the most primitive, paper ledgers, or the most advanced, computers," said Ahmed, looking excitedly at Halee. "Where are all the intermediate accounting technologies like the abacus, the slide rule, the accounting machine and so on, for developing nations to do their accounting with? They've all disappeared."
"Okay! Okay you two," snapped Mary. "We're in a taxi with a case load of papers that, apparently, contain some inherent danger to us. This is all very interesting about technologies and stuff but what value has any of it to us, right here now …. with Sam, AIL or anything else?"
"Oh yeah, right," said Halee, looking mollified.
"Well, let's brainstorm," suggested Ahmed, putting on his logical hat. "We haven't seen all the papers but what we've seen is Power Corporation accounts, Olympic contracts and intermediate technology. Let's keep these big headings in mind and keep looking."
"Oh, we're nearly there," said Mary, putting the last file back in the bottom of the briefcase, just as she had found it. "Halee, please come up with me, switch my phone over - it's not really my thing, this technology - and you, Ahmed, can you hold the fort here and keep a lookout for saboteurs, please?"
"Yes, absolutely, Miss Collins, and I'll keep the case here," said Ahmed. "Then you can fly on winged feet, as we say!"
The taxi driver was happy to continue the fare for an indefinite time, especially as some of it would be paid without actually having to move. He got out for a smoke while the two women dashed inside.
Ahmed was sorely tempted to delve into the case again but disciplined himself to stay alert and keep watching, which was just as well. A car soon parked behind him and two men leapt out and ran into the building. Ahmed recognised one as the tall one who had handed Mary the envelope and then ran into the crowd. The other man was shorter, solid and dark skinned. Without thinking, Ahmed leapt out and told the cabbie not to go but to be ready to take off.
"Just like in the movies, yeah!" said the taxi driver, laughing, as Ahmed dashed up the steps to find the two men in the shadows, pushing buttons, one after another, in an attempt to gain admittance to Mary's apartment.
"Oh hell, where'd you come from?" asked the taller man, obviously not British, looking confused as Ahmed drew out the pistol he told Mary he wouldn't carry.
"Get away from the door, down the steps and be gone!" ordered Ahmed.
"Okay, okay bro', no need to get heavy," said the shorter, dark skinned man. "We're just goin', we're just goin' …"
Ahmed stepped back to keep space between himself and the men as they backed awkwardly down the steps. He kept his pistol trained on them as they turned and fled to their car. His pistol followed their car as it leapt from the parking spot, with a screech of tyres, and disappeared into the night. His eyes went to the taxi and he realised, with alarm, the driver had disappeared. He looked around and back again, to see a head tentatively appearing from below the driver's window.
"I'm sorry Sir, I won't shoot you!" said Ahmed, realising his pistol was still aimed over the taxi, in the direction the other car went. He quickly pocketed his pistol. "Please wait. We won't be a minute!"
He turned and pressed the intercom number he knew was Mary's. He waited. He pushed again. He waited. He pushed again and heard Mary's voice.
"We need to go now!" he yelled impatiently. "We've been followed so you need to get out here now!"
"Oh, right," said Mary.
"I just wanted to get some girly things," said Mary, puffing as she was bundled into the taxi. "So I could get this men's stuff off."
"Sorry ladies, no time. We must away!" said Ahmed gallantly, calmly. "I'm really sorry to have scared you, Sir. This is not something we normally do," said Ahmed, explaining inadequately to a frightened looking taxi driver, to whom he gave the address of his apartment.
"Well, at least you'll hear from Mr Lord now," said Halee, as ever, looking for the bright side as they were driven to Ahmed's apartment in Kensington. "But why do I get the nagging feeling we're still being followed, somehow?"
"I don't think we'll see them again," said Ahmed, confidently.
"How did you do that? And two of them? Did you recognise either?" asked Mary, wanting to know everything immediately.
"Yes, one of them was the one who gave you the envelope, back at Trafalgar," said Ahmed, suddenly remembering the envelope. He pulled it out of his pocket and tore it open. On it were typed the words: 'We do not give up searching the taonga for anyone or anything. Give it up now and you will not be hurt. Arohanui'.
"Taonga? Arohanui?" said Ahmed, saying the strange words slowly. "What do they mean?"
"They're Maori words," said Halee. "Taonga is a gift and arohanui is love, big love, universal love. It means they will honour their promise - we won't be hurt if we give it up now."
"Well, that's too bad. I'm not giving this case this up for anyone!" said Mary grimly. "And how exactly did you scare these two men off, Ahmed?" She had distinctly uneasy feelings about Ahmed's methods.
"Oh, I just shouted 'boo' and they ran!" said Ahmed, probably hoping humour would disperse her concerns.
"Why do I get the feeling you used the gun you said you wouldn't?" asked Mary.
"Oh dear, you've caught me out," said Ahmed, smiling sheepishly.
"You have been remiss, Ahmed, but I forgive you," said Mary, smiling at him. "I dread to think where we'd be if you hadn't done what you did, whatever it was. And you might be right about our safety, Ahmed, but something tells me they' re still tailing us, somehow."
"Me too," said Halee, quietly.
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