It’s an exciting day here in Rees Towers. This morning, the typeset page proofs of Emlyn’s new thriller, Hunted, arrived. It’s always a great moment for an author, when you see your work professionally set out. When it’s no longer a file on your computer, with your silly font on the title page, but instead looks like a real life book.
It arrived by special delivery. (A miracle in itself. Mostly, the van man sprints to the door and shoves a ‘you weren’t in’ red card through it. Grrrr. It’s become a secret obsession of mine to catch one red-handed.)
Anyway, the arrival coincided with the Little One in full tantrum mode. She wasn’t in my good books anyway, having back head-butted me – twice – in two separate wake-up calls during the night. She’d just protest-blown chunks of dippy egg across the table, when the doorbell rang. I dumped her on the naughty step on my way to answer the door, realizing as I went that I was only wearing a t-shirt and white running socks. Not a good look, I thought, as I saw the postman impatiently peering through the glass panel. I hope he hadn’t heard what I’d been shouting. He wouldn’t be nominating me for a good parenting award any time soon.
Then everything changed. The package was handed over reverentially. When I saw the Publisher’s insignia and felt the neat block of pages inside, I called for Emlyn, who was out of bed in a shot.
Of course he ripped open the package and put the precious manuscript straight onto the egg smeared table, before I could say anything. Doh! But we all oo-eed an ahhed anyway. Especially after I discovered he’d dedicated his novel to me. Awww. What a lovely feeling.
Talking of lovely feelings, I went into the kids’ school to teach creative writing as part of their World Book Day celebrations yesterday. It was great fun getting all my girls dressed up before hand – as Hagrid, Wimpy Kid and the Cat in the Hat – but it was only when I was actually in with the Year 6 class that I realized that the reason The Big One had insisted on going in as Hagrid from Harry Potter was so that her face would be almost entirely covered by a huge wig and beard – meaning none of her mates would be able to see her cheeks burning as I stood up and started the session in front of her peers.
I used a poem by Rupert Brooke and an extract from ‘The Great Lover’ in which he lists all the things he has loved. It’s a beautiful passage. The kids did their own version and they all worked on ways of describing the things that are special to them. Here’s what they came up with.
Wind in my hair Cantering through the green lushness of a field; the soft giving Warmth of a vanilla sponge; elegant stone statues posing; Icy blue droplets viewed from the red warmth inside; boating on a Diamond-sparkling river; talking; a red caterpillar on a green leaf; a beach with Crystal blue water lapping at your feet tempting you in to swim; Gymnasts flying freely around the room; an explosion of exotic colours.
Purple snuggling under my duvet; the solitude of a garden; Welcoming metal Fingers; sheets of fur; the soft fluffiness of pets; Sydney’s intriguing eyes; canine tickling: a dog’s coarse fur; The exhilaration of performing and the pleasure of Getting the part I wanted; competing in a sporting challenge; Sun shining, the feeling of happiness, Splashing in the warm calming sun.
Exploring the lanes with my dad on a Sunday; my carved silver leopard; the Adrenaline rush of a perfect hand-spring landing; Grabbing my pillow as the movie monster appears; a shower of red football Cheers; hip-hop dancing; lemon-soaked sugary pancakes; Stroking my guinea pig; watching the water Twizzling down the plug hole of my bath; the smell of New paper; the luxury of a car; the tangy aroma of Wet paving slabs; a water slide squeal; and the radiant sun Melting into the cold, crisp sea.
Oh to be a ten-year-old again. I hope that’s given you a nice warm feeling too.