From TBM Guest Blogger, MG Harris…

Is it really necessary to actually experience the real-life locations in which we set our novels? Anthony Horowitz loves to travel to the places where he sets his Alex Rider and Power of Five novels – he’s been to Perth, China, Peru and doubtless many other exotic locations. Michelle Paver spends time living wild in the northern wilderness where her Chronicles of Ancient Darkness stories are set.

But then Costa Winner Stef Penney wrote The Tenderness of Wolves without setting foot in any place which resembles the wintry Canadian wilderness of her novel.

And fantasy novelists, brave people, have to invent everything! I guess at least no-one can argue that they’ve got the facts wrong.

I’m with the travellers. But only because it’s fun! I’ve tried it both ways. Reality can inhibit the imagination. On the other hand, it’s so much easier to describe a place you’ve actually experienced with all five senses.

The idea for The Joshua Files came to me during a long stint as a bit of a cripple after a skiing accident. I pretty much confined myself to my bedroom, intending to write a best-selling novel. (Ha!) It would be one way to make up to my husband the grueling 3 months during which he had to hold down a full-time job plus all the housework and childcare.

Okay, the first two novels I wrote whilst in crutches didn’t end up getting published but both of them were based in a fictional universe where a 2012 prophecy predicts the collapse of technological civilisation, and the struggle between secret societies and government agencies to control an ancient technological solution.

Like many authors I’d always hoped to write. But I’d never really known what kind of book I’d write. Then in summer 2004 I picked up The Da Vinci Code. I enjoyed the mixture of daftness and seriousness, the playful intellect of the novel (or for what I read as such!). It hadn’t occurred to me that people would so enjoy something which blended fact with fantasy in such a monstrous yet enjoyable way. “Surely I could write something similar,” I thought. “It’s got to be worth a try!”

Stuck in my bedroom, alone for up to ten hours at a time for the first time in my life, the rampantly escapist nature of a conspiracy thriller set in exotic locales seemed like the ideal writing project.

But…I wanted to experience new and exciting places – at least in my mind.

So here’s a little secret – the first Joshua novel was set entirely in places that I’d never actually been!

I’d been to similar parts of Mexico but not those actual locations. The writing was based on Web research and memories of road trips to other places in Mexico.

Since then however, the research trip is an essential part of the writing process.

In fact – the very week I received the advance for Invisible City, I booked a family trip to Cuba, my first official research trip. (Another as-yet-unpublished novel…)

We eventually did manage to visit the locations in The Joshua Files. Here’s a couple of videos, the first from a trip in autumn 2007, the second from 2008 includes scenes from Brazil, the setting for the latest Joshua story, Zero Moment.

So – where do you stand? Travel or stay home?

Check out more Joshua Files fun at www.mgharris.net

From TBM guest blogger, Martin Howard…

The Wickedest Witches?

An interview with Esmelia Sniff and her apprentice Sam by Media Hysterick, Books Editor of The Cackler.

Following a trail of stale bread crumbs though the thorns of Pigsnout Wood to Esmelia Sniff’s ramshackle cottage, the first thing you notice as you arrive is the smell. Esmelia’s apprentice, Sam, opens the door and tells me with a shrug, “You don’t ever really get used to it, but it stops making you actually sick after a few weeks.” I can’t say I believe her and stop for a moment to throw up in my handbag. Thankfully, for the rest of the interview having a bag of cold sick close by works just like an air freshener.

The stench is coming from a bony ratbag sitting by the fire with a scowl on her face like she’s chewing a wasp. As it turns out, Esmelia Sniff is chewing a wasp, but spits it into the fire before getting up with a creak of old bones to shake a finger at me. “I ain’t telling you nuthin’,” she shrieks. “I know what you newspaper reporters is like. Making stuff up about whom I’ve snogged and takin’ pictures of me knees as I’m getting off me broom.”

I try to tell Esmelia that The Cackler is not that kind of newspaper, but of course it is that kind of newspaper. She stalks off muttering and grumbling to herself.

While Esmelia sulks in a corner, I take a look around the cottage. It’s a proper old-fashioned witch’s hovel with spider webs, sagging beams and an ancient Hansel & Gretel Industries HaG 3000 oven—big enough to fit even the most gangly teenager and with traditional wonky styling for the choosy witch. “I love what you’ve done with the place Esmelia,” I sneer. (Being a reporter for The Cackler is all about sneering. That and funny-shaped vegetables.) “It’s soo 200 years ago.”

“It’s oldey worldey,” snaps the crone

I’m just about to tell her that it looks more like “mouldy worldey” when Sam brings me a cracked mug of something that might be tea, if tea was lumpy. I push it away and we sit to begin the interview at a kitchen table that is covered with books, potions, and Esmelia’s sleeping cat, Tiddles.

For a witch who’s already made such a name for herself Sam looks very young. It’s easy to forget that this saucy young lady who has caused such a stir in the witching world only got her license a few weeks ago. She has green eyes and running across her nose are either freckles or beetle footprints. It’s difficult to tell which and there’s a large beetle perched on her pointed hat. Sam introduces Ringo, her famous familiar. He waves a foot at me and begins jogging around the brim (Ringo is a fitness fanatic).

I’m supposed to be here to talk about a new book—The Wickedest Witch. It’s all about Sam and Esmelia’s recent adventures and their attempts to become Most Superior High and Wicked Witch. I don’t really give a thrupenny trump about that though, so I ask Sam if she’s old enough to go out on dates and if she’s been seen on the arms of any celebrities at swinging nightspots.

“Umm no,” Sam blushes. “Definitely no. I’m not old enough and, anyway, Esmelia has views about that sort of thing.”

There is a snort from the corner of the room. “Disgustin’,” Esmelia mutters.

“So how did you come to be the apprentice of old Stinky Sniff?” I ask instead.

“Well,” says Sam. “Ever since I was very little I knew I wanted to get involved with magic. I read tons of stories about it and spent ages waiting to be whisked away from the orphanage to a magical land, which is what usually happens in books. I once spent the best part of three weeks in different wardrobes trying to force my way out the back.” Sam stops for a moment and looks wistful. “But there never were any fauns or talking lions and it made people jump, finding me in there when they went to get some clothes, so they made me stop. Anyway, after I got my head stuck in a rabbit hole I got sick of waiting and everyone said that there was a wicked old witch living in Pigsnout Wood so I came to find her. It was lucky… well sort of lucky… for me that Esmelia needed an apprentice.”

“Worst mistake I ever made,” grumbles Esmelia in the corner. “Put a pointy hat on a sock puppet and it’d make a better apprentice.”

Sam hunches over the table. “Esmelia’s not all that bad once you get to know her,” she whispers. “She does whiff a bit and she’s a crusty, miserable old baggage who likes to poke people in the eye, plus she used to eat children, but she does have her good points and she’s a vegetarian now.

“That’s what you thinks you cheeky little maggot” I hear Esmelia cackle under her breath.

“Esmelia has good points?” I ask Sam. “Can you name one?”

Sam thinks about it for a few minutes, then says, “… so that’s how I became Esmelia’s apprentice anyway.

“We’d better talk about The Wickedest Witch,” I interrupt with a sigh. “I am The Cackler’s books editor after all. So, it’s the full and exclusive story of all the recent hoo-hah, capers, and goings-on at the tryouts for the Most Superior High and Wickedest Witch, isn’t it?”

Sam nods.

“And in the book Esmelia comes across as a total twonk, doesn’t she? A useless sack of doings, tied up round the middle. A wart-faced old cauldron-boiler with not enough brains to feed a wasp. In fact, Esmelia Sniff is as drooling, dung-faced dolt. A…”

At this point in the interview Esmelia stamps across the room and jabs a gnarly old finger at my eye. It seems I’ve accidentally upset her though I’m sure I don’t know how. Some people will get all worked up over the slightest little thing.

“It’s all lies,” she screeches as I duck out of the way of her pokey finger. “Them books people will print any old rubbish these days. It’s disgustin’. Well, I’ll show ‘em. I’ve put a curse on that Martin Howard what wrote it. We’ll see how he likes it when his bottom falls off and me and Tiddles is playing ping-pong with his eyeballs. That’ll learn the dirty, lying beggar.”

“Calm down Esmelia,” orders Sam. “She’s trying to make you mad…”

“I’ve got some book reviews here,” I tell them. “Tiffany Toadlick, Leader of the Grand Coven says, ‘The Wickedest Witch is a great book and it’s all true: Esmelia made a total nong of herself at the trials and I was one of the judges, so I should know’. And the Opera Lamprey book club writes, ‘This is a brilliant tale of wicked witching, and best of all is laughing at Esmelia, who—as we all know—is so batty she couldn’t find her own hands with both hands’.”

Esmelia makes a grab at my throat as Sam pulls her away by her raggedy skirts. Her face has gone a very deep shade of green.

“But as you’ve so kindly decided to join the interview Esmelia,” your intrepid reporter continues breezily. “Perhaps we can move on to something our readers might actually be interested in. Would you like to say something about the gossip that you’ve been bothering a certain wizard? Let’s see, what did Dr Sulfurus Cowl tell The Cackler this morning? Oh yes, I just happen to have it here. Dr Cowl said, ‘Since the Most Superior High and Wicked Witch trials Esmelia Sniff won’t leave me alone. On one occasion I went to put the rubbish out and found her ghastly face staring up at me from the bin, all covered in potato peelings and chicken giblets. Another time I caught her in the laundry basket, rubbing my old socks against her face…”

“I was polishin’ me warts!” Esmelia shrieks as she struggles with her apprentice. “There ain’t no law against it.”

“The Wickedest Witch is released on October 16^th. Just in time for Halloween,” Sam shouts, tugging on Esmelia’s dress. “It’s a really good story, and funny too…”

“Who cares about that?” I laugh, while scribbling away in my trusty notebook. “So Esmelia, you don’t deny you’ve been following Sulfurus Cowl around like a bad smell then?  An extremely bad smell.”

Esmelia tears her skirt out of Sam’s hands and throws herself at me with a screech. She really is quite the touchy touchy touch touch. I’m forced to swing a sick-filled handbag at the side of her head and before you know it we’re rolling around on the floor pulling out great handfuls of each other’s hair.

Out of the corner of my eye I see Sam flicking her wand with Ringo jumping up and down on her shoulder. She mutters, “Oh for goodness sake” then there’s a tiny pop and I’m back at my desk in The Cackler offices, which is very impressive magic for an apprentice. Sadly though, it looks like the fight… sorry, the interview… is over. Just as it was starting to be fun too. Still, I’m almost sure I bit off part of Esmelia’s ear. And I pinched three of her spoons while she wasn’t looking.

Media Hysterick

The Wickedest Witch by Martin Howard with illustrations by Colin Stimpson, is the first instalment of the Witches at War! trilogy. Published by Pavilion Children’s Books, it is available from all online booksellers and most bookshops.

Visit www.witchesatwar.co.uk for a sneak peek, or meet Esmelia Sniff on Facebook.

Via TBM guest blogger, John Dougherty…

Tommy had pinpointed the wimpiest monster in the entire set-up, and with the information he gave us, Bernard was able to take us straight to the space under that monster’s bed.

Tommy’s friend Sam, meanwhile, had written a particularly scary bedtime story specially for the occasion, and just as he got to the scariest bit of all…

Cherry and I popped out and shouted, “Boo!”

“Eeeek!” shrieked the monster. “There’s children under my bed!” And it hopped out and scurried away as fast as it could.

“Okay, authors,” I said. “This is it. Freedom beckons. Just follow me back under the bed and we’ll take you home.”

And that was where it all began to go horribly wrong.

“Great!” one of them said. “Only… could we wait till tomorrow? My monster really liked the story I read it this evening, and it’s promised me fish and chips for tea.”

“Fish and chips?” said another. “That’s my favourite! Can I have some?”

“Look,” I began, “you can have fish and chips when you get home…”

But before I could finish, another one butted in: “Actually, could you maybe wait a couple of days? I’m on the final chapter of my greatest book ever, and I just won’t be able to get back in the right frame of mind if I have to finish it somewhere else.”

“Oooh, that’s a point!” said another one, and before I knew it, all eight were jabbering away, giving me their reasons why it would be best to put off the great rescue plan for another few days.

Well, you can guess what happened next. The wimpy monster came rushing back, bringing all his friends with him. As I’ve said before, I’d like to see the monster who could get the better of me; but on the other hand, you don’t get to be the world’s greatest Monster Investigator without knowing when to beat a hasty retreat.

“Come on, if you’re coming!” Cherry yelled, and together we dived under the bed. Quickly, we followed Bernard back to my room, and checked to see how many of the authors had come with us.

And you know how many had?

None. Not one.

We could have tried again, of course; but when I emailed Tommy the next day, he replied to tell me that the monsters had smashed up all the beds – partly to stop any more children coming out from underneath them, but partly because they’d decided they’d be more comfortable that way. So, bang went that plan.

Perhaps we could have come up with a different idea. But then something else happened – something that took all our attention away from any plan to rescue a bunch of grown-ups who, let’s face it, hadn’t exactly helped us to rescue them.

I had to face… The Whisper of Doom. So those authors were just going to have to fend for themselves.

Jack Slater and the Whisper of Doom is out now!

Via TBM guest blogger, John Dougherty…

Not knowing where the eight authors were being held prisoner, I figured the best way of finding them was to go through the monster underworld.

This isn’t easy to do, but fortunately Cherry and I have Bernard on our side. Bernard’s a monster, but he’s one of the good guys – and my best informant in the monster underworld.  He also makes a great guide. If you follow a monster who knows where he’s going, you can go under the bed, through the monster underworld, and out from under any other bed in the world.

That was where I hit my first problem. It turned out the monsters hadn’t given the authors any beds. And it’s just not possible for a monster to come out from under a bed that isn’t there.

There was only one thing to do – get the authors to write the monsters some bedtime stories.

The plan worked perfectly. After several nights of hastily-written bedtime stories for monsters, it wasn’t hard for the authors to convince their captors that it’s so much nicer to listen to a bedtime story if you’re actually in bed. And to cap it all, Tommy D artfully suggested that having to put a flat-pack bed together would be a great punishment for an author who hadn’t been writing exactly what the monsters wanted to hear.

So before long, all the monsters were tucked up in their very own beds, each in turn listening to their very own bedtime story written by their very own captive author. And after a few nights of this, it was time to put the next part of the plan into action.

Via TBM guest blogger, John Dougerty…

Cherry and I get a lot of messages on our website asking for help. Most of them turn out to be hoaxes, so when I got an email from some guy calling himself Tommy Donbavand, I was sure it was fake. I mean, what kind of a name is Donbavand?

I was just about to hit the delete key when another name caught my eye – a name I recognised: Clyde Pumfrey-Soames. Clyde’s the so-called Minister for Monsters, and not my favourite person, but if this Donbavand character had heard of him, then maybe – just maybe – he was on the level.

I read on. It sounded like Tommy Donbavand had emailed Clyde to ask for help with a monster problem, and Clyde had given him the brush-off. Sounds like Clyde. He talks big about monsters, but when it comes to actually dealing with them he’s as useful as an umbrella in a swimming pool.

He’d also warned him against me. That was Clyde, all right.

Then I got to the interesting bit. Apparently Tommy D was emailing from a cave; and the reason he was in a cave was that he was being held prisoner by monsters. And not just him, either; it seemed there were eight of them. Eight grown-ups, all authors, and all trapped by monsters and forced to write stories for them.

These didn’t sound like the kind of problem I usually deal with. But, as I’ve always said, I’d like to see the monster that can get the better of me. So I decided to take the case.

Want to know what happened? Watch this space.

Via TBM guest blogger, John Dougherty…

Dear Mr Donbavand, Mr Hutchison, Ms Sparkes, Mr Melling, Mr Craig, Mr Robson, Mr Enthoven and Mr Briggs

Thank you for your reply.

I can appreciate that it must be difficult not to believe in monsters when several of them are holding you prisoner in a cave and feeding you dinners even worse than the ones your Great-Aunt Ada used to force you to eat, but you must try. Ministry guidelines are quite clear on the point that monsters are a problem for children, not for grown-ups.

Have you considered having some grown-up problems instead? Perhaps you could blog about being Trapped By Bank Managers.

Yours sincerely

Clyde Pumfrey-Soames
Minister for Monsters

PS No, I will not give you Jack Slater’s email address. All Monster Investigators should be properly regulated by the Ministry of Monsters, and he’s a law unto himself, quite frankly. And I don’t care if you have heard that he’s very good. He isn’t. He’s just very lucky. And his friend Cherry Jackson is no better.

Via TBM guest blogger, John Dougherty…

Dear Mr Donbavand, Mr Hutchison, Ms Sparkes, Mr Melling, Mr Craig, Mr Robson, Mr Enthoven and Mr Briggs

Thank you for your email to the Ministry of Monsters, describing how you and seven colleagues have been kidnapped and held prisoner by a gang of desperate monsters.

Unfortunately we are unable to help you, for two reasons:

1. The Ministry of Monsters deals exclusively with the problem of the monsters under the bed. It sounds as if the monsters who have imprisoned you are a quite different type of monster, one which cannot be dealt with by the usual methods – light, well-loved soft toys and so forth

2. To be frank, you are a bit old to be believing in monsters, don’t you think? The Ministry of Monsters was set up for the benefit of children who are being bothered by monsters under the bed, not for grown-ups who really should know better in any case. Honestly, I find it a bit worrying that adults like you exist at all, never mind that you write books to be read by children.

Yours sincerely

Clyde Pumfrey-Soames
Minister for Monsters

PS No, I’m afraid that I can’t suggest anyone else who might help you. There isn’t anyone. I especially advise you against having anything to do with a boy called Jack Slater, who claims to be a freelance Monster Investigator, but is really nothing but a big show-off.

From TBM guest blogger, John Dougherty…

Dear captive authors

Just came across the TBM website. Bad luck! It must be a bit miserable being trapped by monsters.

Have you tried getting in touch with a Monster Investigator? The best I know of are Jack Slater, Monster Investigator and his partner Cherry Jackson, but if you can’t manage to contact them I suppose you could try the Ministry of Monsters. The email address is top secret – as is the whole Ministry – but I happened to come across it while researching my books about Jack and Cherry, and I think your circumstances are probably exceptional, so here it is: deleted for reasons of@national security.gov.uk

Be warned, though; the Minister’s just a kid, and a particularly snotty and spoiled one. Really. His expense forms have to be seen to be believed: so far this year he’s claimed for a rubber duck island; he’s paid his own mum £8,000 of public money for taxi services; he’s claimed £400 on sweets and ice cream without producing a single receipt; he’s charged for 2 Barney videos downloaded by his little sister; and of course he’s flipped his second treehouse allowance four times. But since the Ministry’s a secret, it’ll never get in the papers.

Anyway, let me know how you get on. Maybe you could post any replies on the blog?

Best of luck, and hope to see you and the others out in the sunshine again soon.

John Dougherty

I had heard that brilliant children’s author Andrew Norriss (CRTL-Z, WOOF! UNLUCKIEST BOY IN THE WORLD) was going to attempt a rescue. I was so excited because if anyone can pull it off, the man who created Gordon Brittas for the hit 90s comedy The Brittas Empire, could do it!

So imagine my distress this morning when I found a puddle of goo, a half eaten shoe and Andrew’s glasses. A few feet away was a hand held voice recorder and although the tape was dripping with monster snot, I was able to make out what was on it and type out a transcript. Andrew was recording his progress… and the ending will chill you to the bone…

ANDREW’S DIARY OF AN ATTEMPTED RESCUE…

Well, this is a great honour! An invitation to the cave to share a few moments with eight brilliant authors… They have warned me that the cave also contains monsters but I’ve not seen anything monstrous yet (apart from Andy Briggs’ haircut that is) and the food is good and the company is excellent.

But I haven’t just been invited here for the cucumber sandwiches, of course. Apparently I have to take my turn standing watch, ready to raise the alarm if something wicked our way comes, and I gather I’m also expected to write something witty and amusing, preferably about books, because that’s what everyone here seems to be interested in. To be honest, I’m a little old for either witty or amusing, but I have been thinking a bit recently about how we all get hooked on this book thing in the first place.

If you ask someone what their favourite book was when they were growing up, you’ll get one of two possible replies. Either they’ll tell you they never really got into books (and you try not to show how sad and pathetic you think that is) or they’ll tell you what the book was. And if you look carefully, you’ll notice that, even if the book in question was The Hungry Caterpillar, it was important to them in some way.

If you ask Ali Sparkes what her favourite book was, for instance, she will tell you it was Five go to Smuggler’s Cove – and that reading it changed her life. If you ask my son, Johnny, he’ll tell you it was Mortal Engines by Philip Reeves – and it changed his life too, though he won’t tell you that. If you ask me, I’ll tell you it was Target Island by Bruce Carter – I know, nobody’s heard of it – and that I have been a book worm every since.

Because that’s how it goes. Someone gives you a book while you’re growing up that isn’t just ‘quite good’, or ‘fairly interesting’ – it blows the top of your head off. While you’re reading it, the book takes you to another world – a world that contains just exactly and precisely all the things you wanted most in the real one. And after that, you’re hooked. Forever.

 I’ve always thought book reading was much like taking heroin – though with a couple of important differences. For a start, most books are legal, but more interestingly I note that whereas heroin addicts all take the same drug to get high, not everyone gets hooked on books by reading the same title. Five go to Smuggler’s Cove was what did it for Ali, Mortal Engines did it for Johnny… but it’s impossible to tell in advance which one is going to trip the switch inside someone’s head until it happens. If it hasn’t happened to you yet – and it doesn’t happen to some people ever – I guess all you can do is keep reading and hoping…

But once you’ve read whatever the book is that does the magic for you, you’re hooked. You’re lured into imaginary worlds where children catch smugglers, where towns move on wheels, where escape from an unwanted life is possible… Imagined worlds where literally anything can happen.

And talking of imagined worlds, I have a theory – and I know this is pretty wild and ‘out there’ but bear with me – I have a theory that maybe the authors of this blog are not really trapped in this cave by monsters at all. You may have spotted that all these people are professional writers. That means they enjoy thinking up stories. And I think perhaps that’s what they’ve done here. They’ve imagined that they’re trapped in a cave and that…

Hang on… Sorry… Thought I heard a noise out in the passageway… A sort of slithering sound with this odd farting noise… Perhaps I’d better wake the others and warn them that… Oh, no! The candle’s blown out and I’m… Hello? Is there anyone there? Sound the alarm!… Arrrh! Leggo my arm! Help! Somebody, please…

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaagh!

I knew I shouldn’t have come…

 

 

Of course, it’s possible that Andrew has survived. If he kept the monsters laughing long enough, he might have managed to slip away. Only time will tell. But for now I have created a little shrine with his half eaten shoe, glasses and the recorder. I light a little monster earwax candle in front to it for five minutes every day… And I will get out on monsterweb whenever I can and check out www.andrewnorriss.co.uk to see if he reports in.

And here are three of his nicest book covers, as an online shrine…

Sniff.

 

 

For your further edification I present the following tale of woe. Prepare yourself, gentle reader, for the grisly saga of Alexander Gordon Smith (author of the awesome FURNACE: LOCKDOWN, reviewed here) and his valiant, imaginative yet sadly doomed attempts to rescue us all from captivity.

His last words as he disappeared head-first into the bucket of monster solids were “It reads better if you imagine The Two Ronnies singing it.” Let us hope these cryptic words don’t prove to be this terrific author’s epitaph.

NOW READ ON…

ESCAPE!

by Alexander Gordon Smith

-

Eight intrepid authors met up one winter night,

To write a book of horror lore and give the kids a fright.

It was meant to be a tome of monster pain and slaughter,

A terrifying nightmare for our nation’s sons and daughters.

(Yet soon it would be these poor souls who found out about torture!)

-

Trapped by monsters in a cave, so far beneath the ground,

That even when they screamed for help we could not hear a sound.

Forced to do their captors’ bidding in their cells of slime,

Made to write – dear god forbid – poetry that rhymes!

(And doomed to serve their beastly masters till the end of time…)

-

They’re only let out now and then to spread the monsters’ word:

“We monsters truly aren’t that bad” – it’s really quite absurd!

On such a day, in London Town, I met Sam Enthoven,

And nervously he challenged me to come up with a plan.

(“Get us out, for heavens sake – just save us if you can!”)

-

Now I really am no hero, I’m the opposite of brave.

“There is no blooming way,” I said, “I’m going near that cave!”

But then I watched as poor old Sam was dragged into the drains,

By a brutish beast with forty toes that loved inflicting pain.

(And then I vowed: “Sam don’t you fear, you’ll see the sun again!”)

-

My first plan of action was to blow up all the doors,

So I packed my bag with detonators, fuses and C4.

I’d blast their prison open, my brilliant plan was flawless!

Until I went and realised that the bloomin’ cave was doorless…

(The cells are locked up tight with goo, it’s really quite a raw mess.)

-

Plan B: trick the monsters, it couldn’t fail to work!

“Sam,” I said, “just dress up like an ogre gone berserk.”

Sam spread himself with bogeys, an incredible disguise,

He was so convincing that the monsters let him by!

(Until Gwyneth took a fancy and made herself his bride!)

-

Next I thought I’d bake a cake and smuggle in a file,

Those eight pour souls could saw right through their windows with a smile!

But I passed the cake to Gurt Theeg, that wretched bad luck goblin,

And the goblin gobbled it down his throat, even with the file in!

(And judging by his groans of pain it’s filing his intestines…)

-

“Ali, why don’t you charm them with some of your poetry?

Sing them a nice lullaby and make them go to sleep.”

She composed a masterpiece and sung it to her guard,

But when he fell asleep she didn’t manage to get far.

(The beast had fallen on her and squished her with his a*$e!)

-

I started watching prison shows to get some fresh ideas,

And thought of drugging monsters with some chloroform tortillas.

It would have knocked them out for hours on that cold cave flooring,

But Joe scoffed all the poisoned snacks, it really was appalling.

(He’s been asleep for three weeks now and hasn’t once stopped snoring!)

-

“Why don’t you try and sneak out through the prison laund-er-y?

Jump into the trolley and then soon you’ll be home free!”

Andy followed my advice, he thought he had a chance,

But ended up beneath a pair of slimy monster pants.

(He needed to be rescued by a digger and some clamps!)

-

I told Mark and David: “You can get out through the sewer!”

Not knowing that inside it was a world-class monster poo-er.

As soon as they dropped through their loo they found it overflowing.

Are they still alive down there? There is no way of knowing!

(Except for the occasional sound of something human groaning…)

-

“Tommy, try to start a fire and set off the alarms.

You’ll be evacuated before you all come to harm.”

But the instant that he lit a match and held it to some dry rot,

A monster aimed his snozzle in, extinguishing it with snot!

(And now poor Tommy’s covered, there really was a lot.)

-

“I know what to do,” I cried. “Tunnel through the walls!”

But when Barry tried to do so he found there was no wall at all –

His cell was a vast stomach, a gooey gloop of guts,

Belonging to a monster who had tried to eat him up.

(“Argh, the only way I can escape is crawling out its butt!”)

-

Yuk!

-

Oh dear, Oh dear, Oh dear, I thought, this isn’t going well,

All I’ve done is make those writers sleep or sink or smell.

If I’m going to break them out I’ll have to risk my health,

Sneak into the prison, take those monsters on myself.

(And hope that I’m rewarded with a great degree of wealth.)

-

So that very afternoon I ventured to their lair,

With every single trembling step I’d offer up a prayer.

With stakes and silver bullets, and holy water too,

I stepped into that cave to do just what I had to do…

(Although quite how to do it? I didn’t have a clue!)

-

The moment that I entered, I came under attack,

I knew I was in trouble but there was no turning back!

My weapons were all useless, the beasties were too tough,

My holy water scared them but it just wasn’t enough.

(Though it did manage to make them smell a little less like guff!)

-

Then just when things seemed futile, when I thought that I was dead,

I threw down all my weapons and tried something else instead.

Monsters do love poems, perhaps they’d like this one?

And whilst I read it out to them my dear old friends could run!

(And somehow we would ambush them as soon as I was done.)

-

So I began to read aloud, the monsters crowded round,

The writers slipped out of their cells, they didn’t make a sound!

As soon as I had finished I said, “Now it’s time to fight!

Come on writers, finish this… Let’s give these beasts a fright!

(Er… Hello? Is anybody there? Please don’t leave me behind!”)

-

Guys?!

-

Guys!!!!!!!

-

Aaaaaaaaaaargh!!!!!