Authors Electric

The Magic Pudding  by Norman Lindsay What does the word ‘magic’ in a book title conjure up for you?  Not a silly question. There’s method in my magicness. Because before I read one of my favourite books as a child, I’d have assumed a story with that word in the title would be about fairies, or wizards, or mysterious lands where animals can talk and rivers run silver… a benign, happy kind of magic in other words. Enid Blyton’s Magic Faraway Tree , for instance, or Aladdin's magic lamp in A Thousand and One Nights , or Alison Uttley’s Magic in my Pocket .  Then my uncle returned from Australia with a copy for me of  The Magic Pudding by Norman Lindsay.  Nice title, thought I, if a bit predictable. Obviously, a version of the Brothers' Grimm Magic Porridge Pot that miraculously feeds the impoverished family who owns it, without ever running out. (As long as they obey the rules that is. There has to be a catch somewhere.) All about generosity, in other words, from...

                                                                 I find myself in a very exciting position this November and December: I wrote a novel and it’s about to enter the world! It’s not my first book – I have written three before it: The Camera Obscure , (a collection of gothic stories), Tourist to the Sun , (a poetry collection) and That Little Voice, (another Poetry collection). However, Burnt Lungs and Bitter Sweets is my debut novel, and I found a new, exciting and distinctive voice. I am not really sure where this voice came from as it’s probably the last book you’d think I would write. If you know me though, then maybe you would expect me to invent my little bunch of misanthropic, disaffected punks. If you know me well enough, you’d definitely expect me to give the whole book a ‘...

     Look at this little fella. Isn't he great?           I imagine most, if not all, of my readers will immediately recognise him — even without the caption — as a knight from the Lewis chessmen. The photograph above, though, was taken by me of one that sits on my shelf. It's a replica, quite a good one, I think, and it allows you to hold the little character in your hand and get a good close look at him.           He's very like a Norman (norse-man) knight, with his kite-shaped shield and his conical helmet with a nose-piece. His horse is a sturdy little beast — I think its size, proportionate to its rider, was probably accurately observed.  The rider has stirrups, and the horse has a caparison.           Here's the other piece I own: a Bishop.     ...

According to the National Literacy Trust, kids (particularly boys) are not reading for pleasure these days, preferring films and online games for their thrills. Bad news for children's authors and publishers, but perhaps understandable when such games and films are available 24/7 on their smartphones. To quote the Roman poet Virgil: "The gates of hell are open night and day; smooth the descent, and easy is the way." Thankfully, my younger readership shouldn't be too distracted by the new Gladiator movie with its 15 certificate, although the level of violence and gore is not much more than can be found in many kids' books for the 10+ readership (including mine!). It's where I heard these lines from Virgil, but if there were any raunchy scenes of a sexual nature unsuitable for younger viewers in Gladiator II, I missed them. So what, besides poetry, can you expect from the much-hyped sequel to the original Gladiator (2000)? As can be expected in the final days of...

Keeping a list... Ho, ho, not to worry. Kris Kringle will still bring gifts for children everywhere. But I hate to report that we adults in America have made this year's naughty list in blackest ink. A majority of us will find a lump of coal in our Christmas stockings. The lump will be orange, slimy and smell bad and be called a Trump. I'll not name names. You know who you are, and so does this season's frowny Father Christmas.  It's not party politics or the finer points of trade that have our Elf-in-Chief in a snit this Christmas. It's the summary, mass roundups of aliens that our doddering Don has already set in motion. Like under his first term, it includes separation of families and incarceration of children - by the millions this time. Hate based cruelty is not a byproduct here. It is the self-professed point. I t doesn't take an all-knowing Santa to recognize this pogrom for what it is - persecution, with holocaust looming.  Christmas celebrates the birth...

Image Credit:  Images from the ACW Autumn Gathering Day were taken by me, Allison Symes. Many thanks to Janet Williams, my lovely editor at Chandler’s Ford Today, for taking the shot of me signing books at the book fair. I’m glad to say October was busy. I went to an Association of Christian Writers (ACW) in person event in Rugby, where it was lovely to catch up with friends. A week later I was taking part in a book fair which was in a hall a short walk from my home. Good to be back in business on the book stand at the ACW Autumn Gathering The writing day had Paul Kerensa (co-writer on Miranda, Not Going Out , broadcaster and podcaster on the history of radio) as the guest speaker (he was hilarious) plus there was a choice of workshops after lunch. There is a buzz when getting together with other writers which I find inspiring. I had a lovely time  coming home enthused. (That’s always a sign of a good writing event I find).  Paul Kerensa gave a wonderful and funny two pa...

A good example of cloud iridescence from the web, July 2023. Don't know where.  How do you write about ghosts when you don’t believe in them? I don’t believe in them because I’ve not had a single supernatural experience. I stopped believing in Father Christmas and the Tooth Fairy when I was very young, I’m one of those people who require the evidence of my own senses, and none has been forthcoming. I haven’t even had a spooky feeling, and I’ve never felt inexplicably cold or scared or seen objects moving of their own volition. I have a problem when people I respect tell me quite seriously that they have seen/heard/felt or even smelt something. But no one has told me that sort of thing since I was a teenager, probably because they think I’ll laugh at them. I do remember my mother telling me what happened the night her grandmother died though. She was sharing a room with her, and Gra (as she was known) was very elderly. Suddenly she said to my mum, “Ella, Ella, open the door.”...