Introduction
Sorry this is rather long (or seems so: read on for an explanation) but it’s a puzzle for you, and an experiment for me. One of the constraints devised by the Oulipo movement is called 99 Preparatory Notes. Here’s how it works. You take a subject, and you write 99 sentences about it. Believe it or not, that’s much harder than you might think. I arrived at sentence number 32 and wondered how on earth I would make it to 99. But I did, and this is the result.
The benefits of doing this exercise as a writer is that it forces you to come up with ideas. If you imagine writer’s block as a physical block, like a huge boulder barring the entrance to a cave, then this exercise is akin to a stick of dynamite to blow it to smithereens.
The technique is reminiscent of Georges Perec’s An Attempt at Exhausting a Place in Paris, in which Perec records all of his observations from a café window over three days.
Although I could have simply written 99 sentences and left it at that, I wanted to achieve something over and above merely (“merely”!) coming up with 99 sentences on a single topic. There is also the question of ordering the sentences.
What I decided to was make sure each sentence could stand alone. In other words, I wanted each sentence to make sense even without reference to the preceding and following sentences.
Click the pic to see this on Amazon (affiliate link)
By doing that it should be possible to put the sentences in any order and for the piece as a whole to still make sense. I haven’t tested this because there are 933,262,154,439,442,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000 possibilities, and according to my calculations the number of years it would take to try each one would be 43,206,581,224,048,200,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000,000, which is rather more time than I have available. [1]
The profound disappointment with which these calculations will doubtless infuse you will, I trust, be ameliorated by the knowledge that you might be able to recreate my original prose by regarding each sentence as a piece in a jigsaw puzzle. In other words, some sentences fit better together than other ones.
You will have gathered by now that the text that follows has been arranged differently from the one I originally penned. Can you spot the basis on which I rearranged it?
If you are at a loss, or don’t have several billion years at your disposal, then see the text under the photo for my original.
Good luck!
Trains
“According to the timetable I should have arrived half an hour early.”
“So this is what writer’s block feels like”, I ruminated.
“Sorry”, I gasped as I burst into my meeting an hour late.
“That train has left the station” is a popular way of expressing the sentiment that someone is late to the party.
“Why not trains?” might be considered the epitome of flippancy.
A delightful use of the word “train”, and its corresponding “station” is metaphorical.
A local long journey is one that covers a fair distance, such as fifty three miles, but stopping at every single station, no matter how small the size of the community it serves.
A quick consultation of train timetables on the internet was enough to confirm that backtracking would make me even later.
A reasonable question to ask would be: why trains?
Alongside writing and teaching, training has been, to use the vernacular, a good earner.
Another idea I had was to explore the uses for which trains are put.
Another metaphor?
As it happens, the theme for this month’s Soaring Twenties Social Club Omnibus is “Trains”.
At some point, Tri-ang and Hornby Dublo merged, and became Tri-ang Hornby.
Back in the 1970s the journey time from Kings Cross to Rannoch was appreciably longer than eight hours.
Bradshaw described the journeys between towns.
British Rail’s inability to furnish me with a ticket had saved me from injury, and possibly even saved my life.
Could I write a few hundred words about a bridal train?
Enough people remember the grimy trains, the sandwiches with curled-up edges, the tea that could be used as paint stripper, of British Rail to cite it as an excuse.
Fortunately, there are topics in England that forma kind of social currency.
Great Railway Journeys, with the ex-politician Michael Portillo, is both informative and humorous.
Have you ever been in a train crash?
He provided useful information on the towns themselves.
I discovered to my alarm, a few years ago, that there is a type of journey I designate as a local long journey.
I followed the thought to its logical conclusion.
I have categorised train journeys for my own satisfaction.
I loved my train set.
I sometimes joke (though it is not really a joke) that I suffer from writer’s flood.
I tend not to suffer from writer’s block.
I think of short train journeys as local journeys, because they serve individual localities.
I watched helplessly as the hands of my watch edged towards the time arranged for the meeting.
I’m certain a great many people would agree.
Imagine my alarm when the train stopped at all stations en route.
In 2019 my mother-in-law was invited to Germany on an all-expenses paid trip to honour her as part of an exhibition.
In one respect, Bradshaw reminds me of Eric Partridge.
In terms of train journeys, my mother-in-law’s life had come full circle.
It is a well-known fact that in England we get all four seasons, just like everywhere else in the world.
It was too late to retrace my steps unfortunately.
Michael Portillo is a far better television host than he was a politician.
My mother-in-law’s first experience of being on a train was as a child on a Kindertransport.
My own opinion is that without the expression of a personal opinion, a guide book might just as well have been provided by ChatGPT.
My preference for such a long journey was to go overnight.
My second train set was made my Tri-ang.
Of course, I’m not counting local journeys for shopping.
One minute I was fast asleep, the next I was flying off the seat.
One of my favourite activities was to see how fast I could make the train go round the bends without it derailing.
One of the worst experiences of my life was being in a train crash.
One useful “social currency” topic is the weather.
Overnight travel entailed, ideally, booking a bed in the sleeper carriage.
Partridge’s Usage and Abusive is not only informative, but highly opinionated.
Perhaps one might draw on television programmes about trains for inspiration.
Personally, I like to feel that the writer has a personality.
Portillo’s programme is centred on a 19th century railway guide called Bradshaw’s.
Realising with horror that in my haste I had boarded a local train rather than an express, I contemplated alighting at the next station, returning to London, and starting again.
Scrabbling out of the train clutching my case, I looked at the sleeper carriage, and saw that half of it was up in the air, and the other half was no longer on the rails, and people in it were crying and screaming.
Screaming, the crunching of wood and metal, the lights all going out – it was a hell of a way to wake up.
She travelled to the Continent on the Eurostar.
Some years ago, racing to a business meeting with a potential new client, I leapt onto the first train to Oxford.
Sometimes, when my dad wasn’t around, I actually got to play with my train set myself.
Such literary liberty-taken (that phrase is itself heavily laden with bias) could be seen as an abuse of power.
That’s my opinion anyway.
The Eurostar was my mother-in-law’s final experience of a train journey.
The fact that British Rail has not been in existence since 1997 is no barrier to moaning about it.
The fastest journey from London to Rannoch takes over eight hours.
The first train set I had was from a company called Hornby-Dublo.
The insertion of a guide’s personal views may strike some people as out of place.
The sparsely populated carriage I was in lent itself to my sprawling over two seats.
The state of public transport, especially trains, is a good form of “social currency” topic.
The subject matter is independent of the principles of reviewing.
The theme had me momentarily stumped.
The train timetable was, in fact, correct.
The trains and carriages were made of metal.
The Tri-ang train set was made of plastic.
The trip, a distance of fifty three miles, should have taken under an hour.
The way I tackled the theme was to mentally list different interpretations of the word “train”.
Then I thought of my mother-in-law.
There are long long journeys, such as the one from London to Cornwall (hundreds of miles, five hours).
There are long train journeys, such as the one from London to Leeds (200 miles, two and a half hours).
There are short journeys.
There are short long journeys, such as the one from London to Birmingham (100 miles, less than ninety minutes).
There are some principles that apply to any kind of review.
There are ultra long journeys, such as the trans-Siberian express (thousands of miles, I believe, and several days).
There was a meditation course due to be held in the wilds of Scotland, a place called Crosscraig, in the county of Perthshire.
There was nothing for it but to bluff it out.
To get to Crosscraig from London you have to make your way to Rannoch station.
Training is how I’ve earnt a living in the past.
Trains are used to transport animals.
Trains are used to transport goods.
Trains are used to transport people.
Unfortunately, the train I boarded was running to a different timetable than the timetable I referred to on entering the meeting.
What distinguishes England from other places in terms of the weather is that we often experience all four seasons in a single day.
What happens when you regard people as a form of vermin?
When I arrived at Oxford, a town more friendly to cyclists than taxi-hirers, I used a map outside the station to work out where I had to go.
When I informed myself that the theme this month was “trains”, my first reaction was a feeling of dismay.
When I was a child I had a model railway.
Who would have thought that the sleeping compartments would be fully booked?
Why would I wish to read a review “written” by an automaton?
With regard to what I could write about under the heading of “trains”, how about model railways?
Would it be legitimate to interpret the word “train” as a verb rather than the noun it seems to present itself as?
You end up with the gruesome phenomenon of putting people into cattle trucks and transporting them to camps.
Girl and train, by Terry Freedman
The solution
Given up, have you? <Sigh>. OK then…
Trains
A reasonable question to ask would be: why trains? “Why not trains?” might be considered the epitome of flippancy. As it happens, the theme for this month’s Soaring Twenties Social Club Omnibus is “Trains”.
When I informed myself that the theme this month was “trains”, my first reaction was a feeling of dismay. I tend not to suffer from writer’s block. I sometimes joke (though it is not really a joke) that I suffer from writer’s flood. The theme had me momentarily stumped.
“So this is what writer’s block feels like”, I ruminated.
The way I tackled the theme was to mentally list different interpretations of the word “train”.
Training is how I’ve earnt a living in the past. Alongside writing and teaching, training has been, to use the vernacular, a good earner. Would it be legitimate to interpret the word “train” as a verb rather than the noun it seems to present itself as?
Could I write a few hundred words about a bridal train?
A delightful use of the word “train”, and its corresponding “station” is metaphorical. “That train has left the station” is a popular way of expressing the sentiment that someone is late to the party. Another metaphor?
Perhaps one might draw on television programmes about trains for inspiration. Great Railway Journeys, with the ex-politician Michael Portillo, is both informative and humorous. Michael Portillo is a far better television host than he was a politician. That’s my opinion anyway. I’m certain a great many people would agree.
Portillo’s programme is centred on a 19th century railway guide called Bradshaw’s. Bradshaw described the journeys between towns. He provided useful information on the towns themselves. In one respect, Bradshaw reminds me of Eric Partridge. Partridge’s Usage and Abusive is not only informative, but highly opinionated. The insertion of a guide’s personal views may strike some people as out of place. Such literary liberty-taken (that phrase is itself heavily laden with bias) could be seen as an abuse of power.
My own opinion is that without the expression of a personal opinion, a guide book might just as well have been provided by ChatGPT.
There are some principles that apply to any kind of review. The subject matter is independent of the principles of reviewing. Personally, I like to feel that the writer has a personality. Why would I wish to read a review “written” by an automaton?
Another idea I had was to explore the uses for which trains are put. I followed the thought to its logical conclusion. Trains are used to transport people. Trains are used to transport goods. Trains are used to transport animals. What happens when you regard people as a form of vermin? You end up with the gruesome phenomenon of putting people into cattle trucks and transporting them to camps.
Then I thought of my mother-in-law. My mother-in-law’s first experience of being on a train was as a child on a Kindertransport. In 2019 my mother-in-law was invited to Germany on an all-expenses paid trip to honour her as part of an exhibition. She travelled to the Continent on the Eurostar. The Eurostar was my mother-in-law’s final experience of a train journey. Of course, I’m not counting local journeys for shopping. In terms of train journeys, my mother-in-law’s life had come full circle.
I have categorised train journeys for my own satisfaction. There are short journeys. I think of short train journeys as local journeys, because they serve individual localities. There are long train journeys, such as the one from London to Leeds (200 miles, two and a half hours). There are short long journeys, such as the one from London to Birmingham (100 miles, less than ninety minutes). There are long long journeys, such as the one from London to Cornwall (hundreds of miles, five hours). There are ultra long journeys, such as the trans-Siberian express (thousands of miles, I believe, and several days). I discovered to my alarm, a few years ago, that there is a type of journey I designate as a local long journey. A local long journey is one that covers a fair distance, such as fifty three miles, but stopping at every single station, no matter how small the size of the community it serves.
Some years ago, racing to a business meeting with a potential new client, I leapt onto the first train to Oxford. The trip, a distance of fifty three miles, should have taken under an hour. Imagine my alarm when the train stopped at all stations en route. I watched helplessly as the hands of my watch edged towards the time arranged for the meeting. Realising with horror that in my haste I had boarded a local train rather than an express, I contemplated alighting at the next station, returning to London, and starting again. It was too late to retrace my steps unfortunately. A quick consultation of train timetables on the internet was enough to confirm that backtracking would make me even later. There was nothing for it but to bluff it out.
When I arrived at Oxford, a town more friendly to cyclists than taxi-hirers, I used a map outside the station to work out where I had to go.
Fortunately, there are topics in England that forma kind of social currency. One useful “social currency” topic is the weather. It is a well-known fact that in England we get all four seasons, just like everywhere else in the world. What distinguishes England from other places in terms of the weather is that we often experience all four seasons in a single day.
The state of public transport, especially trains, is a good form of “social currency” topic. Enough people remember the grimy trains, the sandwiches with curled-up edges, the tea that could be used as paint stripper, of British Rail to cite it as an excuse. The fact that British Rail has not been in existence since 1997 is no barrier to moaning about it.
“Sorry”, I gasped as I burst into my meeting an hour late. “According to the timetable I should have arrived half an hour early.” The train timetable was, in fact, correct. Unfortunately, the train I boarded was running to a different timetable than the timetable I referred to on entering the meeting.
With regard to what I could write about under the heading of “trains”, how about model railways? When I was a child I had a model railway. I loved my train set. Sometimes, when my dad wasn’t around, I actually got to play with my train set myself.
The first train set I had was from a company called Hornby-Dublo. The trains and carriages were made of metal. My second train set was made my Tri-ang. The Tri-ang train set was made of plastic. At some point, Tri-ang and Hornby Dublo merged, and became Tri-ang Hornby.
One of my favourite activities was to see how fast I could make the train go round the bends without it derailing. One of the worst experiences of my life was being in a train crash.
There was a meditation course due to be held in the wilds of Scotland, a place called Crosscraig, in the county of Perthshire. To get to Crosscraig from London you have to make your way to Rannoch station. The fastest journey from London to Rannoch takes over eight hours. Back in the 1970s the journey time from Kings Cross to Rannoch was appreciably longer than eight hours. My preference for such a long journey was to go overnight.
Overnight travel entailed, ideally, booking a bed in the sleeper carriage.
Who would have thought that the sleeping compartments would be fully booked? The sparsely populated carriage I was in lent itself to my sprawling over two seats.
Have you ever been in a train crash? One minute I was fast asleep, the next I was flying off the seat. Screaming, the crunching of wood and metal, the lights all going out – it was a hell of a way to wake up.
Scrabbling out of the train clutching my case, I looked at the sleeper carriage, and saw that half of it was up in the air, and the other half was no longer on the rails, and people in it were crying and screaming.
British Rail’s inability to furnish me with a ticket had saved me from injury, and possibly even saved my life.
I hope you enjoyed trying to solve the puzzle. Why not try doing this exercise yourself?
Footnote
Devotees of the Oulipo will recognise at once that this is a variation of Raymond Queneau’s Hundred Thousand Billion Poems, which was a book consisting of ten pages each of which contained a sonnet. Each line of each sonnet could be flipped over in order to create a different sonnet altogether. Someone worked out would take several times more years than the time the universe has been in existence to read each possible combination. How much time you got?
An earlier version of this article first appeared in my Eclecticsm newsletter. You might also be interested in a short course I'm running on the Oulipo. It takes place online in June 2023 and lasts for five hours spread over two days. Here are the details: Writing for the Oulipo: A Taster.