A Gentle Reminder

Coming soon....

Exciting! My short story "Sacrament" will be published in the "The Monster Book for Girls" anthology, which should be available before Christmas. If you would like a copy of this fine publication, please visit the publisher's website.

'Tis the season...

Here it comes, folks! My favourite time of year. I'm one of _those_ people who actually like hearing carols in November. The only thing I don't love about Christmas is this song. But it endures just to spite me, it seems.

Anyhoo.

It's a particularly exciting time in the world of children's books and this year is proving to be no exception! The Guardian have a children's books advent calendar, David Maybury has built a Christmas tree made of picture books and Special Moves let you make your own online advent calender, in aid of the children's charity Kids Company.

It's during this time of year that I spend time thinking about my favourite poem by Patrick Kavanagh:

Advent

Patrick Kavanagh

We have tested and tasted too much, lover-
Through a chink too wide there comes in no wonder.
But here in the Advent-darkened room
Where the dry black bread and the sugarless tea
Of penance will charm back the luxury
Of a child's soul, we'll return to Doom
The knowledge we stole but could not use.

And the newness that was in every stale thing
When we looked at it as children: the spirit-shocking
Wonder in a black slanting Ulster hill
Or the prophetic astonishment in the tedious talking
Of an old fool will awake for us and bring
You and me to the yard gate to watch the whins
And the bog-holes, cart-tracks, old stables where Time begins.

O after Christmas we'll have no need to go searching
For the difference that sets an old phrase burning-
We'll hear it in the whispered argument of a churning
Or in the streets where the village boys are lurching.
And we'll hear it among decent men too
Who barrow dung in gardens under trees,
Wherever life pours ordinary plenty.
Won't we be rich, my love and I, and
God we shall not ask for reason's payment,
The why of heart-breaking strangeness in dreeping hedges
Nor analyse God's breath in common statement.
We have thrown into the dust-bin the clay-minted wages
Of pleasure, knowledge and the conscious hour-
And Christ comes with a January flower.

Happy Advent everyone! x