Build a book Workshop Chapter 1 Getting organized

 

You probably already have some ideas about how and why you want to run your workshop. However, it might be worth working through the following questions, reading the rest of the manual and then coming back to this chapter later.

Who will take part?

Do you want to conduct the workshop with a whole class? Several classes?  A whole year group? Across several year groups? Do you want to use an identified group – such as “the gifted and talented” or “girls who lack confidence”? Will the participants be obliged to take part or will they volunteer? How will you sell the idea to your colleagues and to the potential participants?      

Enlisting extra help

Even if you are working with your own class, you are doing something a little unusual, so some extra pairs of hands in the classroom are welcome. Your own teaching assistants are obvious choices. Doubling up classes can work well also – one teacher can lead and another can support.

If you invite outsiders your school may require    them to be CRB checked. They should also have public liability insurance. Many writers who conduct school visits do have both of these. However, at the time of writing, the Government has said that CRB checks are not always necessary for occasional visitors, such as writers or artists. The Society of Authors has argued for a long time that they are not necessary although the National Association of Writers in Education have advised their members to have them and have assisted with this. The latter also provides its professional members with £10,000,000 of public liability insurances. A sensible question for your writer might be, therefore, “Are you a professional member of NAWE?” Note that the public liability insurance is only effective if members of your own staff are present during the visit. This would be sensible anyway.

Perhaps an obvious choice is a local writer who does school visits. Be warned, however, that the Society of Authors recommended fee for a day’s visit by a writer is £350. Nevertheless, some writers are willing to do a shorter visit for travelling expenses and the opportunity to sell their books and talk about their work. New writers who are finding their feet with school visits, will often work for a reduced fee. The latter could be very useful to support your workshop; you would basically lead the workshop and they could add in valuable insights as you go along. You may find lists of writers who are happy to conduct school visits in the following places:

·         NAWE’s professional register,  http://nawe.new.hciyork.co.uk/professional-directory.html  

·         Wordpool’s Contact An Author http://www.contactanauthor.co.uk/

·         The Society of Authors’ Search for an Author http://www.societyofauthors.org/WritersAZ

You can always factor the writer’s fee into you expenses.

Obviously, one may also involve such bodies as the PTA or other support groups associated with your school.

Other good workshop supporters are creative writing students and graduates who are eager to get on PGCE courses. They are only too willing to offer free assistance in order to complete their school experience. As with the inexperienced writer, using them in this situation is ideal. They can learn from you. You retain the control. They have some expertise that you don’t have. Your school may want to get a CRB check done, despite recent pronouncements by the Government, and you must factor that into your expenses.  

In all cases, you need to allow time to acquaint these helpers with their role and to conduct any checks.   

Organizing your book

You may want to involve your students in any decision about this, but it is probably also worth having a few ideas yourself as well.  

What will you include? Do you just want to include one type of writing e.g. non-fiction or poetry? Do you want to include some work by everyone in the group? Or will you only include the very best work – even if that means that only a few students will be “published”? Will the contributions to the group be grouped by theme, type or person? Or all of these, within groups?  

Think what else you might want to include. Do you want to write an introduction? Do you want get someone else to write a foreword? Perhaps a senior person at your school or someone from the charity you are supporting or maybe your invited writer? Could you include all of these people in some way? If supporting a charity, do you want to include some information about it in the book? Could that be a project for one of your students? 

Do you want to include a contents page and / or an index? I actually advise against including an index of authors or mentioning them in the Contents; readers are likely to look only at the work of a person they know -   and could miss out on a real treat.   

Your theme

It’s actually a good idea to discuss any theme for your book with your students. Get them on board. The theme is a centralizing and motivating factor. It also allows each student to work according to their strengths and despite their weaknesses; each can make a contribution as long as what they produce fits the theme.

There are various ways of finding a theme and you can explore this with your students. Your theme may be to do with:

·         the curriculum

·         a charity you wish to support

·         something of local interest

·         what is on the students’ mind

Linked with the theme is the idea of the perceived reader. You might also like to discuss with your students who will read the book: interested adults, children the same age as the students, younger children, people who might benefit from the charity supported.

You might also like to ascertain the purpose of the book. Is it to make money for your chosen charity, raise awareness about that charity or to showcase excellent writing? Possibly it is a combination of these things.

Left to their own devices, students will conclude that they are producing the book merely to please their teachers. By providing a theme, a purpose and a perceived reader, you are providing your students with a quasi-commercial perspective on the book and replicating that balance that exists between art and commerce in the world of publishing.     

Time scale

You need to decide how much time you are going to devote to the Build a Book Workshop and how much of what needs to be done can actually be completed outside of “core” time.

For example, you might complete the whole workshop in a single day, over two days or a week off timetable. You might use it as an extracurricular activity conducted during lunch-times or a part of an after-school club. You might make it a part of normal lessons – perhaps as a joint activity between English, IT, Citizenship Art.

Incidentally, it may be easier to find funding if this is conducted as an extracurricular activity.

You need to accommodate the following tasks:

·         Negotiating theme, purpose and reader

·         Setting up writing tasks

·         Writing and word-processing work

·         Editing

·         Designing

·         Illustrating

·         Marketing

·         Launching and selling book

It may be possible to complete core tasks – e.g. setting up writing tasks, writing, editing, designing and illustrating during a designated time – for example on a day off timetable, and to complete the other tasks before and after the event. In this case, the setting up writing, writing and editing would take up about half of the time available.

Whatever you do, there will be some delay between when final version of the work is ready and when the book comes out. You or someone with technical expertise needs to get the book uploaded to a printer.

In any case, you will probably want to launch the book at a suitable time in the school year which may be at some distance in time from when your book is camera ready. You can factor that into your time plan.

It may also be possible to have a day off timetable to kick-start the project. The project could then carry on in further curriculum or extracurricular time.        

           Word-processing, collecting and collating work

Logistics are so important here. There will come a point when you need all of the work in two places – on a memory stick or similar and backed up somewhere else.

You might achieve this by rushing around at the end of the session and collecting everything onto the stick or by getting the students to save to a shared area. The first method is stressful and the second is safer but requires some effort on your part later.

And there are some unfortunate certainties:

·         Some students will fail to save their work or will save it to somewhere so obscure that neither you nor they will ever find it again

·         Some students will fail to finish 

·         You will have to do the final edit, no matter how well students have edited before 

Getting all of the work in and ready to become a book can be quite a challenge. Whilst it is reasonable to say that many students will prefer to write straight to a computer, and that asking them to do this or word-process their work later offers them the opportunity to enhance their IT skills, there is no certainty that they will actually finish the work- no matter how much time you allow.

You cannot possibly take on this work yourself and getting paid help with it would make your book’s price prohibitively high.

You have to think of a way of getting this word-processing completed. You might enlist the help of parents, or of students and graduates who are anxious to get some school experience, or you might appoint a group of IT or design experts from amongst your students. The latter may work particularly well if you are conducting the workshop over several weeks.

If you do not give this matter enough attention, you risk losing your book. Factor your decision about how to get the word-processing completed into your planning.  

Finance

If you make your Build a Book Workshop an extracurricular activity, you may be able to obtain some funding e.g. Arts Council Small Grant. However, application processes are time-consuming and applications are not always successful.

You may be able to tap into some funds at your own school – for instance, is there a special fund for the Gifted and Talented, for Special Needs or for Activities Week? Or is this workshop so much part of what you normally do that you can use part of your normal budget to fund it?

It may not be possible to get any help. But the good news is that the book can be self-funding – more or less. For example, if you use a Print On Demand company, such as Lightning Source, at the time of writing, each book costs 70p plus 1p per page to print. It costs about £48 to upload your book and cover. You will probably want a proof copy at about £21.00. Each print run costs £1.39, and you do have to pay shipping. The latter starts at about £5.00 for five books but rapidly becomes a lot cheaper the more you order. Discounts are usually given on print runs over 50. It would probably be easy to sell a hundred books if you worked with a whole year group. So, if you retail your book at £4.00, and sell 100 you cover print costs, set-up costs and shipping and have quite a bit left over for your designated charity. If your marketing campaign flops completely and you don’t sell a single book, you’ll have a nice book for the school library and you’ll have spent about £70 on a worthwhile workshop. But actually, you’re likely to sell at least as many books as there are participants in the workshop. If you put your price up to £5.00, you are some way to covering the cost of a visiting writer even if they charge full price.

We actually offer a package where we provide a visiting writer, set up the title for you, and guarantee £1.00 profit per hard copy book sold and 50% of profit on the e-book that comes automatically in the package. We do ask, though, that you pay the writer’s travel expenses.

Of course, if your budget runs to it, you might consider providing each student with a free copy of the book.

And if all of that still remains unaffordable, consider creating a web site instead. This can be done without spending a penny. You can still link to a charity. You might, however, want to consider purchasing a domain name – at about £10.99 for two years. How to do this is explained in Setting up a Web Book.    

Some post-workshop tasks  

Whichever way you time your workshop, there will be some rather tedious tasks to complete afterwards. The excitement will be over, and a book can fail at this point because a busy teacher cannot find the time or motivation to complete the tasks.

Delegation, diarising and critical time planning are important here. The next chapter deals with critical time-planning. Here is a list of what needs to be completed after the workshop:

·         Word-processing of students’ work  

·         All work to be given a final edit

·         Camera ready Word document to be produced

·         Book to be prepared for uploading to the printer (See The technical stuff) 

·         Market book

·         Order copies

·         Have a book launch

Allow about ten hours for each of these activities. Remember, it doesn’t need to be you that does the work and it needn’t be done at one sitting. Your book launch, for instance, will probably last about two hours but may need up to eight hours preparation.  

Build a Book Workshop Intro

 

Introduction

The Build a Book Workshop is about getting your students to create a book in a limited amount of time. They look at the whole process of how a book is made: writing, editing, selecting, designing, illustrating and marketing. This workshop enables students to see what is involved in producing a book and motivates them to start and to complete a piece of writing. 

They actually produce a book. It becomes a tangible object that sits on a shelf. You may also opt to have the book as an e-book and a web site if you wish. 

This process is very adaptable and can easily be used to build a book in a day, two days, a week, a month, a term or a year.

Some work needs to be carried out behind the scenes, some of which is quite technical, and this guide shows you how. If the technical work is too much, we also show you ways of getting help with that as effectively as possible.

Everything described in this manual for teachers is based on the experience of producing anthologies of children’s writers with schools. All of the books have supported a charity – in two cases this was the schools own library - and in all cases students’ confidence in their writing has increased.    

The Build a Book Workshop can be extremely cross-curricular and offers your students opportunities to:

·         improve their writing

·         understand the world of publishing

·         work collaboratively

·         understand the wider community

·         support the wider community

·         understand how businesses work

·         improve their IT skills

·         take part in an enterprise activity

 

This manual contains a step-by-step guide to setting up a Build a Book Workshop and making sure that a book is produced at the end of it. There are several choices at each stage of the process. It is probably a good idea to read it from cover to cover to start with and then work through it section by section when you have a clearer idea of your workshop shape. 

You may also order a book containing photocopiable resources from our web site. You may purchase this as a hard copy or as a PDF file. Also a template for formatting your book is available from our web site. 

Other Ways of Being: The Lady Rose

“We won’t be too long. We should be back before it’s dark.”

“And don’t let any strangers in. Oh, I wish you’d come with us. I don’t like leaving you on your own.” 

“I’ll be all right, Mum.”

“She will. Nobody’ll be able to get in anyway. The bank’s too steep.”

Kerry wished they would just get going. She’d not had any privacy to talk to Alex since they’d come on this stupid holiday and she was dying to call him without her parents hearing. “Just go. I’m fourteen now. I can look after myslef.” 

At last she heard the dinghy rowing away from the houseboat. She took out her phone and found Alex’s number.

“So you haven’t forgotten me, then,” he said when he answered. “I thought you must be having so much fun with your Mum and Dad going up and down the Broads on the lady Rose.”

“Ha! Ha! Never been so bored in my life!”

“Ooh. I wish you was here so that I could snog you.” 

Me too, thought Kerry.  “I wish you was here and all. I’m all alone on the boat. There’s two lovely cosy cabins.”

“Don’t say that. That’s just too frustrating.” 

“What you been doing anyway?”

“Oh you know. Not much.”

But she bet he had. They’d have all gone off to MacDonald’s or the cinema. And Lucy would have been there. She didn’t trust Lucy. Lucy fancied Alex and made no secret of it.

Her phone pipped twice.  Damn. It had lost the signal. So much for having a nice romantic talk with Alex then.

Still, it was good having some time to herself. She did her nails and washed her hair. She listened to her iPod for a bit, until the battery ran flat. She plugged it in to recharge and then she made herself a coffee. She flicked though the magazines she’d brought with her.

She tried her phone again. No signal.

She was getting hungry. Hopefully her parents would also bring some food with them when they came back with someone to look at the boat.  

She went to her cabin and picked up her book. She couldn’t settle to read it though. She even considered doing some of the homework she’d brought with her. But no, that would be desperate. She wasn’t quite that bored.

She’d been sitting still for quite a long time and was beginning to get cold. Perhaps she could go to sleep for a bit. That might make the time go quicker. She went back to her cabin and snuggled down under the duvet. She was soon warm and she drifted into a gentle doze. She didn’t think she actually slept. Something must have happened though. Her legs suddenly jerked and she sat upright in bed. It was dark now. But there was a red glow coming from the main deck.

“Hi, Mum, Dad,” she called. Had they got back and were they doing something to the boat?

There was no answer. 

She flicked the light switch.  Nothing happened.  Well, they had warned her about that. They’d said the power wouldn’t last very long.  But why weren’t they back yet? What was the time? She picked up her phone.  Darn! The battery had gone now.  Oh, great. Even if she could get her signal back they wouldn’t be able to let her know anything.

She rummaged in her drawer for her torch and flicked it on, so that she could see her wristwatch. Blimey! It was half past eight. Where were they?   

So what was that red light, anyway?

She edged her way on to the main deck. The light was in fact bright enough for her to be able to see where she was going. It cast a really strange glow over the small area. She could see now that it was coming from a bulb on the dashboard. She switched her torch on so that she could read the writing next to the bulb. “Pump-out required.” What the heck did that mean?  Then she remembered half-heartedly watching the man at the boatyard giving her dad instructions about looking after the houseboat. “If that light comes on,” he’d said. “You’ll have to get her to the nearest service depot and have the septic tank pumped out. Don’t let anybody go to the lavatory until it’s done.”

Oh gross! She wouldn’t even be allowed to go for a pee now. She was convinced she could smell raw sewage. This really sucked. Where the hell were they?

Could something have happened to them? It was getting really worrying now. She shivered and her tummy rumbled.   

There were a few biscuits she thought, in the kitchen cupboard. She felt for the door and found the biscuits and a half-full box of cereal. That would keep her going a bit at least. Of course, she’d used up the last of the milk in her coffee.

She felt her way back to her cabin and sat munching the biscuits and the cereal with the duvet wrapped round her. When she’d had enough, she snuggled back down into bed.

It was annoying, this? Where the heck were they? Perhaps they couldn’t get back up the river with help because of the tide. Perhaps they couldn’t get under the bridges. Yes, that would be it. They’d be back in the morning, she guessed. Anyway, once it was light she might be able to get help. She might even be able to get off the boat and walk across the fields. The steep bank would be a bit of a challenge but she was sure she’d manage it if she could see what she was doing.  Best get some sleep now.  Yes, that would be the best idea. It got light early enough these days. Sleeping would make the morning come more quickly.

When she woke with a start later she had the sense that a couple of hours had gone by.  And she needed a pee. Did she dare use the loo, though?

The sickly smell of sewage warned that she shouldn’t. Best use a bucket and throw it overboard.  Gross. Bloody parents. Bugger them for bringing her on this holiday in the first place, and for leaving her on her own and for letting the septic tank get full.

She reached out for her torch. She couldn’t find it. Perhaps she’d knocked it off the bedside table. She knelt down on the floor and felt for it. It was no good. It just wasn’t there. She didn’t fancy trying to find the bucket in the dark.  Could she mange to go over the side of the boat? What if she fell in? She’d have to do something, though. She’d wet herself if she didn’t go soon. Oh why couldn’t she have been born a bloke. They had it easier.

She fumbled her way on to the outer deck. There was a little bit of moonlight and her eyes soon adjusted enough for her to be able to see what she was doing. It was cool out there, despite it being the middle of August. She managed to make her way over to the side that was away from the bank. She undid her trousers and pulled them and her pants down. She took her jumper off and tied it round her waist and then tied each arm though one of the rings on the side of the boat. She just managed to position her bottom so that it was over the side of the boat. Then for some reason, she couldn’t pee.

“Come on, come on,” she muttered to herself. She was dying to go and yet she couldn’t. It did come, eventually and then she couldn’t stop. It must have been one of the most unsuccessful wees she’d ever had. Because she wasn’t far enough over the side of the boat not much of it went into the water but ran down her legs and then into her trousers. It was a relief, though all the same and she guessed that in the grander scheme of things it didn’t matter that much.    

She fumbled her way back to her cabin, stripped her trousers and pants off and managed to find some clean ones. She was shivering now. She guessed it was partly because she was scared. It wasn’t really all that cold.

She still didn’t want to get undressed and get into bed properly. She thought she’d better be ready for anything. She lay on the bed and pulled the duvet over her. She couldn’t sleep, though. Perhaps she should change her mind about getting undressed? If she got into bed properly maybe she would sleep? She dismissed that thought. She knew she’d got to be prepared for all eventualities though she wasn’t quite sure what she was expecting.

Surely it must get light soon? The days were still pretty long. The night couldn’t last forever, could it?

The she heard the scrabbling noise. What could that be? Rats, perhaps? They couldn’t have got into the toilet tank, could they? Surely it was all sealed in? She held her breath. The noise stopped. What, so it had been her own chest squeaking as she breathed? Maybe. She had to breathe again eventually.

Then she heard something else. A sort of creaking. Was the tide changing? Would she need to go out and adjust the ropes? Surely she it had been low tide when they moored here? At least that would mean that worse the boat would float away from the bank a little. That wasn’t disastrous. If need be tomorrow she could swim over to the other bank. She tried to look out of the small cabin window. She couldn’t see a thing. It was as black as ever out there. She pressed her ear against the class. Yes, she could hear water running. The tide was surely changing.

Suddenly the boat rocked. Her heart lurched. Had something bumped into it? She held her breath. It creaked above her. It sounded like a footstep. Then came another. Were they back?

She went to call out then just stopped herself in time. What if it wasn’t them? It could be anybody. Could that sound of water running before have been a boat arriving? Surely not. It had been the wrong sort of sound. So, if there was someone out there, they’d come across the fields. Who would be out in the fields at this time of night?

Had she remembered to lock the main door? She thought she had. She moved as quietly as she could to her cabin door and slid the bolt across. She’d only done that once before, right at the beginning of the holiday. It had stuck and she’d had a real job to get it open.  Her dad had told her not to lock it again. “It’s not as if you’ve got anything to hide, have you? You don’t lock yourself in at home, do you?”  It would be a problem getting it open again tomorrow. But she would face that in daylight. For now, she just needed to keep whoever was up there out.

It had gone quiet above her. Had she imagined it? Could it have perhaps been some sort of animal? She held her breath again and listened carefully.

Then the footsteps began again. They were definitely human. She heard him rattle the door. Well, at least that proved that she’d locked it. That was something. The footsteps went back again. She heard him jump from the boat and land on the bank. So, it was possible to get on to the bank. Then nothing.

She lay still for what she thought was about ten minutes. Tentatively then she stretched over towards the small window and raised the small blind. A hideous face was looking in. A mouth opened into a wide grin and she could see some rotten teeth and gaps where other teeth ought to have been.

She let the blind drop and flung herself back down on the bed. This was a nightmare. This must be a nightmare and she would wake up any moment now. Please let it be a nightmare.

She lay shivering on her bed for another ten minutes. Then she lifted the blind again. No one there. What should she do?

She decided she was going to get away. If she went off across the fields she’d get to civilisation eventually. She found a warm jumper and pulled it on. She still couldn’t find the torch. But perhaps it would be lighter outside and her eyes would get used to it.

She managed to undo the bolt on her cabin door without any trouble. Perhaps she’d loosened it the first time or perhaps she’d got stronger because she was scared.  Either way, she was out in seconds and could actually now see quite well to find her way to the main door. The clouds had cleared completely now and the moon was shining brightly. She opened the door and stepped onto the outer deck.

He was standing there. He was holding a drill.

“Get out of my way, you pervert!” she cried as she pushed past him.

The man lost his footing and fell neatly into the water.

“I hope you drown,” she muttered. She jumped for the bank. She landed fine but her left foot turned as it hit the ground, making her slip and hit her head on the mooring post. Stars twirled above her head and she had a pleasant warm feeling as she felt herself slip into the water, feet first.

She was going to die. She was sure of it. She tried to imagine what it would be like at her funeral and wondered whether Alex would cry.

 

When she came to she was back in her bed inside her cabin. She was in her pyjamas. Light was streaming in thought the window.

Had she dreamt it all? Her head did hurt, though. And she could hear someone knocking on the cabin door.

“Police!” cried a female voice. “May we come in?”

“I don’t believe you,” said Kerry. “Go away.”

“Well, if we’d wanted to hurt you we would have come in by now. Look out of your window. And here’s my ID card.”

Kerry raised the blind again. Sure enough she could see a policeman standing on the bank. He waved and smiled.

She pulled herself out of bed and picked up the card that the police officer had pushed under the door. It looked genuine enough but you could never be too sure, could you?

“You might be pretending to be police officers. How do I know you’re real?”

“You’ll just have to believe us, Kerry, my love. We’ve come to tell you about your parents. There’s been an accident. But don’t worry.  They’re going to be all right.” 

She opened the door. The police woman smiled at her.  

“There was a man here. I pushed him in the water.”  Kerry thought she was going to be sick. What if she’d killed him? 

“We know.  He came and told us this morning. In fact, if it hadn’t have been for him we wouldn’t have found your boat so quickly. He was able to tell us exactly where you were moored. ”

“That’s right love. Tom Jenkins. He’s a bit simple, but harmless enough. He didn’t do anything to you, did he? ”

Kerry shook her head. 

“Good.”

“So, would you like to get some clothes on and we’ll take you to your parents.” The policewoman rubbed her arm and smiled.

The sick feeling went away. She felt quite relaxed as she had a quick wash in cold water and then got dressed. Until she noticed the two large bruises on her thighs and remembered she had no idea how she had got out of the water and into bed.   

     

   

Other Ways of being: The Gargoyle

 

  "Wow!" Zizzi muttered, "even better than it looks from the computer pictures."

He had never been so impressed by any other planet he had visited. Blues, browns and green swirled around each other, tempered by white puffs of mist.

He was pleased as well with his new Ranger X57 telescope. It was so powerful, that he had been able to examine in detail this planet which had always fascinated him. And he was even more pleased with his Scout 750 Traveller which had brought him into the Earth's orbit. He would be able to take a good look now at these strange figures that adorned the grand buildings he had found out were called cathedrals. His powerful Extender computer had made a thorough analysis of the Earth language spoken in these parts and he would be able to use its translator to understand anything he read or heard. The Mentor would surely be pleased with his project. He was going to investigate why the Earthlings had representations of Zogoids - Zizzi's own race - on their churches.

The traveller was now entering the Earth's orbit. Zizzi activated the vessel's visibility shields. He stared out through the scanner screen.

.Zizzi slowed the craft right down. He would have to be careful about switching from visibility shields to the chameleon drives - even the powerful Scout could not handle both at once. In the spilt second that the 750 became visible, he must make sure that no-one saw him.

Zizzi smiled at the computer's choice of chameleon stance: the Scout would look like one of the strange figures he was about to investigate, and would wait on the wall of the big cathedral. He quickly flicked the visibility shield off and the chameleon mode switch on. But something was not right. He looked again  at the computer screen. Oh no! Yes, the Scout looked like a gargoyle alright - the only one on the West Face!

"But perhaps no-one will see," thought Zizzi. "It is dark, after all."

Dark was something Zizzi did not know on Zogo.  When that planet turned away from the sun, artificial daylight flooded the living areas. Not the soft yellow light he saw now coming from the cathedral and the street lights. Zizzi decided he liked the artificial light on earth better. It was more mysterious somehow.

He watched the people going in and out of the cathedral.

"That will do," he thought. He pointed on the screen to the little girl with black curly hair. She wore a long orange scarf-come-hat, a yellow jumper and yellow tartan trousers.

Zizzi found himself at the cathedral entrance, a yellow scarf-come-hat on his head and white tartan trousers and top. "Not bad," he thought. But then he saw the boy in the striped sweatshirt, black chinos and blue deck shoes. Ooops! Then again, he had never been known for his dress sense on Zogo either.

The boy scuffed his feet along the ground as he walked. Zizzi followed him at a distance. The boy looked bored. Zizzi noticed that lots of people were avoiding walking on some of the stones on the floor that had writing on them. He caught sight of the little girl whose costume he had imitated.

"Words!" she said, pointing down at the paving-stones.

"Yes," said the tall man who was holding her hand. "Those are people's graves. You should try not to walk on them."

"Graves?" asked the little girl.

"Yes, where you put people who have died!"

"Oh!" The girl still looked puzzled.

Zizzi shuddered. How unhygenic! Fancy leaving dead bodies around to rot! On Zogo, once you had stopped living, your body was annihilated. Zapped! Broken up into particles which were recycled at once. Nobody wrote messages about you on the floor!

The boy in the black chinos had his hands in his pockets. The corners of his mouth turned down. His forehead creased in the middle and two lines came up from his nose.

"He looks cross," thought Zizzi.

"Look at this Gareth!" Gareth walked slowly over to where his mother was looking at a box on stilts which came almost up to her shoulders.

"St Swithun's monument. You know, if it rains on the 15th of July, it will rain for another forty days. They say it's because they buried him inside and he wanted to be buried outside!"

"That's rubbish, Mum."

"Funny way to forecast the weather," thought Zizzi. "I wonder how they do it for the other 325 days?" Of course, that was why they had to put all those bodies under the floor. They hadn't learnt how to control the weather on Earth yet. So they had to know what it was going to do!

Zizzi wandered what rain felt like. It hadn't rained on Zogo for centuries. He didn't even know what water felt like. Zizzi's ancestors hadn't liked the feel of water, so they had invented a way of cleaning themselves with gentle laser guns.

Zizzi followed Mum and Gareth round the cathedral. They stopped in front of a group of statues who looked as if they were in a barn. Zizzi thought they were made of wood or stone. They looked like Earthlings, but they were shorter, although if they had been as tall, they would have been much thinner. They were a bit ugly too. But not as ugly as gargoyle or a Zogoid. And their clothes were different from those of the people walking around the cathedral. They all wore long robes which didn't look very practical. Three of them were better dressed than the others, and they wore jewels on their head. They were kneeling down looking at a baby in a primitive crib. There were animals too, less intelligent Earthlings, also staring at the baby.

"Gosh! We wouldn't let the unthinking Zogoids near our newly hatched babies," thought Zizzi. "Not clean!" But he was impressed that they used straw for the baby's bedding, just like what they put the Zogoid eggs in.

"Two thousand years on and nothing's changed much!" said Mum. "Peace on Earth and good will to all men, indeed!"

"It's rubbish, Mum," said Gareth. 

"He's not very impressed by anything," thought Zizzi. "Perhaps he'd like it better on Zogo." Zizzi was fascinated by the cathedral. That soft yellow light was everywhere. And those enormous arrangements of bright red flowers with their pointed leaves. On Zogo, all the plants were very pale, and you always had them to match your room exactly.

Not that Zizzi was dissatisfied with Zogo. There was always plenty to see and do, especially now that he had the new telescope and the Scout. And the Extender computer always came up with good ideas.

The Gareth and the Mum made their way towards the place Zizzi read was called the “North Transept.”  They were soon walking over some highly patterned tiles. Zizzi saw a notice which said that the tiles were from the thirteenth century and that visitors should take care of how they walked on them.

"Better hover across," he thought. To his disgust the Gareth and the Mum just walked across normally. Zizzi hoisted himself into the air, and glided across. Something made the Gareth turn round. His mouth dropped open when he saw Zizzi suspended in the air.

"Mum!" he shouted.

"They're really beautiful, aren't they? said Mum. 

"No, but Mum..!"

It dawned on Zizzi then. Humans don't hover. He dropped to the floor at once.

"Come on," said Mum. "We'd better go and get Grandpa's present. The shop will be shut soon."

Zizzi decided to keep his distance. He looked at some of the decorations on the walls.

"I hope it's not raining. You didn't bring your coat," she continued.

Rain! He would have to see that!

Mum and Gareth were now hurrying towards the exit of the cathedral. Every now and then Gareth looked back towards Zizzi. Zizzi would not meet his eyes. He watched them from the big doorway, - the West Door, he read - as they rushed across to the Cathedral Shop opposite. There was water falling from the sky.

"Rain! Great!" thought Zizzi. "I must try this!" He stepped out into the cold.

The rain was blowing towards the West Face of the cathedral. The droplets of water fell on Zizzi's hands and face. They stung. He had to close his eyes.The scarf was no protection. It only took seconds for his top to be wet through and Zizzi did not like that feeling. It was slimy, like when you touched a Zogosnail, and it was like having lots of pins stuck into you. Like grey dull metal. He felt cold and he shivered. No wonder his ancestors didn't like water. He'd had enough of rain. Should he return straight back to the Scout? But he hadn't found out any more about gargoyles yet. He looked up at the cathedral. Just one ugly face looked down at him and he knew what that was.  A gust of wind pushed him towards the open door of the cathedral shop.

Yes. He would go to the shop! Perhaps he could make Mums and Gareths his project instead. And he would like to find more about that baby who had been born two thousand years ago.

Zizzi watched the shoppers. They seemed to go to a counter with the goods they wanted and then hand over some pieces of metal or a flat rectangle. The Mentor had told him about something like this on Zogo as part of a history lesson. Now if you wanted to buy something, you got the shop on the computer screen and paid for it by authorising credits with your voice. This shop was much more interesting, even if it did take much longer. It was great to be able to see the goods and even touch them.

He spotted the Gareth and the Mum by the counter.

"It's naff," said the Gareth. "But I suppose he'll like it." He was holding one of those stringy things that Zizzi had seen around the necks of some of the men in the cathedral. It was richly coloured and had pictures of those people in that barn again.

Zizzi carried on browsing. He was in the section with books. Zizzi's grandfather used to talk about books. Now the only ones you could get were those you charged up from the computer. Older people liked to read them when they were in the sleeping cells. But most Zogoids preferred to read direct form the computer. He had found some more information about the baby. It was a boy called Jesus. And he had been born in a place called Bethlehem, although his parents came from another place called Nazareth. But he couldn't find out much more from the books, because they were written for Earthlings who knew the full story.

Then he saw it. "A History of Gargoyles". The one on the cover looked just like him. And inside there were ones like the Mentor, like his mother and his father, another just like his bother Tobo and even one like his pet, Horendz, with its long double ears and scaly back. He would have to buy this.

He felt in the pocket of his trousers! Yes, there were some of the strange metal Earthling coins there.  He pulled them out. There were four heavy gold-coloured ones, a strange, large seven-sided silver coloured one, two smaller seven-sided silver ones and an assortment of silver and copper coloured coins, both in two different sizes. He looked at the numbers on the book. £4.99. He supposed he had enough. He would have to watch everyone very carefully at the counter.

But then the Gareth saw him.

"Eh, Mum," he said. "It's that geek again. The one who floated ...."

A loud ringing noise suddenly started coming from the back of Zizzi's chameleon suit. 

"Zotto!" he thought. "I forgot to charge the battery! I've got two minutes to get back to the ship!"

Zizzi was still clutching the book as he ran through the door of the cathedral shop.

"Hey, you haven't paid for that," shouted the man behind the counter. Zizzi speed hovered over the square between the shop and the cathedral. Fortunately, it was dark and the Earthlings couldn't see how he was moving so fast. The Gareth and several others were following him, though.

Only the Gareth saw him jump up. As Zizzi landed on the West Face of the cathedral, next to his Scout, the battery on the suit finally gave up altogether. He now sat there in his Zogoid form.

"Can you see him?" called the Mum. The Gareth turned to face her.

"I.. er .." he started.

Zizzi hurried into the Scout and set her off through the Earth's atmosphere. He would have to do two orbits to get her up to power. He flicked on the Ranger's screen and zoomed on to the cathedral. The Gareth and the Mum were talking to a man in a dark navy uniform.

"He just seemed to jump up," said the Gareth. "But when I looked up there was nothing but a couple of those funny statues. One was about six times as big as the other."

The man in uniform sighed and shut his note book. He looked up.

"Are you on something, Sonny?" he said. "There are no gargoyles on the West Face."

The main screen of the Scout's communication system crackled on. It was the Mentor. Zizzi had been dreading this.

"Well that didn't go too well, did it? You know you will loose your Scout licence if you reveal yourself three times without permission from Explorer Corps. You must be more careful Zizzi."

Zizzi hung his head.

"Well, anyway, cheer up. Did you find out any more about the gargoyles?"

"Well, there aren't any on the West Face of Winchester Cathedral."

"Hm. Was that worth the risk?"

"And I have got a book."

"You stole a book, you mean."

"Mmm. Yes."

"Well, we'll have to find a way to compensate."

"Actually, I was thinking."

"Yes?"

"Maybe gargoyles aren't so interesting. I'd like to find out more about the Gareth. And perhaps about that baby."

"Well, perhaps. We'll discuss it when you get back to Zogo. Peace to Zogoids."

"Peace to Zogoids."

Zizzi was now leaving the Earth's orbit. He took one last look at the planet. It looked like a giant marble, all blue and white swirls. It would be good to return to Zogo, where life was easy and pleasant and much more modern than on Earth. But he would be back! Oh yes, he would be back!

         

Other Ways of Being: Water

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 Carl turned on the tap that would allow water into the levies running through the cabbage fields. It shouldn’t be a problem. There’d been plenty of rain earlier in the year and anyway, they were still connected to the main grid. Ever since everything had settled down after the Changes, there had never been any problem with the water supply. Someone was still managing the big reservoirs, so it seemed, and the climate, despite the predictions of the previous century, was behaving well. The cycles of winter and summer, cold and heat, rain and sunshine, and all that they brought, had carried on just as before.  

It was hot, now, though and it had been pretty dry for the last six weeks. All the crops had to be watered, clearly, but the cabbage was now particularly important. Deprive it of water now and they might lose all of it.

Carl pushed back his base-ball cap and wiped the sweat form his forehead. Any second now he would hear the gurgle that told him the water had arrived in the pipe, and the woosh-woosh as the levy filled. He could imagine himself putting his hand into the cool water, cupping it, and taking a welcome drink. So, what if irrigation water wasn’t recommended? He’d been drinking it for years and had never had any ill effect. What usually took seconds seemed to be taking hours, though, today. Carl shut his eyes and waited.

There was suddenly a loud clunk and the pipe leading up to the tap began to hum.

“What the blazes…?” said Carl to no one in particular.

 

Carl sat in the Great Hall fanning his face with his hat. The air con units still worked but they were used sparingly: since the Changes energy as well as water was precious.

“So you tested the whole network?” said the senior Proctor. “And there was no sign of a leak anywhere?” 

“Nope!” said Carl. He had checked. Absolutely thoroughly. Not that he’s needed to. He and Barnaby always kept the pipes in excellent order. “The leak must be before it gets to us,” he said. “Or else it’s a problem with the reservoir.”  

“Very well,” said the Proctor. “I’ll send a team to investigate. I’d like you or Barnaby Jackson to head the team. Not both of you.”   

It would be the first time anyone had left the Compound in over five years. The last time had been when they’d buried those that had died of the mystery illness. They’d gone as far away from the survivors as they could without putting their lives at risk in other ways. The reservoir was at least a week’s journey away, if they kept stopping to listen for leaks. 

Carl nodded and left the Hall. The coolness of the dark corridors outside was welcome. It didn’t make him feel any more comfortable, though. Now he had to go and have a difficult conversation with Barnaby Jackson. Yet, he felt strangely excited.

 

Carl stared at the great expanse of water that stretched in front of him. He hadn’t realised the reservoir would be so big. It looked still and calm but the breeze was enough to make small waves ripple at its edges. It matched the turquoise of the sky. Where the sides weren’t built-up there were sandy beaches. He suddenly had a longing for the days when people took leisure trips to places such as this. Families having picnics by the side of the water. Kids swimming and young men diving off the rocks. Older guys like him fishing or perhaps taking a boat across.

There was no time for that sort of thing these days. They only survived if they worked.

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that,” said Patrick O’Leary. He was pointing to the high water mark. It was only about a foot above where the water was now. “There must be something blocking it up right here,” he said. All of the pipes they’d listened to had been totally empty.  

Carl nodded and got down from his horse. He was saddle-sore but otherwise glad he’d come instead of Barnaby. There’d been no straw pole in the end. Banrnaby had a wife and three daughters. Carl was single. It had been a no-brainer. And it had all been worth it. They’d seen plenty of water on the way. There were lots of other supplies they could use if there was something wrong with the reservoir, though it would mean piping them. He’d been overwhelmed, too, by the richness of the scenery; the lakes and streams, obviously, but the pine forests with the deep blue sky setting off their dark green needles, and the mountains in the distance, terracotta fingers, nails lacquered with snow. He knew he would have to find other excuses for leaving the Compound. Now he had seen all of this, though, he could not be without it.

“So what’s the plan?” said Bradley Spenser, the one who’d been mainly responsible for finding the way here.

“Try to find out who’s been looking after this place,” said Carl. “And see what’s wrong. Maybe we can help.”    

 

Two hours later they had found out very little. There was a cottage where it looked as if someone had lived for a while. It was untidy and abandoned and whoever had lived there had left in a hurry. There were the maggot-infected remains of what looked like a half-eaten meal on the kitchen table. And it whiffed.

“I’m going to barf if we don’t get out of here soon,” said Wilf Atkins.

Yes, Carl knew what he meant. It stank. But it still didn’t help them to work out why the water supply had failed though the water was plentiful.

“Why don’t we go for a swim and look again later?” suggested Bradley. “It’ll give us a bit more energy.”

Well it wouldn’t hurt,

It was quite good in the end, even if it hadn’t been the type of family holiday leisure day out Carl had thought about earlier. It just wasn’t the same with a group of ugly middle-aged men skinny-dipping and telling dirty jokes. Still it was good to feel clean from the water and then sleepy from the sun on your back as you stretched out to dry. 

Until Patrick shouted out just after he’d gone into the water for the third time. “Cripes, mate, will you look at this? Holy shit, I can’t move it.”

The others rushed back into the water. Patrick kept taking a deep breath and diving down. “It’s a body,” he said. “And it seems to be blocking up the main channel out of the reservoir. There’s some sort of door down there, and it’s half shut. Mates, I think we’ve found the problem.”

It took them another hour to get the body out of the water. They were as hot and thirsty after they’d finished that as they were before they’d had their swim. They got him out at last and even managed to open the door so that the water could flow freely again.

“There must be some sort of system to that,” said Bradley. “And I bet he’s the only geyser who knew how it worked.”

They found a set of keys in his pocket. Carl guessed they would be for the cottage and perhaps something to do with some engine room that worked on the gates of the reservoir. 

Carl stared at the body. It was bloated and grey. Half of its face was missing. Eaten by fish, he supposed. Poor guy. “How long do you think he’s been there?” he said.

“About a week before we lost our water supply?” suggested Bradley. “That’s how long it would take the pipes to empty, I’m thinking.”

That made sense, he supposed. He didn’t have time to think about it for long, though. Suddenly they could hear motor-bike engines. 

“Where’ve the bastards get their fuel from?” murmured Wilf, grabbing his clothes and picking up the rifle that never left his side.  It looked good but it would be useless if the visitors posed any real danger: ammunition other than blanks for it had run out more than ten years ago.

“We’d better hide,” said Bradley. 

Carl and Spenser picked up their clothes and followed Wilf into the bushes.

Carl watched the two riders get off their Triumphs. For a few seconds he envied them. Before the Changes he used to own a small Triumph. One of the classier ones like one of those had been next on his shopping list.  

The riders took off their helmets. One of them shook out long straight hair. It looked just like the hair in one of the old shampoo ads. How did they mange to stay so well-groomed?

The strangers walked towards the water’s edge and stood right in front of the bushes where the men were hiding.

“Plenty of water here,” one of them said.  Cripes, it was a girl.

“Shall we set up camp here, then?” the other rider replied. Another female.  

The first girl turned towards where they were hiding. My god, she was gorgeous. Carl wished he could touch her. He’d not come across a woman who’d made him feel like that in a long, long time. He mouth was dry and his heart was pounding. And for the first time in months he was getting an erection that he hadn’t induced himself. She was so close now. It was unbearable. He turned so the others couldn’t see; there had been no time to dress. 

Atkins fired his rifle into the air. The plainer of the two girls shrieked. Then both of them ran towards their bikes. Seconds later they were riding back towards the road. Carl’s erection collapsed.

What did you want to do that for? thought Carl. We could have got to know them, maybe invited them back to the Compound.  They’d surely make good breeding stock? It was getting a bit critical back there. A shadow of the erection returned. He wouldn’t mind being involved in that particular programme. Not of that girl was one of the females.   

All at once, though, he couldn’t move. Cripes, this hadn’t happened since before the Changes. It was a rare form of epilepsy, the doctors had said. They’d given him some medication that kept it under control. Of course that ran out shortly after the troubles started. But he’d never had another attack, and he guessed it was because life was actually even less  stressful once everything had settled down than it had been before it all kicked off. He felt himself topple to the ground.

“God almighty, Carl,” he heard Wilf say. “What’s up?”

Bradley felt his pulse and then put his ear to his chest. “Nothing,” he said. “I think he’s gone.”

Get a mirror, you bastards, Will thought. He was still breathing and he did still have a pulse, though both would be very hard to track without a stethoscope. He could hear and see but he couldn’t move a muscle.

“Poor bugger,” said Wilf.

“Quite a nice way to go, though,” said Bradley.

I’m not dead, you clots, thought Carl. Don’t you dare try to put me six foot under.

“Hey,” laughed Wilf, “you don’t think it was because he got a bit too excited about that one with the blond hair, do you? I’d swear he’s still got a bit of a stiffy.”

“Oh, come on mate,” said Bradley. “You shouldn’t joke about the dead. We’d better do something about these two.”

Fortunately, it was too hot for the men to do more than just dig two very shallow graves, put the two bodies in and cover them with leaves. Carl could still breathe. It was just a matter of waiting.  

 

Six hours had gone by, Carl reckoned, by the time he could move again. It was dark but at least there was a bright moon. The others had taken his clothes and his horse. His first priority was to find something to wear.

When he raided the reservoir keeper’s cottage, he found that the stench that had almost made Wilf barf came not from the leftover meal but from the bodies of the woman and the baby he found upstairs.

“At least you had a woman, you lucky sod,” he whispered to the reservoir-keeper as he laid the woman and child to rest in what had been his own grave, “and she must have been okay  to shag if you managed to impregnate her. Well, you’re lying together again now. Enjoy.”      

He soon got the place tided up and found out how to work the doors and gates on the reservoir. All of the machinery still worked beautifully. He smiled to himself when he thought of the folk back at the Compound amazed at how lucky they were that the reservoir was still holding out. He wondered whether they’d held a memorial service for him.

But he didn’t want to try and get back. There would be too much explaining to do. Besides, it was glorious here. He could enjoy the trees against the sky and the snow-capped mountains all of the time now. The cottage was cosy and there were plenty of fish in the reservoir. If he got a bit lonely, he would go and talk to the graves of the reservoir-keeper and his wife.

And who knows, one day he might hear the sound of a Triumph motorbike again. And it might even deliver a beautiful blond woman.