Anna Wilson's Barking Mad Blog

Dog Days of Summer

2011-06-28T04:38:00.000-07:00

Well, I did the marathon. And yes, it did hurt! So I am glad Kenna didn't come for that run with me. And since then, I've slowed down a bit, due to a knee injury. But as my family are always telling me, "That's boring, we don't want to know!" So, I won't bore YOU with the details.

In any case, Kenna couldn't care less how far we run, especially at this time of year when it's warm. Being black, she overheats very quickly, so her idea of a perfect day is to run along the river so that she can dip in and out to refresh herself. She'll have a swim and a quick slurp, and then she's back on the towpath and ready to run again. Her favourite place to swim is in the sea, where she likes to have a bit of company . . .

But although, sadly, we don't live by the sea, we do have fresh water on our doorstep, so yesterday morning so we ran from our house to the nearest town with the canal and river beside us all the way. Complete heaven for dogs. And humans, as it turns out. We got to the bridge where the water is very shallow and crystal clear, and Kenna plunged in right away, her tail spinning like a helicopter blade.

There is something infectious about Kenna's happiness when she is in the water; it was certainly too much for me to simply stand there and watch. In seconds, my smelly trainers and socks were off, and my hot sweaty feet were splashing through the pebbles and river weed and tiny fish darted over my wriggling toes. So there we were, my pooch and I, dabbling and paddling, kicking in the shallows, enjoying the sun on our backs and the cool water on our feet: the rest of the world had faded into the background.

Not for long.

"Hello," said a voice. I looked up sharply, blood rushing to my already red and sweaty cheeks. It was a neighbour out running with her husband. "Having fun?" she called cheerily. I nodded sheepishly and looked at myself and Kenna through my neighbour's eyes: a strange woman, wading into the river with her dog. I did feel like a prize loony.

My only consolation was that at least I had not given into my original idea of jumping right in and having a proper swim when I had thought no one was looking.

Run, Dog, Run!

2011-05-20T04:04:00.000-07:00

3-year-old-bandits-half-marathon.html

The incredible story in the above link from Runner's World magazine made me think of my own experience of running with gorgeous pooch, Kenna.

Everyone knows the positive effects dogs can have on a person's life: companionship and a reason to get out in the fresh air everyday are just two of the many reasons I love my dog. But the biggest impact Kenna has had on my life is in helping me to get fit. Before I had Kenna I would force myself to go to the gym three times a week. It was deathly dull and quite a lonely experience, as no one wants to chat to you while they are sweating it out in the gym. On a beautiful day I used to look out of the window at the blue sky and scudding white clouds and think, "Why am I indoors running on a treadmill when I could be out enjoying the fresh air?" Even on a bad day I would look out at the rain and think it looked more appealing than being stuck in an airless room with fifteen television screens glaring at me.
So why didn't I jack in the expensive gym membership and run out into the streets instead? Well, firstly, I lived in London and the streets weren't that much more appealing than the gym, and secondly I told myself I couldn't run, I looked stupid, I didn't want anyone to see me wobbling about and of course it wasn't safe.
Even when we moved to the country I gave myself the same excuses.
Until we got Kenna. Suddenly I was going for walks every day - and then going to the gym as well! How stupid: wasting money and wasting time. Luckily I saw the error of my ways one day when I realised I was passing many people every day who were running with their dogs. Of course! The ultimate solution: exercise the dog and exercise me at the same time.
With the cancelled gym membership I was able to treat myself to some comfy, attractive running kit in which I did not look stupid or feel scratchy or wobbly.
Four years on, Kenna and I have clocked up quite a few miles together. I've entered a number of 10K races, run two half marathons - and this weekend I'm running a full marathon in Edinburgh to raise money for Help For Heroes (another story in itself - see https://www.justgiving.com/account/your-pages/Anna-Wilson2 for details on how to sponsor me!)

Sadly, Kenna will not be running with me on the day. She is not allowed on the plane for a start, but even if she was, I don't think she would enjoy the full 26.2 miles.
But then, I'm not sure if I'm going to either . . .

Peaceful countryside?

2011-03-28T02:26:00.000-07:00

The warm weather last week had me migrating to the garden to work. I told myself it was so peaceful round here that I would have no problem concentrating. But it was a bit like those days when your teacher relaxes and says, "Let's have lessons outside today." In other words, not a huge amount got done while I gazed at the blossom and daydreamed to the sound of the rooks making it known to all the neighbourhood that they rule the roost . . . Peaceful? Hardly, what with the smaller garden birds competing with the rooks with their own birdsong; a buzzard mewing as it was mobbed by a couple more rooks, and our chickens also clamouring to be heard, just in case I had forgotten they existed.

And then there's Kenna wanting to play ball, and the cats coming to sit on the table next to my laptop because apparently that's the best place to sunbathe.

As if that weren't enough wildlife to deal with, we have had quite a number of toads come to visit. Admittedly they don't come out in the day very much. They prefer to lurk in damp spots after dusk. But they have had a habit of chosing our path to sit on and Kenna and I have nearly trodden on them more than once. I am very fond of frogs and toads and would like to encourage them into the garden, so I don't want to hurt them. I now go out with a torch when I take Kenna out for her last walk around the garden before bed, just in case we come across any more amphibious guests underfoot.

My son is always keen on welcoming more wildlife into the garden, and went to great lengths to get frogspawn for a pond which he dug himself earlier in the year. He spotted some lovely large lumps of it floating in jellified blobs on the surface of a pond when we went out for a walk a couple of weeks ago and insisted on my buying a bucket for him to carry it home. We could only find a tiny bucket in a gift shop nearby, so took a very small amount. Here it is just after the miniscule tadpoles hatched last week:

We very much hope we'll get some little frogs from this lot, but what with those rooks and the odd passing heron, they will have to be a feisty bunch to survive around here.

Lovely Authors

2011-03-14T07:55:00.000-07:00

Possibly the best thing about writing for children is that I get to meet such a range of lovely, interesting people. The children I meet on school visits are great to talk to, of course, because they always have loads of questions and funny stories to tell me, and they always seem excited and happy to meet a "real, live author", which is flattering, to say the least.

But, even though I am one myself, I am just as excited and happy to meet real, live authors too. Being a writer can be a lonely old business, and if you're not careful you spend a lot of your day talking to yourself (or in my case, talking to my dog, cats and chickens - and, from the looks on their faces, they quite plainly think I'm bonkers when I do this), so it's a wonderful treat to get out and about and meet people like me who have the same ups and downs as I do in this strange, solitary job.

Nick Butterworth and me

The Green Room at Aye Write was the perfect place to meet some wonderful authors, and when I came home and told my own children whom I had met, they were extremely jealous. My daughter is a huge fan of Chris D'Lacey's The Fire Within, so she was furious that I had been able to sit and chat to him. And my son's first favourite read-alone books had been Percy the Park Keeper, so he was pretty cheesed off that I had had dinner with Nick Butterworth one night. "Why can't we come with you?" they wanted to know.

Caryl Hart and me

I also enjoyed meeting Sue Mongredien, Cathy MacPhail, Debi Gliori and the lovely Caryl Hart whose picture book, Whiffy Wilson, had me roaring with laughter. Whiffy Wilson is a loveable wolf cub who does not like having baths. Needless to say, he reminded me of a certain male member of our family - or possibly more than one . . . Another of her books, Don't Put Your Pants On Your Head, Fred, (out later this year) is also a winner. I'll be buying it for my nephew, Fred. I think his mum will love it. She'll definitely recognise her son in many of the scenarios in the book - well, who said picture books were just for kids?

But now I'm back home. No more fellow writers to chat to, only a computer screen winking accusingly at me and a list of jobs to do. Maybe I'll pop downstairs and have a cup of tea with the dog . . .

Aye Write!

2011-03-14T05:53:00.000-07:00

It must be spring if it's Aye Write! Another wonderful, exhausting, exhilarating trip to Glasgow to meet up with the marvellous Moira Munro, illustrator of my PUPPY and KITTEN books, and MONKEY BUSINESS. Moira is a whirlwind of creative talent, writing and illustrating her own picture books about the lovable teddy bear, Hamish, as well as illustrating my books for Macmillan and other titles for educational publishers.

The children we met were blown away by Moira's Rolf-Harris-style superfast sketches which she produced on a large flip chart to choruses of "Oooooh!" and "Wow!" We had a lot of fun getting our audiences to suggest silly scenarios for animals getting stuck in weird and wonderful places, and Moira sketched the lot. Then it was the children's turn to pick up pencil and paper and scribble away. From there we moved on to inventing short stories about how the animals might have found their way into those strange places.

Uncle Zed, from MONKEY BUSINESS had an outing too. Not only did Moira produce a perfect picture of him (she can read my mind, that girl), but I also had to act him out so that the children could ask him questions. One question was "You have a secret habit you don't like to talk about: what is it?" Thinking fast, Zed replied: "It's a bit gross, man, but I have to say I just lurrrrve to chew my toenails."

Hmmm. I think I'll be having words with Zed.

Don't be chicken, chicken

2011-02-22T03:39:00.000-08:00

Poor little Storm. She arrived in our household last Saturday and has not emerged from the hen house since our other chickens, Cheeky and Little Brown, backed her into a corner and pecked her to within an inch of her fluffiness. She is the cutest hen I have ever come across: very shy (she had to be tempted with a handful of corn to have her photo taken as she prefers to have her back to us) and so soft and cuddly. She is still very young so she can't fly yet - simply flaps her wings and clings on to my finger for dear life - so it's easy to hold her and stroke her. We are trying to get the other two bossy boot hens to accept her and to stop bullying her, but presumably Nature will have to take its course.

(Storm was a birthday gift for my son from his best friend who is possibly just a tiny bit more animal-obsessed than he is. My son's friend has quite a few chickens of his own, not to mention quail and a Harris hawk! He is planning on getting an owl for HIS birthday, but I don't think his parents know this yet . . .)

It is quite alarming to see how vicious hens can be. Most of the time our hens are amiable creatures who enjoy being handled, and very tamely trot around our garden oblivious to the cats and dog who sit and watch them with the word "LUNCH" hanging hopefully above their heads. But Cheeky and Storm are demonstrating just how nasty the "pecking order" can be. They are behaving like the worst kind of playground bully who herds their victim into a corner out of sight of the teacher before laying into them. And it's not just the physical violence that has been upsetting: they harangue Storm with verbal abuse as well! The clucking and crowing that has gone on since Storm's arrival has to be be heard to be believed.

But we are already very much in love with Storm, so there is no question of her leaving us. The two madams she has to share a coop with will just have to get used to their new room mate!

Who's Going to Walk the Dog?

2011-01-21T04:34:00.000-08:00

I am very excited to have had a poem published for the first time! This gorgeous collection of Puppy Poems contains writing by some fantastic children's poets whom I have admired for a long time, so I feel very honoured to have my poem selected to appear alongside theirs.

My poem is called "Who's Going to Walk the Dog?" and, as with so much of my writing, it was inspired by real life. I had been asked to have a go at writing a puppy poem, and had been struggling for a week or so with an idea I had which revolved around a child begging for a puppy. But the poem was not coming together at all. Then one very wet weekend, I had the conversation many parents have with their children: "Who's going to walk the dog?" and I received the stock answers I have come to expect: "Not me!" "I'm busy - loads of homework to do . . ." and so on.

I pulled on my hat and coat and stomped off in a very bad mood, dragging poor Kenna behind me, her head down and tail drooping. (She has a very guilty conscience, you see, so if I'm grumpy she is sure it is her fault.) And I am ashamed to say that I was muttering under my breath about my ungrateful family and how it was always me walking Kenna and feeding Kenna and taking Kenna to the vet, even though I had not even wanted a dog in the first place.

By this time, Kenna and I had reached the end of the little lane which connects our village with the neighbouring one, and my dog had very sensibly run ahead of me to escape my grumblings. We walked out of the village, past the cricket pitch and stopped by the field which looks out across the valley and down to the canal. And, as always happens when I take in that view, I realised what a silly old bag I was being, and how lucky I was to live in such a beautiful place with such breathtaking views - and how, if I had not become a dog-owner I would probably not take advantage of my surroundings as often as I do.

I looked down at my loveable pooch, snuffling through the wet leaves, her tail up again and wagging itself into a frenzy, her pink tongue lolling and her mouth stretched wide in a blissful doggy smile, and I thought: "Why on earth did I want anyone else to walk the dog?" And then the poem popped into my mind, so I raced down the hill back to the house and wrote it down!

I was reminded of this scene at 6.45 this morning when I took Kenna out in the pitch black, freezing foggy garden for her morning loo visit. My eyes were hardly open, my head was clogged with sleep, and I had no desire to be up that early, let alone out in the cold. But then I heard an owl calling from the garden opposite ours, and another owl answer it, and I looked up and saw the dawn winking over the village roofs and I thought again how lucky I am that my dog forces me outside so that I can appreciate these things which I would miss altogether if I did not have a dog.

So, the next time I feel myself thinking crossly, "Who's going to walk the dog?" maybe I'll stop and answer the question myself: "I will!"

It's a Dog's Life

2011-01-04T03:17:00.000-08:00

I hope you all had a very Happy Christmas and that you're ready for the year ahead. I had some lovely letters from readers over the holidays, so thank you very much if you are one of them! One of my (many) New Year's Resolutions is to reply to letters more speedily. Let me know what your Resolutions are - and if you manage to keep them.

Getting up early is NOT one of mine, which is lucky as I was not ready for the alarm this morning, that's for sure. When I heard the radio go off, I thought I was still dreaming. It was so dark . . . It was still dark when we all arrived at school too, so it's no wonder that Jet (one of the cats) did not come in for breakfast until after I had dropped the children off. Kenna the pooch is still away on her holidays, too, so the house was very quiet indeed this morning.

In case you are wondering, when I say that Kenna is on holiday, I do not mean that she is sunning herself by the pool at a doggy hotel. But we have not put her in kennels either: she really is on holiday - in Devon! She is staying with my husband's parents (otherwise known as Granny and Grandpa) which is where she goes whenever we are away. It's much nicer there than in kennels because she is not shut in and she gets lots of fuss and cuddles, not to mention long walks on the moors. Granny and Grandpa used to have two dogs: a black Labrador and a wire-haired Dachshund, both of which sadly died last year. (The Labrador was called Yoda and the Dachshund was called Obi - yes, after the Star Wars characters . . .) Obviously they miss their dogs very much, so to make sure they get a bit of a Doggy Fix now and again, they say they are happy to look after Kenna once in a while, which is great for us and lovely for Kenna too.

Kenna particularly likes going to stay with Granny and Grandpa at Christmas time, because there are lots of people around. It's not simply that she likes company (although she does), it's more a case of the confusion that a large number of people can create. For example: a packet of butter and some cheese were left out on the kitchen table, but they have mysteriously disappeared . . . Granny questions us all in turn:
"Anna, did you use up that last pat of butter I left on the table?"
"No, Granny. Wasn't me, sorry."
"Grandpa, you didn't eat all that cheese, did you?"
"No, dear."
And so on and so forth . . .
Meanwhile, Kenna is seen slinking away from the scene of the crime, looking distinctly guilty and quite a bit fatter!

The other, rather hideous activity, that Kenna likes to indulge in when no one is looking is what we as a family have come to call "composting". This does not mean that Kenna sneaks out to do a bit of useful gardening, nor does it mean that she helpfully takes the food scraps out to the compost heap for recycling. Oh no, "composting" is a term for a much much more horrendous pastime than any you can imagine: it means that Kenna the pooch EATS ROTTING FRUIT AND VEG!!! Yes, she makes full use of the fact that Granny and Grandpa's house is bursting at the seams with noisy children and grown-ups enjoying themselves, and tiptoes out into the garden while no one is looking. Then, checking over her shoulder to make sure she is not being followed, she breaks into a run and heads for the compost heap, where she thrusts her snout deep into the stinky, rotten mound of discarded potato peelings, egg shells and apple cores, carrot scrapings and Brussels sprout leaves, and SCOFFS THE LOT!

It is at that point that someone (usually me . . .) notices that the pooch has gone missing and runs to the back door to yell, "KennaaaAAAAAHH!" to find my hound dragging her bloated and wobbly belly back into the house where she collapses into a heap to sleep off her over-indulgence.

I am always cross with her for going composting, but it's not really fair of me. After all, Labradors are born greedy and simply cannot resist a free meal - and the smellier the better.

And in any case, after my own particular session of Christmas over-indulgence, I can hardly criticise her. Not, I hasten to add, that I have been eating compost . . . . But I am rather fatter than I was before the holidays began.

Oh well, on with the New Year's Resolutions which, rather boringly, include to eat healthily and to crack on with my training for the Edinburgh Marathon (Kenna's coming with me on the runs to help shift her Christmas pounds too!)

Happy New Year!

Remembrance of Chickens Lost

2010-12-15T05:21:00.000-08:00

This time last year, my husband and I were debating whether to let our son have the only present he really truly wanted for Christmas. It wasn't that it was a particularly extravagant request, or that we disapproved of what he wanted. It was more that we were not convinced that he would still be interested in it a few weeks down the line.
However, after much debate and many enthusiastic and heartfelt promises made by our son, we agreed to his desire to have his very own chickens.
And I have to say, one year on, it was the best present we could ever have given an animal-mad eight-year-old boy. He adores his chickens, checking in on them every day to find the egg-treasure which never fails to elicit excitement and pleasure. He cleans them out on his own as well. (OK, so we have to remind him, but he still does it!) And they really have been no bother, as even when we want to go away, we have a willing helper who loves the eggs she is rewarded with for filling up the water and food trays.
But as we approach the first anniversary of the happy day we welcomed the chickens into our lives, we will also spare a moment to think of poor Speck, who sadly lost her life prematurely to the Not-So-Fantastic Mr Fox who prowls around our village, and who not so long ago took advantage of the nights drawing in to sneak up on an unsuspecting Speck and spirit her away while we were not looking.
We have learnt our lesson, and although we love to see the chickens pecking and scratching all over the garden (as long as they stay off the veg patch!) we leave nothing to chance and make sure now that we round them up before sunset. Chickens are perfectly capable of putting themselves to bed at sundown, but as we have learnt to our cost, a crafty fox can slink into the garden unseen and take advantage of lengthening shadows to pounce before bedtime...
So here's to you, little Speck. We hope you're pecking away quietly in hen heaven somewhere and we'll think of you on Christmas Day.

"Well, the weather outside is frightful..."

2010-12-08T03:16:00.000-08:00

Our poor chickens would certainly agree with that sentiment, which is why we decided on Sunday to let them in where "the fire is so delightful", but don't worry, we didn't let them near the fire! In fact, we didn't let them near anything once it became clear that chickens do not know how to behave inside . . . Let's just say that they are not the most house-trained of animals.

The cats put on their best "We are NOT a-mew-sed" faces, and the dog couldn't decide whether it was exciting having chickens in the kitchen ("WOW! Walking, talking, feathery toys!") or whether they were actually a bit of a nuisance and possibly also rather scary. ("Nasty scratchy feet and pecky faces...")

But I do feel awful every time I go out, leaving my cats and dog snug as bugs in our warm kitchen, to pour boiling water on to the ice that has formed in the chickens' water bowl. I know they have their own feather duvets, but they do look miserable. Little Brown has given up on venturing out into the ice rink that has formed in the chicken run, and is sitting broodily on the egg Cheeky lays every morning.

But there is always a silver lining in everything life throws at us, and ours is that the hoar frost has transformed the garden into Narnia. So if you don't mind, I'm just going to grab a cosy coat and nip out for tea and crumpets with Mr Tumnus and friends. Keep warm, everyone!

What's in a name?

2010-09-22T05:11:00.000-07:00

Since becoming a published writer I have worried that my unexciting name is not exactly one that jumps out from the shelves at a prospective reader. I toyed with the idea of using my maiden name instead, but since it was a name that I was teased mercilessly for at school, I decided against it. Don't get me wrong, I like my name and there are advantages as well as disadvantages to being a Wilson. One marvellous advantage is that in libraries and bookshops my books are shelved next to the infintely more famous and successful Other Wilson, whose first name begins with J. On the other hand, one of the slightly annoying disadvantages is . . . precisely that: finding that my books are shelved next to that prolific and popular author, the great Jacqueline Wilson herself!
Being next to Jacqueline Wilson is great in that while readers are looking for her latest book, they might just also think of picking up a copy of my book which is snuggling up to hers. But it also means that I am lucky to get any shelf space at all amongst the Ws in the bookshop or library.
However, I have just come up with what Summer and Molly would call a Masterly Plan. I am going to use my Slovak author name from now on! Yes, it appears that I have a different name in Slovakia, where PUPPY LOVE has recently been published. I am ANNA WILSONOVA. (How glam is that?! Makes me sound like an evil Bond girl - I wish!)
I have had books translated into other languages before. My Nina books were published in Greek, French and Hebrew, and I have had picture books translated into Spanish. In all of these editions the characters' names have of course been changed so that readers of those languages can understand and pronounce them more easily. But never before has my own name been changed.
"Anna Wilsonova" has a certain ring to it. I think I will get on to the passport office now and see if I can't have it changed for good on all offical paperwork from now on . . .

Back to School

2010-09-21T04:30:00.001-07:00

I love September: the conkers, the blackberries, the dew on the grass in the mornings, the smell of a new notebook and freshly sharpened pencils. I have never grown up enough to leave that Back to School feeling behind, and am always a bit envious of my children who get to have new shoes and stationery in September. So I was delighted when my publishers announced that my latest book, KITTEN CUPID, would be published this month. Having a new book out is even more special than having a pair of new shoes (and that's saying something, coming from someone who LOVES to shop for footwear of any kind!) Seeing KITTEN CUPID on the shelves in Waterstones and WHSmiths made me feel some of that excitement that my kids were expressing about going back to school after the summer.
For me, the new year has always started in September, not on January 1st; I even make my resolutions in September rather than January. Once the summer has gone, it seems as though it's time to start again with fresh ideas and new stories. And now that KITTEN CUPID is in the shops, it is definitely time to think of different ideas to write about, as this book is the last one about Bertie Fletcher and her friends, both human and feline. Bertie has grown up now and started life at Senior School: everyone knows that is a new world, and it is not one that I will be writing about.
So my new school year's resolutions are for lots of new stories! Watch out for MONKEY BUSINESS in the spring, for starters. I am already thinking of a follow-up for that particular book right now . . .

A Grand Panjandrum of Words

2010-05-12T04:55:00.000-07:00

I have had some wonderful letters from readers recently, most of them telling me about their pets, and some of them asking me more about when I started writing and what had inspired me to start in the first place.

I was reminded yesterday of how my love of words began. I was listening to the radio, trying to make sense of who was going to be the next Prime Minister, and I heard a politican talking about a "Grand Panjandrum": he was using the phrase to describe a right old mix-up of politicians with hugely different ideas and opinions.

I love that expression, mainly because it rolls around inside my mouth like a massive juicy gobstopper, just begging to be drooled over. But, more importantly, I love it because it makes me think of my dear Dad, who is the person most guilty for instilling in me a love of words and stories.

Dad was the one who told the best bedtime stories. (Sorry, Mum, Grandma and anyone else who tucked me in at night!) He told the best stories because he told them with huge enthusiasm for the sound and shape of the words and the accent and flavour of the characters. In other words, he Did The Voices, which as everyone who loves a good story knows, is the best ingredient for a good storyteller.

As well as stories, he loved (still does, in fact) to recite poems. Amongst the favourites which still stick in my mind are the A A Milne poems - "The King asked the Queen and the Queen asked the dairymaid"; "King John was not a good man" etc., etc.

But a poem a remember with almost more fondness than all the rest, is one called "The Grand Panjandrum". I delighted in the way Dad delivered every word of it with such glee.

Here it is - read it out loud to get the most from it!

So she went into the garden to cut a cabbage-leaf to make an apple-pie;
and at the same time a great she-bear, coming up the street,
pops its head into the shop.
"What! No soap?"
So he died,
and she very imprudently married the barber;
and there were present
the Picaninnies, and the Jobalillies, and the Garyalies,
and the Grand Panjandrum himself,
with a small round button atop,
and they all fell to playing the game
of catch-as-catch-can
till the gunpowder ran out of the heels of their boots.

I never knew where this little bit of nonsense had come from; indeed as a child I was quite prepared to believe that Dad had made it up himself. But after a quick search on the internet, I discovered that it is believed to have been written by the playwright Samuel Foote, who lived in the 18th century.

He is supposed to have written it as a bit of a spiteful joke for a man who boasted that he could memorise any piece of writing, having only read it once through. When the man read The Grand Panjandrum, he went off in a huff and refused to repeat it!

But my dear Dad knew the whole thing off my heart and regularly entertained me and my sister with it - and still entertains my own children with it today. For me, is it a true testament to the power of words - that they can put a boastful man in his place; that they can roll around inside the mouth so deliciously; that they can "mean" nothing at all on the page, and yet spring to life so colourfully once we say them aloud.

I don't know about you, but I can see that she-bear very clearly. And as for the "small round button atop", well, that is just the best! Hearing my dad's voice in my head as I read it helps a lot, of course. I can see the look of joy on his face as he recites each line - beaming from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling. And I can hear him finish with a flourish as he cries: "till the gunpowder ran out of the heeeeeeeeels of their boots"! Can't you just see it? All those creatures running in circles, so fast that their heels were on fire!

Words - the shape of them on the page, the feel of them on my tongue, the sound of them ringing in my ears. That's what got me started, and that's what keeps me writing.

Thank you, Dad.

Living with Children and Animals

2010-04-28T03:05:00.000-07:00

It is widely accepted that you should not work with either children or animals, but sometimes just living with them is enough to need a Health and Safety notice attached. Still, although it might make life difficult (not to mention smelly and messy at times) it does give me lots of material for my books. And as readers are always asking me where my ideas come from, I thought I'd share the latest episode of Animal Antics in the Wilson household.

Number One Son is the main inspiration for me these days. I am writing a new series, the first title of which will be MONKEY BUSINESS. It tells the story of Felix, a boy who is as obsessed with all things animal-related as my very own Number One Son. Thanks to him, we already have two black cats, one black Labrador, several hundred black tadpoles, three chickens (only one of which is black) and five pupating Painted Lady caterpillars to take care of. And this morning we were treated to the arrival of an entirely new and unexpected animal in the house. A bat. A dead bat.

The fact that the poor tiny creature was no longer alive did not put Number One Son off, though. Oh, no. Before anyone could say "bat funeral", he had scooped the miniscule animal into a duster and was running to the car, shouting, "Just wait till I show this to everyone at school!"

A small voice in my head was telling me that this probably wasn't a very good idea. (Do bats carry disease? Did the school have rules about bringing dead animals into the classroom?) But NOS's enthusiasm proved a force to be reckoned with.

I wouldn't have minded too much, only I have a very strong memory of the last time we took a dead bat into school. It was four years ago, and NOS was in Reception at a different school. We awoke one morning to find a bat with unfeasibly large ears lying, leathery wings outstretched, tiny teeth clenched together, on our patio. Do bats drop out of the sky when they die, or can our cats fly through the air in pursuit of their prey? We will never know how this first bat ended its life in our garden, just as we will never be sure how today's bat appeared in our house. But NOS was not concerned with the hows and whys - all he was worried about was finding a container to put it in so that he could keep it "for the Nature Table, Mummy".

I was greeted at the end of that day by a rather green-about-the-gills Reception teacher who gently told me, "I am all in favour of encouraging the children's interest in wildlife, Mrs Wilson, but I am a little squeamish about bringing in dead animals. I had a nasty experience with a dead mole which was brought in by a child who had kept it specially in the freezer over the holidays - it started to defrost during Golden Time and the smell was quite overwhelming."

Let's hope Year 4 teachers have stronger stomachs.

WORLD BOOK DAY 2010

2010-03-17T06:09:00.000-07:00

OK, so I'm a bit late in posting this. I'm a bit late in posting anything! But that's because of all the fun and laughs I've been having since delivering the manuscript for KITTEN CUPID at the end of January. And most of the fun and laughs have been linked to WORLD BOOK DAY 2010.

It's been more of a WORLD BOOK FORNIGHT, really. To kick off, Gillian Cross came to my kids' school in Bath to talk about her life as a writer. The Year 4s had been reading The Demon Headmaster and were very excited to meet the creative genius behind the book. And she was ACE! She talked to the whole school for nearly an hour, using hardly any props at all. Everyone from the youngest, fidgety-est Year 3 to the oldest, dosiest adult was agog. I love listening to other writers speak as they are so inspiring, and Gillian was certainly that. She was very clear to the children about how "Being a Writer" is nothing grander than simply putting pen to paper - the published bit is great of course, but it's not what makes you a writer. She also talked about how "Being a Storyteller" is what we all do, every day. "Everyone loves a story," she said, and proceeded to illustrate for her audience how life is full of stories, and that observing that fact and translating it on to paper is what makes someone a writer.

Great stuff!

And then, as if that was not exciting enough for WORLD BOOK DAY, we had a visit from the hilarious, talented and warmhearted poet, Paul Cookson. He entertained the whole school with performances on his electric ukulele (yes, really!) and had everyone joining in with air guitar action - even the Head! His poems had us all in stitches and there was lots of audience participation in choruses and sound effects. How to enthuse hundreds of children to read and write poetry! They promptly went back to class and created their own rhymes and rhythms.

So then, having been royally entertained by these great authors, I had to try and pull off a couple of performances of my own.

Of to Crosby in Merseyside on WORLD BOOK DAY to promote KITTEN CHAOS, the story I had written for the £1 Flip-Over Books. I was greeted after an epic train journey by the friendliest taxi driver I have ever come across. He was appalled to hear it was my first visit to Liverpool, and immediately felt it was his duty to educate me by showing me the sights of the impressive city on the way to my hotel. I only wished it had not been dark! I will have to go back there with more time to spare and take a closer look.

The day of the events began with me taking a quiet stroll out on to Crosby marina to look at Antony Gormley's incredibly moving sculptures on the strand. If I had been shaking with nerves about the talks I was to give, the sight of these forlorn figures staring out to sea was enough to drain the jitters from me. They looked so lost and yet so patiently expectant. I have never been so moved by sculptures before.

From the sublime to the hugely entertaining . . . I was collected from the hotel by Tony Higginson of Pritchard's bookshop and taken to meet his staff and the lovely library people who looked after me all day. I had such fun talking to the primary school children who came to the event, all of whom were polite, attentive and beautifully dressed up in book-character costumes.

My last WORLD BOOK DAY event was at the Aye Write Festival in Glasgow where I met my wonderful illustrator, Moira Munro, for the first time. She is even more lovely in real life than she is by email! And very good at arguing . . . We had a laugh acting out a sketch where I pretended to ask her to draw a character from one of my books and only gave her very basic information. She went on to draw a picture that looked nothing like the one I had imagined, so I complained and that's when Moira got feisty! She can be very scary when she's annoyed ;) We made friends again once I had given her the "correct" information about the character and she - finally! - drew the picture I wanted. The kids in the audience loved seeing us "argue" and were wowed by the speed and brilliance of Moira's illustration skills.

Moira and I had so much fun doing an event together that we are hoping we'll be asked to do some more in the future! Schools and libraries, do get in touch. See our websites for more details.

http://www.annawilson.co.uk/ and http://www.moiramunro.com/

I hope you all had a great WORLD BOOK DAY. Keep reading!

Coming Out of the Dark

2010-01-29T06:12:00.000-08:00

What a winter! I know it's not over yet, but it feels as though there is light out there somewhere. This sudden burst of optimism may have something to do with the fact that I have FINISHED MY LATEST BOOK. The manuscript is off, winging its way across the aether to await the comments, positive or otherwise, of Ms Lovely Editor at Macmillan. It has been a struggle since November to keep going at writing this latest book. There has been flu and then Christmas and then the snow to keep me from my desk . . . But for the past two weeks there have been no more excuses, and I have had to sit at my desk and Just Do It.

KITTEN CUPID will be the third in a series of books about a 10-11-year-old girl called Bertie Fletcher and the ups and downs of her life. She has insisted on making things much more complicated for me this time around by starting in Year 7 at senior school. Everyone knows that senior school is a serious business, and it certainly has been for Bertie. Not only has her kitten, Jaffa, been attacked by a mystery marauder while Bertie has been out at school, but Bertie's best friend, Jasmeena ("It's Jazz, OK??" Sorry, Jazz . . .) is being bullied and isn't telling anyone about it.

But all is now right with my fictional and factual worlds: the bullies (both feline and human) have been put in their place. And outside it is no longer snowing, but the sun is trying to shine and the birds are singing. KITTEN SMITTEN is out in the shops on 5th February; World Book Day is around the corner, which means KITTEN CHAOS will be in the shops as well, and KITTEN CUPID is off my desk and out of my hair (until Ms Editor sends me her comments and I have to rewrite it . . .)

And we have CHICKENS! A glorious addition to our mad menagerie. I wonder what my next book should be about?

Top Tips for Budding Writers

2009-11-04T03:41:00.001-08:00

This week a child wrote to ask me for top tips on how to become a writer. When asked this question in the past, I've always said that all children are writers just as all children are illustrators: they do these things on a daily basis at school, if not at home in their spare time. The trick is to keep it going into the teenage and adult years. Sadly I was not encouraged at school, but I did keep scribbling in secret at home. I've always loved hearing from other writers on what keeps them going, and I've always loved lists, so Brian Clark's "10 Steps to Becoming a Better Writer" sum it up for me:

1 Write
2 Write more
3 Write even more
4 Write even more than that
5 Write when you don't want to
6 Write when you do
7 Write when you have something to say
8 Write when you don't
9 Write every day
10 Keep writing

Can't put it better than that.

Real People are more barking than Made Up People

2009-11-03T08:21:00.000-08:00

Any author would be tickled to receive fan mail in amongst the bills and letters assuring the reader that they have won a million pounds if only they will ring the number below and divulge all their bank details, date of birth, cat's mother's maiden name . . . But today's letter topped the lot as far as tickling goes.
I recently got into conversation with a lovely couple at a party who told me how they had met. He was a vet and the woman had brought her dog to him because it had an eye infection. The woman immediately fell for the vet's scintillating charm and fetching facial hair, whereas the dog immediately fell into a fit at the sight of his beastly beard. Sadly for the dog, the woman was so keen to see the vet again, that she kept inventing symptoms for her pooch that needed urgent trips to the surgery. In the end, the vet had to shave off his beard so that the dog would not prevent the happy couple from spending time together. I was flabbergasted, as a few years ago I had spent hours concocting this exact story in my book, PUPPY LOVE, thinking it to be an entirely original and hilarious work of fiction. Admittedly I had my female character wear a false beard to de-sensitise the dog to beards before the vet eventually had to give in and shave his off, but otherwise the stories were identical.
I sent the couple a copy of the book to show how their love had been immortalised in print in a book for children. This is the letter I received in thanks:

"What a wonderfully enchanting book! Despite saying Cuthbert [the dog] was "fine" with his beard, Graham [the vet] did shave it off before attempting to administer the next set of eye drops . . . AND . . . I'm ashamed to say my flirting was so outrageously obvious that even the veterinary nurses (all of them) worked out my intentions before Graham! AND . . . (to put the icing on the cake) when Cuthbert bit the postman a few years ago, he began a de-sensitisation programme. I borrowed an outfit from the local post office, kept it in the garage, and made everyone who knocked on the door put it on first! Your crazy fictional characters really do exist!!!"

How about that?