Book Cover Reveal Monday

Hanging From the Family Tree: Tobias' Story (#2) by Alison Davis

Synopsis

Hanging from the Family Tree: Tobias’ Story, is a Young Adult fiction novel, based in a fictional English coastal town.

Hidden letters from 1812, the British Regency, tell the story of Alexander Ventus, member of a very rich and influential local family. Besotted with a local women, Elizabeth, who is deemed beneath him, he is forced into a marriage with another woman. Distraught she throws herself from a cliff. Followed years later by Alexander, burdened by his guilt.

Alexander Ventus is Tobias’ great, great, grandfather, and there is an alarming likeness to their lives.  Tobias’ Story tells of his struggle to find his place in his family and to discover what it truly means to be a Ventus.



Excerpt

I sat staring at the dark polished wood of the desk in front of me, the virgin white paper with small black printed letters, which both promised me hope and sealed my fate, now crumpled and torn. I reached out to smooth it flat.

Dear Mr Ventus,
We are writing to inform you that your application has been accepted...

That was all that was left on the torn scrap my father had ripped from my hand. His thundering voice echoed over and over through my head. He was angry a lot of the time, indignant, pompous, and bitter. Charles Henry Ventus the Second. Six foot of broad shouldered, smouldering resentment. His hair was greying and thinning. He hardly resembled the strapping, muscular young man from all the portraits, and photographs- he even smiled in those. A facial expression that had scarce graced his face in around thirty years, or these halls in thirteen. Not since when aged eight, my father had told me off for running around the halls, and laughing too loudly outside his study. He had roared at me so loudly and scared me so much that I had cried myself to sleep for two weeks, and tiptoed everywhere for at least two months.
Business was everything to him, the paperwork on my desk was testament to that. He had given me the written specifications for part of a holiday complex he wanted to open. He wanted to draw young tourists in, for surf, for group holidays. The surfing tourist industry near here was fairly big, but there was nowhere for nights out, no trendy night scene. Not that one would do well here, the town was traditional, community based. If father ever went into town he would know that. Instead he just sat up here in his house, his castle, behind a desk, on a phone or out in a plane, a helicopter, meetings after meetings. His schedule was his bible.

About the Author:



Alison has been writing from an early age, stories, poems, novels, prose. After a 3 year sabbatical from writing she returned to her passion to write Whispers on the Wind: Ari's story.
Her first novel, Whispers on the Wind: Ari's Story, was published in August 2012 on Lulu.com. Hanging from the Family Tree: Tobias' Story, a companion/sequel to Whispers on the Wind, is to be published in November 2012

Spotlight: http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/JustASouthernBelle
Goodreads Q&A:http://www.goodreads.com/group/show/76366-ask-alison-davis
Goodreads Book: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/15831053-whispers-on-the-wind
Goodreads Author:http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6470944.Alison_Davis

The Stephanies. Also, a NaNoWriMo excerpt.

I got mail last week! 

Three parcels in one day, in fact, on what happened to be my flatmate's birthday. And she got no parcels. 

Here's one of my parcels:

This little gem is an example of 'Kickstarter swag', or, if you want to be more formal, 'goods obtained from Kickstarter'. For the uninitiated, Kickstarter is a funding platform for creative projects. People put up projects they intend to complete, and people can choose to contribute towards their funding in return for rewards. I was browsing to see what projects people had put up, and came across The Stephanies, a book which a father and daughter had created together. 

I don't know Kevin and Lexi at all. Heck, I don't even live on the same continent as they do. But I felt compelled to be part of this project. Why? Well, to start with, because I think writing is awesome, and it's awesome that a six year old has made a book. I remember when I was that age and we would write stories in our writing boos at school and then 'publish' them on a sheet of coloured paper. The paper which was folded in half so you could make a cover as well. One time I wrote a lengthy (it seemed then) version of Cinderella which was far too big for such simple publication. Instead, I got to staple multiple pages of larger pieces of paper together to publish my story. It took a really long time. My teacher was pretty impressed and I got to go and show the Principal who was also pretty impressed and gave me a 'highy commended by the Principal' stamp in reward. 

So I wondered ... if I thought it was pretty cool to have my Principal look at my book and give me a stamp, how cool would another young writer think it was to have a real, live, published book which strangers on the other side of the world are reading?

Speaking of, here's a picture of me reading on the other side of the world.

I like how my feet look bigger than my head. 

I was not disappointed with this book at all. It's a cute, engaging story with a great twist at the end. Which I'm not going to spoil for you because that would be evil. The pictures, drawn by Lexi, are charming. The story is about two girls who are both named - that's right - Stephanie. And are they pleased about it? They certainly are not! 

Do you know how confusing that's got to be? I don't often meet people with the same name as me unless they are really old people, or babies. So I don't usually run into the same problems as the Stephanies do, such as being in the same class and not knowing who the teacher is talking to. 

Actually, I lie. In fifth form geography I sat next to a Liz. Our teacher would frequently call on 'Elizabeth'. We'd look at each other - she was known as Liz, though her real name was Elizabeth, and I often get people mistaking 'Isabel' for 'Elizabeth'. So this was confusing, and we didn't know who the teacher was talking to. But we never got as grumpy as the Stephanies do! 

If you want to know more, check out Amazon.  

In other news, NaNoWriMo is progressing well! I'm not writing as fast as I have in previous years, just trying to get the 1667 words each day. I've continued to be very good at procrastinating and made this cover:

Made from a photo by Lauren Manning. I'd pick this book up in the store. 

And to prove that I have actually done some writing, here's a short excerpt. As always with NaNo it is in its unedited, non-proofread glory:

Aiofe remembered to close the front door more quietly than she had opened it when she’d come in. ‘Hold my hand,’ she instructed Katie, feeling grown up as she always did. ‘At least until we’re across the road.’

Katie did, looking down at Mr Twinkles beside her ‘And you hold onto my hand, Mr Twinkles.’

‘We’re going explor-ring!’, Aiofe sang, as they walked down the street. ‘And we’re gonna find some land, and we’re gonna make a town, and Dad is gonna make dinner, and we are gonna meet our guest.’

‘We’re gonna meet Stella’, Katie joined in.

‘Have you met her already?’

‘Uh-huh. She’s nice. And she has an earring in her nose.’

‘That means it’s a nose ring.’

‘Well it looks like an earring to me.’

‘Look both ways before we cross the street’, Aiofe instructed, as she always did. And as always, there was no traffic to be seen. ‘Okay, go.’ The girls ambled over the road, where they were met by a steep and muddy path.

‘It’s dirty’, Katie grumbled. Aiofe rolled her eyes. She didn’t understand her sister’s problem with dirt - it washed off, and who cared if you got dirty as long as you were having fun.

‘You’ll come clean later when you have a bath. And Dad will wash your clothes.’

Katie hugged her bear to her chest. ‘I don’t want Mr Twinkles to get dirty though’.

That was a problem. He was a bit harder to wash than clothes were. Aiofe thought of her own teddy bear, Lord Carrigan Beary. He had been in the washing machine many times, her mother insisting that it was like a playground ride for him. He may be having a great time, but he seemed to have less fur each time he came out of the machine.

‘I have an idea’, Aiofe told her sister. ‘Here, give me Mr Twinkles’.

‘Be careful’, Katie said suspiciously, holding onto the bear a few seconds longer than necessary as she handed him over. Aiofe took great care as she unzipped her jacked, held the bear to her chest, and zipped her jacket back up again so that only his head could be seen sticking out.

‘How about I carry him like this?’

‘Okay’, Katie agreed slowly. ‘Don’t fall over. He might get muddy if you do.’

‘I won’t fall over!’ Aiofe declared. ‘I am the great explorer, the brave knight, Madame Bellamy Brown. I come. I conquer. I do great things. But I certainly do not fall over.’

Katie giggled. ‘Okay, Madame Belly Brown.’

‘Bellamy Brown.’

‘I know.’

Aiofe smiled. ‘Now, onward! We must overcome this hill, come over to the top of it, so we can see what lies within this new district.’ Katie didn’t move. ‘Onward means you can start walking now.’

‘Oh! I get it.’ And the sisters began a climb up the hill. Aiofe wondered who panted more coming up this hill, Katie now or Ben when they ad the other day, but she realised that was a nasty thought and pushed it aside. Not everybody could be athletic, and Katie was only four. Besides, you couldn't really think anything bad about Ben - he was too nice all the time.

They staggered up to the lookout, and sat down on the bench. ‘Why, someone has been here before us!’ Aiofe exclaimed. ‘And put a bench here. And some signs. Well, that’s very helpful. Now, where should we make camp for the night?’

Katie pointed. ‘That house, with the blue roof.’

Aiofe looked at the house Katie pointed at. If she squinted she could see her father through the kitchen window. ‘An excellent choice.’

NaNoWriMo, Pyjama Pants, and Adelaide

Hello faithful readers, and greetings from NaNoWriMo land, where I have just made my word count for day three with eight minutes to spare. This was mainly because I whittled away my Saturday thusly:

- Sleeping.
- Reading.
- Craft shopping.
- Supermarket shopping.
- Making pyjama pants (I just bought a sewing machine, and it is the best thing ever, I love it.)
- Making dinner. 
- Wondering when my bag of crap from 1-day will arrive.
- Eating a chocolate bar. 
- Wondering whether I am more productive on weekends when I have made a list during the week of things that I need to do during the weekend.
- Wondering how far into next week I will get before regretting not being productive this weekend.
- Not caring about the above two points, on account of the eight point. 


NB. In the spirit of NaNoWriMo, I have decided not to proofread or edit my blog post. This may also be the spirit of laziness, but just keep that to yourself. 

In other news (when I wasn't either a) writing or b) distracted by my new shiny sewing machine and making pyjama pants) I tried playing around with making a cover image for this November's novel. I was pretty unsuccessful as I couldn't find any royalty free images that you don't need to pay for of the image I had in mind (a girl holding a globe), but I've come up with this, which I can see on the back of a book with a blurb underneath. (Tidied up and done by an actual graphics person, obviously.)

My story, in brief, is called The Girl Who Saved The World. It's about a nine year old who aspires to, uh, save the world. The problem? She's nine. Also, it's set in the real world, which is a much harsher landscape for would be superheroes than science fiction or fantasy are. And just to really kick the poor girl when she's down she has a sadistic teacher and horrible classmates who laugh at her and mock her for wanting to do good in the world. I don't think she'll let it deter her for too long though, and I'm sure she will achieve her goal by the time November comes to an end. 

Also, new pyjama pants:

With my laptop where I am working on THIS VERY BLOG POST in the background. How meta. 

NaNo has had an interesting start this year. Normally I go full pace ahead in the first few days, but this year I've only gone a couple of hundred words over the daily 1667 word count each day. Even today, which was Saturday - I didn't have to go to work. I didn't have to make pyjama pants. I did have to go to the supermarket, but that shouldn't take all day. So why so slow?

I was getting annoyed with myself, particularly when I'd sit down to write after having been on the bus reading. Reading was probably my first mistake - I started freaking out and asking myself 'why doesn't my book have fully developed characters? Exciting twists and turns? A complex plot? Why haven't my characters done anything yet besides go to school?'

Then my rational side returned and shoved my worrying side out of the way. 'Because it's NaNoWriMo. You know, that thing where you basically write a zero draft, not a completed manuscript. Where the plot always tends to work itself out around the middle of November. You've only got a few thousand words so far, and you had to start it at school - that's where the conflict sparks from.'

Clearly, I'd forgotten what I get out of NaNoWriMo. I get to hang out with other crazy people and write. I get to try out something I'm not used to - in this case, writing children's litereature. I get a completed draft, and it doesn't have to be perfect. Scratch that, it's definitely not going to be perfect. John Boyne wrote The Boy in Striped Pyjamas in something like three days, and I bet even that needed a little bit of editing. 

I continued to think about it, and realised that for whatever reason I'd been talking to quite a few non-writing people about my writing lately. And everyone always wonders when you're going to be published. That's a lot of expectation to heap on when you're doing NaNoWriMo. Because it's not like you can just finish a book and then get it published - there are so many hoops to jump through before publication is even a remote possibility. And not everything is written with publication in mind. But tell someone that you're writing a novel and they immediately think you're looking at publication.

Don't get me wrong, I would love to have something published. But some novels are just written for fun. Some are written while you find your voice and learn your craft. All writing is great practice. Is it a waste of time to write a novel with no intent of publication? Of course not. Would you say it's a waste of time to go and play a round of golf if you're not playing in the PGA, or to paint a picture if you are just going to hang it up in your living room rather than in a prestigious art gallery? I hope not, and if you disagree then I fear you have some harsh realities about life coming your way! 

So I have cast off all shackles of expectation and embraced the crazy spirit that is NaNo once more. I will write without editing, without fear, with gaping plot holes, as fast as I can. Come November I will have a 50,000 word manuscript. It may end up being something that is worth developing more, or it may be something I can use as a doorstop. Whatever the case, I'm sure I will have learnt more and become a better writer. 

And now for something entirely different! Well, not entirely, it is still about writing. But it is not about NaNoWriMo.

I was cruising the internet the other day, as I often do, and stopped upon the website of my most favourite author ever Mr Scott Westerfeld. He had written that he (and the equally wonderful Justine Larbalestier) would be at the Adelaide Writer's Week in 2013. 

'Adelaide, ay?' I wondered. 'That's not too far away from me.'

The next day the program for the Adelaide Festival was announced online so I checked it out.   And lo and behold, Writer's Week also features my MA supervisor. Which is just crazy when you consider that Westerfeld was the subject of two thirds of my MA thesis. If you google their names the Adelaide Festival is the first search result, and my thesis is the second. I hope they meet. 

I've spent the past few days daydreaming about attending the week myself, trying to convince myself that it is probably not the smartest, most fiscal idea. Then I tell myself to stop being boring, suck it up and do a bit of overtime, penny pinch for a bit, and just go. Somebody should just tell me what to do. Validate my choice, either way. Anyway, I checked out airfares and they are a ridiculous $800 return, but the wisdom that is the internet (the wisdom of the crowd, in Westerfeld speak) tells me that specials for the next year tend to come up in December, so here's hoping ... it may actually be possible to go. 

Until next time, readers, here is a nanoism from the journey so far. For the uninitiated nanoisms are sentences that you write in a NaNo novel that are funny, awkward, and/or make no sense.

‘That was most enlightening’, Mrs Salter continued, waving her hand around in the air. (Which Aiofe’s older cousins had reliably informed her was what people did ‘when they just don’t care’). ‘Very fine aspirations indeed, though perhaps somewhat difficult to bring to fruition. Nevertheless, I’m sure you’ve thought it through very thoroughly, haven’t you?’

A Taste of NaNoWriMo Things to Come

As NaNoWriMo approaches, a mere four days away, I'm realising just how unprepared I am for it. I've got a few pictures and a few ideas. Here are a few pictures now:

Since I haven't tried children's literature before I decided to write a pre-NaNo piece about these two. Finding the right tone and voice was a lot more difficult than I thought it would be, an it's not quite there yet. But it was a good exercise and a way into the characters and story,  so come Thursday I'll hopefully be ready to write. 

Oh,  and here is a bonus picture of Aiofe's younger sister:

And here is a mini-story starring Ben and Aiofe.

‘This isn’t the way home, Aiofe!’ Ben accused his best friend. His house was two blocks away from the school, and Aiofe’s was another one over - as it had been since her family moved to town three years ago. The pair were most definitely headed in the wrong direction as they crossed the school field.

‘I have a hunch about something, Ben, come on!’ Aiofe was always having a hunch about something. Sometimes this lead to lots of fun, but other times it lead to Big Trouble. Hands in pockets, he shrugged, following her as she ran on ahead. He might not be home too late, and his mother might not be too mad.

‘Where are you off to, then, on your hunch?’ he called after her, hoping she’d slow down just a little bit. A walking pace would be nice. He clutched his side, feeling a stitch coming on already.

‘Not that far’, she said kindly. She knew how his parents were about knowing where he was every second of the day. This was because hers were much the same. Parents really are bothersome sometimes, Ben thought, though he wasn’t really bothered. Nothing much bothered him. It would be a lot easier if you could just go where you wanted to when you want to.

‘Do you actually know where we’re going?’ he asked curiously.

Aiofe didn’t slow down. ‘No!’

They reached the end of the field, and Ben doubled over, clutching his stomach and panting. Aiofe whirled around. ‘Come on, Ben!’

‘Where?’ he asked again.

‘There!’ she said, pointing. Sure enough, her hunch had led her somewhere. High up in a tree at the end of the field a kitten meowed pitifully.

‘The poor thing’, Aiofe said. ‘We’d better get him down.’

‘Cats can climb, can’t they?’ Ben asked, for he was positive they could. ‘It should be able to climb down again. It got up there to begin with.’

The kitten gave another loud meow.

‘It’s stuck’, Aiofe declared, ‘and it needs help’.

Aiofe did know a lot about things that needed help, so Ben supposed she was right.

‘So are you going to climb up and get it down, or am I?’ (Unfortunately her ‘saving things’ plans were often a lot of work.) ‘Uh -’

‘We should both go’, she decided. ‘So we can corner him, if he tries to run off in the other direction.’

‘What are we going to do when we get him down?’

‘Take him back to his owner’, Aiofe said, reaching up and grabbing a branch that was sticking out just above her head. She swung briefly before pulling herself up, grunting. ‘Hurry, Ben!’

Ben, having just had two growths spurts, was a head taller than Aiofe and easily jumped up onto the same branch. Aiofe, meanwhile, was scurrying up the tree like a shark through water.

The kitten miaowed again. Aiofe had nearly reached it.

‘I’ve got him!’ she yelled to Ben. Before he could suggest that maybe she not yell quite so loud, as that could easily threaten the creature, the kitten darted away and landed gracefully on a branch above Ben’s head. It settled itself and began to purr, its tail flicking across Ben’s face.

‘Oh, no!’ wailed Aiofe. ‘I let it go. Quick, Ben, grab it!’

Ben reached up, hands trembling, and tried to pick up the kitten again. Once more it darted away. Ben barely had time to think Ah, so kittens can climb down trees before he tumbled down the tree after the cat, landing painfully on a harsh tree root sticking out of the ground.

I won’t cry, he told himself, not while a girl’s around. Even if it’s only Aiofe.

The kitten wandered over disinterestedly, unaware of the drama it had caused. ‘Nice kitty’, Ben told it, patting it on the head. With a THUMP two feet landed beside him.

‘Oh no, Ben, your knee!’

Ben followed Aiofe’s gaze. Sure enough his knee was covered with blood.

‘I must have hit it when I landed.’

Aiofe grabbed her drink bottle from her bag. ‘We should wash it out, that’s what Dad always does’.

‘Is that water in your bottle?’ Ben asked quickly. He wasn’t entirely sure, but he didn’t think that pouring juice on a wound would help at all.

Aiofe took a tentative sip. ‘Drat, it’s juice. Come over to my place. Dad’ll fix you up.’

‘I should probably go home’, Ben said, remembering that his mother was already going to be mad at him for being late and he didn’t need to add another reason to the list.

Aiofe shrugged. ‘Okay. Hey, the cat has a collar on. Maybe it’s got an address on it.’

Ben turned the collar on. ‘52 Gibbs Road. Hey, that’s not too far from us.’

‘We’ll take the kitten home on the way’ Aiofe said decisively, picking up the animal. It settled happily into her arms this time. ‘Can you walk?’

‘Course’, Ben scoffed, not wanting to admit that his knee really was quite sore and he would like nothing more than to have a good cry. He clambered to his feet and they set off once more.

‘I wonder who the kitten belongs to’, Aiofe said.

‘Someone on our street. Don’t you know your neighbours?’

‘Not all of them.’

‘Me neither.’

The mystery was soon solved. The door to number 52 was opened by an elderly woman with shockingly white hair. ‘There you are, Muffin!’ she exclaimed happily. ‘Wherever did you find her, I’ve been calling for her all afternoon.’

‘Down by the school, Ma’am.’ Aiofe replied politely.

‘Oh, I’m so sorry, I should introduce myself. My name is Mrs McSweeney.’

‘I’m Ben.’

‘And I’m Aiofe. I live at number 57.’

‘Well, Ben and Aiofe, thank you very much for returning Muffin here. Would you like to come in for a drink and biscuit?’

The children looked at each other. ‘Well we would,’ Aiofe said, ‘but our parents will be wondering where we are, and Ben needs to go home so his Mum can look after his knee.’

Mrs McSweeney looked down at his knee, then put her arms around his shoulders and hustled him inside. ‘We ought to take care of that right away. What are your phone numbers, I’ll let your parents know that you’re here. Aiofe, can you look in the cupboard under the sink and bring me the red first aid bag please?’

When Ben’s mother and Aiofe’s father turned up quarter of an hour later they were less than impressed that the children had not come straight home from school. They couldn’t be too angry, though, when Mrs McSweeney praised the children’s bravery and thanked them once again for saving Muffin. And they had to smile when she invited both families over for dinner that weekend.

And that was how Aiofe was responsible for Ben’s first scar, and how Aiofe and Mrs McSweeney first came to be very good friends. 

The Girl Who Saved The World

It's the 18th of September already, and you know what that means? That's right, NaNoWriMo s just around the corner!

(For the uninitiated, National Novel Writing Month is a challenge to write a novel, with a minimum of 50,000 words, in the month of November.)

It's definitely time to start preparation! I did intense planning for my first NaNo in 2010 and found that the challenge was really manageable. The next year I didn't even decide what to write about until 31 October, muddled around for two weeks then madly dashed to get the 50,000 words out. There's potential in it, and some passages I really like, and a completely spontaneous 1000 word diary excerpt that was the product of a word sprint which I absolutely love, but I'll be going the planning route this time. Partly because I'm going to try to write a children's book rather than a YA.

Now, I mainly only read (and consequently write) YA, so this is really upping the challenge this year. But I've been inspired.

I recently went to an interview and book reading with John Boyne of The Boy in the Striped Pyjamas fame, and he said a lot of inspirational things. Not least of which was 'I don't think young readers are as interested in vampires as publishers seem to think they are'. Amen to that! Particularly if they are vampires of the Twilight variety. More importantly, I was inspired to:

A) Continue with my current work in progress, One Last Day.

and 

B) Attempt to write a children's book.

The title, The Girl Who Saved the World, came first. It was a title that had been floating around in the back of my mind since March - I just didn't have an appropriate project to affix it to at the time. But it would suit this project nicely, particularly as I didn't have characters, a setting, or a plot yet. 

I've always been somewhat sceptical of authors who describe characters and ideas just coming to them. JK Rowling, for instance, says that the character of Harry Potter came to her fully formed while she was on a train. As it turns out, that was sort of what happened with my main character. Only I wasn't on a train. 

Meet Aiofe (whose name I just realised now I have spelt wrong) (please excuse my inability to draw hands):

Yep. She pretty much strolled into my head looking like that and said that. 

Here's what else I know about Aiofe:

- She's nine years old.

- She lives in a small rural community. 

- She has a younger sister. 

- Her dad wears an apron.

- She loves dress ups and make-believe. 

- Her family doesn't have a TV.

- She dreams big. 

- There's an old lady who lives nearby who she visits often. 

Before I start any plot planning I think I'm going to draw the rest of the main players (as I learn who they all are). I think it would also be cool to draw some random pictures of Aiofe in different situations then have the challenge of working them into the story somehow. Suggestions welcome! 

Another NaNo planning task I have set myself is to read some children's novels before NaNo begins so I can get a handle on how different authors deal with the genre. Otherwise I'll write in my normal novel voice, and end up with a YA story about a nine year old doing nine year old things and it will just be a mess. The list thus far:

- Moon over Manifest, by Clare Vanderpool.

- The Terrible Thing That Happened To Barnaby Brocket, by John Boyne.

I reckon I can squeeze three more in there. Suggestions welcome! 

And on a final note, anyone who writes or would like to try writing should think about doing NaNo, because it is really fun and if you go to meet ups you get stickers!

You Are The First Book That's Ever Been Mine

'What was the first book that you considered yours?'

This question, posed by my supervisor, gave me pause for thought and I couldn't really come up with an answer. I had plenty of favourite books growing up – The Baby-Sitters' Club, Narnia, The Day After Forever, and Make Way for Ducklings to name a few. But a book that was mine? None of these fit the bill. I had to share these with other people. They were either wildly popular, or family favourites. They seemed too universal to ever really belong to one person.

I settled on Gordon Korman's book, I Want to go Home, as my answer, but didn't have any reasoning for it. Now, having had three years to think about it, I can properly answer the question.

You probably haven't heard of it. Let me introduce you. This is my copy of the book:

It's looking a little worse for wear now. It was pretty rugged when I bought it, and it's gotten worse since. At some point I made a pretty poor attempt to fix it up a bit.

Not very tidy, but it's in one piece now instead of three.

So why is this book mine?

To start with, I bought this book myself. I'm pretty sure it was the first time I spent my own money on a book. My parents weren't even there when I bought it. I got it from a gala at my school in Westport when I would have been about six or seven. It cost fifty cents. I picked it up because it was an Apple paperback, and so were the BSC books – so I figured it had to be a good read.

It's also mine because I don't know anybody else who's read it. It came out in 1981 so it was already over a decade old when I picked it up. Logically I know that somebody must have had to have read this very copy before I did, but I've never seen the book anywhere else.

And then there's the content. Oh, the content! I love this book. Here's the rundown: rugged scallywag Rudy Miller is sent away to summer camp. He hates it (fair call – there's far too many sports there!) and together with his new friend Mike sets out to escape, driving their cabin counsellor Chip completely bonkers as they do so. Rudy's wonderfully sarcastic, always knows what to say, and is never ruffled at all.

There's a few references in there that I never got when I read the book as a child. Camp Algonkian Island is often referred to as Alcatraz by Rudy. That went completely over my head. Rudy calls the counsellors clones, as they all look the same. I didn't know what clones were when I first read the book, and the references are pretty heavy. No matter. I also didn't realise that the camp was in Canada (I assumed it was in the USA as the baby-sitters are) but there are references to the Queen, Toronto, and Ontario. And as for Bobby Fischer, Pele, and Henry Rono? No clue.

When I read the book again this week I noticed a few sayings in it that I've picked up unconsciously, and either use frequently or think frequently. And by 'think' I mean 'go over situations in my head and imagine I'm saying what I wish I had the guts to say at the time'. Let's have a look. Here, Rudy is trying to (and succeeding at) getting out of camp activities:

“It's a shame I'll have to miss that.”

“Why?” asked the counsellor.

“I don't run,” Rudy explained.

“He doesn't do anything!” exclaimed Harold Greene.

“Exactly,” Rudy agreed.

“How do you do that?” Mike whispered. “How do you get out of doing all those crummy camp things?”

“It's very simple. You just don't go.” (15)

It's very simple. You just don't go. How often I've wanted to use that phrase – or some variation of it! I adore Rudy's skill of brazenly getting out of things he doesn't want to do, and his blatent explanation for it. How wonderful it would be to not do things because you don't want to, and not have to give any excuse for it!

Later, Rudy has once again raised Chip's ire.

“You're going to mail that?” cried Chip. “You can't send that! I'll kill you!”

“Threats of violence,” said Rudy, making notes. (25)

I've definitely used this one when I've heard people jokingly remark 'I'm going to kill you'. Actually, the guy who sits next to me at work likes to ask me if I'd like to see a magic trick. And by this, for those of you who are not Batman fans, he mean he wants me to impale myself on a pencil. Next time he makes such comments I'd love to calmly remark 'threats of violence', while making a note of it on my awesome typewriter-shaped post-it notes.

“I think it stinks,” piped up Harold Greene.

“That's because you have no soul,” explained Rudy pleasantly. (40)

I definitely use this one far too often. Basically whenever it's at all applicable. And for any one of you who thinks I use it too often or use it when it's inappropriate, I have one thing to say: That's because you have no soul. :)

And now, for a quick tour through some of my favourite parts of the book, to see if I can explain why I love it so much, and why I think of this book as mine.

“Of course,” said Chip. “Early to bed, early to rise.”

“Yes, said Rudy. “Makes a an healthy, wealthy and dead. I'm going to get a few more hours sleep.” (p.13)

Ooh, snap! I totally relate to this. I hate going to bed early. I hate getting up early. Basically I just hate early. I'm never early for anything, least of all waking up in the morning. And this phrase enables me. I could DIE if I get up early and go to bed early. So, if it's alright with you, I'd rather not do it.

“Good morning, boys,” he greeted the assembly. “It gives me great pleasure to welcome you to Algonkian.”

“It would give me great pleasure to go home,” mumbled Rudy.

Mike snorted loudly into the silence.

“Webster!” (16-17)

Mr Warden regularly gives speeches to the camp. Rudy makes snide remarks throughout, cracking Mike up while he himself remains stonefaced. My sense of humour is as dry as Rudy's. I can imagine us both standing there listening to the asinine speeches and alternately coming up with sarcastic yet hilarious remarks.

Rudy writes a letter home to his parents from camp. Well, he tries to. For some reason Chip doesn't let him send it. Censorship, I tell you!

Dear Mom and Dad. This place is terrible. Each day I am subjected to countless atrocities. The food is spoiled and poisonous, and the drinking water is contaminted so there is an outbreak of typhoid. Our cabin collapsed last night in a typhoon, but don't worry. Only one guy got killed.

It's not all bad. I do have one friend, named Mike. He's he one that pulled me out of the quicksand. I have to haul garbage every day, but there aren't too many wild animals at the dump and I've only been bitten twice.

Mr. Warden, the director, is very nice, and he has a real social conscience. He hires only desperate criminals as counsellors. Our bunk counsellor, whose name is Chip, is a reformed axe-murderer on parole. He has red eyes and yells a lot and keeps an axe under his mattress.

Tonight is really going to be fun. Our cabin hasn't been fixed yet, so we get to sleep in trees. I sure hope the typhoon doesn't start up again.

I'll be safe and sound so long as Algonkian Island doesn't sink any further.

Your son,

Rudy

P.S. If this letter looks messy it's because I'm writing it while being chased by a bear. (24)

Be still my beating heart! The understated horror, the false cheer, the flippant afterthought. The sheer nerve at even trying to send the letter.

Chip was dumbfounded. They had actually done it. They had actually built a salate. He lifted the lid and looked inside. Dirt. It looked like dirt. Some topsoil, some clay, a few stones and the odd bit of grass. Dirt. He ran his fingers through it. Dirt. This couldn't be a salate. He had looked it up this morning in the dictionary and had been unable to find it, but whatever it was, this couldn't be it. (39)

“Strange isn't the word I'd use for Miller,” growled Chip. “Crazy would be more like it.” He banged his fist on the table. “I don't like being lied to! They said they were building a salate, and this is is what they hand me!”

Pierre laughed out loud. “And that's exactly what you got – a salate.” He stoppped to catch his breath. “It's French, Chip. It means dirt!” (44)

There are many examples in children's literature of children triumphing over adults, of outsmarting them. This is a great instance of it. Rudy and Mike have been trying to make a dam so the camp will flood and everyone will be sent home. They've skipped cabin sports to do so and told Chip they've been at arts and crafts making a salete. He demands to see it, thrilled that he's going to catch them out. BUT IS HE? Dum dum dum. Nope! He's foiled, once again.

“Well, here's something you may not know,” said Frank. “This morning you're playing baseball and soccer, and before lunch you're going swimming.”

“I don't play baseball or soccer,” said Rudy calmly, “and I don't swim. Lunch we can negotiate.” (63)

The counsellors have banded together and decided that come hell or high water Rudy is going to play sports. He's determined right up to the bitter end, and he calls the shots. [Spoiler alert: He does end up playing sports, but presents it as if it's been his decision, which I'm sure it has. It is Rudy, after all.]

“Now, if I may continue – all punishment is hereby revoked. One of the counsellors will take out the garbage. Let's pick a number at random – uh, say, thirteen.”

“Miller, you stop that!” shouted Chip, springing to his feet. (117)

“I know,” announced Chip. “We'll get Miller to pick a number at random – uh, say, thirteen.” (140)

Rudy is tricked (or so the counsellors think) into playing a game of chess on which certain conditions are wagered. When he wins he is granted the chance to be Camp Director for a day. He sets about punishing Chip, setting him unpleasant tasks to do. He pretends to be choosing him randomly by picking a number, but strangely enough he always seems to pick number 13. Chip tries to take advantage of it later on when the counsellors are arguing about who gets to go on a trip, suggesting they get Rudy to pick a number at random. That's right, Chip, you're playing right into his hands just the way he wants you to!

Here, Rudy hilariously explains what is going to happen on the day he is in charge.

“The 'no activities' rule, of course, applies to campers only. I have noticed that the counsellors are in terrible physical condition. Accordingly, the counsellors' relay races will begin shortly after breakfast. This will be followed by the counsellors' obstacle course, the counsellors' shotput, the counsellors' swimming race, the counsellors' discus throw, the counsellors' ten-kilometre run, the counsellors' soccer game, field hockey game, baseball game, high jump and, if there is time, the counsellors' lunch.” (117)

He's pushing the boundaries here, seeing how far he can go. He goes pretty far and I love him for it.

“All right,” said Chip, smiling broadly. “I'm Chip.”

“And I'm Jane,” replied a counsellor from Silver Lake.

“And I'm Tarzan,” murmered Rudy.

Mike snickered.

“Quit that, Webster!” snapped Chip. “Now, one by one, let's hear your names.”

“Joey.”

“Adam.”

“Mary.”

“Grace.”
“Mike.”

“Zeke.”

“Miller!” yelled Chip. “Don't fool around!” ...

“Okay,” said Jane when they had finished, “let's see who remembers all the names. How about you, Rudy?”

Rudy blinked twice nd began to recite with computer accuracy: “Joey, Adam, Mary, Grace, Mike, myself, Barbara, Harold Greene, Brian, Jane ...” He pused and stared at Chip in perplexity. “What was your nae again?”

“Chip! Chip!”

“So much for bird calls,” said Rudy. “What's your name?” (152-153)

Oh, how this amused me to no end when I first read it. Snarky Rudy at his best, AND he's showing Chip up in front of the girl he likes. Well played, sir, well played.

“I'll sweep out the bunk,” offered Adam

“I'll pick up litter in the compound,” said Joey.

“I'll help clean the mess hall.”

“I can help Joey with the litter.”

“I'll wash the mess hall windows.”

“I'll supervise the entire operation,” offered Rudy. (167)

I hate cleaning. I'm totally on bord with Rudy here. I would want to supervise too. He ends up scrubbing the floors though, much to Chip's delight, which brings us to this realisation point:

Rudy stood up and folded his arms. “Gentlemen, Mike and I don't like the working conditions here. We” – he pulled Mike to his feet – “are on strike.”

“Yeah,” squeaked Mike.

Pierre started to laugh. “You've got a big mouth, Frank, and a big foot to fit in it. You too, Chip.”

“Miller –“ said Chip warningly.

“We're on strike,” Rudy repeated. “We've got to get over to arts and crafts to paint some signs so we can picket.”

“Arts and crafts is all cleaned up and closed for tomorrow,” said Pierre, “but I'd b happy to open it up for you.”

“Hey, whose side are you on?” snapped Chip.

“That's quite obvious,” said Pierre. “Now – this is how you handle a situation like this. Miller, Webster, be good joes and finish the floor.”

“Gee, we'd like to,” said Rudy, “but it's against union regulations.”

“I'll give him union regulations!” hollered Chip, shaking a big fist.

“Tell you what I'll do,” said Pierre. “We're working under a tight deadline here, so I'll double your salaries.”

“Oh, well,” said Rudy, “in that case the strike is settled.” He and Mike dropped down to their hands and knees and continued scrubbing.

Chip was dumbfounded. “Boy, is Miller ever stupid!” he whispered. “He doesn't get a salary!”

Pierre shook his head resignedly. “The problem isn't Miller.” (168-169)

At least, I think this is supposed to be a realisation moment. I don't really get it though. Rudy cracks me up, as he normally does, and I love how Pierre is firmly on his side. (Or in his camp, get it? Because they're at camp.) But I don't understand the last line. The problem isn't Miller? As much as I love Rudy and enjoy reading him, and love seeing Chip get his, if this were a real world sitution I'd be completely on Chip's side. Rudy's run away about ten times by now, caused a whole lot of trouble no matter how polite he is, and refuses to participate in anything. I'd be pulling my hair out too.

But then, that's the world of fiction isn't it? It's a place where we can explore different sides of ourselves without it having a negative impact on our real world existence. Perhaps there is a part of me who loves this rule breaking and trouble causing, when it's done so delightfully. Perhaps this is part of what makes this book 'mine'.

P.S. Bonus points for getting the Taylor Swift reference.

P.P.S. All references from Gordon Korman's I Want to Go Home (Scholastic, 1981)