# Writing > General Writing >  Mini-novel, feedback please? (No title yet)

## SleepyWitch

Please wait till I've posted everything, I'm pasting it right now. Will tell you when it's done. OK, I've posted it all.
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The indifferent sea
silver billows far below
plane turbines humming


*Three*

_Three._ The thought struck him on the flight back from the Galapagos Islands. Dr. Henrick Bader, biologist and amateur photographer of dung beetles, was returning from a field trip with his students. His head was leaning against the concave plastic frame of the window. The plane from Guayaquil, Ecuador, had just left the continent behind and set out across the Atlantic and he was about to calculate the angle of descent into Amsterdam airport.
_Three._ Maybe the binarists had got it wrong. _True/False – 1/0. Yes/Maybe/No. The Holy Trinity. The three little pigs._ No that wasn’t scientific enough. He needed something that could be found in nature. _H20, two atoms of hydrogen, one atom of oxygen. Three._ No, they were different elements. _Solid, liquid, gas. Three states of matter. Proton, neutron, electron. Three types of stable particles._ His eyes lost focus of the waves below and inspected the tip of his nose. _Three quarks in a proton; red, blue, green, three colours of quarks._ The plane hit a turbulence. _Three laws of motion._ 
“…… sandwich?”
“Huh?”
“Would you like a sandwich, Sir?”
“Oh…, yes, what have you got?”
“Cheese or ham?”
“Cheese, please.”
Three flight attendants in the uniform of TAME airlines, Línea Aérea del Ecuador. _One equator, two tropics. No, that’s nonsense._ He would have to work on this at home, where he could concentrate. 
“Hey, Dr Bader, look at this picture.” 
One of his students stuck his digicam under his nose. It showed the photo of two blue-footed boobies exchanging courtship gifts. The female blue-footed booby is bigger than the male and has a smaller pupil. The male whistles pitiably, a bit like the intercom on Star Trek, while the female honks.

***At Schiphol he bought a key ring with yellow wooden clogs for Anne. She liked that kind of kitsch.
It was early afternoon when he unlocked the front door. She’d be at work now. He was exhausted from the 20 hours’ flight. He dumped his rucksack in the hallway, kicked off his sandals and climbed up the stairs to the bedroom.
There was a Burlington sock on his pillow. He lifted it up between the tips of his thumb and index finger and studied it. It wasn’t his. He didn’t own any Burlington socks.
_This is an interesting development_, he thought as he sat down on the edge of the mattress. _Three.
_




-----------------------------------------


Brute roars and vapours
as the aging animal
gives a final twitch

*Drinks*
Hartmut “Drinks” was our P.E. and English teacher. He was an animal. 1.80 metres tall, the body of an ox, squinty brown eyes, red nose lined with red veins. He was a proud proponent of the male cleavage. Every lesson we were treated to the view of his coarse curly chest hair protruding from the confines of his tracksuit jacket. He’d throw his keys at Jonas when he didn’t get the grammar. We girls adopted Jonas.
Heike Adler was a Chemistry and P.E. teacher. She was a tall, wiry, short-haired woman without a gram of fat on her body. Her last name (Eagle) fitted her perfectly: beaky aristocratic nose, piercing eyes, sarcastic lines around the mouth. Her husband, a geography teacher, was cynical and abrupt, but his multi-coloured woolly jumper indicated that he was several points further along on the hippie scale than his wife. He did as she told him. When we graduated, one of the questions in the Year Book was: “Which teacher would you like to be for a day?” Melissa answered: “I’d like to be Mrs Adler, so I can know what it’s like to be a man.”
Hartmut “Drinks” was safe. He didn’t perv on us, because he was devoted to Heike Adler. He got his nickname when we put teachers’ surnames into the spell-checker of Word. This was in the early days of Windows. It was a hilarious coincidence, because Hartmut “Drinks” did drink. Heavily. To drown his futile yearning for the aquiline object of his affection. 
The boys had P.E. in the upstairs hall and the girls in the downstairs one. Hartmut, the ogre, would appear at the door of our hall and traipse around like a shy puppy. “Heike. Can I borrow your balls? Mine are flat.”
Another time, we had P.E. in the court. Hartmut was fiddling with his zip. His chest hair was caught. He couldn’t pull the zip up. He looked at Heike Adler imploringly: “Heike, help me, I’m stuck.” She gave him a withering look down her long nose and walked away.
On the Year 9 skiing trip, Drinks got drunk. Lara came into our room. “Hahahhaha, have you seen Drinks? He’s doing a candle making workshop and he’s already had 5 glasses of wine. He was sitting there, kneading the wax and asked me ‘Hey, Lara, do you want to make candles?’ Adler was there, but she walked off and did her workshop in the other room”.
We roared with laughter. One of us had taken an aspirin express and washed it down with Coca Cola. She was still rolling on her bed and squealing when there was a knock on the door two hours later.
It was Ulla Dorn, another Chemistry teacher with a cheerful tanned face, twinkly eyes and curly hair. Next to her stood Drinks who was training for a competition with the Tower of Pisa.
“Hello, girls, just checking you’re fine.” Ulla Dorn chirped. 
“Woaaahhhrrrr” Hartmut Drinks grunted.
“Time to switch off the light now.”
“Uuuuullaaaaaa”
“Yes, Hartmut.”
“Uuuullaaaaa. Beeeeeeeed. Bloaaargh.”
“Yes, dear, we’ll go to bed in a minute. Good night, girls.”

It took another two hours to calm down the aspirin addict that night.

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## SleepyWitch

Glowing lava spray
black hammer strikes the anvil
an unstable alloy


*Back to Front*
*~1~*
I hope this lecture has made you aware of the key questions we are faced with when studying the influence of African American Feminism on European Poststructuralist Thought. I could elaborate a lot more on the representation of African American women in the media post 1965, but to do so would be beyond the scope of this conference. Thank you very much for your attention.

Applause.

Someone in the back row rising at the very left of the lecture all  then the person next to her  and another one.

And suddenly the whole audience (300+) were on their feet.

Standing ovations.

Elena bowed her head modestly. _Ive done well._ Was it arrogant to praise herself? Maybe, but you had to. If you didnt praise yourself, nobody else would. The world of academia was a quagmire of psychological backstabbing and intrigues spun out of thin air. Only a select few made it to the top. She was one of them. Elena Schneider from the village of Oberpfundingen (bovine population: 3,000; human population: 750) held the only chair for African-American Womens Studies in the country. She had worked for this for 20 years, for moments like this, when the products of months of isolation met with a positive reception, when she could share her vision, make an impact on society.

As she rose her head again, she caught a glimpse of Professor Hans Blitzer lounging languidly in the front row, elbows propped up on the back rest, chin jutting forward giving the impression that he was looking down on people while he was leaning back. _Typical. Space and Power. Look at me, I can take up so much space because Im so powerful. Self-perception and social inference. Some things never change.
_
There was a commotion at the back. A group of young men in tracksuits were leaning against the back wall. They pushed one of them into the aisle. He frowned but strode directly towards her. _Oh no, not another one of them. Miss Schneider, Im studying Sport. Im not really interested in culture, but could I join your course anyway? Ive got this idea. Id like to write a paper about the economic crisis  or maybe the human psyche. Please God, this is the last thing I need after a long day. Dont let it be one of them.
_
But something was different about this picture. She couldnt quite pin it down to anything, but there was something in the air around this young man.
***

Felix was bored. His eyes darted around the lecture hall. He had no idea why Dominik had dragged him, Flo and Dirk to a lecture about African-American whats-it on a sunny day like this. His hands were itching. He tapped his fingers against the plywood panel behind him. He felt a splinter sticking out. He tore it out, felt the tip and poked Dirks hand with it. Dirk kicked his foot. The professor was droning on and on:  the groups experience of oppression  triad of SOMETHING, SOMETHING and SOMETHING  shift in perception  African American women .. Black intellectual elite. 

No idea what she was on about and what Black women had to do with anything; she was as white as the whitest of them. Black eyes and black hair, though, kinda Japanase-looking. Average height, average figure. Casually dressed for a professor, though. Blue jeans and black blouse. Maybe she was more laid-back than she seemed. There. There was screw missing, thats why the digital projector was askew. Might fix it later. None of his business, really, but he was getting seriously bored now. Bugger Dom. Where would he get a screw for the projector from, though? He scanned the room. Ah, over there, just take one out of that bench, its not really essential for the statics. Bit of a waste, really. And what if was? Nah, the worst thing that could happen was that some fat old professor would break through his seat. He chortled. Flo nudged him in the ribs. Yep, that screw was the right size. He tapped his fingers against the plywood more rapidly. Thududududud. 

Blah blah blah oppression blab la race, class, gender  blah blah blah.

And then he had a thought. He had lots of thoughts. Despite what his teachers said, he wasnt a dimwit, he had thoughts all the time. Only thought was the wrong word  it was more like a thought behind a thought  it was like Where are the men in this? What if a mans strength is his weakness and everything is the same. Not a thought, but a kind of confluence and he knew that he wanted to speak to the professor again even though he hadnt spoken to her yet. In that moment, he forgot The Pact.
The lecture was over. Flo and Dirk started to walk off, with Dom trailing behind. 
Hang on a second. Felix said. 
Why? Whats up? Hurry up, I want a beer! Flo replied.
I want to ask the professor a question.
You what?	
Haha, finally grown a brain, have you? Go on then! Flo laughed and they jostled and pushed him down the aisle good-naturedly.
Felix ruffled his wavy hair. He felt a rush of excitement as he began to make his way down the slope. He enjoyed the spring in his step. It was like when he had run the Schlumpfenburg marathon, when the eyes of the world were on him. Felix Lennart Bachweidner, winner of the Schlumpfenburg marathon. He had no idea what he was going to say, hed just go with the flow.

***

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## SleepyWitch

The young man stopped in front of her, smiling radiantly and looking her directly in the eyes. He held his lean, muscular body very straight and brought his hands forward, palms facing upwards, so that she could see his biceps bulging under the seam of the sleeves of his T-shirt. _It is one of them. So typical. 
_
Professor Schneider, Ive got a question. You talked a lot about the oppression of women, but I was wondering how all of this affects men.
She was slightly startled. This wasnt the most intelligent question anyone had ever asked her, but not what she expected of a 20-something in a Nike T-shirt, either. It was certainly more than some of her M.A. students managed. She wondered which of her courses he was taking, but couldnt place his face anywhere.
Id love to answer your question, but Ive got to go to a dinner with the American professors now. Come and see me in my office hours, Wednesday five to six, D-Block, 1.017. Theres a list for appointments on the door.
He scowled a little but said Thank you, Professor Schneider. Ill see you on Wednesday, then. and he turned around on his heels in one fluid move and marched off to join his friends.

Professor Blitzer was arguing with Professor Müller from the Department of Romance Languages, with Müller shouting trilingually in French, German and English. Blitzer had a malicious glint in his eyes and Müller looked quite apoplectic, exclaiming Donc! at regular intervals to introduce a new point. 
Elenas colleague Frank was lurking awkwardly by the door. He was supposed to help her entertain the American visitors but was too neurotic to approach them without her. She loved Franks nervousness. Working with him always brought her blood pressure down.
The five star restaurant had been booked a month ago, but one of the Americans didnt like it and demanded that one of the student helpers give him a tour of the city and take him on a pub crawl. Of course, the student helper was late. It was going to be a long night.



*~2~*
She always like that, Dom? Flo asked.
They were sitting in Hiltmans Biergarten. It was unusually warm for April and a content little crowd of people were sitting in the shade of the chestnut trees and having a chat over beer and pretzels. 

Yeah. She always talks like that. Uses lots of words that I didnt even know exist, like basal. She can be a tough *****. Chucks people out for not doing the homework. Last week this girl Sandy hadnt read the text and Schneider says to her You may go to the library now and copy the text. I dont see much point in you spending your time here. You may come back next week. She said it really calmly but in a chilly voice. Can be nice, though. I think she really wants you to get it

Why are you doing an M.A. in American Cultural Studies, anyway, Dom? Felix interjected.

Dunno. My dads an English teacher, so I figured it would be easy. Guess I was wrong. Think I might drop it and do business management. Why is a guy like you doing Biochemical Engineering and Sustainable Technologies? 

Well.. for one thing, you do lab classes and work placements and get to design and build stuff. And besides, its a future technology. You can earn  80,000 from the start. Im gonna get a job and save up and start my own business.

Why did you have to drag us to that lecture, though, Dom? Dirk complained. You owe me a beer for that!

I thought if she sees me at the lecture, she might give me a better mark for the seminar.

Anyway, Flo said. What are your plans for the weekend? Are we going to the OConnors for a Guinness on Saturday? Check out some chicks, eh?

***

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## SleepyWitch

It had been another long day at the department. In the morning shed taught her first-year intro, then there was a meeting of the faculty budget committee. Blitzer had tried to divert funds from the international students support programme into his own department so he could host a conference next year. Fiedler had recited her usual litany about how she was a mother and should be exempted from the meeting to have lunch with her son (who was 15). Then it had suddenly occurred to all of them that they didnt know how much the budget was and whether it carried over into the next fiscal year and how much of it was ring-fenced. They had all voted unanimously that Elena should calculate the budget, because they had no clue how to do it. She said it would take her a week, although she could probably do it in a day. After all, she did have a calculator and it was just adding and subtracting._ How many humanities professors does it take to add up 1+1?
_
The budget committee dragged on for three hours and she had to skip lunch and rush to her third year seminar. Now her office hours were nearly over and the last student on the list was late. If he didnt show up within the next five minutes, shed go home. She wanted to read that article and listen to Spanish Harlem. She leaned back in her chair, closed her eyes and breathed out slowly. Knock, knock. She slowly opened her eyes, sighed and prepared to speak in her best motherly teacher voice. 
Come in.
A young man opened the door and stepped in eagerly. He was wearing a motley but aesthetically pleasing assortment of clothes: black Adidas sneakers, grey suit trousers, a black T-Shirt reading Sebastian and the Cave Trolls in faded gold letters and a burgundy corduroy blazer.

How can I help you today, Mr.?

Felix Bachweidner, student of Biochemical Engineering and Sustainable Technologies, eighth semester.

She was a bit puzzled, what could a student of Biochemical Engineering want at 5.55 of an evening? Had she seen him before? She tried not to let her confusion show.

Take a seat, please.

The boy sat down with his legs apart and rested his elbows on his knees. He ruffled his dark-blond, wavy hair. There was strange gentleness in the way the blazer creased around his elbows. His blue eyes twinkled affably.

Professor Schneider, this may sound a little unusual, but a friend of mine took me to your lecture at the conference last week and I have a question about it.

Ah, yes, I remember you now. Go ahead. she smiled. He was the mysterious tracksuit man.

Well.. its a bit weird, because I dont normally think about these things but you explained a lot about the oppression of African American women and I didnt quite get how this is relevant to Europe and our time.

Elena couldnt help glaring at him. It was one of them.

Go on. she said rather more coldly than she intended.

Well I dont know and the other thing is, why dont people talk about the role of men in this? I mean, its not like weve got it easy. Like me and my housemates, we kinda drag each other down all the time. Like well mess around like big kids in the living room and then well lock ourselves up in our rooms to study, but we pretend we dont really need to. We all know that the others do more work than they let on and its all just a big bluff, but thats just the way it is. Its irrational, but then thats just the way we are, its all good fun, really. My mates say I show off and I guess theyre right but its more like I get excited and I like winning. And then if I didnt show off, they wouldnt give me any respect.

A lot of our choices are socially conditioned, more so than we realize.

Eh? Yeah. And then, my mate Dom has been really depressed ever since his girlfriend broke up with him. We all know it, but you cant really talk about it. I try to distract him, but you know girls have got it a lot easier. When theyve got a problem, they can just run to one of their friends and cry. I dont know why Im telling you all this.

These are interesting examples, but of course, we dont work at such a basal level at university.

Maybe thats why nobody gets it, because they arent given enough examples.

She struggled to keep a calm expression. Had he come here just to criticize the way she taught when he didnt even know the basics of her subject and had never attended any of her courses? What was he up to? Was this some kind of hoax? This was the problem with 80 per cent of her students: overfamiliar, cocky, interested only in the present moment, no empathy for anyone outside their own in-group. But then he did have a point.

Well, essentially this is what Gender Studies is all about, but in Womens Studies we focus on the female experience. If you want to know more about the male perspective, you could read up on constructions of masculinity. You are right, however, the discourse has become fragmented and fossilized. We take the underlying psychological assumptions for granted. Why dont you write down some of your examples and Ill see whether they could help my male students understand the heart of the matter.

Sure, Ill do that. Im sorry if I sounded brash. This is just all very new for me and I was curious.

Well let me know when youve got more examples. I do appreciate feedback from the student perspective. Is there anything else I can do for you?

No, thanks. Ill write those examples up. Thank you. He smiled broadly and got up. Have a nice evening.

When he was gone, Elena switched the computer off and packed some articles to read at home. She was puzzled. She had only really set the young man homework to get rid of him. Was this a conspiracy? Had Blitzer sent one of his protégés to wind her up? Or was he some nutter looking for a therapist? She wasnt sure whether that Felix.. what was his name? Felix Bachmeier Bachweidner was even serious about his question. His interest seemed genuine, if superficial. And yet, he had stumbled right onto one of the central questions of Gender Studies in his own flippant way. It was time to go home if Blitzer was behind this, hed give himself away soon enough. Well, it didnt really matter, you had to raise above his level How had he known she was offended? Not even her best friends could read her when she pulled a poker face. Some of her best friends didnt even know how sensitive she was. A knot in her stomach rippled and dissolved.

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## SleepyWitch

*~3~*

_(OConnors Irish pub. Dim lighting. Felix, Flo and Dom are sitting at a heavy, dark wooden table with glasses of Guinness in front of them. Dirk can be seen in the background, flirting with a waitress. Rock-music in the background)._

Dom _(morosely)_: Ive unenrolled.

Flo: What do you mean?

Dom: Ive unenrolled. Ive dropped Cultural Studies. 

Felix: So, what are you gonna do?

Dom: Ill get a job and enrol for Business Management in September.

Flo: Can you afford the study fees?

Dom: Ill have to save up. Well my dad is going to pay the fees, but he was proper pissed off. He said Im useless. Its a bit unfair really, because my sister studied medicine for 3 years and then she changed to art and thats alright with him.

Felix: What kind of job are you looking to do?

Dom: Anything, really. Waiter, shop assistant. My dad is right, though, Im useless. No degree, no girlfriend, no nothing. I was more motivated when I was with Claudia. 

Felix: Theres plenty of fish in the sea. Youve got to be more confident. Girls like a confident guy. People like a confident guy. Give yourself a chance.

Dom _(stares at beer)_: Thats easy for you to say.

Flo: Hey, Felix, look at Dirk! Wanna go chick-checking?

Felix: No, not tonight.. Guys why are we so immature? Why do we sit here every Friday and talk about random crap?

Dom: Because Im useless.

Flo: Huh?

Felix: Flo, do you realize that weve got a Chem exam in two months?

Flo: Chill, man. Whats gotten into you? You got a D last time, a pass is a pass. 

Felix: I think Ill go and train for the triathlon and then Ill go home and work on that model of a biofuel plant. And from tomorrow on, Ill revise Chem for an hour every day.

Flo: Hahahahahaha!

Dirk _(approaches table, swaggering)_: I got her number! Hey Felix, what about The Pact? Laid any geeky girls yet? Youve only got one more month.

Felix: No.

Flo: What do you want with a geeky girl anyway? You can have any girl you want. You had three girls in three days when we went skiing over Christmas!

Felix: Four. Good fun, no harm done. But theyre too easy. I can always tell if theyre into me straight away, just from the way they move and giggle. They bore me you cant have a conversation with them.

Dirk: Got your eyes on one?

Felix: Maybe. But I wont do it for a bet.

Dirk: Are you sure? Theres 100 in it for you, plus my mobile.

Felix: I dont need The Pact. Im gonna do this for real. I dont need an excuse because Im tough enough to grab life by the balls! If it works out, great! If it doesnt, who cares?

Dirk: Alright, alright.
Felix _(jumps up on chair, Usain Bolt pose)_: Im off. Watch this space! Bye, losers! (jumps off chair and runs off to the door on the left)

***

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## SleepyWitch

Six kilometres. He was beginning to work up a sweat, his body gave off steam in the chilly night air. It was drizzling slightly and the tiny drops of rain felt pleasantly cool on his arms. He turned round a corner. Left: electrical substation behind overgrown iron fence. Right: Those funny plants with pink flowers and sticky seed pods. He tried to pop some of them as he ran past, but he was going too fast. 

When he hit the seven kilometre mark, he began to reflect. What was he up to with that professor, anyway? If he was honest about it, he didnt even know why he had spoken to her. Mainly to wind her up, really. Although.. that wasnt entirely true  He had been in a strange reverie when that thought struck him out of nowhere. Did he stand a chance at all? No wedding ring. She had looked at him kindly but sceptically. Steady gaze, but didnt keep eye contact for long. Shy. Black eyes, pale skin, slim long nose, warm smile, although her teeth were a little bigger than average. Very composed. How old was she? Maybe 35, not too bad. Hed write down his examples and see how it goes. If she handed him his a**, hed have a laugh with the lads.. Doms story about his father was another one.
***

Come in Mr Bachweidner. Take a seat. she smiled.

Ive got my examples. He handed her the two sheets. She glanced at the first page, turned it over, glanced at the second page.

These are good examples. she said levelly. 

Have you read all of them? he asked incredulously.

Oh, yes Your friends define themselves exclusively in relation to women. Gender is a binary construct. Male is not female. Female is not male. The idea of the self is an illusion, our identity is the sum of our social relations.

Er? That doesnt make sense. If men are whatever women arent and vice versa, then nobody is anything. Theres got to be something about a person that doesnt change.

Hum. Your examples are quite basal, but I do think theyd help some of my weaker students. Maybe a cooperation is possible. Would you be able to observe my seminar? I could use some honest feedback. My students just give generic answers on feedback forms. Or they bring up totally irrelevant points, like use more colourful background on PowerPoint.

Does it pay?

No. With the budget cuts, we cant even afford enough student helpers from our own department. You can put it in your CV as Didactic Advice from the Student Perspective and Ill write you a reference.

Yeah, why not. Sounds cool. When is it?

Thursday, five to seven, D 2.004. Would that be OK for you?

Yeah. I havent got anything on Thursday afternoon.

Ill see you next week then. Thank you for your examples. she rose.

Cool. Have a nice day.



*~4~*

Her students were milling around outside D 2.004. She fished for her keys in her blazer pocket, unlocked the door and put her bag on the desk. The students trickled into the room.
She was about to close the door, when a young man came bounding towards her. He had rainbow socks on. She had to smile.

Good afternoon, Mr. Bachweidner.

Hello, Professor Schneider. Sorry, I couldnt make it last week. I . forgot.

Dont worry. You can sit at the back there.	

She sat down and glared around the classroom until all of the students were silent.
Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman. Today, Miss Gutowska is going to give her presentation. Then we are going to do peer assessment and give her feedback. Could you pass round the assessment cards, please, Mr Lange? Then I am going to introduce our next topic. Mr Bachweidner has joined us to audit.

Miss Gutowska read her presentation out from a writing pad and took 35 minutes instead of 20. There was no structure to it and when the other students asked her what a statement meant, she replied It said that in the book.

At the end of the session, Felix Bachweidner came up to her desk. Miss Gutowska, tried to sidle away through the door unnoticed. Miss Gutowska, would you like to talk about your presentation? Mister Bachweidner, could we talk after next weeks session? Im sorry to waste your time. 
No, its fine. Felix replied. It was interesting. Ill try not to forget next week.

***

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## SleepyWitch

***Early June. They were sitting in Sams Bistro after the seminar. Felix had just finished giving his observations. Hed joined her seminar on and off over the past two months. His criticism was always forthright and although he wasnt very enthusiastic about the subject, she had begun to value his input on how to make the material more accessible. 

He was poking the dry flower in the vase on the table.

How did your exam go? she asked.

Fine. I got a B. he chuckled.

Thats excellent. Im happy for you.

Thanks. So, do you go to America a lot? he asked.

About twice a year. Its always a culture shock when I go there, but I couldnt live without it.

What places have you been to? Whats it like?

Ive been to New York City, Georgia, Detroit. The disparities are horrendous, there is a lot of segregation and social inequality. When I went to Detroit, you needed a security pass to enter the campus. They scan you for firearms, as well. If you wanted to go out in the evening, you had to call a taxi. You cant step outside the campus, because youd get mugged. I had to shut myself off, otherwise it would have been too depressing. Have you been to the States? Do you like travelling?

Id like to see the National Parks. Do some rock-climbing or white water rafting. That would be amazing.
Hum.

You need to get out more. Have fun. Theres no social inequality in nature.

I suppose youre right, but Im too busy. 

The last time shed been in nature for longer than an hour was over a year ago, when Tobias and her had spent a week in the Alps. She flinched, the memory was too painful.

Lets go for a walk! he jumped up, snatched her back and ran off before she could protest. 

When she came home that night, she was too restless to sleep. She sat down on the sofa to think. She was feeling hyperactive. Felixs boundless energy always had that effect on her. She looked at the wall and tried to calm her mind, let the thoughts well up naturally. For the first few minutes, her brain continued to buzz. Then she remembered something: she had sat with her back to the room at Sams Bistro and she hadnt even noticed. Normally, when there were people around and she was talking to a friend, shed look past them and her eyes would dart from left to right. If her friend noticed, she had to explain Im listening. Im just keeping an eye on that group over there. People around
When she was talking to Felix, it was like an invisible burden was lifted off her. But she always felt hyper afterwards. Funny that shed only noticed this now.

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## SleepyWitch

*~5~*

The river Bregatz lazily snaked its way through the centre of the city. The sun painted glistening reflections on its sluggish green-brown surface.
The willow trees dipped their leaves into the lukewarm water. Duck feathers drifted downstream unhurriedly and took a carousel ride on eddies below the weirs.

On its right bank, the fortress scowled down on potential attackers from atop a hill. On the right bank, the architectural mishmash of the university sprawled, interrupted by branches of the pedestrian area. Then the main part of the pedestrian area: timber-framed houses, 60s department stores, Starbucks cafes. Further outwards, the 19th century tenements arranged in neat squares around inner courtyards, and then the glass-and-steel high-tech centres, car dealers and supermarkets.

It was the last week of term and the Old City Festival was in full swing on one of the islands in the middle of the Bregatz. Crowds of people flocked there to drink beer and visit the fun fair. Shoppers ambled through the cobbled streets, but the crowds thinned out there, everybody was rushing to the Old Town Festival. Two people were approaching the Bakers Bridge, where two paramedics in red uniforms were lolling around on camping chairs.

Hey, whats that? Felix exclaimed eagerly. Robber Barons Jump. He pointed at a sign stuck to the sandstone railing of the bridge. 

Legend has it that the Robber Baron Bürstenreich escaped when he was being led to the prison in the fortress and jumped into the river here. Elena explained. There is a procession every morning during the Old City Festival and then people can jump off the bridge. Have you never heard about that? They introduced it two years ago.

Wow.  Oh, yeah, of course, Ive heard that story. Lets do it. He nudged her.

No thanks. I dont want to break my neck. How deep is the water?

They wouldnt let you do it if it was dangerous.

I havent got a swimsuit on me.

You can wear my running clothes. Get changed in Starbucks. I can jump in my boxers. And with that he tossed her his bag. She reluctantly made her way to the café. 

When she came back, he was already sitting on the railing in his boxers and T-Shirt, dangling his feet. 

Ready? he asked keenly.

Im not sure.

You can hold my hand. He extended his hand to help her up the sandstone wall.

One-two-three! he launched himself forward and pulled her with him.

Rush of air. 
Cold.
Dark.

The river wasnt deep. She reached the bottom in an instant, but they swirled up so much sand that she could hardly see the surface. She had let go of his hand and he wasnt anywhere within arms reach. She suppressed a panicky feeling that began to rise from her stomach and tried to enjoy the tranquillity of the cool water. 

At the bottom of the Bregatz there dwelled a creature that took little interest in the unorthodox constellations of mankind. It didnt know words. But it knew hunger and it knew a meal when it saw one.

Elena felt Felix shoot up beside her. When she reached the surface, she heard him laughing.

He was kicking his leg above the water and splashing around boisterously.

Wuaahahhahah, look at this, Ive got a carp sucking on my toe! 
He kicked again and the fish flew up in the air, then came back down with its mouth agape and its tail curling. Felix grabbed it when it came down and swam to the bank. Elena followed him. He got out of the water and raised the carp above his head.

What are you doing? Elena asked with a frown.

Im gonna bash him against this rock and fry him for my dinner tonight! Felix laughed.

Put him back.

OK, OK. Felix pouted and acted disappointed. He flung the fish back into the river.

----------


## SleepyWitch

They sat on the sandy ground to dry. Elena hugged her knees and rested her head on them.

That was fun, actually. she smiled.

Yeah. Told you so. He was fingering the stones on the ground and piling up a pyramid between his feet. Hey Sebastian and the Cave Trolls are playing at OConnors tonight. Wanna come?

Who are they?

My friend Seb and his mates.

I dont know.

Come on, youll like them. They do indie music. It goes like this he beat out the rhythm of a song on her knee.

Yes I do like regional indie bands like that. But.. Ive got two sets of papers to mark.

Oh.

Alright, Ill come. But  I dont want to embarrass you in front of your friends. What will they think?

Nah, theyre alright. Were all a bit daft, but they arent a bad sort. Ill just say youre a friend of mine We are friends, arent we?

Yes.

But?

Nothing.

He looked out over the river. There was a slight crease on his forehead.

Elena. he said quietly. I think weve got a special bond. Maybe.

Felix. Im nearly forty years old.

You dont look it. You could be 32.

Its not about what I look like. You are young, adventurous. You dont plan ahead. You dont want to be tied down with someone like me. I want security.

And is that you or a socially constructed stereotype of femininity? he retorted with a cheeky grin. He got up. Im gonna do like the Robber Baron! He ran into the river and crawled downstream up to the next bridge.

When he returned, Elena had changed into her own clothes.
Ill see you at OConnors then. she said.
See you. he gave her a quick hug.

----------


## SleepyWitch

*~6~*

The last notes of the encore faded. Elena took a last sip from her bottle of beer. 
It was nice talking to you. she said to Flo and Dirk who had chatted to her while Felix was darting around talking to various friends. She stepped into the yard and inhaled the balmy night air.

Are you OK? Felixs outline appeared in the light of the door.

Yes.

Did you like Seb and the Trolls?

Yes, they were pretty good.

Flo and Dirk didnt bother you?

No, we had a good time chatting. Listen, Ive got to catch my tram. Thank you for a fun evening. Ill mail you.

Ok. he took a step towards her.

***
She sat down at the kitchen table with a glass of water. She didnt switch the light on. The orange halo of the street lamp illuminated the table.
She looked out of the window.
_Security. Why am I making this so complicated?
_
He had held her lightly and kissed her gently on the tip of the nose. Then the upper lip. His tongue had caressed hers slowly, his thumb was stroking her cheek. He felt exactly the way he was supposed to feel, familiar but not routine. Several layers of armour that she didnt even know she wore had slid of. A soft radiance had spread in her chest.
_Security. What do I have to lose? Im single. Im not desperate to get married. Dont know anyone I want to marry. I like him. We complement each other. If it doesnt last Id get over it. Maybe there is no security, anyway. 
_

***Oi, toy boy! 

Dirk was standing right in front of him in the living room. Felix hadnt noticed him come in.

Im not a toy boy! He got up from the sofa, hooked his foot around Dirks calf and pushed him down on the seat.

Who pays when you go out?

We dont go out. Well, she does.

Ts, ts, ts. is that what youve been up to? Sneaky bastard!

Felix punched him in the stomach playfully.

Ey! Dirk complained. No, seriously. Shes nice. Dirk patted him on the shoulder.

What time is it? Felix asked.

Nearly twelve.

Crap. He had sat on the sofa all morning in a fuzzy haze. Ive got to train. Where is Dom?

In his room.

Hey, Dom, you gloomy old woodlouse. Im going for a bike-ride, wanna come along?

***

----------


## SleepyWitch

Hi. How are you? Elena asked.

Huh? Hanna stood there like a statue, deep in thought. Oh, fine. Tired, unsociable. I hate the holidays. How are you?

Tired, too. Fine.

Bleh, I thought Id leave the talking to you and go into a trance and then in five years Id ask you Er, what did you mean when you said this and that five years ago.

I thought Id do the same.

Thats not gonna work then. Hanna said drily. Bens Bean is closed. Should we go to Starbucks? 
It was her yearly summer visit, back home from exile in London. Summer and Christmas, that was when they all turned off their computers and crawled out of their basements.

They talked about work for an hour and complained about the insanity of their colleagues.
How is your hubby? Elena finally asked.

Fine. He got promoted. Hanna hesitated. Any news from Tobias?

Well were still friends, but its been nearly one and a half years now since he broke up. 

Last time he broke up because you didnt have enough time to go out, you just said How are we supposed to have a long-term relationship if you break up with me at the slightest sign of stress?. And he got back with you straight away, didnt even notice you tricked him. That was so cool.

Yes. But its not worth the effort anymore. Weve drifted apart.. and  Ive met someone.

Hanna raised her eyebrows. This is the first time youve told me something private like that in all the twenty years Ive known you. You never tell me about private matters until after the fact.

Maybe I need advice. I think Im being irrational.

Tsk, tsk, tsk. Wouldnt be the first time one of my friends is irrational. I dont usually bite their heads off for it. at least not immediately.

Hes younger. Carefree and irresponsible. I used to think I want security. But now Im not so sure. Hes different.

Is this about soul mates? Hanna asked flatly.

How do you know?

Because you flinch every time I sneer about the idea.

It might be.

That concept is overrated and entangled with superficial notions of romantic love. Some ancient philosopher or other said that a soul mate can be of either gender. How can you be sure your soul mate is a man?

Some ancient philosopher may very well be right, but a person still wants to be happy.

We all want to be happy. If were not, its not for want of wanting.. Sorry, Im being cynical. I know what you mean. But why dont you just go for it?

I dont know. Im feeling vulnerable.

If you didnt feel vulnerable, how would you know its real?

You are solid as a rock. I havent got your strength.

Nonsense, Im a soppy old romantic. You know what I was like with my Fred. I nearly died a slow and gruelling death of imaginary heartache and hes just a friend.

Yes, you nearly did. That was kind of funny. Elena smiled.

Bohooo, youre so mean. Bohoo! Hanna wailed dramatically. Honestly, I get why youre cautious. But go for it while youve got the chance. Its only love, anyway. Doesnt really matter in the long run. Most things dont. Were all going to die anyway and nobody cares what anybody else does.

This was Hanna at her most sensitive. Sometimes Elena got frustrated about not being able to share her feelings with one of her best friends. But then, the uneducated masses were getting more and more vapid by the day. It was good to talk to someone who knew how the world works. It was just like Hanna to deny the validity of soul mates while she herself had this kind of relationship with her friend Fred. Socially inept, both of them. Hanna wasnt one to argue about semantics, but whenever the word attraction was mentioned in connection with Fred, she would sermonize: One can distinguish between three types of attraction, which can be present independently or in any combination: physical, romantic, friendship attraction. Etc., Etc. Elena had witnessed the first moment of recognition between them and had known it long before either of them became aware of it. These two lone emperors had paranoidly paced the parapets of their castra looking out for the enemy for years until they had finally accepted that the dreaded adversary had been inside the camp all along. Thats how they would describe it. They failed to see the prismatic ethereal ribbons that their feelings created between them. She was happy for them. They were well-matched even if only in awkwardness.

----------


## SleepyWitch

*~7~*
The morning light woke her up.
Felix lay beside her, coiled up and facing the wall. She kissed his ear and then rolled onto her back.
They had touched each other timidly at first, as if the other’s body was the reliquary of a saint. The violent despair of the climax had taken them by surprise. She could hear voices scream from a distance. She had wondered what torments were being inflicted on these poor people. She wanted to reach out and help them. Then she had realised that it was them. It was herself.
They had held each other and whimpered for a long while afterwards.
Felix stirred and sighed in his sleep.

***They were sitting at the breakfast table, which was littered with bread, jam, eggshells, a newspaper…

“I’ve got to tell you something.” he said.

“Hm?”

“Er… I want to be honest with you. I had a bet with my friends, but I got out of it when I got to know you.”

Her face was expressionless. Her black eyes seemed to drill a hole through his skull.

“You can go now.” she said.

“But.. I …”

“Go.” she got up and towered over him.

He was flustered. He made his way to the door. “Elena. Let me explain.”

“Leave now. I need to think. I might mail you.”

***
She shut the door behind him, leaned against it and sank down to the floor.

***
Felix and Dom were sitting at their usual table at O’Connor’s. Felix stared at his beer blankly.

“Oh my God, what have I done?” he groaned.

“I’m sorry, mate.” Dom said.

“Hm.” Felix emptied half his pint in one go.

“I’m sorry.”

“Dom, what have I done? How stupid am I? ... And the worst thing is… if she thinks I was just playing her, I couldn’t blame her. I was just messing at the beginning, not really thinking about anything.”

“What did she say?”

“She might mail me.”

“So there’s still a chance.”

Felix dropped his head onto the table and groaned again. “I don’t think she will.”

--------------------------------------------------------


Listless winter sky
mute concrete towers looming
colour of a life



*Iago*

Leonore Liszt was grey. Her pasty face was powdered white. Her permed hair was dark grey and light grey. Her blazer was grey. Her ankle-length pleated skirt was grey and so were her tights. Only her cravat-style neckerchief was red and her brooch was gold and purple. Her eyes were grey.
She hated her pupils. Today they had stuck a sanitary towel to the door handle and she had screamed. She was so shaken she couldn’t speak. Mrs Adler had come over from next door and put it in the bin. That nasty boy Peter was behind it. She was sure of it.
She hated her pupils. She loved maths. And Iago. It was his birthday tomorrow. She had a present for him. But she daren’t think of what it was in case he could sense her thoughts. It was to be a surprise. They were going to the opera tonight. Shame he had to wait outside.
There was a knock on the door of her flat. She got up with a sigh and opened it. It was Mr Bauer, the pensioner from next door.
“Good evening, Miss Liszt, I hope I’m not disturbing you. I was wondering whether you’d like a cup of coffee.”
“No, thanks. Goodbye.”
She shut the door. How dared he intrude on her after 6 p.m.? Insolent man.
She took the libretto for the opera from the kitchen table and put it into her grey handbag. Verdi’s “Otello”, her favourite. She knew it by heart. When she was in the car, she allowed herself to hum a little passage from Act 1.
On her way back home, the ring road was busy. It was always busy at this time of the night, with lots of young people returning home from parties. 
She stopped at the traffic lights next to the entrance of the underground station. A bang. Blaring light. She was being smothered by something that felt like a balloon. A piercing shriek.
When the paramedics dragged her out of the car, she was still screaming.

----------------------------------------

----------


## SleepyWitch

*Reunions*

The backroom of Zimmers Bratwurst Haus was booked for a private function. Karl, the waiter, stood behind the bar, nonchalantly drying a beer mug. It would be an easy evening. All he had to do was stand behind the bar and take the occasional order. He looked at the commemorative album that was placed on the counter. Ohm Gymnasium  Abitur 2002  10th Anniversary. A few signatures: Katrin Stauffer, Thomas Bader, Jonas Klotz, Sandra Kern, F.L.B.

He looked out of the window. A van was parked in the no-stopping area. Felix L. Bachweidner  Natural Solutions. it read in English next to the picture of a smiling sun.

Is there a Mr. Bachweidner in here? Youll have to move your van. Karl announced.

Oops. said one of the young men and dashed out of the door.

Karl positioned himself at the end of the counter so that he could overhear the groups conversation. They were still awaiting most of their former classmates.
The man called Felix Bachweidner came back and sat down. Another young woman came in and they greeted her with a lot of noise and laughter.

And this is my son, Benjamin. Felix introduced a small African boy. My girlfriend is away on a conference and I couldnt find a babysitter.

Silence around the table.

Oh, hello, Benjamin, how nice to meet you. Chirruped the woman.

Hello. Im apopted. announced the boy proudly. Its because my mummy is white and my daddy is white and Im black. 
Embarrassed silence. Only the father laughed out loud and tickled the boy.

Im this many years old. Benjamin continued, holding up four fingers. And when Im growed up, Im gonna run a malalon like my daddy.

They were ready to order now. Karl approached the table.

Ill have the carp, please. With potatoes. Bachweidner said with a grin. Dont tell your mum, Benny.

Sure. said Karl. Would you like salad with it?

As the evening wore on, the room filled up. There were about 50 people now. A serious looking young man and a jolly blonde came up to the bar.
Two schnapps, please. said the woman.

So, Thomas. How are your parents? I heard they got divorced? the woman asked. Karl checked the album: Thomas Bader.
The man blushed furiously. 
Oh, no. Dont tell anyone. My mums got a boyfriend. They live together. All three of them, I mean. Dad doesnt mind. They go walking together. Him and the other guy.

Oh, thats .. different. But how nice for them. said the woman. She ordered a whole tray of schnapps for the table and returned to her seat.

Karl brought the schnapps over and resumed his station at his listening post. They were talking about their teachers now.

Jonas, do you remember how Drinks used to hurl his keys at you? someone asked.

Yeah. That was vile. But it didnt do me any harm in the long run. Have you heard about Drinks? He died.

No. How?

Skiing trip. Adler was buried by an avalanche. He saw it from further up the mountain, tried to rescue her, hit a rock and broke his neck. Mountain Rescue came and pulled Adler out. She was fit as a fiddle. Tragic, really.

Poor old sod. the man called Bachweidner said. What about Liszt? They say shes in a sanatorium?

Yes. Jonas replied. She was in a car accident. She wasnt injured, but the car was all smashed up. Remember how she loved that car?

What was its name? Ianus? the jolly woman asked.

Iago. Jonas corrected.
Shes been in there ever since. Doesnt speak to anyone.

That was one of the weirder stories Karl had heard in his long career. Oh, the stories he heard. Maybe one day, when he was retired, hed write them all down.

----------


## Iain Sparrow

Your petite novel read nicely, I really liked it. I think it struck a cord with me because this past summer I was charged with escorting my niece, the one with a 4.2gpa and soon to be graduating high school, to every prestigious university in my neck of the woods. Oh the lectures I had to sit through, the luncheons, the sales pitches; it was like a neverending sock-puppet theatre. My niece was very excited so I didn't ruin it for her, but still, at times I just wanted to stand up and say, "does any of this nonsense translate into real life".

Anyhow, good story and excellent writing. It was the quality of the writing that kept me reading, btw, though I was hoping for more of a twist at the end.


If I were to give your story a title, I'd call it *Door Ajar*.
It seems for poor Ms. Liszt and her beloved Iago, it would be appropriate.

----------


## 108 fountains

Really well done, Sleepywitch! What I liked best was the realistic dialogue and how you were able to bring out the personalities of so many characters, and their interactions, tensions and conflicts in a minimum amount of space. I think you really captured the young college-aged male mentality well, as well as the inner conflict with the 30-something year old female in the situation you put her in. I also liked the way you repeated certain ideas - having Bachweidner order carp in the restaurant in the final scene, for example. When I got to the final chapter, I thought there was no way you were going to be able to pull all the strings together to completion, but you did it, and you did it in quite an entertaining way.

Some constructive criticism:
The way you numbered and titled the chapters and placed three-line verses at the beginning of some, but not all of the, I thought was very odd, but on the other hand, that was only a mnor distraction.

The way you changed writing styles, especially changing to a drama/screenplay format (not sure if this is the correct term) in Chapter three was also odd, but it worked fo me. I liked the variety in format/style. I'm not sure if others would agree.

It was an effort to keep track of all the characters at first, especially as their stories were unrelated for the most part - but I will add that it was worth the effort.
It was very fast-paced, and I think you could have taken more time to develop your characters more - but that's more a matter of my personal taste; others may think it was just right.

You really had four stories going on simultaneously, but only developed one of them fully. That's fine, since that was the main plot, but have you considered going back and developing the other stories a little more? I think a little more development in each of them would make the whole even better, and with the main plot, you've demonstrated your ability to do so.

----------


## SleepyWitch

Thanks guys  :Smile: 

Yes, 108 fountains, I'd like to develop the other stories more. I was worried that they wouldn't have enough 'weight' compared to the main story. But I've got to wait for inspiration. I'm not the kind of person who can make themselves write, I've got to wait for my brain to make it up by itself.

----------


## AuntShecky

Forgive me by starting out saying that this post was very difficult to read, not because of its length but because of the lack of spaces between the paragraphs, making it hard on my ageing peepers. But I plowed on anyway, mainly because I was interested, and partially in the hopes that some day, if you so desire, you will do me the honor of reading my own "mini-novella" or novella which I finished posting here a little over a year ago.

Let's get to the business at hand, shall we, with the following comments:

Before getting into an overall critique, allow me to make a few minor quibbles. I would keep descriptions to a minimum; for instance, rather than wasting time outlining a picture of a character’s clothing, you only need to fill in a couple of identifying details. I’d rather be able to distinguish who is who from the way he or she speaks and interacts with other characters than by his or her fashion choices. By the bye, I’m not sure the hirsute high school teacher with the crush on the gym teacher really has a “cleavage,” unless he has gynaemastia (“male boobs.”)

Happily I see that you have mastered your skill in grammar and usage, with only one glaring exception:




> “. . .when Tobias and *her* had spent a week in the Alps.”


You need the nominative case – “she.”

Now, an overall view:
We've had plenty of novels set in Academia by such illustrious authors as Kingsley Amis, Mary McCarthy, John Barth, and Richard Russo, among others, to great comic and/or satirical effect. But that's no reason you can't bring your own personal vision of the topic. But what you should ask yourself is why--why is this particular take on the world of diploma mills different from the others? What is the point it is trying to make?

I think that your dialogue is effective, but it was difficult for me (anyway) to detect an underlying theme. A large number characters–-too many perhaps-- come upon the scene, but with the brief reappearance in the penultimate chapters, they don't really hang around long enough to make a lasting impression. 

The chapter in which the students diss their faculty members has the best one-liners, but it seems as if it belongs to a whole different book, since this is the only scene involving a high school setting whereas most of the others take place within a collegiate milieu.

The scientist in the opening scene I believe is the most interesting character. His thought processes on the concept of the number "three" *show* a mind at work, and of course that's what we're supposed to do: show, not tell. But for some reason this tantalizing character disappears for much of the piece.

Maybe you could have limited the novella to three main characters, in line with Prof. Bader’s fascination with the number “three.” At least it would make it easier for the reader to follow them.

The question I am asking myself is what unifies all of these disparate scenes together? What does each character in this populous array have in common? When asked about the elements of a novel, E.M. Forster replied, "Only _connect_."

I realize that the final chapter makes an attempt to do this, with the ultimate explanation that these people are all slated to appear in a planned memoir by the professor-- we could take this novella to be that very book. While I do appreciate the attempt to tie up the loose ends, it seems a little like a tacked-on ending, such as we find at the end of movies (like “American Graffitti”) which features still-shots and a written explanation of where each particular character wound up.

A more skillful approach would be to weave the unifying idea throughout the narrative itself, providing a much-needed thread to connect all the seemingly disparate characters and events.

Finally, this was an ambitious project on your part, definitely worth reading. I’m guessing it was a learning experience for you as well. Practice makes perfect, as they say, writing is a "process," and so forth. (Everything counts toward that 10,000 hour goal.) Good luck in your future writing.

Auntie

----------


## SleepyWitch

AuntShecky, it isn't a novel about Academia! It's about people's relationships, it just so happens that one of the stories is set in academia.

----------


## SleepyWitch

> Forgive me by starting out saying that this post was very difficult to read, not because of its length but because of the lack of spaces between the paragraphs, making it hard on my ageing peepers. But I plowed on anyway, mainly because I was interested, and partially in the hopes that some day, if you so desire, you will do me the honor of reading my own "mini-novella" or novella which I finished posting here a little over a year ago.
> 
> Let's get to the business at hand, shall we, with the following comments:
> 
> Before getting into an overall critique, allow me to make a few minor quibbles. I would keep descriptions to a minimum; for instance, rather than wasting time outlining a picture of a character’s clothing, you only need to fill in a couple of identifying details. I’d rather be able to distinguish who is who from the way he or she speaks and interacts with other characters than by his or her fashion choices. By the bye, I’m not sure the hirsute high school teacher with the crush on the gym teacher really has a “cleavage,” unless he has gynaemastia (“male boobs.”)
> 
> Happily I see that you have mastered your skill in grammar and usage, with only one glaring exception:
> 
> 
> You need the nominative case – “she.”


No I don't need the nominative case. There are no cases in English. This is a rule based on Latin made up by prescriptive linguists. In reality, people use either "she" or "her", including educated speakers.

----------


## SleepyWitch

> You need the nominative case – “she.”


No I don't need the nominative case. There are no cases in English. This is a rule based on Latin made up by prescriptive linguists. In reality, people use either "she" or "her", including educated speakers.

----------


## Iain Sparrow

> You need the nominative case – “she.”





> No I don't need the nominative case. There are no cases in English. This is a rule based on Latin made up by prescriptive linguists. In reality, people use either "she" or "her", including educated speakers.




This is awesome. I've heard rumors of it before, even know people who claim such things occur, but it's the first time I've ever actually witnessed an intellectual cat fight. It's like mud wrestling with words. :Smile:

----------


## Iain Sparrow

> The indifferent sea
> silver billows far below
> plane turbines humming
> 
> 
> *Three*
> 
> _Three._ The thought struck him on the flight back from the Galapagos Islands. Dr. Henrick Bader, biologist and amateur photographer of dung beetles, was returning from a field trip with his students. His head was leaning against the concave plastic frame of the window. The plane from Guayaquil, Ecuador, had just left the continent behind and set out across the Atlantic and he was about to calculate the angle of descent into Amsterdam airport.
> _Three._ Maybe the binarists had got it wrong. _True/False  1/0. Yes/Maybe/No. The Holy Trinity. The three little pigs._ No that wasnt scientific enough. He needed something that could be found in nature. _H20, two atoms of hydrogen, one atom of oxygen. Three._ No, they were different elements. _Solid, liquid, gas. Three states of matter. Proton, neutron, electron. Three types of stable particles._ His eyes lost focus of the waves below and inspected the tip of his nose. _Three quarks in a proton; red, blue, green, three colours of quarks._ The plane hit a turbulence. _Three laws of motion._



I wanted to ask... what is Dr. Bader trying to work out in his head, I mean besides the angle of descent into Amsterdam?

I read the passage several times and was sort of stuck on it. Also, what was the significance of the number three?

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## Calidore

> No I don't need the nominative case. There are no cases in English. This is a rule based on Latin made up by prescriptive linguists. In reality, people use either "she" or "her", including educated speakers.


Break it down:

"Tobias had spent a week in the Alps"

"*She* had spent a week in the Alps"

You wouldn't say "*Her* had spent a week in the Alps."

From the Wikipedia article on Grammatical Case:

English has largely lost its case system, although case distinctions can still be seen with the personal pronouns: forms such as I, he and we are used in the role of subject ("I kicked the ball"), while forms such as me, him and us are used in the role of object ("John kicked me").

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## SleepyWitch

> I wanted to ask... what is Dr. Bader trying to work out in his head, I mean besides the angle of descent into Amsterdam?
> 
> I read the passage several times and was sort of stuck on it. * Also, what was the significance of the number three?*


None, initially. He's just the kind of cerebral guy who comes up with random thoughts and thinks about random stuff forever.
The irony of it is that it does have a significance later.

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## SleepyWitch

> Break it down:
> 
> "Tobias had spent a week in the Alps"
> 
> "*She* had spent a week in the Alps"
> 
> You wouldn't say "*Her* had spent a week in the Alps."
> 
> From the Wikipedia article on Grammatical Case:
> ...


So, you'd also say:
His mother and he couldn't live together anymore.
His sister and he spoke Spanish.

Anyway, I'll change it if it makes you happy.

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## 108 fountains

> So, you'd also say:
> His mother and he couldn't live together anymore.
> His sister and he spoke Spanish.
> 
> Anyway, I'll change it if it makes you happy.


Yes, that's correct. If it sounds awkward to you, then change it to:
He and his mother couldn't live together anymore.
He and his sister spoke English.

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## qimissung

I read it and liked it, SleepyWitch. I liked the parts with Felix and Elena best. I had to go back and read the first one after I finished, and I never really made it through the second and third one. Or the one that was written like a screenplay. Your dialog is pretty good. Maybe not Elmore Leonard good, but good nevertheless. It's really difficult to do dialog well.

I for one kind of liked the description of Felix's clothes. I immediately got a picture of him in my head. I thought you did a good job of your characterizations of those two. You made them fairly realistic as was their slow movement towards each other. I enjoyed the last scene-the reunion, and I thought the carp was a nice touch. You made your characters fairly diverse without making their permutations seem salacious or unnecessary.

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## SleepyWitch

> I read it and liked it, SleepyWitch. I liked the parts with Felix and Elena best. I had to go back and read the first one after I finished, and I never really made it through the second and third one. Or the one that was written like a screenplay. Your dialog is pretty good. Maybe not Elmore Leonard good, but good nevertheless. It's really difficult to do dialog well.
> 
> I for one kind of liked the description of Felix's clothes. I immediately got a picture of him in my head. I thought you did a good job of your characterizations of those two. You made them fairly realistic as was their slow movement towards each other. I enjoyed the last scene-the reunion, and I thought the carp was a nice touch. You made your characters fairly diverse without making their permutations seem salacious or unnecessary.


Thanks qimi.
I am worried that the descriptions are too detailed, but I wanted to show the characters perceptions of each other. E.g. Felix is the kind of person who draws conclusions from little details (when he thinks Elena might not be as uptight as she seems because her clothes are casual).

I wanted to create characters that are realistic and not too weird, so that the 'average' person can relate to them, but I don't want them to be totally stereotypical.

Who's Elmore Leonard? Forgive my ignorance.

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## AuntShecky

> No I don't need the nominative case. There are no cases in English. This is a rule based on Latin made up by prescriptive linguists. In reality, people use either "she" or "her", including educated speakers.


Well, yeah, "she" is the appropriate pronoun in the compound subject in the dependent clause beginning with "when." "Tobias and she" would be the subject of the clause. "Her" would be the objective form of the third person female pronoun, as in "Tobias took her to the Alps."

In the short list of books with academic settings, I forgot to mention "The Marriage Plot" by Jeffrey Eugenides. It's not about Brown University, but an emotionally vibrant story of three people as students there as well as their lives after graduation. That book, like yours, explores human relationships within that setting and beyond. I think you would enjoy that novel, SleepyWitch.

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## Calidore

> Who's Elmore Leonard? Forgive my ignorance.


Elmore Leonard was a writer of crime/suspense fiction who was especially renowned for his dialogue and characterization. He is also well-known for his article "Ten Rules of Writing":

http://www.nytimes.com/2001/07/16/ar...ptedoodle.html

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## qimissung

Thank you, Calidore. You're a champ.

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## SleepyWitch

> Well, yeah, "she" is the appropriate pronoun in the compound subject in the dependent clause beginning with "when." "Tobias and she" would be the subject of the clause. "Her" would be the objective form of the third person female pronoun, as in "Tobias took her to the Alps."
> 
> In the short list of books with academic settings, I forgot to mention "The Marriage Plot" by Jeffrey Eugenides. It's not about Brown University, but an emotionally vibrant story of three people as students there as well as their lives after graduation. That book, like yours, explores human relationships within that setting and beyond. I think you would enjoy that novel, SleepyWitch.


I loved "Middlesex". Might check this one out, sounds good. Thanks.

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## SleepyWitch

> Elmore Leonard was a writer of crime/suspense fiction who was especially renowned for his dialogue and characterization. He is also well-known for his article "Ten Rules of Writing":
> 
> http://www.nytimes.com/2001/07/16/ar...ptedoodle.html


This article is cool. I'll have to check out his work at some point.
However, different readers like different styles and he says you shouldn't get inside a characters head, yet this is precisely what AuntShecky liked about my first story.
I suppose it all depends... E.g. the article says you should use regional dialects sparingly. I'm reading "Grapes of Wraths" at the moment and it's full of dialect. I can't get over how cool it is that the "Okies" say "her" instead of "it". I never knew they do that, so I find it really interesting and endearing.

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## qimissung

Thank you, SleepyWitch. I'm glad you find us Okies endearing.  :Biggrin:  That book was written quite a number of years ago, however. Any linguistic tics you find in the novel have long since passed away.

And as to Leonard's writing suggestions, they are just that. Ultimately you'll have to figure out what works for you. Although I think you knew that already.

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## SleepyWitch

> Thank you, SleepyWitch. I'm glad you find us Okies endearing.  *That book was written quite a number of years ago, however. Any linguistic tics you find in the novel have long since passed away.*
> 
> And as to Leonard's writing suggestions, they are just that. Ultimately you'll have to figure out what works for you. Although I think you knew that already.


Yeah, I figgered her out.


I've just thought about how Leonard says you should never use any other word than "said" with dialogue. If I remember correctly, he argues that other verbs (or adverbs) convey the judgement of the narrator and interfere with the story. I suppose that's true. However, if you have a first person narrator who judges the other characters, I think it would be acceptable to use "exlaimed" etc.

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## Iain Sparrow

> Yeah, I figgered her out.
> 
> 
> I've just thought about how Leonard says you should never use any other word than "said" with dialogue. If I remember correctly, he argues that other verbs (or adverbs) convey the judgement of the narrator and interfere with the story. I suppose that's true. However, if you have a first person narrator who judges the other characters, I think it would be acceptable to use "exlaimed" etc.



The problem with only using "said" accompanying dialogue, besides it becoming annoying and noticeable to the reader, is that the writer loses an easy opportunity to convey emotion and movement, atmosphere, etc. It seems to me that any repetition or pattern of word use would jar the reader out of the story.

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## SleepyWitch

> The problem with only using "said" accompanying dialogue, besides it becoming annoying and noticeable to the reader, is that the writer loses an easy opportunity to convey emotion and movement, atmosphere, etc. It seems to me that any repetition or pattern of word use would jar the reader out of the story.


Yes, I think if you only use "said" it could put some readers off because they have to figure the emotions out themselves. It might end up sounding too abrupt, especially if the characters are unusual and the reader can't be expected to infer all their feelings without hints.

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## AuntShecky

> Yes, I think if you only use "said" it could put some readers off because they have to figure the emotions out themselves. It might end up sounding too abrupt, especially if the characters are unusual and the reader can't be expected to infer all their feelings without hints.



That's what an alert reader is supposed to do --"figure out emotions for himself." The reader can determine the character's feelings through the word choices used _within_ the dialogue. Reading is a collaborative venture between the writer and the reader; that's why "showing" is usually better than telling.

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## Iain Sparrow

> That's what an alert reader is supposed to do --"figure our emotions for himself." The reader can determine the character's feelings through the word choices used _within_ the dialogue. Reading is a collaborative venture between the writer and the reader; that's why "showing" is usually better than telling.


But dialogue isn't just spoken, it's conveyed through body language, tone and tenor, etc... and it would seem that sometimes a reader needs to be made to feel a certain way?

I'm no writer, but I am an artist whose worked professionally as a muralist and a theatre set/prop designer, and while I always wanted my work to leave some elbow room for interpretation, I was usually more concerned with making the viewer/audience feel and respond in ways of my choosing.

As writers, don't you feel some sense of satisfaction when you shepherd a reader through a story and they respond to it in the way you had imagined? I know as an visual artist when that happens I feel like "yeah, I nailed it". :Smile:

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## AuntShecky

> But dialogue isn't just spoken, it's conveyed through body language, tone and tenor, etc... and it would seem that sometimes a reader needs to be made to feel a certain way?


That's why it's important to use well-chosen, highly specific words designed to convey tone. For instance, let's use one hypothetical line: "Nigel, you're completely wrong." 

Now let's come up with some variations of the same line expressing tone:

A.
"I understand the point you're trying to make, Nigel, but, sorry to say, I believe you're mistaken."

B.
"Nigel, that's total crap."

As far as body language, the writer could accompany the line with a gesture.

A.
Holding my palms up, I said, "I understand the point you"re trying to make, Nigel, but sorry to say, I believe you are mistaken."

B.
I raised my fists and yelled, "Nigel, that's total crap."

One thing you shouldn't do is resort to adverbs, similiar to the kind we used to call "Tom Swifties":

"I understand the point you"re trying to make, Nigel, but sorry to say, I believe you are mistaken," I said gently.

"Nigel, that's total crap," I said angrily.

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## SleepyWitch

> That's why it's important to use well-chosen, highly specific words designed to convey tone. For instance, let's use one hypothetical line: "Nigel, you're completely wrong." 
> 
> Now let's come up with some variations of the same line expressing tone:
> 
> A.
> "I understand the point you're trying to make, Nigel, but, sorry to say, I believe you're mistaken."
> 
> B.
> "Nigel, that's total crap."
> ...


Not everybody chooses their words that carefully in real life, though. I'm sure you do (your affinity to my first character makes me think so). I know a person in real life who calls everything that's negative "detestable" or "appaling", ranging from everyday misfortunes to the death of a child (not her child).

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