Child’s play

Yesterday evening the lovely S was telling me about an American childrens pony club-type book she had started reading.

In a nutshell she’s disappointed.

It seems that the cover and the blurb were better reads than the content.

Unsurprisingly.

I say ‘unsurprisingly’because I’ve read many American childrens pony club-type books and without exception they’ve all been rubbish.

Perhaps I should say trash?

Two reasons.

Firstly the language.

Wilde was right when he said of the US and UK two nations divided by a common tongue.

The technical terminology in the two equine worlds is different; what should be obvious similarities, umm, aren’t.

The foreign language leaves this reader cold. Or out in the.

Secondly the writing.

It’s as if the Americans can’t write quality fiction for children.

This, I believe, is why the US in particular has gone Potter Mad when even the Harry Potter books aren’t brilliantly written.

So having finished speaking with the lovely S I went hard-disk mining.

Sure enough, tucked away in a dark, dingy and very dusty corner of my laptop I found a small file containing two complete short stories that I wrote for my daughter in November 2005.

I’ll admit that neither is award-winningly written but, in mitigation, they were hastily created for a noisily demanding, frighteningly bright (too bright!) eight-year-old.

The first story (little more than an introduction to the two main characters) is just over 200 words.

The second (the two friends go on a holiday and have fun) is around 1,200 words.

There’s a third but it’s unfinished.

Well.

Now I’ve found them…

What do I do next?

I ask this question because I’m so completely overburdened with all this free time I have don’t have.

Having one’s ego stroked

This isn’t vanity.

I know where my qualities are, and my physical appearance isn’t that place.

So…

On Saturday evening S and I went shopping at Morrison’s in Bromsgrove.

Wow, what a couple of really wild, crazy kids we are, huh? Shopping at Morrison’s in Bromsgrove on a Saturday night?

How cool are we?

Not very, obviously.

Anyway…

S was wearing smart work clothes. I was wearing (naturally enough) a T-shirt, pair of jodhpurs and the almost ever-present wellies.

As S and I approached the door to the store (poet!) from one direction a mother and her 10-year-old daughter approached from the other, coming towards us.

The daughter checked me out.

I mean she stared full-on at my crotch.

Two things:

1. I don’t mind being checked out; it’s a vanity thing, I like having my ego stroked and being ogled in a favourable way is a hardcore case of ego-stroking.

2. I found it disturbing to be checked out by a 10-year-old girl. No, really! Disturbing! I’ve been told that wearing jodhpurs brings things to the fore (so to speak), and I’m kinda used to being checked out because of that.

But by a 10-year-old girl?

Disturbing.

Really!

Dichotomy, dykeotomy…

To read or to write?  That is the question…

When the ‘staying awake in the evening’ gene kicks in (rare!) I usually read.

This gene is different to the ‘Hey look, it’s evening and you’re eating pizza/pasta/something peculiar you’ve cooked (delete as applicable), why the hell aren’t you reading something?’ gene that kicks in after work (frequently!).

I deal with the latter gene by reading; by reading anything I can put my hands on in the kitchen (because I’m too lazy to go upstairs to get a book).

I deal with the former by…

Well that’s it, you see; I’m not terribly sure how I deal with the former.

I have these massive compulsions to write (even rarer than rare!) and when they bite/strike/tickle my fancy (more appropriate deleting) the laptop comes out regardless of what’s on the clockface.

But lately the ‘right! I’m in bed now, don’t feel like sleeping in the least, so let’s get that copy of Suite Francaise that I’ve been stuck on page 16 for the last two weeks out and have a bloody good read’ gene seems to be broken.

Because, last night, no sooner had I flicked on Radcliffe & Maconie (BBC Radio 2’s excellent electronic evening entertainment) and picked up the aforementioned book than…

The alarm went off at 05.15.

Bugger.

Fallen asleep again.

Writing for the readership…

It’s appropriate to begin with this…

I’m struggling with a piece of work for a customer in London.

I have to write a service level agreement (SLA) which will form a contract between two parts of an organisation that are shifting towards a client/contractor split.

I’ve been given an SLA template – a copy of an existing document – to work from.

It sucks.

It’s one of the most badly written things I’ve ever seen – definitely the worst I’ve had to work with.

So why is it that it’s acceptable for business documentation to be poorly written?

Why do we have lower standards of reader-friendly copy when we pick up a business-related piece of prose?

Awww, c’mon!

It’s not really acceptable at all, is it?

Rise up friends, rise up and strike a blow for business literature (and probably business literacy!)

Burn those badly-worded reports; take out and bury those inartculate, illogically-written briefings.

Rewrite these things, use pith not verbosity by all means, but let’s turn them in to things that are – if not a joy – are at least easy to read!

Oh yes!

🙂