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Viewing: Blog Posts Tagged with: Lucy Coats, Most Recent at Top [Help]
Results 26 - 50 of 50
26. It's That Man Again... Celia Rees


Lucy Coats has already blogged (Wednesday, 9th Feb) about the remarks that Martin Amis made when he was interviewed by Sebastian Faulks for the BBC 2 programme, Faulks on Fiction. Her blog has attracted 60 comments and the outrage felt has resonated as far as the national press and the Huffington Post. Martin Amis, as the Guardian on Saturday pointed out, is no stranger to controversy.

I, too, saw the programme and after the first dropping of the jaw, I thought that he actually had a point. Just in case anybody doesn't know, or does not want to scroll down the page and see his words in purple 18 point type, he said:

'People ask me if I ever thought of writing a children's book. I say: "If I had a serious brain injury I might well write a children's book."'

So far, so insulting. He then went on to say:

'The idea of being conscious of who you are directing the story to is anathema to me because, in my view, fiction is freedom and any restraints on that are intolerable. I would never write about someone that forced me to write at a lower register than what I can write.'

Once I heard that, I could see where he was coming from. I did not think he was saying 'all children's writers have half a brain', that would be false logic. He was just explaining his own writing stance and he is entitled to do that. He writes literary fiction for adults, as such he sees it as his task to write to the top of his register and would not, could not accept any restraints on that.

The disregard for the reader that Amis expresses is just not possible when one is writing for children. Children's writers, and I include writers of Young Adult fiction, are ALWAYS aware of what their readers will and will not tolerate, or will or will not understand. Anyone who denies this is being disingenuous. Quite apart from the target readers themselves, there are other agencies involved. We have to worry about things that would not trouble writers of adult fiction in the least - see Leslie Wilson's blog below. How many writers for adults would feel the need to explain and justify their use of swear words or the incidence of sex in a novel? How much we take these factors into consideration, how much we allow them to limit our fiction, is up to us, but those limitations are there. We do not use our full palate, as Patrick Ness would say. How can we? We have to write at a lower register because we are adults and our readers are children.

There are other pressures on us, too. Pressures that have nothing to do with our writing but everything to do with the market place. In a squeezed market, there is more and more demand from publishers for novels that will sell. Books that fit into an obvious, popular genre - action, dark romance, whatever. A book that is perceived as 'too literary' is seen as problematic. The equivalent of the literary novel is a rare beast, and becoming more endangered by the minute. If one or two do sneak through, they usually turn out to have been written for adults in the first place and tweaked a bit in a bid to capture that holy grail, the crossover market.

In an interview in the Observer Review (13th February, 2011)) Nicole Krauss attests that the comment she heard most frequently on a U.S. book tour for her novel, The History of Love, was: 'this book is difficult'. Krauss worries that 'we are moving towards the end of effort'. Readers don't want to have to think too hard, it appears, whatever their age. That is the spectre that frightens me. In the hope of keeping that at bay, I actually want Martin Amis to write to the limit

15 Comments on It's That Man Again... Celia Rees, last added: 2/15/2011
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27. Martin Amis: A Response from a Children's Author - Lucy Coats

On Saturday night Martin Amis was talking about his antihero, John Self,  on the BBC's new book programme, Faulks on Fiction.  During his piece to camera, apropos of nothing the interviewer had said or indicated, he laid into children's books:

"People ask me if I ever thought of writing a children's book.  I say, 'If I had a serious brain injury I might well write a children's book,' but [here he shakes his head] the idea of being conscious of who you're directing the story to is anathema to me, because, in my view, fiction is freedom and any restraints on that are intolerable."

Now, Amis is entitled to his opinion, (we live in a democracy after all) and he was, of course, speaking only for himself.  However, I too am entitled to an opinion, and my thoughts when I heard Amis spouting this arrogant twaddle from the rarefied upper reaches of  his ivory tower are unprintable here. No doubt he would consider that to be an intolerable restraint.  However, for the moment, I'm going to ignore the implicit insult to those of us who do write children's books (and, as far as I know, none of us have serious brain injuries, though I have often been told I am off my rocker) and concentrate on the last part of his sentence, because it made me ask myself some questions about how I write. 

Am I conscious of who I am directing my story to?  No.  At least not in the sense of 'writing down' to an audience that is obviously, by its very nature, younger than I am.  Children are astute observers of tone--they loathe adults who patronise them with a passion, adults who somehow assume they are not sentient beings because they are children.  When I write fiction, I research and plan just as (I assume) Amis does.  Then I sit down and let what comes, come. The story generally tells itself without any inner voice saying 'oh, but you're writing for children--you mustn't say this, or--oh goodness, certainly not that!'  Amis says of  the process of writing Self that, "I was writing about his subconscious thought--nothing he could have written down for himself...he's an ignorant brute."  Well, goodness.  Writing subconscious thought?  Does that never happen in children's fiction? We are all the amanuensis for our characters--and yes, often we do use language they never consciously would.  It's not a feat of the writer's art exclusive to highbrow literary fiction. When I write, I think about langu

57 Comments on Martin Amis: A Response from a Children's Author - Lucy Coats, last added: 2/12/2011
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28. SHOCK REVELATION: I Am Not Mrs Dale - Lucy Coats

Like John Dougherty yesterday, I was going to write about something different.  Not a Kindle (I don't have one...yet), but the furore around Bookstart.  However, John has done such an excellent job of it that he's left me with nothing to say--except that I agree with him about many things, not least of which is that 2011 is going to be a year of standing up (or sitting in) and shouting. 

So.  What to write about at the beginning of this new year? I think a confession is probably in order.  You lot always seem to like my confessions, and indeed I have a multitude of sins to confess. Here goes....

I am a failure.  I've been a failure for nearly half a century, or at least ever since I was old enough to write a comprehensible sentence.  And before you start in with the soothing rebuttals of this rather startling statement, I don't actually mean as a writer. I think I'm reasonably good at that.  What I mean is that I am a failure as a diarist.  In other words, Mrs Dale I am not.

I've tried more times than I can count to keep one. When I was a child, without fail some aunt or godparent would give me a diary for Christmas--once even a magnificent red leather-bound 5-year one.  I started off every time on 1st January with hope that this time, this time I would do it.  I would write something about my life every single day of the year till I reached the milestone of 31st December.  I failed every time.  In fact, the longest I ever lasted was till March 15th, a measly two-and-a-half months.

In later life--after I became a full-time writer--I tried in other ways.  I tried to write a journal.  I tried to write a dream book.  I even tried to write a poem diary.  The poems were quite good, but there are only ten of them.  There just seems to be a little part of my brain which is a rebel, which says: "this is really boring.  Your mundane daily life is boring. Who's going to want to read about all that stuff like how the maths teacher shouted at you again for being stupid over trigonometry (a frequent childhood event), or how your university tutor made you smoke pot as part of your 'education', or what it was like for a young editor in 80's New York, or how it felt to fly out of Ladakh eight days before they closed the borders to the West, or...or...."  Yes. I know.  Those things might all be of interest to future generations of my family or the wider world.  But it's the bits in between I have trouble with. The days when nothing happens except a trip to the supermarket or doing the housework or the school run.  That's when I lose the will to write a diary.

However this year, 2011, is the year of my half century.  Surely 50 years on the planet deserves recording in some way.  So I'm going to try again.  I have it all planned out.  I shall have a 'secret diary blog' which I shall write once a week, recording the events and thoughts of the last seven days.  Actually, I've already started it.  Will I succeed?  Yes.  I bloody well will. And you can quote me on that come December 31st.  If you remember.
10 Comments on SHOCK REVELATION: I Am Not Mrs Dale - Lucy Coats, last added: 1/6/2011
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29. A Subject Close to my Heart - Lucy Coats

It's a new school year and all over the country teenagers are discovering the joys of moving up to 6th form studies--my own Lovely Daughter included.  The A-level choices have been made, and it's about now that the English Lit students discover what books they have been set.  In Lovely Daughter's case this means (so far) Conrad's Heart of Darkness, the poetry of Dannie Abse and Philip Larkin--and Cormac McCarthy's The Road. 

It has given me surprising delight that a child of mine has chosen to study a subject so very close to my heart.  Writers' children are obviously exposed to the idea of books from a very early age--but that doesn't necessarily mean that they want to study English Literature.  In the case of Lovely Son, who is an avid reader of all things Napoleonic, History was his choice.  So now what?  Do I let her get on with it?  Of course. Discovering for herself what she thinks about these books is the whole point. But she's done me the honour (and I definitely feel it is an honour) of asking me to re-read the stuff I already know, and to read the stuff I don't, so that we can discuss it (and, if I know Lovely Daughter, argue about it).  I haven't read Heart of Darkness since I studied it at school myself. Larkin I know and love, and Abse I am looking forward to discovering more of.  As for The Road, we'll both be opening that for the first time. 

To be asked to share anything with a teenager is a small, victorious vindication of parenthood--a sort of signal that normal conversation may not be the total impossibility it seemed 2 or 4 or 6 months ago.  For me, this potential daughter/mother communication about books makes me realise that the hours and hours of patient going over and over spellings (and the wiping away of endless tears over the trauma that is learning to read when you are dyslexic) has brought us both an incalculable reward.    Whether we disagree profoundly or agree amicably doesn't matter--the fact that we now share a love of books is prize enough for me.  I'm the second generation of book-loving writers in my family.  Will Lovely Daughter be the third?  Who can tell?--it's up to her anyway.  Meanwhile, I'm polishing the rust off my brain and preparing for the debate.  I can't wait.

14 Comments on A Subject Close to my Heart - Lucy Coats, last added: 9/17/2010
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30. Five Fabulous Forays into Faerie - Lucy Coats

What a delight these second ABBA anniversary posts are turning out to be.  I'm having such fun reading them. And now it's my turn to celebrate with my own five fabulous forays into faeryland.... 

Lately--usually deep into the night when the world is still and silent apart from the cries of hunting owls--I have found myself led astray.  I have walked down strange paths and met beauty and horror and humour and cruelty and bravery and sadness and romance all mixed up together.  In short, I have been lured into YA faeryland.  Don't be fooled by the word faery (or fairy).  These are not some cutesie, flowery, pink-dressed tiny beings out of picture-books and Disney.  No--they are the Sidhe, the Fair Folk, the Seelie and Unseelie Courts--faeries from the older and darker side of legend.  I've been familiar with those original ancient legends for most of my life--I've retold some of them myself, and of course I had my own green version of faeries--the Fey--in Hootcat Hill. Tam Linn, Thomas the Rhymer, the fairy smiths of Skye, the fairy cattle of the sea, the children of Danu--all these and more I know and love.  But these new faeries I've discovered live in this modern world of ours (the USA being a current favoured setting for most but not all), and I stumbled across some of them quite by chance--via recommendations on Twitter, in fact.    So first, I will introduce you to:
Melissa Marr  Melissa's Wicked Lovely series was recommended by someone whose opinion I value, and as soon as I read the three Rules which her heroine, Aislinn, must follow, I was hooked in at once. Rule 3: Never stare at invisible faeries.  Rule 2: Never speak to invisible faeries.  Rule 1: Don't ever attract the attention of invisible faeries.  But the Summer King, Keenan is determined that mortal Aislinn will be his Summer Queen, and her rules become increasingly hard to keep.  There are four books so far in the series, with one more to come.  They're a kind of edgy, "urban faerie' genre I hadn't come across before. Once I'd read and loved that first book I bought the others at once, being a reader who has to 'know what happened next'.  Melissa writes a fabulous strong, feisty heroine--and her heroes are never just handsome cyphers, but are equally strong individuals. I particularly like the railway-carriage dwelling Seth.  I found myself loathing the old Winter Queen with a passion--and yet being fascinated by the way her mind works and her Machiavellian schemes.  Having finished the second book, Ink Exchange, I was also left with a strong desire for a tattoo.  There aren't many books which would make me contemplate needles on my skin (I hate needles).  This one did--and I'

10 Comments on Five Fabulous Forays into Faerie - Lucy Coats, last added: 7/6/2010
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31. Sitting on the Storybranch - Lucy Coats

I read an article last week, and something the writer said struck a chord with me.  Here it is:
"We are called Homo sapiens — the wise man — and perhaps that’s true. But I would say that what really defines us as a species, what makes the difference between me and my cat, is something I would call Homo narrans — storytelling man. I can talk to you — and you can talk to me — about dreams and fears. But my cat can’t sit with other cats and do those things. Life is really about the day-to-day writing of an enormous new chapter in the history of human beings." That was Henning Mankell, the creator of Wallander, considering the power of storytelling in Africa, which is something I have touched on here before,  although in a different context.

I love the idea of belonging to that newly-coined species of our human race--sitting on the storytelling branch, so to speak.  It's an interesting thought.  Do we who make up stories have a rerouted synapse or a differently configured brain to those who don't?   I'm not a neuroscientist--I have no idea, and I shouldn't think it was possible to tell anyway. The marvellous Anne Rooney might shed some light--she is a mine of information on all matters scientific. The brain and how it really works is still mostly a big fat mystery--that I do know. All I am certain of is this: that my brain 'feels' different when I am writing.   It's doing it now, in fact.  But it's difficult to describe exactly how, for all of my storytelling skills seem to desert me when I try. Last week I was at Birmingham Young Readers and a seven year-old girl asked me that very question. "How does it feel when you write your stories."  It was a brilliant thing to ask, and I told her so (giving myself a little more time to think of an answer in the process!).  I am not afraid to admit that I babbled.  There were a lot of ums and wells and sort-ofs contained in my reply because I found it incredibly hard to articulate in any way that would make sense to her.  I'm not sure she was all that impressed.  But I wonder how many of the writers reading this could describe the physical changes which happen when the muse is visiting? Go on now--I know you'll all be incredibly precise and show me up horribly!  If I really try, I can tell you that for me it feels like everything has shifted a little to the left. That side of my brain feels awake and fizzy, but somehow spongy and malleable at the same time.  The left side of my face feels slightly numb. I'm aware, but not concentrating in the way that I would if I were threading a needle, say, or performing a tricky task like glueing china. I suppose it is a state of altered consciousness, and yet there are no drugs involved (well, maybe the occasional paracetamol).  I'm focused, and yet disengaged from the outside world.  I can be in this state and still drive safely.  Feel free to tell me I'm weird.  Of course I am. Weird is the storybranch this homo narrans sits on most comfortably. Preferably with a notebook at my fingertips.
32. Writing Out Of Sequence - Lucy Coats

Usually, I'm an orderly sort of writer. If I'm lucky, I have my 'brilliant idea' (usually a clear character and a vague notion of what they will do, and how). Then I write the first couple of chapters in a frenzied flurry of creative excitement, after which I do a synopsis and a detailed chapter plan which I stick to (mostly)--writing in a linear progression from start to finish, chapter by chapter. So far, so ordinary. But then I went to London Book Fair last week, and I listened to someone who shook me up a bit and made me see that the way I've been doing things is not necessarily set in stone forever and ever. More about him later....

You see, I've been feeling uncomfortable for some time about those moments when a scene comes into my head, fully formed, exciting, raring to go, saying 'write me, write me'. They are doing it more and more, and that's good, but nevertheless a cause of worry and wondering what to do about them. Because I am that orderly sort of writer, my usual response is this: 'Well, of course I'll write you--when I get there. Just hang on for a bit. You're fantastic. I love you. But I have to get through three more chapters before I reach the part where you come in.' Stupid, isn't it, when you really think about it? What is this idiotic, superstitious fear I have that writing a scene out of sequence will somehow make everything in the book go wrong? Why do I risk letting some of that excitement and energy and freshness leak away because of some ritualistic fetish about Doing It In Order?

If I didn't know before, I do now--the answer is to ask an Irishman. Yes, it was Eoin Colfer I listened to at LBF (and if you'd like to listen too, there's a video of him talking at the PEN cafe on Candy Gourlay's wonderful Notes from the Slushpile blog here). He said lots of funny things (he's a funny man), but the thing which struck me most in the present context was this: when asked by Julia Eccleshare 'Do you plan your books?', Eoin said he did--in detail, and he said that he used to stick to it religiously (so far, so like me) and write it in order. But then came the bit which made me sit up and take notice. Eoin now finds, he said, that the best bit of any book is where the plan changes and goes off track, and that if he has an idea he writes the scene straight away, even if it's out of sequence, to keep the buzz. Sounds simple, doesn't it? Sounds sensible. But it's taken all these years and another orderly writer telling me he's broken out and done it differently to make me realise that it's ok. Nothing about writing should be set in stone forever and ever--just because I've got a certain beloved way of doing things (and have had for years) doesn't mean I can't take a fresh look at it and make a change when I need to. Sometimes, I think, we writers get stuck because we are imprisoned in mental boxes of our own making. So my spring resolution is this--break free of the constricting mould, write exciting off-plan stuff then and there and don't be such a superstitious old stick-in-the-mud! PS: I'd love to know if any of you are writing stick-in-the-mud's too--and what your writing 'sticking points' are.

Lucy's website http://lucycoats.com/
Lucy's blog http://scribblecitycentral.blogspot.com/  (Shortlisted for the Author Blog Awards 2010)
Lucy's Twitter page 10 Comments on Writing Out Of Sequence - Lucy Coats, last added: 5/1/2010
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33. An Excess of Books - Lucy Coats

Headline News....Author's Book Buying Addiction Out of Control--Bookshelves Overwhelmed 

It's been a long convalescence since they chopped me and my back up at the beginning of February.  I'm not a terribly patient person, and lying in bed 'resting' for days and weeks and months is something I find quite trying.  Nevertheless, there have been consolations.  Apart from precious time to write, I have had 'bednet' to keep me in touch with developments in the outside world, and I've had books to read, which is the best legal way of passing time that I know of--and I didn't even have to feel guilty about doing it in the daytime.  Many beloved old favourites have featured in this reading fest, of course, but also piles and piles of lovely new books, which I have been buying lately with the sort of gay abandon Imelda Marcos used to use on  her shoes.  It's all got a bit out of control, really, and while I am not quite as overwhelmed as Arnold Lobel's picture book character (see above) who had 'books to the ceiling, books to the sky', I'm not far off that happy state of affairs. 

The trouble is, I am a book hoarder.  I'm not quite sure how many books I have, but it must be close to the 10,000 mark and growing.  Yes, you did read that right. TEN THOUSAND, mostly divided into subject matter and section, all in alphabetical order by author so I can put my hand on what I need immediately (I am also a librarian manqué).  There is no room for ornaments in my house.  Shelves are for the storing of literary stuff and nothing else.  I have built-in bookcases (here when I arrived), bought bookcases, and bookshelves I have put together myself with much swearing and bashed thumbs.  The Billy shelves from Ikea which live in my office are double and sometimes treble stacked, and now I am running out of room.  The picture below shows a mere fraction of the problem, and I'm not even mentioning the overflowing attics and the floors. 


My husband, the long suffering Wanton Toast Eater, has now issued a decree.  Books. Must. Go.  But which ones?  This question induces complete panic in me.  After all, I might need to refer to any of them at any time--even the old family ones I inherited from my grandmother and great-aunt which haven't been opened since 1953 or possibly since 1853 (hey, they might be valuable or have useful information in them).  I'll probably

23 Comments on An Excess of Books - Lucy Coats, last added: 4/2/2010
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34. If You Didn't Agree With the Guardian's Choice of Children's Book Heroes....

I took exception to the Guardian choices today, and decided to run my own survey of who children's book people would choose as their s/heroes. If you've got five minutes or so for a bit of procrastination, please join in with your own choices in the comments page at  Scribble City Central When all the choices are in (it closes Friday 19th March) I'll run 2 polls with the top female and male contenders, and there'll be a competition to win signed copies of my first 4 Greek Beasts and Heroes books at the same time. Have fun!

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35. Percy Jackson and the Mythic Origins - Lucy Coats

His name is on every child's lips these days. Percy Jackson and The Olympians (The Lightning Thief) is the latest blockbuster film-from-book from the director of the first Harry Potter movie--and he's everywhere from Nintendo DS to an app for the iPhone. I first met Percy--half boy, half god, all hero--some years ago in my favourite New York bookstore, Books of Wonder (on West 18th Street, and a must-visit if you are a children's book-lover in the Big Apple).  He was quite famous then, but not nearly so famous as he is now. In the first of Rick Riordan's books, Percy is having a few problems in school, not the least of which is that he accidentally vapourises his maths teacher. Things go rapidly downhill from there, as Percy discovers that not only is he the son of Poseidon--but also that Zeus is after him for a crime he hasn't committed.

I just love the idea of moving the Olympian deities to 21st century America (as much as I loved the idea of them in North London in Marie Phillips' excellent novel 'Gods Behaving Badly'). And anything which gets children interested in Greek mythology is okay in my eyes. I've banged on about this at length on the comments page of the Bookwitch's excellent blog, where someone suggested that it was wrong to tell these stories for children, and says that 'They are beautiful, but crammed with murdering, inzest (sic), sexual crimes and worst. These things you cannot be explained to young children, specialy when the hero is doing such deeds.'  Needless to say, I disagree with this point of view quite vehemently. There are, of course, many kids out there who won't have a clue who Poseidon or Zeus or any of the rest of them might be simply because they haven't been taught or had access to any of Percy's mythic origins. That is a very sad state of affairs to me, and one I hope to help remedy with my own stories.  But to say that those 'mythic origins' cannot be explained to young children at all is just plain wrong. It is perfectly possible to tell those ancient tales in an age-appropriate way--keeping the heart and spirit of the myth while skating gracefully around the more inappropriate bits. I should know. I've done it.

I've been involved in a passionate (but platonic) love affair with the Greek myths for as long as I can remember. Charles Kingsley's 'The Heroes' was my first mythological experience (my grandfather's tattered red-and-gold bound copy), and then I dived headfirst into the Iliad and Odyssey courtesy of Padraic Colum's magnificent retelling (illustrations by Willy Pogany). The Olympians have been part of my world ever since.  I studied them at school, and delved further at university, and when I was first given the chance of retelling 100 of their stories by Orion (what more suitably-named publisher for this could there be?), I jumped at it.  It has been and is my privilege and pleasure to be able to introduce a whole new generation of children to these wonderful tales in language suitable for the 21st century.  Even in our modern, hi-tech lives there are a plethora of words and phrases with back references to these most ancient of tales. An ignorance of the basics of myth will keep them forever locked, dark and impenetrable and beyond understan

20 Comments on Percy Jackson and the Mythic Origins - Lucy Coats, last added: 3/4/2010
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36. Confessions of a Youthful Misdemeanour - Lucy Coats


The anticipated delight of a new title from an author you have been reading for years cannot be underestimated, and I am happy to report that I enjoyed Diana Wynne Jones' latest book, the just-published Enchanted Glass,very much indeed.  It's a stand-alone, and it has all the old W J magic about it--at least I thought so. There is just something about her writing which fuses the mundane and the magical in a way which makes me feel that were I to walk into one of her country villages, I would recognise the landscape and characters immediately.  I would even go so far as to say that if I had to choose a fantasy landscape to walk into, then it would be one of hers. They are so comfortably English, and yet have an edge of hidden danger and wild mystery about them which I find very appealing. 

I didn't discover Diana Wynne Jones at all till I was in my twenties, but I loved her books no less for that. I was working in those far off days as an editor for Heinemann, and was nominally in charge of some of the (then) new and shiny yellow Banana Books.  It was terribly exciting to be editing such literary luminaries as Mary Hoffman, Penelope Lively, Kevin Crossley-Holland, Dick King-Smith (to whom I was known as the Lacy Scout) and the late, lovely Douglas Hill with whom I had possibly the longest, chattiest and best author lunch ever and never got back to work at all.  It was a wonderful time, and I plunged headfirst into reading every modern children's book I could get my hands on to catch up on the ten or so years I'd missed out on. 

That included Charmed Life, and I fell in love with Chrestomanci Castle and its inhabitants at once.  You can imagine my delight when a Banana Book story from Diana Wynne Jones fell onto my desk. And now here comes the Dreadful Confession.  I found that I wasn't actually very keen on it, and I had to write and say so to her agent. Did I do the right thing? It is a question which haunts me even now, and I'll never know the answer.  Apart from anything else, I was longing to meet her.  But even the best of us have an off writing day now and then.  At least,  I know I do. It's part of the rocky territory which goes with this author business.

PS: In mitigation, I now own every book Diana has ever written, both adult and children's and reread them often when in need of comfort--and my own children pounce on them as eagerly as I do.  I do hope that's some small recompense for that one youthful editorial misdemeanour, (and if anyone else out there has a deep dark literary secret they'd like to confess, here's the place to do it!).


Lucy's blog is HERE
Her website is HERE
Lucy is also on TWITTER
and has a fanpage on FACEBOOK

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37. The Importance of Bedtime Stories - Lucy Coats



Many of my friends laugh at me when I say that Radio 4 is too intellectual for me. And they laugh even more when I confess that I am a Radio 2 addict. I don't care. Even my picky teenagers admit they play some good music--and if I didn't listen to Radio 2 I wouldn't know about the really excellent children's book thing which is currently taking place on the Jeremy Vine show, (and I wouldn't be able to share it with you). There! You see? It is really a noble sacrifice I am making on behalf of the AABBA readers.

The bedtime story is in decline, according to Jean Gross, the Government's first 'speech chief' (whatever that is)--and it is affecting language and reading skills. "The next generation lack basic speaking skills because parents now spend less time talking to their children over family meals or reading them bedtime stories", she told The Times on her appointment as communications tzar last month. This is depressing, but probably true. Our lives as parents are busier and more pressured than ever. Some children will never be read to by their parents--ever. The ritual of a bedtime story--that precious time of sharing a world of imagination with your child--is more than likely to be replaced with watching tv or playing computer games or television or a cd--or nothing at all. It's easier for many pressured parents to let a machine take over the job--and what a loss that is for both child and parent. So, what is going on at Radio 2? How are they helping to address this problem? Listen carefully (so to speak) and I'll begin.....

All this week on the Jeremy Vine Show, listeners are being asked to choose their favourite bedtime story from a shortlist of eight, in turn chosen from a longlist of 36 last month. Each day Jeremy will read two extracts and then someone from the media will champion their chosen book--yesterday the author and journalist Guy Walters talked about Roald Dahl's Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and Bea Campbell supported Each Peach Pear Plum by Janet and Allan Ahlberg. The others on the shortlist are The Gruffalo, The Very Hungry Caterpillar, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, The Famous Five, Where the Wild Things Are and Winnie the Pooh. Jeremy gets a lot of listeners, and it will be fascinating to see which of these comes out on top--and how many votes are cast. Personally, I am throwing my hat into the ring for Each Peach Pear Plum--a book I have read probably hundreds of times without ever being bored. If asked to recommend a picture book for young children, it's the one I invariably pick. Well, I would, feeling as I do about the importance of nursery rhymes and poetry. Which one would you pick? If you feel as strongly as I do about the importance of banging the drum for bedtime stories, please do go and vote. And even if you are a dyed-in-the-wool Radio 4 listener, give Radio 2 a chance for the next few lunchtimes. Just this once. You never know--you might be converted.








38. National Poetry Disgrace?


Today is National Poetry Day, and Britain's favourite top three poets are, in order, T.S.Eliot, John Donne and Benjamin Zephaniah. So far so good.

Thomas Stearns Eliot I first discovered as part of my English Literature degree, and my battered and well-thumbed copy of his Collected Works is full of impenetrable studenty scribblings such as 'theological beliefs also fragmented throughout but imagery becomes predominant here.' Nowadays I prefer to savour his words out loud, letting them linger on my tongue and relishing the sound of them falling into silence. Poetry, for me, is a pleasure of both eye and voice.

John Donne was also a degree course discovery--and again, my copy of his works is annotated by my secondhand interpretation of that long-ago tutor's ideas on the metaphysical. Those were the days of frantic deconstruction, and it took me a while to shake off the dust of that horror from my feet. One of my favourite poems of all time is Goe and Catche a Falling Starre--something about its hypnotic, spell-like rhythms speaks to the soul of my imagination, and I even tried my own tribute to it, thus:
Spellsong
(for John Donne 1571-1631)

Go and save a dying star,
Seek magic from an ash tree root,
Ask me where the Fair Folk are,
Grasp a firebird's feathered foot.
Treasure up a seal's soft singing,
Hold fast to a nettle's stinging,
And find
What wind
Blows spellsongs at a wizard's mind
.
As for Ben Zephaniah, my May blog about him will tell you that I am a huge admirer of his work, and I am delighted that the people who entered the poll obviously feel the same way. He is passionate, funny, delightful, controversial, honest, challenging--all the things a poet should be in this modern age.

But you will see that the title of this piece is 'National Poetry Disgrace?' Why? Because a less happy headline today has been that 58% of primary school teachers (yes, 58%) cannot name more than two poets and just 10% could name 6--the number asked for. Although the article is in the Daily Mail (not usually my paper of choice), the study was a joint one done by Cambridge, the OU and Reading Universities--all reputable bodies. We are also told by Scholastic Magazine that more than a quarter of parents have never sung or read a nursery rhyme to their children. In combination, these two reports lay bare a devastating lack in our children's education. Poetry--and nursery rhymes are also poetry--teach rhythm, rhyme and pattern--all important developmental building blocks for young ones. Luckily Booktrust's Bookstart has made a beginning attempt at addressing this disgraceful situation by distributing one million books with 8 favourite rhymes in them--and also promoting storytelling, song and poetry sessions all over the UK, I just hope it's enough to start us on the long steep road to recovering our poetic heritage for the next generation.

18 Comments on National Poetry Disgrace?, last added: 10/13/2009
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39. The Art of Stories - Lucy Coats


It's the final week of the J.W. Waterhouse exhibition at the Royal Academy, and if you can possibly get there, you should go before it closes. The pre-Raphaelites are in vogue now--the BBC's recent series Desperate Romantics have made them very popular indeed. Waterhouse is a pre-Raphaelite painter, one of the lesser known ones, despite his painting The Lady of Shalott being one of the most popular at Tate Britain. And what has he got to do with children's books, you ask? In my opinion, the most important thing. He is a bringer to life of stories--in particular myths, which are my own special field of interest.

Last week I visited the exhibition in the company of two teenagers, one my daughter, both studying Art for GCSE. You might think that this was a fatal combination. But it wasn't. Personally, I am not a great traipser round galleries, being prone to mental indigestion if I see too much all at once. That cliched old tourist joke of 'If it's Tuesday, it must be Amsterdam (or Florence or Rome)' fills me with utter horror. I don't want to see all the great art in a city all together in one day. But the Waterhouse was small, intimate and extremely well hung, with interesting information in each room--yet not too much of it too overwhelm. What I loved most, though, was the pictures. Which is the point of an exhibition, really. It was like coming face to face with old friends in beautiful new dresses which somehow also dressed them in meanings I hadn't noticed before. I wandered round in a daze of happiness. Here was Circe in several guises. Here Ophelia, here poor Echo being ignored by Narcissus. And here is Ulysses in a boat, tied to the mast, his men rowing for dear life with their ears plugged with wax. But what are these strange winged beings around him? Not the Sirens, surely. But yes, they are--except that Waterhouse has mixed them up with the Erinyes, the Furies, and painted them as such. I didn't mind at all--it makes the picture visually very powerful, and I suspect that many people would not have noticed. It takes a myth freak to do that.

My teenagers adored the rich colours, the beautiful young things, the sumptuous velvets and silks and tapestries. But what gave me immense satisfaction was being able to tell them who everyone was, and the stories behind them. To have your daughter's sophisticated 15 year-old best friend say to you in awed tones (yes, they were awed, Emily!), 'But how do you KNOW all this amazing stuff?' was immensely gratifying, (not to say satisfying). And I like to think that perhaps my storytelling skills have made those pictures more alive and three-dimensional than they already are for at least one person--and maybe even two. My daughter admitted afterwards that even she found it all a lot more interesting with my wittering. And that's the biggest compliment of all for a storyteller--and the hardest to achieve.

You can find Lucy's website HERE and her own Quite Interesting writer's blog HERE.

7 Comments on The Art of Stories - Lucy Coats, last added: 9/14/2009
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40. Why Children's Books? by Lucy Coats


Because they are my passion--always have been, always will be. From the earliest days of being read to by my father (Rudyard Kipling's White Seal and The Elephant's Child were top favourites as were Peter Rabbit--the first 'proper' book I ever read by myself--and the tales of Orlando the Marmalade Cat), to the present day (discovering new wonders all the time, the latest being Neil Gaiman's Coraline and Peter Dickinson's The Ropemaker and Angel Isle, plus the anticipatory future pleasure of reading a long list of others including Michelle Lovric's Undrowned Child), I have found almost my every reading need covered within the canon of children's literature. (Of course I read a wide-ranging variety of 'adult' literary genres too, and take great pleasure in much of it--I am currently immersed in the three volumes of Lyttleton/Hart-Davis Letters--a nostalgic journey into a long ago world of publishing and academia.) But if some wizard waved a wand and said 'Begone' to every book written for those over 18, then I would not be unhappy to find only children's books in my library. There is an honesty and a directness about a really well-written children's book which cuts straight to the heart of things without messing about. For me, being a writer in this field is the best job in the world. While wrestling with words and plots and recalcitrant characters (and often days on end where inspiration fails) is hard work mentally--and sometimes physically--I wouldn't and couldn't dream of doing anything else, ever. When a story comes out just right, it is a kind of satisfaction second to none (until a second reading, when, inevitably, the next round of 'fiddling about' kicks in--for me a story is never really finished, even when the editor has to physically rip it out of my hands and send it to the printer!).

Thus, feeling as I do, it was a huge pleasure last Friday to join in with our fantastic blog birthday party (and if you haven't visited, please go back and take a look--it's still not too late to enter the great book giveaway competition and sign the guestbook). The chance to celebrate, talk and read about children's books here with like-minded people from fellow authors to agents, publishers, reviewers and readers has indeed been An Awfully Big Blog Adventure. I've learned a lot over the last year. Happy Birthday once again, ABBA, and thanks for introducing me to the blogsphere! Long may you flourish, and long may we all go on celebrating children's books together.

4 Comments on Why Children's Books? by Lucy Coats, last added: 7/26/2009
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41. The Ascent of Story - Lucy Coats


"Imagine, if you will, a handful of families in Africa at the very beginning of the Human Race," said the BBC trailer. So I did. Inconceivable, really that that small group should have engendered the billions who live on the earth today. But it set me to wondering (as I occasionally do) about another thing entirely. Who told the first story? And when? We know that our early ancestors were certainly artists--the evidence is there in the caves of Lascaux and elsewhere. We know that the 'dreaming tracks' of the Aboriginal Australians go far far back in the history of mankind, mapping the land and territory in song lines--the rhythms of which correspond exactly to the walking pace of a human being. But story. Formal story. How did that happen? I am no anthropologist, and don't pretend to be. I have only my (fertile) imagination and my knowledge of a fair few world myths to go on. But one thing I am utterly sure of is this: that the first stories were told to make sense of the frightening world in which our ancestors lived, and the cataclysmic events around them. How to encompass the fear of an African storm with its terrifying dark sky full of fire and noise? How to tame the power of an all-destroying flood? Why, make it manageable by setting it within the bounds of story. We started telling stories to come to terms with the world around us. And if all story started in the heart of Africa with that same handful of families, then it is hardly surprising that we find the same mythical story themes in every culture. They are, most possibly, hard-wired into our DNA at the deepest level.

The most ancient stories not only make sense of the world, they also give us clues to pre-historical events, set out taboos and ways to behave (or not behave) and much more. They give us all the potential to share what Joseph Campbell called 'those fixed stars, that known horizon'. Myths--whenever they started--are one of the most important repositories of knowledge we possess, and every child, in every culture, should have access to a wide spread of them as part of their education. Most British schools teach Greek myths as part of KS2, and this is very good. Certainly my book Atticus the Storyteller's 100 Greek Myths has been a perennial favourite since its first publication in 2002, and the recent popularity of the Percy Jackson novels mean that Greek myth is thriving as never before. But what I find incomprehensible is that the majority of our schools are not encouraged within the curriculum to explore the myths of this land. Most children know about King Arthur from one source or another--and nothing wrong with that, except that he and his knights of the Round Table are the creation of a 12th century historian and a 15th century jailbird, stemming from the romance tradition of the medieval minstrels. But of the orally handed down pre-Christian epics of Cuchulain and Finn MacCool, Pwyll and Llew and Mabon, almost nothing is known by the average schoolchild in the UK, because there isn't the time for teaching it. This is, in my opinion a disgrace, and I do my best to counter it with every visit I make to a school, hoping to make a difference, and the children always respond with huge interest. This is a drop in the ocean, but I do not despair. There is always room for hope. The rise of fantasy novels since JRR Tolkien has meant that both modern children's and adult literature is full of clues to these things. The myths of this land of ours are there for the finding--and in my case, there for the retelling. Writers will go on plundering the mythical treasure chest, and reshaping its contents to suit the conditions of the modern world. Even if we no longer need to make sense of the thunder by telling fantastical tales about it, the parallel evolution of story and humankind is not finished yet, and it never will be as long as there are ears to listen to all the infinite number of tales there still are in our future lives. Do you think that our small handful of ancestors in Africa could ever have imagined such a thing?

6 Comments on The Ascent of Story - Lucy Coats, last added: 5/2/2009
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42. A Great Loss? Radio and Children's Books - Lucy Coats


Next month marks the demise of Go4It, BBC Radio 4's specialist children's book review programme. Barney Harwood, the presenter, does a brilliant job, there are some great stories being read (currently Liz Kessler's The Tail of Emily Windsnap and Julia Donaldson's The Giants and the Joneses feature), some newsworthy topics being discussed (the Arctic and global warming). So why is it being axed? We are told that the audience is made up of the over-50's, and that therefore the 'target market' is not being reached. There are simply not enough listeners 'of the right sort'. If it doesn't work, and, for the present, leaving aside the fact that a) there are now many mothers who, having had babies in their 40's, are now well into their half-century and b) that the people who actually buy children's books for the 'target market' are generally adults, surely the BBC should be thinking about how to make it work. Books are an important part of the government's literacy strategy, and as a publicly funded body, the BBC should therefore be helping to promote books and providing their licence payers and their future licence payers with information on the subject.

But there is a problem. The weekly audience of 4-14 year olds on BBC Radio 7 is only 25,000--a small minority in the grand audio scheme of things. Children's radio programming will continue there--in the CBeebies 5-7am slot, which could be seen as a boon for early risers or, more negatively a graveyard, and books will continue to be featured on Big Toe. Radio 4 will feature Joan Aiken's Black Hearts in Battersea, Roald Dahl's Matilda, Erich Kästner's Emil and the Detectives and The Wizard of Oz at Christmas. But is it enough? Are the BBC thinking about what children really want, and more importantly how to provide it in a form they want?

For someone such as myself, brought up on a diet of Listen with Mother, listening to the radio is easy and natural. But today's children have so much going on that to sit down for a whole half hour and listen to a programme is, quite simply, an alien concept. A snatch of music here, five minutes on an i-pod there, gaming, downloads--the technology today's children are familiar with is all about fast and furious action. If books on the radio are ever going to work, they must be presented as cool and relevant. In the case of the Radio 4 choices, the books mentioned above are all wonderful classics. But why not introduce younger listeners to some modern classics in the making--by living authors who could be interviewed, could blog, could podcast--all things which kids can understand. Tapping into the 'celebrity culture' will be abhorrent to some readers here--and I'm not too keen on it myself--but if presenting books in this way hooks in more readers then why not? If the BBC wants books to work for those under 16, they must create a buzz about them--find different ways to use the technology which is out there. Don't tell me that there aren't the readers who are hungry for the next big reads, let alone the next good reads--Harry Potter and the current Twilight craze prove that there are. The radio is already linked to the computer--we just need some creative thinking to convince young listeners that books are right up there with the latest pop download. Answers on a postcard to Mark Damazer at the BBC, please.

7 Comments on A Great Loss? Radio and Children's Books - Lucy Coats, last added: 4/10/2009
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43. 'Everything is Useful to a Writer' - Lucy Coats


I had an email from an author friend today about my blog in which I have been talking about the links between creativity and depression. In it she said that 'everything is useful to a writer'. Is this true? For me, certainly it is. Yesterday I found an old guidebook to Venice, and within its pages was a faded and torn scrap of paper on which I had scribbled such things as 'bells--all out of synch with each other', 'broom floating down laguna--no bristles', 'herds of gondolas', 'intricate canary cages being hung out in late afternoon for light and air', 'woman in black lace billycock hat with fat orange lips'. Immediately, I have an idea for a story using these things, which suddenly reconjured the air and light of La Serenissima so vividly for me. The seeing of them, and the finding of those cursory scribblings of the notice I gave them so many years ago have thus been useful, quite unexpectedly. The same goes for conversations overheard on buses and trains (always a rich vein of comedy to mine here), or trips to the shops, or weather, or news--all the most ordinary things of life are ours to make useful as and when we need.

Once upon a time I set myself the task of keeping a poem diary for the year (I'm particularly bad at diaries and only got to March). But looking back, I see that I wrote about a hurricane in Selsey which removed tiles, my daughter's chickenpox, my aunt's funeral, a filming trip to the middle of a muddy wood, among more normal stuff. The events of everyday life provided me with fuel for my writing endeavour. So they were useful too.

But what of the inner life and emotions? Are they not the most useful thing of all to a writer? I was bullied as a child and I exorcised those memories by writing about them in my novel. Naming that demon (as Terry Pratchett so eloquently puts it) helped me to put the experience behind me, and, somewhat, to understand the other side--the bullies' side--so that I could write about that in a current project. Right now I have an ongoing problem with insomnia, which leaves me tired and wretched. But those dark and restless hours of the night provided me with material for a poem which chronicles those feelings, once again making use of something which should logically be of no use whatsoever. However mundane, boring, terrible, painful, wonderful, uplifting the feeling, emotion, experience, sight, action is, it can be crafted and wrestled with and made to dance to the writer's music. We only have one life to live and write in. I'm more than ever determined to make use of mine--whatever happens.

2 Comments on 'Everything is Useful to a Writer' - Lucy Coats, last added: 2/23/2009
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44. Blogging as a Writing Discipline - Lucy Coats


I freely and readily admit to my techno-ignorance. This time last year I didn't know what blogging was, really. And then came the call to arms. Would any of the members of the Scattered Authors Society be interested in taking part in a blogging venture? No pressure--it would just be once a month or so in a rota system. We'd be talking about the business of writing and associated matters. I said yes at once. It sounded interesting. And besides, the blogmeister extraordinaire would be dealing with all the complex technical stuff. So here we all are, not far off 200 posts later, with a fantastic array of blogs on a myriad disparate subjects allied to writing behind us. Someone described it to me the other day as a mini literary magazine, and so it seems. I am always interested to read what my fellow authors come up with, and they often inspire me with their words and thoughts. But once I got caught by the blogging bug, somehow once a month wasn't enough.
So it was that earlier this January I embarked on my own blogging venture at Scribble City Central. Much has been written here about the perils of procrastination for writers, and perhaps you might think that blogging is yet another one of these pernicious lures and excuses. For me it appears not. I am using it as a writing discipline, an exercise in putting my mind into the right kind of space for 'proper work'. I have made a bargain with myself that I will blog on every planned writing day, first thing. So far it has worked a treat. In the days since I started the blog, I have been more creative and productive than ever before. Somehow the act of typing words onto paper--some words, any words on any subject that happens to have popped into my head at that moment--is very liberating. More importantly it seems to 'turn the mind tap on' quite effectively for me. I hope that some of you will care to join me over at the Other Place, on the principle that 'If You Liked This Then You Will Like That'. I've already blogged about such diverse things as marmalade, muse-wrestling, Obama, seeds and comfort reading. The more readers I have, the more I will be encouraged to blog--and (hopefully) the happier my agent and editor will be at my increased output in the 'real' writing job, currently two increasingly complicated children's novels. Procrastination? What's that? A sin of the past, I trust.

6 Comments on Blogging as a Writing Discipline - Lucy Coats, last added: 2/6/2009
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45. Campaigning for the Book - Lucy Coats




I’ve never been much of a firebreathing active campaigner, really, being generally meek, mild and as retiring as a hedgehog in hibernation season (well, that’s how I see myself, anyway). Although I’ve signed a few petitions, been on a couple of marches (taking along a very British thermos of hot tea, naturally), I’ve never stood on a soapbox in Hyde Park and speechified (I mean, crikey, I might get noticed), preferring to hide in the background as one of the passive millions.

Then last summer I started hearing about cuts, and books being thrown into skips; reading about good, dedicated, knowledgable librarians getting the sack, as well as libraries being turned into computer suites, or closed completely--and I started to get very angry. When I was growing up, I was lucky enough to live in a house where there were books. But they weren’t terribly interesting books to me at that time (apart from my very own set of Beatrix Potter), being mostly either obscure French novels in the original language, heavy classics or technical sporting tomes. When I wanted to move on from Janet and John, Basingstoke Public Library was the place I haunted, every week, and sometimes more often if I could persuade my mother to take me. Without Basingstoke Public Library and its knowledgeable and patient children’s librarian, I wouldn’t be half as well-read as I am now, because I was a voracious devourer of anything and everything once I got going, and we simply couldn’t have afforded to buy all the endless picture books, Puffins and whatnot which I lugged home and curled up with with a happy sigh of anticipation.

Latin: liber, libri (m)—a book. It’s all in the name--it's why they are called libraries. Libraries, in my opinion, are where a copy of every book written is meant to live at some time in its life. The books in libraries are meant to be freely borrowed and then to educate, to give pleasure, to take you to other worlds and all the myriad other things they do, and afterwards be returned to do it all over again for someone else, (probably on the advice of one of those aforementioned patient and knowledgeable librarians). But now, apparently, books are out, and computer suites are in. While I am the first to admit the benefits of technology, this does not mean that real books with actual pages are dead, obsolete, extinct, nor that children no longer need or want them. Of course, as an author, I would say that. I write some of the books that are in those same libraries, and it is there that some of my readers make their first acquaintance with me (many, many thousands of them, according to the nice people at PLR today). And I don’t wish ever to live in a world where the marvellous cartoon by Roz Asquith at the top of this page is a reality. So that’s why, despite my retiring nature, I got involved with The Campaign for the Book, instigated by fellow author Alan Gibbons, himself a tireless and wonderful activist. I haven’t set the campaigning world on fire yet, but I have set up and am running the Campaign’s Facebook page in order to try and spread the word. If you are reading this blog, and you care about children continuing to have access to and advice on actual books in libraries, both in school and out, instead of merely sitting in what Alan calls ‘a café with a Playstation in the corner,’ then please go into your local library and tell them you care. They’ve never needed you more. Join us. Please.

7 Comments on Campaigning for the Book - Lucy Coats, last added: 1/10/2009
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46. The Writer's Holy Grail - Lucy Coats



“Can I captivate and keep my reader till the last page?” This, surely, is the Holy Grail of the writer’s art—what we all want to achieve. Every reader reacts to a book differently, and experiences it in their own way. (That, among many other reasons, is why age-ranging is such a contentious subject. Every child reader is unique and cannot be conveniently boxed up in shelving segments. But that’s a whole other blog.) Going back to the question, you have only to look at any series of reviews on internet book sites such as Goodreads to see that where one reader will award five stars, another will award three, or even none.

So where do I, as a writer, start to create this state of Nirvana, this paradise where my readers are held in thrall to my every utterance? Why, with the very first paragraph, of course. There are, apparently (or so I have been told by no less a writer than a Costa Book Award winner), six criteria for a first paragraph, which are, in brief: snare, style, imagination, pace, narrative voice and theme. Personally I reckon that if you can get all these in, you are well on your way to perfection. I’ve never achieved it yet, but hey, whoever said reaching Nirvana was easy? I try to make a first paragraph the place where I set hooks (otherwise known as the aforementioned snares) to rouse interest and anticipation and expectation in my reader’s mind. ‘Why?’ they must ask, and ‘Who?’ and ‘What?’. It is the place where I endeavour to create a style signature which says ‘This is me. If you stay, I will take you on a journey of deep feeling and imagination during which your mind can be drop kicked into a different world. You will like it, I promise.’ (Here I imagine a hypnotic chant--'you willll, you willl!'. This may not be terribly realistic of me. I know this.) I always think of that first paragraph as a moving train, taking my reader to amazing places they really want to be, and travelling at a pace which makes them want to jump on and join in till the end of the journey, with interesting people for them to meet and get to know at the stops along the way. It’s the thing I work hardest on—my shop window, if you like—where I set out my wares in an effort to tempt and entice with hints of what is inside.

The problem is though, that I quite often change my mind as to where I want to start the book—or my Dear Editor changes it for me in a tactful and considering sort of way which, annoyingly, almost always makes sense. When I am working on a novel, I tend to see it as a huge and complicated jigsaw, spread out all over my mind. I try to get all those outside edges done first, to make a neat box within which I can place the pieces of my story. But sometimes a piece, or several pieces, won’t or don’t fit right, and I have to move them around, effing and blinding, till they slot in correctly. If a first paragraph I have worked very hard on does that, it is a nightmare akin to dropping the whole jigsaw on the floor and having to pick it all up and start again. That’s how important I think it is to get it right. The novel I am currently writing starts like this (or at least it does for now):

She heard the tree first. Its slow song seeped into her bones, telling a long tale of tiny white rootlets reaching into darkness, of branches stretching past uncountable stars. It was singing, and she was aware that that was odd, somehow, as she drifted in a place that both was and was not. Trees didn’t sing where she came from. That was one of the things she remembered, and that was odd too, because Magret Bickerspike knew she was dead; knew it with a certainty that was absolute. She’d been kneeling by the river, watching her ripple reflection in the light of a full moon. And then it had happened. A dragon had reared up behind her and speared her—yes, speared her right through the torso—on its curved talon. She felt her heart beat faster in remembered fear and shock and anger and pain at the knowledge that this was it. This was the end of her life. A fleeting thought floated, feather light, through her mind, brushing it gently. That’s all wrong. Dead hearts don’t beat. Dead bodies don’t feel. Dead brains don’t think. Then the tree song took her over again and a healing sort of humming filled her head murmuring to her of fairytales and endings, blocking out everything else. All she had time for was one last burst of inspiration before she faded back into nothingness. I’m alive. I’M ALIVE! she thought. And that surprised her very much indeed.

The question is; will my readers want to read on? Answers on a postcard (or comment form), please!

7 Comments on The Writer's Holy Grail - Lucy Coats, last added: 12/17/2008
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47. The Mechanics of the Mind - Lucy Coats


Dreaming seems (if you will forgive the pun) to be on some of the ABBA bloggers’ minds lately, and it set me to wondering. Does anyone else use sleep and dreaming as a conscious (I use the word advisedly) writing tool—as an aid to working out those knotty plot problems which hinder any further writing progress until they are resolved? Perhaps I am just weird, but maybe—just maybe—this odd habit of mine might help someone else who is stuck in their writing process. So here goes….

Going to bed for an occasional nap in the middle of the afternoon is something I have done for years—ever since I had M.E.. I refuse to feel guilty about this, even in the face of disapproving looks and mutterings about laziness and the cushiness of being an author who works at home. It’s simply the way I keep going when I need to recharge my very-prone-to-going-flat physical batteries. I have also discovered that I can use afternoon napping to my creative advantage. I am currently writing a sequel to my first novel, Hootcat Hill. This one is bigger, for a slightly older age group, and a good deal more complicated, since I have to keep track of several other worlds and two parallel plots (which will eventually merge). Although I know where I am going with the whole book—in a very broadly brushed sense of the word ‘know’—I quite often come to a point (and it’s always in that dead, middle part of the afternoon) where I can’t see further ahead than the next full stop. I have learnt that staring at the screen intently does no good at all when I am in this stuck frame of mind. Nor does grinding of the teeth, nor shouting at the characters to ‘just come on and tell me what you’re doing next’. They simply carry on being obstinate, obdurate, silent—at least they do in the awake world. In the dreaming world they are active, alive and vocal. It is usually at this point that I sigh, surrender gracefully and enact a small ritual—if housework, food shopping, general life management and the myriad siren calls of the outside world allow me to.

I switch off the computer (and the phone and the mobile). I make myself a hot water bottle (the central heating is broken and my bedroom is cold). I undress and dress again in my snuggly ‘inspiration’ pyjamas. I get into bed, lying on my back (not my nighttime sleeping position), and close my eyes. It’s just me and the characters and the plot now. Nothing else is allowed to intrude. ‘So what is going on?’ I ask in a relaxed sort of way inside my head. ‘Where do we need to go next?’ I fix the problem in my mind—really think about its shape and form, and about why exactly it is that it has appeared. I allow myself to drift into it, quite casually (and yes, I do use meditation techniques here to block out the irrelevant mindchatter). Sleep comes—but it is a conscious sort of sleep—a focussed sleep. I may wake an hour later, sometimes less, sometimes more. The important thing is that when I do wake up, I usually know where I am going next with the book—the mechanics of my particular mind have allowed my characters to wander around in my unconcious and sort things out for themselves—and they are kind enough to let me know this so that I can carry on mapping their lives. So for me, napping is working (daydreaming is working too, in my opinion—but that’s a whole other story). I do, however, find it terribly difficult to get this message across to other people—and I wonder why my acts of dreaming make everyone outside my immediate family so cross and snarly when I mention them? I am simply using the writing tools that work best for me. The tools that get creative results and help me to write books that I can sell—for money. Is that so hard to understand?

9 Comments on The Mechanics of the Mind - Lucy Coats, last added: 11/23/2008
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48. Long Live the Fairytale - Lucy Coats


I have lately been engaged in a debate about Professor Richard Dawkins’ stated intent to research the ‘insidious’ and ‘pernicious’ effects of fairytales on young minds, and it set me thinking about imagination and its rôle in our lives. Why are many of those who blog here—and thousands of others—writers of fiction? Why do we find it a necessary compulsion to ‘make things up’ instead of sticking to facts with a proven scientific and evidential basis, as the Professor, I think, would prefer us to do?

I, personally, do not think that science and imagination have to be antithetical to one another. Surely the great scientists and inventors—the ones who put forward new and, to their peers, simply absurd theories were and are men and women with an immense capacity to dream the unthinkable? To predicate the laws of gravity from a falling apple took, in my opinion, a tremendous leap of the imagination from Isaac Newton.

But writers of fiction use their imaginations in a different way to scientists. We are inventors too—but some of us are inventors of new imaginary worlds, where the laws of science may be circumvented, ignored, or turned on their heads. In our heads, anything is possible—magic of many kinds, machines which defy earthly edicts as to how they should behave, talking animals, enchanted beings—the list is as endless as the words in a thousand Thesauri. Professor Dawkins wonders whether the fact that so many of the stories about frogs turning into princes, which he read as a child, allowed the possiblity of a sort of insidious effect on rationality. Perhaps—though not, I feel, in his case! But the million dollar question is: would it have been a bad thing? I don’t think so.

We, if we are to grow up to be truly balanced human beings, need the world of the imagination which writers and storytellers have been providing since man first acknowledged ‘wizardry’ in those long ago cave paintings which show a stag-headed shaman. Stories about magic, fairies and otherworlds can hugely enrich the inner lives of child readers and listeners alike—can transport their minds to places they never even dreamed about. They can teach important lessons as well. As G.K. Chesterton said, ‘Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed.’ Myths, too, are not ‘true’ in a quantifiable sense, but they also teach children about many of the great lessons in life, about taboos, about courage, cowardice, love, hubris, the danger of strangers, not judging by appearances and so on.

Our intellectual world, whether Professor Dawkins accepts it or not, is filled with the non-scientific and non-rational. Our individual and collective imaginations cannot be pinned down, quantified, examined under a microscope. Our imaginations are what makes each of us unique, and so we should carry on reading fairytales to our children regardless of any deleterious effects. As Philip Pullman so rightly says: ‘It takes “Once upon a time” to reach the heart.’ What the Professor must realise is this: a child’s mind is absolutely capable of containing many ‘once upon a times’ and evidential scientific formulae all at the same time—and what’s more, distinguishing entirely successfully between the two without any harmful effects whatsoever. Vivat Fabula!

7 Comments on Long Live the Fairytale - Lucy Coats, last added: 10/29/2008
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49. A Fantastical Passion - Lucy Coats


I have a passion for fantasy—both reading it and writing it. There, I’ve admitted it—stood up to be counted, stuck my head above the parapet, ready to defend myself against any verbal bullets and brickbats. I too am a purveyor of lies (see previous post), as well as a traveller into the arcane worlds of the imaginary, and I am proud to say so. My childhood was full of hobbits, fauns with umbrellas, and weirdstones, but I discovered almost all my favourite children’s fantasy authors well after I had grown up and, perhaps, might be thought by some to be too old for such indulgences. I find, looking in my bookshelves, that most of them are women, and I would like to pay tribute to the sisterhood of ‘sheroes’ here—they are the ones whose work encouraged me in my fledgling desire to create and write about fantasy worlds of my own.

I was in my early twenties and a very junior editor at Heinemann when I came across the indomitable Damarian heroines of Robin McKinley, then published by Julia Macrae. I’ve just received her new book—Chalice—and am hoarding it like a dragon does its treasure until I have proper leisure to savour what I know will be its joyously sardonic humour. Something in Robin’s very particular style of writing spoke to me—showed me that it was possible to dance to a different fantasy drum. We have corresponded sporadically over the years, and have found that both of us like the discipline of creating gardens and pruning roses—and getting the nature bits in our books right, even if they are made-up bits of nature sometimes.

Diana Wynne-Jones was a latecomer to my bookshelves too—most of my editions of her works are American hardbacks, bought in the ‘80’s from the chaotic but lovely Books of Wonder in its old home in New York on 7th Avenue. I visited its new incarnation a few months ago, and was delighted to be able to discover new fantasy authors and eat cupcakes at the same time. Wizard Howl sets my teeth on edge at times with his arrogance, but I love Sophie in all her incarnations—and most of the Chrestomanci books are works of fantasy genius. It was a delight to discover a new one—The Pinhoe Egg—last year, and to renew my accquaintance with the Chant family.

How did I miss out on Ursula le Guin’s Earthsea trilogy for so long? I suspect that I was too involved with the high-flown works of literature I had to read for my degree when they first came out. Again, it was a delight when more novels in the series appeared fairly recently, and I could find out what happened to Ged later in his life, and to all the inhabitants of those myriad islands which are as real as the Cyclades or Sporades to me.

Last, but by no means least for me, came Tamora Pierce and her Lioness. What she has created in Tortall is a saga ranging back and forth over several generations. There is always a danger of disappointment when authors write about their characters’ forbears or descendants, but Pierce manages the transition from main teenage hero or heroine to parent of the next generation with deft grace. It is wonderful to meet old friends from previous books and to hear what has gone on with them in the intervening years. I can’t wait for the next.

All of the above is why, having vowed I wouldn’t do it because I couldn’t see how, I am now writing a sequel to my own fantasy novel, Hootcat Hill, at the urgent request of many of my readers. I feel all those admired and looked-up-to ‘sheroes’ at my shoulder urging me on. Besides, I understand only too well the position of the reader who wants to know ‘what happened afterwards’—and I want the huge excitement of finding that information out for myself as I enter into yet another world of my own creation. So far it’s already quite a journey!

8 Comments on A Fantastical Passion - Lucy Coats, last added: 10/8/2008
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50. How To Commit Murder And Get Away With It - Lucy Coats

Today I have been sitting on a fast boat in the middle of Falmouth Bay in deepest Cornwall, terrified out of my wits by huge waves, moaning with fear, and wishing very much that I could murder the person who got me into this sea-nightmare of speed and spray and sheer gut-churning panic . I’d never do it for real, of course—I’m far too much of a law-abiding citizen, but it got me musing on my very first paper murder. Back I go in time, to another sea, another bay, in Donegal on a dark and stormy January morning…. (At least it wasn’t night, or I’d have to commit self-murder for using dreadful clichés.)

What do I do to prepare for this premeditated crime? First I put on my writer’s hat. Very important, that hat. It’s protection, get-out clause and freedom-from-prison all in one invisible piece of headwear. I sit down. Flex fingers. Close eyes. Engage brain. This is the fatal weapon. But it’s the first time I’ve done this violence thing. I’m nervous. Will I have the courage? She’s such a nice girl, Magret from Hootcat Hill. She’s had a horrid life—cruel father, family all dead apart from the boring old cousins. And now I have to kill her just when it’s all looking rosier. Is that fair? Is it honourable? I pause on the keyboard…. But then my tapping fingers are taken over by the film scene unfolding frame by frame in my head. The dragon rises inexorably behind the innocent girl in the moonlight, talons stretching to spear her through the torso. My heart is beating overtime, and my fingers are flying, creating the pitter-patter of the red blood drops on the still black water. She’s dead. I’ve killed her, and it feels horribly satisfying.

Oh dear. I’ve committed my first deliberate murder with violence, and I’m going to get away with it.

Magret wasn’t meant to die in the first draft. It was all a bit unexpected, really. But then she got into my head, talking to me, and I saw that her death was inevitable if the plot was going to move forward. I’d already killed her brother, right at the beginning. Somehow, that didn’t seem so bad, he brought it on himself really, by meddling with forces best left unmeddled with. I suppose I killed the rest of her family too, in a few brief written asides. But Magret Bickerspike was different. I knew her, heard her voice, felt sorry for her, liked her.

And now she’s dead.

I’ll kill more people in other books and get away with it. But she’s my first true premeditated paper murder—the one I’ll always remember. Sorry, Magret. R.I.P.

PS: For those who are interested, I currently intend my next paper murder to be a gruesome and horrific drowning. I’m plotting it in my head already. I think it will involve unleashing death by ancient marine monster on any person who makes me go out to sea on a rough day again. Satisfying, but legal. Ahh! The power of the pen!

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