Flatcap Day out in Edinburgh

Edinburgh Castle - Wikimedia Creative Commons

          A couple of weeks ago, I enjoyed a Flatcap day out in

Edinburgh.
          I should explain - I'm a member of the other SAS, the Scattered Authors Society, which has a chat-board called 'Balaclava.'
          The lovely Penny Dolan (who wrote 'A Boy Named

M.O.U.S.E' which I recommend highly) started an off-shoot group, called 'Flatcap' - partly because it keeps up the head-gear theme and partly, I suppose, because Flatcap is about work.
          Its purpose is to spur on the writers who form its small membership. They have to say what it is they intend to work on, and then report on progress. It's  highly effective for most of its members, though for me, not so much. (My fault entirely, not the group's.)

          It concentrates a writer's mind wonderfully when they know they will have to report to a group of other writers, who might have written many more thousands of words than they have. Karen Bush, especially, has been powering through the pages.

          Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, I was in Edinburgh - arguably the best capital city in the UK, though it may soon be leaving us - and I was at a loose end. So I emailed a couple of Flatcappers, who I knew lived near (or near-ish) Old Reekie - Linda Strachan and Joan Lennon.

Joan

          They both put aside their own work to travel into Edinburgh and meet up with me.

Linda

          First I met Linda at Waverley Station, and we walked to the Dovecot Cafe, where Joan was already waiting. We ordered coffee and we talked, for about two hours non-stop - oh, about the fantasy Linda is working on, and the prospects for Joan's novel of the Stone-Age, Silver Skin (which I am looking forward to), and my consultancy training with the Royal Literary Fund, and Joan's poetry (which is great and we keep urging her to produce an ebook) - and agents and publishers and blogging and - 

Berserker

          Nobody could wish for better, wittier, livelier companions than Joan and Linda.
         Then we went to the National Museum of Scotland because Joan wanted to show me their stone-age exhibits (we are both keen on the Stone Age) and also those of Lewis chessmen who live there. Which included a berserker! - I bought myself a couple of replicas: one of those berserkers, and a King. I was torn between the King and Queen, but eventually settled on the King because of his beautifully combed tresses.
          And all the time we were talking...
 

King, King, let down your hair

        Linda showed us some display cases designed by an artist. I'm ashamed not to remember more, but the cases were works of art in themselves - like strange robots, with pieces displayed in boxes in their chests or arms.
          Then it was lunch-time, and Linda guided us to the library cafe - because, it being the middle of the Festival, we were unlikely to get a seat anywhere else. (We passed cafe after cafe, packed to the doors.) Once in the library, we talked and talked.
          The party broke up at about four. We all had to catch trains from Waverley - and as we rose to go, there was a flash of lightening, a clap of thunder worthy of 'Macbeth', and storm-clouds burst over the city.
          Linda and Joan had been wise enough to bring umbrellas. I hadn't - but Linda, kind as ever, shared hers with me - and also led us by wynd, close and dreel down to the station. I know Edinburgh a little, but I couldn't have found that route.
          At Waverley, Joan and I said goodbye to Linda (who got home safely, you'll be glad to know), and started scanning the trains for Fife listed on the Departures Board. Thus it was we discovered that the lightening had wiped out all the signals for Fife, and all trains for the Kingdom were cancelled. Aaargh! Joan had to get home, and I was expected back at the digs by my partner.
          Joan collared a Scots Rail 'Customer Information' Officer, and exerted her considerable charm. In moments, though surrounded by scores of anxious passengers, he wanted to talk to no one but her.
          For about fifteen minutes, all was confusion while the rain crashed on the roof above us. The signals might be restored - they might not. We might be taken to our destinations by bus - but there was no news of the buses yet. We might consider catching a train to Perth, and then finding our way south into Fife - but we wouldn't be getting to Perth until 7pm, and how did we know there would be trains into signal-less Fife? Trains. I hate 'em.
          And then, suddenly, the signals were restored, and our train - although late - was leaving from platform 18. Joan and I joined the stampede to it - and by some stroke of fortune, managed to find seats together.
          So, on this Scottish trip, I crossed the Forth both by the road bridge and the rail bridge, which I count a plus. Always a thrill to see the magnificent Forth bridges, and to recite, 

'Oh, beautiful Railway Bridge of the Silv'ry Tay!
Alas! I am very sorry to say
That ninety lives have been taken away
On the last Sabbath day of 1879,
Which will be remember'd for a very long time.'

McGonagall.

In banana pose

          Even plusser, I had Joan Lennon by my side, who pointed out seals on the rocks 'in their banana pose.' A trip across the bridge was a trip incomplete and wasted unless a seal was spotted, according to Joan. I have to agree.
          I got off before Joan, and trudged back to the digs through the pouring rain - my partner had taken the car to Glasgow. I watched rain fountaining up through the lace-holes of my shoes at every step - something I haven't seen since walking home from primary school through the downpour that seemed a permanent feature of my childhood. (Other people remember eternal summers: but I remember grey, cold days with water rattling down the gutters, splatting on my head and spurting out of my lace-holes.)
          But the day out in Edinburgh was a great success. Thank you Linda and Joan, for giving me your company, many laughs and much kindness.

Photograph of the seal - GeographBot, Wiki Commons
Photographs of Lewis Chessmen, National Museum of Scotland, Wiki Commons.

So What Do You Do In Schools Anyway?

In full story-telling flow: 'Fee-Fi-Fo-Fum!'

          A friend asked me this the other day.  It’s not the first time I’ve been asked it.  My friends seem deeply puzzled by the amount of time I spend in schools.

          I can understand, I suppose.  After all, unlike many other writers, I’ve never been a teacher.  I have no qualifications.  I know lots of little bits of odd things, but I can’t claim to be an expert in any one subject.

          My partner, Davy, who phoned while I was writing this blog, insists that I put in here that my education came from ‘voracious reading’ (his words.)  He insists that I add this, with his usual relentless Scottish persistence, in case people think that I’m "thick and only managed to write a book by a fluke. You shouldn’t keep telling people you’re unqualified, you should stop that now."

          Sixty-odd books, Davy?  Some fluke.  But now, when he reads this (and he will read it, just to check, I ken the cheukster) here is his correction, [almost] as dictated over the phone.

          Despite being thick and flukish, I’m always telling friends that I’m off to some school in Yorkshire, or South Wales, or Scotland.  I’ve even been into schools in Germany, where one boy asked me breathlessly (in beautiful English) whether I’d met the Queen.  He and his classmates gasped with shock when I replied, “No: and I don’t want to. I think Britain should be a Republic.”  Seeing astonished expressions on all sides, I added, “Not everybody in Britain adores the monarchy.”

Soon to be available for download

          The head thanked me later, saying that was exactly why he wanted British visitors – to counter the impression of Britain that his pupils received from television and magazines. (The ever protective and vigilant Davy doesn’t like this part either.  He thinks I’ll lose my monarchist readership: as if I ever had one.  Honestly, love the man, but if I listened to him, I’d never open my mouth or write a word. And when Davy reads this, he will cry – his constant refrain – ‘Suzzie, you never do as you’re told, Suzzie!’)

         Countering impressions received… That’s pretty much the answer to my friends’ question.  As a writer in school, I – and other writers, such as my SAS friends – are giant teaching aids. There are thousands of children who’ve never given much thought to where books come from, or who think they’re only written by – well, by people like the Queen, perhaps: distant, rich people with private educations and plummy accents. And then I turn up – an ordinary woman, with a Black Country accent, and read from the books I’ve written.

Tales of the Underworld on Amazon

          It makes writing a book suddenly seem like something ordinary people can do - something that living people you can talk to can do.  I tell them about the slum I was born in, and the council estate I was raised on, the comprehensive I attended.

          I tell stories, which I love – and because I read an exciting story aloud from one of my own books – well, suddenly, books are exciting and worth investigating.

          And that’s what writers are doing in schools near you.

          Here, you'll find SAS members, including me, reading from their books.  And I daresay one or two might two might pop up in the comments.

          Blott's come down from the roof....

 

A BOY CALLED M.O.U.S.E

A Boy Called Mouse - Penny Dolan

          I’m a member of the Scattered Authors’ Society and a few years ago, at Charney, the SAS’s annual retreat, I heard Penny Dolan read from her then Work In Progress.  It was an account of an exhausted boy being driven and harangued on a long walk through a storm, and it was thrilling.  Penny is an expert storyteller and reader, and her writing and reading combined was mesmeric.  I’ve never forgotten it.

          I kept meaning to read the finished, published book, A Boy Called M.O.U.S.E, but you know how it is – work and stuff kept getting in the way.

          But finally I have, and how glad I am I did.  The whole book is as mesmeric as that short reading.

          It’s a richly emotional, detailed, vivid romp of a tale, told in beautiful, rhythmic prose.  The good characters are appealing and loveable, the villains wonderfully hissable, but every character is distinct and memorable.

          The plot is of lost heirs, lost children, lost mothers; of schemes and stragems for a fortune, all of it brought to life by Penny’s swift vivid descriptions, and her great sympathy and understanding.  Mouse’s suffering at his dreadful school is real, his longing for his lost mother is real, and his joy in the friends he finds is real too.  The bitter schoolmaster, his bullying son, the old Punch and Judy man and his little dog, the theatre people – they all contribute to making this a lovely, lovely book, one to read and re-read, to read aloud, and to revel in.

Penny Dolan

          Nor, though it’s published as a children’s book, is its appeal limited to children.  Children will enjoy it; but I thoroughly enjoyed it too, and it’s been a long time since I was a child.

          A hint - it would make a great Christmas present!
          A Boy Called M.O.U.S.E. at Amazon...
          And on kindle...
         And Penny's Amazon Author Page

And Blot....

          Find more Blot at my website: www.susanpriceauthor.com

Introducing Blott

          For some time now, I've been trying to think of something to make my blog a little different, especially a little different from the blogs of my SAS friends.  Others can review books better than me, and since I seldom emerge from my cave except to snarl at people in the supermarket, I’m not the one to dish the writing goss.

           I got the idea of a cartoon.  It was to be based around a writer.  I thought about introducing my computers as other characters – weeny little netbook, middle-sized laptop and great big desktop.  I liked the idea, but I didn’t think I could actually do it.

          I can draw a bit, but I’m out of practice and anyway, there’s a big difference between an ordinary drawing and a cartoon with some style.  I didn’t think I could draw a cartoon that was any good.

          And jokes.  I’m not that good at jokes.  I didn’t think I could come up with enough.

          And then there’s time.  I’m writing books, writing proposals, turning my back–list into e-books, and being an RLF fellow… I didn’t think I could produce a cartoon as well.

          Still, the idea wouldn’t go away, and in the pub one night, I mentioned it to my brother and sister-out-law.  My brother Adam was interested.  He is a cartoonist – has published cartoons, and been paid for them.  He had developed a rather stylish cat and mouse.  And despite having more than enough to be getting on with himself – holding down a job and studying with the OU – he volunteered to produce the cartoon.

          So Blott was born – and I should say no more and let Blott speak for himself.  I didn’t lay down too strict a brief – I see no point in dictating to someone else’s creativity.  Enough that it had to fit in with a writer’s blog.  I’d quite like the computers to be characters, but have no idea if they will ever be…  The sister-out-law, as is her wont, has supplied some brilliant ideas – as I’ve no doubt the other brother will (but he’s designing the covers for my e-books).  It’s a cooperative cartoon!

          First one to be posted this weekend.  All of us @priceclan hope you enjoy it.