The power of shared stories - Lari Don

I received an email from a teacher at the end of last week which took my breath away. The email itself was a fairly mundane reply to queries about the school timetable and class sizes - we’re organising an author visit – but the PS was astounding. Here it is:

 PS - We've just had a very interesting class discussion on the morality of Yann's possession spell in First Aid for Fairies. One of the children made a connection with Trump's new torture agenda (our news article of the week) - who knew a book written almost a decade ago could be so topical?

To clarify, this is a class of primary age children, reading one of my adventure novels (First Aid For Fairies And Other Fabled Beasts, published in 2008), then the pupils, and their clearly superb teacher, bounced off it to discuss morality, ethics and world affairs.

I didn’t write that scene with any huge political goal in mind. Actually, this was my first novel, so I wrote it with no idea of whether anyone would ever read it, let alone discuss it. Honestly, I wrote it to discover how dark I could go with a children’s story, how flawed I could make a character and still care about him, how far I could stretch the magic that I was just learning to play with.

I didn’t write it to prompt discussions about right wing conservatism, abuse of power and the ethics of information gathering.

I am astounded, amazed, impressed and humbled that these primary age children were prompted by my words to think, to discuss, to make connections, and to discover their own opinions…

But perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised. This is after all what books and stories are for. This is what shared reading, and discussing stories together, should be for. Not specifically for dissecting the flaws of Donald Trump’s presidency (though, please go ahead and do that…) but for giving us shared vocabulary, and shared experiences within the safe environment of a story, so we can explore other issues together.

Stories help us think. Shared stories help us think together.

At this point I should probably explain: Yann is a centaur. In the relevant scene, this half-horse half-human from Greek myth (who is also a fairly grumpy Scottish pre-teen) uses dark magic to compel a weasel to spy for him, causing the weasel obvious pain and distress. The scene is set in tunnels under Edinburgh, which are being used by a minotaur as his temporary Scottish labyrinth, and the centaur’s use of dark magic is witnessed by his own friends – a selkie, a fairy, a phoenix and a token human girl - causing them to question his use and abuse of power.

As you can probably tell, First Aid For Fairies is a fantasy. It’s not set in contemporary real-life America, or the Middle East, or Guantanamo Bay. It’s a fantasy. And the fact that this wonderful teacher used this scene to encourage her pupils to talk about ethics and link them to current global concerns, proves something that I’ve always believed. Fantasy and fairy tales – stories set in magical worlds safely distant from our day-to-day lives – are very strong tools to allow us to examine our real world.

So, the power of class novels to prompt discussion, the power of fantasy to give us a new way to look at reality - this PS gave me pause to think about both of those issues. But the main reason this PS took my breath away was because it reminded me of the awesome responsibility of writing for children.

I don’t write stories with messages, I write stories with ambushes, chases and magic spells. But I also choose to write about characters and situations that allow me to explore questions which fascinate and concern me. I write because I want readers to enjoy the stories I imagine, I don’t write with the intention of teaching moral lessons (never, ever!) But I am incredibly moved and impressed if my books prompt young readers to explore their own questions.

It’s a privilege, an honour and a huge responsibility writing for kids, and it’s important to be reminded of that regularly. It’s also a very heavy weight to carry. But I suspect if we didn’t recognise the size of the responsibility, and occasionally stagger under its weight, we shouldn’t be doing it…

So, having almost recovered from this email, I’m now very much looking forward to meeting this thoughtful and wonderful class, and their amazing teacher, in a few weeks’ time.

But first, I’m off to explore questions of identity and choice, lightly disguised as a trilogy about shapeshifters… 

Lari Don is the award-winning author of more than 20 books for all ages, including fantasy novels for 8 – 12s, picture books, retellings of traditional tales, a teen thriller and novellas for reluctant readers. 

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The Burden of the Educator, by Dan Metcalf

Education is a scary word, isn't it? It practically reeks of authority and grown-upness. It is particularly scary when you find yourself in the job of actually providing any sort of education related services or materials, as I accidentally did recently.

With two older sisters as teachers and seeing the sheer amount of work they came home with, I was dead set that I would have nothing to do with teaching. I always saw it as a grown-up profession, something that you have to wear a tie for and in my teens I was adamant that I didn't want that sort of career. Indeed, the only sort of career I liked was the one defined as “to move swiftly and in an uncontrolled way”. I went to university after being encouraged by my extremely patient careers guidance officer to apply, on the understanding that 'you can always drop out if you find something else you want to do'. Somewhere along the way I forgot this bit of advice and just carried on with the degree, although I never did find something else I wanted to do, apart from drink cans of Fosters from 10am and watch The Simpsons.

On emerging from the confines of University with a degree in writing, I had a on/off relationship with a career in the film industry and then ended up in retail before embarking on a 'proper' job, that of a librarian. Curiously I never equated my role as the organiser and curator of information as that of an educator (which I had vowed never to be), but many would argue that the position of librarian is firmly entrenched in the education sector. I encountered mature students, home learners and every summer would help to keep children's reading skills up to scratch by way of the Summer Reading Challenge. I even jumped ship towards academic libraries for a long period but it never occurred to me that I was becoming that which I feared most: an Educator.

When I was laid off due to cut-backs (Thanks Coalition Government!), I seized the opportunity to take my side-career of writing more seriously. I had already been ghost-writing for a while and it seemed possible. Amazingly I secured a contract to write a series for a – gasp! - education publisher! I took to taking deep breaths and began whispering to myself 'Don't panic, Dan. Just make up the stories like you always do...'

But my Lottie Lipton books were based in the British Museum and so required a fair amount of research on the historic artefacts there. I had included fun puzzles at the end of each chapter to engage the reader. My themes covered the ancient Egyptians, Romans and Greeks. The editorial team even started to bombard me with questions: 'Is this object really in the British Museum?' or 'Could we change this part for accuracy?'.

“I don't know!” I wanted to shout. “I made it up – that's what I do!”. With a few stiff drinks and the application of bum-to-seat to do some actual work, I got through it.

Then the school visits began. I found myself facing classes or even whole schools, each pair of eyes looking at me to teach them about how to write, and what I write about. Hands started to go up; questions were asked. Then I found the most amazing thing; it's cool to be a teacher. The students look up to you, they repay you for your imparting of information in ways I never knew possible. On a recent schools tour to promote my newest books, The Eagle of Rome and The Catacombs of Chaos, I was handed pictures and thank you cards, complete with suggestions for future Lottie Lipton Adventures (Vampires vs Zombies, anyone?)

Being an educator is a terrific burden, which I why I take my metaphorical hat off to teachers, teaching assistants and librarians everywhere (not that you're reading this. By the time this is posted you'll be on your summer hols, prancing in a meadow of poppies singing 'I'm free! I'm free!'. Or sleeping for a month, whichever you feel you need to do most). But I think I know now why so many do it; it's rewarding and fun. I now go into schools as much as possible and enjoy every second. It's not like teaching everyday of course; I get to be the cool/weird guy who infects the students with ideas and then leaves the teacher to deal with them and calm them down. I'm kind of like an uncle who baby-sits for a day, feeds your kids three tubes of smarties and then hands them back at the peak of their sugar high. Only, y'know, in a creative way...

So I have now made my peace with being an 'educator' (of sorts) and embrace the role wholeheartedly, rejecting the fear that comes with the burden. But I still won't wear a tie...

Dan Metcalf is the writer of The Lottie Lipton Adventures. The Eagle of Rome and The Catacombs of Chaos are published on 28^th July by Bloomsbury Education. See danmetcalf.co.uk for more info on Dan and his books.

Creativity and Play - Heather Dyer

I've been teaching a class called Developing Creativity. It's a lifelong learning class, so there's a really interesting mix of ages and the class includes an abstract painter, two businesswomen, two poets, a watercolour artist and a forensic scientist.

Having only ever taught creative writing before, I was keen to introduce exercises that each of them could apply to their own projects. So, at the end of the second session I asked them all what they wanted from the course.

I was quite taken aback when, as one, they shouted: "FUN!!"

I rolled my eyes and I thought: "pearls before swine!"

But then I got to thinking that maybe they were right, and that it was they who had a thing or two to teach me about creativity, and not the other way around.

Because creativity and play have a lot in common.

In order to be creative, we need to develop the same attitudes and state of mind that we do when we play. Firstly, we must be completely absorbed but not too attached to the end product. We must remain fluid and able to respond spontaneously in the moment. We must let the game take us where it will - outside any preconceived notions or linear thought processes. We mustn't be too anxious when we play, or too self conscious (perhaps that's why adults play so little). Play requires that we forget ourselves, let go, and see what happens. Exactly the qualities required for creativity.

A long time ago I asked an older, wiser writer friend if she knew a cure for writer's block. She said she met with her fellow writer friends once a month just to do writing exercises. I told her I didn't have time for that and that I needed to focus on getting this book done. She replied that she found the exercises helpful because they helped her to 'take it all less seriously'.

There was a pause, during which we looked at one another and I knew that there was a lesson in there for me, somewhere. But I didn't take it. Now my students are teaching me the same lesson. Perhaps it's time I listened.




Heather Dyer - children's author and Royal Literary Fund Consultant Fellow

• For enquiries about creative writing workshops for children or adults, or editorial services, go to www.heatherdyer.co.uk
• For enquiries about academic writing workshops, go to:  http://rlfconsultants.com/consultants/heather-dyer/

Creativity in Education - Heather Dyer

I've been reading Edward do Bono's Thinking Course in order to get some exercises for a class I'm teaching on Developing Creativity. A quote in the introduction floored me. He says, "schools waste two thirds of the talent in society and universities sterilise the other third." 

A little while later I came across another quote by Ken Robinson, in his TED talk Changing Paradigms (www.ted.com). He says, "most people leave education with no idea what their real abilities are."

What a horrifying thought! After eighteen years of education! I asked my students (most of whom are retired or at least middle-aged) whether they felt they knew what their abilities were when they left school. None of them did.  I certainly didn't. It’s only now that I’m beginning to see my strengths - and I'm in my forties. When I left school, I only knew my weaknesses. Is this what education is supposed to do?

All due respect to those hardworking teachers, but I know what my education didn’t do for me: it didn’t prepare me for life, or show me how to be happy. It also didn’t teach me how to fix a dripping tap without flooding my flat, or drive a car, or save a friend from choking. It didn’t teach me how to invest in the stock market (or anything else), grow my own food, or manage my emotions. It makes me wonder what I was doing all that time. No wonder I ended up graduating in the sciences and then spending twenty years trying to carve out a niche in the arts without any training.

Perhaps, as one of my students said, 'it's life that teaches us who we are'. Well…yes. But in that case, should we be spending eighteen years of our most formative years sitting in classrooms rather than experiencing 'life'? Did we really need all those days, weeks, years shut in one room in order to learn to read and write and do some basic arithmetic? I certainly can't remember more than a few random facts of what else I learned.

What about educating ourselves by following our bliss rather than having the information that other people think we need to know pushed into us? What about being encouraged to be creative in order to find out who we really are - which is surely the starting point for anyone?

But never in those eighteen years do I recall anyone ever asking me: Who are you? What makes you tick? What can you contribute?

The first time anyone helped me find myself was when I took a month-long government-run course for out-of-work ‘artists’ when I was living in Canada. I didn’t even consider myself an artist at the time – but the course was free and I was paying my rent with my credit card and didn't have a clue what I was good at. I had just graduated with a degree in the sciences and couldn't even get work as a temp...

The acronym for the course was SEARCH, and I forget what it stood for. But on this course they asked us who we were. They helped us put together our own mission statements. They helped us create resumes composed of our genuine skills, not just our employment histories. They told us that our only hope in life was to be who we really were. I was thirty-three.

For the first time since I was seven years old, I remembered that I was really a writer, and then found out how and where I could apply those skills. Two weeks after leaving that four-week course (and without any qualifications in writing; just certainty) I had a job that paid double what I’d ever earned before. Six weeks after that I had another job which paid double again. Two months later I had my first picture book published.

Do you know who you are? Who helped you to find out?




Heather Dyer - children's author and Royal Literary Fund Consultant Fellow

• For enquiries about creative writing workshops for children or adults, or editorial services, go to www.heatherdyer.co.uk
• For enquiries about academic writing workshops, go to:  http://rlfconsultants.com/consultants/heather-dyer/

Vocare & Pascho - Malaika Rose Stanley

A couple of months into my RLF Fellowship at the London College of Fashion, I mentioned to a friend how much I was enjoying it. It reminded me of how much I love teaching – the chance to make a difference in a pupil or student’s life, to share in their learning and help them reach their full potential. Teaching, I declared, was my vocation. She was surprised. To be honest, I surprised myself. Where does my writing fit into this? Is it just a job; another career I’ve moved into or is it something else entirely? I’ve been thinking about the answer to this question – a lot.

As a bossy little girl, press-ganging my friends into an audience to listen to the poems and stories I’d written, I was often told by adults that I would probably grow up to be a teacher. There was certainly never any mention that I might grow up to be a writer. I don’t think that early ‘encouragement’ pushed me towards a teaching career, but I did train and work as a teacher for many years. The genuine encouragement came from a careers advice teacher at the FE college where I was hurtling towards a job as a shorthand-typist or, at best, a private secretary. She stood over me while I filled in the university clearing house forms and – by happy accident – found my vocation as well as a fulfilling and relatively well-paid career with great holidays. She was everything a good teacher should be – inspiring, challenging, supportive – and she made a huge impact on my life. I owe her a huge debt of gratitude, although to my sadness and shame, I no longer remember her name.

At the risk of sounding conceited, I believe I was a good teacher too. I honed my bossiness into the ability to encourage – OK, push – my students to be the best they could be and I hope some of them remember me positively.  I remained in education until I was eventually promoted to a job for which I was not suited and which I loathed. Budget management just wasn’t my thing – and I bolted.

Although I had always written in my spare time, I came to writing for children as the result of another great teacher and another happy accident. I was enrolling for an adult education class in French when I saw a noticeboard covered with the cover proofs of the books published by authors and illustrators who had attended Elizabeth Hawkins’ Writing for Children course. I enrolled for both classes, but ditched French by half-term. Over the next two years, first in the class and then in the follow-up workshop, I wrote my first published children’s book, Man Hunt. I love writing – I love inventing and spending time with my imaginary friends, the heart-pounding unpredictability and sense of surprise, the independence and freedom to do anything and go anywhere, all while I’m still in my pyjamas.

Gradually though, despite all these attractions, I found myself drawn back to the ‘classroom’ – tutoring, training, special needs support – until serious problems with my health eventually forced me out again. Since then, I believe I have established the ideal balance for me. I write full-time but I still teach when I can – through school visits, workshops, etc – and yes, most recently, that RLF gig...

So – back to my original question – if teaching is my vocation, where does that leave writing?

The words vocation and passion both have religious connotations. Vocation comes from the Latin word vocare, meaning ‘to call’ and refers to an occupation to which a person is drawn or for which they are particularly suited, trained or qualified. Passion comes from the Ancient Greek verb πάσχω (pascho/pas'-kho) meaning ‘to suffer’ and is the term for a very strong feeling or affinity towards someone or something – an intense emotion of enthusiasm and desire.

I certainly have huge enthusiasm and a strong desire and I feel incredibly fortunate to have found such a rewarding second career – but I still wonder if it’s that element of ‘suffering’ that clarifies what writing means for me. I barely scrape a living, so it’s definitely all about the love rather than the money and the writing I’m most proud of has often been fuelled by past wounds and tragedies and emotional pain. Even on a practical, day-to-day level, I am sometimes so fearful and obsessed with whether I’m doing it right or doing it well enough or with just getting something down on the page that I forget to eat or take a walk and I neglect my relationships. It’s a glorious cliché, but I suffer for my art like every other writer, perhaps – maybe like you – and l still feel compelled to keep on doing it.

Spike and Ali in Space will be published in September 2012 by Tamarind and Dance Dreams will follow in February 2013.