Inky Elf Interview with Kate Foster by Deborah Edgeley

Posted on December 15, 2015 by Deborah Edgeley

Congratulations on your new book Winell Road, which was published this year by Jet Black Publishing in Australia. As our chief proofreader at Ink Pantry towers, we are all very proud of you. Can you please give us a synopsis and tell us where your inspiration came from?

Thank you so much! Winell Road: Beneath the Surface is the story of typically twelve Jack Mills. Average at most things, bored, embarrassed of his parents, starting to notice girls. The book opens with Jack’s encounter with a flying saucer and a visit from three little green men. But that’s where the clichés end. Jack goes on to discover that what NASA think they know is far from what’s actually going on. Secrets he wished he’d never uncovered. It’s fast, fun and different. I’m super proud of the fantastic reviews I’ve received so far.

The story grew from an idea I had based on a scene from the film True Lies. I then paired this up with other ideas I’d jotted down in my notebook but had never done anything with and the first draft exploded from there. It’s a sci-fi adventure story for mid-grade kids, so really nine years and over. It’s not a deep, heavy and meaningful read at all, more a place for kids to escape.

Winell Road is a series of books. Any clues for book two, or is it in the early stages?

Book two is written and I’m deep in edits. Hopefully a release date will be early to mid-2016. This instalment is also set on Winell Road, Jack’s home, and, also dives straight into action. I’m an evil author, I don’t give poor Jack any time to accept his new life, instead I force terrible dangers upon him, his family and friends, then sit back and watch him suffer! But he’s a fighter with more strength than he realises. Plus, there might just be a romance brewing…

You are a freelance editor and proofreader. Is it tempting to edit as you write?

Not really. I absolutely hate first drafts. Passionately. They are a battle for me from start to finish. There is some enjoyment in that hatred, otherwise I wouldn’t do it, but I become so obsessive and involved in translating these vivid scenes in my head to words that I just focus on winning that battle first. When I get to the revision stage I’m a much happier writer!

What are Pitch Wars and how have you been involved?

Pitch Wars is an annual writing contest hosted by writer and all round incredible person, Brenda Drake. The idea of the contest actually came about several years ago after Brenda watched Cupcake Wars, I think!

Basically, a bunch of mentors – writers, editors, interns, etc – of which I was one this year, donate their time to help one writer who is seeking literary representation, hone their manuscript over the course of a couple of months and then showcase their work for the eyes of agents. Entrants choose four or five mentors in their category based on their likes, dislikes, strengths, etc., and send in a sample, then the mentors spend a couple of weeks reading, considering and eventually picking one writer to help.

It’s an amazing opportunity, with a high success rate of agent/author match ups. But better than this, it connects new writers to a wide and supportive community and offers tips and guidance on writing and submitting. I recommend anyone with a polished manuscript to consider entering next year. There is all to gain.

Living on the Gold Coast must be inspiring for your writing. Tell us about your creative space and routine as a writer.

Oh, it is! I am originally from the South East of England, a beautiful part of the country, and have only lived here a couple of years. The Gold Coast really does have it all: stunning beaches, tropical rainforests, picturesque countryside, and perfect weather. Everywhere you look there’s a beautiful view. But, in fairness, I could write anywhere. And I do! A typical day will include me initially setting up camp in my bedroom, then moving to sit by the pool, then maybe to the lounge, the kitchen and back outside. I often take my work to a new writing hub on the coast called Writers Activation as well; however, I don’t tend to be very productive on those days as there are usually too many fascinating people to chat with! As for routine, although I will work when my kids are at school, I can’t always force or fight when inspiration strikes, so I might be awake early, up late, or writing whilst cooking dinner!

Do you listen to music when writing, or do you need complete silence?

Not usually. I prefer the sounds of the world around me when I write. Birds, traffic, my neighbours, the kids fighting, the washing machine! I love music, but what I listen to usually has me up dancing, which is obviously then counterproductive.

Who inspires you? Give us a couple of your favourite novels.

I’m inspired by so much. My family, strangers, movies, other writers. It’s impossible to predict when that moment of inspiration might come. I could be watching a couple argue in the supermarket, driving home listening to the radio, watching one of my son’s TV shows. Who knows? But I always have my eyes and ears open – and the good thing about living in the sunshine is you get to wear sunglasses all the time so you can watch people without them knowing!

I love reading, obviously, and have a vast list of favourites. But, to name a few, my absolute undying reading crush is Liz Jensen (whom I interviewed for Ink Pantry!). I’ve read and digested, numerous times, all of her books, my favourite being The Uninvited. I also adore The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime by Mark Haddon, and then throw in some Enid Blyton, The Wishing Chair or The Faraway Tree, and you’re looking at a pretty mixed up bookshelf! Another favourite is by a yet-to-be-published writer I had the pleasure of working with this year, J.C. Davis. Her YA novel Cheesus Was Here is beautiful, spine-tingling and raw. I cannot wait for it to hit the shelves one day. I literally am its number one fan.

Do you like poetry?

Honestly, on the whole, not really. But that isn’t to say I don’t read and listen to recommended works. I love the silly, humorous poems my children write – they have warped imaginations! So much of the poetry I read at school, and since, is too serious for me. I like dark and disturbing, touching on life’s pains, I truly do, but when in poetry it doesn’t have the same effect on me as novels. Maybe I’m approaching it all wrong; maybe I’m simply not looking in the right places. I am always open to recommendations though.

Apart from your Winell Road series, have you any other thoughts about your future as a writer? Would you branch out into film, for example?

I have a bunch of other manuscripts at various stages of polished, mostly middle grade, but also an adult novel I’m really excited about called Breastfeeding Club, which follows five new mums in their first year. I’m always attending courses, and already have a comedy writing workshop coming up in the new year. I’d love to learn a little more about screenwriting too. One day. My editing work comes first, however. It’s where my passion lies – working with new writers. Ask me to choose between writing and editing, it would be hard but I’d pick the latter every time.

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The Spook’s Apprentice by Joseph Delaney: reviewed by Kev Milsom

Posted on December 12, 2015 by Deborah Edgeley

‘The Spook’s trained many, but precious few completed their time,’ Mam said, ‘and those that did aren’t a patch on him. They’re flawed or weak or cowardly. They walk a twisted path taking money for accomplishing little. So there’s only you left now, son. You’re the last chance. The last hope.’

Although I live in a house where female family members digest fictional books on an industrial level, it can still take me a while to catch on to new reading trends. While aware of regular visits from the postman bearing many book-shaped packages, along with mother and daughter phrases such as ‘it’s the next one in the series, you’d like them’, ‘you really should start reading them’ and ‘they’re right up your alley’, it’s taken me the better part of 2015 to finally succumb to temptation and agree to begin reading a series of books focusing on a shady, supernatural character known as The Spook.

The founding premise for this series of books (known as The Wardstone Chronicles and now totalling thirteen in number, with some spin-off books and a movie) is – like all the best creative ideas – refreshingly simple.

Thomas Ward is born into a Lancashire farming family around the year 1700. As the youngest of seven children, it is unlikely that the farm will ever find its way into his keeping, yet, unknown to him, his canny mother already has a plan. For Thomas is no mere farmer’s son. He is the seventh son of a seventh son…as is his father. Born with such a fine, supernatural pedigree, his mother decides that there is only one clear career pathway open to Thomas – he will become an apprentice to the most frightening man in the county. Therefore, aged thirteen, Thomas is given a month’s trial as an apprentice with The Spook – an elderly man who carries a double-edged reputation.

First, as the person assigned to deal with all supernatural problems across the entire county, The Spook carries immense respect and gratitude from locations besieged by ghosts, boggarts, witches and many other slithering, creepy beasties. Here is a man whose job description includes the imprisonment of evil spirits and cleansing houses of bothersome poltergeists.

Second, as the person assigned to deal with all supernatural problems across the entire county, The Spook is someone to fear; a man who walks the paths of darkness and magic. Here is a man who likely brushes shoulders with Satan himself as a natural part of his daily work and is therefore shunned by the very same society that occasionally demands and pleads for his help.

Thomas Ward is introduced into this eerie world – starting with the very basic elements of his apprenticeship; namely being left in a haunted house overnight, armed with one lit candle to test his courage and mettle against something long-dead and unseen (but definitely not unheard) that still resides within the house’s cellar…mostly.

‘When the clock strikes twelve, take the stub of the candle and use it to find your way down to the cellar…listen carefully – there are three important things to remember. Don’t open the front door to anyone, no matter how hard they knock. Don’t be late going down to the cellar.’

He took a step towards the front door.

‘What’s the third thing?’ I called out at the very last moment.

‘The candle, lad. Whatever else you do, don’t let it go out…’

The author, Joseph Delaney, has a writing style that immediately captures the reader and draws them into his world. In some ways he may remind the reader of Stephen King, in that he writes simply and directly. They also share the honour of being effortless, master storytellers. This is not to say that there is no descriptive content within the pages; far from it. While the reader is left in no uncertain terms about location, the main focus is upon the story itself, along with the development of the characters who inhabit this early 18^th century world.

As with all masters of their writing craft, Joseph Delaney instantly sets vivid scenes and fills them with gloriously rich and detailed characters; making the process of imagination an easy and pleasant journey. As such, the story moves quickly, yet, as readers, we never feel a sense of feeling disjointed or being detached from the action.

Everything is related in first-person, through the eyes of an often terrified thirteen year old. We’re in there from the start and Joseph Delaney makes sure that we stay the course, hanging on to every word of the tale as it unfolds around us.

Accordingly, this set of novels could be used as prime training material and sources of inspiration for all budding authors, of any genre – namely, grasp the reader’s attention from the very first line and never let it drop for a single moment.

It’s a true writing gift and Joseph Delaney demonstrates it with admirable ease.

Thoroughly recommended.

Shifting Sands: Tales of Transience and Transformation by Christine Cochrane

Posted on December 11, 2015 by Deborah Edgeley

Congratulations to Open University student, Ink Pantry’s Fields of Words author and Mslexia short story prizewinner, Christine Cochrane, who has published her first short story collection.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/Shifting-Sands-Tales-Transience-Transformation-ebook/dp/B0187MJUL2/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1449741458&sr=8-1&keywords=shifting+sands+christine+cochrane

http://lumphananpress.co.uk/product/shifting-sands/

Seasonal Poetry Drawer: Fnarg’s Christmas by Kev Milsom

Posted on December 9, 2015 by Deborah Edgeley

Fnarg’s Christmas by Kev Milsom

T’was Christmas time up in Lapland,

Old Santa stood wiping his brow,

“I hope Farmer Giles will be pleased” said he,

As he finished gift-wrapping a cow.

But working nearby in the corner,

A young helper named Fnarg Applepip,

Sighed loud and then shouted in anger,

“This bottle won’t go over this ship!”

In his rage he picked up the tangled wood,

And threw it hard, feeling very inferior.

The ship’s maiden voyage was a sail through the air

Before it docked, deep in Santa’s posterior.

The helpers all started to panic,

And poor Fnarg he went white as a mint,

While Santa uttered some very bad words

As his rear went a shocking, red tint.

His helpers, they rallied and started to tug

But although their pulling was frantic,

Protruding from Santa, could be clearly seen

The propeller and two funnels of the Titanic.

Mrs Santa was called to the scene of the crime

Where she screamed and fell down to the floor,

Screaming again as she fell on some marbles

And even louder as she rolled out the door.

“I’ll fix Santa’s wounds!” said a tall man called Norman

As he jumped down from a very high shelf,

“Thank heavens for that!” the helpers all cried,

“For Norman, the National Elf”

But now they all had a big problem,

For Santa’s journey of twelve thousand miles,

Could never take place with a ship in his bum,

Which was playing merry hell with his piles.

“It’s your fault, you steaming great nana!”

Santa’s helpers yelled at Fnarg in a rage,

“We’re now running 45 minutes behind,

He should be dashing over Spain at this stage!”

So young Fnarg was hustled and bustled

As they squeezed him into a red suit,

Then glued on some wool for a fluffy white beard

And finished him off with black boots.

“You’ve got to get going immediately”

Said an elderly gnome called Ray,

“Santa’s having extractive surgery,

So we need you to leave right away.”

Just then a door opened and in came a pixie

Herringbone Twang was his name,

His eyes rolling wildly with panic,

His arms full with toys and games.

“Things are very bad!” said he, with a frown,

“The kids’ presents aren’t going well at all.

All the bicycles have got square tyres,

The swingball’s all swing, and no ball,

Barbie’s totally drunk in the kitchen,

Singing a very loud rugby song,

While Action Man watches her, clapping,

Shoving Monopoly cash in her thong.

Ken’s in the cupboard with Sindy,

”They’re all over each other” he groaned,

The Pokemon are all playing Russian Roulette

And Winnie The Pooh just got stoned.

In the toy hospital it’s total chaos,

Beds all full of sick Beanie Babies,

They’re screaming and frothing at the mouth,

I’m starting to think they’ve got rabies.

The Playstation 4’s have all gone on strike,

The paint in each paint box is grey.

Noddy’s doing a ram-raid in Toytown,

All in all, it’s a hell of a day!”

Now in everyone’s life there comes a time,

When we have to stand up and be brave.

So they found Fnarg hiding in a flowerpot

And frogmarched him to the Santa Cave.

There, down in the grotto, his eyes fell upon

A pure vision of Christmas delight,

For the walls were all shiny with magic,

And the floors speckled with sweet rainbow light.

There, in the middle, stood a sight to behold,

A huge sleigh made of gold steel and wood,

Ready to deliver presents to all girls and boys

Who’ve been good all year round, as they should.

And there, the magnificent reindeer were:

Dasher, Vixen, Comet and Dancer,

Blitzen, Donner, Bernard then Cupid,

And eating a cream bun, brave Prancer.

At the head stood Rudolph the Red Nose,

So handsome and quick to the last,

Behind him was Bernard the Brown Nose

Just as speedy, but can’t stop so fast.

“Now listen!” said Herringbone Twang to Fnarg,

“We don’t have time for no twaddle,

It’s late and we really up a certain creek,

And we don’t even have any paddle.

So you go out there and do your best,

I know there’s no presents to give out

But there’s enough fairy magic for one big wish,

This is your fault, you stupid great lout!

For with Santa disabled, the toys have rebelled

And all of their magic’s gone bad,

So you got this small pile of fairy dust

I want the best Xmas we’ve ever had.

I want to see billions of happy smiles

And people worldwide without a care,

If you don’t then I’ll rip both your arms off,

And feed them to Paddington Bear!”

So Fnarg was thrown in the back of the sleigh

And Rudolph’s red nose twinkled bright,

As the reindeers and sleigh swooped skyward

Up into the starry, clear night.

Young Fnarg stared deep at the Fairy dust

And wondered quite what he could do,

An hour ago he’d been making a gift,

And now he was deep in the poo.

With just enough magic for one big wish,

He thought hard about what he should say,

Perhaps he could try to bring world peace,

Or make hunger and famine go away,

Fnarg looked out and saw twinkling lights

As far as his eyes could see,

And said, “Just make Xmas a perfect time,

Make it joyful, as it really should be.

Take away all the stress throughout the world,

And all things that make Xmas unpleasant,

Put an end to all the commercial rubbish

And ban the giving of presents.”

From the sleigh there came a flash and a bang,

Then suddenly, nothing but quiet.

“That was perfect” said Rudolph, turning his head,

“I hope so” said Fnarg, “…had to try it”

The sleigh turned east and flew through the air

As it returned to the chilly North Pole,

“No more presents?” yelled the Elves, when he told them,

“Oh great, we’ll all be on the dole.”

On Xmas morning over six billion people

Awoke with huge smiles on their face,

Then closed their eyes slowly

And said a prayer for the whole human race.

Not a thought was aimed to wrapped presents

Or the size of the turkey they had,

Instead they all thought of their loved ones,

And sent prayers to the sick and the sad.

No-one homeless sat on the roadside,

Those without were invited inside,

The world was covered in laughter

Everyone’s heart shone with pride.

People forgot about religious division,

And the colour of one’s skin at birth,

For the first time people truly listened

To their brothers and sisters on Earth.

They danced and listened intently,

While laughing for all of the day,

Which meant that hatred, fear and ignorance

Began melting and fading away.

In the evening as darkness descended,

A pinpoint in the sky grew bright,

And all who watched the hovering star

Agreed that all was perfectly right.

“How long will it last?” said young Fnarg Applepip,

To Santa, who stood at this side,

Both watching the light in the sky grow in strength,

With eyes and mouths open wide.

“A day, a month…who can tell?”

Said Santa, “At last they’re not living in fear,

In theory it should be forever…

If not we’ll try again next year.

You’ve given them hope, and shown them peace,

In short, now they have a new start.

It’s their lesson to focus on being closer,

Instead of ways to keep them apart.

Let them feel the sensation of true love

And then let them find their true way.”

So ended an important day for mankind,

The most perfect of all Christmas Days.

Picture: telegraph.co.uk

Journeys & Memories by Mel Woodend, illustrated by Michael John Wardle

Posted on December 9, 2015 by Deborah Edgeley

Mel Woodend:

My Dad very suddenly passed away this October & before Dad died we had been working together on a poetry book. This was to be a collection of poems based on the themes of journeys & memories. I had written all the poems for our collection during spring & summer & Dad was still busy drawing the illustrations when he was taken ill. I promised both myself & Dad that I would make sure we got our book published as it is such a special thing to have been able to do together. So here it is! It is available in paperback or Kindle e book format. I’m donating 50% of the first month’s royalties to the Coronary Care Unit at the Royal Stoke University Hospital where Dad was cared for. I’m so proud to have been able to publish this book with my Dad. I would be most grateful to anyone who would like to please buy a copy. It is available on Amazon at http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1516925866 or by searching for “Mel Woodend” or “Journeys & Memories” on the Amazon website. Please could you share with others so our book is publicised as widely as possible. With many thanks, Mel.

Poetry Drawer: The Last Day by Raine Geoghegan (for my father James Charles Hill)

Posted on December 9, 2015 by Deborah Edgeley

On that day, was it pelting down with rain like it always did in Bedwelty?

Or was the September sun filtering into the room? Perhaps the radio was on with Jim Reeves

singing one of mum’s favourite songs. Could you hear voices coming from the kitchen

as Nanna kept busy,
flapping the welsh cakes on the griddle ?

I imagine your gaze falling upon my small form, my mother scooping me up, holding me tight.

Did you notice the creases of anguish in her face as she let you have one more sip of whisky?

Did you give me one last kiss when she carried me away? Did you know it was the last day?

Resting now, on top of the hill, overlooking the valley.

I’ve tried to find you, but the grass has grown too high.

Raine’s Website

Poetry Drawer: There is a River by Raine Geoghegan

Poetry Drawer: Sunday Mornings by Raine Geoghegan

Kafka’s Accident Insurance Ad by Rachel Miles

Posted on December 8, 2015 by Deborah Edgeley

As Kafka actually worked in accident insurance, I wondered what it would be like if he was forced to do one of those tedious adverts on television. According to his friends, he was incapable of lying. So in my mind, it came out something like this:

KAFKA: (Shuffling about on his feet and not looking directly at the camera) Had an accident at work that’s not your fault? Here at the Worker’s Accident Insurance Institute, we stand up for your rights. Well, if you’re believed. Well… I say that, because sometimes people are brushed off… A little. If you come to me, up on the fourth floor, then, of course, I will help you. If I’m given the right file… because… sometimes, the files get a little mixed up. Just last week, I held in my hand a file for an elderly man with burns and standing in front of me was a young woman missing an arm. It just… (ahem) happens sometimes. However, of course, I will do my utmost to see that you get seen; I’ll believe you. But they sometimes don’t believe me, I mean… I can see many things wrong with a person, but they tell me I’m being a hypochondriac on their behalf. “I’m not a hypochondriac,” I say. “There are many things wrong with me and I can see those perfectly.”
So yes, we will make sure you see someone immediately. (Pauses) Initially. But not necessarily the right person. With the amount of corridors, rooms, and floors in the building, people are often sent to the wrong room. “We don’t do that here, go to room 104,” they say, but room 104 turns out to be the broom closet. Then the broom closet doesn’t give any advice, so you’re stuck wandering the corridors.
Then sometimes, if you’re actually given the time of day, you’re analysed by a group of doctors, who look over you like a piece of meat. You’re standing there – sometimes in the nude! – and every part of your body is talked about so as to ascertain whether you are actually injured, despite the fact you no longer have a left hand. Then, possibly, you get to the tribunal, where your case is spoken about – if you get past the week-long queues outside the room. Even when you wait day after day, at the end of each one you are sent away amongst all the others, and you leave like a bewildered herd. You are desperate for a look in your direction, anything that says you may be seen. All the while you and your family are starving because you can no longer work due to your injury, and your wife has been thinking about leaving you anyway but this just about settles it.
And, I sit in my office, unable to change anything in this vast and impenetrable bureaucracy, and some days I come to the conclusion that the only means of escape is insanity.
(Clears throat) So that name again… Is the Worker’s Accident Insurance Institute… for fairness and quick results.

Picture: bbc.co.uk

Buffalo Soldier by Tanya Landman: reviewed by Tina Williams

Posted on December 7, 2015 by Deborah Edgeley

‘What kind of a girl steals the clothes from a dead man’s back and runs off to join the army?

A desperate one, that’s who.’

The Carnegie Medal, awarded annually to ‘the writer of an outstanding book for children’, is notorious for selecting novels which confront contentious issues and/or have the potential to spark controversy and debate. This year’s winner, Tanya Landman, is certainly no exception. With her brutally honest report of what it was like to be a young black woman in America’s Deep South during the country’s most troubled and bloody period, she presents her young readers with questions about humanity that would trouble even the most philosophical amongst us.

Beginning her life as a slave girl in the cook-house of the wealthy Delaney family, Landman’s narrator dispenses with her ‘fancy’ given name of Charlotte, just as she had relinquished all knowledge of her age or family history. As ‘property’ of Mr Delaney, she knows the best she and her fellow workers at the plantation can hope for is to keep a low profile and work hard, despite the verbal and physical abuse that has her question why skin colour matters when all blood looks the same.

Civil war between North and South, in which Lincoln’s Yankee soldiers are fighting for a united America devoid of slavery, brings hope to those on the plantation, and they eagerly await the brave cavalry who will set them all free. Although Charlotte doesn’t know what freedom is exactly, she senses it’s something good and clings to that feeling with excited anticipation of its arrival.

Except freedom doesn’t come with the battle-weary soldiers who burn the plantation, kill Delaney and take the workers with them, indiscriminately raping and killing as they rampage across the country. Nor does it come with news of the Confederate South’s surrender, nor with the assurance of an all new Promised Land.

After witnessing the rape and murder of those closest to her, and encountering the remains of atrocities carried out upon black families, Charlotte loses all hope for freedom. Frightened by the soldier’s mistreatment of women, her vulnerability becomes the only thing in the world she can control. By dressing as a man, she discovers that she becomes a man in the eyes of others (‘Folks see what they expect to see’). And so, seeking freedom and protection, she enlists as a soldier. But even here, within the United States Army, Private Charley O’Hara finds racial prejudice is just as prevalent as ever.

As the years pass, Charley witnesses the cruel treatment of her fellow soldiers by a white race unable or unwilling to rearrange the pre-established social order. Battle-hard and world-weary, devoured by hatred and fuelled by stories of savagery, Charley releases years of rage and social injustice on another of America’s ‘nuisance’ races, the Native Indians. She stands by her fellow soldiers as they evict entire Indian communities from land earmarked for new schools and homes for white families. Oblivious to the irony, her distaste for the Indian culture is soon brought into question by the arrival of another frightened soul sheltering for survival within the US Army – one who knows her secret, understands her fight, and with whom she has the greatest chance of finding freedom.

Landman’s novel charts a tumultuous period in American history, straddling both the pre-War barbarism of slavery, and the post-War turmoil that went on long after the Thirteenth Amendment abolished slavery in December 1865. Whilst the American Civil War is often pored over in film and literature, the perspective is predominantly male, claims Landman, and even rarer is the voice of the young black female. As so many writers do, Landman says she heard Charlotte’s/Charley’s voice clearly as she wrote, and this is evident in the narrative that rings out loud and unfiltered from the pages. In her Deep South dialect, Charlotte lays down the truth about the barbarities of that period – first as an innocent child asking all the questions and trying to make sense of the world with only a handful of pieces of the puzzle, and then as an adult, hardened by loss and war, and defying long-buried feelings of truth and justice.

Whilst Buffalo Soldiers charts just one woman’s journey, its themes of freedom and identity relate to all American citizens regardless of race during that period, and indeed all members of the human race before and since. Charlotte asks some heavy questions of her listeners, ones that can have no agreeable answers – certainly not from today’s readers who live in a world striving for equality and a voice for all. Nor does Charlotte shelter her readers from the things she has seen: brutal rape, murder and mutilation – surely the most horrific of atrocities one human can commit upon another. But Landman trusts her young readers with the truth – the truth as she has discovered it during research for this and other novels – and Charlotte is the medium by which that truth is communicated. Through Charlotte, Landman ensures that new generations remember and learn from the experiences of those who have gone before us, and, perhaps more importantly, plays her part in giving those who were once voiceless, a chance to be heard in a world now ready and able to listen.

Find out more about Tanya Landman and her work at www.tanyalandman.com.

http://www.carnegiegreenaway.org.uk/carnegie/recent_winners.php

http://www.theguardian.com/childrens-books-site/2015/jun/22/tanya-landman-carnegie-medal-2015-winner-buffalo-soldier-interview

http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books/news/buffalo-soldier-story-of-former-female-slave-in-us-army-wins-children-s-book-award-10337833.html

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Slavery_in_the_United_States#Civil_War_and_emancipation

Inky Special: Lyrical Craft: Musician Dave Hulatt by Deborah Edgeley

Posted on December 2, 2015 by Deborah Edgeley

You say that music has its own language. Can you please explain what you mean?

Music has its own modes of expression, gesture and structure, which can also be seen in the structure of verbal language. For example, a sentence can equal a riff. Similarities between the syntax used in conversation can be analogous to the gesturing inherent in various types of musical phrases. Musical conversation can be observed in the ‘question and answer’ motifs often used by duelling in musicians, with blues and rock players who gesture to each other.

Music instantly affects my emotions, as opposed to any other art, but is transient. Is music more about feeling?

Music can be about feeling, it can be about something transient, but also something less so if it stays or lingers in the mind, and perhaps provokes subliminal questions or attitudes that may surface in other forms of communication. For example, if you listen to a sad piece of music, that then translates into affecting a conversation with someone in a way that might have been different if the conversation had taken place after listening to something happy, jolly, up tempo, aggressive etc.

Is there a recurring theme in your work? What do you care about?

.Recurring themes in my lyrics are often connected with philosophy and politics. I think a lot about the meaning and the value of doing things, and analysing this in the sense of fairness, justice, consumerism and escapism. I often comment on the machine like nature of society, how people are controlled without realising it (a good analogy is in the film The Matrix) and the ‘battery hen mentality’ of its citizens, a lyric I used in a song before the concept of the Matrix became available to me.

You attended Dartington College of Art, a specialist institution in Totnes, Devon. Tell us about your concept piece Mind’s Eye.

Minds Eye was a solo album recorded on a Commodore Amiga computer using a Yamaha sound module a few years before I went to Dartington, but it was used to support my application to study there, and was probably the main reason I got an unconditional offer. It was done using purely midi technology, and this skill was eventually to come in useful in my final year project at the college, where I produced a completely automated sound/lighting piece.

Which album has inspired you, lyrically?

One of my favourite albums in terms of lyrics and imagery would be Astounding Sounds and Amazing Music by Hawkwind. The track Steppenwolf particularly expresses the contrast between society and its customs, the individual and the unconscious, and the animal nature hidden beneath the masked exterior of human etiquette.

You have a new album called Sun Daze. What are the concepts behind it? I love the song title Who Ate My Piecycle!

The idea behind Sun Daze really draws from the concept of escaping to a better place, away from the rat race, perhaps an eternal sunny summer’s day out in the fields with a best friend/lover, which the album photo on the inside cover, taken by a lovely friend of mine, encapsulates. It also is moody and rebellious in terms of notions of a wider idealism generally, and of grappling with the difficulty for anyone to be truly authentic in a modern day world. Who Ate My Piecycle is instrumental, and I think the title reflects its quirkiness, though its meaning is purely an irreverence towards reality, I guess, i.e. escapist creativity.

What would you say is the most important element in your song writing?

The most important element in song writing is firstly the amount of passion/drive you have at the time, and the quality of the initial seed that kicks off your creativity. Then the hardest part to me is in re-arranging and perfecting a composition.

About your creative process. Where do you usually find your muse? And can you summon her?!

The creative process for me can be a combination between catharsis and a desire to create and build something lasting beyond myself. It helps a person escape worries and everyday drudgery and repetition, and the world of sound can have its own sensuous delights to entice.

Can you please share with Ink Pantry a couple of examples of your song writing, from your album Sun Daze?

Spiral Path

In a downward spiral, on an upstairs path, reflect the fantastic, escape the mundane.

In a cool river, lagoon of peace, magic surrounding the sounds, chasing a rainbow inside the dream.

Staring at the Sun

Gazing through a lens of imagined paradise, utopia cannot describe, revelation and childlike wonder, only adulterated by illusions of beauty.

Sun Daze is available on CD Baby:

http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/roadtrip3

https://www.facebook.com/Roadtrip6/?fref=ts

Touch by Claire North: reviewed by Natalie Denny

Posted on November 27, 2015 by Deborah Edgeley

‘Do you like what you see?’

Imagine you could change bodies at will, experience life in whatever human form you pleased. Would you?

Claire North’s Touch allows us to explore this idea through Kepler, a ‘ghost’ who can ‘jump’ into any body by mere skin to skin contact. Kepler and kin are possessing entities born into human bodies that experienced violent trauma, triggering a powerful impulse to cling to life. In their death throes these souls reach out – leaving their original bodies and jumping into whomever’s they can lay their pores on. Kepler is a special form of ghost, an ‘estate agent’, who is paid handsomely to find host bodies for other souls that share this unique ability.

We follow Kepler from the first terrifying jump and back and forth through a mesmerising ride through history. We are hurled in at the midst of the action from the outset. Kepler is in love with Josephine, a willing host body that Kepler rents for a considerable sum. The death of Josephine at the hands of a skilled assassin fuels a race against time to unmask Aquarius, the organisation that has made its mission to eradicate Kepler’s kind. We meet others like Kepler; most memorable is the lunatic Galileo who uses ghosting skills to wreak havoc and destruction across the world in an attempt to taunt Kepler. Galileo engages Kelper in a dangerous game of hide and seek, utilising Aquarius to destroy the ghost with Machiavellian precision.

Touch is a fast-paced existential thriller with an original concept. The book deals with issues of love, mortality, identity, and the essence of self. On the ghost’s exit, the hosts are minus the memory of the time they were being ‘worn’, which highlights many ethical issues around survival and consent. Kepler is gender fluid throughout, and the book deals with love and relationships in a very inclusive and thought-provoking way. This is the kind of book that keeps you constantly engaged and questioning the main character as well as yourself.

There’s little doubt that Kepler is a monster who uses people with little regard to their welfare but somehow we are sympathetic.

Claire North’s attention to detail is excellent and the grand finale of the book will keep you gripped until the last page. For me, it doesn’t triumph the marvel that was The First Fifteen lives of Harry August, but it is a book that stands proud in its own right. My only criticism would be that I thought the book could elaborate in many areas such as the origins of these bodiless souls.

Overall it is a gripping, poignant, breathlessly imaginative read that was difficult to put down.