Tuesday, October 25, 2005

The Mad Month of November

I've gone crazy and signed up with http://www.nanowrimo.org. That's 'write a 50,000 word novel in a month (November)' ... actually 'National Novel Writing Month' - but it's international. Yes, it's possible! 6000 people succeeded last year.

Deadlines really do work to bring achievement. Thinking about the perfect opening, the perfect dialogue, the perfect ..., really do hold me back. You are bound to do re-writes and kick it around hard afterwards, but wouldn't it just be nice to have something actually 'there' to work on later??? That was my logic anyway.

But novels are really not my thing, so I'll give it a go to write 'a book' in a month - even though it is more likely to be non-fiction or 'fiction-faction' ... whatever it is you call a non-fiction story with fictional dialogue. I want to write the story of 'Mad James Lucas' for children.

I was amazed with what I could actually write and produce when I worked in another simililar scheme 'to create and put an ebook on a site in a month'.

I definitely work best to deadlines and with constant kicks / encouragement from others trying to do the same thing.

You can register up to November 29th! Even if you don't write or finish the novel, it's worth signing up just to be able to use the forum - there are so many friendly positive people who freely offer great advice and support. I hope I can reciprocate too.

Better get to work quickly and develop a plot ...

Tuesday, October 04, 2005

Wergle Flomp

I was delighted to have my lunacy recently recognised by winning a minor prize in the Winning Writers 'Wergle Flomp' competition for parody poems, for which, I believe, there were close to 1500 entries from word-wide. Perhaps that puts me amongst the world's craziest writers!

In January 2000, David Taub tried to write, under the pen name of Wergle Flomp, a poem that would be rejected by poetry.com. He failed!

The contest gives real prizes to poems written in jest and submitted to poetry.com.

((March 2014 - This competition has now changed to being for humorous poems in general, not parody, and with no necessity to submit to poetry.com  
 http://winningwriters.com/our-contests/wergle-flomp-humor-poetry-contest-free ))

The origin of Wergle Flomp can be viewed at 

Here's my winning poem:

Leedabole and the Froggy-hopple

A suddy croakamole: the sinewlade leggymires pushy still
Into the swoonupping girlyfling, her eyebolds transfissured
By the greeny webbles, her spiritule almire at his will,
She holdips his slimeblade bodyling againthro hers.

How can those terrifoldy stiff fingerloppers grippold
And holdify her potentimal princeling now slippy-slidingo from her grippylasp?
And how can bodyling, trying oh so hard not to over-trippold,
But feel the heartypumps
…thumpy thumpy,
…thumpy thumpy,
…near to burstivating where they lie?

A smacker-kisseroogy, maybold a smacker-kisseroogy will break
The magicome spell, retrove the prizal and princeling now appearifolding
Agamem-ning-nong deaddy-diddylo.
                                                        Being so up-caughtafied with this,
So desperangle for successoscopy and not findy a fake
Did she abandonfile cautionment to the windy-puffs and fearfolding
Her last chancit was here, up-puckermole
Before the loosencaving fingerloppers had to let him dropple?

"Leedabole and the Froggy-hopple" is a parody of "Leda and the Swan" by William Butler Yeats. The style is similar to that of the late 'Professor' Stanley Unwin - with apologies.


Leda and the Frog

A sudden croak, the sinewed legs pushing still
Into the swooning girl, her eyes transfixed
By the green webs, her spirit almost at his will,
She holds his slimy body against hers.

How can those terrified stiff fingers grip
And hold her potential prince now slipping from her grasp?
And how can body, trying not to trip,
But feel their hearts near bursting where they lie?

A kiss, maybe a kiss will break
The magic spell, return the prize and prince appearing
Agamemnon dead.  
                            Being so caught up with this,
So desperate for success and not a fake
Did she abandon caution to the wind and fearing
Her last chance was here, pucker up
Before the loosening fingers had to let him drop?

 Leda and the Swan    W.B.Yeats
    A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
    Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
    By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
    He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.

    How can those terrified vague fingers push
    The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
    And how can body, laid in that white rush,
    But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?

    A shudder in the loins engenders there
    The broken wall, the burning roof and tower[20]
    And Agamemnon dead.
                        Being so caught up,
    So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
    Did she put on his knowledge with his power
    Before the indifferent beak could let her drop? 

....Back to writing something sensible!

Thursday, April 28, 2005

Getting the words flowing

I’ve got a couple of recently completed stories and would like to send them to a publisher to be considered. A friend recommended that I tried ‘The Chicken House’ – so I visited their website.

What a coincidence.

Firstly, I have just returned to Australia from a holiday spent at Corsley, very close to their office in Frome, in rural England. Then I looked at the profile of one of their authors, James Mayhew, who has written a story about chickens, and was amazed to find that he lives in Letchworth Garden City, also in England. In 1912, my grandparents were pioneers in the creation and development of that town …and were, believe it or not, chicken farmers.

My ideas for books will be winging their way to ‘The Chicken House’ … but the whole experience has stimulated me to write a little more of the family history.

I find writing snippets of family history a great way to get the words flowing in other projects too.

In case you’re curious, I’ll add an extract below. Some is already on my website, along with photos and notes on different individuals, at http://www.writing-for-children.com/MyFamily.html , but as I say, I’ve added to it.

…After years in the stationery, food and retail trades in Chertsey, Surrey, Ernest Taylor decided to abandon all that he knew to become a farmer – a field in which he had zero knowledge or experience. In 1912 he took a 100 year lease on 14 acres of land at Letchworth Garden City, a town that mainly existed only on the plans.

He invited two others to join him. One was Thomas Flaws (the son of the editor of the Bedfordshire Times newspaper), who also had 'limited' farming experience, to say the least. The other was Gertrude Matilda Beaumont, the daughter of the owner of the grocery store where he worked. Though Ernest asked her to marry him so that they could set up this venture together, she declined. She would live unmarried with them both first, to see if she liked the lifestyle.Was this 'small-holding' going to be viable? Was it a wise decision, in 1912, for an unmarried young lady to move in with two men in an isolated house on the edge of civilization? The scandal! What did her parents say? What did the neighbours in London say? What was their reputation in Letchworth? …And what a big change to leave a comfortable home with a maid to find that, at her new home, there was no flushing toilet, no bath, no hot water, no income, no mechanisation - just 14 acres of untamed land.

Each day, Ernest would leave the house wearing his customary bow tie, pick a fresh flower for his button-hole, and set to work – but much of Tuesday was spent at the local auction.

“Give us a shilling, Taylor, for the mixed bag?”


He had become noted for being prepared to buy all the rubbish that remained unsold at the end of the day. Each week he would return with an old metal bath tub filled with bags of rusty nails, decomposing picture frames ...and a few useful wheels and bits of metal that could be made into ‘Heath Robinson style’ contraptions, the purpose of which often took some explaining.

Glass from the picture frames was used to make cloches to cover seedlings, and I have inherited a few nice watercolours which I believe were collected this way.

Life was harsh but simple. Doors, of course, were never locked, and a box was kept on the window-ledge. When someone sold something, the money was placed in the box. When someone wanted to make a purchase, they just took out whatever they needed.

I was born in 1949. At that time half of the small-holding was apple orchards, with blackberry and loganberry bushes mixed in, along with a lot of chickens and geese – which often nested amongst the brambles instead of in the sheds. Many of the sheds were numbered. The last one was ‘number 42 shed’, and though most of the earlier ones had fallen down and been replaced, I remember at least 11 of them standing.

Other chicken runs existed close to the main road. However, my grandparents also grew strawberries , and ‘pinks’ for the Covent Garden flower market. Gert, my grandmother, was a true entrepreneur. To be financially independent, she cultivated ½ acre of flower gardens so that she could sell blooms to people visiting the nearby cemetery. She also kept angora rabbits - which I think she combed to collect some fur, but also skinned them and sold the pelts to the glove factory.

I remember sitting on my grandfather’s horse-drawn cart, in the early 1950’s, as he delivered the eggs. At the same time he collected food scraps from the customers, and he boiled these scraps up with bran to make chicken food.

People travelled a long way to shop. One early resident would come to see them from miles away and just purchase a single egg, which was selected from amongst the dozens which were stacked in the ‘egg shed’.

Letchworth was famed for its eccentrics.

Gertrude eventually did marry Ernest. Ernest died when he was 95 and Gert at 99. During the whole of their married life they never had a day when they were not sharing their house with someone else. Thomas Flaws lived with them until he died, aged over 90. Gert also had a sister, called May. On her death-bed, Gert’s mother said, “Gert, make sure you look after May.” When May arrived, Ernest thought she was coming for three weeks holiday, but she stayed for over 35 years and outlived them all...

More later.

Take care,

Peter Taylor


Thursday, April 14, 2005

Phiz - what a Dickens of a job he had

Who was the most productive illustrator of books in the 19th century?

My bet is on Hablot Knight Browne - best known as Phiz.

He illustrated for Dickens, Ainsworth, Lever and many others, but you can't just count his line illustrations by the number of pages that appear in the books. Some of the etched metal printing plates wore out, and he drew and etched many in duplicate and even a few in triplicate.

Then there were the woodcuts for Dickens' 'Household' edition.


1,603. Just for Dickens' works.

The list of drawings he did for other authors is equally impressive.

Everyone loved Phiz's pictures, and I'm sure new illustrations were looked forward to with almost as much anticipation as Dickens' words, and there is no doubt they helped to sell the books.

At the beginning of his career, Hablot really wanted to be a professional artist working with paints.

After he had finished illustrating Dickens' books with black and white etchings, Hablot was asked by a private individual if he would undertake a commission. It was to redraw every illustration that he had done for Dickens' novels and supply them as watercolour paintings. And he said 'Yes'.

In the last ten years or so of Browne's life, etched illustrations became unfashionable. I think it was sad then, after all his earlier fame and public acclaim, that when he died, there were only four people at his graveside - his four sons.

No more history for a while.

I'll change the subject for the next blog.

Enjoy life,

Peter Taylor

Writing For Children - Peter Taylor

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I hope you continue to enjoy my postings.

Peter Taylor

Tuesday, April 12, 2005


'Struwwelpeter’ was written in 1844. My copy dates from about 1900, I should think - published by Routledge.

I remember it being read to me as a child.

I’m sure it’s quite the most disturbing book ever written for young children.

It was written for a 3 year old by his father when he couldn’t find a ‘suitable’ book for a Christmas present. He bought a notebook and made up the stories and did the illustrations himself. And he was a psychiatrist. And all the lunatics who visited his surgery thought it was great and wanted copies and suggested he ‘got it published’ – and it became a worldwide best seller and gave innumerable nightmares to each child who had it read to them. (At least, it did if they were 3, I’m sure.) There’s even a 'Struwwelpeter Museum' in Frankfurt displaying copies in 120 languages.

Did anyone read it to you – I’m sure you would remember?

Please let me know.

If there's enough interest, I might make my copy available as an ebook, providing everyone promises not to read it to 3 year olds, or show them the pictures.

Take care

Peter Taylor
Writing For Children

Monday, April 11, 2005


Welcome to my blog.

Every few days I will be adding content here, so please check back often.

I've lots of projects all taking shape at once. One of them is a history of the illustration of children's books. I've been collecting a lot of favourites from the 19th century. In the next blog I'll tell you about 'Struwwelpeter'.

Best wishes,

Peter Taylor
Writing For Children