Extraordinary numbers

[desperance]

I like numbers. I always have. (My dad was an accountant, my granddad was a bank clerk, and you can tell me it's not genetic all you like, and I just won't care; numbers are good to me, and that's that.) But here is a number that I just think is extraordinary.

All throughout the writing of this book, I have been saying two things, to myself and to anyone who feigned any interest at all: that I was aiming at 450 pages, and that that would be 150,000 words.

I have just completed page 450. Guess how many words, by a precise Textmaker count? 149,990. How good is that?

The only trouble, of course, is that I haven't finished the book. But they never do come in on length, any more than they do on time. Everything Takes Longer, in all possible meanings of the words.

You'll excuse me, if I duck out now to go finish my chapter.

Comments

[desperance.livejournal.com]

Well I'm impressed!

I was kind of stunned, to be honest. Three pages = 1000 words is an absolute lash-up figure, and the one thing you can be sure about is that it isn't true. That the numbers came out so close to exact is meaningless, pure coincidence - but fun, none the less. I once wrote a book where the pivotal thing happens 'halfway through'; when the book came in from the printers, it happened on exactly the halfway page. Gotta love that stuff.

Oh and my Great-Grandad was a campanologist (name of Pitman, your bell-ringing friends will have heard of him).

A J Pitman? I'm not a bellringer myself (tho' yup, I do know some), but I have heard of him. Or read of him, more likely. And I probably remember the initials because of A J Raffles, but hey... (Now you tell me that no, yours is another Pitman, and I retire blushing.)

A couple of years ago some student did their PHD on whether there was a genetic link to mathematical ability and decided to find out how many of Great-Grandad's descendents took Maths exams early. Certainly the 3 of us did.

...And I was doing calculus at the age of eight, although I didn't know it - but that's only because we had one of those teachers, the magic kind. Couldn't do it now. I'm sure there is a genetic component in the number stuff, but it's clearly not a career determinant, or I'd be a merchant banker. The three of us demonstrably shared an ability with numbers; but Dad went into accountancy because Grandad pushed him into it, and I went nowhere near it because my dad didn't push me. Nurture, see, not nature. Just because you've got it, doesn't mean you have to use it. Or something. It's late, I'm tired, I wrote three thousand words today. More. Bed, bed...

[pennski.livejournal.com]

Yes, that Pitman. On Grandma's 90's birthday, my aunt arranged for some local bell-ringers to do one of his peals at Bristol cathedral. We all solemnly turned up and listened for quarter of an hour or so (out of the three hour total) and went "Hm, yes". Grandma used to proof-read his compositions.

We had one of those magic teachers too - our Primary School Headmaster had us measuring the heights of building using trig at the age of about 10.

My teenage rebellion was to choose not to do Maths at 'A' level - and now I'm working in IT supporting a Finance Dept staffed with qualified accountants - and sometimes telling them where/ why the numbers are wrong.

[desperance.livejournal.com]

Yes, that Pitman. On Grandma's 90's birthday, my aunt arranged for some local bell-ringers to do one of his peals at Bristol cathedral. We all solemnly turned up and listened for quarter of an hour or so (out of the three hour total) and went "Hm, yes".

Ach, what else could you do? Change-ringing is not about an audience, it's about the changes: maths expressed in sound. You might as well listen to a dial-up modem.

Mind, I once had a conversation with a friend about the effects of change-ringing on the English landscape. It was a wonderful conversation. We were out in the wilds on a canal boat and we were very, very stoned, and these bells were clamouring across the country and it was all so very, very right...

Grandma used to proof-read his compositions.

Now that is the higher mathematics and the higher love, expressed in a single action. Heroic, in a word.