Debi Alper
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Ah, I hadn’t picked up on those being cricketing terms, Steven. For ignoramuses like me, you might want to have her saying something about how he couldn’t resist using cricketing lingo, even when potentially ending his marriage. Easy solution. I wonder if he’d be more likely to address her as dearest. What do you think?
Quite a few questions there, Paula, and I want to concentrate properly on each of them. With the science, I don’t think the reader needs to know the details. We just have to be convinced that you know. I haven’t noticed an issue with your PD1 narrator. If I had, I would have said. I suggest you give us something to work with as part of your week 6 questions. It’s always better to be specific than to generalise.
What lovely feedback for me and for the course, Lucia. Thanks so much for that.
With the geography, it’s up to you what liberties you decide to take. (Tell your husband I said so.) If you’ll forgive me for being self-referential, my novels are set in SE London. In the first, there’s a shop in Bermondsey that sells tropical fish. Someone told me they knew that shop. But I made it up and, as far as I know, there never was a shop like that in the area. In book 2, there’s a tower block on the Old Kent Road. Again, someone told me they knew where it was. They didn’t because I made that up too. In the fifth book, there are scenes in Dulwich Village set in a graveyard. I used the location but shifted it a few streets sideways. Artistic license, innit.
Oh behave, Katie! I come up with the highest praise I can offer and what’s your response? I secretly hope this doesn’t mean I’m at risk of mimicking and can strengthen my own voice. Pfft. Your voice is yours and yours alone. If you can, please come to my Facing the Fear workshop at LFoW and we’ll come up with strategies to silence those pesky Doubt Demons.
I tried very hard to avoid ‘had’ after reading this week’s tutorial. Eeek. Now that worries me. At no point have I said that had has to be avoided at all costs. As if. That smacks far too much of a ‘rule’ and we all know there ain’t none. You may need to use the pluperfect to guide us into an earlier timeline if you’re moving into back story. Once we’re settled there after the first couple of sentences, you can dispense with it and use the simple past tense. You may decide to use it again for a sentence or two before we return to the main timeline. The crucial thing is to orientate the reader in a timeline. In the sentence in the extract, Within a month, the women (had) stopped trying … the had is important there because the whole story is in past tense but this was referring to something further in the past. Make sense?
When I’m writing, it’s what seems to come out of the right brain and gets tidied up by the left brain. That’s a literal description of what it takes to get to a final draft.
If anyone has any practical tips for blasting through a first draft I’m all ears. There are no rules when it comes to process either and you have to find what works for you. My first drafts are always hand-written and typed up in chunks. My stories flow much better when I use a pen and notebook. Find whatever works for you.
This is the sort of reply that makes me really happy, Kate.
Sounds good to me, Julie.
I think you’ve put your finger on a lot of issues, Gillian. Though it might not feel like it, I see this as massive progress. You know what you’ve been holding back on and you know why. Now you know what you need to do to address the issue. Result, right? Your WIP and your characters will thank you.
I like the rainbow analogy for PD but the ruler works better for me. It’s simpler and more straighforward. A playground slide is another useful analogy. It’s a matter of going from one end to the other. For me, dimension is more complex – more 3D, in fact. I reckon it suggests PD is more complicated than it really is. I’m sure that once you’ve had a chance to draw breath and process all we’ve crammed into the six weeks,. it will all click into place.
Yes, it’s fine for Mike to be morally ambivalent, Gill. I can see you know him really well and have given him lots of conflicts. That’s more than good enough for me.
I’m not sure about the structure and timelines, to be honest. If there are Laura chapters since we left Mike, that may be fine. If this is something worrying you, I would raise it as a week 6 question.
Impossible for me to tell but my first instinct is that sounds like an epic fulfilment of Laura’s arc. Your whole story is about moral ambivalence. As in life, few people are unambiguously good or bad. It would be a fantastic talking point for reading groups.
Knowing Aidan is aware that Xander can see him makes the whole thing even more comical, Chithrupa. This whole WIP is a labour of love for you, and that’s priceless. Please don’t lose faith in it.
Re your final question, can you raise it in week 6 as a separate comment, probably with some examples?
Let’s pick this apart, Anja.
So is it okay if it’s the narrator’s voice?! In theory, it might be. What it can’t be is Hubert’s POV. The main point is that the POV is unclear.
Is it okay to have a narrator’s voice/PD2 smack in the middle of the scene? Or should it be used only at the beginning? No rules, right? But it’s a sign of not having a clear POV character in the scene, so it might be a warning sign that we’re not connecting with an individual character.
Maybe: Upon inspection of the roots Hubert murmured to himself he’d done an excellent job. Is that better? Hmmm. If he murmured it to himself, that suggests no one else heard. Yet another sign there’s no clear POV.
These are all symptoms of the same thing: we’re watching the scene as if it’s a TV episode, rather than experiencing it through the eyes, ears and interiority of a character.
My last trip to a hairdresser was for a Big Birthday. Since then, a friend cuts my hair twice a year. Works for me.
Great news, Alison. Just remember that the only rules are the ones you set for yourself.
It’s always such a joy to read these snippets of your novel, Steven. Once again, you’ve given us a highly entertaining scene that keeps us on our toes, surprising us constantly. I didn’t picture Serafina as having green and black hair. Or having an épée, for that matter. I love the sparky relationship between these two quirky and ill-matched characters. It’s a shame you haven’t had the chance to come back and reply to the questions raised by your coursemates. They stumbled in the same places as I did, trying to understand what was being said, particularly by Serafina’s mention of the letter.
I was surprised that some people thought you’d changed POV. You haven’t! Some are even questioning whose POV we’re in. The POV is clearly Lester’s: He was puzzled (PD3) … Lester needed an arresting phrase … What were his top ten sayings? These next words must be top ten … (all PD4). As a result, we know we’re in his POV and, therefore, Serafina glared at him as if divided by … is his perception of the way she’s looking at him. What makes any of you think it’s a switch to Serafina’s POV? We’re seeing her from the outside, no? Having learnt about POV and how it works, it can be tempting to over-analyse and see problems where there aren’t any. Beware of doing this! Head-hopping is when we jump from deep inside one character’s head (PD4-5) to deep inside another character’s at PD4-5.
Back to you, Steven. We would expect Serafina’s spoken words to have a ‘foreign’ flavour, and they do. Oddly, though, Lester doesn’t sound like English is his first language. I wonder why that is. Are you hearing his voice in your head? Have you tried reading aloud?
Anyway, I’ll get straight down to business.
Serafina handed Lester her epee. (Ha! Is she a fencer? Strictly speaking, there should be acute accents:épée.) He was puzzled as to why, then understood her epee had again become the ‘talking stick,’ and meant it was his turn to speak. (Love the comedy of a weapon being used as a talking stick. Gloriously mixed message.) He cleared his throat,(no comma) and(comma here) conjuring Rear Admiral Nelson, slid his free hand inside his shirt. (Love it!) ‘Cherie, (I wonder why Lester, an Englishman, would use a French endearment to address his Polish wife) I’m emigrating with you.’
Serafina snatched the epee,(no comma – if you read it aloud, you should hear that there’s no pause here) and flung it to the floor. ‘You read your evil letter on the toilet. (Like the others, I’m not sure how to interpret this.) “My dearest Cherie, (the endearment, if you keep this one, is not a proper noun or a name, so should start with a lower case letter) I loathe (does he mean ‘loathe’ as in hate? Or ‘am loath’ as in reluctant?) to dismiss our partnership, (would he really use such formal language in a letter to her? And would he use the word ‘partnership, rather than marriage?) but I will never leave Wetwicker.”(You’ve correctly used double quotation marks for the quote within quotes, but you’ve missed out the closing single quote.) She snorted. ‘Stupid Serafina, thought you shredded that.’ (Is she addressing herself in third person? Why would it make her stupid to have thought that?)
‘Erm. We,(no comma) can’t live on different lands.’ (That sounds like awkward language for a middle-class Englishman to use.)
From her green and black hair she plucked a porridge-(no hyphen)oat(hyphen here)sized flake of dandruff and flicked it at him. (Eeuw. But also ha! Personally, I would start with her doing the plucking.)
Lester needed an arresting phrase. (What does he actually want to convey? I think he wants to convince her that he’s determined to emigrate with her. Is that right?) He was rightly famous for them amongst the team, and in his headmaster days. (It’s very clever to create a character who’s so pompous and yet so adorable.) That said, Serafina, his last school administrator, never appreciated his talent, (I can’t help wondering why he’s determined to go with her, given that she clearly doesn’t get him) not even his masterpiece,(colon, not a comma) “I dreamt of being a cricketer and would-be headmaster, not headmaster and wouldn’t-be cricketer.” This is not a quote within a quote and so should be in single quotation marks, like the dialogue.) What were his top ten sayings? (Chuckling again. He uses his own words as a resource and a source of wisdom.) These next words must be top ten. ‘Cherie, on separate soil we wither, on same soil we(space)…(space)flower.’
Serafina glared at him as if divided by glass, a desk, and the truth of his claim. (Love this progression, though I’d be tempted to make the desk something more insurmountable.) Without removing her glare, she yanked his hand from his shirt, and like dance partners they stepped backwards over her epee. She thumped a Wisden on the bookcase, and press-ganged (brilliant verb) Nelson’s (love the continuation of the cosplay fantasy) hand to the cover. ‘I swear, that I, Lester Nunn-Bogdanski, will move to Krakow.’ (Wonderful to use the cricketing bible as a literal one. They actually get each other more than at first appears.)
Without knowing the answers to the questions, I’m not sure how much use I can be in polishing this, Steven. I’ll have a go anyway and hope it will be helpful.
Serafina handed Lester her épée. He was puzzled. What was he supposed to do with it? Then he understood. Her épée had become the talking stick again. That meant it was his turn to speak. He cleared his throat and, conjuring Rear Admiral Nelson, slid his free hand inside his shirt. ‘Cherie, I’m emigrating with you.’
Serafina snatched the épée and flung it to the floor. ‘I found your evil letter in the toilet. “My dearest cherie, though our marriage means so much to me, I will never leave Wetwicker.”’ She snorted. ‘Stupid man. You should have shredded it.’
She’d got him. And she was right. It was stupid of him to have left the damn letter in the toilet, stuck in among the magazines. ‘Erm. I’ve come to my senses since then. We can’t live in different countries.’
Serafine raked her scalp with her nails, plucked a porridge oat-sized flake of dandruff from her green and black hair and flicked it at him.
Ah. Not going well. Lester needed an arresting phrase to convince her that he was telling the truth now. He was rightly famous for them amongst the team and in his headmaster days. That said, Serafina, his last school administrator, never appreciated his talent, not even his pièce de résistance: ‘I dreamt of being a cricketer and would-be headmaster, not headmaster and wouldn’t-be cricketer.’ What were his top ten sayings? These next words must be top ten. ‘Cherie, on separate soil we wither. On the same soil, we … flower.’
Serafina glared at him as if divided by glass, a mountain, and the truth of his claim. Still glaring at him, she yanked his hand from his shirt, and, like dance partners, they stepped backwards over her épée. With her bunched-up fist, she thumped a Wisden on the bookcase, and press-ganged Nelson’s hand to the cover. ‘I swear that I, Lester Nunn-Bogdanski, will move to Krakow with my beloved wife.’
I really do hope you take what we’ve learnt over these weeks and find a way to get this book in front of readers, Steven. The world needs more funny.
Oh, what a heartwarming and empowering scene, Alison. The healing power of love and laughter. What better message could we give to the new generation? You’ve brought a lump to my throat with such a powerful, yet simple, message.
I love the narrator’s voice in the first sentence, with the poetry of trees and breeze, and the alliteration of dancing, darting and breeze … branches. And, later, the yellow bubbles of light. Simply glorious. The image of Pretzel’s emotions manifesting in colours is wonderful too and there’s more delicious alliteration there too with frenzy of fuzzy. What a magical world you’ve created.
You’re using your new PD tool too. I don’t think it’s coming quite naturally to you – yet. But you’re close. For example, you deliberately used the tense-neutral Out of control thoughts as a PD4 bridge. Personally, I would make the thoughts themselves neutral, rather than explictly switching to first person. I see there’s some discussion about body language with the PD3 Noah tilted his head and frowned as he let out a heavy sigh. Rather than wrangling about whether this is possible and what it looks like, I’d be tempted to cut it completely.
You’ve made Pretzel’s voice just distinctive enough to ensure it sounds other-worldly. If ever there were a case for using adverbs, it would be here, where you’re using them with intent because it’s part of his voice, which is a reflection of his character, of course. All in all, in this passage you have a perfect blend of the narrator’s voice to do the scene-setting, action and choreography, dialogue and internal monologue. All boxes well and truly ticked to create a perfectly rounded and complete scene. Let’s drill down.
Sunlight filtered through the trees, creating dancing, darting shadows as the breeze played amongst the branches. (Exquisite sentence.) He didn’t have to fear shadows anymore. (Maybe *be scared of* would be more childlike.) Noah raced along the trail with (I’d be tempted to replace *with* with a comma) his heart pounding and head swirling with up(hyphen)and(hyphen)down thoughts. Out of control thoughts. (I’d cut that.) I know (if you remove the first person filtering, we’ll have the thought itself) he’ll be there. Maybe he won’t be there. Better to think he won’t be there. (I would put this list of three conflicting thoughts on separate lines. That would create the sense of them being out of control without you telling us that’s what they are. Also, it would make the rhythm more reflective of his headlong dash through the trees.)
As he reached the glade, he drew in his breath and pushed through the final barriers of trees and undergrowth. He was welcomed by yellow bubbles of light playing (repetition) around his feet and ankles. (Glorious!) And there was Pretzel. Hovering on the opposite side of the glade. (Perfect example of using sentence fragments to draw us onwards.) If he could wrap his arms around a bundle of gas, he would have. (A gorgeous image but the slightly awkward syntax has made some people stumble.)
But to Noah’s surprise, Pretzel exploded into raucous laughter, leaping up and down in a frenzy of fuzzy bluish gas and bright sparks of yellow and orange. (Joyous. Love this so much.) Noah tilted his head and frowned as he let out a heavy sigh. (See comment above.) What was Pretzel doing? What could be so funny? Once Pretzel had settled down enough to listen, (I would show Pretzel settling down) Noah said, “Why (don’t think you need the italics as emphasis) are you laughing?”
“Because you taught me how to laugh, and it feels good. Ridiculously, fantastically good! I’m just happy to see you, especially after being in a black hole for too long. (I might insert some prose here, so we have a pause before the weighty next words.) You saved the world again, Noah – this time, without me by your side.” (Subtly old-fashioned voice.)
“I guess (an English child is more likely to say *I suppose*) I did, didn’t I?” Noah began laughing, and Pretzel joined in. Healing laughter. Jeepers, (not sure may English children would use that) the whole world must be able to hear us. I’ve missed you so much, Pretz! (This PD slide works well.)
This really is a delight, Alison. I hope you know that. All it needs is a tiny bit of polishing. I’ll have a go at it.
Sunlight filtered through the trees, creating dancing, darting shadows as the breeze played amongst the branches. Noah didn’t have to be scared of shadows anymore. He raced along the trail, his heart pounding and head swirling with up-and-down thoughts.
He’ll be there.
He won’t be there.
Better to think he won’t be there.
But what if he is?
Noah pushed through the final barriers of trees and undergrowth into the glade and was welcomed by yellow bubbles of light bouncing around his feet and ankles.
And there was Pretzel. Hovering on the opposite side of the glade. Yes! He was here! How amazing it would be if Noah could wrap his arms around his friend. Not so easy when that friend is a bundle of gas.
Wait though. What was happening? Pretzel had exploded into raucous laughter, leaping up and down in a frenzy of fuzzy bluish gas and bright sparks of yellow and orange. What could be so funny? Noah waited until, with a final fizz of a pink puff, Pretzel settled down.
“What’s so funny?” Noah asked. “Why are you laughing?”
“Because you taught me how to laugh, and it feels good. Ridiculously, fantastically good! I’m just happy to see you, especially after being in a black hole for too long.” There was another faint puff of pinkness. Pretzel had turned serious now. “You saved the world again, Noah – this time, without me by your side.”
“I suppose I did, didn’t I?” Noah began laughing too, and Pretzel joined in.
Wow, what a racket. The whole world must be able to hear them. Missed you so much, Pretz!
As with most of your coursemates, my suggested changes are cosmetic. I tried to take what was already really good and just make it more, if you see what I mean. You have something here that’s sweet without being cloying, with a healing message that’s subtle, without feeling like a lecture. Really lovely, Alison.
What a transformative week for you, Katie! You were anxious and posted late, having used your editing skills with intent to ensure you were achieving the effect you were aiming for before posting. As a result of hearing other people’s thoughts, you then redrafted the passage. Writing may be a solitary pursuit but it takes a village to create a final version that will be put in front of readers. How lucky are we to have that sort of community here, so that you will already have had other people’s feedback before you start submitting to agents?
You’ve absolutely nailed Mary’s unreliability and are conveying it in different ways: her silence for a month; the trauma in her past that is unresolved and leaks into her present; Ida’s dialogue and actions showing her contrasting control. That appears benevolent here, associated with sweet perfume instead of the acrid smell of smoke. On the surface, Ida is benevolent, healing – and we know that Mary is in dire need of healing. Of course, that lays her open to being manipulated but you’ve done such a good job of bringing her to life for us, ensuring we have no choice but to share her experiences, that we too feel lulled into a false sense of security by Ida’s apparent care. This is the absolute definition of us feeling like we’re in a safe pair of authorial hands.
A lot of this is down to these last few weeks giving you the confidence to let go of any perceived rules about what good writing should look like. Good! I come across no end of wonderfully talented writers who have straitjacketed their own writing in the mistaken belief that there are things they must always do, or must never do. This, for example: I had tried this but wondered about starting the sentence with ‘but’, though I do it often and like it a lot, I know other people don’t so was curious to test it out. The strict rules of grammar taught in schools – and even more so nowadays, with the absurdly rigid national curriculum – need to be chucked out of the window when it comes to creative writing. Voice always comes first. So, of course you can start sentences with a conjunction. Sentences don’t have to be complete and grammatically correct. If it’s right for a voice to use ain’t instead of isn’t, then that’s what you should use. I was delighted to see you coming to this conclusion for yourself: In future, I’ll stick with my initial gut decisions rather than bend to rules/what I think is more acceptable. It’s funny, In the past 5 weeks, I’ve noticed so many little quirks in my writing I had no idea existed. A lot of them I quite like! Good! Own them! They’re what makes your writing unique and different from anyone else’s.
I was fascinated by you deliberately distinguishing between Germanic and Latinate words. I’d never come across that before. That’s why, even after all these years, I love running the course so much. The learning never stops. I’ve bookmarked that link. Thanks!
Picking up on this: I’d love to do a funny novel, I’ve written short stories that have humour but even then there’s still a creepy or spooky vibe, so I’ll have to wait until I can figure out a way I want to tackle it. I wouldn’t force yourself. Hope you’ll forgive me for being self-referential for a moment but I can relate. When I first started writing with any kind of serious intent, it was short stories, with the hope of being able to make a few quid by selling them to women’s magazines. No chance! I’d start out by writing something cosy and, inevitably, my stories would take a dark turn and morph into something completely unsuitable for the womag market. I never did get any published there, though I’ve had short stories published since in other places. Anyway, the point is that I had found my inner voice and, blimey, it’s dark. I didn’t know that was inside me and it took a while for me to embrace it, rather than try to write things that are clearly alien to me. To be honest, I’d love to write something light and fluffy because it would be a helluva lot easier to get those stories published, but I simply can’t do it. I think you’ve found your voice and, if I were you, I’d learn to love it and see it as something special.
I was very interested to see the discussion with Gillian about trauma. I have some personal experience to share of that too. I mentioned elsewhere (think it was on Gill’s thread) that I lived in Grenada in the early to mid-80s, during the revolution, coup and US invasion. It was only with hindsight that I could see I had PTSD as a result. PTSD was only defined as a condition in 1983, so I didn’t have a label for what I was experiencing. For me (and others I’ve spoken to), flashbacks were rarely a sensation of actually reliving what I saw and heard but more a triggering of how it felt at the time. To this day, the sound of helicopters makes me anxious. I was on South Bank yesterday and there was a helicopter hovering overhead all day and I was constantly aware of it. This is 40+ years after the initial trauma. Closer to the time, a trigger would cause actual panic. Fireworks made my heart pound and I’d be hyper-alert, checking the news to see what was causing the loud bangs that made the windows rattle. It wasn’t that they literally took me back to when I could hear guns, tanks and bombs but more like triggering the physical sensations I’d had at the time and that causing me to act as if I were under attack. When I access my chip of ice, I can see how fascinating this is as a writer.
Anyway – that’s more than enough about me! Let’s look at your redrafted passage.
‘You blame yourself,’ Ida said, her voice low, private. It wasn’t a question, but an invitation. (Really interesting because it’s *literally* not a question but is a statement. I guess it’s Mary’s perception that it’s an invitation, showing the insidious way Ida is worming herself under Mary’s skin. But we know Mary needs help. Perhaps Ida can be trusted. One way or another, it’s a lot of power for one woman to have over a vulnerable teenager. I think you’re right to make Mary younger and more open to manipulation and exploitation.) Mary had not spoken since her arrival. Within a month, the women (had) stopped trying to elicit conversation from the strange new girl. But not Ida.
Mary continued to stare up at the manor and the ivy that snaked its exterior. She wondered how deep the roots burrowed in between the stones. How long before it pulled them apart? The manor will fall, she thought, without a doubt. Crack open, knock the women loose, fold their bones into brick, smear their insides on the ground. It is unnatural, makes her guts writhe to see the inside from the out, but she can’t pull away, can’t stop searching the scene for someone, for a sign of life. (Oh wow! What a vivid contrast between the still and silent young woman staring at a wall and this rip-roaring visceral horror seething inside her. This is nothing short of glorious. The contrast between how she seems on the outside and what’s going on behind that bland exterior makes this a real punch in the gut.)
Then, she was wrenched away from the estate and back to the night of the fire. (This is the bridging sentence in past tense.) Standing on gravel, as her home hollows and blackens. Doing nothing, standing by as the air warps, stirs, rushes past in stinging, screeching violence, strips the caravan—their home—of colour, splits it open to spill white-hot light that blinds her, blasts her senses dry. She can’t see. She can’t see her mother. Is she in there? Does anyone know if she’s in there? (Really good. The tense works in the way you intend.)
‘Look at me,’ Ida said, hooking a cool finger under Mary’s chin. (New line here.) She was back. In the courtyard, the air sweetened by perfume, the fire gone, its muffled sound still ringing in her ears.
‘Would your mother blame you?’ Ida asked. (So, so clever. Ida is ultra-intuitive. With great power comes great responsibility. Will she use her power for good?)I can give no higher praise than to say this is Flynn-esque, Katie. See what you can unleash when you give yourself permission to let rip? Your awareness of Latinate and Germanic words means your analytical left-brain is working really well. And this passage is proof that your right-brain is also functioning at capacity. Given that a final draft is a combination of right-brain creativity and left-brain analysis, you’re in a really good position to make this story into something fabulous. I’m hesitant to do a redraft but, as I’m doing it for everyone else, it would be unfair not to do one for you. Here goes.
‘You blame yourself,’ Ida said, her voice low, private.
It wasn’t a question, but an invitation. Mary had not spoken since her arrival. A month later, and the other women had stopped trying to elicit conversation from the strange new girl. But not Ida.
Mary continued to stare up at the manor and the ivy that snaked its exterior. She wondered how deep the roots burrowed in between the stones. How long before it pulled them apart? The manor will fall, she thought. Crack open, knock the women loose, fold their bones into brick, smear their insides on the ground. It is unnatural, makes her guts writhe to see the inside from the out, but she can’t pull away, can’t stop searching the scene for someone, for a sign of life.
The manor faded and she was wrenched away from the estate and back to the night of the fire. Standing on gravel, as her home hollows and blackens. Doing nothing, standing by as the air warps, stirs, rushes past in stinging, screeching violence, strips the caravan—their home—of colour, splits it open to spill white-hot light that blinds her, blasts her senses dry. She can’t see. She can’t see her mother. Is she in there? Does anyone know if she’s in there?
‘Look at me,’ Ida said, hooking a cool finger under Mary’s chin.
She was back. In the courtyard, the air sweetened by perfume, the fire gone, its muffled sound still ringing in her ears.
‘Would your mother blame you?’ Ida asked.
As you can see, I’ve changed very little there. Why would I, when you’ve already made some of the changes I would probably have suggested for the original version you posted? Believe me, Katie. That original was very good indeed. The second draft elevated it still further. All I’ve done is a final, final polish. When you come to edit, do the big stuff first and save this kind of micro editing until the final draft. And stop giving yourself a hard time and own how good you are!
Jumping in here to say how much I love these convos about PD. Chithrupa – your analysis is spot-on except for those last two sentences: Bloody Ivy(
PD4PD5). Didn’t they know how dangerous it was?(PD3-2PD4)
