Happy Endings - by Ciaran Murtagh

This week I've been struggling to write stories. When you write for children, characters act in good faith, bad actors can be turned around with a kind word and everyone gets a happy ending. It's how stories work. But when they're juxtaposed with real world events as monumentally tragic as the war in Ukraine, it becomes harder to affirm those reassuring messages. 

In my stories good triumphs over evil, the school bully can be won round, and everyone ends up happy. They're the values we try to reinforce in children through the stories we make for them. But when the real world comes crashing in it becomes harder to knuckle down and repeat those reassuring moral tales. In my stories  adversity is only ever temporary; and being kind, friendly and warm hearted will usually get you everywhere -  but it's not true is it? Not really... 

I want children to believe that it's true. I want to live in a world where it's true. I want children to see those values modelled and then try and exemplify those values in their own behaviour. But when the grown ups repeatedly prove that it's actually the amount of money you have and the size of the gun in your pocket that gets you where you want - what's the point? Am I actually doing a disservice to children in reinforcing the kind of positive behaviour that so often triumphs in stories but so rarely does in real life? Let's face it, if Harry Potter were a real story Voldemort would win every time. 

As I watch the news coverage of the war in Ukraine I see familiar story patterns being used again and again to couch a very real narrative in almost fictional terms. We have goodies and baddies, hourly plot twists on 24/7 news coverage, I 've learned the names of people and places I've never heard of before, I've learned more about the movements of a 40 mile convoy of Russian tanks than I ever wanted to.  

This morning, while listening to the news, it sounded like the news reader was actually frustrated that the convoy hadn't moved for days, as if they couldn't wait for the next horrific plot twist, as if this was all happening in some sort of bingeworthy Netflix drama rather than a terrible reality, as if they needed the script writers to hurry up the plot and cut to the action. 

The news is being couched as a story. The Ukranians are plucky underdogs standing up to a big bad bully. In reality they're a population living through hell. Why do we have to turn reality into a narrative like this? Does couching this conflict in story terms make the horror easier to digest? Does it make it feel one stage removed from our lives? This isn't happening to people like us, it's happening to characters we know and are familiar with - the poor victim, the mean bully, the plucky resistance fighter...

Does it make us believe that 'everything will be all right in the end'? And if it does is that really the best message to be giving people? We should be facing this horror, collectively, as grown ups in all it's calamitous barbarism, rather than viewing it as the 'all is lost' moment in a Marvel franchise, the moment just before the heroes save the day by being the good guys. 

In every story I've ever written, at this moment, the underdog would rally and they would win. It's what should happen.  Through creating stories where it repeatedly does, have we nurtured a population who believe it will, regardless of the reality of the situation, because that's how stories work and this war is being reported as one. It's not helpful. 

At a time where I am finding it harder to tell stories, the news seems determined to turn reality into one. We all love a happy ending, we all expect a happy ending,  the news wants us to believe it might just happen, but we all know the truth, time to treat us like grown ups. 

In the meantime if you have anything to spare that may help those suffering please donate here:

https://donate.redcross.org.uk/appeal/ukraine-crisis-appeal

Stories That May Never See the Light of Day By Tamsin Cooke

Becoming a writer means learning to deal with disappointment and heartache. Most of us, apart from the very lucky few, have had to deal with rejection right at the beginning of our careers. Trying to find an agent and then a publisher is a hard road full of twists and turns. But when you finally sign those contracts, it’s like rainbow fireworks bursting into the sky. Life is fabulous!!!

But what happens after your contracts with the publishers have run out? Maybe you had a 2 book, 4 book, 6 book deal - and then you write something new.  And you write a story that you absolutely love. Perhaps your agent loves it too and you work on it together, making it even better. Then the time comes for it to find a home with a publisher … but no publishing house wants it.

This happened to me recently and I was utterly heartbroken. I wrote a book for young teenagers and I was desperate to see it on a shelf in a library. (And yes, I had pictured it in my mind!) I wanted my characters to be let loose into the world and for readers to enjoy their adventures. But alas, none of this was meant to be.  

Since then, I have spoken to numerous authors and have realized that this happens far more often than people think. Authors who are incredibly successful have written books that may never see the light of day. Their agents loved them, but for whatever reasons, they were rejected. There is some solace in knowing that I’m not alone. 

My story did receive some wonderful feedback from editors and got very close to finding a home. This made it a little easier to deal with. Plus I paid great attention to why it was rejected and took their observations and advice on board. And as I write another story, I keep their feedback in the back of my mind. Because most authors don’t give up. We keep going, hoping our next story will be published. We are persistent and courageous! That’s what I tell myself anyway. 

Today I’d like to give a toast to all those books that haven’t quite made it. They might be languishing in a file on a computer, tucked away in a desk drawer or hidden in a box under a bed.  To all those stories, characters, and adventures - you aren’t forgotten. Your creators still believe in you! And who knows - maybe one day you will be self-published, or an editor might ring out of the blue, wanting to see you again ...

Tamsin Cooke

Author of The Scarlet Files Series and Stunt Double Series

Website: tamsincooke.co.uk
Twitter: @TamsinCooke1 

Finding the Forgotten Stories by Claire Fayers

At the bottom of my street there is a cemetery. I walk through it as a short-cut to my coffee shop writing sessions at least twice a week. I like watching the squirrels, and this time of year it's a welcome break from seagull attacks. For some reason, seagulls avoid the cemetery. Maybe they can see dead people.

I've rarely stopped to wonder about the people buried in the cemetery, so when my friend and fellow writer, Stephen Burgess, told me about a guided evening of stories among the gravestones, I had to go. Stephen belongs to a theatre group that meets in the graveyard chapel every week, and he'd written two of the pieces for the evening.  They were performed by the A48 Theatre Company.

On a cold and damp June evening (remember those?), we gathered.

The stories we heard were tragic, uplifting, sometimes comic and always fascinating. We listened to George Arthur Clare, aged nineteen, speak about the shipping accident that claimed his life and the lives of most of the crew. A French naval captain spoke of his battle with depression following World War 1, leading to his suicide one Christmas. Three watchmakers mused philosophically on the passage of time.

We learned about people whose legacies have outlived our memories of them. Frances Batty Shand was the daughter of a Scottish plantation owner. Born in Jamaica, she was sent to Scotland to live with an aunt and later moved to Cardiff where she founded the Cardiff Institute for the Blind. Shand House has recently been converted into student flats, but its name remains. Then there was Dr Henry James Paine who established a free hospital on a ship in Cardiff Bay, and whose work on sanitation saved some 15,000 people from diseases such as smallpox and cholera.

It's ironic that the most memorable character of the evening was a forgotten woman. Minnie McGuire, who gained temporary fame as the most arrested woman in Cardiff before dying at the age of fifty-eight and being buried in a mass grave. She doesn't even have a headstone, but for one evening she came to life and we relived her story with her.

I was struck, as I watched people's lives unfold, how many stories lie forgotten. And I realised this has been a theme of my writing for a long time. It's in my very first book:

The people who’d lived, the stories they’d created with their lives, the way they’d shaped the world, they all mattered. (Accidental Pirates: Voyage to Magical North)

Whenever I'm wondering why I'm still trying to write (it happens to us all), I come back to this simple thought. I write because stories matter. They matter because people matter.

My friend Stephen summed it up far better than I can:

Graveyard Voices is about bringing life back to the stories of some of those buried in Cathays Cemetery. Turning real lives into drama is both a privilege and a responsibility. I tried to always imagine the ghosts of those I wrote about at my elbow as I wrote, tried always to be fair, both for them and for their descendants. The project connected me to Cardiff in many new ways, hearing stories that I was astounded I had never heard before, despite their traces being present across the city, especially in the names of buildings, pubs, parks and roads.

We might not all have cemeteries on our doorsteps, but we all have pubs, parks and roads. How many of their names have stories behind them, I wonder: stories that have been largely forgotten? I'm going to make more of an effort to seek out the forgotten stories around me. Let's keep those memories alive.

Claire Fayers is the author of the Accidental Pirates series, Mirror Magic and Storm Hound. Website www.clairefayers.com Twitter @clairefayers

IMAGINATION – WHERE DOES IT COME FROM? by Lynne Benton

This blog follows on neatly from yesterday’s Blog by Sheena Wilkinson, though when I wrote this I had no idea what hers would be about! 

I’ve just been going through a pile of my mother’s old exercise books, dating from the late thirties.  After she died I brought them back with me when we emptied her flat, but I’ve only just got round to looking at them. I was particularly keen to read her English books, to see what sort of work children at the top end of primary schools were expected to do back then.  We hear so much that those were “the good old days” that I was prepared to be impressed.

This is what I found:

As far as neatness was concerned, full marks.

As far as grammar, spelling and punctuation was concerned, full marks.

There were also several famous poems copied out faithfully.

But as far as writing anything creative was concerned, very few marks!

In four English exercise books I found only two pieces of genuinely creative work (ie stories – in those days nobody seemed to consider that children might try to write their own poetry!).  Only two stories which gave rein to the imagination.  I know my mother once said she didn’t have any imagination – maybe it was because she’d been given no chance to develop one.  All the other pieces of work were obviously exercises, probably copied down from the board, or from a book, or factual essays - beautiful to look at, but with no encouragement to be creative. 

I had thought that since we are, theoretically, so much more enlightened today, children would have far more opportunities to produce original creative work.  When I was at school in the sixties, although we were expected to use correct grammar, spelling and punctuation, we were also allowed the freedom to write stories about whatever interested us..  And when I was teaching in the late sixties and seventies there was plenty of emphasis on creative work of one sort or another.  Nowadays, however, with all the current emphasis on strange expressions like “fronted adverbials” being apparently essential for passing SATS tests, what space is left for creative work?  Clearly the technical aspects of grammar and spelling now take precedence over everything else.  Of course they are important, but they should help with creative work, not replace it.  This seems to me to be taking a backwards step, rather than looking forward.

My teachers, like Sheena's in her post yesterday, loved their subject and inspired me – but then they weren’t expected to teach to the tests all the time.  Okay, we did have the dreaded 11 plus in my day, but that was all – no SATS tests from age 5 upwards. 

I can’t help remembering a talk I heard once given by a famous children’s writer (I’d better not name her for reasons that will become obvious.)  She said that when she was at primary school her teacher used to come in every Monday morning with a hangover (now you see why I’d better not mention any names!) and said, “Sit down and write a story.”  So every Monday morning the whole class did just that – and she, as a budding writer, absolutely loved it!  (Was it in fact this opportunity that made her into a writer?) Of course one shouldn’t recommend such a way of teaching, and my teachers were way too responsible to behave that way, but I know I’d have loved to spend a whole morning writing a story! 

Of course we can't blame it all on the schools, or on our unbeloved ex-Education Secretary.  There should be time and opportunity for creativity at home, too - and in many cases they do.  But as comedian Jenny Éclair once said, all children should by law have a chance to be bored, because it was out of boredom that inspiration, imagination and creativity came – and I do agree.  How good it would be if after school and during their holidays children no longer had to worry about homework and tests, but instead had time and space to come up with new and creative ideas for amusing themselves.  This would surely be more useful for life, and would give their imaginations a chance to flourish.

Stories can change our brains - Hilary Hawkes

Last week, March 20^th, was World Storytelling Day. That's my kind of day!

I can't imagine a world without stories, can you?

Stories and storytelling have been around since the  beginning of human time. Think of our early ancestors huddled together in caves or shelters listening to the  wise and entertaining stories handed down from one generation to the next.  They were our way of conveying important  information and messages, entertaining, educating, and helped us create bonds with each other too.

We might not very often sit together with storytellers anymore, but a good story remains at the heart of some of the best forms of entertainment to this day – even though the means through which we access the story may have changed.

As a bookaholic and author it all makes perfect sense to me that there is something about stories that attracts us and draws us in.  Stories help us connect with something deep within ourselves and others. They tap into the core of our being. In stories we find meanings, purposes, identities, connections with strangers,  insights and understanding about life, ourselves and the lives and motivation of other people.

Sometimes we absorb all that whilst being entertained.  Other times we might come away from a book or story feeling a kind of warm, connected understanding with the characters and with what the author was telling us. This is the power and importance of stories – they are part of what makes us civilized, aware and caring.

Real life stories told in emotive ways cause (perhaps obviously) strong reactions in us too. When stories are more emotive our brains release more oxytocin and this makes us more compassionate.

Expert Paul Zak's research uncovered how stories shape our brains, tie strangers together, and move us to be more empathetic and generous. 

His team used brain scans to show how the story of a child’s life with cancer changed patterns in subjects' brains in what he calls an empathy, neurochemistry and dramatic arc. Participants watched two videos about the child and his father. In the first the child’s struggle with his illness and his and his family’s courage were highlighted. In the second, the illness was not the main focus. Zak’s conclusion, when those who watched the first version gave generously to a cancer charity, and those who watched the second did not, was that the greater the release of ocytocin (or, as he called it, the 'moral molecule') the greater the empathy and ensuing generosity.

You can read more about Paul Zak’s work here 

http://greatergood.berkeley.edu/article/item/how_stories_change_brain

When it comes to sharing stories with children there is another part to their power. Sitting quietly and cosily with your child or a group of children creates an important bond between parent/adult and child. Research shows children benefit in so many ways when they read or are read to – from developing language, communication and social skills to aiding the growth of knowledge and expanding ideas.  Stories can be a fun and natural way to teach quiet nurturing messages that we want all our children to absorb, and which will help them develop strong emotional health, thoughts and habits for life. The right story at the right time can be remembered for life!

Is there a book or story, fiction or non-fiction, that had an influential or powerful effect on you or your life?

Small Windows of Opportunity (Lynne Benton)

I’m sure you’ve all heard the story about the woman who gave up work and then complained that she never got anything done any more – because she didn’t have a lunch hour to fit it into!

This may ring a few bells with many people, but I’m thinking particularly of writers.  Sometimes when you are up to your ears in all the other “stuff” of life, the prospect of having oodles of time to spend writing your novel seems like pure luxury.  But if you are suddenly in that position, like the woman who gave up work, your whole mindset changes.  First, you think: before I start, I have to a) put the washing on, b) buy a new notebook, c) take the dog for a walk, d) make a phone call I’ve been putting off for ages, e) tidy my desk etc etc.  I even heard of one writer who had a sudden compulsion to dust her skirting boards before she could possibly start work, though I have to say that has never occurred to me!  There is something about the knowledge that you have all day to write your next chapter that makes it seem less urgent, somehow.

On the other hand, deadlines have a horrible habit of creeping up on you, so that before you know what’s happened, you have hardly any time left in which to do the work in hand, whether it’s finishing your first draft, redrafting for the umpteenth time, or submitting the finished manuscript to your editor.  (I won’t count correcting proofs or doing the dreaded Tax Return, since those tasks don’t generally require creative thought.  At least, in the case of the latter, it shouldn’t!)   You’ve been putting it off and putting it off, and then suddenly the date looms and it’s a mad panic at the last minute.  Now is no time for dusting skirting boards – now it’s nose down till the deadline.  Only then can you sit back and relax (possibly with a glass of wine) in relief at having done the job. 

There is nothing like a deadline for concentrating the mind.

I have recently experienced two examples of very short deadlines, brief moments I’d thought were too short to do anything in, which actually proved to make all the difference.

For months I’d been struggling with the third book in my current trilogy.  Books 1 and 2 were ready for publication, but Book 3 was really bugging me.  I’d been working on it for weeks, but it still wasn’t gelling and I couldn’t work out why.

Then one morning I’d had loads of other (non-writing) jobs to do, so by the time I got to my computer I had one brief hour to spend on it before I had to do something else.  Part of me thought “What’s the point of that?  I won’t get anything done in an hour!”

But amazingly enough, by the time that hour was up, I could see my way forward.  I had jettisoned half the original plot and come up with a much better one which actually made more sense.  Result! 

The second example was sparked by an email from one of my regular editors, asking me for a new story for early readers – within 5 days!  (I know she only wanted a short story with a limited word count, but even so, it had to be a proper story, together with suggestions for the illustrations!)  My mind went a total blank, and I couldn’t think of a single idea.  So I decided that on the deadline morning I would email my editor and say “Sorry, no story this time.”

However, on the deadline morning I happened to wake up half an hour before my alarm went off.  And as I lay there in the dark, thinking, suddenly I had an idea for a plot.

I worked on the story all morning, and by lunchtime it was finished, and I really liked it.  So instead of sending my editor an apologetic email I sent her a completed manuscript.  I have no idea whether it will eventually be accepted, but at least I now have another story in my "bank".  And the point is, it was that unexpected half-hour that gave me the “light bulb moment”.  Which is always a good feeling.

So next time I am facing an impossible deadline, instead of thinking of it as an impossible deadline, I must remember to think of it as a small window of opportunity.

Memories of then, and writing now - Clémentine Beauvais

Today, three stories, followed by a few thoughts...

Story 1. The hole.

In my parents’ building in Paris, where I spent most of my childhood, there’s a hole in the wall near the ground - a hole big enough for a child to crawl through, and as a child I would always do so instead of using the door. Most of the time I’d already wriggled through the hole before my parents had found their keys - and I’d open the glass door from the inside, extremely dusty but very conscious of my power.

As time went by, I somehow stopped crawling through the hole. 

One day, when I got home from school, I realised I’d forgotten my keys. No problem, I thought, I can just go through the hole. But of course when I tried I couldn’t - it was too narrow for my shoulders.

It didn’t make me sad. But for some time afterwards, when I thought about it, I confusedly wondered - was it really because I’d grown too big for it that I couldn’t go through the hole anymore, or was it because I’d stopped going through the hole that I’d grown too big for it?

Story 2. The spatula.

As a child I was constantly, voraciously hungry. I would actually dream that I was eating roast chicken with cream, or Nutella crêpes or cheese. Only pride would prevent me from crying if I had any reason to believe that another child, or indeed adult, had been given more food than me. I couldn’t focus on anything if there was a vending machine in sight, especially if it sold Kinder Bueno, my favourite chocolate bar and an absolute torture, as I was always divided between the desire to eat each chunk in one go and the temptation to open them up like little boxes and lick the cream inside.

I had a friend whose mum made excellent cakes every day. I often stayed with them on holiday, and my friend and I would prowl like vulture around the kitchen table as her mum finished scraping the dough out of the mixing bowl and into the cake dish with a spoon. Then we’d fight furiously over the remnants of dough in the bowl, with fingers, tongues and chins.

One day, her mum bought a silicon spatula. I’d never seen a silicon spatula before. 

We watched in horror as the ruthlessly efficient implement left barely a trail of cake dough in the mixing bowl. Every day after that, we swallowed back tears, and I clearly remember my head spinning with frustrated desire, as increasingly spotless mixing bowls ended up in the sink to be washed. We prayed and implored my friend’s mum to leave us at least a tiny bit, but she was under the impression that it was less useful to us raw than baked. 

We devised the perfect crime: we pushed the spatula all the way to the bottom of the cutlery drawer and it fell behind it, and behind the freezer beneath the drawer, with a satisfying CLACK, joining dozens of lost spoons, scissors and other expatriates from the overfilled drawer.

For the next few days the wooden spoon returned and with it the minutes of bowl-licking. Then they bought another spatula.

Story 3. The castle.

My mother was pregnant with my sister; I was five and a half years old. We had an absolutely tiny flat in Paris and my parents were looking for a less absolutely tiny flat. I knew how much they wanted to spend on it, and I ‘helped’ by looking at ads in the windows of estate agencies.

Suddenly I spotted an ad for a castle, a castle, for sale at a much lower price than the one my parents were ready to put into the new flat. It had turrets, an immense garden, a forest.

I listened, without understanding, as my mother explained that they didn’t want a castle, because they wanted to live in Paris. I pointed out that the ad said that it was only half and hour from Paris. My mother laughed and said no, Clementine, listen, we’re not buying a castle. We’re buying a flat in Paris.

I remember thinking, distinctly and with real alarm, feeling that this realisation would have an enormous impact on my future life: my parents are mad. I live with people who are mad.

***

I have three silicon spatulas now, and when I finally get a permanent job I will likely buy a small house or a flat. Not a castle.

It was ‘us’ children versus ‘them’ adults once upon a time, and now it’s the opposite. They’re really not like us, are they? I’m just not that hungry anymore. Sure, the memory of that hunger prevents me from getting too annoyed at them when they steal bits of mozzarella from the salads before they get to the table (arrghh!!!), or when they fly into a tantrum for an ice cream. 

And I think it’s amazing that I once wanted a castle. Amazingly mad.

Don't you think? 

It would be possible to write children's stories from all those intense memories, and to write them as if we truly believed that castles should indeed be bought and that cakes should preferably be eaten raw. But would it be true? Would it be honest? We don't... do that anymore. 

Would they be our stories now, these nostalgic recollections?

How do we write for children, having changed so much? 

Do we want to sound, when we write, like we're imagining that we can still go through the hole? That would leave our whole bodies behind, and what made them grow...

_____________________________________

Clémentine Beauvais writes books in both French and English. The former are of all kinds and shapes for all ages, and the latter humour and adventure stories with Hodder and Bloomsbury. She blogs here about children's literature and academia and is on Twitter @blueclementine.  

The comfort of storytelling - Lily Hyde

Last week, for anyone who knows or cares about Ukraine, was one where reality outstripped most scary stories or fairytales.

Any story that was being told, of a choice between the European Union and Russia; of ultra-nationalists versus a democratically elected government; of a gradual exchange of power from president to parliament; of things reverting to normal once all the homeless bums realised they couldn’t live in protest tents forever and went back to whatever gutter they’d crawled from – whatever the story was, however coherent and persuasive the narrative, it was utterly overtaken by events.

Who could make up police snipers shooting down unarmed protesters with live ammunition? Or charter flights of the wealthy and well-connected with their suitcases of cash queuing nose to tail to take off for Russia or the West? That the tanks and soldiers allegedly heading to Kiev would never arrive? That the president would sign an agreement to hold early elections and then disappear? That next day his country residence would be open to the public to wander around and gawp at his ostentatious and thoroughly kitsch display of stolen wealth?

Truth stranger and more fantastic than any fiction. I’ve been making stories out of Ukraine for several years, both as a journalist and as a fiction writer. This last week I’ve just stared in horror, astonishment, awe, sadness, cautious hope. I could never have guessed what would happen, let alone made all this up.

Barricades in central Kiev (photo by Max Bibik) 

In the face of all the confusion and upheaval, people continue to make up stories. It’s what makes us human. One Ukrainian city greeted riot police returning from Kiev as heroes; another made them walk down a ‘parade of shame’. The Russian press narrative is that the interim government is made of bandits and extremists; the West’s story is that it’s a triumph for democracy. Many protestors in Ukraine call it a sell-out. The proposed new prime minister has his own story: “this is the government of political suiciders! So welcome to hell.”


History will make its own story out of these events. We don’t know yet who will write that version. Who will evaluate it, embellish it, censor it, cross out and rewrite it, turn it into poetry, a children’s story, a romance, a tragedy – a happy ending…?

Memorial for those killed (photo by Max Bibik)

www.lilyhyde.com 

Falling in love...with a story - Liz Kessler

There’s something about the early stages of writing a book that is like the beginning of a relationship.

You think about it all the time, wake up excited and full of ideas about what you can do together. Everything you do relates to it and you want to talk about it all the time, but also want to keep it special and private just for you. And of course, there is the ever-present worry about whether it will all work out.

That’s where I am right now – and it’s both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. Added to this is the fact that this new book will be the sixth in a series (a new Emily Windsnap mermaid book). I guess that makes it like being at the start of a new relationship with someone you know really well.

Which has its good sides.

For a relationship, this might mean that you’re already comfortable enough to hang out in your scruffs together, or you already know how they take their coffee, you already share lots of secrets and if one of you accidentally belches after your dinner, it’s not the end of the world.

With a book, it means that I know my characters pretty well, too. I know how they talk, how they behave.  I know their little quirks. Throw them into a new situation and I have a half-decent chance of figuring out how they will each respond.

For example, let’s say a shark is following them in their boat – and the engine has just died. Emily’s mum, Mary Penelope, will freak out a bit. Her dad, Jake, will take charge and act all brave but won’t really have a clue. Mystic Millie will probably try to hypnotise the shark into submission. Shona will find it cute. Mr Beeston will almost certainly have set the whole thing up – and of course Emily will be the one to do something crazy/brave and save the day.

If we go back to the relationship analogy, the one where I’ve just got together with someone I’ve known for years, knowing how they tick would be nice. Having an idea how they'd respond in a given situation could be helpful.

The thing about writing a book, though, is that YOU are the one who has to come up with the situations. You have to think them into existence, dream them up, chip away at the block of stone to discover them inside it, or whatever. Whichever philosophy of creating plots you subscribe to, the point is the same: it’s down to you to figure it out. And it needs to be interesting, exciting, enthralling, thrilling, engaging.

Oh, and don’t forget the deadline. Which is in eight months.

So, not much pressure then.

While we’re at it, let’s add to this the fact that your story doesn’t like to feel hurried. It needs space and time. You need to carefully explore tiny sparks of ideas and see where they lead; you need to make lots of mistakes, create an atmosphere of spontaneous creativity, indulge freely in following your imagination and seeing where it leads. You need to give your story room to breathe.

It’s a pretty tricky balancing act, now I think about it. Going back to the ‘new relationship’ analogy, it feels a bit like needing to give yourself up to the freedom and openness and vulnerability that go hand in hand with falling in love – but at the same time asking for a major commitment and a certainty that it will all work out.

So, yeah. It’s complicated. And yeah, it’s hard. But – like falling in love – those early stages with your new book have a special kind of magic about them that somehow trumps the difficulties. Every tiny idea is, at this point, a possibility. Every new avenue is waiting to be explored. Your mind is filled with thoughts and plans and hopes and schemes. It’s all there to be discovered, and anything could happen. It’s a tiny spark of light in a brand new room.

Chuck in a publisher drumming their fingers and looking at their watch and a bunch of readers who already know what they want to happen next, and the spark of excitement can at times feel like a lit fuse. But I have to say, I love it. That moment before it has all really started happening. When it’s all in my hands. My characters and I coming together to start a new adventure, where anything could happen. As far as day jobs go, it’s pretty hard to beat.

And so, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be off out with a notebook. 

My story and I have a date.

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How it all started by Karen King

I came across this poem the other day, it has lots of memories for me as it's one I used to read with my dad. When Dad read this poem to us he often said that it reminded him to try and take time in the busy day to notice what was around him. To look at the clouds in the sky, to smell the flowers, to listen to the birds singing. Especially good advice for a writer.

My dad loved books and he instilled that love of books in me. We spent many Saturday afternoons browsing through the dusty shelves of a second-hand bookshop, where my brothers and I would be allowed to choose a book each - and sometimes two - to take home. Oh the delight of being surrounded by so many books, and the agony of deciding which one to choose.

I still remember some of them now. The book of ballet that told all the stories behind the ballets and inspired in me the desire to be a ballet dancer -  two or three ballet lessons where I constantly danced out of step soon put me off that idea. The travel books that inflamed my desire to see as many different countries as possible - a desire I still have today, the poetry books which we all used to take turns to read, the story books about magical wooden horses, vengeful leprechauns and fairies, flying carpets and naughty schoolgirls which inspired my love of reading and writing. That's where it all started, where the budding writer was born, in those backstreet second-hand bookshops with their creaking shelves of passed-on books. So I owe my love of reading and writing to my dad.

Unfortunately Dad died when he was 51, he never lived to see me become a writer but I'm sure he knows and I hope he now has time 'to stand and stare.'

What about you? What inspired your love of reading and writing?



Karen King writes all sorts of books,  her latest one is Get Writing: Children's Fiction, published by How To Books. Visit her website at www.karenking.net for more details.

An open letter to my story - from Liz Kessler

Dear Story,

We first got together a few months ago, in a flurry of excitement. I remember the day well. The first signs of daylight had barely begun to creep through the window when you came into my mind. I grabbed a notebook and began to write. I think we both thought this was the start of something good.

Those heady early days

And then, with no warning, I wasn’t around any more. I didn’t explain – I just left you hanging there. I hadn’t told you at the time, but I think you suspected. So, yes, I'll admit it. There was another story in my life. You see, we weren’t through yet, and I couldn’t begin something with you until I had properly finished with the other one. I thought you’d understand, but how could you when I hadn’t explained?

Even so, when I came back to you a few weeks later, you were there for me. We hung out together for a blissful week. I wrote every day. We were happy. 

And then I let other things get in the way – again. It wasn’t your fault, it was mine. It was a busy summer and I neglected you. I’m sorry. And in between everything else, the other stories still hadn’t let go. ‘Please can you just edit me one more time?’ begged the story I had left for you. Always insisting it would be the last time – but it never was, was it? 

A page of demanding editing notes

And even the story before that was still there, still wanting things from me. ‘Please tell the world about me. Write a blog, visit some bookshops, come to a book festival with me.’ 

A trip to Bath Festival with the 'other' book

It's true. I still loved those stories. I still do - but it's different now. I'm ready to let them go and give you all my attention. I’ve told them that we're done and that they have to manage on their own for a while, because I want to spend time with you. But I can feel your uncertainty, and I don’t blame you. We’ve been here before. I’ve told you that you're the one, and then I’ve gone off with others. I understand your reticence about trusting me. So I’m making this public commitment to you, and I hope you know I mean it.

I promise that from now on, we’ll spend much more time together. Every day if possible - although I might get nagged into switching off my computer at the weekends, so if you don’t see me for a day or two here and there, please don’t think I’ve abandoned you. You will always be on my mind – you have been for weeks, actually. I just haven’t told you that. But you’re in my thoughts a lot. And from now on, it’s all going to change. We’ll sit down together every day and I’ll give you my full attention, I promise. I’ll buy you magazines and rip out pictures for you. 

Cutting and Sticking - one of the best parts of the planning stage

I’ll get really big pieces of paper and write words all over them – words that I hope you’ll like. I'll even use lots of different colours when I do this. 

Colour coded brainstorming = another excuse to spend an afternoon in a stationery shop

I’ll find the perfect gift for you, an object that reminds me of you, and I'll keep it nearby whenever I think about you.

Objects from previous books. They rarely leave my side (or my computer's side) once I've started writing

But most of all, we'll have some 'you and me' time. Lots of it. Just us. I'll give you as much time as you want and need. I won't let anything or anyone stop that from happening.

So that is my promise. And if I do all this, could I ask one thing of you?

Please could you open up and tell me all your secrets?

Your loving and humble

Author xx

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