International Invasion of the Intervention

failing image2

As always, my sincere thanks to IT and Rupert for publishing this in the International Times – read here. My thanks [and acknowledgement] as well to Atlanta Wiggs for another wonderful image.

I am especially pleased when IT gives the occasional platform to my poems about education in general, but more often than not about teaching and the teaching of Writing. I can’t recall exactly what nonsense prompted this poem, but I will have come across, at random, some education ‘advice’ about writing intervention which was typically meaningless, invasive, and most likely quite brutal in its ‘corrective’ designs.

I don’t believe I ever used the term ‘writing intervention’ when working as an English teacher. I confess to occasionally having had to adapt the language of ‘leadership management’, for example in needing to prepare documentation for inspection. One such I can recall is ‘work scrutiny’, which isn’t as appalling as most, and the actual Writing stimulation and task we used collectively as a department was engaging and creative [as ‘proven’ by the work scrutiny of its outcomes!]. Maybe I should have called it ‘work discovery’…

I have written consistently my criticism of nonsensical approaches to the teaching of writing on this blog, not least about the previous and current SATs testing regimes and therefore consequent teaching to this. However, one of the dumbest but also brutal ‘celebrations’ of a teacher’s writing intervention idea was featured here.

‘The Sisters Brothers’, Book and Film

I first read The Sisters Brothers by Patrick deWitt 7 years ago, and haven’t returned, yet. Maybe I will having just seen the film last week.

It is a fine interpretation/representation and I never find it all that useful to compare a film made from a book. I loved the book, and I enjoyed the film. The brotherly bond, tested by the brutality of their lives and the ‘normal’ sibling tensions, is realistically and humorously portrayed in the film; the scene-setting – the cinematography – is often quite beautiful. I feel there was more brutality and more humour in the book, but I can’t be sure.

What I do have for certain is a review of the book written in 2012 and I am reprising it here:

Fraternal Fighters

This is a wonderfully comic and enriching story about the brothers Eli and Charlie Sisters, killers on a job-related quest. Their lives and sustained survival are underscored by menace and mendacity, but the telling of the siblings’ mean and murderous journey is delivered with an opposing calm and honesty by Eli – and the simple but wholly absorbing narrative and dialogue of writer Patrick deWitt.

Their story encompasses brotherly love and hate, greed, frontier existentialism, drinking, weight worries, teeth hygiene [every dentist should have these extracts printed in pamphlets replacing irrelevant surgery magazines], killing with aplomb, the work ethic, commitment, altruism, and, of course, the journey through which this and so much more is variously embraced and rejected.

Care and concern for horses has a place in this tale too. Eli’s horse Tub features strongly throughout and is both absurdly and metaphorically central to the themes of friendship, reliance and pragmatism.

Eli is the younger brother, and though less coldly clinical in killing than Charlie, his temper makes him no less effective – however, fraternal love will always make them a deadly duo because there is such an instinctive bond when it comes to either hunting out their prey or dealing immediately with unforeseen interference in this. But it is Eli who ruminates on the killings afterwards and yearns for a different life.

Both serve the Commodore, their mysterious but powerful employer, and his retributive, murderous instructions are theirs to carry out without question and however far it takes them – in this story across gold-rush California in search of Herman Kermit Warm who has offended their brutal boss. At first we don’t know what this offense was, and it isn’t meant to matter to the brothers whose fame is based on their relentless expertise in fulfilling such duties. But we do find out and this is where the story begins its shifts and presents uncertainty into the Sisters Brothers’ world – well, at least initially into Eli’s thinking.

There is a redemptive ending yet at a considerable cost, but I won’t spoil the story by saying anything further on this. Needless to say, the reading journey following theirs is a delightful and rewarding experience.


I’m too weary of, and realistic about, venting on Trump/Iran and BJ/indolence as it would be an inevitable waste of time so am turning my attention back to the Grammar ‘advice’ [see preceding post] that continues to intrude within my Twitter feed – consequence of an algorithm that identifies someone who has previously commented on use of language?

I’ll state now I am not opposed to being concerned about general grammar awareness [not as rules], and, for example, the properly supportive/encouraging exemplification of how word choice and variety, including the value of a wide vocabulary, is useful for anyone’s writing.

But this next one pissed me off:


What irritates is the line ‘Even native speakers of English…’ which is, above and beyond the arrogance, clearly taking as read that English-as-second-language writers get things ‘wrong’ most often in terms of being ‘precise/accurate’! How dare they?! Learn another language and fail to employ its nuances perfectly!

It is also the ‘so-so’ vs ‘great’ writer dichotomy that annoys as well when thinking of my previous posting about finding alternative words to ‘sleep’ [being clear, I don’t object to the notion] WITHOUT also acknowledging/demonstrating the effectiveness of simplicity or use of repetition.

I know these advisory dictates are meant to be as they are – simplistic and colourfully/cartoonishly so – but I am constructing an argument…

Then there is this next one:


Oddly, in calling such words ‘pretentious’ it is picking up on the fad-usage of certain language words/terms, and also ironically arguing for a celebration of the simple, which I would endorse. And it’s not just because I recall using ‘oeuvre’ a few times that I object – and ‘ergo’ is pretty crappo – but probably because it is easier than trying to deconstruct what is wrong with our world ‘leaders’ [assholes / fuckwits / numbnuts / twats / bollockbrains…] today.


Thus, Your Honour, I Rest My Case…

rest my case

Sleeping by Raymond Carver

He slept on his hands.
On a rock.
On his feet.
On someone else’s feet.
He slept on buses, trains, in airplanes.
Slept on duty.
Slept beside the road.
Slept on a sack of apples.
He slept in a pay toilet.
In a hayloft.
In the Super Dome.
Slept in a Jaguar, and in the back of a pickup.
Slept in theaters.
In jail.
On boats.
He slept in line shacks and, once, in a castle.
Slept in the rain.
In blistering sun he slept.
On horseback.
He slept in chairs, churches, in fancy hotels.
He slept under strange roofs all his life.
Now he sleeps under the earth.
Sleeps on and on.
Like an old king.

[OK, slept as past tense and past participle of sleep, but you get the idea: such grammar ‘advice’ – the above wasn’t directed at students so not a teaching suggestion which would have made this response so much more angry – isn’t always good advice…]


‘Silver’ by Tom Nance


My starting post for this New Year is a special one for two reasons.

The first is for the fine writing of Silver, a reflection on photography, growing up, and one son’s relationship with a parent. Its clear beauty is very much in the fond and tender remembrance of this father introducing his son to the mystique and pragmatics of photography, especially in how personal detail and technical aspects of the photographer’s craft unite so naturally. The deep affection for a Dad, others involved in the learner’s story, and a celebration of the quality of various equipment are merged into a powerful sense of all belonging to one another.

There is both sensitivity and drama in the tracing of being mentored and learning, from awe to adventure to aspiration, this latter illustrated by just a few photographs to present snapshots – no other word will do – of a much larger history: posted along with the Silver text. Mentoring and admiration do go beyond the familial in this overall account, but the father/son core is its foundation.

Humour and music are further vehicles for carrying the narrative along. And all of this creates a strong and palpable sense of who the writer is and what has over time shaped his thoughts and feelings.

Which leads to the second reason for this being so special. The writer, Tom Nance, is my brother, and we have only recently discovered one another – near the end of March, 2019 – after 60+ years. This is an extraordinary story in its own right, and one that might be told at another time, but for now it is a private journey of delightful finding. Silver is, however, a wonderful taste of that personal sharing being made public because it has a much broader interest to convey.

As the writer of this blog I share quite prolifically a sense of who I am, but this posting allows me to complement that with a sense of my brother Tom who is now such a significant part of my story.

This is part of his.

To read Silver and see full-sized images, follow the links below:

SILVER ~ Tom Nance

1. Street Musicians

2. Campaign

3. Reluctant

4. Abandoned