by Caroline Day
My mum’s poem was called ‘Extraordinary Drop of Light’.
I ask Danny Flynn if his brother’s spectrum is the same spectrum as mine.
‘Oh, no, actually. Connor has Asperger,’ he tells me.
And I don’t tell him that actually that’s a vegetable that you can dip into eggs, like toast soldiers. Because maybe that’s how his family like to talk about their spectrum. Like my rainbow. Because everyone’s unique. Maybe, instead, they have potatoes and carrots and peas, and aspergers. I don’t tell him, because that would be rude, and instead of asking about his brother’s spectrum, I ask if Danny Flynn is going to the pub now, and he says no, he’s worked all day and he’s tired. He says didn’t I say I lived near the station, because that’s his way. Unless, of course, I’m going to the pub …?
‘Not likely,’ I tell him – but with my voice, actually, I’m saying no way at all. No way Jose. We’re at the bottom of the stairs now, coming out through the library which is on the ground floor, three floors down from the writing group room, except that the library is shut now, and the caretaker is near the door with the key in his hand. And I can already see my mum, Jenny Nicely, through the glass. I always know it’s her even if she isn’t looking towards me because of her clothes which are always happy and bright. It’s because she lived a little bit everywhere when she was little, because of her parents being hippies with itchy feet – that’s not their real feet, just a thing to say because of them living in lots of different places. And, when she was little, they went to so many countries, like Ibiza, which is an island in the clear blue sea, and to the US of A, which is also called America, in the place which is the song with flowers in your hair, and Goa, which is somewhere else, and also mainly to the Caribbean and other places too which I can’t remember, but mostly places where people aren’t afraid of colours that sing and clothes that smile. And she always smells lovely, my mum, Jenny Nicely, like just-peeled oranges and warm clothes from the washing machine, and lavender and bread.
‘Hello my Hope.’ That’s her talking to me and she has her arms open for a big hug, with her bracelets going jingle and jangle. Sometimes I don’t like to be hugged but tonight I do. ‘Good writing group?’
I tell her it was good. I’m trying to remember the bad bit to tell her too but I can’t remember it right now. And she asks if I’ve learned anything and I say no telling. Danny Flynn says: ‘We’ve been talking about show, not tell.’ And Mum says hello and nice to meet him, and she’s laughing when she says good of Hope to introduce them, and he says his name is Danny Flynn. She says hers is Jenny Nicely and they shake hands.
Danny Flynn walks with us and I’m not talking as much as I usually do because my head is very tired. I think I will sleep well tonight. But he is talking and my mum is talking too so it doesn’t matter that I don’t have my chatty head on. They’re talking about science fiction books and poetry and libraries. Danny Flynn works in a library but not the library where the writing group is, a different one. My mum knows his library and he knows her bookshop. And now they are talking about his mum and my mum and about their health. My mum, Jenny Nicely, loves to talk about poetry and bookshops and her health. Now she’s saying about all the pills she has to take and how she shouldn’t have so much butter and salt and sugar but we all need our little pleasures. Danny Flynn says, yes, and his mum has the blood pressure too and also the cholesterol and that she finds it annoying – Danny Flynn’s mum – because she’s always been one for a cream bun. And my mum laughs and says yes, she too is one for a cream bun, more’s the pity. And they laugh.
Our road comes first so we stop and we say, well. And Danny Flynn says nice to meet you, Ms Nicely. This is to my mum. And he says which number house are we, he’ll bring round the book he was telling her about, that’s science fiction by a woman who she’s not read, and he says that he’s going to read a book of her poetry, too. My mum says that’s very kind. Then Danny Flynn says nice to meet me too – the other Ms Nicely, he calls me – and see me next week. As we’re walking back to our home, Mum says what a nice young man and asks me what the other people at the class were like but I can’t remember because I’m a bit tired now and my head doesn’t feel like talking.
Inside our house – that’s number 23a Station Close – we both have a sit-down and a cup of tea. And Mum is breathing quite loudly like a cat who’s purring, like she always does when she needs a cuppa. She’s telling me how proud she is of me to have my scholarship and be going to a writers’ group. And she’s sure that I will persevere.
After dinner, I go off to beddy-byes. I think maybe my mum has a conversation on the telephone with Marnie Shale. Or maybe it was on Twitter because, after a little bit, she opens my door. She sits on the side of my bed and she touches my hair and says: ‘Hope Nicely, did you hide under a desk during your writing class?’
And I have to think about it because my brain is a bit cloudy now. I think I did hide but I can’t quite remember why. So I shrug with my shoulders and say maybe.
My mum asks me if everything was all right. She pauses and asks if anyone was mean to me. And I say no, they were all very nice. And then I wonder if she’s going to say something more but she doesn’t. She just kisses me on the forehead and says: ‘Night then, Hope Nicely. Sweet dreams.’
2
CHARACTER AND DIALOGUE
4
This is a bit of an exercise but not my exercise. It’s by Veronica Ptitsky and she gives me full copy write. That means it’s OK to copy it even though I didn’t write it.
In life, you meet many people. Some you like, some you don’t. Some you can talk to for hours without time seeming to pass; others you find a minute in their company drags and embarrasses. Some you admire, some you wish you’d never met. Few make you think: ‘When I woke up this morning I didn’t imagine that I would meet somebody like you.’ When you do, it’s rather like taking a step and finding gravity has relaxed …
It’s a funny thing, because when Veronica Ptitsky is reading, I don’t even know who her exercise is about. I only know that it is about the first person who comes to her mind who is someone she doesn’t know very well. It’s not from her book, the champion one, just from her head. But who it is about is a gigantic mystery, actually, because of her not saying. So I don’t know who her person is.
It’s not only Veronica Ptitsky who has done the exercise. It’s me too. But I’m not telling about my exercise straight away. I’m showing not telling what we are doing first. This is called setting the scene. So I’m not going to say that we are at the writing class. But there is a table. It is not a round one. It is an oval one and there are lots of legs below it and there are arms on it, some are crossed, and elbows too, and notebooks and laptops, although not for me. But in my fingers is my gold and black pen with the blue grip. And there is a voice. It’s an accent which is going up and down. And it’s saying, this week, the topic is character. This is before the exercises. This is just the scene which is being set.
Marnie Shale says that character is of utmost importance. Even if our story is the most exciting, most gripping or – looking towards Veronica Ptitsky from Bglt – sexy story the world has ever seen, without amazing characters, it is not a book that people will like to read. It will be flat.
‘Characters need not be likeable.’ That is Marnie Shale talking. ‘We don’t need perfect heroes who are nice to their mothers and raise money for charity. Often the antihero is the more interesting protagonist, be they loathsome or weak or mean. They can be as vile or spiteful or psychopathic as you care to make them. But we must believe in them.’
She asks us to think of which flawed characters compel us. Danny Flynn says Winston Smith, and Veronica Ptitsky says Humbert Humbert. (I do laugh a little bit because that is a funny name, because of the twice thing, like Peter Potter but if Peter Potter was called Peter Peter or Potter Potter.) The man with the scarf, with pink dots today but still with a knot, says Richard the Third, but first he does the tut-sigh and he�
��s looking at me. I think maybe it’s because I’m laughing at Humbert Humbert’s name so I sit on my hands and I make myself quiet.
‘The evil Count Dra-cu-la.’ This is Jamal Ali, who is a personal trainer, or maybe just in his book. Maybe not a real one, actually. He must really like vampires because that is what Count Dracula is and it is what he is writing about too. And he says it in an accent, but not his own accent. And he’s making his eyebrows go low and showing his teeth with his lips up, a bit like Tinie Tempah when he’s growling at another dog. It’s really very funny and I can’t help laughing again, even though I just made myself quiet.
Marnie Shale says good, and what do all these characters have in common? I can’t think about that because I don’t know these characters, only their names. I’m trying to think about my favourite characters who aren’t nice but it is hard because I haven’t read as many books actually.
Everyone is talking about depth and credibility when I remember my character, and I’m so happy to have found it in my head that I shout it out even if it’s a little bit interrupting: ‘Miss Trunchbull.’ Scarf-knot man makes a noise like t-shh and another person laughs but I’m not sure who. But Marnie Shale smiles and says Miss Trunchbull is an extremely good example, certainly flawed and exactly what she was trying to say about a character, even if they are the villain of the piece, being compelling to the reader so long as we glimpse their motivations. So with Miss Trunchbull her motivations are …? And she’s looking at me and I’m looking at her and I’m trying to think what motivations means. And I think about Miss Trunchbull who is called Agatha, which is not a nice name, and how she is a horrible person even if she’s not real, and Marnie Shale is still looking at me with her expecting eyes, and so I say: ‘She hates children.’
And I’m not sure if it’s the right answer but Marnie Shale says ‘Exactly’ as if I’ve been very clever. ‘A headmistress who hates children. What could be more intriguing? What happened to make her deny ever having been a child herself? But Dahl shows her fears, along with the hatefulness and, bingo, a fully formed, three-dimensional baddie.’
My cheeks are a little bit warm. When I was little my mum, Jenny Nicely, did star charts on the fridge door and it made me try so hard to do the things that the stars were for. Like not shouting or going away from the class when the teacher was talking, or banging my head or pushing Shanya into the wall because she called me Fanny Wanker. I liked the silver stars best. Even better than the gold stars. Sometimes my mum, Jenny, gave me stars just for trying, even if I’d forgotten the right rule (except for bashing Shanya’s head – she never gave me a star on that day, not even a red one). And now I’m feeling a little bit like Marnie Shale has given me a silver star and I want to try really hard in our exercise, which is about character.
‘Malcolm Bradbury said,’ this is Marnie Shale talking now – and this is called quotes – ‘that plot is no more than footprints left in the snow after your characters have run on to incredible destinations.’ I’m a little bit confused by this – because she’s talking about feet again. Maybe this is why I choose the character that I do.
‘For this exercise,’ this is what Marnie is saying, ‘I want you to describe a character but solely through your own feelings. Don’t choose a key figure from your book or your life, but someone you don’t know well and who is the first person that comes into your mind when I say: they have done something to surprise you.’
And the first person that comes into my mind – maybe because of the footprints, and them making me think about walking – is actually a dog. And maybe it’s because of Humbert Humbert’s name, but the dog that I think about for my exercise is Humpty. He’s a good person for this exercise because I don’t know him very well. He’s not been coming for walks for very long, which is why I haven’t ever walked him in the snow and seen his footprints, even though I have walked some of them in the snow, like Tinie Tempah, which was very funny because there was a snowman by the gate to the wood and he did a wee on it, which made it all yellow at the bottom. He doesn’t come every day – I mean Humpty now, because Tinie Tempah is there every day – which is Monday and Tuesday and another day and I think actually it is Wednesday, because of working three days and because of it being Wednesday today, and having been working. Some weeks I work on different days, too, if there are more dogs coming than usual or if Karen, my boss, wants me to. But most weeks it’s just three days.
And Humpty has surprised me, because he looks very fluffy and you think he won’t be very fast or very – flip a pancake, what is the word? But then, the other day, there was a squirrel and it was on a log on the side of the frog pond and Humpty ran so fast that he caught it and he came running back and there was all this blood on his face and in his mouth there was this dead squirrel with its tail still all bushy and sticking out. Luckily Karen was with me, because I don’t do my walks on my own, and luckily she’s not … she’s not … Anyway, it was all for the best because she managed to take the squirrel out of his mouth, even though he – Humpty – growled a bit. And I was shouting and crying because it made me sad about the squirrel, but Karen said I should be brave and she buried the squirrel under a bit of mud, or otherwise the foxes would have taken it and eaten it.
So this is why – and the foot thing – I decide to write my exercise about Humpty. Marnie Shale says remember, show, not tell. She says that we must not feel inhibited and to experiment because nobody is judging us and she’s not going to force anybody to read their exercises out loud unless they want.
‘So, show me something of your character through your attitude to them. OK guys …’
Marnie Shale takes off her watch and puts it on the oval table. And it is a very good day because the word comes to me: ferocious – pop, like a balloon just floating into the right place, like a bingo balloon – but I am trying so hard that I don’t shout it out, not even a little bit. And my cheeks are warm again, like I’m giving myself a silver star. So this is a good moment to start writing and I don’t say that Humpty is a dog, or even a Tibetan terrier, because that’s telling. I want to show:
Humpty has four paws and a tail and he is furry all over, like a teddy bear. If it was me who was his owner, I think I would have called him Teddy, because of the furriness and also because his face is a little bit like a bear. He is very friendly with the other dogs and with the humans like me too. Humpty does not look like he is very ferocious – I’m smiling writing this because the right word came to me and I didn’t even shout it. I didn’t even need to sit on my hands or count because today is a very good day – so until you know him better you do not know. Humpty is a killer. Not with a gun and not with a knife and not with a bomb.
I am very happy with this because Marnie Shale said that it is good to bring our readers in with a bit of mystery. I am going to read it to my mum, Jenny Nicely, when I go home. Humpty is a teeth killer. Humpty is not very big but he is like Jaws except with paws instead of a fin on his back and much more fur.
And now I am so happy with myself – big gold star for me – because of the Jaws thing which is a comparison and another word which I learned in English and which my mum has said to me, but it’s not in my head and I don’t think it’s going to pop into it. But I am still so happy with myself – it’s called chuffed – and, when Marnie Shale puts her watch back on and asks if anybody wishes to read what they’ve written, I have my hand right up, like a stretch to the ceiling, and I’m not quite shouting but nearly shouting, maybe a little bit shouting: ‘Me.’
Marnie Shale says she likes what I’ve written very much, which makes me feel like a million dollars – which are like pounds but not quite so big and only in America where I’ve never been, and a few other countries with accents. She says she loved the Jaws analogy. I do shout ‘analogy’ a little bit because – bingo – that’s the word that I thought I would never remember. Now I write it in my notebook, under my exercise – analogy – so that I will remember it next time. And really, the million dollars –
like me feeling like a million dollars – that is an analogy too. Because I don’t really feel like money. I don’t think a human can feel like a big pile of money, even if it’s showing not telling. But feeling a million dollars is like having warm, pink cheeks and a silver star on a star chart.
So now I’m very chuffed. The spotty scarf-knot man was shaking his head a bit while I was reading and it made me think he wanted to read his exercise next. But he doesn’t put up his hand after me – that’s Veronica Ptitsky. I don’t know who her exercise is about – it’s the one about meeting lots of different people but not expecting to meet somebody like this person – but she doesn’t say who the person is and it’s a gigantic mystery. And that is very good, I think, because of Marnie Shale telling us about mystery pulling in readers, so Veronica Ptitsky’s done it very well. And it makes me a little bit less chuffed because her exercise sounds like a real book and part of me wishes I’d written that instead, even if Marnie Shale loved my analogy. But this is still a good day, and I don’t even sit on my hands because I’m still very happy.
5
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake.’
Marnie Shale should be the one talking because she’s the teacher – but this is scarf-knot man. Maybe he’s saying it because my answer was wrong – well, not answer, because of there being no question. And probably I shouldn’t have shouted. But it was because of Marnie Shale saying about one of the greatest influences on the writing world and about it reaching far beyond the horror genre – and then me remembering about not liking horror, especially when it’s on telly by accident, because of being in a show called 50 Best Ever Trick or Treats and the show being mostly funny bits of films like ET Phone Home with his sheet over his head and his funny little walk, and then Snoopy’s friends who are children and the Great Pumpkin which is going to come, but hasn’t come yet, actually, and them still waiting, but then the horrible, horrible mask making me scream and the huge knife, and my mum, Jenny Nicely, saying oh crikey, let’s turn this rubbish over. And maybe it was a bit interrupting for me to tell Marnie Shale about not liking it and not wanting to talk about it, but it’s worse for him to interrupt because he’s not even on the rainbow. He should know better.
