Tag Archives: David Fickling

Some more Saturday in Charlotte Square

The first thing I decided after travelling in to Edinburgh yesterday morning, was that rubbing shoulders with Francesca Simon had to go. It would have been lovely, but the party at the Edinburgh Bookshop I’d kindly been invited to meant returning home on a late train, full of rugby fans and festival goers. And I like my trains a bit emptier than that!

Chris Close

So it was with a heavy heart that I didn’t go and meet all those authors. (I’d like these festivals and things to be more spread out, and for me to be the only one out travelling on a weekend.)

And I actually bought a book. Chris Close who has been photographing visiting authors since 2009 (that’s when Bookwitch started bookfesting as well), has put some of them into a book and I simply needed to have this book, and Chris signed it (rather more politely than I suggested) for me as well.

Kirkland Ciccone by Chris Close

He also pointed me in the right direction to find his recent photo of Kirkland Ciccone. Kirkie wore his loveliest test card jacket and tie (disappointingly with a plain white shirt) the other day, and it’s not that Chris is a bad photographer, or that your eyesight has gone funny, but he gave Kirkland the 3D treatment. (Personally I suspect the aerial needs adjusting.)

Oliver Jeffers had an event on before I arrived, so I caught him signing in the bookshop afterwards instead. He’d been dressed as one of his characters earlier, but looked more his normal self by then.

Oliver Jeffers

After my photo session with Eoin Colfer, we encountered a small child playing with the ducks. It struck me as unusual, but very sensible. The child’s father tried to claim he was from Fife, but that was the most American Fife accent I’ve ever heard. And I could only partly explain the purpose of the ducks to him.

At this point I spied a man arriving, elegantly dressed in a mac, which I suppose is suitable for a Scottish trip. He was none other than David Fickling, followed by Mrs Fickling. And I forgot to ask what I’d been thinking I needed to ask.

I hung around hoping to take pictures of Darren Shan (you can tell it was most of the Irish boys all in one day), but that didn’t come to anything. He did wear a rather fetching t-shirt as I saw him race past before his event.

So I finished by going to find Marcus Sedgwick in his bookshop signing instead. And that was nice too.

Marcus Sedgwick

2 x Mal

Mal Peet

I’ve been sitting on a couple of lovely pieces about Mal Peet. You’ve probably seen them already. There was a hashtag – I think – which I can no longer find.

David Fickling on his pride at ‘ripping the arse out of Mal’s book.’

Anthony McGowan remembering his first meeting with Mal.

There will be plenty more like that, but I didn’t stack them all up, so you’ll have to look for them yourselves. If you didn’t already, of course.

Bridges between languages

Yeah, well, that didn’t go so well. I’d been gladdening for a couple of months because Fabio Geda was coming to Britain and I would see him a two events in the same day.

And then transport to Oxford, which was the first venue, didn’t so much dry up as become very dear, and there was ‘no room at the inn’ so to speak and when I’d decided to just go to London for the second event, the train fares had done that unpleasant thing again. And Son, my prospective events companion, needed to go off to Lund to listen to the bridging of languages across the Öresund, for purely academical reasons, even though the London event would also have been pretty educational in its own way.

So, my dears, I stayed at home. Thought about doing the ironing, but didn’t.

The Children’s Bookshow have organised two months of events around the country, and on Friday there was this translation panel event and workshops and reception in London, featuring Fabio Geda and his award winning translator Howard Curtis, and his publisher David Fickling. Kevin Crossley-Holland, translator Daniel Hahn and Nicolette Jones were also on the programme.

ACHUKAPHOTO: Found In Translation &emdash;

That sounded so very much like my kind of thing. I may not be able to tell you very much of what went on – except that apparently David Fickling arrived after his event – but can offer you some photos which the very kind Michael Thorn of Achuka offered to share with me.

ACHUKAPHOTO: Found In Translation &emdash;

The sad truth about translation is that only 3% of children’s books published in this country have been translated. Hardly surprising I found my Foreign Reading Challenge a few years ago to be so uphill. I’d thought all I would need was determination, but to read you also need books. And there weren’t many. But at least there was Fabio’s book, In the Sea there are Crocodiles, which was the Bookwitch favourite.

ACHUKAPHOTO: Found In Translation &emdash;

Until next time, Fabio…

Launching Shine

The custard creams made all the difference. They and the Coke. Halfway through the launch party for Candy Gourlay’s new book Shine, I was overcome by an urge to liberate ‘a few’ custard creams. They were looking lonely, sitting on a table at Archway Library. That sugar rush kept me going all night, more or less.

Archway Library

I arrived just in time for The Three Hundred Word Challenge. Candy read out as many entries as there was time for, and her collected authors pitched in with their thoughts. The advice was good. The fledgling stories were even better. It’s reassuring to find that young people still want to write, and that they know how.

Teri Terry, Candy Gourlay and Jane McLoughlin

While this was going on in front of an audience so numerous they ran out of chairs, people went about their business in the library, and there was a nice mix of festival special and ordinary library behaviour. (It was the first day of the first Archway With Words Festival.) The authors couldn’t always agree on their advice, which should go a long way to proving that there is no one correct way to write. (I thought they were going to come to blows. Which would have been exciting.)

Random's Clare, Simon Mason, Philippa Dickinson and Keren David

Once it was time for the launch proper, I had a job recognising people without the customary name badges. I managed some. I was discovered in my corner by Random’s Clare, who was almost on her own doorstep for this event.

There were speeches. MDs Philippa Dickinson and Simon Mason came. David Fickling, on the other hand, did not. Replacing him, Philippa and Bella Pearson spoke, but they couldn’t quite manage David’s voice, so Candy had to help out.

Candy Gourlay with Philippa Dickinson and Bella Pearson

In her own speech, Candy told us of the long hard slog to get there. What’s three years between friends? Bella went on maternity leave, and came back. Candy said nice things about her editor Simon, even after he told her that her first attempt was no repair job.

Candy’s daughter Mia and friends sang a cappella. Absolutely lovely.

Candy Gourlay at Archway Library

Dave Cousins

We mingled. There were more authors than you could shake a stick at. (Not that I’d want to, I hasten to add.) Fiona Dunbar and I met where we always seem to meet. I met several facebook friends for real. (They exist!) Teri Terry was surrounded by young fans. Dave Cousins came.I recognised Jane McLoughlin but took ages to work out who she was. Missed Joe Friedman. Ruth Eastham was over from Italy, which was very nice. She introduced me to Sarah Mussi, whose book I just ‘happened’ to be reading, so I hauled it out for an autograph. (Very scary. The book. Not so much Sarah.)

Sarah McIntyre

The other Sarah (McIntyre) also ended up signing stuff, although not for me. Keren David said hello, and then goodbye. I chatted to Inbali Iserles and Savita Kalhan. I spoke to people I have emailed with, and to people I haven’t. Sam Hepburn.

Steve Hartley

And then Mr Gourlay went round saying it was time to go home. So we did. To the Gourley home, where the eldest junior Gourlay was looking after food and drink. There was a lot of it.

The Gourlays

They have the loveliest of gardens! Admittedly it was dark, but it was all lit up and the evening was balmy, and there was somewhere to sit. Not the trampoline for me. Spoke to DFB basement man Simon, and the kind Tilda who once bought me a sandwich. At some point I had to admit to a fondness for the Circle Line. (Yeah, well.)

The wine flowed (the recycling men were most impressed with the bottle collection the next morning) and there was cheese beginning with the letter c, and for the carnivores pork sausages on the barbecue, very ably operated by Mr G.

It was dark. As I said. So I gave up on the camera and simply enjoyed, which is why there are no scandalous shots of anyone. I think the man who hugged me before he left long past midnight might have been Cliff McNish, despite him being underwhelmed by my drinking.

Recommended crime to beautiful blonde, who was impressed with my recent meeting with Colin Bateman… When it got too cold we repaired to the inner regions. In the end most people went home, and Candy was left with a mere five houseguests. Eldest son politely gave up his bed for an old witch, and was banished to his godmother’s ‘vomiting room.’

In the morning I got up long after the six o’clock taxi guest had departed, and people had dispersed to school and jobs and things. I met my brand newest facebook friend (less than 24 hours) in her pyjamas. And then Candy made us breakfast and we gossiped about the great and the famous.

But I had a noon train to catch, so shouldered my nightie and toothbrush and walked up the hill to the tube station hidden in mist. Once I got to Euston I encountered the Poet Laureate on the escalators, going the opposite way. Bought some treats for the Resident IT Consultant to celebrate our first 31 years, and hopped on my train.

Tired library visitor

(I know how that doll feels.)

Bs all round

It makes sense really. Who but Dave Shelton could be awarded the Branford Boase for his lovely – if stained – A Boy and a Bear and a Boat? Your Bookwitch wasn’t present, but that’s at least five Bs to start with, which is plenty.

Or you could make it the Davids, Shelton and (editor) Fickling. The latter must be getting used to winning the Branford Boase along with his new authors. He does it so often.

I won’t pretend to have understood the Boy, Bear, Boat book. It was lovely, but incomprehensible. I particularly liked the stain on the cover.

Dave Shelton, A Boy and a Bear in a Boat

Since I wasn’t there, I will have to make it up. Philip Ardagh was there as usual. (He only stays away when I’m there. Perhaps we take it in turns, Beardy and me?) I believe Jacqueline Wilson did her normal awarding stuff, and there will have been child winners of the Henrietta Branford Writing Competition.

Some, or all, of the other shortlisted writers were there, and while they didn’t have quite such a wonderful evening as Dave did, I’m hoping it was fun anyway. The Branford Boase is one of the most enjoyable events, and I’m sure this was the case yesterday as well. I hope it didn’t rain. My first time was spectacularly wet.

(I considered tweaking [doctoring] some old photos of David Fickling winning, and of Jacqueline Wilson presenting, or Anne Marley or David Lloyd speaking. And then I decided against.)

Fickle news

David Fickling Books

In the end my agonising wait resolved itself. I heard about David Fickling’s plans to set up his own publishing company back in January. I wasn’t sure I was allowed to mention it, so thought I’d ask David. I suppose I kept back from doing that, in order to save him having to tell me to mind my own business.

Not that he would be so rude, but you know what I mean.

So the official news a week or two ago was very welcome. It was out in the open. I didn’t have to ask any awkward questions (I might still, actually). The one thing that did surprise me was to find I’d got it wrong. I’d always thought David set up on his own, and was later taken in under the Random House umbrella. But it seems this is the first time David Fickling Books will be independent.

Poor, but independent.

I’ll be very interested to see how it goes. The principles for publishing should be what DFB will try to do; working with what you believe in, at the pace you decide, and with as little glancing at ‘what sells’ as possible. Please make this a success!

David Fickling Books

I wonder if they will [be able to] hang on to their lovely home in central Oxford? The place where Daughter and I encountered Simon Mason in the cellar. Now that Simon is going to be managing director, it might be unseemly to have him stashed away below street level?

We’ll see. When the news came, I’d already had witchy thoughts about tiny houses where you couldn’t even swing a kitten, because I remember David talking about modern houses with deceptively tiny furniture. I hope that doesn’t mean he needs to shrink his publishing palace, where the MD sits in the cellar and there is a dentist on top. Always so handy.

(The Book of Dust, could come in useful. Some people would be willing to hand over good money for a copy of that. In fact, my first introduction to David Fickling came through a letter I was sent while we were all waiting for The Amber Spyglass. [Long time ago!] In it David was telling the impatient fan of how wonderful the bits Philip Pullman had been reading to him from his work in progress had been. There was something about David’s enthusiasm, and the way he shared this with the fans, that suggested he was no ordinary editor.)

Fonts

Something I didn’t have a problem with when I was young were the ‘funny fonts’ and the pretend handwriting in print. I read comics every week and managed just fine.

But these days I find I just won’t read the books I receive that don’t come with ordinary print. Jeff Kinney’s Wimpy Kid is an example. I no longer feel guilty, because the man seems to do all right even without Bookwitch reviews of his books. Daughter read the first one and loved it. I was sure I would also have enjoyed it, had it not been for the visual effects. ‘Handwriting’ and diaries with ‘hand drawn’ pictures are simply not for me.

This week I looked longingly at the new Liz Pichon book about Tom Gates. It sounds good, and looks fun, as long as I don’t have to try and read it.

Aspie book Colin Fischer by Ashley Edwards Miller and Zack Stentz contained diary sections, which I had to read if I wanted to get through the whole story. I really wanted to, so forced myself.

I have read comics in my hard-to-please adult age. Some have been better than others. It depends on how much motivation I have, and on the layout in each individual case. David Fickling’s Phoenix was actually OK. I wonder if they spent more time over design?

My Vi magazine has a regular page which I can’t tell you much about. I believe it’s a comic style political comment. But I don’t actually know, as I can neither see the pictures properly, nor even begin to hope to decipher the words. I assume someone must, or they wouldn’t – couldn’t – print the stuff.

It feels a waste to strive for the hard-to-read style, but my experience of suggesting that magazines stop printing yellow on white and similar, generally meets with surprisingly unhelpful replies. They feel it looks good. No one has complained before. They are a little sorry I can’t manage it. But not very sorry. There are many other readers, after all.