Brer Rabbit - The Return...

Nineteen fifties Brer Rabbit annual 

Something wonderful has happened.  After years of waiting, my long lost Brer Rabbit annual has finally come home. Two weeks ago, on this blog, I  explained how I had given away my beloved childhood copy  after being urged at school to donate something 'special' to underprivileged children.  I have pined for the book, with its juggling bunny and shiny turquoise cover, ever since.

Several people, including fellow blogger Faith,  suggested I try Amazon or AbeBooks.  Although I have done this before, as well as scouring countless antique bookshops, I decided to give it  one more try.

A few days later, I thought I had hit the jackpot. The vintage book listed had no photo but it was the right era and much of the detail was the same.  Sadly, when it arrived, it was a different version - written by Enid Blyton - with none of my favourite stories between the covers.

Encouraged by this however, my daughter, Amy, tried again on Ebay, and suddenly there it was!   For three nail-biting days I waited anxiously,  but it was worth it in the end. The Complete Brer Rabbit Stories, retold by Phyllis Briggs from the original stories by Joel Chandler Harris, finally arrived!

My long lost book is here with me now, and I'm not sure I'll ever put it down. There's Brer Rabbit Goes Riding and Mr Cricket's Free Ride, Brer Fox gets Even, and Wishing for the Moon. Then there'sThe Tar Baby - my favourite of them all.

So a million thanks to Amy, AbeBooks, to Faith and Diane, and finally to 'Leonard,' who was given the book as a  Christmas present in 1952. Without them I'd still be pining....

And then there was the one that didn't quite make it.........

Got to go now - it's time for my bedtime story....

From Chick Lit to Cabinet?

Imagine the conversation if  novelist Barbara Cartland  had  met MP Louise Mensch. The Conservative member for Corby and East Northamptonshire, Mrs Mensch is better known as  Louise Bagshawe, internationally-acclaimed  chick-lit author.

While the late legendary romance writer dictated her prose from the comfort of a chaise longue, her modern counterpart  has  more pressing matters  on her mind. Earlier this year she was seen asking awkward questions at the press inquiry into phone hacking, not to mention her  recent spat with journalist Sarah Vine.

Sarah, meanwhile, is married to Education Secretary Michael Gove, himself a former journalist, who strongly defends his wife's right to the  freedom of speech. I wonder what they talk about over their Waitrose supper?

It seems to me that the line between writers and politicians has blurred in a way that would have been impossible twenty years ago. Can you picture Enoch Powell writing a play about immigration? Or Margaret Thatcher reading the news?

Incidentally, Louise was recently described in GQ magazine as 'The spiritual granddaughter of Margaret Thatcher. In the days of the 'Iron Lady,' writers and politicians were at different ends of the spectrum, each understanding their own place.

And then, of course, there was Jeffrey Archer. But that's a whole different  story...  

Oh, how I miss Brer Rabbit...

I was about six or seven when I first discovered the meaning of loss. It wasn't anyone close to me, or even a favourite pet.  It was, quite simply, a book. We were having a collection of toys at school for 'underprivileged children'  and the teacher  urged us to donate something another child would treasure. 'It's easy to give what you don't want,' she reasoned,  'but if you part with something you care about,  the gift will be extra special.'

So home I went to find  my most prized possession: a Brer Rabbit annual.  I can see  it now - the shiny turquoise cover beckoning from the bedside table - each magical story waiting to be read over and over again...

Now, I know it was only a book, but it's one I will never forget. Looking back, I think I pined for it, though I had no idea at the time what the word meant. Over the years I visited the library every week, hundreds of stories passing through my eager hands, but I never saw  that Brer Rabbit annual again.

My  teacher  may have meant well, but it seems she didn't see life through the eyes of a child. And yet, when it comes to Brer Rabbit, I still do.

Start Write Now...

Winston Churchill once said that every conversation is an interview. If you follow that logic then everyone who puts pen to paper is a writer; the 18-month old who scribbles her 'signature' on a birthday card, the six year-old who records  'What I did at the weekend,' in his school book, or the teenager who re-invents history in the hope of gaining an A star GCSE.

'Oh, I can't write,' is a phrase I've heard frequently over the years from friends and colleagues who, unlike me, have a brilliant head for figures, make light work of their tax returns and think nothing of giving a  lecture in astrophysics while planning their next dinner party.  They can write, of course. What they mean is they'd rather not; they're too busy doing everything else.

Who am I to complain? After all, writing has been my sole income for half of my working life. For others it is merely an add-on.Take film actress, comedienne and television presenter Maureen Lipman. She is also a writer, the latter sometimes added to her credentials as a mere afterthought.

Writing a book (and Maureen's done that, too) is an act of love, akin to bringing a child into the world. It makes you laugh  and cry - full  of joy one minute and dogged by despair the next - but you never stop believing in what you have created.

That, in short, is why I decided to become a novelist. And I wish good luck in 2012 to every would-be author who  feels the same.

Twelfth Night

Thanks to everyone - from the United States to  Russia, Canada to  China - and most of all from the wonderful island of Guernsey, who have visited my blog in the past year. To writers and readers everywhere,  here's to a happy, peaceful and productive new year.

Do they know it's Christmas time?

Outside my window, swaying in the breeze this morning is a daffodil bulb reaching out  to the  winter sun. Next to it the crocuses are peeping through the ground, just as certain that spring is on its way. Do they know it's Christmas time at all?

'Jesus wants a little wee...'

Trying to get into the mood for writing my Christmas cards this afternoon I put away my laptop and pondered  on  the season of 'good will' and what, ultimately it's all about. Just then a text arrived on my phone with a photo of my two-year-old grandaughter, Mille Grace, in her nursery school nativity play. My heart melted. Christmas is about little children - their dreams, their beliefs, their future. The adult world is a frightening place where our little ones will one day  belong.  So let them sing 'Jesus little ones are we', or as my own young daughter once said ' Jesus wants a little wee. ' Let them dress up, dance and sing while they still believe in Santa.  The New Year - and their futures - will all too soon be here.

Kindle - Dream or Disaster?

Seen a new novel you like the sound of?  Want  to read it now? Wait no longer - with Kindle you can.

That's the sort of copy I turned out regularly in the eighties when I worked for a small advertising agency. All of it was glib and no-one, I suspect, believed a word of it. So for some time now I  have remained unmoved by all the publicity generated by the Amazon Kindle.  Worse still, I  have treated the  e-book phenomenon with scorn, believing nothing could take the place of the trusty old book: the smell of new paper as you scan the pages, the lure of the cover as you hold it in your hands, the sight of your book shelves bulging with literary talent from every corner of the world... (sorry I'm back in advertising  land again)  How could this compare with the lowly Kindle?

But then, blog reader, (with apologies to Jane Eyre) I  bought one. (Or more accurately was given one as a present by my daughter.)

And now, I simply take a different view. I can read the latest books wherever I go and edit my own work at the same time. I can browse through great literature as if  I were in a library,  without  even moving from my chair.  And best of all, I can buy a book at the touch of a button.

I remember the first time I had a feature published in a mainstream magazine; I rushed into the newsagent and bought four copies, one of which I have to this day. It was real, tangible, something I could keep to hand on to the next generation.  These days my house is full of vintage books which reveal so much through their  smell,  feel, and texture. They are full of photographs -a mysterious sepia print or a delicate tapestry-passed down to us from another age.  How dull life would be without them.

So I still don't believe that e-books will ever entirely replace the real thing , but  I hope for now that the two can sit side by side in a rapidly changing world. 

Occupying Love

Stop Press!  I've just finished the final draft of my new book 'Occupying Love' and I've dedicated it to my favourite Guernseyman - Harry Brown.  Read on to find out what it's all about...

When Lydia Le Page is trapped in the Channel Islands  at the start of the German Occupation, she transforms from a feisty young student with a promising career ahead of her, to an enemy collaborator burdened with a terrible secret.

It is Guernsey in 1940 and the island people have been robbed of their children and hounded out of their own homes.

Crushed by the death of her father after an argument with a German officer, Lydia vows to seek her revenge.  She discovers an ally in Martin Martell,  the enigmatic  rector of Torteval Church, who persuades her to join the Resistance. Inexplicably drawn to each other, though loathe to admit it, neither is aware of the other’s past.

Does he know she’ll be asked to seduce the Kommandant? And will they be able to put their feelings aside, or will he put a stop to it before it’s too late? As Martin is arrested, a terrifying secret  has yet to be revealed, one that could threaten the lives of  these two extraordinary people torn between desire and duty.