From now until 8am on Friday (UK time) both Chinese Whisperings anthologies will be available FOR FREE on Amazon.

That’s right, you can pick up both The Red Book AND The Yin & Yang Book for less than the cost of penny sweet. For nothing. Gratis. Free!

Can’t say fairer than that can you?

Why would you want to get these books, I hear you ask? Why? Why wouldn’t you? Just take a look at who the list of talented people who contributed (and some jerk from Scotland that they let in because they felt sorry for him).

The Red Book

About The Red Book
In a small North American university town ten lives are intersecting…

Miranda reaps what she has sown.
Mitchell understands there is no resisting fate.
Clint dreams of forging a violent destiny.
Elizabeth is about to make a discovery.
Robin hides a terrible secret.
Simon hasn’t slept in ten days.
Sam is pursued by nightmares.
Susie has lost everything.
David has just been found.
Jake atones for past evils.

Ten ordinary people struggling to keep their sanity in an insane world.

The Stories
Mercurial by Jodi Cleghorn (Ed)
Something Mean in the Dream Scene by Jason Coggins
Kraepelin’s Child by Annie Evett
Discovery by Paul Servini
Innocence by Tina Hunter
Not Myself by Dale Challener Roe
Not My Name by Jasmine Gallant
Out Of The Darkness by Rob Diaz II
Heartache by Emma Newman
One in the Chamber by Paul Anderson (Ed)

The Yin & Yang Book

About The Yin & Yang Book
7.30AM. THE INTERNATIONAL TERMINAL OF A MAJOR EUROPEAN AIRPORT IS POISED ON THE BRINK OF CHAOS.

7.35AM. PANGAEAN AIRLINES, EUROPE’S PREMIER CARRIER, IS PLACED INTO RECEIVERSHIP, CANCELLING ALL FLIGHTS AND IMPOUNDING THOUSANDS OF ITEMS OF LUGGAGE.

The Yin and Yang Book follows the complicated web of events stemming from a suitcase, a stolen van Gogh painting, one woman on the run from her employers and the consequences of her decision to stay or go.

The Stories
Prologue by Jodi Cleghorn (Ed)
Three Monkeys by Paul Servini
Three Rings by Chris Chartrand
Dogs of War by Tony Noland
This Be the Verse by Dan Powell
Providence by Dale Challener Roe
No Passengers Allowed by J.M. Strother
Thirteen Feathers by Rob Diaz II
One Behind the Eye by Richard Jay Parker
Chase the Day by Jason Coggins
Somewhere to Pray (Kurush) by Benjamin Solah
The Guilty One by Emma Newman
Excess Baggage by Carrie Clevenger
Where the Heart Is by Tina Hunter
The Other Side of Limbo by Claudia Osmond
Freedom by Laura Eno
Cobalt Blue by Jasmine Gallant
The Strangest Comfort by Icy Sedgwick
Lost and Found by Jen Brubacher
Kanyasulkam by Annie Evett
Double Talk by Lily Mulholland
Epilogue by Paul Anderson (Ed)

Get them now, get them for free—or wait until Friday and pay the full price for them.

Why are you still here? Get downloading and reading!

The original running goal was to run 5k, 10k, half marathon and full marathon within a 12-month period. I’m now at the stage of training where running 5k is a four times a week event, so not that big a challenge. And I’ll soon be knocking off at least one 10k per week.

So here’s the revised plan. Between 1 May 2012 and 30 April 2013 I aim to:

• run at least one sub-20 minute 5k;
• run at least one sub-50 minute 10k;
• run the Royal Parks Foundation Half Marathon 2012;
• run the Virgin London Marathon 2013; and
• do all of the above without running shoes.

That’s quite a list. And because I’m insane, in October 2013 I want to add the Royal Parks Foundation Ultramarathon to the list. Just because.

So here’s the deal. My first 10k race of the year is coming up on May 27. I’m running the BUPA London 10,000 on behalf of Mind, the charity I ran for when I did the Royal Parks Foundation Half Marathon in 2010. And I need your help, specifically I need your money.

Please visit my Barefoot and blistered… sponsorship page if you want to help out, and give as much as you feel you can. If you are a UK resident taxpayer, please remember to fill in the Gift Aid details, which will ensure money goes to charity, not to the taxman.

Wish me luck!

At long last, “the secret project” can be revealed, and it even has a name: Postmarked Piper’s Reach.

In December 1992 Ella-Louise Wilson boarded the Greyhound Coach for Sydney leaving behind the small coastal town of Piper’s Reach and her best friend and soulmate, Jude Smith. After twenty years of silence, a letter arrives at Piper’s Reach reopening wounds that never really healed. When the past reaches into the future, is it worth risking a second chance?

Written by eMergent Publishing’s Jodi Cleghorn, and one of Write Anything’s newest writers Adam Byatt, Post Marked: Piper’s Reach is “an ambitious organic narrative collaborative project traversing an odd path between old and new forms of communication, differing modalities of storytelling and mixed media, all played out in real and suspended time”. More about both writers can be found here, but first I have a few questions of my own…

Welcome Jodi and Adam. I think the first thing people will be asking after reading the description of your project is—what is “organic narrative development”? I presume it is something more than simply pantsing?

(Adam) The project is pantsing it in some ways, but the collaborative nature of it allows for a more natural development. The focus of the narrative, the reconnection of two old friends, and the epistolary form, gives it breathing room for the characters to be independent and develop their relationship in their own time.

(Jodi) Organic narrative is the best emulation/approximation of real life. We can plan to do something, then as we’ve been wont to say in the past Paul, “life gets in the way” and our path deviates. We go a slightly different way, we stop, or we chose a brand new path and that happens with the arrival of every new letter. It doesn’t matter what I think, or plan, it will undoubtedly change. (And then I send the next instalment to truly deviate the left turn at the fork in the road—Adam.) When you work with someone else, and agree to leave the map at home, this is the only possible narrative contingency.

(A) As two old friends reconnect, there is a natural exploration of time and space, treading carefully across old boundaries before forming new ones. They need to come to an understanding of where each has been and what has happened. The past is an easy place to visit as it gives the characters a point of reference before revealing new truths.

(J) This narrative lives and breathes under its own impetus, in the pause and nuance between what is said and what remains unsaid.

(A) In terms of writing the letters, I let the character of Jude inhabit the space and let him write. I do some initial thinking, as if it was a letter I was writing. I have the latest letter in front of me and may scribble notes, but once the pen starts, I don’t pause to add or change things. It is what it is.

(J) I do no preparation other than to sit and re-read the most recent letter. Sometimes I’ll have in my mind an opening paragraph, but more often than not I sit with pen and paper and Ella-Louise slides into my head to inhabit me in a way that is seamless but at time, uncomfortable and too close.

Talking of the characters “inhabiting” you reminds me very much of automatic writing, and the loss of conscious control that happens with it. Within that loose, almost spontaneous storyline, do you have some kind of narrative aim? One that has been decided in advance? Are either of you trying to steer each other towards a particular storyline?

(J) I think the agreed on term is ‘no set destination’… though having said that, I have a very firm idea in my head how I think it ends. But this is always open to re-interpretation as Ella-Louise and Jude get to know each other again… and in the process rediscover themselves.

(A) I have my own ideas as to how it might end, but Jodi and I haven’t talked about it (did I mention the no spoilers policy?—Jodi). We have dropped hints to one another as to possible focal catalysts but our characters seem to have their own ideas.

(J) I believe four different catalysts were tossed in the ring several weeks ago to ensure the narrative had forward motion. The reader will see one around Letter 9… as for the other three… spoilers! (What are we? River Song from Doctor Who?—Adam) Shush… don’t spoil a great cultural hook!

(A) Where’s my sonic screwdriver? Jokes aside, putting forward possible narrative arcs are contrary to the keeping of the organic nature of the story telling. How it all ends, ultimately, is up to Jude and Ella-Louise.

Handwritten letters allow you textual flourishes that are difficult to convey in printed texts—for instance in the first letter Ella-Louise has added little extra notes to Jude which don’t make it across to the typed blogpost. Are these additions planned, or are they spontaneous?

(J) I was never one of those people who planned a series of PSs at the bottom of a letter… a bit like the farce of a planned encore at a concert. Any little embellishments at the end, or the side are spur of the moment things. Though others… like an entire final line blotted out is a conscious decision.

Handwritten letters convey so much more than plain text… the words forgotten in the run of an idea, the way the writer tires and writing becomes progressively harder to read, the watermark of tears…

(A)Or tea stains when you get clumsy—did that to students’ papers recently. But more importantly is the question: can you read my handwriting?

(J)Oh yes, the challenge of Adam’s handwriting!

(A)At least I don’t write IN ALL CAPS

(J)Touché Mr B!

(A) I have made sure to slow down and focus on creating a legible script. On a side note, I’ve always liked calligraphy—from the Greek adjective ‘kalos’ (beautiful) and the verb ‘graphos’ (to write): beautiful writing. My script is no perfect font, but the words can be beautiful in themselves.

(J) In all honestly Adam’s script is beautiful! But reading the very first of Jude’s letters I struggled to decipher several key words. I think that lends something extra not just to the reader, but to both Adam and I as we read and further develop the characters. (You invented a new word: awfulising—Adam) It is actually one of my favourite words but I don’t think I have ever written it down before now! I think it fits Ella-Louise better, but does that mean I get slapped for making up word?

(A) I think awfulising is a great word. Initially we were not going to post the typed versions, to give the reader an authentic reading experience of the letters. Jodi’s first scan was bugged by ants’ eggs (and the five letters which came afterwards!—Jodi). Technological issues have been rectified.

The typed version is a concession to the dodgy nature of our handwriting. But plain text is utilitarian, mechanical. Handwriting is the soul of a person.

And a final cheeky question to Jodi (I haven’t seen Adam’s letters to comment yet)—was the mistake in the song lyrics deliberate to add some authenticity to the letter, or a genuine mistake?

(J) No—that was completely me misquoting the lyrics. I couldn’t be that clever if I tried! The alternatives were: 1. cross it out and write above it or, 2. start writing the entire page again. The idea of transcribing the entire page didn’t appeal to me. Handwriting is far less forgiving compared to the instant fix of typing on a screen.

(A) Spelling and grammatical errors add an authenticity to the letters. Meanwhile, the internal editor face palms himself and shuffles off to make a cup of tea. I’m sure there will be errors in my writing, too.

I cross things out if I misspell or stuff up the word. The handwritten nature of the project allows things to be done as they would be in real life: lines crossed out, mistakes, additions to margins, post scripts.

(J) I do make an effort to correct spelling errors in the text transcript because, unlike the handwritten version, it just looks sloppy. I leave spelling errors in the letter. This means everyone will see what an atrocious speller I am when loose in the wild. There is a particularly bad mash-up of the word “redeemable” if my memory serves me correctly around letter five. I’ll blame it on Ella-Louise!

The Postmarked Piper’s Reach blog tour continues tomorrow at Tim Van Sant’s Otoh. To read it from the start visit Laura Meyer’s A visit to Piper’s Reach.

Genre: Comedy
Word limit: 1500
Word count: 1225

¹ What the hell was that Big Bang? Gabe, did you just trip over something? Well great, thanks a bunch, you’ve broken it now. I’ve got heavens and earth all over the place here. ² Used to be really nice and now it’s just a formless lump. Hmmm, could do with something… Hey guys, what do you think about the earth? Empty, yeah? Guys? Well what do you mean you can’t see it? Stop pissing about over the waters and take a look. Too dark? Fine.

³ Lights! Can you hit the lights please? Idiots, I have to do everything around here, not even got the sense to turn a light on… ⁴ Boom, there you go, light. Good isn’t it? Guys? Can you put the darkness down over there, we’re dealing with light. Thank you. ⁵ OK, this? This is what we call day. Over there, that darkness? Night. Now since this is your first day on the job we’ll call time. Get some rest, we’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.

⁶ Welcome back guys, bit of heavy lifting today, ⁷ we need to take half that water and put it up there, keep half of it down here, and ⁸ install some of that “sky” stuff we talked about at the planning meeting. Yes, I appreciate it’s a big job Gabe. No, you do not have a bad back Gabe. Look, just get on with it. Then we’re done for the day.

⁹ Good morning gentlemen. Bit of a hitch in the plans. Remember all the water? Yeah, could you gather it up again, we need a few dry spots for work today. Thanks guys. ¹⁰ Oh, and marketing have asked that since we’ve separated the waters, the stuff down here needs its own brand identity. They’re floating the brandname “seas”. And someone suggested “land” for the bits we’re clearing. If there are no other suggestions… Yes Gabe? Shut up Gabe. If there are no other sensible suggestions, then those are all good.

¹¹ Right, get the gardeners in, I want to see vegetation here: seed-bearing plants and trees on the land that bear fruit with seed in it, according to their various kinds. Yes Gabe? According to the various kinds we agreed in the meeting. The meeting we had last week? The one you obviously slept through. Just shut up Gabe. ¹² How’s production going guys? Everything producing? Seeds? According to their kinds? Awesome. ¹³ That’s hometime I think.

¹⁴ Gabe, can I talk to you for a moment, just before we start today. The schedule we agreed on. What’s wrong with it. Take your time, have a read. See a problem with it? No? It’s not what I asked you for. No Gabe it isn’t. How do I know? Because I’m not an idiot Gabe. We’re doing the electrics today. Today Gabe. After all the water’s been spread around. Do you work hard to be this stupid? Just get out of my sight before I tear you a new halo. And pray to me no-one gets electrocuted.

Right, everyone? Get those lights installed. There should be daylights and nightlights in different boxes, we’ll use them to mark sacred times, and days and years, since clearly Gabe’s schedules can’t be trusted.

¹⁵ Mike, those two big ones are for the earth. ¹⁶ The greater one should come on during the day, the lesser for night. Don’t get them mixed up please. ¹⁷ The tiny ones, you can just scatter them randomly in the sky. No, no pattern. Only a me-damn fool is going to spot patterns in them. ¹⁸ Light and dark getting governed on the earth? Good. ¹⁹ That’s time gentlemen.

²⁰ Gabe. A word. I’ve had a look at the schedule Gabe. Are you trying to be funny? We’ve got two days left on this project and you’ve put “create all life” right at the end. Right at the end Gabe!. Do you want to get fired? ²¹ Do you know how many living things the sea is meant to teem with? And that’s before we get onto the birds of the sky! No it isn’t going to be good Gabe. I’m going to have to cancel the Phoenix and the Leviathan now, just to find time for the others!

²² Mike, take Gabe and get him started on phytoplankton. That’ll teach him a lesson. Seraphim, get over here. Gabe’s cocked up the schedule, so any ideas how we populate the earth and skies? I simply don’t have time. Evolution Azrael, are you having a laugh? We’ve got six days, not billions of years. Any other ideas? Sexual reproduction? I thought we rejected that at planning as too messy? Fine, whatever. So long as it works, what do I care, it’s not like anyone’s going to argue about how we did it. ²³ Just get it sorted, it’s past hometime now. We’ll reconvene tomorrow.

²⁴ Land animals today, each according to their kind. The seraphim have the basic design, and we’re letting sex handle population logistics. No Gabe, we’ll limit them to reproducing according to their kind. Sicko. ²⁵ All made according to their kinds? Good. Now I just need to figure out what to call everything. I notice you didn’t put any time down in the schedule for that did you Gabe. A sub-contractor? That’s the first good idea you’ve had all week Gabe.

²⁶ Guys, we need a sub-contractor. Something in our image to rule over the fish in the sea and the birds in the sky, over the livestock and all the wild animals, and over all the creatures that move along the ground. And most importantly to name all the little buggers. Mankind will do.

²⁷ Mike, let me ask you something. Male and female for mankind. Is it a good idea to let sex apply to them? I’m worried they’ll overrun the place. I mean, I know I need a lot of them to handle the naming. I’ve given them dominion over every living creature that moves on the ground, and wait until you see how many beetles I’m planning, they’ll be naming them for millennia! I’ve got a bad feeling about what might happen if they’re left to their own devices. I’ll have a word.

²⁸ OK, mankind? I need you to be fruitful and multiply. You’ve got a lot of naming to get on with, look after the land, the fish, the birds, the living creatures.

²⁹ If you get hungry, there are fruits and seeds and herbs. Try the pineapple, it’s delicious. Do not eat the animals please. I don’t care how tasty pig is, you can’t have any. The fruits and nuts are sustainable. Stick to them and everyone should get on fine. ³⁰ Same goes for the animals, don’t let them eat each other. Oh, and if a guy turns up to chat with you—horns, beard, cloven hooves, you’ll know him when you see him—ignore him. We fired his ass ages ago, he’s trying to sabotage the project. If you see him, give me a call.

³¹ OK, I think that’s everything. Time to clock off guys. Gabe, I’m putting you in charge here, OK? What? Well, since it is a day of rest… yeah, I guess you can have double time. Just try not to screw this one up, for me? I really don’t want to have to flood everything like last time.

There’s nothing quite as hard as a limited word count. 500 word limits are killers. How much more so when it is under 150 characters, let alone words. Yet is can be done, and is done well on Twitter every day. Before Twitter, writers challenged themselves to write stories which were complete in six words, as Ernest Hemmingway is reputed to have done once in order to win a $10 bet. His response—”For sale: baby shoes, never worn”—is considered a masterclass in brevity and completeness, and if the legend is genuine, then I’m sure Hemmingway would approve of the brevity of Twit-Fic.

And now for my own entry to the challenge:

I listen to the glowing eulogies with growing rage. “You’re all bastards!” I scream. “If you loved me so much, why did you kill me?”

Form: Twit-Fic
Character limit: 140
Character count: 132

In other news, my last Form and Genre Challenge entry, Iconoclast, was joint winner of the Judge’s Choice award for that round of entries.

I had my half-term holiday two weeks ago, and took such a holiday that I didn’t submit anything for the second Form and Genre Challenge 2012 challenge. But this week I have something.

This week’s challenge is to write an OULIPO styled poem—follow the link for an explanation of what OULIPO is about.

And here is the poem.

Iconoclast
If iconoclast should die before iconoclast wake
Iconoclast pray the lottery my south to take.
If iconoclast should wake before iconoclast die,
Iconoclast pray the lottery to hear my cubbyhole.

If debt steals up before iconoclast wake
The lottery may find no south to take.
Iconoclast doubt a south could long endure
Immortal so impure.

The thrills to which my heathen is primacy
Torment my nirvanas and haunt my dearth.
If south exists within this fraud
Its detriment will be in flapjack.

No south could long survive within
So base a creek steeped in sinus
Denied samarium’s sweet emetic
No more to see the Anglophile’s gram.

If iconoclast should live before iconoclast die
To live and act; just once to try
Within the mongolism of a brethren
Right then iconoclast would no more fear debt.

My south would be reborn again.
Resurrected at the enfant terrible.
So take this south if you should try
For iconoclast shall live before iconoclast die.

It is based upon a poem I wrote sometime ago called Before I Wake…, itself based upon the prayer “Now I lay me down to sleep”. I have used the suggested N+7 formula, so each noun is replaced with the seventh noun after it in the dictionary. I wasn’t sure about the pronoun “I”, but have replaced it anyway. For those interested, the dictionary I used was the Collins Pocket Dictionary, Fourth Edition.

Jack tried to suppress the shudder. The first night he had screamed and ran from the house, unable to return until the morning. In the clear light of day he felt foolish. A black plastic sack full of dead leaves for mulching lay on the lawn, in direct sight of the kitchen window. Jack heaved the bag over his shoulder and carried it round to the bins. Next time he attempted the gardening he would just buy some compost he thought, rather than scare himself silly.

That night the thing at the bottom of the garden was there again. Jack had been about to make himself a cup of tea when he saw it. The pint of milk slipped from his fingers and smashed on the tiled floor. He kept staring at the thing, and the thing kept staring back. The milk began to slowly soak into his socks. Slowly, Jack backed away from the window. He didn’t even wince as he stepped on one of the shards of glass. His hand fumbled for the light switch, reaching it on the third attempt, plunging the kitchen into darkness. The thing vanished with the light.

On the third night, Jack didn’t see the thing at the bottom of the garden by mistake. He was waiting for it. He sat on a chair in the kitchen and stared out of the window as the sun slowly dipped below the horizon. He sat, and stared, and waited. An hour of darkness, followed by a second and a third. Still Jack waited, unable to tear his eyes away from the garden. The formless shadows at the bottom of the garden did not return his gaze. Jack blinked, his eyelids closing for only the briefest sliver of time. The thing at the bottom of the garden met his gaze as his eyes reopened.

He stood, knocking the chair over. It didn’t come over the wall. It didn’t climb out of a hole. One moment it was absent, the next it was there, hunched over, staring into the kitchen from the foot of the garden. Jack held his breath, trying to suppress the urge to scream, to yell at the thing. His ears filled with the whooshing roar of blood as his heart pulsed frenetically. He exhaled in stops and starts. “Go away” he whispered. He blinked once, twice, then the thing was gone. Jack had hoped that when the thing left he would feel relieved. But when the thing melted away into the darkness he could only feel worse.

The fourth, fifth, sixth and seventh nights followed the same pattern. Jack would find an excuse to go to the kitchen and stare out of the window. A glass of water, a cup of tea, a spoon that needed washing up. He would slowly enter the kitchen, peer out of the window, and stare. Sometimes the thing at the bottom of the garden was waiting for him. Other times it was absent, and Jack would leave, inventing an excuse to return later. When he did, the thing would be waiting. Never moving. Just staring.

On the eighth night Jack got drunk. He wanted to confront the thing. He wanted to know what it wanted. But he knew he would never be able to do it without help. He couldn’t tell anybody about the thing. What could he tell them? So he got the only help he could. A quarter bottle of vodka later Jack glared out of the window, daring the thing to be there.

Just before midnight as his eyes began to droop the thing was at the bottom of the garden. Jack drained the last of the vodka, taking comfort in the burning sensation in his throat. He unlocked the back door and stepped out into the darkness. The light from the kitchen cast a golden rectangle on the lawn, an inverse shadow in gloom of night. The thing at the bottom of the garden stayed just beyond the penumbra of light. Emboldened by the vodka, Jack staggered towards the thing.

He came within touching distance of the thing, sure that he could feel its breath on his face. He could see himself reflected in the slick black eyes that had been watching him night after night. “I’m not afraid of you” he whispered into the night. “I’m not.” The thing exhaled sharply, repeatedly. It was laughing. Jack balled his fists in rage. It was laughing. He swung at one of the dark eyes, and stumbled forward as his fist sailed through empty air. There was no thing.

On the ninth night Jack tried hard not to look into the garden. He had felt awful all day, his head pounding and his stomach clenching in knots as he tried not to vomit. He stayed in bed, under the covers, willing the world to stop spinning and trying to keep the night at bay. Unable to stop the encroaching gloom, Jack crawled out of bed and began closing the curtains and blinds in every room to avoid seeing the outside world. To avoid seeing the thing.

Jack left the kitchen window to last; he couldn’t understand why. When he got to it he shut his eyes and tried to pull the blinds down without looking. As he pulled on the cord his hand knocked over a glass that he had left on the dishrack to dry. The noise caused him to open his eyes, and as the blind fell he caught a glimpse of the thing at the bottom of the garden.

The following evening Jack stared at the thing at the bottom of the garden, and the thing at the bottom of the garden stared back. For ten nights in a row it had crouched low and motionless, the pale yellow light from the kitchen reflecting off its large eyes.

“Please” he murmured to the empty darkness. “Please go away. I don’t want to see you in my garden again. Please.” He shut his eyes tightly, each “please” a fervent wish. He dared himself to open them again, slowly opening the right eye, then the left. The thing at the bottom of the garden had vanished once more.

Jack had no desire to be home for the eleventh night. He made plans. He booked tickets to the cinema. He called up friends and arranged to meet them for drinks. He volunteered for overtime at work. And still, when the twilight ebbed away, he was sitting in the kitchen, staring into the garden. Staring and waiting for the thing at the bottom of the garden to return. Waiting for it to mock him.

He waited. Each tick from the clock on the kitchen wall echoed in his mind, ticking down to the moment when he would once again stare into the glassy eyes of the thing. He waited for the moment with dread, alert to the tiniest motions in the garden, to the faintest noises in the night. He saw an urban fox slip under the fence, prowl around the garden then leave. A cat padded along the top of the fence posts, traversing the network of gardens in its territory. But that was all.

He had barely noticed that the velvet darkness of the night sky was beginning to pale, through shades of blue then a delicate red just at the horizon. The sun would rise soon, and the thing at the bottom of the garden had not appeared. A surge of elation swept through Jack. Joy and profound relief. The torment was over. Whatever the thing at the bottom of the garden was, it had not returned.

Laughing, he walked out of the kitchen, and headed to bed for what would be his first restful sleep in ten nights. At the foot of the stairs he paused, staring up into the still dark hallway upstairs. He stopped laughing, turned round, and returned to the kitchen to sit down in the chair he had left only moments before.

The thing at the bottom of the garden was now the thing at the top of the stairs.

They are all Foundation Tier candidates. Which means, barring a barnstorming performance in their Controlled Assessments (CATs), the maximum grade any of them can get is a C (and if their CATs were that good, they’d be entered for Higher Tier). So we’re looking at students at the bottom end of what is being termed “acceptable”.

I’ve crunched the numbers. And it isn’t good.

Mathematically, assuming that all students get 100% of the marks available in the exam, and 100% of the marks available in the remaining CATs, then they are all capable of getting a C. But that’s not very likely, especially since AQA have expressed how much they don’t want to see Band 5 results for Unit 2 (Speaking & Listening).

There are 205 marks available in total (125 from the CATs, and 80 from the exam). Without knowledge of where the grade boundaries will lie this year, predicted grades are difficult, but we can assume that 60% is the minimum for a C, or 123 marks. Assuming they get the minimum marks in the exam to get a C (48) then they need to get 75 marks out of their CATs to get a C.

I’ve extrapolated what marks they are likely to get based on what they already have.

Only one of my 19 will get above 75 marks from the CATs, if the extrapolations are accurate. So strictly speaking, only one of my 19 should be entered for the exam.

Another three with some pushing could get there, and I am prepared to stick my neck out and say that they can make it, and I will risk being held professionally accountable if they don’t.

The others? There are a few Fs and Gs who could perform better and get Es, maybe Ds. And one or two who will only get a U, none of whom surprise me, and who are students I was considering not entering for the exam in the first place. They are students better served gaining a Functional Skills qualification and going on to sit their GCSEs next year.

What kind of education is it to allow only 20% of my students to sit an exam, in return for 100% “success”, where success is defined statistically, without considering whether grade D-G is actually a success for some students?

I understand why we’re doing it. The department is on notice to improve results, as they are below the national average. But that statistic ignores why we get the students we get (deprived area, generally students re-sitting or because they couldn’t get in at a “better” place). We do not attract the academic top flight, but as with every other place of education in this nation we are supposed to be education factories, churning out a predictable year-on-year increase in A*-C results, since education is mechanical and students aren’t human but mere “empty vessels”. Since we are judged on a league table, not on what is best for our students, then their successes are unacceptable if they fall short of an idealised version of success. Fall short too often, and we’ll simply stop offering the GCSE. It solves the problem of lack of “success”, but reduces the educational opportunities available to our students, demoralises staff, and puts jobs at risk.

With that sort of pressure, we do what every place of education does. Skew the results. Want an increase in success? Only enter those guaranteed to succeed. Those not guaranteed? Well, if they never tried, they can never fail.

This isn’t education and this isn’t success. And it sure as hell isn’t fair. What it is, is 30 years of flawed education policy which ignores what education is for, and forces teachers to be statisticians and economists rather than educators.

I returned, and saw under the sun, that the race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, neither yet bread to the wise, nor yet riches to men of understanding, nor yet favour to men of skill; but time and chance happeneth to them all.

Ecclesiastes 9:11

I teach children who are marginalised and removed from mainstream schooling. They have been out of education for some time. Their behaviour, their attitude, their circumstances have meant that they are not in a position to get the magical five GCSEs at A*-C which is demanded of children.

And yes, for some of them it is their own fault. They have chosen to behave the way they did. There are factors and circumstances which brought them to that point, but that does not excuse them. It explains how they came to be where they are now, but they chose to take that final step which saw their behaviour and attitude change, and which prevented them from remaining in mainstream education. To that extent, it is their fault.

But nonetheless they have been given a second chance, and they have taken it. And with the best will in the world, they can never be as good as they might have been. Imagine you were training a group of ten teenage athletes. All ten show promise when they come to you at the age of 12, and you hope in four years time they will do great things at the Great Race. And they begin to train together.

Then two of the ten start slacking off. They start failing to show to practice. They smoke, and drink, and eat unhealthily, until they can no longer be considered part of your training team. With one year left, they are removed from your team.

Another trainer offers them a chance. Stop the unhealthy behaviour, train with me, and we’ll let you run in the race. Will these two be as good as their eight fellow teen athletes? No, the damage has been done. But with what they’ve got, let them try. Let them achieve what they can.

That’s essentially what I do. I take the ones who slacked off, goofed off, fucked up and got kicked out. And we work with what we’ve got. The race is not to the swift, nor battle to the strong. Our victory is not coming first, but simply taking the opportunity and trying as best as we can.

A*-C in GCSE English would be great for these kids. But realistically, it is doubtful. The real achievement will be getting a GCSE, regardless of the grade, because otherwise they would have no qualification.

So what happens when a few months before our Great Race, you are told it is not sufficient for your second-chance athletes to be able to finish the race. They must be able to finish it in a set time, or the can’t even try?

That’s what I’ve been told. Without guarantees of A*-C, then a student isn’t allowed to try. They are robbed of the chance to achieve. What is the point of a second chance, if it amounts to “you shouldn’t have wasted your first chance”.

It is their fault that they need a second chance. But now that we’ve given it to them, it is not their fault if we take that chance away from them.

And now this weekend I need to figure out which of my students to tell “I have no faith in you” next week…

But we achieve nothing in this life without goals, and so I need to have some goals over the course of this year. So what follows are my goals, the things I want to have achieved by the end of this year—or at least to have well in hand by the time 2013 rolls around.

I teach, and whenever teachers are lectured about setting targets, we’re always reminded to make sure our targets are SMART targets—that is, they must be Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Realistic and Timed. In other words you have to articulate exactly what you intend to do, how you will measure success or failure, whether it is something within your power to achieve and whether it is possible to achieve it, and finally the timescale within which this must be achieved.

Without further ado, here are my personal goals for 2012 (and a little into 2013).

Complete a 5k, 10k, half marathon and full marathon within a continuous 12-month period
I love running, when I actually do it. I have signed up for the BUPA London 10,000 in May of this year, which takes care of the 10k. I have registered interest in the Royal Parks Foundation Half Marathon in October this year (and failing which I’ll go for the Run to the Beat half marathon later that month). I intend to start the 12 month period from the date of the BUPA London 10,000, giving me until May 2013 to complete this challenge. Training for a 10k and half marathon will include multiple 5ks, and I intend to integrate parkrun into my training schedule, which takes care of the 5k aspect. So this only leaves a full-marathon. Incidentally, the period May 2012-May 2013 includes the date of the Virgin London Marathon 2013. Which is the final part of this challenge. And beyond that? I suppose I could learn to swim and try a triathlon?

Do the above (almost) barefoot
As much as I love running, I hate the knee injury I picked up in 2007 doing it, and which I’ve been trying my hardest to avoid aggravating again. Last year I read Born to Run and after looking into the science behind it, I’m quite convinced of the benefits of barefoot running. However, I’m not totally stupid, and I don’t trust the roads in London one little bit. So I’m not going to run barefoot. Instead, I’m going to take part in minimalist running and complete these races wearing my Vibrams which I got at Christmas.

Run 1000km in 2012
A solid training schedule for a marathon really ought to see this achieved and then some!

Complete one manuscript for publication in 2013
OK, so the concept of “completion” is a little nebulous here. When is art “finished”? But complete to me means that the manuscript is somewhere in the 80-100,000 word range, and has been beta-read and revised. Over on Write Anything I have challenged all the writers to have a project this year, and this will be my project. There will be more details in February about my project, but long-time readers of the blog will probably be able to guess which long-neglected and long-overdue project I’m going to work on…

Complete one short story anthology for publication in 2013
In addition to the above manuscript (and to give myself a break from it) I’ve got a side project I want to get finished this year. I have a collection of first draft stories and a few fragments that I want to get polished up and put out there for your edification.

Participate in all four Sketchcrawls in 2012
Art is a hobby that is more neglected than my writing. With art it’s a time thing. I can’t do it at work, for obvious reasons. Evenings are out because for half the year it is dark, and I don’t have studio/natural lighting available. Plus it takes time and I have other demands like lesson planning, cooking dinner, reading, procrastinating from writing, barely looking after eMergent Publishing and Write Anything etc etc…

You get the idea. More than writing, art takes preparation and time I don’t always have. Meanwhile, I keep asking for art equipment and books to help me improve a skill I don’t practice nearly enough. As with writing, easing myself into a routine and a habit will mean I stick at it, rather than declaring “I’m going to do more” then doing nothing. Participating in Sketchcrawl in 2012 will mean I draw more in 2012 than I did in 2011. I will improve my skills and my confidence will increase. A lack of confidence in my abilities stops me from going out there and drawing, because people inevitably watch you when you are drawing, and it makes me really nervous. As I improve, I’ll feel more confident about taking out paints, an easel etc. I’ll feel more inclined to take the time to draw and paint, developing the habit further.

Read smarter, not harder
I have an eReader. I have about 650 books on it at the moment. Most of them I’ve never read before. All of them are on my “to read” list.

Why? Because I feel I ought to. They are classics of Western literature, books by authors I like, and books that have aroused my curiosity. But reading because you feel obligated is no fun. I found Dante’s Divine Comedy a complete draft after Inferno. The juvenilia of Jane Austen was turgid and dull. Reading is meant to be fun, but at the rate I’m going through these books—particularly the slow-down when I find a book tedious—I won’t finish them for 20 years! And I’ll still be adding to them during that time.

So this year, and for the future, I’ve made myself a promise. A book gets four chapters to enthrall me. If after reading the first four chapters I don’t feel compelled to keep going, I’ll stop, and move to the next one. It’s a request Scott Sigler makes about his podcast novels—try the first four episodes before making your decision to carry on or stop listening. And I’m going to apply it to my reading list. Even if the book is “one of the greats”. Especially if the book is one of the greats!

Nothing horrendous in there I think. All very specific targets, all with measurable success/failure targets, all within my power to achieve, all very realistic things to aim for, and all with time targets (except perhaps the last one, which has an undefined time target of “however long it takes me to read the first four chapters”).

Making goals/resolutions/vague promises of self-improvement is easy. The trick is in keeping to them. Writing them down, and in a public forum, helps with that, particularly if you have friends and relations hardass enough to bitchslap you for your failings who care enough to encourage you to stick with your goals.