• That tiny voice of self doubt began to niggle away at the back of my brain over the summer. I’d finished my last series and it was time to get on with the next. But – guh! I couldn’t settle to it. I prepared a brand new sketchbook to take away with me on holiday, with pages for characters and plots and series ideas. All the ideas I’d had up to that point in one convenient dollop.

    As soon as we got to our apartment and sat on the patio in the sun, a whole new idea buzzed into my head and consumed me for about three days. I turned my sketchbook upside down and began working on the new idea from the back of the book. Then I got in the holiday mood and said, “what the heck, let’s go for a swim.” I haven’t looked at that idea since I got back, but it’s there safely tucked away. I don’t know if it’s any good – I’ve got other fish to fry at the moment.

    The series Im working on is called Axel Storm – I won’t give the plot away yet. I’d been thinking about it for a few years when, in 2007, my flight was delayed at Bristol Airport while on my way to visit schools in Scotland. I got out my sketchbook and began to doodle, drawing on various ideas that were floating around at the time. This was the moment when they all fell into place and I saw the pattern. I have a wonderful page in my sketchbook that has a clear and simple mind map that lays out the whole eight book series.

    I remember the elation of it all coming together. It’s similar to falling in love. I’d want to spend all my time with my new love and talk about it to anyone who’d listen. I’d dream about it and wake up thinking about it.

    I came home, worked on a synopsis and sent it to my publishers who bought it without hesitation. I was a little surprised. I normally have to tune my proposals a little with my editors.

    So now, nearly two years later, I have to write the series. Harder, I have to recapture that spirit, that feeling that I had over two years ago. I’ve been in love with other characters in that time! Things move on in two years, I’ve learned a huge amount about writing series for a start, so that little voice nags, making unhelpful comments like, “Is this idea still any good?” or ” Wouldn’t you rather be doing another project?”

    As the American writer, Mary Heaton Vorse, said, “The art of writing is the art of applying the seat of the pants to the seat of the chair.” I’ve long known and agreed with this sentiment.

    So I pulled myself together, sat down and got to work. The first job was to go right back to the beginning and remember what the original idea was all about, to get excited again about the hero and the world I was going to set him in. I spent a week stirring the pot, making notes, drawing sketches, working it all out, getting back to that starting point.

    Last week I felt comfortable enough with the series to concentrate on one of the books. It’s not a saga, each book should stand on it’s own. I began with the first title one my list, chiseling away at the method of introducing the stories in a way that didn’t seem formulaic, but that did the job of setting the scene for the first time reader.

    That was the breakthrough. A moment’s inspiration (the culmination of days of thinking and planning and trial and error!) opened up the whole series. I knew how it worked and where it was going. I also knew where this individual story was going. After an hour of plotting, I thought, “I don’t need to do this. I can just get on and write it,” and I did. By the end of the week, my first story’s first draft was written, I’d really got to know the hero and his voice and had captured the spirit of the series. I felt really quite pleased with myself – I even took the weekend off!

    I’m not surprised the story came out the way it did. After all, I’ve been working on this at the back of my head for years. There were moments in the last couple of months where the phrase,” Writer’s Block,” appeared, blurred in my peripheral vision, but I’ve fought it off. I imagine all I really needed was a holiday, to let me get a bit of distance from the previous project.

    I’m often asked what are my top tips for writers. I’m never quite sure what to say, as I still think of myself as an illustrator first and foremost. But if I had to give any advice it would be to fall deeply in love with your subject so that you can immunise yourself from moments of doubt – then apply the seat of your pants to your chair. There is no substitute for hard graft – if anyone tells you it’s easy to write a book, ask them if they’ve started work on their second book yet.

  • It’s gone quite cold today and there is that certain tang in the air – The end of Summer – not quite the start of Autumn though. We went blackberrying yesterday and there’s lots more to pick this week, if the sun shines a bit. More blackberry muffins to look forward to and maybe a blackberry and apple crumble – surely the greatest pudding ever invented?

    We seem to get late, September, Indian summers these days and I feel we might get one yet, but that’s not real summer. The evenings are drawing in and it’s not warm enough to sit out.

    But more than that, there’s a feeling in the air of, “time to get on with things”. I’ve been working hard over the summer, but it’s not easy as a freelance to keep yourself moving forward when everyone else in the world has gone on holiday.

    Come Tuesday, everyone will be back from the Bank Holiday, sitting at their desks and realising that it’s not long til Christmas and time to get back and do some work again.

  • So much talk recently about exam grade degradation and how boys don’t fare well in the coursework environment and boys failing in general.

    One of the reasons has to be that boys are rarely in the company of men these days. The boys who probably need men the most are the very ones that have no male contact at all.

    A boy born to a single mother, who is statistically likely to be the child of a single mother, will rarely meet men, other than passing “uncles”, who only see them as an obstacle.

    From the word g, boys meet female midwives, health visitors, social workers, teachers and librarians, (if they are lucky).

    By the time they meet male teachers at secondary school, the hormones have begun to rage and it becomes their duty to disrespect the teachers.

    Then, at sixteen, the boy wants to be paid like a man so he can swagger down to pub on Friday night and binge with his mates. But he doesn’t want to learn the trade. He wants proper money in his hand now.

    The apprenticeship used to be a legally binding appointment, where the master agreed to teach the trade and the pupil agreed to turn up and learn. Often, parents paid for this priviledge. The boy not only learn a trade, he learned to be a man, by working alongside other men. This relationship has almost disappeared.

    Any older man who might show an interest in the welfare of young men keeps their interest quiet these days, and walks on the other side of the road. Why bother? The state and the media assume they are up to no good and they have to go through a process of proving themselves innocent before they work with young people. The rot sets in and spreads deeper and deeper.

    I worked as a sort of apprentice signwriter. My boss, Roger, watched and commented as I worked, while his dad pottered about doing all the carpentry. I learned so much more than how to paint a letter in my short time with them. I learned how annoying old people can be, but also that they are human and possible to rub along with. Whenever I’m drawing letters now, I can always feel Roger’s presence over my shoulder, telling me to cut that “O” in a bit more.

    I can’t think how we could ever get back to the old apprentice system. I can’t think how we can get back to men taking responsibility for bringing up boys. Somehow it needs to be done or we have to accept a future were women not only want it all, they will have to do it all, while the men sit back, watch TV and let them get on with it.