Today I have mostly been writing the third chapter of a story for the Bath Book Blog. Over the next couple of weeks, the story will be jumping from one author to another as we each add our section. If you’re confused, think of it like literary pass-the-parcel. This is how I had to explain it to my dad (though I still don’t think he understands… this morning he asked me what happens when the music stops).
Basically, the very clever people at Bath Festival of Children’s Literature came up with an idea to celebrate stories and all the important blogging that goes on in the book world. Twenty authors and bloggers around the country have each been asked to come up with a section of a story, and readers can follow its live progress over the next few days as writers post their entries on their websites, starting up where the other author left off. To find out more about the authors taking part and how to follow the story-trail, click here.
Before you take a glance at my section, have a look at chapters one and two.
***CHAPTER THREE***
The town was at the top of a steep cobbled hill. Of course young Scribble sprinted up it easily. As well as his feet being blue and furry, they were also incredibly big and unusually fast, so Scribble reached the top in 13.2 seconds flat. Poor Mr Catch lagged behind, wheezing and rasping and gasping and panting.
HURRY! Scribble wrote on the notepad that he always kept in his pocket next to a bag of toffees (only to be eaten In Case Of Emergency – which this obviously was). Scribble scoffed seven sweets as old Mr Catch struggled to the top of the hill.
The tiny town was full of people in pyjamas and, let me tell you, this was a very peculiar sight indeed: ladies dashing out of houses in hairnets, men stumbling out of doors in striped dressing gowns, and dogs taking out their ear plugs and running outside in pink fluffy slippers. Not one of them could believe their eyes, and all came to a halt in the town square by a statue, a mysterious stone lady with long flowing hair and a long flowing dress and a sad expression on her face. She had been there since time began, and no one knew anything about the statue at all, except for the fact that the mysterious stone lady was called Luna.
Mr Mutton, the fat butcher, pointed at the sky with a bristly finger.
“Pork chops!” he cried. “Pork bleedin’ chops! Look at that! It’s completely black!”
“Whatever shall we do?” asked Miss Pooch, a poodle.
“Buy a new light bulb!” a not-so-clever person replied. “When Mrs Screw’s shop opens in the morning, let’s put our pennies together and buy the biggest, brightest, most expensive light bulb in all the land!”
Everyone cheered and, unbeknownst to them, the poor old moon sank deeper into the sea. Only clever Scribble noticed that the waves at the bottom of the hill had stopped glowing. Alarmed, he tugged the sleeve of Mr Catch and nodded at the black ocean. QUICK! Scribble wrote on his notepad, and he underlined the word seven times to emphasise his point. THE MOON IS SINKING!
“Don’t worry, young Scribble,” Mr Catch croaked. He rubbed his hand over his sweaty brow and then grasped Scribble’s blue shoulder, guiding him towards a hidden alleyway. “I have an idea.”
THIS IS YOUR IDEA? Scribble wrote several minutes later, standing on a doorstep outside a hidden house at the very bottom of the hidden alleyway. THIS IS IT? They had knocked on the black wooden door three times and no one had responded.
‘Patience,’ muttered Mr Catch. He licked his lips nervously. ‘Patience… She’ll answer.’
Look out for the next installment here on September 14th!
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