I wrote earlier about a picture book I’ve been working on with Elena Bolado, a friend who also happens to be an excellent illustrator. This is her first picture book, and mine too.
We’ve nearly finished. We both have young children (Elena’s daughter and my daughter were born around the same time) so we’ve worked on this in between the endless churn of work, life and children. The plan is to self publish the book in the next few weeks.
The book is called Little Mo and it tells the story of a teddy who sees a firework from his bedroom window and inadvertently goes on a journey to explore the bright lights, hurtling through a dark autumn night on the backs and the wings of some nocturnal friends.
I started this blog with quite a few things in mind. I wanted somewhere to write about the amazing books I was discovering; a reading log so I could easily jog my memory if I forgot a book or a character or, even worse, whether I liked a book or not.
There was also – I must admit – a hint of vanity. I wondered whether there would be an audience, other people who might be interested in reading my bookish thoughts. Perhaps I would be able to point readers to an undiscovered book. Fingers crossed, they may even say they liked what they read.
That said, my blog is my blog – it’s mainly for me. I like to write. I have an urge to do so, an itch that needs a regular scratch. A blog post every few days keeps everything in sync – I get to write, but I also manage to keep the day job ticking over, not entirely neglect the children and occasionally empty the dishwasher. But there is another strand to my humble blog.