What can I say? Well, I really, REALLY was not expecting to win. Before I set off, I dropped off my dog at my mum’s and she held up her crossed fingers and said, ‘Good luck!’ I waved cheerily and called, ‘I’ve got no chance but it should be a lovely evening. Oh, and don’t give the dog too many treats. She’s getting fat.’ Such was my conviction that I was out of the running, I turned up at the awards feeling calm and relaxed. My biggest concern was whether or not I was positioned in a good place to intercept the canapés (I wasn’t, but I soon rectified the problem by stepping a few metres to my right where I could happily grab lamb meatballs as trays rushed out of the kitchen).

The atmosphere was wonderful. It really is inspiring to be in a room buzzing with enthusiasm for children’s books. We were all there for the same reason – because we love stories and want young people to like them too – and I felt honoured to be part of such a great industry. To win my category was exciting enough, but to win the whole thing was laugh-out-loud, woop-for-joy, choke-on-a-meatball WONDERFUL.

I heard Michael Morpugo talk last year, and he compared writing books to giving birth to children. If that’s true, then My Sister Lives on the Mantelpiece felt like my beautiful first born, happily cooed over by everyone. Ketchup Clouds was somewhat different: a difficult conception followed by a complicated pregnancy and a long, arduous labour. When I finally delivered it, I was proud of it, but I worried that it was destined to live in Mantelpiece’s shadow. This award for Ketchup Clouds therefore means the world to me. It is proof that, though writing can sometimes feel difficult, with effort and perseverance you can get there in the end. It’s not always about being inspired, or effortlessly penning 2000 words a day while listening to classical music, sipping wine and loving the whole creative process. Sometimes it’s just about hard bloody work.

Thanks to everyone at Waterstones for such a great evening and for choosing my book. Thanks to the FANTASTIC booksellers across the country who work so hard and passionately to keep our young people excited about reading. Thanks, too, to everyone at Orion and Felicity Bryan. I couldn’t ask for better colleagues.

BBC

I went into Netherthong J and I School to launch the poetry competition a couple of weeks ago. It is being run in conjunction with All Saints’ Church, and the theme was WINTER. At first I asked the children what they associate with this special time of year, and then we built a typical Winter scene with our bodies. We had children posing as robins, snowmen, trees, snowflakes – lovely!

Judging took place yesterday afternoon and, let me tell you, the vicar and I had several heated conversations about the entries! It was freezing in the church, but we were still there for two hours, reading the poems and discussing them at length. Thanks to everyone who took the time to enter. Of course we’d like to give prizes to each and every one, but we had to choose winners, so here they are.

RUNNERS UP:
HYRUM SIMPSON
LOTTIE ECCLES

WINNERS:
MATHILDA HATFIELD-GROSSOVA
GRACE COOPER

Well done everyone! To see the winning poems, scroll down below:

Sliding, sledging!
Sliding, sledging,
Sparkling snow!
The frosty cold,
Nipping fingers.
Rosy robins and snowmen.
Christmas trees.
Baubles like jewels!
Sleigh bells ringing in my head.
Snug in my bed.
(by Mathilda Hatfield-Grossova)

Winter Wonderland!
I woke up one morning with frost on my toes,
My cheeks were bright red but not as red as my nose.
I reached for my blanket, but it was not there.
Instead there was a blanket of SNOW everywhere!
There were fir trees covered in glittering lights,
I knew that I was in for some Winter delights!
Then all of a sudden I heard someone say,
‘I saw Jack Frost, come ride on my sleigh!’
Onto his sleigh, I leapt with joy,
And off I went with this strange little boy.
We sped past snowmen and pixies too,
We flew past a lake with its water so blue.
We dashed past some reindeer with their antlers so tall,
We saw some little penguins getting ready for a ball!
Then Jack placed in my hand a little scoop of snow,
And said to me, ‘My child you must go.’
I felt myself being whizzed away
Then woke up in my bed on a cold icy day.
(by Grace Cooper)

The winners and runners-up were announced at the All Saints’ Church Winter Fair. Runners-up received book tokens and winners received book tokens alongside a signed copy of my book.

Before I disappear into the sunset, I am trying to do a little bit of planning for the rest of the year. As well as writing my third novel from September onwards, I will be busy promoting my second book. Ketchup Clouds is out on January 3rd and I am getting so excited about introducing it to you.

There are secrets, betrayal, lies, a bit of murder… All in all a cheery little read for those post-Christmas blues (!). Joking aside, there may be a few dark themes, but it’s a love story above all else: tender, poignant and (I hope) ultimately uplifting.

There are school visits, library talks and festival appearances to sort out in the build up to publication, so if you’d like to organise an event near you, please do get in touch (arpitcherauthor@gmail.com). I am already booked up for November and have limited availability in September, October and December, so hurry up and email if you’re keen! Only, don’t expect a reply for a few weeks. I am on HOLIDAY you see. As of tomorrow. Apologies in advance for the smug automated vacation response…

Honestly have no idea WHAT I was thinking when I stuffed those clothes in my bag, and can only blame severe lack of time and panic about getting my train for my poor outfit choice. After tweets from my friend and fellow nominee, Ali Lewis, about the little black dress she was wearing that evening, I decided to abandon my garish top, and found myself sprinting around London half an hour before my taxi to the event, hurriedly buying the first thing I saw without trying it on, hence nearly suffocating on the stage during my acceptance speech.

Squeezed lungs aside, it was a lovely evening, made even more special by the presence of some talented young writers, winners of the Henrietta Branford writing competition. Big shout out to Miriam, Issy, Jamila, Rhiannon, Callum and Rebecca – names to look out for in the future. It is exciting to think that the authors of tomorrow are at school right now, daydreaming their way through lessons and getting inspired by stories in English, and I wish these young writers all the very best.

It has been a busy few weeks for me, doing the rounds at various local book awards. Thanks to the Newcastle Book Award (didn’t win), the Rotherham Book Award (didn’t win), the Leeds Book Award (didn’t win) and the Hull Book Award (WON!) for such lovely days. Authors know how much work goes into organising these events, particularly when a lot of schools are involved, and it is always a privilege to be shortlisted and invited along to meet enthusiastic young readers.

One of the most INFURIATING things about telling people you work with or write for teenagers is the close-minded response that young people today are difficult to work with. On the contrary, I have spent the happiest days of my adult life with teenagers in schools and libraries. Yes, there are challenging teenagers, just as there are challenging toddlers and challenging adults, but being a teenager does not automatically make someone ‘difficult’. I am sick and tired of people saying, ‘Rather you than me!’ when talking about my job as a teacher or a writer who visits schools. Patrick Ness attacked this lazy attitude in his winner’s speech at the Carnegie award, and I wholeheartedly agree. Those people who seem to think teenagers are surly, challenging, churlish or culturally shallow would do well to meet the teen readers at the festivals, awards and schools I visit.

School visits are certainly the most rewarding part of being an author, particularly because I get to meet teachers and librarians who are doing a fantastic job of encouraging a love of reading in their students. I had a lovely evening in Somerset at Stanchester and Kings Bruton, and was very well looked after by Jonathan Guy and his wife, who kindly put me up and took me to the beach:

Thanks to all those who have made my school visits possible, notably Jonathan, Bridget March, Kirsty McDermott, Lizzie Ryder and Eleanor Parker.

Right, going to sign off now and watch the end of the Murray-Tsonga match in the busy pub where I am sheltering in the corner, typing away, trying to ignore the drunk French guys celebrating every point that Murray misses. My love of Murray is well documented on Twitter, and I want to cheer my boy on and enjoy the match. I have been a fan of his for years, despite the fact his mum looks like a peperami.

Love is blind, as they say! It’s two sets to one at the moment, so going to put on my kilt and get cheering.

If you want to read any more articles about the Branford Boase award, check them out here:

GUARDIAN
TELEGRAPH
BBC

Thanks so much to all those at the award and everyone at Orion for making last night one to treasure.

So, I apologise. I promise to get better at this blogging lark, even if it does feel like writing a letter, folding it up into a flimsy paper aeroplane and flying it into the great abyss that is cyberspace. Still. It’s fun to chat about my books so I’ll keep going and hope that somebodddyyy out thereeee is listening.

It’s been a lovely few months for my first novel, My Sister Lives on the Mantelpiece. Delighted and humbled to say that my little book has been nominated for a few cool prizes:

The Guardian Children’s Book Award (won by Andy Mulligan for Return to Ribblestrop)

The Galaxy Children’s Book of the Year (won by Patrick Ness for A Monster Calls)

The Red House Children’s Book of the Year (won again by Patrick Ness for A Monster Calls)

The Waterstones Children’s Book of the Year

Longlisted for The Branford Boase Award

Longlisted The Carnegie Medal

And nominated for local prizes in Hull, Lancashire, Sheffield, Rotherham and Cornwall

I’ll keep you posted of my progress. I haven’t managed to win anything yet, but it really is wonderful just to be nominated (she types, glancing at the much-used A Monster Calls dartboard hanging in her study). Honestly, though, however trite it might sound, I’m chuffed to bits.

Ketchup Clouds is all finished and excitedly waiting its publication later this year. Orion have done a beautiful job with the cover and I can’t wait to share it with you! Over the next few months, I will start revealing little bits and bobs about the plot and the characters, so do keep checking my website. Michael Morpurgo spoke at The Red House Children’s Book Awards about the process of writing a novel, likening it to pregnancy followed by a difficult labour. You’re telling me! Getting Ketchup Clouds out of my brain and onto the page was like giving birth to awkward, lumpy quads. HOWEVER. It’s finished. And, I might be the book’s mother and therefore a little biased, but I have to say I’m rather proud of it.

Righteo. I have promised myself that I will make the most of the sunshine and go out for a run, so it’s time to don the lycra and trainers. In a fit of new year madness, I signed myself up for a few 10ks, a half marathon and a 26-mile hike between March – May and so far I have done little more than a couple of yoga classes in order to get fit. There are no more excuses. The underwear drawer has been sorted and the cupboards have been cleaned out and the darts… oops, I mean cutlery… has been polished. There is nothing left to do except run.

Ready, steady, GO!

To celebrate, I am delighted to introduce you to Mantelpiece Musings, the blog tour that starts TODAY and will be continuing throughout October. Basically, I will be writing eight guest posts, spilling all the behind-the-scenes secrets of Mantelpiece and revealing what it’s really like to be a full-time author.

Want to find out the most popular songs on Jas’s iPod?

Want to know which books are on my bedroom bookshelf?

Ever wondered what it feels like to be a professional writer?

Well, now you can find out the answers to these questions and MORE as I seek to spill the beans about all the stuff that I haven’t had a chance to talk about in the interviews I have done so far.

Scroll down to see where I’ll be popping up on the web and keep checking my Facebook and Twitter pages for more information, fun competitions and Mantelpiece giveaways over the next couple of weeks.

Happy reading!

Of course, like everyone else, I watched in shock as teenagers tore up our town centres, breaking in to shops and setting fire to family businesses.  Of course, like most people, I didn’t approve of their actions.  Their behaviour was irresponsible and punishment is necessary.  But so too is understanding.  So too is sitting up and taking notice of the message that’s being sent to us by some of our young people.  I’m not naive enough to suggest that all the rioters were on a political crusade, protesting about EMA funding cuts or rising tuition fees as they torched Argos.  However, the fact that so many reacted so explosively and with so little respect for their home towns tells us something – and we ignore that ‘something’ at our peril. 

So what is it?  Malnutrition.  And no, I’m not talking about chicken nuggets or any other junk food that teenagers might put into their mouths.  I’m talking about the junk they can’t help but see every single day of their lives – the limited, damaging, cultural ‘bad diet’ that is currently on offer to our young people, cooked up and dished out by people like Simon Cowell.

The rioters’ ‘smash and grab’ materialistic behaviour was undoubtedly selfish, but before we criticise and condemn, let’s remember that these teenagers have been brought up in a society that values selfishness far more highly than selflessness.  They have been born into a warped world that prizes celebrity and greed and instant gratification above education and moderation and patience.  Everywhere they look – be it on TV, in magazines, on the Internet, or even in the Houses of Parliament if we consider the expenses scandal – teenagers receive the same message: pursue pleasure, wealth, status and possessions at the expense of all else.  In short, be selfish.    

Take X-Factor or Britain’s Got Talent – the McDonalds of the TV world – which shovel the same cheap, bland format down our throats with no regard whatsoever for the health of the viewer.  I mean this quite seriously.  The abhorrent message sent by these morally irresponsible shows is dangerous, trying to convince us that celebrity is the only thing that will make us happy.  Week after week, the downtrodden, the damaged, the disappointed and (perhaps more worryingly) the perfectly content traipse onto the stage for a chance to ‘change their lives’, turning their backs on ordinary careers.  As smug judges ask singers just how much they want this ‘once in a lifetime opportunity’, we see the contestants’ desperation to leave their ordinary lives and homes behind – ordinary lives and homes that we’re asking our young people to value while the message blaring out of their televisions is telling them that ordinary is not good enough. 

I have seen for myself the detrimental effect this can have on some teenagers.  I have taught in schools where the aspiration of most thirteen year olds is to be a pop star, to appear in Big Brother, or to become a WAG.  Pouring over Heat magazine and hooked on dreadful shows that glamorise every aspect of celebrities’ lives from the red carpet to rehab (take a bow Piers Morgan), young people are growing up with a very narrow sense of what it means to be a success in the modern world.  As the vast majority will never become famous or land the supposed ‘dream’ career or squeeze themselves into that size zero dress, teens with unrealistic expectations develop into disappointed adults, and we need only look at the soaring rates of depression in this country to see this in action.  There is an alarming gap developing between what people expect life to be and what it actually is – and it is a gap that is shamelessly perpetuated and exploited by Simon Cowell and co. 

To me, the people responsible for the riots are these parasitic individuals who are getting rich while morally bankrupting our society, the men and women who are making millions while robbing young people of any sense of satisfaction that they might find in achieving ordinary goals or leading normal lives.  Their shows are the very breeding ground for the ‘smash and grab’ materialistic attitude seen in the rioters – take as much as you can, while you can, giving nothing in return.  Though I can condemn the behaviour of the rioters as a law-abiding citizen, I do not blame them for their disappointment, depression, frustration, greed or anything else that made such behaviour possible in the first place.  Their mentality is a product of the society in which we live - this warped world where Simon Cowell is king.

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!