School to desired temperature: Mr Moody

Generally speaking, it is the memories you don't remember that define you.

I'm not talking about traumatic experiences that are suppressed in the mind and then go on to shunt a personality one of several ways, although that can sometimes happen (and I'm not just saying that because I've been watching a lot of Dexter lately). Besides, you may well ask, is it even a memory if you don't remember it? Well – yes. In a healthy brain, a memory never truly goes away. There are things that you can forget for days, weeks, years, even decades at a time, and then one day – sometimes for no apparent reason – remember quite vividly. It was always there.

Memories are funny things though, aren't they? Little nuggets of your life that have somehow settled into your brain forever over other events of that hour, or day, or week, or month, or year. Sometimes, a memory can be so spectacularly prosaic that you find yourself disappointed in your own brain, which is a terribly confusing situation to be in. Other times, the memory is buoyed up with such joy – or weighed down with such sorrow – that it would be impossible for you not to have made a mental record. My point however (I seem to remember having one) is this: it's the memories that you don't bring up on a regular basis that work hardest to sculpt your personality. The ones that are left to quietly go about their business in the back of your head, undisturbed, gently blowing your reactions and decisions this way and that.

It might be something of a cliché to say that you never forget a good teacher, but it's bloody true. Months will pass where I completely forget they ever existed but, now and again, I will remember three English teachers from my final years of formal education. I was very lucky with my school and (mostly) with my teachers. The three I am thinking of here are Mr Moody, Mrs Bradley, and – I can only hope I spell the name correctly – Mr Lanaway. Today, I shall attack you with talk of Mr Moody.

Mr Moody was the kind of teacher I used to think only existed in sitcoms. Young, talking to the class mostly as 'one of the guys', goatee beard, extremely informal (which is why I remember his name was Steve); he thought he was cool. And he was. He had us all engaged in every single lesson, and knew the secret to good teaching that so many teachers fail to grasp; people will learn so much faster and so much better if you talk with them rather than at them. His lessons left me with two main memories.

A little background before I go into the first; I was a weird kid. When I say 'weird', I don't mean 'pull small birds apart and throw the remains at passing cars' weird. I mean 'very introverted, pushed further away from my peers by the fact that I was always visibly poorer than everybody else in my achingly middle class school' weird. I had a circle of friends that, had it been any smaller, would have imploded. Things started getting a lot better very quickly when I hit the age of 16 and the sixth form. I was never really bullied at any age (apart from the time somebody purposefully hurled a basketball at me from close range, and when I showed him how this had unwelcomely reconstructed one of my fingers he laughed). I've never done drugs or smoked anything at all, and didn't start drinking alcohol until I was nearly old enough to buy my own anyway. I also had a habit of questioning the dogma thrust upon us by the Roman Catholic school; when Mrs Rebbit (the RE teacher who, playground legend had it, believed that God had pushed her child on a swing) asked me in utter exasperation why I attended the school if I didn't believe it all, she didn't seem to be happy with my answer that I came to school to learn things. In fact, I have one memory I attach to Mrs Rebbit; in one lesson, she stopped in the middle of whatever drivel she was spouting to ask if I was draped over my desk face-down, arms spread, in an imitation of the crucifixion (I wasn't, I was just tired).

I was 17, and that was my Philosophy of Religion class. Unbeknownst to me at the time she marked my coursework which counted for 40% of the grade, and I got an E.

Short version: Even when I was cautiously accepted into the teenage fold, I was never One Of Them. We lived in different worlds. I was that kid; the weird one nobody really understood. Anyway, let's get back to it, shall we?

Work Experience. The words still send a shiver down my spine. It was sewn into the school curriculum and, once you'd done your week of pretending to have A Job, you'd write up your week and read it out in front of the class. I shan't go into details in order to protect the innocent, but I did not enjoy my week of work experience. I did not enjoy it so much, my writeup (which I dearly wish I still had to hand) was venomous. Humorous, but so acidic the paper probably burned my hands a little.

The result surprised everyone, including me. I don't remember what I said or how I said it, but I certainly remember getting a lot of laughs. When I was done I had a little round of applause; and Mr Moody, turning to me with a look halfway between admiration and fear, said “Well, if I ever want anything ripped apart, I'll certainly come to you”.

Later that day, one of my classmates even said to me (with genuine shock) “Yeah, you can be pretty funny actually”. I'd been interested in writing long before that point, but I think that was one of the first times in my life where I realised that if you make people laugh, you can fool them into thinking that they like you. That, I think, went a long way to establishing the importance I attach to humour not just in (some of) my writing, but to my life in general.

My second lasting memory of Mr Moody is somewhat less profound, but can not pass without mention. I'm reasonably sure this didn't have anything to do with the lesson at the time. Mr Moody, in front of the entire class with the blackboard behind him, hands in pockets, asked us why it was that one's buttocks automatically clench when one holds one's breath. He was, I assure you, being completely serious. None of us knew what the hell he was talking about and so, when he discovered with genuine surprise that he was the only one suffering this terrible affliction, he changed the subject. Probably to something on the curriculum. I don't remember – that wasn't what made an impression on me that day.

I hope I can encourage you to join me next time for talk of Mrs Bradley, which will include:

• Disdain for D.H. Lawrence!
• Me acting in a foreign accent!
• Shouting!
• And more!  

Luke

Terry Pratchett: Neither gone nor forgotten

Hello. My name's Luke Kemp, or at least that's what my parents tell me. Through what I can only presume is a series of mistakes similar to those leading to Mr Bean vandalising Whistler's Mother, I have been allowed to contribute a story to this upcoming anthology. Remember, 100% of profits go to Alzheimer's Research UK – so if you buy less than three copies, you are a bad person.

I'm extremely fortunate, in that I have thus far not had somebody I love suffer Alzheimer's Disease (at least, not officially diagnosed). Statistically however I almost certainly will in the future. Perhaps that somebody will even be me. It already feels wonderful to know that I will, in however large or small a way, be a part of something that contributes funding towards understanding this condition which steals so much of what makes us visibly human. I immediately confess that I do not know enough about Alzheimer's to talk at length about it without feeling like a fraud. Sir Terry Pratchett and his work, though? Like any fan, I am arrogant enough to have opinions. More accurately, Opinions, with a capital 'pretend I know what I'm talking about'. And here they are.

I remember, a year or two ago, idly looking through a list of Terry Pratchett books and being shocked to discover that I had read virtually all of them. More specifically I was surprised to find that I had read every single Discworld novel released up to that point. I haven't read every single one in sequence (like a great many other people – right?), but I have read them all at least once at some point. Discworld books just sort of drifted into my life; but once they were there, they weren't so much a part of the furniture as the steel beams that stopped the walls from falling down in my imaginary library. Finding a Discworld book I didn't own and not buying it was unthinkable.

It's not fair (or accurate) to reduce Pratchett's work to one series of books, even if they are his best known and most numerous. For example, Good Omens – co-written with Neil Gaiman – is one of the greatest books ever, and everybody should be forced to read it at least once. The Long Earth books, another collaboration (this time with Stephen Baxter), are also absolutely brilliant and very, very different from his most popular solo outings. Sir Terry himself went on record, more than once, as saying that he believed Nation to be the best book he'd ever written or would ever write. It is indeed an amazing book. Nation has imagination tinged with pain; rage flavoured with fear; despair sprinkled with love. On another level it can be considered an atheistic anthem, and – intentionally or otherwise – can be used to put all of his other work into context to some extent. Nonetheless, it is the Discworld which is Pratchett's greatest achievement.

Note that I say it is the Discworld which is his greatest achievement. Not a particular Discworld book, or the Discworld series; the Discworld itself. In every single book, on every single page, it is a real world in a real universe populated by real people. Okay, so sometimes the people are made of stone or turn into animals or are older than the human mind can conceive, but the reader never doubts that they exist. This is because – by every definition but the one they teach in schools – they do exist.

I miss Rincewind. I admire Harry King, but I'd want to stay on the right side of him (not too close, though). I'd love to have a tour of Unseen University, so long as I was never more than three paces away from something sturdy to hide behind. I've walked countless miles along the surface of the Discworld, sitting somewhere comfy for every step. It's a real place that's better than reality; it can give you untold pleasure, but is incapable of giving you pain.

Sir Terry Pratchett the frail human being has passed away. Terry Pratchett the author is immortal. He talks to thousands – perhaps millions – of people every day, in more countries than you or I could name in twenty minutes without an Atlas. He tells people that, hey, it's not so bad. He makes people laugh. He makes people cry. He teaches people things they never knew they wanted to know. He takes people on mesmerising journeys through fantastical lands, lands that he created. He tells people that maybe – just maybe – they, too, can send heartwarming ripples across the world with nothing more than a human mind and a keyboard.

Terry Pratchett isn't dead. He's just reached the point where people have finally stopped asking him to sign things. 

Introducing your authors - round A!

The other day Sorin asked me why on earth we have author announcements 'round one' and 'round a'.  I explained it's because both groups are equally awesome!

With no further ado, here are the other authors participating in the 'In Memory' anthology:

• Anna Mattaar, Netherlands, www.annamattaar.nl.  Writer for computer games and soon-to-be novelist.
• Charlotte Slocombe, UK, student and future writing superhero
• Steven McKinnon, UK, independent author
• R McK, UK, freelance writer
• P E, UK, pioneer of the dramatic arts

Plus three more who are remaining a mystery for the time being.

Recipe no. 231

OK, let me bite the bullet here.

What kind of story can you write for an anthology dedicated to the memory of Terry Pratchett? How do you honour a person that meant so much to you, a person that educated you, soothed you, made you laugh out loud and made you hide a little inner smile when there was nothing else to smile about in your life?

Should you write a sad story, given the fact that he’s barely gone for several weeks now? Something about death and mourning, maybe? Should you, instead, given his positive take on life and death and, literally, everything, write some humorous, lighthearted piece?  

I was torn for a bit. Then I thought it doesn’t have to be one or the other – it just has to point to something meaningful in Sir Terry’s life and career. So I thought of his role as an influencer and I decided to go for that. My character – who is in very little ways Terry Pratchett – shares with him the depth of the universe he once created and the impact his books had on the most unexpected people. Then I recalled the moment when I found out about Sir Terry’s death, and I thought something like “Nah, this is just a trick. I bet he simply found a way to escape our reality and now he’s enjoying life in some nice neighbourhood of Ankh-Morpork!”

Without any more spoilers… I put the two together, added a teaspoon of salt and stirred thoroughly, and I came up with “The Prime Factor”. Which, I hope, lives up to its purpose.

This being said, I’m hugely excited to be part of this project of Laura and Sorin, and I know I’m in good company. I wish the best of luck to everyone that’s still working on their stories, and I can’t wait to read every single one of them.

Cris

Meet your authors (round one!)

Now that acceptances have been sent out, we're happy to let you know who our authors are.  Round one is below (round 'A' will be following shortly!).  We judged submissions based on their quality, not on whether the writer had been published before.  As such, we have a fantastic mix of published and unpublished authors, who are all coming together for this fantastic cause.

• Michael Schaefer, Germany (new author)
• Mike Reeves-McMillan, New Zealand (prolific novelist, website: http://csidemedia.com/gryphonclerks/)
• J E Nice, UK (fantasy and paranormal writer)
• Caroline Friedel, Germany (scientifically prolific)
• Chris Drew, UK (new author)
• Peter Knighton, UK (new author)
• Jay Vee Choong, Malaysia (published in Esquire Malaysia and KL Noir Yellow)
• DK Mok, Australia (novels include The Other Tree and Hunt for Valamon, website: http://www.dkmok.com/)
• Luke Kemp, UK (writer for criticalgamer.co.uk)
• Faiz Kermani, France (award-winning children's author, website: http://www.faizkermani.com/)
• Cristian Englert, Netherlands (novelist, previously published in Romanian)

Many of our writers will be doing guest blog posts over the upcoming months, so keep an eye out!

All authors have been notified!

All authors who responded to the call for submissions have now been emailed, and all rejections and acceptances sent out.  In the end we had hundreds of submissions, 43 short-listed authors, and 19 selected.  We saw an amazing variety of texts, from people in all kinds of positions and all over the world.  We had to make some very difficult choices due to the high quality of submissions received, and we look forward to producing a truly excellent anthology.

Submission are closed!

Thanks to everybody who submitted their ideas and writing samples.  Further correspondence will be going out in the next few days, so don't panic if you haven't heard from us yet.

In the interim, this is where our several hundred submissions came from: