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UNEDITED
DOCUMENT
“Upon
these next few
hours,” Harold
ruminated, “hinge three careers. Not the least of which,” his stomach
churned,
“is mine.” The white boom gate lifted. His pass was returned. Harold
listened
to the Mini’s tyres scrunch through Victory Gate. “One can find
anything.” he
mused, “You only have to know where to look.”
Harold’s
humble Mini
scuttled past
Semaphore Tower. Unworthily she slunk past Great Rope House and the
golden
statue of King William III. Wretchedly, the little car crept into the
reserved
carpark opposite the Royal Navy Museum.
H.M.S.
Alison Liddell – her decks
oiled and windlasses polished, her spar washed and bare – sneered down
at them.
Harold turned the ignition key: An explosive fart – a death rattle – an
embarrassed
silence. Through his misted windscreen Harold watched startled birds
return to
their nests. Drawing his heavy jacket close, he braced himself and
shouldered
the Mini’s door open. Hunched, hands thrust deep in pockets, his
stomach
churning and face prickling in the predawn fog, Harold scrunched across
the
drive.
Upholstered
armchairs and model
ships clutter the Drake Lounge at Portsmouth. Reading lamps cast amber
pools
over dark seascapes and crumbling maps. Harold wiped frost from a
window. The Channel
breezes were rolling back the night’s fog. A forlorn Willow appeared
through
the milky grey. Developing. Like an image on a photograph.
Three retired Admirals,
a naval
historian, and an ancient Brigadier-General comprised the committee
Harold was to
address. Publishing his findings on the Internet seemed somehow
disrespectful,
antithetical to the story about to unfold.
So what is wrong
with that you might say. Now compare it with the edited version below
and see if you can spot the changes that make all the difference.
EDITED
DOCUMENT
Upon these next few hours, (1) Harold
ruminated, hinge three careers: not the least of which is mine. His
stomach churned with excitement as the white boom gate lifted and his
pass was returned. As he listened to the Mini's tyres scrunch through
Victory Gate, he mused ... one could find anything, if one knew where
to look.
Harold's humble Mini scuttled past Semaphore Tower.
Unworthily slinking past Great Rope House and the golden statue of King
William III, the wretched little car crept into the reserved car park (2) opposite
the Royal Naval (3)
Museum in Portsmouth.
HMS Alison Liddle
(4)
- her decks oiled and windlasses polished. Her spar washed and
bare - loomed over him. (5) Harold
turned the ignition key off. An explosive fart - a death rattle - an
embarrassing (6)
silence. Through his misted windscreen he watched startled birds return
to their nests. Drawing his heavy jacket close, he braced himself and
shouldered the Mini's door open. Hunched, with hands thrust deep in
pockets (7)
and face prickling in the predawn fog, Harold scrunched along the
drive. His anticipation making him feel a little sick.
Upholstered armchairs and model ships cluttered the
Drake lounge. Reading lamps cast amber pools over dark seascapes and
crumbling maps.. Harold wiped frost from a window to see channel
breeses rolling back the night fog. A forlorn willow appeared through
the milky gray. Developing. Like an image on a photograph.
Three retired admirals, (8) a naval
historian and an ancient commodore (9) comprised
the committee Harold was to address. Publishing his findings on the
Internet seemed somehow disrespectful, antithetic to the story he would
unfold. (10)
1. The first line of each chapter must
start at the margin. Also, do not use quote marks with thoughts.
2. Car park is two
words.
3. The correct title is Royal Navy not
Naval.
4. The usual
style today is to omit the punctuation. Names of ships are written in
italics.
5. Not 'them' ,
only Harold is present.
6. Silence cannot
be embarrassed.
7. A phrase was
deleted here because it was used in the first paragraph.
8. This is not
capitalised when used in a general sense.
9. Suggest the
change to 'commodore' as brigadier general is an army rank, not naval.
10. Suggest that you
put something in here that explains why his carreer hinges on this, as
we have not been told.
* Many thanks to DAVID MARTIN for permission
to use this excerpt from "The Portsmouth Teaparty' as an example.