Golden Triangle

We head off to India in the next few days for a tour of the Golden Triangle, starting in Delhi.  I've been to India for a short time before so I know what to expect - the wonderful and the hard-to-take.  Families all riding on one scooter, trucks driving on 4-lane highways in the wrong direction, potholes big enough to fall into in roads through villages, crowds and crowds of people in the cities, and unbearable poverty.  But then there is the vibrancy, the colour, the meeting of different histories and religions.  A fascinating place.  The trip includes a camel ride from Jaisalmer into the desert.  It might be my favourite means of travel.  I had a great experience on the back of one in Petra.  The trouble is they move quite silently and don't stop when tourists get in the way.  I'm also looking forward to seeing a few billion stars not normally visible in our lit-up towns.  So it'll be more of an experience ra than a holiday.

English Is so Funny!

Do you like these:
My dog smells a lot better than I do.
Burglar gets 9 Months in Stolen Guitar Case.
Old School Fence Replaced by Former Pupils.
If you think that any of our waiters are rude or unhelpful, you ought to see the manager.

Grammar and Creativity

I don't see any conflict between grammar and creative writing. So I hope my series of English books for 7-11 year olds will stretch imaginations as well as teach basic rules.  Of course, the rules are never fixed - which might sound like a contradiction in terms - but like any other aspect of culture, they change slowly over time.  It doesn't mean they're not worth learning.  To brighten up the whole learning process, I have sprinkled the text with illustrations.  To the right, you'll find some of those I'm doing for the Year 4 book.

A Writing Day

This was to be a writing day.  I have competing projects all waiting - pencils are tapping themselves, paper is fluttering and the laptop lid opens and shuts by itself like a big, gabby mouth.  So this is how the day goes.  Didn't get up too early, having had some friends around on Saturday night.  After breakfast, because it was one of those rare, dry days, when the birds are singing Can You Believe It I didn't Drown In The Night songs, we decided to go for a walk.  Stuffed a pencil and notebook in my pocket.  (It helps to ease your conscience.)

We went to check out the new cycle path being constructed.  It links up footpaths on one side of Bath to the other via two defunct railway tunnels.  By chance, we realised we had found, for us, a new circular walk within fifteen minutes of our house.  Brilliant!  Then I took some compost to the allotment and, since I still had on a pair of dirty, old shoes that give me a homeless look, I thought I might as well do a serious pruning of the front garden.  By the time I'd chatted to a few neighbours passing by and done most of the work, it was getting dark.

Still hadn't touched a keyboard or a pencil, apart from marking a few Literary Festival events I'd like to go and see - such as Polly Toynbee and Hilary Mantel.  As well as writing, because it's the 6th of January (and I can never quite work out if twelfth night is the 5th or the 6th) I thought I'd better get the Christmas decorations down.  Here is a tip for getting your dried out Christmas tree out of the house without leaving a trail of pine needles you'll be hoovering up for years to come.  Of course, it depends on your situation.  As we live in a Georgian house, the sitting room, where the tree is, is upstairs.  I carefully unscrew it from its base and throw it out of the open window onto a groundsheet laid out on our footpath.  Works a treat!

Now it'll soon be supper time.  No point getting down to one of the projects now.  Might as well spend a few minutes writing this post.  Make a fresh start tomorrow... after I've taken all the garden cuttings to the tip.

The Badgers of Beechen Cliff - taster

I’ve mentioned the magpies and the deer – they’re ok – don’t tangle with anybody.  The mice are useless – complete waste of time.  Over on the allotment, you see a few slow worms.  Boy! Are they fast.  But don’t even waste your time on shrews.  

‘Morning, Brock.  How are you, Brock?  Blah, blah, blah-di-blah, Brock.  Look at the size of this fruit fly, Brock.’  

Fruit flies, for goodness sake.  What is there to say about fruit flies?  Constantly rabbiting on – excuse the R  word.  Who’s ever heard of a badger called Brock?  If you come across a shrew, best to eat it right away, I say, before they start all that Brock-this, Brock-that chitchat.

Badgers

I have a story for 8-12 year olds about some local badgers.  Remarkably, its 14000 words all fell into place in 10 free days I had between two other writing projects.  I had met a few badgers on the way home from the pub (I had been at the pub, not the badgers as far as I know) and, of course, they had been in the news a lot over whether they were going to be culled or not.  I've based it in Bath, using real place names.  I'm wondering what to do with it.  Do children download ebooks from Amazon?  I could put pages on this blog, but children won't find it.  I'll have to think about.  If you have any suggestions, do let me know.

Grammar for Children

Now that the final draft of my Guide to Grammar for Year 3 is with the publishers and their designer, I'd better get on with the Year 4 version.  I hope this series is going to be useful for teachers and their classes.  My approach is to try to avoid the grammar v creativity battle of past years.  I include tasks that encourage creativity based on a sound grasp of the underlying rules of how to make sense with words.  You could compare it to playing the piano, for instance.  If you want to create a melody, you could just whistle it.  But if you know where to find the notes on a piano and understand a little about chord progressions, you're going to extend what's possible as well as your fun and enjoyment.

The Dragonboy of Regnaville - Final Page

With Julian installed in his cage once more – not that it could hold him if he had decided to leave it – Holger and Birgitta pushed northward.  They shared a single thought.  Put as much distance between their pathetic, trundling caravan and Larressingle as possible.  They stopped only briefly for rest, food and water, emptying a stranger’s rabbit snare, stealing a chicken, eating roadside nuts and berries.  Holger was in a black mood for the entire length of their journey, nurturing a plan that felt like a knife twisting in his gut.  He daren’t speak for fear of revealing the nightmarish thoughts that tumbled around inside his head: leave the shores of France, find passage to England, help his son slip beneath the waves.

By the time they stopped in the lively little port of Regnaville on the north coast of France, speech had left Julian forever.  He rarely looked anyone in the eye now, unable to concentrate on what was said to him.  It was a blessing.  For the narrow slits of his pupils, the putrid green of each iris, surrounded by wispy lines of blood, made his stare so intense, you believed that he might set fire to your own retina.

It was Birgitta, unaware of what lurked behind Holger’s troubled expression, who insisted that Julian was still capable of performing in front of the variety of market traders and their customers.  Regnaville attracted merchants and travellers from both England and the lands of the Norsemen as well as the Mediterranean and the shores of North Africa.  It was a colourful, welcoming town where cultures met and happily rubbed shoulders.  A performers’ town.

Neither knew that this would be where Julian would meet his saviour – an unexpected saviour.  An impossible crossing of paths.  From the slopes of Austria, a young man disfigured by ancestral blood, and, from 21^st C England, an unlikely, teenage reptile-slayer.

New Titles From Single Malt

The backstories - The Dragonboy of Regnaville and The Bullying of Harald Ruffsnape - add further information about some of the characters from the main fantasy novel.  This was called The Dragonscale Blade.  Currently, I'm giving it an overhaul.  I decided the whole experience of being thrown back in time to the 13th C ought to be experienced through the central character's eyes - Vinny Balfour.  I'm also wondering whether it needs a new title too.  This is something I'll ponder over as I take another sip of my single malt.  It's very good for the imagination and back strain.  I'll keep you posted.