A Moving (Re)Discovery

Manuscript Status: On Submission

Writer Status: Impatient, nervous and a little bit stressed. Pretending not to be all of the above.

So, being on submission doesn’t mean the writing stops. Of course not. I’m ploughing on with a first draft of a new (if by ‘new’ I mean nearly a year old already…I had edits to work on for my agent, plus, like, loads of other things…) project. The aim is to get the whole draft completed as soon as I can. I’m hoping to get the call saying “drop whatever you’re working on, you have more edits to do!”. And I’d quite like to have punched in the final full stop on draft one by then; you know…for the sake of tidiness.

But of course, this writer still needs a break from the… er… stress of writing. I’m always on the lookout for a break (and I heard that, whoever just shouted “procrastinator”!). Yesterday’s procrastination, I mean break, came in the most unexpected and delightful form.

My husband is currently assisting his parents with a house move from the family home of thirty-five years. Naturally, this means some artefacts from the dig have found their way into our house, and how we’ve laughed at his year six story-writing workbook, (be warned, husband, there’s material there for a whole new blog).

Along with his childhood scribblings and doodlings have come some gems of children’s literature that he read as a child, including this wonderful book:

IMG_20170719_180906525This charming – and somewhat defiant – story (a Philippe Fix creation, with story for pictures by Janine Ast and Alain Grée…I assume it to be French) features three characters: the eponymous Beebo, a chap in his later years; Mop, his friend; and Hector, a hamster. I haven’t worked out who Mop is in relation to Beebo; he seems to live in Beebo’s flat whilst Beebo works on the Paris Metro, walking through the towering streets of Paris every day.

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In our era, I doubt we’d see a story about an older man and a young boy being friends make its way to the book shop shelves. And Mop’s origin is never explained. Nor is the reason why Beebo inherits a run-down old mansion (which they turn into every child’s dream fantasy house). There are inconsistencies aplenty, none of which would jar with a young reader.

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I like to think that Mop is nothing more or less than Beebo’s younger self, or perhaps the childhood friend Beebo never had…because as charming as Hector is, a hamster is a poor substitute for a pal.

But if we fail to work out who Mop really is, there is no mistaking what the story wants to say – at least, not to my adult eyes, (is it even possible for an adult to read a children’s book with a child’s eye? We know too much. We’re tainted by the horrors of life. We can only lament the loss of innocence).

This is a story about friendship – real, or imagined.

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This is a story about the evils of unconstrained capitalism and supposed progress. Yes, even a picture book can deal with the heavy-weight subjects. In this respect The House That Beebo Built is a story for all time; especially poignant right now.

This is also a story about the triumph of hope when all seems lost. And if that’s not a message we want kids to read about, I don’t know what is.

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It is a story about escape. From those that would destroy that which you have worked for. Escape from a world gone mad and bad. Escape from the disappointments and strain of life. Actually, it might be about escaping from life itself.

I think it might be a story about death.

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Our friends end by building an ingenious stairway to the sky, which can only be a metaphor for the final journey. And they don’t forget little Hector: he gets to play in the vast hamster wheel in the clouds. At least, in my mind he does.

Naturally, we can make of this story whatever we will. And it doesn’t really matter, because what charms the most, what grabs the attention, what makes us smile – and it’s what my husband cherishes so much – are the beautiful, joyous illustrations. And it’s those that I really wanted to share.

I hope you enjoy them too.

PS. Amazon have a copy for £185. And no, husband, it’s not yours! Because your House That Beebo Built is now our House That Beebo Built.

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The Ship That Never Sailed.

Having joined Historic Scotland recently, (they can be very persuasive; and they made it seem like such a good deal), it was decided, late in the day, that a visit to Blackness Castle was in order. It makes sense to use the membership after all, and I’m a sucker for anything historic. Apart from which, it’s a year since we moved to Scotland; I ought to know more about the country’s past.

Blackness Castle is also known as ‘The Ship That Never Sailed’. I find this a touch melancholic: ships are designed to sail; if they fail to, they haven’t reached their potential. 
It’s also more than a little melodramatic; especially if you project the words with theatrical flair: with added theatricals: “THE SHIP THAT NEVER SAILED!”. Same phrase, different interpretation.

It is all a question of angles; of point of view. The castle gets its tag from the fact that, seen from the sea or from the air, it really does look much like a ship, with its bow attempting to plough on through the water. Unfortunately, the stern is very much stuck fast to solid rock.

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All aboard to Nowhere!

Seen from another perspective, it is (I won’t say “just” because Blackness isn’t just a castle..it’s a really good one), simply a castle. A castle as castles are…built solidly on land.
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Viewing things from different angles is what writers do. Finding stories when you least expect it; seeing stories where others might not: these are the rocks on which our output exists.

Walking, (stumbling, actually), over the rocky enclosures of Blackness, apart from asking myself how they managed to get around in the 1600s without twisting an ankle, I saw potential everywhere. Who, for example, could walk past an original seventeenth century castle latrine without imagining some poor soul baring his all to the gulls outside the walls, willing the job to be done before freezing his unspeakables to the seat? (it’s cold up here in the winter, especially when an easterly blows in down the river from Siberia).
What tales of wo and hardship could the prisoners thrown into the prison pit tell?
And the guards? How did they pass those long northern nights?

But then, forget a reconstruction of what could have been….tilt your head to the side, squint your eyes and……imagine….. . Things look different when you dare to dream a bit.
From a castle wall…
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appears a coiled snake, ready to attack:
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That hole in the wall…..could it really be a porthole?
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Has the ship that never sailed actually departed?

And that stepped gable end….Where does it lead? What dimension could you reach if only you dared to climb
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It’s no coincidence that Blackness Castle has been used for location shoots over the years; places like this conjure up images and ideas at the drop of a royal crown. The trick is in first spotting, then seizing the potential (oh, and then going home and turning the idea into a best-selling work of children’s fiction), before the ship sets sail and the moment is lost to the encroaching mist.