Authors Electric

Wikipedia  I was talking to an old friend of mine recently about something I’d read; children who have been lied to assume that everyone lies, and therefore have no compunction about doing it themselves. But if you delve into this a little more deeply, it becomes very interesting and relevant to what we write for children. Both about lying, and telling the truth. My children found the Calvin and Hobbes cartoons much funnier than I did. Calvin is a six-year-old boy and Hobbes is his stuffed toy tiger, whom he addresses as a sentient being although all the other characters treat him as a toy. Calvin has a vivid imagination, and comes out with some great one-liners such as : “Reality continues to ruin my life.” But it’s the stories his father tells him that made the impact on me. He makes up ludicrous explanations to some of Calvin's awkward questions such as where do babies come from: “You can buy assembly kits at Sears and K Mart.” Or how the load limit for bridges is calcul...

I'm opening this post with a little publicity for a Pipeline Theatre production, currently on tour. It's called "DRIP DRIP DRIP, and it toured the South-West of the UK last year. Now it has its first London booking, at The Pleasance Theatre, Islington, so I'm hoping London-based followers of our blog will come.  My daughter is an active founder member of the very successful Pipeline collective which has already showcased work in the Edinburgh Festival. It specialises in bringing our attention to difficult and often challenging subjects, and "DRIP DRIP DRIP" is no exception, taking a very hard look at racism in our NHS medical system, especially now, when the UK has split from the European Union, and following every performance there's a discussion panel if you feel like taking part. Pipeline routinely gets excellent reviews, so if you can, please go. Oh, and there's a discount on the ticket for anyone working in the NHS. I was given books for Ch...

I'm about to order Jan Needle's: RUMP OF RUMP HALL - THE RISE OF RONALD T RUMP.   Having always loathed "THE WIND IN THE WILLOWS" (all the animals seemed to be middle-aged or elderly clubbish gentlemen - not my scene) I love Jan's satires, and know I'm going to enjoy this one. Having said that, I do, accidentally, own a copy of one of  Kenneth Grahame's lesser-known works: THE GOLDEN AGE, first published in 1899, with illustrations by Maxfield Parrish ( I believe he went on to p ro duce biscuit tin lids which are now collect ors' items). Here is Graham's lost childhood in idyllic English countryside. I n parts, i t's a funny book, with small boys' fantas y games along with inscrutable aunts and amusing elderly gents, but it's also sad, full of nostalgia for a world that was rapidly vanishing, and as with everything written around that period and later, there's the shadow of the First World War just around the corner ...

I was never forgiven by one former friend for a quip that I put in one book: You learn who your friends are at Christmas. They leave the price tags on their gifts. Oh, of course, he objected to other quips of mine...like these: There are no atheists in hot pants. Half the women wearing them are praying to God we don't notice their legs. The other half are praying we don't look further up. Imitation is the most flattering form of insincerity. Petty acts are emotional food stamps for the spiritually unemployed. I must say you look fetching. Here, have a nice bone while I find you a stick. But the Christmas quip, as it turned out, was the final straw in the martini of his hate. Though the line was spoken by a epigram-loving young woman who yearns to be Oscara Wilde--and she does try to be more Sincere at the end--no matter to my holy friend. I must have believed the words in some corner of my soul or I could not have written them. And this branded me as a hypocrit...