All Posts in Uncategorized

My attention seems to have shifted onto children’s stories. Maybe it’s because I’ve been spending time getting Rory the Dragon and Princess Daisy ready for publication. Whatever the reason, though, my thoughts have gone back to Stanley, my misanthropic fairy, of whom more later, and a short novel I wrote for children many years ago. It’s called The Loch Ewe Mystery and it’s an adventure story. I entered it for the Kelpies Prize, awarded by Floris Books. It didn’t win but the publishers asked if they could keep the MS because it was a possible for their lists. In the end, nothing happened but that told me that it was worth hanging on to it.

It’s for and about kids but some of the events in the story are taken from my own experiences. An editor expressed doubts that anyone would ever build a sailing dinghy in a study. But that’s something I did and the characters here have the same anxieties as they wonder whether the finished article will be too big to get through the door. They also sail on Loch Ewe, which is one of my favourite places on earth. I spent many summers at cadet training camps there teaching sailing. We sailed 27 foot Montague whalers and it’s hard to convey the magic of sailing those lovely old boats surrounded by those wonderful mountains. I sailed through a shoal of mackerel and was caught in a squall like the one that hits them in the book, the only difference being that my dinghy was dismasted while theirs got to the island. That particular trip was the one where the friend who was crewing for me rediscovered religion – if only briefly.

Updating and rewriting it for publication now (on Kindle and soon in paperback) meant that I had to revise some of what I wrote to match a world in which mobile phones have made it almost impossible to cut people off from help, advice and the rest. At several stages in the adventure, access to a mobile would have resolved the difficulties very quickly so, while I acknowledge they exist, I make sure the adventure happens in an area where reception’s terrible. (Sorry if I’m maligning you, Ross-shire. Please forgive the poetic licence.)

As promised, back to Stanley. The interesting thing there (to me anyway) is that Joe’s ideas of how he’d draw him have made me rethink some aspects of him and invent others. I’ve grown to like the blue, dome-headed version a lot and now Joe’s adding accessories that suggest extra details and idiosyncrasies that need explaining. For instance, Joe liked the idea of him wearing football boots. That would never have occurred to me but now I face the challenge of finding out why that’s what he has on his feet. I’ve got a sketch of him in a Noel Coward type dressing gown and another where he’s wearing a bright flowery shirt and smoking a cigarette (obviously a no-no because of the cigarette but mainly because he’d NEVER wear a bright shirt, certainly not one with flowers on it).

We haven’t yet decided which publication route to take. I have to investigate whether it’s possible to format text and illustrations in a way that’s compatible with Kindle and other e-readers but, mostly, I want kids to have him in book form. It still seems to me the more natural way for them to enjoy stories. But then, I’m from the pre-computer age..

A new guest blogger this week. At this rate, I’ll soon be able to retire. This one’s from a good friend, Bill Daly. He’s a Scottish writer who, very wisely, a few years back, decided that living in the south of France was probably a good idea. In a previous blog, a while ago, I used a quote from one of Bill’s books, The Pheasant Plucker,  as an example of how to craft humour. That book and his latest, Black Mail,  a much darker look at crime in Glasgow, are excellent reads. Here, though, he’s offering our PR-spouting, politically inept Prime Minister some advice on following the French approach to relations with Europe. All yours, Bill.

 

 

Here we go again! David Cameron is about to renegotiate Britain’s relationship with Europe. Well the best of luck with that one, mate. Will the British never learn how to play the European game? Back in the 1960s, when De Gaulle was throwing his toys around, it was six against 1. In the Thatcher/Major era it became eleven against one and Cameron has succeeded in making it twenty-six against one, thus consolidating Britain’s place as The Thick Man of Europe. As George Bush might have said, the French don’t have a word for déjà vu.

You don’t have to be a committed Europhile to cringe every time a British politician gets involved with Europe. However, it’s interesting to observe the different approaches that come into play on either side of the Channel whenever Brussels sprouts. Without waiting to find out whether the bureaucrats have come up with a sensible proposal or a harebrained edict, the British tabloids generate a torrent of abuse and the politicians feel obliged to explode into self-righteous indignation while issuing threats of vetoes and retaliation.

In France, there’s nary a ripple. The French have non-confrontation down to a fine art and it’s with a beaming smile and a flourishing doff of the proverbial cap that the responsible civil servant will intone the Gallic equivalent of: ‘Yes, sir, yes, sir; three bags full, sir’ – and then proceed to implement the directives that suit his political masters while studiously ignoring the others. Consummate bureaucrats to their fingertips, the French portray themselves as the epitome of model Europeans, knowing full well that Brussels is competent to monitor only the acceptance of directives, not their implementation. ‘Of course, Monsieur, if it’s straight bananas you want, we’ll pass a law ordering all bananas to grow straight – and rest assured that any banana found not to be conforming with this very important directive will be consumed forthwith’.                       

In the 1990s, when John Major was getting his knickers in a twist over restrictions on British beef exports following the BSE crisis, the French quietly finessed their problems. While Major was the centre of attention, bouncing around the European stage like a jack-in-the-box on speed and threatening to grind the markets to a standstill with interminable vetoes, the French identified a few rogue cases of BSE in the north of the country – for good measure seeding the implication that perfidious Albion was to blame. They then culled a few cattle and declared their house to be in order while Brussels was preoccupied with stuffing Major back into his box.

The British work themselves up into a lather over trivia, such as the European directive requiring fruit and vegetables to be sold in metric quantities – a diktat of no practical benefit to either the vendor or the customer – and when the courts prosecute a few hapless costermongers for non-conformance, another round of tabloid-led, anti-Brussels invective is triggered.

If there happens to be a particular edict from Brussels that the French can’t stomach, they handle it low-key. When Brussels sprouted that the season for shooting migratory birds had to be shortened by three weeks, there was no public rhetoric or posturing in France. Although the proposal was anathema to the hunters – a lobby almost as powerful as the farmers – the politicians didn’t turn a hair. Instead, in a late-night parliamentary session, when there were only a handful of members in the chamber, a law was passed which overrode the Brussels’ initiative.

I’m-all-right-Jacques Chirac and his prime minister of the day stood aloof: ‘Awfully sorry about that glitch, chaps. It was nothing to do with us, you understand. Just a few of the lads getting frisky late at night and exercising their democratic rights. A bit unfortunate, but there’s nothing we can do about it now, I’m afraid – the constitution’s the constitution. Anyway, not to worry. We’ll have a word with them and make sure they don’t step out of line again. You know you can rely on us for unwavering support. After all, who was the first to have legislation about straight bananas on the statute book?

Now, where were we? Ah yes, you were about to ratify a twenty per cent increase in payments to French farmers under the Common Agriculture Policy…..’ .

This is mainly a request for opinions and it’s aimed principally at those who’ve read my stories about Stanley, the miserable, misanthropic fairy who lives under a dripping tap in the bedroom of a man called Jack in Aberdeen. But before we get to Stanley, a wee introduction to the reason for this request.

Regular(ish) visitors will be familiar with my brother Ron but now a new family member creeps in – Ron’s son, Joe. I’ve been collaborating with Joe on another children’s book – the words are by me, the illustrations by him. The book’s called Rory the Dragon and Princess Daisy and, for a very special reason, all proceeds from sales will be going to The Daisy Chain Fund. The reason is that one of my nieces had a daughter called Daisy Elizabeth Warn, who was diagnosed with a rare and most severe (Type 1) Spinal Muscular Atrophy. It’s a horrible, incurable neuromuscular condition causing weakness of the muscles. She lived for only 16 weeks and, although I never saw her myself, the photos and videos show a lovely, smiling baby with bags of personality. You can imagine how distressing it must have been for her family to live with the knowledge that she wouldn’t be with them for long and they were full of praise for the help and support they got from the Children’s Hospice South West. It’s a very special place – the only organisation in the South West of England which offers help and support to children and their families who are living with life-limiting conditions. And Daisy’s family set up The Daisy Chain Fund in her memory to raise money for it.

This is Daisy:

And here’s Rory:I’d written the story about them a couple of years before she was born but I wanted somehow to associate it with the real Daisy, so I suggested to my sister Gill (Daisy’s grandmother) that we publish it ourselves and sell it for The Daisy Chain. My 3 sisters’ organisational and fund-raising skills are astonishing so they were enthusiastic about it. All I needed was a willing illustrator.

Enter Joe, who proceeded to produce characters and sketches which didn’t really resemble what I had in mind but, the moment I saw them, I knew they were perfect for the story. The book’s nearly ready for publication and I’ll write some more about it when it actually appears.

Meanwhile, Joe knew of my Stanley stories and was quite happy to have a go at illustrating them, too, and here’s where we get to the request. As you can see from the freedom of his Daisy and Rory drawings, he has a distinct style and he’s sent me some draft sketches for a potential Stanley. I’ve shown them to a couple of people and opinions have varied so this is me trying to cast the net a little wider and fix on Stanley’s new image. If you know of him, or even if you don’t, I’d appreciate your reactions to Joe’s first two ideas on how he might look.

So really, this blog is little more than a begging letter. Which Stanley do you prefer?.