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Just Imagine if, in these difficult times, there were to open a specialist children’s bookshop complete with events space for reading groups, writing courses, author events and much more. Imagine if this place was created by a passionate champion of children’s literature and run by enthusiastic and knowledgeable staff.

Thanks to the vision of Nikki Gamble on Saturday 15^th January it happened in Chelmsford! And I was lucky to be invited to the Grand Opening. Husband and I arrived late in the afternoon just in time to witness a re enactment of the opening ceremony by Dr Who author Steve Cole and the brilliant Sarah McIntyre. Marcus Sedgwick was there looking suitably brooding and gothic.

I was delighted to grab a copy of ‘When Titus Took the Train’ written by fellow Buzzaboutbooks.com author Anne Cottringer and illustrated by Sarah. I had heard it before read out in one of our sessions and it was wonderful to see it in book form and to admire Sarah’s illustrations.

Whilst husband was busy talking post apocalyptic novels I chatted with Mike Dodsworth about the power of dance and story and shallow creature that I am I tried really hard not to scan the shelves for copies of my books…..

Check out the Just Imagine Facebook page for details of regular events , contact [email protected] or visit the centre at 64-68 New London Rd, Chelmsford, UK

I have seen three kingfishers in my life so far. The first time was one autumn day when I was twenty and visiting my first ever RSPB bird sanctuary in Ynys Hir in Mid Wales. I just caught a flash of turquoise. My next sighting was on another autumn day fifteen years later on an artificial lake in Chingford. Again it was just a fleeting glimpse. On Sunday at Minismere nature reserve in Suffolk just as I was leaving a hide I turned and looked through the window behind me. A kingfisher rose up from the reeds and hovered above the surface of the pond. It was an intense three seconds as my heart stopped and my mind’s eye worked overtime desperately trying to preserve the image. Why did my halcyon moments mean so much to me?
In Greek mythology Alcyone was the daughter of Aeolus the guardian of the winds. When her beloved husband, Ceyx was drowned she threw herself into the sea and was turned into a kingfisher. When she builds her nest at sea Aeolus stills the wind for seven days to keep the next generation of his family safe.
Another legend says that the kingfisher buries her dead mate in the winter before laying her eggs in a nest of fish bones which then floats out to sea. This image makes me remember the pagan myths about the moon goddess carrying the body of the dead king, symbolic of the old year, to his final resting place. Then I find myself in the realm of the Fisher King. The wounded king who is waiting for a knight to return and bring the secret that will heal himself and bring life to his desolated kingdom.
As I write this post I realise that the kingfisher and the stories that surround it have helped me to clarify what is driving my passion to write at the moment. I now understand what the theme is that I am trying to capture and keep. It is hard to put into bare words. It needs a calm sea, a still wind and a story to express it

I keep his picture by my desk. His dark eyes stare at me. His hair is long and he needs a shave. His lips are set in a determined downward curve. He is trying a bit too hard to look like he doesn’t care about me and yet he is carrying a placard which he is defying me to read and consider. Upon it are written the words,
Keep silent, unless your speech is better than silence
The man in the picture is Salvator Rosa (1615 -1673), artist, actor, philosopher, and possible bandit. I first encountered him at The Wallace Collection which owns his painting of Apollo and the Cumaean Sybil. The self portrait is usually in the National Gallery but can now be seen in a wonderful exhibition of his paintings at Dulwich Picture Gallery.
Keep silent, unless your speech is better than silence
His advice seems to run counter to all the pressure on me to twitter, buzz, hum and fritter my words and myself in order to get myself ‘out there’. Should I deck myself out in the literary equivalent of a meat dress and get noticed?
Keep silent, unless your speech is better than silence
John Le Carre recently said in a recent interview that he likes to be the quiet guest at the dinner table. If we are expected to ‘make a noise’ all the time are we sacrificing a bit of our creative self? After his death Salvator Rosa became the darling of the Romantics because he refused to paint to order. He painted scathing pictures showing Fortuna scattered her riches on those that least deserve them. I would love Fortuna to scatter some random riches and recognition in my direction.
Keep silent, unless your speech is better than silence
His words challenge me as I write. Silent images flicker on the screen of my imagination over and over again and I dance with them until they are reformed into words. Then I can only hope that these words can successfully transmit those images and emotions into another’s imagination so that a story or a poem comes into existence. A story that is better than silence.

I woke up this morning with the First Person Blues. (It was two weeks ago when it actually happened). I opened a historical novel and read the first line and stopped. It was written in the first person. I stopped reading. I felt cheated.
Then I went back to the story I’m working on. Its current title is called ‘Magic Moments and the dull bits in between.’ It is a story set in a fancy dress shop in a northern seaside town with a cast of characters that includes an incognito movie star, drag queens, a new age dandy and a flashback to 1976. It was written in the first person.
I always begin writing in the first person. It is often the music of a character’s voice that inspires me to write. Now as I am overcome by the First Person Blues I start to rewrite. Everything changes. The vision of the story broadens. I allow myself a few sentences to linger over descriptions. I agonise over the tone of the mysterious authorial voice. The rhythm of the language changes. I literally feel on top of the story. An all seeing eye and not a hand held camera.
Does anyone else ever get an attack of the First Person Blues?

I need my five foul weather friends to steer me through the stormy seas of a writing life.
1. Feed back Friends. These are a special breed. They read and listen to your work and give you their thoughts and impressions. They don’t try and rewrite your work or take on your story. They are sensitive to the stage you are at in the process and give you space to nurture an idea but also help you to clearly see what is working and what is not. You return the favour and listen to their work. They celebrate your success. You celebrate theirs but also give you space to have a jealous - ‘it should have been me’ moment.
2. Every writer should have a Grammar Puss. Someone who can explain to you about what a lacuna is or who cares deeply about the correct use of the apostrophe. They can tell you the grammatical reason why a sentence isn’t working or why a paragraph doesn’t make sense.
3. The Factoid is the friend you can text late at night and ask such things as, ‘What year did David Bowie sing Starman on Top of the Pops? Or ‘Who was the prime minister in 1911?’ They are also great to have on your team in a pub quiz.
4. A Full Fridge Friend is the one who understands when your head has spent too long in the land of dreamy dreams to either shop or construct anything resembling a meal. They put food in front of you and accept the silent chomping and wild eyed staring.
5. Then there is that mysterious Imaginary Friend. The friend who has been with me since childhood weaving stories, creating worlds, providing escape in difficult times, asking questions of me and enriching my existence.