Work in Progress
This page is for all my readers who like to be a part of the story-making process. As I work on a book I'll put extracts on this page, plus the thoughts, ideas and problems I'm having with the book. If you want to comment, or add your ideas for how the story should develop, then you can contact me by using the email at the bottom of the page.
One of the things I am working on at the moment is a novel with the working title, 'It's complicated.' And complicated it is, too. It's about six pupils in a special group for kids having a hard time at school. As well as the story of what happens to them as a group, the reader will share the secret thoughts of some of the members of the group: here is what's going on inside the head of one of them:
I killed my sister. I didn't mean to, but I did. They all said it wasn't my fault. They told me to put it behind
me, make a fresh start.
'We don't blame you. It was not your fault. It was an accident. It could have happened any time,
anywhere, to any of us.'
As Mum said the words, she turned her head away, just for a second. She didn't want to look at me.
We never talk about what I did, or anything about that day. But it's always there.
It is a living, breathing thing, full of unspoken questions and things left unsaid. It sits in the shadows
of every room in the house, waiting for a chance to speak. But it never speaks. We won't give it any words.
Meanwhile, my little sister stares out at me from a thousand photographs around the house.
But her bedroom door stays firmly closed on the pink Disney Princess bed, the bookshelf full of picture books
and DVDs, the mirror with fairy lights all around it and the fluffy slippers that she carelessly pulled off
her feet, on that last day, and abandoned in the middle of the floor. The only thing that has disappeared
from my sister's room is the big Dinosaur floor puzzle she got for her last birthday, and the card that she
stuck onto her bed frame. It had a silver star on the front and the inscription, 'To The Best Little Sister in the
Whole Wide World'.
The card and the Dinosaur puzzle came from me. I bought them with my own pocket money.
They are the only things that have disappeared from her room. 'We don't blame you. It was not your fault.'
I killed my sister. I didn't mean to, but I did. And it was my fault.
On a cheerier note, I have been rounding up some new and old poems: nothing new ready to share yet, but here's one of my older poems, taking liberties with the Red Riding Hood story. It was published in 'The Dog Ate My Bus Pass' (Nick Toczek and Andrew Fusek Peters) back in 2004:
The Wolf's Excuse
Would it be too crass
To apologize
To the girl, and her family, and you?
Yet - I was hungry,
And I'm a wolf,
It's what we do.
Gran was like leather,
Tough as old boots,
She had to be chewed with great care.
Then came the knocking
On the cottage door,
'Gran, are you there?'
You could call it greed.
I had eaten once,
And I shouldn't have taken the bait.
But here she was,
Fresh, tender young meat
On a red plate.
I believe it was fate
That brought her there,
And I ate her without much ado.
For I was hungry,
And I am a wolf,
It's what we do.