Those of you in the UK will be aware that there has been a lot of fuss this week and last about SATs, the tests that primary school children in England (that's grade school, or first school) are obliged to take. In particular, the fuss is about the way that writing - or grammar - is taught and tested. Young children are being obliged to learn not only grammatical terms but completely invented ones, such as 'fronted adverbial', and identify them in a sentence. Their own writing has to observe ridiculous practices, such as only using an exclamation mark after a sentence starting 'How' or 'What'. And filling their work with 'wow-words' - unusual words, usually adjectives, intended to give their writing a bit of oomph. (This latter is a widespread teaching practice rather than something the curriculum spells out as a requirement.)
This approach to writing runs a high risk of wrecking any child's nascent enjoyment of language. Nicola Morgan and I have, with the committees of our respective groups in the Society of Authors, have put together a statement against the government's practice in this regard; it's on the Society of Authors website. I have blogged about wow-words (this will also be published in The Author this month) and exclamation marks on ABBA, and Nicola has blogged about teaching grammar on her own blog. The statement has been taken up by The Guardian, who reproduced a chunk of it straight after it was issued. And now it's gone global, being taken up by the Daily Times in Pakistan. It's obviously something people feel strongly about.
None of us is against the teaching of grammar. And it's not an argument about testing per se. The people who object to this particular testing regime include some who approve of testing in primary schools and some who don't - but this particular testing regime is iniquitous. Essentially, the curriculum authority has come up with a whole lot of rules about language, supported with terminology, which it insists children as young as 6 learn. Some of this terminology and these rules are pure invention - they are not supported either by traditional grammar or by current and past usage by real authors. So children will see 'rules' they have to follow which the books they read don't follow - confusing in itself. These rules and terminology are very complex and so, correspondingly, are the tests. Adult professional writers, some with degrees in linguistics and English can't answer the questions. The British Prime Minister, David Cameron, couldn't answer questions [video] about these grammatical entities when asked in the House of Commons. Consequently, a great deal of time in school is spent teaching to the test - training children to pass an insane test that does nothing to improve their use or understanding of language and a lot to destroy their burgeoning enjoyment of it. Many teachers are close to breaking point.
The test and work for it are demoralising and destructive. Children are set up to fail. Many parents kept their children away from school so that they would not be subjected to the test. The minister for education condemned them for it. But countless schools reported children in tears, even the brightest children unable to answer the questions. What useful purpose can this possibly serve?
It's not hard to frame teaching of writing and how it works in a way that increases rather than reduces children's enjoyment and understanding. Here is the bad way:
1. Which sentence contains a fronted adverbial?
a) 'Thrilled to be trusted with such complicated instructions, Roger took the crowbar from Billy.' (I Was a Rat, Philip Pullman)
b) 'I stood in the morning room with Hodges, not knowing what to do.' (The Dead of Winter, Chris Priestley)
Here is a better way:
1. Which sentence tells us how a person did something before telling us what they did?
a) 'Thrilled to be trusted with such complicated instructions, Roger took the crowbar from Billy.' (I Was a Rat, Philip Pullman)
b) 'I stood in the morning room with Hodges, not knowing what to do.' (The Dead of Winter, Chris Priestley)
And here is an even better way:
'Thrilled to be trusted with such complicated instructions, Roger took the crowbar from Billy.' (I Was a Rat, Philip Pullman) - do you see how putting the descrption first makes us eager to read on to the end of the sentence, to find out what Roger is thrilled about?
'I stood in the morning room with Hodges, not knowing what to do.' (The Dead of Winter, Chris Priestley) - this sentence creates a feeling of expectation and impatience. The standing is stretched out as the character and we, the readers, don't know what is he will do next.
Oops, no test there. Damn it. The kids might just see how the technique works instead of being able to name it. That's no good, is it? And if the explanation is considered too hard for young readers (Year 4 is the time fronted adverbials are introduced), then they are too young to need the term as it's useless to them. If you want to know which terms children have to learn - and/or what they mean - there is a list on The School Run's website.
How about we bolster #readingforpleasure with #writingforpleasure? Let our children enjoy language. If we don't, we'll lost a whole generation of writers - and not just writers of fiction, poetry, screenplays, and so on, but writers of biography, science books (and articles), journalism, history, philosophy...
Showing posts with label Society of Authors. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Society of Authors. Show all posts
Friday, 13 May 2016
Sunday, 26 September 2010
How to read a publishing contract (26)
Only two clauses to go, and they're about being stroppy, so perhaps we'll do them both at once. W00t- stroppy-fest!
26. Arbitration
If any differences shall arise between the Author and the Publishers touching the meaning of this Agreement or the rights and liabilities of the parties thereto, the same shall be referred to the arbitration of two persons (one to be named by each party) or their mutually agreed umpire, in accordance with the provisions of the Arbitration Act 1950, or any amending or substitute statute for the time being in force.
This means if you disagree about agreeing you have to agree on how to stop disagreeing. That's no better, is it? It means your understanding of the contract is not the same as theirs, and you discover this because you argue about something, can each pick someone to argue for you - like a court case but cheaper. Don't pick your partner/neighbour/best friend. Pick someone who knows what they're talking about. (Of course, if your partner/neighbour/best friend is a lawyer specialising in publishing law, use them anyway.) You could ask the Society of Authors to represent you in the fight. Note that it will not be a physical fight, so someone big, strong, fat as sumo wrestler or trained in martial arts is not necessarily the best choice - unless things go badly wrong, or they also happen to know about publishing law. In which case, please send me their email address.
I'm not sure who might be a 'mutually agreed umpire', but I suppose depending on the nature of the dispute you might agree on a lawyer who is not representing either side. But lawyers are expensive - make sure you don't stand to lose more than you could gain if you follow the legal route. If it's a small and naive publisher you might get the to agree to go to the Society of Authors as umpire, but that word 'Authors' in the name might alert them to the possibility that the Society might take your part.
What to disagree about (if you're looking for a chance to use this clause)? It suggests the meaning of the contract, the rights and liabilities. Rights are the most likely cause of dispute as new rights emerge from nowhere without warning, rather like the discredited spontaneous generation of worms from mud. If you signed a contract in 1995, app rights were not even a glimmer in your publisher's eye so you might now argue about those. In 2020, are you going to be arguing about holographic rights? The best way to avoid this is to withhold all non-specified and future rights from the agreement, or at the very least put a time limit on them - if additional rights are not exploited in a year they revert, for example. You don't want the publisher holding on to rights they are not going to use when you could exploit them. But now we're going back through the contract to the rights clauses, so perhaps you should take another look at those to make sure you won't need this arbitration clause.
.
26. Arbitration
If any differences shall arise between the Author and the Publishers touching the meaning of this Agreement or the rights and liabilities of the parties thereto, the same shall be referred to the arbitration of two persons (one to be named by each party) or their mutually agreed umpire, in accordance with the provisions of the Arbitration Act 1950, or any amending or substitute statute for the time being in force.
This means if you disagree about agreeing you have to agree on how to stop disagreeing. That's no better, is it? It means your understanding of the contract is not the same as theirs, and you discover this because you argue about something, can each pick someone to argue for you - like a court case but cheaper. Don't pick your partner/neighbour/best friend. Pick someone who knows what they're talking about. (Of course, if your partner/neighbour/best friend is a lawyer specialising in publishing law, use them anyway.) You could ask the Society of Authors to represent you in the fight. Note that it will not be a physical fight, so someone big, strong, fat as sumo wrestler or trained in martial arts is not necessarily the best choice - unless things go badly wrong, or they also happen to know about publishing law. In which case, please send me their email address.
I'm not sure who might be a 'mutually agreed umpire', but I suppose depending on the nature of the dispute you might agree on a lawyer who is not representing either side. But lawyers are expensive - make sure you don't stand to lose more than you could gain if you follow the legal route. If it's a small and naive publisher you might get the to agree to go to the Society of Authors as umpire, but that word 'Authors' in the name might alert them to the possibility that the Society might take your part.
What to disagree about (if you're looking for a chance to use this clause)? It suggests the meaning of the contract, the rights and liabilities. Rights are the most likely cause of dispute as new rights emerge from nowhere without warning, rather like the discredited spontaneous generation of worms from mud. If you signed a contract in 1995, app rights were not even a glimmer in your publisher's eye so you might now argue about those. In 2020, are you going to be arguing about holographic rights? The best way to avoid this is to withhold all non-specified and future rights from the agreement, or at the very least put a time limit on them - if additional rights are not exploited in a year they revert, for example. You don't want the publisher holding on to rights they are not going to use when you could exploit them. But now we're going back through the contract to the rights clauses, so perhaps you should take another look at those to make sure you won't need this arbitration clause.
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Friday, 8 May 2009
Signing on the dotted line
You've slipped the fat contract out of the envelope — or opened the PDF attachment — and there is your first publishing contract looking alluring on the desk(top). It's a Hooray! moment. But wait — put down that pen! Don't sign it yet. They aren't going to take it away or cancel if you don't sign and return it immediately. A contract is just a suggestion. You are probably going to need to argue about those terms. Yes, you really do have to read it — all of it. And you really do have to say that they cannot have your first-born, nor can they extract a pint of blood every week. OK, this is your first-born and they already have it; you aren't necessarily going to give them your second-born.
A contract offers so many delicious opportunities for being stroppy that they can't all be covered in just one post. Being properly stroppy about the contract is something you have to build up to. For now, you can delegate to people who are professionally stroppy. If you have an agent, your agent should check the contract and argue. This doesn't mean you can't argue some more, later — but your agent can deal with all the obvious problems with the contract. I make it a point of honour to find at least two things my agent has not spotted. As a beginner, you could say 'Hmmm,' in a thoughtful sort of way, and agree that you can't see anything too dire in it — but do make it obvious you have read it.
If you don't have an agent you can ask the Society of Authors to check the contract for you. You can become a member of the Society of Authors as soon as you have a contract for a real book . They will then check your contracts for free. Or you can pay them to check your contract without joining. We will come back to the Society of Authors later, but it's a good idea to join. They have a nice ceiling, so if you go to an event and it's boring, you can look at the ceiling. There are more advantages. Later, remember.
If you want to get straight down to checking your contract, here are some red rags for your bullishness to look out for:
So: a contract is not cast in stone. It is a starting point for negotiation. You will have been sent a boilerplate contract that is sent out to all authors, whatever their book, and it is up to you and your agent (if you have one) to get it tailored to your particular book and needs. DON'T feel so grateful that someone wants to publish your book that you just sign it without looking at it or thinking about the terms.
Coming next... 'Do you draw the pictures yourself?'
A contract offers so many delicious opportunities for being stroppy that they can't all be covered in just one post. Being properly stroppy about the contract is something you have to build up to. For now, you can delegate to people who are professionally stroppy. If you have an agent, your agent should check the contract and argue. This doesn't mean you can't argue some more, later — but your agent can deal with all the obvious problems with the contract. I make it a point of honour to find at least two things my agent has not spotted. As a beginner, you could say 'Hmmm,' in a thoughtful sort of way, and agree that you can't see anything too dire in it — but do make it obvious you have read it.
If you don't have an agent you can ask the Society of Authors to check the contract for you. You can become a member of the Society of Authors as soon as you have a contract for a real book . They will then check your contracts for free. Or you can pay them to check your contract without joining. We will come back to the Society of Authors later, but it's a good idea to join. They have a nice ceiling, so if you go to an event and it's boring, you can look at the ceiling. There are more advantages. Later, remember.
If you want to get straight down to checking your contract, here are some red rags for your bullishness to look out for:
- waiving moral rights
- competing works clauses
- grabbing of rights in all territories
- grabbing of electronic rights
- an atrocious deal on electronic rights
- option on your next book
- agreeing to do free publicity
- outrageous liability clauses
- reversion clauses that don't specify what counts as out of print.
So: a contract is not cast in stone. It is a starting point for negotiation. You will have been sent a boilerplate contract that is sent out to all authors, whatever their book, and it is up to you and your agent (if you have one) to get it tailored to your particular book and needs. DON'T feel so grateful that someone wants to publish your book that you just sign it without looking at it or thinking about the terms.
Coming next... 'Do you draw the pictures yourself?'
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