A Cool Review for Shine in the Guardian

Shine by Candy Gourlay
'A precious and important novel that also explores exile from neighbours, family and country. The book is about reinvention and the faces we present to the world, whether it be in person, on a postcard or on the internet, all wrapped up in an exciting and perfectly paced story with a disturbing and dramatic climax.'
Philip Ardagh, The Guardian
Read the review

Thursday, 31 December 2015

Happy New Year!

Dear Readers,

Today, I woke up at four in the morning and marched up to a summit where I saw this.

Watching the sun rise over Maligcong Rice Terraces, Mountain Province.



Isn't that a great start to 2016? Wishing you all a year of greats!

A Farewell to Letty Jimenez Magsanoc who wanted to Change the Future, One Dictator at a Time

Letty waving my book around during the
2014 launch of SHINE in Manila.
On Christmas Eve, I was shocked and upset to hear that my lifelong mentor, Letty Jimenez Magsanoc -- who gave me my first job in journalism -- suddenly died. The Philippine Daily Inquirer gave me until 1 P.M. (Philippine time) on Boxing Day to submit a tribute. So after celebrating Christmas with my family, I worked late into the night writing my contribution, the first time I've had a news deadline in more than two decades. When I sat down to write the tribute, I found I wanted to write about all the things I learned from Letty as a writer. You can read my tribute: She taught me writing was never about the writer

Thirty one years ago, Letty recruited me and my best friend Frankie Joaquin Drogin to the staff of Mr &Ms Special Edition, a magazine dedicated to opposing the dictatorship of Ferdinand Marcos in the 1980s. Her daughter, Kara, invited us to write a tandem eulogy for the funeral. Amazingly, I just so happened to be in the Philippines to visit my family and so I was able to deliver the eulogy on behalf of Frankie and myself. 

Here it is, written by Frankie in Washington and me in London via the magic of Facebook  Messenger. Fellow reporters on the magazine JP Fenix and Fe Zamora helped us piece the story together.





The LJM Garments Factory.

This is where it all began. A makeshift sign stuck to an office door on the premises of the lifestyle magazine Mr &Ms.  Behind the door was an editor with some of the biggest balls in Manila, trying to tell a story that a dictator didn’t want told.

But if you flip through the first issues of the Mr &Ms Special Edition from 1983, you will find no mention of Letty Jimenez Magsanoc. Eggie Apostol was listed as Editor and Publisher, and until 1984, Letty kept her role a secret behind the LJM Garments Factory sign.

The two women were good friends, and when Letty was fired from Panorama for a critical piece on the inauguration of President Marcos, it was Eggie who dared publish in full what other media censored or rejected, such as “The Letty Magsanoc Story” by Noree Briscoe and “The Silencing of Letty Magsanoc” by SP Lopez.

Then Ninoy Aquino was assassinated, and the two women went into battle mode, creating Mr &Ms Special Edition to fill the news vacuum left by the Marcos-dominated media in the Philippines.

That first Special Edition  with a close-up of Ninoy’s bloodied face on its cover, sold hundreds of thousands of copies and Eggie made the decision to turn it into a weekly.




In that secret batcave worked a tiny editorial staff made up of Eggie, Letty, writer Fe Zamora, cartoonist Jess Abrera, layout artist Marlon Diamante and Nitz "Beauty" del Rosario. The photographer Mandy Navasero, who previously shot fashion and lifestyle for Letty’s previous magazine, switched modes to photojournalism, shooting many of the rallies that Fe Zamora wrote up for the Special Edition.

Frankie and I came into the picture when we asked Kara to get us an interview with her famous mother. We were college seniors writing a group thesis on Press Freedom with another good friend. When we met Letty, graduation and joblessness were months away so we asked Letty if she had any openings. To our surprise she told us to see her after we graduated.

Frankie and Candy as college seniors

We did, and she greeted us by saying, “Oh good, I need reporters. One of you can cover the opposition. The other, the KBL (Marcos' party). You decide.” And just like that, she gave us our jobs. It was typical of her management style. By treating these two know-nothing newbies as equals worthy of picking our own assignments, she gifted us with a sense of professional worth way beyond our due.
Frankie and Candy, now reporters for Mr & Ms Special Edition, posing while a demonstration is dispersed in the background.


Frankie and I were in the inseparable phase of our friendship. But that very first assignment during the 1984 parliamentary elections took us to opposite sides of the political divide. Though Frankie chose the Opposition and I, the KBL, we decided it would be fun to cover everything together (our reportage tended to focus on how much food was being served at a press conference). Letty finally found us out one night when she was watching the evening news. Frankie and I were caught on camera -- first, at a KBL press conference, and then, on the very same day, at an Opposition press conference.

I tell people that I think Letty hired two totally inexperienced and naive writers because we were so "tanga" we wouldn't be corrupted by the powers that be. The truth was that Letty got a kick out of discovering new talent and loved being around young people. Her protégés and apprentices could easily fill this room. Almost all of us who have worked with Letty have our own stories about how she singled us out and said, in her famous gravelly voice, “You GET it. You’ve GOT it.” Her heart was so big that she could fit us all into it. Her spirit was so generous it could embrace each of us fully.

A more recent pic of Frankie and me.

When a young Fe Zamora witnessed the Sept. 21 demonstration at Mendiola which left 11 rallyists dead, she took her account to Letty and Eggie. Fe was in the right place at the right time. Mr & Ms had loads of pictures, but no words to go along with them. They bought Fe's story.

In the age before mobile phones, Fe didn't even have a telephone at the boarding house where she lived. Two weeks after her article came out, she saw a notice in the letters section: "If you know Fe Zamora, please tell her to report to Mr &Ms.” And so it was that Fe became Letty’s most senior reporter.

Joey Nolasco, Tita Eggie’s nephew, found his way from the Times Journal to a desk at the Special Edition and has worked at Letty’s side every since.

Mr &Ms bought a lot of stories from a local news service, and Letty noticed most of the bylines belonged to Jp Fenix, a friend of Kara’s. "Why don't we hire you na lang?" Letty said to JP. “We can probably save some money.” And so JP joined the staff, which later came to include the sandal-wearing JR Alibutud, the poetic Roland Pascual, and a smiley Dante Javier.

The pantheon of contributors is a respectable list: Aida Sevilla-Mendoza, Ceres P Doyo, SP Lopez, Doris Nuyda, Belinda Olivares-Cunanan, Cherie Querol, Ninotska Rosca, Ike Suarez, Louie Beltran, Joker Arroyo, Monica Feria, Paulynn Sicam, Ducky Paredes, Gilda Cordero-Fernando, Max Soliven, Larry Henares, Tony Gatmaitan, Sylvia Mayuga, Lita Logarta, Esther Dipasupil, Corito Fiel, Erness Sanchez, Edith Regalado, Maynard Macaraig and so many more.

The Special Edition’s narrow, rectangular room was the only smoking zone in Mr &Ms. We worked in an un-lifting fog, and our clothes reeked of tobacco. A few desks sporting typewriters and piles of newsprint crowded the space. Letty presided at a desk at the far end of the room, her hands moving between her keyboard, the ubiquitous green pen she used for editing, and a lit cigarette.

Before there was cut and paste, there was tear and staple. We banged out our stories on long swaths of newsprint, tore them into manageable pages, and marched our offerings to Letty’s desk. Letty was the master of the art of rearranging paragraphs to suit her style of storytelling. It would evolve into the signature style of the magazine and later the Inquirer. A detail would catch her eye, and she’d move it to the top.

“This is a good paragraph. This should go higher!” was a refrain of her editing.

Her nose for news was unerring, but she also had a taste for the weird and the wonderful, for irony and sarcasm. She knew the Pinoy appetite for entertainment and humor, and served hard news with a side of light. She wanted both her reporters and readers to have fun. Writing for Mr &Ms sometimes felt like writing for MAD Magazine.

Above all, Letty demanded heart from her writers. She was bored by dry recitations of facts. She put a premium on passion and on the human face of a story.

She always said the people she worked with made her look good. It’s important to remember the crew members who supported editorial over the Special Edition's lifetime: the production group led by Mang Joe Ocampo, artists Chuchi Quevedo Sy and Gij Ramos, subeditor Sarah Carino, Rebecca Vinavilles, Lani Montreal, admin guys Eres, Lolita, Josie Magtoto and Butchie Tan.

A parade of the best photographers in the Philippines marched through our doors. Johnny Villena, Melvyn Calderon, Val Rodriguez, Claro Cortes, Bullit Marquez, Romeo Gacad, Joe Galvez, Luis Liwanag, Erik De Castro, Alex Baluyut, Rey Vivo, Ed Santiago, Mandy Navasero, Ding Navasero, Jun Aniceta, Momoy Fuentabella, Albert Garcia, Edwin Tuyay, Rhodel Pena, and on and on.

It was a photographer’s magazine, every spread covered with black and white images, some of which became iconic photos of the era. Letty used photography to demonstrate the bitter ironies of strongman rule. When Marcos used the campaign slogan "Now More than Ever," she used the blurb over a picture of a beggar and an emaciated baby. When the regime published a pamphlet giving the government answers to questions like "What is the state of the President's health?" (answer: "These are irresponsible reports in the Western press") and "Has the president lost popular support as claimed by some segments of local and foreign media?" (answer: No), Letty published the complete text of the propaganda alongside photographs of Marcos looking deathly ill and other images that provided a sharp contrast to the words.

In 1985, Malacanang announced that the soldiers accused of murdering Aquino would stand trial at the Sandiganbayan. Letty and Eggie decided to launch another tabloid-sized weekly. They called a meeting with the Special Edition staff at Eggie's house to discuss it. Letty wanted to call it The Philippine Inquirer. But Eggie thought it should be something like “JAJA”, a take-off from the Justice for Aquino, Justice for All – which would be easier for newsboys to say than ‘In-queerer” or “In-querrer!’” Luckily Letty won the argument, otherwise we’d all be talking about the Philippine Daily Jaja today, which sounds like a bad character from Star Wars.

Letty asked JP and me to become staff writers at the Philippine Inquirer weekly. But I was reluctant. I really didn't want to go. I was happy at the Special Edition. It was obvious to me that covering boring lawyers at the Aquino-Galman murder trial wouldn't be as fun as working at Mr &Ms.  Letty got us to join the Inquirer by giving us a raise. Apparently she fought hard to give us more money. In the end our monthly pay -- the princely sum of P1,760 – was raised to P2,350.

Letty, me and JP soon after the Philippine Inquirer weekly was launched.

Letty edited both papers at the same time. The Special Edition went to bed past midnight on a Thursday so it could hit the streets on Friday morning. The weekly Inquirer was put to bed on a Friday night to hit the streets on Mondays. I say night but it was really morning by the time we finished.

Letty was constantly on the phone. "Marty, go na to bed" " Marty, you were bitten by mosquitoes?" "Marty, almost there." (Her youngest, Marty, was about seven years old, and very persistent) But by then it would be three, four or five am. Time for bibingka or tapsilog at Good-Ah in Greenhills.

I was surprised when Letty introduced society pages to the Inquirer, written by Maurice Arcache and photographed by Alex Van Hagen. Maurice swanned in and swanned out with the tall brooding Alex – leaving the office fragrant for weeks afterward. It was my job to write the captions for the photos of society events and parties.

I have to be honest. Captioning those photos -- with a French dictionary because "tres tres chic" sounded so much more stylish than my own vocabulary -- felt like a demotion. Why do we have to have a society page? I whined to Letty. Her reply: "Every person who is featured is likely to buy ten copies each." JP asked Eggie and Letty the same question but got a different answer. They said: "We are doing it for the NPA. When they finally take over after Marcos they will have a hit list." I'm sure they were just joking.

The weekly Inquirer became the Philippine Daily Inquirer. JP went off to work on the daily and I returned to the Special Edition as associate editor. By then Frankie had moved on to a job with an American network. When the People Power Revolution (also known as EDSA, which was where it happened) ended the rule of Marcos, it also ended the run of the Special Edition. We had won. We had achieved our goal. Marcos was gone. But what were we to do next?

Letty and Eggie in front of the Mr & Ms offices cheering a celebration rally of the downfall of Marcos in 1986

I found out quickly enough. A few weeks after the revolution, I turned up at the office to discover that Eggie had turned the Special Edition into the Agribusiness Weekly. Imagine coming to work thinking that you were a political writer only to find that you were now going to be a farm reporter. I quickly applied to move to the Daily Inquirer.

Soon after, I married my foreign correspondent and left to live in London. Frankie, who returned to work for the Inquirer for a spell in the 90's, also married her foreign correspondent and moved to Washington. “Leave your husband!” Letty told Frankie every chance she got. “Leave him and come back to the Inquirer.” I can’t say she said that to me. I wonder why.

With Letty at my book launch in 2014
Whenever one of her former reporters turned up for a visit, Letty would make a lovely fuss. At one dinner Letty hosted for me, she had a beautiful buffet with a large portrait of me in the middle. It looked like some kind of altar.

Except the portrait ... it wasn't me. it was Lani Montreal, who worked at the Special Edition in 1985-1986. "Letty," I said, trying to be diplomatic. "I don't think that's me." "It's definitely you," she said. "I got it out of the Photo library and it was in your file. You really used to look like that." Someday, when I pass away, the Inquirer is going to publish an obiturary about me and they are going to publish it with a photograph of Lani Montreal.

Mr & Ms Special Edition was an important moment to those of us who were a part of it. Many of us were at the beginning of our lives as writers and the time we spent with Letty was a coming of age. In storytelling, there is always a character – an Obi Wan Kenobi, a Yoda -- who takes the hero by the hand and leads him or her into adventure. For us, that special character was Letty Jimenez Magsanoc.

After the fall of Marcos, Letty liked to say: “Edsa is our backstory. It’s in our DNA.” Generations of journalists can say the same of her. LJM is our backstory. She’s in our DNA.

Read my tribute to Letty which appeared on the front page of the Inquirer on 27 December 2015


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Friday, 18 December 2015

Beloved Stories from Christmas Past

Here's a post I wrote for the now defunct DFB Story Blog in Christmas, 2011. 

Whip-cracker Tilda (pictured right) - now Senior Editor at Hot Key Books and Picadilly - requested blog posts about favourite stories for the season.

Well that’s a really tough call for this author who’s read (and LOVED) gazillions of stories this year.

So I thought ’twas more like the season to wax nostalgic for all those stories I have adored in Christmases past.

This past year there has been some controversy about school reading schemes vs ‘Real Books’ … but growing up in the Philippines at a time when there was hardly any local publishing for children, I discovered many of my favourite stories in reading schemes. These were imported from the United States and so featured no Filipino characters whatsoever (but that’s another story) … so it was all fantasy to me.

My Christmas favourite was a short story that never failed to bring a tear to my eye called A Tree for Nick by Mary Lou Brown (originally published in 1959).



A Tree for Nick was about a brother and sister decorating a tree for a Christmas tree competition. Except they couldn’t help thinking about their eight year old brother Nick, who was blind.
So they left out the shiny, sharp edged foil stars and the electric lights that burned Nick’s hand when he accidentally touched them last year. Instead, on went the soft fuzzy sheep and candy canes and the old horn that hooted when you blew it and the old tinkling music box. The tree they ended up with wasn’t pretty – but you could feel and taste and hear it.
‘Wheee!’ breathed Nick, his face shining with happiness. ‘This is the prettiest tree I’ve ever seen!’
And then there’s the unforgettable short story The Gift of the Magi by O. Henry. If you haven’t come across this story before, then someone in your reading life has failed you by not recommending it … read it online here.


It’s about a husband and wife Jim and Della, who had nothing in the world except each other – oh and Jim had his precious watch and Della her glorious hair. These and love were enough to make them complete. But with Christmas coming, what could they give each other?

The O. Henry twist at the end puts the sweet and bitter into bittersweet – after reading this I headed straight for my school library to read the rest of O. Henry’s ouvre of stories with surprise endings.
… let it be said that of all who give gifts these two were the wisest. O all who give and receive gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the magi.
Then there is The Selfish Giant by Oscar Wilde. I loved this story so much that I have kept the original reading scheme book I first read it in – mildewed and scrawled all over with horrible graffitti by my two youngest brothers (school books got passed down through six siblings in my family). Here’s a photo:


The Selfish Giant had a beautiful garden, but he was too mean to share it with the townspeople and built walls to keep tresspassers out. With no children around, springtime forsook his garden – so no matter the season elsewhere, it was always winter in his garden ( I loved that image!).

Then one day the children found a way in … and the Spring returned. But when the giant emerged they ran away. Only one boy didn’t run because his eyes were so full of tears that he did not see the giant coming.

And the Giant stole up behind him and took him gently in his hand, and put him up into the tree. And the tree broke at once into blossom, and the birds came and sang on it, and the little boy stretched out his two arms and flung them round the Giant’s neck, and kissed him.

You can probably tell by now that I am a total marshmallow of a reader. But I don’t care … it’s Christmas and anyway I wasn’t born with a stiff upper lip, like some.

I was going to mention Clement Moore’s Twas the Night Before Christmas and How the Grinch Stole Christmas by Dr Seuss and The Snow Queen by Hans Christian Andersen … but that would make this long post too long.

Instead, here’s the magnificent illustration from the book where I first read The Snow Queen – it was in a compilation of children’s classics that my Father bought from one of the door-to-door salesmen who used to ply the streets of Manila selling encyclopaedias and Reader’s Digest anthologies!


I will finish with the story of The Fourth Wise Man by Henry Van Dyke.
Now this is a story I’ve never actually read. It was told to me by my lovely friend Frankie one late night. As young reporters, Frankie and I shared a tiny flat with other girls near work. When we were too broke to go out we used to tell each other stories and this was one that I’ve treasured and myself retold to others through the years.

I’ve been reluctant to actually read it because knowing the exact words might spoil the magic of that memory.


I’ve discovered since that it was a book published in 1899 called The Story of the Other Wise Man. There was a film made called The Fourth Wise Man, which was what Frankie called it.

Here’s how Frankie told the story:

Everywhere you look, people talk about three wise men. But the truth is, there were FOUR. The Fourth Wise Man wasn’t as clever or organized or persistent as the other three.

In fact very early in the journey, he gets left behind by the others because he stops to help a dying man. He spends the entire story going the wrong way and getting distracted by other people’s problems (this was described in great detail by Frankie, with sound effects, but I haven’t got time to go into that now). Indeed, in the process he finds himself one by one giving away the jewels he had intended to give to the Christ child.

It takes 33 years for him to find the Christ child – who isn’t a child anymore but a man hanging on the cross. And the Fourth Wise Man feels like a failure because he has nothing to help him with, he could buy Christ’s freedom but he’s given away all his jewels.

In Frankie’s version there’s a sudden earthquake and the Wise Man is struck down. As he lies dying, feeling not terribly wise, he apologizes for being such a klutz. But he hears a booming voice from Heaven say:
Verily I say to thee, all that helpful stuff you’ve been doing, you’ve been doing for me.
Now you don’t have to be a Christian to get the shivers at that turn of events. In fact you don’t have to be a believer to embrace the good that comes with the Yuletide season.

The other day, I listened to a beautiful Thought for the Day on Radio 4 by Professor Mona Siddiqui, a muslim reflecting on the meaning of Christmas. Siddiqui describes a strange yearning to be part of the celebrations at Christmas time.

Britain is my home, its cultures, language and opportunities continue to shape me as a person. I have never felt any real conflict living my Islam here and maybe this slight yearning is essentially about living with something which you cannot embrace wholeheartedly … (Perhaps) the only expectation I should have of myself is to try and be as generous in someone else’s celebration as I hope they are in mine. Listen/Read it here

Christmas gets a bad press because of all the advertising and the shopping and the greed. ‘What’s the point?’ some say. Well these old stories remind us of the season’s true meaning .

It’s not about receiving, it’s about giving. And with some gifts – like these old stories – the giving will never end.

Dear Reader, here’s hoping you had a splendid Christmas – and may the stories be with you in the New Year!

Saturday, 26 September 2015

A Comic on How to Skype an Author

By Candy Gourlay

I've met many teachers who would love to do author visits on Skype or Google Hangouts but are daunted by the logistics. So I helpfully made this comic using the amazing BitStrips comic-making website. I am offering one free Skype or Google Hangout Q&A session a month to any classes reading Tall Story or Shine. If you're interested, do get in touch using the contact form below.

Where in the world are you?
candygourlay.coma microphone will help. And don't forget I can see you.It helps if you've got your questions ready. candygourlay.comI love seeing your projects. I love the fact I can show you stuff from my workplaceIsn't it cool we can meet each other no matter where in the world we are?See you very, very soon!
If you're not sure how Google Hangout and Skype work, here's a piece I wrote on How to do a Google Hangout and here are details of How to Plan a Skype Visit.

So ... where in the world are YOU?

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Tuesday, 15 September 2015

Dismaland takes the 'escape' out of 'escapist'

By Candy Gourlay

If you're planning to see Dismaland before it closes on 27 September, look away now.

Dismaland. Photo © Candy Gourlay
The night before my ticket entry I went for a walk and took this photo of the Dismaland sign. There were about a thousand people waiting to get in and strange thumping music played from the derelict lido hosting Banksy's installation

So a friend suddenly had a spare Dismaland ticket and there I was, waiting to worship at the altar of Banksy by the shore of Weston-Super-Mare.

If you haven't heard of Banksy or Dismaland, you can read this to get the gist. Suffice to say: it's an event they'll be talking about for years whether the reviews are good or bad. (I tend to agree with the good reviews, it was definitely unmissable)

The newspapers had already warned us about the surly, sneering fairground team and it was true. Guests were welcomed with open hatred and disgust.

Photo © Candy Gourlay

Photo © Candy Gourlay

Photo © Candy Gourlay

I could see a lot of people grinning like they were enjoying the unpleasantness. Marshmallow that I am, I found it a bit frightening. I couldn't meet  their glares.

As we surveyed the raggedy castle, the armoured police van crashed in the moat, the oil daubed crazy, Crazy Golf, twisted, twisting structures, and piles of garbage that were saying something about something, I said, 'So what's it about?'

'It's a dystopian vision of an amusement park, isn't it?' one of my friends replied.

It was all too familiar to be dystopian. More like hyper-real. The installation underscored the most unpleasant elements of a bad English holiday.  The contrast between heavy skies and the bright stripes of sun loungers, the grinning holidaymakers determined to endure, the grim wage makers at their grim jobs, the long queues to everything. The weather even obliged with a flurry of rain and gusty winds that turned umbrellas inside out.







Vulture.com called it "the most ironic place on earth" ... and irony was there in buckets and spades, intended and unintended. The constant queuing, the gormless guests carrying black helium balloons with the blurb 'I am an Imbecile', the exit through the gift shop (evoking Banksy's 2010 film). Banksy's jokes are always on us, why do we love him so much?

But I didn't sense any irony in the (delicious) popcorn priced at a reasonable £2, tickets at £3 apiece, souvenir photo for just £5 (a fraction of the normal pricing in a typical British theme park).

And though the workers on site were nasty, the opinions on offer from the artists on display in the exhibition spaces (there were four) were on the side of the idealistic, ranting against the gamut of injustice - the current refugee disaster, capitalist outrages, imperialism, police brutality, militarisation, David Cameron, war, the rape of the environment, you name it, the art raged against it.

It reminded me of my Facebook feed.

There is an intensity of like-mindedness amongst the people I have chosen to follow on Facebook. It's a constant reminder that Facebook is not the real world ... in the real world people don't agree with each other all the time.

An amusement park is designed to be a place to escape the cares of the world.

Dismaland takes the 'escape' out of 'escapist'. At Dismaland, the relentlessness of identical outrage made me feel a bit ... trapped.















Oh and here are a couple of shots of Weston Super Mare's beach. Which was beautiful. As I checked out, my bed and breakfast host said, "Hope to see you again." She just might.





As time permits, I will be uploading more of my photos on Instagram #dismalandbycandygourlay and on Facebook.

Photos © Candy Gourlay

Wednesday, 9 September 2015

Francesca Simon: Things I Wish I'd Known

I FAILED TO GET A PHOTO OF FRANCISCA SIMON 
AT THE CONFERENCE SO HERE'S A CARTOON 
FROM MY NOTES
By Candy Gourlay

Francesca Simon spoke at the New Visions Conference on 5 September 2015. You can also read my report on the conference What is the Future of Children's Books? Tweets about the conference were storified by the SOA here.

One of my favourite books to read aloud when my children were babies was Papa Forgot, written by a pre-Horrid Henry Francisca Simon. I must have read that book hundreds of times. 

Another family favourite was Spider School - featuring a gorilla taking over a classroom. Local rumour has it that Simon based the book on true events at my children's primary school.

And yet Horrid Henry, with its enormous success, easily obscures the fact that the series constitutes less than half of Simon's body of work over more than two decades.

"Mistakes or Things I Wish I'd Known" was the title Simon chose for her keynote before the New Visions Conference. With an audience of grizzled and not-so-grizzled veterans of children's publishing, the bar was high in the department of regret and self reproach.

Simon used a list of things she wished she'd known about being an author as the framework for telling the story of her authorial journey. Thing Number One was "I wish I'd known that Edward Ardizzone died in 1979" - telling the story of her naivete at an early editorial meeting when, invited by her editor to suggest an artist, she named the late illustrator.

Things Two and Three ("You don't have to listen to your American editor" and "Your publisher / agent are not always right.") involved regrets about succumbing to unwanted edits.

Thing Number Four was about not thinking long term. Simon said she never dreamed that Horrid Henry would be more than a one-off story. Her first attempt had been to write it as an early reader. Her editor suggested she turn it into a book for newly-confident readers - which meant writing several more stories. Twenty-four years later, Horrid Henry continues to follow the format.

Thing Number Five has to be my favourite: "If a publisher wants you to rewrite the beginning, the middle and the end of the book ... they want a different book." She said: "There's a big difference between rewriting and improving a text ... you might as well write the one you want to write!"

If a publisher wants you to rewrite the beginning, middle and end - they want a different book

Things Six, Seven and Eight all involved time management and self promotion.

"You are not a bad person if you say no," she was quoting Philip Pullman (who happened to be in the audience). We all nodded. We were all familiar with the polite terror of refusing an invitation to appear at a local festival for free or saying no to a cousin clutching the first draft of a manuscript. 

"It's not all about marketing," she warned -- as in: remember that your real job is not the Tweeting and the Facebooking. We must always think hard whenever someone invites us to speak to their book club of four members in the name of promotion. "It is easy for writing time to dwindle away."

She cited some good advice from Julia Eccleshare, the children's editor at the Guardian: "Julia asks herself if she would say yes if the event she was being invited to was happening tomorrow." Nice.

"Life is short," she said. "All you can do is enjoy the process of having a book accepted for publication, when everything is golden and glorious ... which might in fact be the only good time (in the process)" Cue hollow laughter.

Of all the things she wished she'd known, Number Nine was her most specific -- and painful: "Subsidiary rights are valuable. Don't give them away."

What she revealed next was chilling. Despite the Horrid Henry TV series being broadcast to dozens of countries and over a million DVDs of the movie sold, she said, "I have not received a penny in royalties (from the company that bought the rights)".

The rights had been sold quite early on by her publisher. "Not understanding their proper value was the worst mistake I ever made."

Not understanding the proper value of subsidiary rights was the worst mistake I ever made

Before the now worried audience could rush out the door to check their contracts, she declared Thing Number Ten: "Not joining the Society of Authors." Had she been a member of the Society of Authors at the time the rights were sold, the mistake would have been spotted. 

The SOA is pledged to "help members with any query, however trivial or obscure, relating to the business of writing" - this is not me promoting the SOA but underlining its indispensability. So dear reader if you are a published author in the UK, I urge you to join the SOA now. 

There was a Thing Number Eleven - "Don't allow yourself to be pigeon-holed." 

This September, Francesca Simon will be publishing the final book of her middle grade trilogy which is deliciously pitched as  "Norse Gods meet the X-Factor".  

A nice way to remind Horrid Henry that he's not an only child.

Additional note:
Over on Facebook, I've had some interesting discussions about the vexed sale of rights by clueless writers. I thought readers of this piece might be interested in more cautionary tales:



I also blog on Notes from the Slushpile. Do check out my most recent post: What We Authors Can Learn From Jackie Chan

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