Hello everyone,

General:
There's no general news this month, but there does seem to be a shortage of comments. This may, of course, be because of Geoff's descriptions of his exciting adventures with an ant.

Cliffhanger:
I'd like to hear more views on this as a story. I found it fascinating as an exercise, and the way it developed. But what about the story itself as a final entity, no matter how it was developed.

Story/article crits:
The Shy Young Man (my short story that you eventually got). You may not have had time, and you may not think it worthy commenting on (I wasn't happy with it, anyway) but the essential bit in the story - about the girl standing naked in front of the window was actually true. I wanted to write the story about that specific feature (is that the right word?)

Regular Challenges:
See the Challenges page for details of Challenge 2 and for the results of Challenge 1.

Group Novel:
Click here for more details.

Membership of Group Projects:
This has come up through the discussions. It is entirely up to members whether they complete regular challenges or contribute to any group activity. But having said that, the whole point of Alpha is to share the enjoyment of writing, and the regular challenges are there just for that: I think everyone would agree that they have learnt something useful from them, and certainly enjoyed some very good pieces of writing indeed. However, while all members must have the opportunity to join in any activity we create, they must also have the right to opt out. In that respect, it is always helpful to know that you are opting out, whether for a project or for any of the regular challenges.

Chris's Idea:
In the course of discussion, Chris raised the idea of a collection of short stories (only stories?) with a theme running through them. How many members would be interested in this – and what themes would anyone suggest? Put STORY THEME in the subject box.

Discussion:
We don't often have much to do with poetry, but seeing that we are at Armistice time, I'd like to ask for your comments on two poems by a friend of mine, Richard Elmes. Richard was a very gentle man. He died about 3 years ago, but he had a very careful way with words - his output wasn't great by volume, but even in his short stories, he would weigh every word very carefully to get the right impact.

"The Night that had no Moon" reflects the time he spent in Stalag Luft III. It conveys what it was like to be in a PoW camp - but how well does it do it for you?

THE NIGHT THAT HAD NO MOON

Evening roll-call comes and goes
We pound the sandy circuit,
Under the threat of the razored wire
And the stare of the triggered goon.
We keep our eyes averted
From the spot that is sullied and dirties
For a friend died there beneath that wire
Last night, that had no moon.

He couldn't wait for the safer tunnel
Shored up with boards and sweat.
There just wasn't time;
He had a fierce need to be gone.
The mail had come in,
Bringing a so potent letter.
One for swift action.
A letter beginning, "Dear John"

We mostly makes jokes of a light-hearted kind
About life without women and sex.
Comic theories abound
Whereby we may let off some steam.
"Fall asleep face downward,"
One pseudo-expert tells us,
"Lie prone and not supine,
You're on a wet dream."

Comedian Nobby Ashley,
Five feet of scrubby cockney,
Fixes his moment of drifting off
On a girl in the nude by Niagara Falls.
Alas, he wakes unsatisfied.
"Nothing ever seems to work.
All I got out of it
Was lover's Henry Halls."

We have a slick cartoonist
Who shows up Blondie Bumstead.
Gymnastic with a neighbour
On a tandem, then racing bikes.
Their poses look impracticable,
But the piece finds a prurient purchaser
Who offers a hundred Players
And a packet of lucky Strikes.

Morning roll-call comes and goes,
We pound the sandy circuit
Under the threat of the razored wire
And the stare of the triggered goon.
We keep our eyes averted
From the spot which is bloodied and dirtied.
Poor John, he couldn't laugh at life
On the night that had no moon.

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In World War II time, it was the practice for every plane to be named after a mascot of some kind, often a girl's name. An icon was painted near the cockpit, and the symbol became a god or goddess who looked after you, particularly on bombing missions. As a crew member, you looked to her for your safety: she was your only god during those missions. I have an understanding of this, because I was a member of a Lancaster squadron, but not until after the war had ended, and I find it a very powerful poem. I wonder if it has that effect on you youngsters?

WARTIME MASCOT

Last night, in a dream,
          we spanned the mighty cosmos
Her dream it was, she told me;
          certainly not mine.
How could that be,
          unless I was her creation?
Her fingers sealed my lips
          in warning sign.
Whither were we bound
          in close call to the stars?
Dynamos, vast humming-tops,
          thunder their dark tune.
"Your place of rest,” she answered,
          "where time and space are one
North of bleak November,
          and east side of the moon."

I knew the siren then,
          from fifty years long past;
Her painted image watchful
          on my Lancaster at war.
She'd put a charm on life for me:
          at last its lease was run.
Borrowed time must be repaid,
          with interest evermore.

I feared that bleak November
          along the moon's east side:
No place to spend eternity
          now my day was done!
Could I but touch her mercy
          she might seek a milder spot -
South of showery April, say,
          and due west of the sun.

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Please circulate any comments you have with POEMS in the subject box.

That's all for this month. I have enjoyed reading all the emails which have been circulating, and I think we have all especially enjoyed Geoff's writing.

Best wishes to you all

- Olaf