Gary William Murning Online

Well, after digesting my lunch with a quiet read of Steven Pinker’s How the Mind Works, I’m not wholly convinced that it any longer does. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a fascinating, informative and witty book — and by and large, I can grasp it. The whole “computational theory of mind”-thing feels, in fact, rather natural to me (but, then, I did spend my mid-teens poking away at the squishy keyboard of my ZX81.) What I find a little difficult to cope with are the arguments against it — especially Searle’s utterly ridiculous Chinese Room thought experiment (note to potential commenters: don’t even think of telling me it isn’t — you’ll only make me angry and, in the words of David Banner, you wouldn’t like me when I’m angry ;-))

But that isn’t what I want to blog about today. In spite of feeling a little lacking in metal capacity, I want to bring my faithful readers up to speed with the progress of the chapter outlines for Children of the Revolution and generally… well, discuss a few of my thoughts on attitudes to “disability” in education.

The further I’ve progressed with my outlines (which are almost complete), the more I’ve seen that the integration system I experienced in the ’70s and ’80s failed on so many levels that it was, frankly, utterly ridiculous to ever call it a success (which, in my case, I’d always considered it to be.) It was new, of course, “experimental” in a most literal way (I made a bloody cute Guinea Pig, if I do say so myself!) — but that doesn’t alter the fact whilst my experience was definitely one of the better ones, it was badly applied at the outset, clearly underfunded as time progressed and enthusiasm waned, and unlikely to succeed when underlying problems in maintainstrean education (such as over-large class sizes) were not even being addressed. Examples of the failings in my particular case were:

1) I had recurring problems throughout my education with desk-height/positioning in relation to my wheelchair. Two or three teachers tried to address it, but by and large with little success (it became a more difficult problem to fix in secondary school — having to move from classroom to classroom — so I just kept quiet and made do.)
2) In sixth form college, I was assigned an auxiliary assistant. A lovely lady who became a friend. Unfortunately, “they” only employed her to work half-days. (With no one else covering the times she wasn’t there.)
3) In 1984, I was still meeting careers advisors who were happy to suggest that my career options included weaving wicker baskets. Which was just what I was studying Physics, Computing and Mathematics for!

I could go on. The more I revisit those times, the more I find in among the laughter and tears a greater sense that this novel needs to be written. I know I’ve said that before, but it remains true. It’s valid from a social history point of view but I also believe it’s valid in the contemporary sense — because I don’t see all that much evidence of improvement. Children, whatever their needs, are still being failed by our education system. And after thirty years of “integration”, that’s bloody unforgivable.

Please feel free to share your thoughts on this.

It’s been an interesting and thought-provoking few days in my little corner of the world.

Having finished draft two of If I never and got it over to Emma at Legend Press, my old, familiar restlessness kicked in at full force and I went to work on the preliminary outlines for Children of the Revolution. The prologue and chapter one sketched out, I realised I needed a general chronology of my own school years (on which the novel is to be partially based… at least) in place, just to ensure that everything “fit” the way I remembered. I quickly knuckled down and got a couple of pages behind me before a little lightbulb went on and, on an impulse that stemmed from the realisation that I needed a fuller understanding of events from the opposite end of the educational spectrum, I googled the name of my favourite and most influential teacher from that period.

And ultimately found her.

A few emails into our correspondence, I’m already finding the confirmation I’d hoped for in her frank and intelligent expression of the events and missed opportunities of those times. And, as you might imagine, I’m more excited than ever about Children of the Revolution. Mrs. S. has already helped me see just how valid and, possibly, important this novel could be. This makes it a weightier responsibility, of course, and I have no doubt it will cause me a few nightmares over the coming months, but I’m already thoroughly enjoying the process and looking forward to the actual writing of this novel.

In my former blog home (MySpace), I’ve been fairly quiet of late, focusing on the completion of my latest novel, If I Never, and generally doing my best to keep out of trouble (with limited success where the latter is concerned!) Now, however, with the second (submission standard) draft almost finished, I feel energised and clear-headed enough to once again build up my cyber-presence and, hopefully, say something interesting every once in a while.

Only recently it was brought to my attention (thanks, Sheila!) that I may be a somewhat obsessive writer. No arguing with that. I simply have to write. It’s a fundamental part of who I am and whilst most obsessions can have a detrimental effect on the life of an individual, I have to say that, for me, my particular obsession has had only benefits.

All of which is by way of saying that it shouldn’t surprise my regular readers to learn that I’m already girding my loins (that’s for you, Sheila!) in preparation for starting work on Children of the Revolution, my next, very personal novel.

I’ve discussed this elsewhere, but I’ll summarise here. Briefly, it is intended as an individual’s experience of the integration of children with physical disabilities into mainstream education in the north-east of England in the mid-1970s to the early 1980s (I was one such child.) The key phrase in the above is “individual’s experience”. It will be one child’s story, told by the more informed adult retrospectively. I want it to be a complete story however, and so I am interested in hearing from people who experienced a similar scenario — as a teacher, pupil, nursing auxiliary etc. If you have anything you’d like to share, it would therefore be greatly appreciated. (Or if you know someone who might be able to help, please send ‘em over :-))

Cheers!