BarryHutchison.com

It’s been over a week since I last posted anything on here, so I thought I’d better stick something up and quash rumours of my death before they have a chance to begin.

There have been lots of little things happening over the past week, but none of them really worthy of a full blog post all of their own, which is why I haven’t bothered.  Also, I had no internet connection for ages, so that didn’t exactly help matters.  I’ll try to sum most of it up now.

I got my comments back on draft three of INVISIBLE FIENDS book 2.  A big thumbs up all round, so it’s just the line edit to go and it’s more or less in the bag.  I’m really pleased with how it went.  Some of you may remember how nervous I was about submitting the second book – I was worried my editor might be disappointed by it, realise he’d made a terrible mistake buying the series, and promptly cancel the whole thing.

As it turned out, the first draft I submitted (draft two) got a great response, and there are really only a handful of minor changes between drafts two and three.  Considering there was very little difference between drafts one and two, I think we can safely chalk this one up as a resounding result.  If I can pull off the same trick with book three, I’ll be a very happy man.

Also this week, I started promoting my school workshops, where I visit primary schools and run sessions on writing stories.  I’ve had a good response so far, and have now added a Workshops & Events page to the blog.  Check the menu somewhere near the top of the blog for the link to the new page.  I would add it here, but frankly, I can’t be bothered.

Over at TrappedByMonsters I’ve been mucking about with the site design, under the watchful eyes of my monstrous captors.  It’s still a work in progress, but it’s starting to come together.  If you haven’t checked in on TBM for a while then make sure you take a look.  There’s a lot of good content going up there – from book reviews to writing advice – with guest bloggers popping up from time to time, too.

There were about a hundred even more minor things happening this week, but I’ve been typing all day and I’d quite like to stop now.  They say a picture says a thousand words, so rather than write about what’s been happening, here’s a picture of Richard Keil as the James Bond villain, Jaws.  I know it’s not quite the same as my sparkling paragraphs of merry banter, but it’ll have to do for now.

Jaws loved his invisible beach ball

Further to this post about my recent visit to Moniack Mhor to talk to the winners of this year’s Pushkin Prizes, here are a couple of photos of me doing a reading from INVISIBLE FIENDS, and signing the proof copies that HarperCollins let me dish out to all the winners.

I didn’t realise I had such a tan until I saw these.

Me reading Invisible Fiends

Feeling all famous while signing a book

Kyle made Fiona and me watch the Disney movie, Snow Buddies, today.  Not only did he make us watch the movie, but he made us watch the DVD extras, too.  DVD extras which included the music video below.  It took me about twenty seconds to decide that the boy (he is male, right?) singing the track is quite possibly the most infuriatingly annoying person on this Earth.

I guarantee that by the time you reach the 00:25 mark, you’ll want to punch his mouth clean off his face.

Enjoy!

Yesterday, I realised I’m living inside a horror novel.  It’s not a pleasant discovery to make, let me tell you.

It happened when Fiona ordered me to start shoving boxes of junk up into the attic of our new house.  The boxes of junk I put up came out of the attic of our old house.  Before that, they sat in the attic of our other previous house for about five years.  Why we even bother lugging the boxes around with us when we move, I have no idea.

Anyway, I clambered up into the attic with only a very dim torch to battle the dark.  Anyone who has read the first INVISIBLE FIENDS book will be fully aware that some scary stuff goes down in the attic, so this was at the back of my mind as I squeezed through the narrow hatch and pulled myself into the loft space.

When I made it up, I discovered there were some random odds and ends lying around up there.  Some planks of wood here, some paint pots – their contents long ago dried up – there.  Nothing out of the ordinary, really.

I picked my way along the wooden beams (the attic doesn’t have a proper floor) until I found somewhere to put the first box down.  As I did, something caught my eye.  It was half concealed by a big wedge of loft insulation, but I realised it was the back of a framed painting.

Thinking I may have stumbled upon a priceless masterpiece (I get carried away like that sometimes) I picked up the painting and turned it around.

Imagine the scene then.  Me, in a dark and unfamiliar attic, with only a 10 Watt torch for company, turning the picture over to be met with this:

I’ll confess, my heart actually stopped beating for about fourteen seconds.  I mean, look at it.  It’s creepy enough here in photograph form, but imagine coming face to tearful face with it in the dark.  Imagine being all alone with those accusing eyes glaring up at you.

Now imagine that your job is to know the conventions of the horror genre inside and out.  As a horror writer, I know what happens next.  I’m aware that you don’t just find a painting of a crying girl in an empty attic, with the wind howling outside, and that’s the end of the story.  Oh no.  This is only the beginning.

I’ll probably be shaving when I hear the crying.  I’ll pause for a second, mid-lather, convinced I heard the faint sobs of a child.  Of course, I’ll quickly convince myself I didn’t hear anything and resume shaving, which is why I’ll almost slice my own throat when the crying comes again, louder this time.

Sitting here thinking about it, I know the sensible thing to do will be to run out of the house and never look back.  Sure, it’s easy to say that now, but on Tuesday or Wednesday or whenever I hear it, I just know I’ll go looking for whoever is doing the crying.  I feel like an idiot even suggesting that’s what I’ll do, but the simple fact of the matter is that the conventions of the horror genre will demand it, and I’ll be powerless to resist.

My search will eventually lead me up into the attic.  I’ll head up, despite the fact the torch begins flickering wildly, and I’ll search around.  Finding no-one, I’ll be drawn to the picture again.  I’ll edge over to it, then slowly turn it over.  Perhaps I’ll gasp with shock on finding the picture blank.  Perhaps I’ll scream and crap my pants.  We’ll play that one by ear.

Whatever, the moment I turn to run back for the hatch, that’s when I’ll see her.  She’ll be standing there, her face buried in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.  It is at this point that my brain will simply switch itself off through sheer terror.  The last thing I’ll see is the girl pulling her hands away, revealing tears of blood trickling down her pale, sunken cheeks, and I will know that evil has been unleashed upon the world.

So, not the best start to the week, then.

Don’t get excited by the title of this post – I haven’t won anything.  I did, however, get to spend this afternoon with a group of winners – namely the winners of the 2009 Pushkin Prizes, a writing competition held for Scottish and Russian secondary school pupils.

Following a long drive along narrow roads in the pouring rain, I arrived at the Moniack Mhor writer’s retreat just in time for lunch.  Handy, that.  As I scoffed down salami by the fistful, I was introduced to the winners and their tutors for the week-long residential writing course.

During lunch, we discussed a range of varied and important subjects – like the difference between a trebuchet and a giant catapult, the best uses for cabbage and whether or not horses have ankles.  (They do.  I looked it up).  Then, when the food was eaten and the plates were cleared away, we got down to business.

Well, kind of.

I’d known for weeks I was going to be talking to the prizewinners, and I kept meaning to plan what I was going to talk about.  Oh sure, I knew it would be writing related, and that I’d be mentioning INVISIBLE FIENDS, but I had every intention of sitting down and figuring out exactly what I was going to say, so as to appear all clever and well-informed.

Unfortunately, things kind of got in the way.  We moved house.  My son had a birthday.  I discovered a new species of newt*.  Things kept piling up, and before I knew what was happening, I was sitting at the end of a long wooden table, with a dozen or more expectant faces waiting for me to speak.

I’ll admit it, I kind of waffled a bit.  I spouted some stuff about the books I’ve done, spoke a bit about INVISIBLE FIENDS, then quickly invited questions.  Fortunately, everyone else was much more prepared than me, and ten or more well thought out questions from the floor managed to fill out the rest of the session.  I finished off by doing a reading from the first IF book – MR MUMBLES – and then dished out some free proof copies to all the prizewinners.

So all in all, despite me being woefully unprepared, the visit went really well.  I’ve started working my way through the prizewinning entries, which are now available to read here on the Pushkin Prizes site.  There is a lot of really great work in there, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if some of the winners I met today go on to become the next generation of Scottish (and Russian) novelists and poets.

On another, related front, the shortlist for the 2009 Royal Mail Awards for Scottish Children’s Books has been announced.  Full details are below.  Good luck to all involved.

Early Years (0-7 years)

Manfred the Baddie by John Fardell (Quercus)
PinK! by Lynne Rickards and Margaret Chamberlain (Chicken House)
Stick Man by Julia Donaldson and Axel Scheffler (Scholastic)

Younger Readers (8-11 years)

Dino Eggs by Charlie James (Bloomsbury Children’s Books)
The Eleventh Orphan by Joan Lingard (Catnip Publishing)
First Aid for Fairies and Other Fabled Beasts by Lari Don (Floris Books)

Older Readers (12-16 years)
Crash by J A Henderson (OUP)
Ostrich Boys by Keith Gray (Random House)
The Reckoning by James Jauncey (MacMillan)

*This is a lie