I am dedicating this page to my kids or in a more youthful vernacular – kidz – or perhaps that just makes me a pretentious idiot. Whatever it makes me, I am dedicating this page to them.
Caolan, Aoife and Niamh (Irish, how did you possibly guess?)
Some time ago, I started to write stories about them – well about their characters and I found that a lot of adults seemed to like the idea of writing children’s books in one way or another.
My view on that is that there is a romanticised idea about young kids acting like big puppy eyed sponges who are just aching to read lots of books written by adults. The reality is that they either they want to get on watching the Simpsons, playing some Wii or XBOX mindless crap game or (SMS) a series of mangled sentences to their chums.
The idea that they would sit with doe eyes ( sorry puppy eyes) listening to your drivel about rabbits and talking playing cards is about as far fetched as some of the tales themselves.
No I write childrens stories for sad adults who in ripening middle age feel deeply regretful that they mispent their youths playing snooker or puffing woodbines in the bike shed when they should have been progressing beyond Janet and John – book 3.
Doing it for the kids ? no sodding way mate.
