The more observant of you may well have noticed that I haven’t been posting much of late.  There’s a very good reason for my lack of activity on here.

I escaped.

It started a couple of weeks back, when I was invited to go and talk to the winners of the Pushkin Prizes – a writing competition for Scottish and Russian secondary school pupils.  The winners spend a week in a writers’ retreat with professional authors, developing their already impressive writing talents.

I was invited along to talk about INVISIBLE FIENDS, the writing process, and how I managed to convince anyone to give me a six-book deal, much less an actual bona-fide publisher.

The event went very well indeed, although as you’ll see from the photos below, the venue was quite cave-like, giving it an unwelcome “home from home” feeling.  Still, I got to sit in a big, throne-like chair and pretend I was the queen, so that was quite nice.

Me reading from INVISIBLE FIENDS: MR MUMBLES

Signing my name as "Help Me, Please!"

Of course, I wasn’t allowed out on my own.  Brunt Slackcheeks, one of the few vaguely humanoid monsters, accompanied me on the long underground walk to the event.  Several times during the trek I collapsed with exhaustion, and I should really thank Brunt for so kindly dragging me the last forty miles by my hair.  Without this gesture, I would never have made it, and I’m confident the searing pain and perpetually startled expression I have developed will both pass in time.

Once I’d finished the Q & A session with the prizewinners, I said my goodbyes.  Brunt had cunningly disguised himself as a Russian KGB agent, believing this would help him fit in with the Russian winners.  Unfortunately for Brunt, only one Russian winner could make it, and as she was a 15 year old girl, the blending abilities offered by his disguise didn’t quite work.

Anyway, like my fellow authors, I have been studying the monsters’ movements since getting here, and I’ve learned a few things.  Brunt may be nine feet tall with razor-sharp teeth and fists that could split rocks, but I know there’s one thing he’s terrified of.  One thing that strikes fear into his black, shrivelled heart.

Processed cheese.

I’d spotted the pack of Dairylea slices on the kitchen table when I entered, and I’d been thinking about it during the entire presentation, praying no-one tidied them away.  Getting to the exit involved passing back through the kitchen, and I knew that would be my chance to shake of my captor.

Sure enough, when I got there I found the cheese slices scattered on the table.  I hurled myself at them before Brunt could realise what was happening.  Snatching five slices up, I hurled them like throwing stars.  Brunt screamed as the first slice slapped against his forehead.  He bellowed as another caught him on the shoulder.  And as I tossed the remaining slices in his direction, he fell to the ground in a dead faint!

I was off and running before he hit the floor, crashing and stumbling through the undergrowth, desperately trying to put as much distance between myself and the monster as possible before he woke up.  I ran until my legs ached, my lungs burned, and my head went light with the effort.  So about a minute.  Maybe a minute and a half.

Suddenly, a roar of primal rage split the air.  I glanced over my shoulder to see Brunt exploding through the door, shattering it into sawdust.  His blood-red eyes fixed on me.  His fat green tongue flicked hungrily across his thin lips.  Then, with a twitch of his muscular legs, he charged.

But how did I escape to go on the run, I hear you ask.  Well that, dear reader, is another story, and one I will reveal soon…