Picasso Splashes and Other Stains

There’s a monster at home that lurks in our loo,

It deletes all the training in boys and men too.

It sprinkles the walls with pee-coloured spray,

And ‘apparently’ no-one has made it that way.


I ask once again, ‘who pee’d on the wall’,

Not me, not you or the dad who’s so tall?

The shrugs and ‘don’t knows’ echo round the thin room,

The lowering of heads fill my vision with gloom.

Continue reading Picasso Splashes and Other Stains

Lost and Found

It was the start of an ordinary day in the life of Great Big Jar. Copious Weetabix were consumed in the normal mad rush at that time of the morning with the infuriating pebble-dash splatter of the cement-like goo right down the front of my freshly donned t-shirt. Tea that was poured hours ago, now sits in the mug forming a perfect oil spill, its pale demeanour knows all too well I’m going to empty it down the sink and create a clone that will do the exact same thing.

(The literary legend that is) Sue Wallman, on the other hand, was cooking up a conniving way to entice me out of my melodrama and through to the West side of my fair country. It was all under the pretence of bringing through SCBWI South East Scotland members on a road trip to the event itself. And ‘seeing as you’ll be there anyway kind of chat’ began to happen.

And she succeeded. The short and very neat conversation went something like this…

Sue: Help! We need a chair for the event in Glasgow and wondered if you knew anyone who is familiar with the children’s literary scene and is going to the same event you’re going to…

Me: Erm, I can do it, if you like?

Sue: Yay!

Yes, the rat was very smelly but I am so glad she asked.

From that moment on, I became the chair for the last stop on the epic Lost and Found Young Adult tour.

Channelling my inner Rapunzel my emotions went into overdrive – you know that scene, when she finally touches grass for the first time and then freaks out in-case her mother found out she had left the tower. That.

The great thing about doing an event like this in a different part of the country from where the authors involved live, is that I knew that we probably wouldn’t get the chance to meet up before the event itself. What do you mean, you shout, of course you want to meet them in person?

To explain, this gave me the chance to curb my huge fangirl cheesy grin and appetite for shenanigans when I meet amazing authors (almost reminds me of the excitement I felt when I met the band ‘Bros’ when I was 13, almost) and just get on with the task in hand in a professional and efficient manner. Obviously.

It’s not as if they could hear me shriek at my kids as I told them about it ‘Oh, wow! Patrice Lawrence is going to be there boys, she’s amazing. Remember that book about the boy who’s girlfriend died at the very beginning and I was engrossed in it so much I was late for work four times because I kept missing my bus stop’…Orangeboy! Or, ‘Do you remember pink-haired Kathy Evans, she’s coming up to Scotland guys! I love her and More of me! Remember the Facebook photo shop thing we did for the launch?’ And ‘Olivia Levez‘s amazing novel The Island, remember we chatted about plane crashes just before I booked our Summer holiday?’ Oh, ‘and Sue Wallman‘s scene from Lying About Last Summer with the swimming pool, that you didn’t get the chance to re-enact at swimming club after all’ and then ‘Eugene Lambert‘s amazing novel The Sign of One when we coloured our pinkies red to match the twins and talked about what’s it like to have a family member the same age as you and how they can finish each others sentences and speak their own language as pre-schoolers’…that bit might just be me though.

And breathe. Yes, it’s fair to say I was very excited.

The art of conversation was not dead, it was merely having a nap while I e-mailed thoughts and suggestions to them all about what kind of event they would like to have to end their literary tour. They were very gracious with me, some people may have called it tolerant. Did I mention I was very excited at the time?

In true girly guide fashion, I gave them all a little momento of the journey they had made. They would never get lost ever again. Much better than a Blue Peter badge. Maybe.

Anyway, here I am, re-living it all. Thank you so much for letting me be a part of that world, even just for an hour. It confirmed that writing is the right thing for me to do after all. The intrepid explorers North also gave me a gift… there may have been something in my eye.

If you ever get the chance to chair an event, go for it. 


I drew a thing that actually resembled a thing

Today I did something I never ever thought I would do.

I drew. This might not be a big deal to some but to me it was liberating. I decided there would be no more stick people or sheep that resembled clouds with chicken pox and I drew a thing that definitely resembled an actual thing. Not since I sat my O’Grade Art *mumble* years ago, have I ever tried to draw anything from scratch.

It just so happens I know some enthusiastic kindred souls who are having the same dilemma so between us all we walked the freezing streets of Edinburgh and captured images on our sleet-spattered sheets of paper. And so began the very first Scrawl Crawl of the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators South East Scotland network.

Under the watchful eye of our illustrator co-ordinator Catherine Lindow, we thought carefully about what we write/draw and how to interpret it on the page. We delved into the SCBWI Sorting Hat and pulled out inspirational words that would send us on our creative journey, using the scenery before us we drew from:  the perspective of an animal, smells, circles, triangles, relationship of two people…

We all exchanged looks of ‘how do I do that’ and ‘you want me to draw what?’ but with a five minute deadline looming and then we were to swap our pages with our neighbour, the SCBWI group became silent as concentration levels soared. Brain cells could be heard chattering, encouraging their owners from their warm bed under flesh and bone that everything would be just fine. And the grey matter was right.

We ambled down The News Steps near Waverley Station and caused much confusion among the tourists as to why we were drawing in -2C. It’s Scotland, we’re used to it. As the drizzle turned into sleet we made the decision to head indoors.  The impressive Museum of Scotland was minutes away so we grabbed the opportunity for some warmth and carried on drawing as we sat on the balcony listening to the hustle and bustle of the Saturday crowds as they made their way through its vast corridors.

The light poured in from the glass ceiling above as we attempted to replicate the glass-housed artefacts on our sheets of A4.

In the discussions that followed, we realised that a first draft, whether it’s an illustration or a chapter of words are treated exactly the same.

Words are written down in an attempt to create an illusion of a specific character, place and time. Illustrations are drawn to attempt to create the very same illusion. The Yin and Yang of the creative world.

Regardless of whether you draw or write, the very first pen-to-paper experience is the same. Dummy picture books are an example of what we see, as an illustrator, to enable us to clarify where the pictures are best placed in or around the text. Our characters then come to life as we go through the story spread by spread. Writers of longer fiction do the same thing too, they begin to write their story down, stopping every now and again to make sure they’re on the right path. Just like an artist adds colour or shadowing to their first sketch.

At the end of the process – an illustrator has a picture book and a writer has a first draft. Joining them together is when the magic really happens.

So why not try both, let your muse show you the way. Let the words flow or let the paint brush glide…what’s the worst thing that can happen?

Here’s my drawing of one of the many skulls on display in the Museum of Scotland. It is not a stick person or a blob. It’s a skull. And I drew it all by myself. And then there was coffee. Bliss. 

I can’t wait for the next Scrawl Crawl and where it might take me next.

The Great Big Jar of Destiny

On the 1st January 2016, the Great Big Jar family decided to do something a little different in terms of new year resolutions.

Memories over one year are now written in the hand of the bearer of good news and folded neatly among its paper pals in the Great Big Jar of Destiny.

Reading through them all has just confirmed that in amongst all the nonsense that life has thrown at me this past year, there is a glimpse of something special that only family, true friends and snotty kids can give me.

Hope. That we’re all OK. That we’ll get there.

We half-filled our jar. Perhaps we missed a few goodies along the way or maybe we just felt some of the things didn’t merit a place in it. But what we did keep is all there, written in a pencil/pen scribble, with dates and smiley faces.

A highlight for me was being selected to read my work out at the Story Shop event, held during the Edinburgh International Book Festival. It’s a day I will never forget. The sparkly speigletent will always mean that little bit more to me now and has encouraged me to believe in my writing when sometimes it seems I’m getting nowhere fast.

The best bits from our jar include a lot of 1sts – diving off the 3m board, starting a new school where none of your friends from primary are going, being asked to open a new library, finishing a first ever first draft, kick boxing gradings, being asked to speak at a major conference, swimming comp successes, co-chairing writers network for Scotland, surviving a trek across Scotland in a camper van, a new job… to name but a few. It’s amazing what we’ve achieved without even realising it.

Normally we discuss what goes in the jar but for me, an unexpected entry takes the number one slot.  ‘Having a great time at school’, dated very recently. He made the right choice for him. I can stop worrying so much about it (maybe).

We’ll be filling the jar again with the good things in life rather than focussing on the bad. Another year to discover what’s out there.

What’s for you won’t pass you by.

Festive Lurgy – an ode to parents at Christmas

The festive season is upon us. Our bank balances have seen better days and our kids are eating their own body weight in chocolate because, as parents, we’ve frankly had enough.

It’s not that we don’t love our kids more than life itself, far from it, we couldn’t live without them. But just as we’ve begun to feel all festive, basking in the knowledge that all our pressies are wrapped before midnight on Christmas Eve (first time ever), when… the dreaded lurgy arrives.

And it’s here to stay.

A present for the household brought home from school as if to say ‘it’s nearly the holidays so let’s freshen things up with a few headaches and fevers before your kids come home for the end of term’.

It wasn’t on the Christmas list and yet it has made itself quite comfortable as it jumps manically between the fevered and shivery grown-ups. The adults are in for a dark and stormy road ahead.

A hell-road of ‘it’s my shot to do *insert a loud/annoying game here* now’, ‘can we go to the park/pool/cinema’ and ‘can I have a wispa for breakfast’ kind of road with a splashing of too much console time and a spattering of moaning ‘I’m too cold’ bike rides on the side.

First to fall is dad, the legendary man-flu is actually real this time. It keeps him in bed when all he wanted to do was toast the year gone by with his work colleagues, he had hoped to rejoice in the knowledge he’s off on holiday now for Three Whole Weeks. Alas, no.

Lurgy has other plans for you, my friend. Woosh – one week in bed, two left to get back on your feet. Merry Christmas!

Mum battles on and bustles around, ticking things off their now, down to one to complete, to-do-list with frightening accuracy and speed (a.k.a if I get all this done today, then I can open a bottle of something nice and celebrate being on holiday too/sleep for fifteen years because she’s beginning to feel crap also). She continually pops vitamins and for the love of god, ALL the fruit in the bowl, in the vain hope a rush of the non-fermented grape nutrients might ensure she doesn’t catch it too.

I mean, how rubbish would that be if the extended family came for Christmas dinner and were greeted at the door with surgical gowns and breathing apparatus…

Moving on. Nothing to see here.

As it turns out, the big yin’s day came and went without a hitch. Mum’s runny nose was kept at bay for the duration of the charade-fest and dad was sprightly enough to make a great meal that didn’t disappoint their unaware guests. Everyone headed home to wallow in their selection boxes/jammies etc the next day, watching Groundhog Day and Dirty Dancing. Again.

But The Lurgy had yet more festive delights in store.

Chest infections that sound like a propeller plane taking off, wheezy coughs that put the singing penguin-type thing from Toy Story to shame and an abundance of snot-filled tissues littering the floor around slightly whiffy parents who have given up and crawled to the comfy living room chairs, as they desperately try to avoid the kids getting it too.

Stay out, kids! They nasally say as they invent fantastically absurd excuses why their kids can’t come in to the room. Thankfully their off-spring are unperturbed as they have new toys to play with and a whole heap of interesting and sound barrier-breaking ways to annoy each other now that they are in the same house at the same time. All day. For another two weeks.

The moral of this tale is… just stay at work. Or start preparations in July.

Stay safe out there, folks. May the new year bring you a fantastic immune system and a germ-free start back at school.