Feeding the heart! Feeding the soul! Creating ceativity!

Went to MoBay: From the luscious green vegetation on rolling hills and grand mountains, the blue and white sea against the yellow ochre sand, the grandeur of the Gorge, trees with tight, straight trunks holding fast to the rock walls, to the dry plains, brown pods of the Woman's Tongue trees, like elongated blooms. Feeding the heart, feeding the soul. Lord, this country is beautiful!

This was how I felt. And why am I telling you, dear readers, apart from the fact that you might also feel the same if you live here or you’ve been here, is because, lo and behold, before I was even into the Gorge (retuning home) the story ideas were flowing fast. Had to take out a notebook to capture them quickly. So I guess this is nothing new. Commune with nature and creativity wells up. Aha! And it was after two days of rest. It did not happen on the outward journey. Mind you, we had taken the Sligoville road, which is enough to toss away any thought of anything but where the next pothole, throwing you onto the wrong side of a mountain road, might be.

So was it the rest or was it the beauty of the country? Every thing I saw, I’ve always loved. I am passionate about the Woman’s Tongue Trees in the dry season. When you come upon a group of them, they are like flowering trees, to me as beautiful as Poui or Poinciana Trees. And yes, this does lead back through the highways and the byways of thought to children’s literature. My book, Gammon and the Woman’s Tongue Trees celebrates that passion.



So having entered 2011 wondering what to write, here I am, renewed. Wouldn’t it be lovely if we could just trust in the process as it unfolds. So yes! Respect the talent! Respect the gift!
Trust the process!


Just thought of it.I would love to see Gammon and Debonair redone in colour! In a way that celebrates the beauty of the island.

What to write in 2011?

For those who are asking the same question and waiting for inspiration, you are not alone.

By now I’m supposed to be well into my third Time Travel adventure. As I said previously, I was ready to write: time period coming through, beginning to hear the characters' voices; even wrote a first paragraph ... and then between the floods from Hurricane Nicole and Hurricane Tomas, which kept us on edge for a week and then didn’t really come, (thank God), all ideas became entangled with the desire to write about winds and roaring waters, which was already done in the last Time Travel book, The Ring and the Roaring Water. And you are saying, 'Wasn't that a very long time ago?' Yes, but you would be surprised how time flies when you aren't writing. (And besides I was revising another young adult novel). Anyway, so I was set adrift, without an idea, except that I wanted to make a boy character play a more prominent part than Joseph and Ian had in the two previous Time Travel books. Of course, I have the house in which most of the action will take place - there is always a house ...

My friend, Hazel, who sends me all sorts of brilliant marketing ideas from her Internet browsing, said wouldn’t it be great if I could run a competition about ideas for the next Time Travel adventure, that is, let the readers decide where it should be. The first was in the 1907 earthquake in Kingston, the second, 1951 Hurricane Charlie in Kingston. So that’s an idea. Except we don’t know how to even begin to go about it ... Does anyone have a suggestion as to how this might work?

Actually what I really need is a manager to take my disparate titles (which belong to me, as opposed to those which belong to the Ministry or have a home with a publisher) and
1. Put them on Amazon for a start. People keep saying they don’t see my books on Amazon and where can they get them overseas. Well, actually, I have found that it’s not just that simple to get books onto Amazon. It seems that you need to have an American address.
2. Or turn them into E-books. I attended a very interesting presentation on that and I should look into it further.
3. Investigate print on demand, about which we hear mixed reports, but which might solve some of the other problems, and
4. Generally market them appropriately.

If anyone overseas sees an opportunity here, I’m sure that you’d get quite a few other authors in Jamaica who would be interested in your services.

The point of this is, thinking about business matters gets in the way of writing. However I must remember, 'Respect the gift!'

Another idea: should I write a book about a boy now that I’ve had a sort of epiphany after reading with boys? (described in a previous post). I knew it before, but it's one thing to know something academically, another to experience it.

However, rather encouraging, since I started writing this post (in the new year) an idea has been coming through ... just have to capture it ... and see if its the one ... Will the character say anything? ...


I suppose that if all else fails, I can always check on my other characters from other stories at other times to see if any of them have any other stories they want to tell ...

2010 segue into 2011: Respect!

2010! Pretty good, after all, when you think I started a blog, something I thought I'd never be able to do. How would I ever write a blog? I viewed writers of blogs like the uninitiated in ancient times must have viewed the monks who created books closeted away in their little cells. Come to think of it, the process may not be far removed. I found a voice which was me; I wrote about things I wanted to write about. Initially shy, I had to say to myself every now and then, 'It's your blog! You can write about what you want to write about'. I have also been able to indulge my childhood delight of having 'pictures illustrate my thoughts', words. Discovered how to move images about; in the process, discovered that you can also lose them when you are moving them about.


So thanks to those who read my blog, and also to those who commented; nice comments. I have not identified any filtering system attached to my blogging process, so maybe I'm lucky that the comments were nice. But really, thanks for hearing my voice on children's literature.


There were other things I wanted to write about, but having limited myself to blogging dates, once a week, as opposed to blogging time (time can be a whole half day to edit; time you put in pictures, time you lose them, find them, etc), these topics did not materialise. Perhaps in 2011!

2011! Here we are! Happy New Year to all of us! Wishes that we will all achieve and exceed our writing desires.

My resolutions are usually very flexible, a work in progress, which is why I guess the same things keep appearing year after year. However one resolution, made long before the New Year, somewhere in 2010, no doubt after some epiphany, was, 'respect you' talent', 'use you' gift. This actually translates for me into write 'even if you don't feel like it today'. And do not hide behind the free-lance work! It's so easy to say, 'What you expect? Well, I have to work! (as if nobody else does) getting increasingly dramatic; usually a bit over the top, wounded and self-righteous. Therefore, must make time for creative writing amongst time for freelancing writing, and if there must be drama, put it into the writing.

So along with things about finding out about marketing/finding publishers, etc., for 2011, paramount is, 'Respect my gift'.



I hope that in my blog, I'll write things that you will find interesting; I hope that some of the things I write will resonate with some of you who are writers and know the anxieties, the passions, the writer's block times, the times when you're writing and the words are coming so fast that you're up on the ceiling, and have to pull yourself down from that high, and try to sleep. (It usually happens at night, it seems.)





And yes, the images. Symbolic of the girl, and her first published book, who did not know then how many more she would eventually write, and who is now the woman who can write a blog about writing children's books. (However, it's mostly because there must be pictures.) The Funny Grey Cloud, published by Ministry of Education, Publications Branch. The artwork is done by Donny Miller. Love the trees! Love the colour!






Glorious writing to all of us for 2011.

From the archives - A Christmas story

This Christmas story is from one of the first Children's Writers Circle publications; from the time when there were still paper Christmas hats and people sewed cloths to be sold in stores. As people have pointed out, many of our folktale creatures are frightening, not at all benevolent. I wanted a character that granted wishes according to the rules of granting wishes; and so I created the Auntie of the Starlight. It makes sense after all; we know we do not have fairy godmothers, but we have a lot of Aunties, whether they are related to us or not. Aunties are respected; aunties are loving. So we have my Auntie of the Starlight! An addition to our folktale characters? Who knows.



Once Upon a Starlight
by Diane Browne

Angela pressed her face against the glass of the toy store window. She looked longingly at the chocolate-coloured doll with the tight black curls, dressed in a white blouse and frilly red skirt. Oh how she wanted that doll! But she knew that her parents couldn’t afford to buy it for her.
It was almost Christmas. The store windows were draped with coloured paper streamers and shiny bits of tinsel. The sidewalk stalls had balloons, starlights and paper Christmas hats. The fruit vendors sat with their piles of pineapples, paw paws, oranges and shiny tangerines. And there was a tall Christmas tree in the park that shone with many coloured lights at night.


Angela sighed as she turned away from the store window. Pushing her way through the crowds of excited Christmas shoppers, she tried to console herself. She could not have the doll, but she did have a paper bag with three starlights. They were not little starlights, but giant ones. Old Miss Hannah, who lived nearby, had given them to her because Angela had helped her to set up her stall.


When Angela got home her father was sitting on the verandah. He had been out of work for some time and he looked very sad. Every day he went looking for work, but he couldn’t find any. Her mother, who was sitting just inside the front door, was busy sewing; she was making clothes to sell to the stores. Angela’s little sister, Carol, ran to meet her.



“What did you buy, Angela?” she called out when she saw the paper bag.


Angela showed her family the starlights and explained how she had got them. “I am going to light one each night until Christmas,” she declared.


“I’m glad that you will have something for Christmas,” said her mother, with a sigh “There is no extra money for presents this year. The money I will get for this sewing will only be enough to buy us some food. I don’t even know if we will have enough to share with Miss Hannah. I know she is alone, and we always invite her to eat with us on Christmas Day ...but things have become so expensive. This has been a hard year.”



Angela’s father looked even more sad.


As soon as it was dark Angela went into the yard to light her first starlight. Carol watched from the front steps and squeezed her little hands together in excitement. Angela struck a match and placed it against the tip of the long starlight. A gentle Christmas breeze dimmed the flame of the match. Then as it flared again the starlight sparkled and crackled. Angela held it firmly as hundreds of little lights darted everywhere, like stars dancing away in the night.


“Swing it around, Angela!” shouted Carol. “Make the lights spin!”


Angela was just about to twirl the starlight in wide circles over her head, when she stopped. She blinked; she could not believe her eyes. There sitting on the top of the starlight was a little old lady, no bigger than a doctor bird. Her head was tied in a red and yellow bandana cloth, and she had on a bandana apron over a long blue cotton dress. Her black face was wrinkled and her eyes twinkled as brightly as the starlight sparkling around her. Angela’s heart pounded with fright.


“Don’t be afraid,” said the little old lady. “I am the Auntie of the Starlight. It was kind of you to help miss Hannah to set up her stall, and I have come to reward you. Each evening as you light a starlight I will appear, and each time you may have a wish for Christmas. What is your first wish, Angela?”


Angela trembled with anticipation as she thought about the doll in the store window. Then she remembered her father and how sad he had looked. I still have two other wishes, she said to herself. Maybe I can use this one for Daddy.



“Can I wish for something for somebody else?” she asked in a whisper.


“Of course,” replied the Auntie of the Starlight. “ They are your wishes. You can use them in any way that you want.”


“Then I wish that Daddy could get a job,” said Angela breathlessly.


The old lady tossed her head, showering sparkles of light all over the place. “You may have your wish,” she said. And before Angela could thank her, the starlight spluttered, and the old lady disappeared with the last little shimmering lights.



“Oh, Angela, that was so pretty!” cried Carol.


“Did you see her too?” said Angela.


“See who?” asked Carol. “What are you talking about?”


"Oh, nothing,” replied Angela, deciding that she must have imagined the whole thing. The next day while Angela’s father went to look for work as usual, Angela helped her mother with the sewing.


"I’m glad you can hem so well, Angela,” her mother said. “We must finish these today as tomorrow is Christmas Eve and I am depending on the money I get for them. Though, how I will mange to fill my next order, I don’t know. This old sewing machine is giving trouble and I’m sure it will cost a lot to fix it. I suppose I will just have to sew everything by hand. But that will take so long that maybe the store will give the orders to someone else.


"They wouldn’t do that, Mummy,” said Angela reassuringly, though, to tell the truth, she was not at all sure that they wouldn’t.


When Angela’s father came home that evening he looked quite different. He laughed happily as he exclaimed, “I’ve got a job! It’s at a new factory which needed extra help for Christmas, and if I work well the job will be permanent.”


Angela’s mother smiled. “I’m so glad,” she said, “Angela needs shoes to got to school next term and my sewing machine needs fixing.”


“Well,” replied her father, “I’ll have enough money for shoes, but that machine is too old now. They don’t even have parts for it anymore. You really need a new one, but I’ll have to work for some time before we can think of that.”


“Yes, I know ,” her mother said. “Anyway, now we can invite Miss Hannah to have dinner with us on Christmas Day.”


Suddenly Angela realized that her first wish had come true. Perhaps she had not imagined the little old lady after all. Perhaps she would really see the Auntie of the Starlight again.


Angela sat on the front steps waiting for it to get dark. At last the orange sun melted into the deep blue sky. Carol clapped her hands with excitement while Angela lit the second starlight. The breeze rustled through the leaves of the Christmas Bush as the starlight crackled and sparkled. And then just as before, there on its tip sat the Auntie of the Starlight.


“Daddy got a job,” said Angela.


“Of course he did,” replied the old lady. “Now what is your wish this time?”


And just as Angela thought about the doll in the store window again, she remembered that her mother’s sewing machine was not working. Well, she said to herself, I still have my third wish. I’ll use that for the doll. “If you don’t mind,” she said to the old lady, “I’d like to use this wish for somebody else also.”


“I don’t mind,” replied the Auntie of the Starlight. “They are your wishes.”


“Okay, then,” said Angela, “I’d like a sewing machine for Mummy.”


The old lady tossed her head, showering sparkles of light all over the place. “You may have your wish,” she replied.


“Thank you,” said Angela, and just as before, the starlight spluttered and the little old lady disappeared with the last little shimmering lights.


Early next morning, Angela, her mother and Carol delivered the finished clothes to the store. Then they went to buy the food for Christmas Day. They bought some sorrel and ginger in the market to make the sorrel drink; they got sweet potatoes from a lady by the side of the road. Angela’s mother said that even a small ham was too expensive this year, so they bought a nice big chicken instead. She said Miss Hannah would probably bring a small Christmas pudding as usual. It would be a great Christmas after all.


That evening, just as Angela’s mother was crushing the ginger and Angela and Carol were picking the red sorrel, their father came home.


“I have a surprise for you,” he said to Angela’s mother with a big smile on his face. “One of the men at the factory knows a man who sells sewing machines. He will let us have one since I’m working, and I can pay him a little each week from my salary. And meanwhile you will have something to use.”


There was a happy light in her mother’s eyes, and her father’s face shone with pride because once again he could help his family. Angela knew she had used her first two wishes well, and now on Christmas Eve she would make her final wish. She could not stay still. She kept running out into the yard to look at the sky. Slowly, oh so slowly, it changed from a pale blue to gray streaked with pink. At last it was dark. The two girls stood in the front yard. Angela took a box of matches from her pocket to light the starlight.


Suddenly Carol said, “Please, Angela, can I hold the starlight this time?”


“No, you can’t!” replied Angela quickly. “You are too little. It might burn you.”


“I’m big enough. I’ll be careful,” cried Carol. “I never got a chance to hold one before. Please, Angela, please! Let me hold it for just a little.”


Angela thought about the doll. Then she looked at her sister. Her little body was trembling with excitement and her eyes pleaded for this chance.


“All right,” sighed Angela, “ but just for a little. You must give it back to me when I tell you.”


“Yes, I will. Thank you, Angela,” Carol whispered.


After all, Angela said to herself, it is long enough for both of us to have a turn at holding it. I will still have a chance to see the Auntie of the Starlight. The starlight burst into glittering lights as Carol held it tightly, her face full of delight. The sparks flew in all directions, piercing the darkness like shooting stars, then disappearing like peenie wallies in the night.


“This is the most beautiful starlight!” laughed Carol. “Just look at it, Angela!”


Angela thought that this starlight did look even more brilliant than the others. Then, just as she was about to take it from Carol, the starlight suddenly spluttered, and with a hissing sound the lights all died away. The Christmas breeze was now quite strong and Angela wondered if it had blown out the starlight.


“Is it finished already?” asked Carol anxiously.


“It can’t be,” replied Angela sharply, as she took it and looked at it carefully. But the starlight was already black and twisted. Angela fought back the tears as she struck match after match, trying to light it. But nothing happened.


“I’m sorry, Angela,” said Carol softly. “You didn’t get your turn.”


Angela couldn’t bear to make Carol feel sad, so she tried to smile bravely, as she said, “It’s all right. I had two already - remember?”


“Then you aren’t vexed?” Carol said with relief.


“No, of course not,” Angela replied, as she gave her sister a quick hug. “And this one was especially pretty, just for you.” Carol’s hesitant smile, which became brighter as she realized that it really was all right, made Angela feel that perhaps it was better after all, to have made her little sister happy. She was very disappointed about the doll but she was determined not to show it as the two girls got their clothes ready for church on Christmas morning.


The first little rays of daylight were just slipping through the thin curtains at the windows when Angela turned over and rubbed her eyes. She stretched and yawned, and then she felt something at the bottom of her bed. She sat up and rubbed her eyes again; and there, sitting on the old chenille spread, was the doll with the white blouse and the red frilly skirt. I must be dreaming, Angela thought. But as she ran her hand over the tight black curls and the smooth chocolate-coloured face, she knew she was awake. It was not a dream at all.


“Mummy, Daddy!” she called.


Carol, who was awake by now, was jumping up and down in her excitement. She had discovered another doll in the folds of the spread. It was a baby doll, just the right size for her.


“Thank you, Mummy and Daddy,” cried Angela as her parents appeared at the door. “How did you know just what I wanted?”


“Did you put those dolls there?” their father asked their mother, laughing.


“It’s a surprise to me,” replied their mother with a secret smile.


And as Angela hugged her parents, she thought she saw something darting along a shaft of light and out through the window; something as small as a doctor bird, except that there was a flash of red and yellow like bandana cloth. I wonder if it really could be her? said Angela to herself with a little smile. I wonder if the Auntie of the Starlight really was here?

from The Big River and Other Stories
Children’s Writers Circle, 1983

Beautiful books! At Christmas and always

A thing of beauty ... a joy forever! Sometimes I remember to look for joy everywhere. Blue, green, purple mountains, pink pouis in bloom ...

Children should be exposed to things of beauty, to joy as often as possible. This concept of beauty and joy will remain with them forever to enrich their lives.

There are books which are things of beauty. Of course, stories can be beautiful, words can be dancing-along joyous, but illustrations are perhaps the easiest way in which we can transmit this concept of beauty and joy. So I want to share some of the picture story books in my collection which have delightful, wondrous illustrations.

Is it True Grandfather? by Wendy Lohse, illustrated by Jenny Sands, Macmillan Caribbean. Gorgeous, dreamy images of our lives! My favourite!

Anancy and Mr. Dry-Bone, illustrated by Fiona French ( I presume written also), Frances Lincoln, UK. Illustrations which utilise black lines and patterns, as delicate as fretwork or as strong as the tiger which boys will like.

The Nutmeg Princess, by Richardo Keens-Douglas, illustrated by Annouchka Galouchko, Annick Press Ltd., USA/Canada. Bold, bright, 'full of everything' pictures which are reminiscent of artwork created by children, so they'll love them.

I don't know if these books are in print or not, but you can give other books with equally enchanting illustrations. You may have to point out the beauty and joy in the books you give, because our children live in a world where too often beauty and joy can be crowded out by violent images in the media and games, and where loud, angry sounds can pose as music. So we'll give a gift of a beautiful joyous book this Christmas.

Interim up-date

I had all sorts of plans for posts which were postponed so as to allow for more topical postings. One recent one was to look at books for boys. It was reported in a newspaper last week that the Ministry of Education agreed that we need more books (children's literature - my words) for boys. This recognition is good, and fits in with my recent post 'Boys Reading', but now it's Christmas time and we should be joyful. So in another post, perhaps after Christmas, or in the New Year, I want to look at that concept. What Caribbean books/stories do we have for boys, or which would be of interest to them?

Jamaican author/book nominated for major international prize

It's in all the newspapers today, and so it should be. Inner City Girl written by Colleen Smith-Dennis, a teacher and an author, published by LMH, has been nominated for the international IMPAC Dublin literary award.

I wrote about this book in my June 29 blog. I was at the launch; met the author, (authors are special people - as major, too often unheralded, contributors to the fabric of our lives). I read the book, I was totally swept away by the story. I fretted over the protagonist, Martina. I felt danger with her, I cheered her successes. I could not put down the book. I also wanted to finish it and be sure that Martina had survived, conquered all there was for her to conquer. Good book, eh, to pull you that much into the story!

I read a great deal, (goes without saying, I suppose), so I know a good story when I meet one. I have been known to drop into a book for the weekend and be barely able to crawl back out, struggling to focus brain and eyes so as to be able to join the real world again. So I know a real storyteller when I meet one, and Colleen Smith-Dennis is an excellent storyteller. Congratulations to Colleen Smith-Dennis and to LMH for recognising her talent! I wish them all the best in this award, but even if they don't win, they will still have done Jamaica proud. You can tell I'm pleased, can't you!