Had to put a a link to this. I think several of our followers may suddenly develop a whole new interest in Religious Education.

Welcome to The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster!

Have you got what it takes to be a Pastafarian?

Artist's Impression of The Flying Spaghetti Monster creating the world

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Mary Hoffman is another of my favourite authors for young adults, though she writes in a different style to most that I read. Troubadour will probably appeal more to girls than boys, as it is essentially a love story, though anyone who enjoys historical fiction will find it fascinating.

It is the year 1208 and the Papal Legate is brutally murdered. Bertran de Miramont, a troubadour, witnesses the act and gives chase to the killer, but loses him. Unfortunately, Bertran is not just a wandering minstrel, but a Cathar – a heretic. The Pope convinces the Barons of Northern France to rid the Languedoc of the heretics and so begins the Albigensian Crusade, a most bloody period of French history. Elinor, younger daughter of a minor French nobleman, is secretly in love with the Troubadour and runs away from home just at a time when the countryside around her family home erupts into chaos.

This book is not an easy read when compared to many books for the YA market and will probably not find the broad appeal of Mary’s Stravaganza series. However, for those who enjoy books by Celia Rees and Pauline Francis, this story is a ‘must read’. The depth of Mary’s research is clearly demonstrated throughout. Even the thought of how much reading she must have done to collate the information needed to write a book like this makes my mind boggle with admiration. To then weave a touching story that flows seamlessly throughout all the history is a superb achievement.

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I’m pretty sure I’m back at home in England now, but to be honest I wouldn’t be surprised if I were actually at another book festival somewhere, possibly standing in a very hot tent trying to entertain an audience comprised of kids between 4 and 16, their parents, and a whole bunch of adults who’ve wandered in to find out about… well… I’m not sure.

Whatever they were after, they got some crazy improvised stories about global destruction, superheroes, Hay being swallowed by a whale and broken kitchen appliances. They also got some very smart 6 year-olds asking riddles and (I hope) some interesting tips on how to write. Who knows. I was baffled by the whole thing and I was the one doing the workshops.

That’s how the last week or so has been for me. I was in Hay for the How the Light Gets In festival of philosophy and music. Where did I fit in? Well, I studied philosophy, then became a musician, then finally found out I could write books. My events were obviously book-related, but I did also raid the music stage on the last day and the festival organisers were very kind about letting me do an off-the-cuff set of original songs at the piano.

It was all very confusing, because earlier in the week I’d been at Listowel Writers’ Week, over in beautiful Kerry, Ireland. So it was Ireland one day, Wales the next. Two very different festivals, but I would highly recommend both to all writers and readers.

Listowel is a tiny village with a huge festival. I suppose Hay is the same, but for some reason Listowel Writers’ Week felt like a bigger deal. Perhaps it’s because I was at the opening ceremony. Perhaps its because my events were bigger. Perhaps it’s because only in Ireland would I have found myself at the piano in the hotel in the middle of the night, leading a raucous singalong of everything from Motown to Irish folk classics and the blues.

Perhaps it’s because I’ve never been at a book festival where the police raided the hotel because the writers were having such a ball.

So, fellow writers and fellow people-who-like-books-and-a-good-time: make a note of these two festivals for next year. Listowel Writers’ Week in Kerry and How The Light Gets In at Hay.

Pictures may follow, if I can find my camera. Also, where’s the cheese I bought in Ireland? I’m sure I put it somewhere…

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festivals, Hay, Listowel, lost cheese

While having a sort through my hard drive recently, I came across one of my early attempts at writing a children’s book. It was written about 2 years before I started work on INVISIBLE FIENDS, and it’s a competely different style of story. Where Invisibe Fiends is a horror story with some funny bits, this one is a funny story with some scary bits. Competely different, see?

Johnny B. Weeyerd and the Cosmic Annihilator is a sci-fi comedy aimed at readers aged 9 and over. It’s about a boy who accidentally eats the most powerful weapon in the universe, and so becomes the target for a race of evil alien warlords who are determined to claim the weapon for themselves.

It’s a first draft, so expect the odd typo and the occasional rubbish bit, but hey, it’s free – what more do you want?

Download the book here and be sure to let me know what you think. You might need to right-click on the link and choose “Save Target As…” or something similar to save the file to your PC. Or you might not. I don’t know how you’ve got your computer set up. Just have a bash and see what happens.

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THE UNSPEAKABLE HORROR!

A Trapped by Monsters story

With art by David Melling

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

As soon as I heard the scuffling outside the door, I knew this was my chance.  Monsters don’t scuffle.  They thump, stomp and squelch, but they never scuffle.  The siren hadn’t let up in several minutes.  The monsters appeared to be having trouble locating the escapee.

I eyed Blusterfart the Unsteady, my jailer.  He appeared uneasy, teetering around on one leg near the door.  It’s true that this isn’t unusual for Blusterfart, given that he only has one leg, but don’t be fooled into thinking he’s not dangerous.  You should see him hop when he’s angry!  I gathered my courage and made my move.

Launching into a run, I leapt into a flying front kick that caught Blusterfart full in the face.  With his balance less than perfect to begin with, the single kick toppled him and I landed in fixed stance, wondering why I’d never tried this before.  My jailer floundered on the floor of the cave like an upturned beetle and farted a wind crescendo that made the London Philharmonic brass section look like a bunch of amateurs.  The stench that he loosed was worse than anything he’d let rip with before.  I gagged, holding my arm across my mouth and nose to try to filter out the smell.

For a moment I felt sorry for him.  Blusterfart was so distressed that he had dropped his most prized possession, a stuffed goldfish called Sniffles, which skittered away into a corner.  The door creaked open and to my amazement I discovered not one, but four of my fellow captives crouched outside.

'Sniffles'

‘Quick!  This way!’ hissed Ali, pointing along the passageway to the right.  She was wearing a cracked pair of glasses that were glowing with an eerie light.

‘Are you sure?’ I asked, confused.  ‘That’s not the way the monsters take me when I’m allowed out to events.’

‘Ali found a map,’ Sam explained excitedly.  ‘We think we’ve found an obscure exit.  We might actually have a REAL chance of getting away this time.  I’m very, very, VERY excited.  Hee, hee, hee!’  He was hopping from one foot to the other and his grin looked almost maniacal in the strange glow.

‘And the other three?’

‘They’re being held together in one large cell,’ Andy explained.  ‘It was marked on the map.  It’s not far from here.’

‘Really?  Strange that Tommy didn’t mention being with the others when I saw him last week.’

A glance back into the cell revealed Blusterfart crawling towards Sniffles and blubbering something about making him a special pocket with a toy castle and bubbles.  It was a horrible sight.  I closed the door behind me and stumbled after the others. They were already moving on into the labyrinth in search of the remaining authors.  Two minutes later Ali stopped by a wooden door.

‘I think this is it,’ she whispered.

‘Any sign of guards?’ Baz asked.  He sounded nervous and stank of marmite.  I decided better of asking why.

‘No.’

‘The door doesn’t look that strong,’ Sam said.  ‘If we all charge it together, it might break.’

‘Why not try the handle first?’ I suggested.

‘Good idea,’ Ali agreed.  ‘Trust a pilot to think of that!’

She grabbed the handle and sure enough the door opened. A hair-raising squeal of metal on metal from the rusty hinges set my teeth on edge, as the glow of Ali’s strange glasses provided a spooky glimpse into the darkness beyond.

‘No internal handle,’ she confirmed, peering around the door.

Three pairs of eyes reflected the dim light and the bodies they belonged to began to shuffle forwards towards us.

‘Hang on a minute!’ I hissed, tensing as I realised what I was looking at.  ‘That’s not them!  I’d know Tommy’s shape anywhere.  Unless he’s been stretched, or mutilated, we’re in the wrong room.’  I stared in horror at the shambling figures approaching.  One of them moaned.  Were they zombies?  ‘Stop right there!’ I ordered.  ‘Who are you?’

‘We’re authors,’ one of them croaked.  ‘We’ve been kidnapped by monsters.  I’m Alexander Gordon Smith and these two are William Hussey and Chae Strathie.’

‘Oh, Lord, no!’ Ali breathed.  ‘It’s worse than we thought.’

Click here for Episode Six, by Tommy Donbavand

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What a great book! Clever plotting, great characters, good pace and a setting that most are familiar with makes this a gem amongst books for young people. It will have equal appeal with girls and boys as this baffling mystery story unfolds through the unique viewpoint of Ted, a boy with Aspergers.

Ted has a fascination for the weather that takes the whole British preoccupation with the elements to an entirely new level. He loves nothing more than to listen to the shipping forecast and has an almost encylopaedic knowledge of meteorology. This theme is taken throughout Ted’s meticulous and fascinating investigation of the disappearance of his cousin, Salim, during a flight on the London Eye.

Siobhan Dowd is an author whose work I’ve never tried before, though I will no doubt look out her other books now. Sadly she died very young and the world was robbed of a great writing voice. This is a brilliant book despite its lack of monsters! As the writing is deceptively straightforward, I highly recommend it for anyone aged about 9 right through to adult.

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I find my mind once again turning towards all things goblin as I start thinking about Book 6 in the Goblin series. Not sure where it will take me or what I’ll find where I get there but, by way of inspiration, I flicked back through my goblin sketchbook and found this cheery idiot among the early pages. I post it for not other reason than, um…why not?

By the way, we can only dream at this level of personal hygiene here in the cave.

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As anyone who follows this site will know, I consider Philip Reeve to be of at least demi-god status amongst writers, if not higher. He is one of the few authors I’ve come across whose work appears original, gripping and beautifully written. The Carnegie Medal winning book Here Lies Arthur is no exception.

The story is told from the viewpoint of Gwyna, a young girl whose village is attacked by Arthur and his band of thugs. She is found by Arthur’s magician, Myrddin, and used to create the legend of The Lady in the Lake.

I read this book in a sort of daze, mesmerised by the language and depth of imagery that Philip appears to create with ease. I would love to think of him as sweating over every word, but I’ve got a sneaky suspicion that his mind simply works on a different level to mine.

In Philip’s Arthurian tale, the legendary king is no more than a brutish thug who roams the countryside extorting money from the weak and slaughtering those who refuse to pay. His tragic wife, and loyal band of followers are equally transformed into a far more likely bunch than the legends would have it. But, as with so many Arthurian re-tellings before, the show-stealer is Myrddin (Merlin) the storyteller. Through this tale, Philip demonstrates the power of a well-told story. I imagine Philip put quite a bit of himself into Myrddin, whose power with words is such that he sways those around him into believing whatever he chooses to spin them as the truth.

There was a mildly disturbing amount of cross-dressing in the story, (well, disturbing to an ex-military, alpha male pilot type, anyway!) but the end result was a truly unique Arthurian book that will stay with me for a very long time. As with all of the other Philip Reeve books that I’ve read, this one gets a huge ‘thumbs up’ from me. I highly recommend it to those who like stories that are more than skin deep.

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