Posts Tagged ‘ideas’

I’m never sure of terminology, but I think “magic realism” is magic introduced into a real-world setting.

This is something I love. It resembles a flight of imagination that sees the possible amid the mundane. And I like that attitude. It brings something extra special to a novel to have these things happening. I suppose that’s why I brought in a talking mouse in the chapter book I am redrafting. Why limit things by being prosaic all the time??

This probably explains why I so enjoyed The Watchmaker of Filigree Street by Natasha Pulley. And that’s also why I’m now reading her next book, The Bedlam Stacks.

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It was a little bizarre at first, though not magical. And then there appeared a statue that had moved. But, supposedly, no one had moved it. Then later it faces a direction from which to watch the narrator. I’m only 20% through, so I’m not sure how much more “magic” will happen. But guess what? It leaves the possibility open and makes me read on. The story will definitely not be boring!

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And then I came across Cassie Beasley’s Circus Mirandus. This is aimed at so-called middle grade. A good reader of 10 would love it.

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This is the intriguing first bit – how can anyone resist that last sentence??

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I leave you to decide if magic realism grabs you like it does me. But discovering new books is such fun anyway, so I thought I’d tell you about these two – three if you include The Watchmaker – I read that three times. Not something I normally have time to do!

 

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Not another haiku, I hear you say!

No, not at all. TWO haiku (haikus?).

We had a welcome visitor this week who has stayed around and I love him. It’s a Great Spotted Woodpecker. Difficult to capture on film without him seeing me and zooming back over the road to the forest. So this image is from Pixabay, which is free to use here.

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Isn’t he just beautiful?

 

 

 

 

 

 

I then wrote haiku number one:

Tap tap tap tap tap –

something pecking on the wood

of my bird feeder!

(Pity this feeder is mesh!) I think he came because it got cold up here and started snowing. But I’m glad he’s stayed.

And because I didn’t go walking in the snow, I wrote haiku number two!

Grey-white snow, and mauve,

spread in crystals on my lawn,

lounging till the thaw.

Which is what I propose to do – lounge till the thaw. I go out when it’s deep and fun, like the snow my hens here are enjoying; not when it’s thin and icy and then slushy!

pic 2 for snow

 

I really am no good as a poet. Possibly because I haven’t put in my 10,000 hours of practice! But sometimes, just sometimes, words are needed to capture something without the result having to be prose.

I know you have to ponder and alter and think and discard as you write a poem. But I have had a go at this on four occasions and soon it won’t be autumn but Christmas, so I’d best get on an show you!

So – please don’t judge it as you would from a poet. Just imagine it captures, in a deliberate mix of senses, what it was like to go for my walk the other day. If you take something from it, great. If not, well, I assumed it was for me personally anyway!

November walk in the village

Burnishing the air an earthy warmth,

a rusted scent of needled pine.

Under my feet the sodden leaves.

Livid berries on the forest edge,

a copper beech like polished gold.

Feathers darting endlessly

through criss-crossed twigs on lichened boles –

touched by hint of diesel fumes?

A taste of bonfire fills my mind,

tuneful breezes lift my hair

infused with hints of Eastern spice

from cottage, crêperie and mill.

While overhead, and in full swing,

a corvid family gathering.

leaves photo 72

I have tried to write something that will be easy for beginner readers to read. I declared my intention to do this a while ago actually! Well, eventually things get done. And after I did it, some more time passed and I edited it again. If I fiddle any more I’ll get bored, so here it is, with a couple of provisos:

  • Firstly, I’m assuming an illustrator would show up lots and lots of interesting things going on at the same time on the page!
  • And most of the words are from the list in the post I linked above.
  • But I’m also assuming the young reader can do “I’ll” and I’m” and guess a couple of others from the illustrations.

ps. I painted my castle ornament ages ago, so I thought I’d use it to illustrate the post.

castle new for Pip

Pip’s Present

“Here is your present,” Mum says to Pip.

“It’s very big! What is it?”

“Take it out. You will like it.”

Pip sees the old castle and laughs. “It’s so good!” he says. “Thank you.”

He runs to Mum and hugs her. “I will play with it now.”

Pip looks inside. “Rascal, come and see!” he says.

Rascal comes and tries to look in.

“I want to play in there,” he says. “But I’m too big.”

BANG!

Pip and Rascal fall into the castle.

“Help!” says Pip.

“Woof!” says Rascal.

Something flies into Pip.

“What is this?” he asks. “It’s like a ghost!”

He is not happy!

“I am Justin,” the ghost says. “I live in the castle. Will you play with me?”

“No,” says Pip. “I do not like you.”

“Come on,” he says to Rascal. “I want to go to Mum.”

They run to the door. But the door will not open.

“Bother,” says Pip. “I want to get out.”

They run to the window. But the window will not open.

“Bother,” says Pip. “We must get out of here.”

The ghost flies with them.

“Will you play with me?” he says. “I’m not happy here.”

“I do not want to play,” Pip says to Justin.

“Woof!” says Rascal. [He is under an old table]

“But you must see my castle,” Justin says. “Come with me.”

They go into a big room.

They see some armour, some daggers and some gold cups.

They see a spider, an old brush and some logs.

They come to a bed. [with a cat on it]

“Woof, woof!” says Rascal. [The cat runs down the stairs]

The ghost looks very sad.

“You do not want to play with me,” he says. “So now I will help you go home.”

Pip is not happy. The ghost is a good ghost. Pip has made him unhappy.

“We will play with you now, and then go home,” says Pip.

Pip and Rascal and Justin play

with the apples and oranges on the old table.

The apples and oranges fly up and down…

from Justin to Pip… from Pip to Justin.

Rascal tries to play too.

But they do not eat the apples and oranges. They are too old!

Justin laughs and jumps.

“I am not sad now,” he says. “Thank you!”

He goes to the door.

He hits it here…

and here…

…and there.

“Open, open, open!” he says.

BANG!

Pip and Rascal are back home. [in the bedroom]

“Goodbye, Justin!” calls Pip. “We will come and play tomorrow.”

“Woof!” says Rascal.

Rascal goes to sleep on Pip’s bed.

“Good night, Rascal,” says Pip. “That ghost was fun! I like my big old castle.” [imagines happy ghost in ghost bed?]

 

Not as short as a haiku haha! This is set in a playroom situation, where, in all the stories, the lead character would be one of the various things in the playroom: toys, vehicles, puppets, stones etc. And in this one, the craft paper! Well you can’t say it’s not original 🙂 The idea is that at the end of any story the toys or whatever will go to sleep, or it becomes nighttime. They could well be used as bedtime stories. Lots of discussion points possible, of course, on what has been going on in the story.

See what you think. Here’s an image to go with it.

red paper

Red Paper’s tale

The piece of red paper lay on the table in the playroom with all the other sheets of paper – blue and orange, black and white, cream and pale brown.

Red Paper looked round at the others.

“I’m the brightest and best paper here,” she said. “Mark will choose me to draw on, and then he’ll hang me on the wall for everyone to look at.”

“Shut up!” said Black Paper. “You’re just a bit of paper like all the rest of us. Mark could draw fireworks and a bonfire on me. Black is perfect for that.”

“Yes,” said Blue Paper. “And Mark might let me be the sky when he draws his house.”

“Or I could be a sandy beach,” said Orange Paper.

At that moment, Mark raced into the playroom with his friend Jodi.

“What shall we draw?” Mark asked Jodi. “Houses? The seaside? Bonfire night?”

Red Paper held her breath and crossed her fingers. What would Jodi say?

“Actually,” Jodi said, “My dad’s been showing me how to fold paper to make tiny models. You don’t have to cut it. Shall I show you how?”

Make tiny models? Red Paper was furious. She got redder and redder as she thought about being folded and squashed and creased and bent. Paper was for drawing on! How dare they ruin her?

But before she could say “paper plane”, Mark and Jodi sat down at the table and Jodi picked her up. She flapped and flipped in Jody’s hand, trying to escape.

“Bother!” said Jodi. “This red paper is too bendy and floppy. Let’s try the black piece first.”

Red Paper sat and fumed. She didn’t want to be folded and creased – but she didn’t want to be left out either. She was the best, wasn’t she?

But she had to sit and watch as Jodi folded and creased Black Paper.

After a while, she grew so interested that she forgot to be cross. Jodi’s hands were very careful as she made each fold, and she kept waiting so that Mark could copy with his piece of orange paper.

When they had both finished, Red Paper couldn’t believe her eyes. There, in front of them, sat two little birds.

“Mine’s a blackbird,” said Jodi. “What’s yours, Mark?”

“An orange bird, of course,” he said, waving it around in the air.

Red Paper was sad now. So she flapped and flipped in the breeze that wafted through the window, and hoped that someone would let her join in.

Jodi noticed and picked her up.“Let’s try with this bendy bit now,” she said. “See if you can guess what I’m making.”

Mark watched as Red Paper let herself be folded this way and that, without arguing, until Jodi stood her on the table. She felt very important.

“Why, it’s a butterfly!” Mark exclaimed.

A butterfly? Red Paper flexed her wings up and down excitedly. And the breeze suddenly caught her and carried her over to the book shelf. She was flying! She was beautiful. “Come up here,” she called to the blackbird and the orange bird. “It’s fun to fly!”

“Good night, little butterfly,” Mark and Jodi called as they switched out the light in the playroom. “You can sleep up there tonight. See you in the morning!”

The time for delaying tactics is over. I need to write something. Anything. Especially anything longer than a haiku! Just to get back into the swing.

So here are nearly 500 words of a possible novel for middle grade. Nothing to write home about (excuse the pun) but until I see what I’ve written, I usually don’t know exactly what I wanted to write! And clearly this won’t be right for today’s middle grade children (at least if you want a publisher), but then again, I do know some kids who would lap up a mystery novel just fine. Which is what this beginning has in mind.

Anyway, I don’t do funny very well, I don’t do bottom humour, and I don’t do – oh, I don’t know, clever stuff. So into the bin with it. But do have a read first 🙂 All writing needs a reader!

For the zillionth time that afternoon, Oriel leaned out of the hotel’s attic window and stared down into Chatfield’s medieval cobbled square. Her eyes scanned the sunlit groups of shoppers from right to left, as if trying to find a hidden thimble. Then she stiffened and caught her breath sharply.

That’s him, I bet, she thought. Young and alone, with a leather suitcase, and foreign-looking. Definitely Josef Ahlenburg, our first guest… And in an awful hurry to reach us.

The boy in question looked about fourteen or fifteen, a few years older than Oriel, and he was sprinting – not like you sprint when you’re late for tea (which he nearly was) but as if training for his school football team. He was running a short way and then stopping, running and stopping again, as he came down the final stretch of road that led into the square. Every time he paused, he turned to glance warily over his shoulder at the lingering groups of Saturday shoppers. Then he darted past another group and looked round again. She wouldn’t have been surprised to see him dribbling a football, as if wondering who to pass it to.

Who was he trying to avoid?

She was slightly alarmed. Josef Ahlenburg couldn’t be trying to escape anyone. He wouldn’t know anyone yet, let alone have enemies. He was coming to England to take part in an international music course at the Grange.

Oriel stared, mesmerised, shading her eyes from the sun that streaked in from the south-west. It was still high above the beech trees flanking the park on one side of the square.

The boy paused again. Looked around, this time scanning the street higher up. Maybe he was searching for the Red Tree sign that hung from its black metal bracket outside the hotel windows two floors below Oriel.

Suddenly, he gazed straight up at her, as if he might have seen her. Oriel waved frantically to attract his attention.

She thought he nodded briefly before setting off again. But he still walked zig-zag around the cobbled pavements, as if his feet simply refused to go directly to the hotel.

Oriel frowned. She was sure this was Josef – the violin he carried was a dead giveaway, now that she noticed it. He wore a navy blue blazer, white shirt and grey trousers, which must be his school uniform. But he didn’t look at all like the posh boy she’d imagined, knowing his mother was a German countess. That must absolutely be the most awful thing to have to put up with – no eating in bed, no talking with your mouth full, no leaving the house without a bodyguard…

And then she remembered her father. Maybe being posh wasn’t the worst thing to have to survive.

And (she says, continuing from the last post as if a couple of weeks hadn’t passed in silence!) – in the last month I have opened my shop on RedBubble. How tickly tricky it feels in one’s chest to be so brazen as to assume that anyone at all anywhere might want to buy one of your designs printed on a product! But they have.

And, after a panicky week or so when I didn’t go public and actually ‘open’ the shop, I’m now having fun. Perhaps some of that fun is using my art for something that isn’t aimed at editorial or books. When we’re consumed by a need to draw and paint and design and illustrate, it’s quite hard to always be driven by the need to do the kind of thing that might prompt someone else to commission a work.

In part, my daily sketching solves that. But this, too – this “make your art into a design for a product” – is also scratching that itch. I get to choose – and I do think that if I love something I create very much, someone out there will too.

It still feels a bit tickly tricky to actually tell you about the shop – but how else would you know??! Here is a sneak preview. I bought that rose design on a black top for myself, and loved wearing  it yesterday 🙂

RB shop sample