22 April 2020
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Under the Microscope extra
A reader's creative non-fiction goes under the editorial microscope
Read our suggested rewrite of a reader's first 300 words and for the full critique, see the June issue of Writing Magazine.
Perceptions, by Alan Grant - original version
After the bell rings, the doors slowly swing open. No immediate rush. Today will not differ from yesterday, last week, month, or year. For some, the routine is all they will know for the rest of their lives. Routines are essential in a place like this.
They give an early indicator of potential tension. As the individuals emerge, their initial anonymity diffuses. All dressed in similar clothes. Grey. Like their appearance; the result of being locked up in a cell without sunlight. Grey tops, with loose, baggy trousers and invariable trainers.
Slowly, there is a recognition of the established characters. All emerge with their individual bucket containing overnight faeces and urine and move towards the waste disposal area. There is no embarrassment, nor even a recognition that, as they emerge from their cells odours are wafting around them. Odours of their own making, occasioned by the smell of sweat, fear, poor diets, lack of exercise and institutional habit.
Some look down. Others look up defiantly at their watching audience. There will be no applause in this theatre of movement. The expected choreography is regarding basic functions, safety and routine. Move differently and others become alert. Their own safety awareness, escalates, responding to their awareness and sensitivity to immediate activity.
As a member of a team of ten, responsible for the control, containment and safety of four hundred individuals, the common understanding is that one inappropriate incident or response could trigger off mayhem. We notice a potential problem with the approach of the resident of Cell 56.
Serving life, he is unperturbed by threats of lock-down, isolation, removal of privileges or whatever. He has nothing to lose until nature within a very restricted health care service ultimately surrenders his presence elsewhere. Today his challenges are simple and easily met.
Perceptions - McCredited version
After the bell rings, the doors slowly swing open. No immediate rush. Today will not differ from yesterday, last week, last month, or last year. For some, the routine is all they will know for the rest of their lives. Routines are essential in a place like this. They give an early indicator of potential tension.
All are dressed in similar clothes. Grey tops with loose trousers and identical trainers. Grey. Like their appearance. The result of being locked up in a cell without sunlight.
All emerge with their individual bucket containing overnight faeces and urine and move towards the waste disposal area. There is no embarrassment, nor even a recognition of the odours they generate. Sweat, fear, poor diets and bad habits.
Their initial anonymity gradually diffuses. Slowly, there is a recognition of the established characters. Some look down. Others look up defiantly at their observers. But there will be no human connection between watchers and watched. Only supervision. Only control. The basic functions of safety and routine closely monitored.
They move and think as a herd. Move differently and others become alert. Their sense of safety is hyperaware: sensitive to all proximate activity. Ready to react or escalate.
As a member of a team of ten, I am responsible for the control, containment and safety of four hundred individuals. The common understanding is that one inappropriate incident or response could trigger mayhem. We watch carefully the approach Cell 56’s resident.
Serving life, he is unperturbed by threats of lock-down, isolation, removal of privileges or whatever. He has nothing to lose. We notice a potential problem is his behaviour...