Hindsight from 2021: Dispatches from 2016; still relevant: Diane Browne's latest - West Indian children's guides to self acceptance: Sunday Observer, May 15

 To get myself restarted after this long absence from blogging, writing and even reading, I thought I'd look again at  some old posts from long ago which still had relevance. Many of them still do. And if, like many writers, you have found that covid has sapped your energy and the desire to create, hopefully this will help us.  I feel that perhaps  I can start again, that maybe my downsizing and having to clear out the study is possible without falling flat on the ground amongst books and files from every workshop I've run. I have takers for the Jamaica Journals! What more could one ask! I read some of my stories left untouched  and actually liked one very much.  No, I have not deserted my latest love. It is a YA. So I invite you to come with me as I see what all these changes, one top of the other, uncover creatively.

The launch of the prize-winning The Happiness Dress and Abigail’s Glorious Hair took place on May 10, at the Kingston and St. Andrew Parish Library. The launch was lovely; much thanks to all those who helped with it and participated in it, and those who attended it. The guest speaker, Dr. Kim Robinson Walcott,  made an excellent  speech. It is published in Bookends in The Sunday Observer today, along with covers of the two books launched, as well as other book covers of mine. Thanks to Sharon Leach of The Observer for the coverage of Kim’s speech and my books. Kim’s speech and the launch will provide content for more than one blog, because she touched on so many things which impact the writing and publishing of children’s books in the Caribbean.  Quote from her speech: I wish books like these were around when I was a child. I wish books like these were around when my children were young. This is the type of material that we need to engender pride in our culture and ourselves.

The headline in The Sunday Observer is shown above. I have to thank Sharon for that headline. It is such an astute point of view, and changed the direction of this blog.  Apart from the two books being launched,  the other books highlighted on the page are Island Princess in Brooklyn, Ebony and the Auntie of the Starlight, a Caribbean Cinderella story,  and Cordelia Finds Fame and Fortune. I know that many of my stories focus on  identity and  celebration of ourselves,  but it wasn’t until I read that headline that I fully understood the variety of ways in which we can say "I am me and that’s very fine." 

 Cordelia is teased  because she is different from the other children in her village. She discovers that once you accept yourself the teasing stops, and that what is different about her  can be what contributes to  success.  Princess struggles against having to  replace her beloved Jamaica with Brooklyn, and fears she will lose her concept of who she is. She discovers that her self-concept will not be lost or replaced. It will only grow, and that you can love both Jamaica and Brooklyn like all the other Jamaicans in the diaspora, and that she can love her mother as well as her granny. Ebony, from a children’s home,  proves children from children’s homes can be successful, and she escapes  the traditional Cinderella story, by not only marrying a man worthy of her, (it isn’t that she has to be worthy of him), but earns shares in his spice factory, and trains and employs other girls from the home to work with her in the company.

In The Happiness Dress, Carolyne proves what she already knows,  that it’s okay to accept that you reflect the Caribbean even when you are in another place, and she is the happiness of her Daddy’s heart. And finally Abigail! To quote Kim: Abigail's poufy hair is nothing like a Barbie doll's, but Abigail  doesn't care two hoots about that. What a wonderfully self-assured little girl, in love with her own glorious hair, and by extension her own glorious self. You just have to look at Rachel Moss’ illustration of Abigail looking at herself in the mirror, to be assured of this.  It’s a wonderful synchronicity that most of these books have been illustrated by the talented Rachel Moss, who is gifted  at interpreting what  the writer imagined.

And now, guys, you know how we wonder if Caribbean children’s literature makes a difference, even though we, the writers, know that it does. But how do you quantify it, we ask, to prove its importance to others?  Okay! I have news for you! One of my friends bought the books at the launch for her grandchildren. She just sent me an email and photo of her little granddaughter who  wanted her hair let out for church this morning, just like Abigail's. Truly guys!  We have to continue writing.  As Kim said in her address: The road is long but we have to keep on going. For the sake of our children’s self esteem, we don’t have a choice.

 

Photos: top left of Dr. Kim Robinson Walcott, courtesy of Michael Reckord. Me, signing books: courtesy of Camille Parchment

Despatches: Diverse books, diverse dolls - knowing we are beautiful

 

I promised more posts arising from the address by Dr. Kim Robinson Walcott at the launch of Abigail’s Glorious Hair and The Happiness Dress.

 Dr. Robinson Walcott spoke of the images we saw as children in our books, all foreign, all white, with long straight hair, nothing like us, nothing we could ever be.  She  pointed out that at that time our ‘culture’ was imported from England, but now, direct quote  . . .Thank heaven we have advanced beyond  that age of darkness, right? Flash forward  to today when we see how popular weaving and bleaching are in 2016, we realize how much work we have to do. A few days ago in one of our newspapers there was a photo of a tiny tot, maybe one or two years old, dark-skinned and with big eyes, in a children’s home, caressing her prized possession: a little white-skinned blue-eyed platinum-blonde, kindly donated by some well-meaning charity organization.

I saw the picture too, and I was disturbed. Not only by the doll, but also because I know that if the child had been given a black doll, a number of people might have been offended. The giver would have been accused of racism, anyone else who thought a black doll was an appropriate gift would have been equally charged with treating the child from the home as ‘less than’.

 I think of dolls as representing  us, so to speak, so shouldn’t they look like us? Of course, for others, they might be part of a fantasy land, hence any doll will do. However, I think we fool ourselves if that is our explanation.

Both of my daughters are adults,  and the first doll ever brought into our house was a black doll named Suzie. Suzie was so loved that she was still with us when the girls were in their teens. After Suzie came dolls of various colours; one of the things I enjoyed doing was, starting in September, to hunt though the stores for beautiful black Barbies  for Christmas. You had to start in September, because very few black dolls were brought into the island. Yes, my granddaughter also has dolls of all colours. Diverse dolls!

Aha! You say the merchants do not bring in enough black dolls. You have found the scapegoat. One year, no doubt, in some fantasy  of  signs of self acceptance, the merchants brought in black dolls. Black dolls can’t done!  I was thrilled. At last, at last, my people were on their way. After Christmas heaps of black dolls were still in the stores. I asked; the merchants said no one wanted them. They haven’t made that mistake again. Many of us know of the American psychologists Clark and Clark and their experiment with black children with black and white dolls in the 1940’s, in which the black children preferred the white dolls and ascribed to them more positive characteristics. I gather other experiments have been done since then, and other interpretations ascribed to their study. However,  not a lot has changed it seems. 

What do we do about this? What can anyone do? Some may have stopped reading this by now in annoyance. Some may now view me as subversive in some way. I used to be upset by people not understanding the importance of this. I even suspected that there were those who railed against slavery and our colonial past,  but probably had no black dolls for their children, nor had they bought any local children’s books. Diverse books! One of the good things about getting older, I have found, is that you begin to realize that you really cannot change people, and you do not mind. 

Do I think local books, diverse books can influence our children’s thinking about themselves? I do. However, you be the judge.

And here is the good news in despatches: It is reported that having read The Happiness Dress, little girls are finding dresses which they consider  happiness dresses in their cupboards. Lovely! And those who have read Abigail’s Glorious Hair, have concluded that their hair is glorious also, and want it loose like Abigail’s. These reports are numerous. One mother/grandmother concluded that a particular little girl knew she was beautiful, but now she believes it.  Even more lovely!

 

Photo top left: Dr. Kim Robinson Walcott, courtesy of Michael Reckord
Photo upper right: me, courtesy of Camille Parchment

Diane Browne's latest - West Indian children's guides to self acceptance: Sunday Observer, May 15

The launch of the prize-winning The Happiness Dress and Abigail’s Glorious Hair took place on May 10, at the Kingston and St. Andrew Parish Library. The launch was lovely; much thanks to all those who helped with it and participated in it, and those who attended it. The guest speaker, Dr. Kim Robinson Walcott,  made an excellent  speech. It is published in Bookends in The Sunday Observer today, along with covers of the two books launched, as well as other book covers of mine. Thanks to Sharon Leach of The Observer for the coverage of Kim’s speech and my books. Kim’s speech and the launch will provide content for more than one blog, because she touched on so many things which impact the writing and publishing of children’s books in the Caribbean.  Quote from her speech: I wish books like these were around when I was a child. I wish books like these were around when my children were young. This is the type of material that we need to engender pride in our culture and ourselves.

The headline in The Sunday Observer is shown above. I have to thank Sharon for that headline. It is such an astute point of view, and changed the direction of this blog.  Apart from the two books being launched,  the other books highlighted on the page are Island Princess in Brooklyn, Ebony and the Auntie of the Starlight, a Caribbean Cinderella story,  and Cordelia Finds Fame and Fortune. I know that many of my stories focus on  identity and  celebration of ourselves,  but it wasn’t until I read that headline that I fully understood the variety of ways in which we can say "I am me and that’s very fine." 

 Cordelia is teased  because she is different from the other children in her village. She discovers that once you accept yourself the teasing stops, and that what is different about her  can be what contributes to  success.  Princess struggles against having to  replace her beloved Jamaica with Brooklyn, and fears she will lose her concept of who she is. She discovers that her self-concept will not be lost or replaced. It will only grow, and that you can love both Jamaica and Brooklyn like all the other Jamaicans in the diaspora, and that she can love her mother as well as her granny. Ebony, from a children’s home,  proves children from children’s homes can be successful, and she escapes  the traditional Cinderella story, by not only marrying a man worthy of her, (it isn’t that she has to be worthy of him), but earns shares in his spice factory, and trains and employs other girls from the home to work with her in the company.

In The Happiness Dress, Carolyne proves what she already knows,  that it’s okay to accept that you reflect the Caribbean even when you are in another place, and she is the happiness of her Daddy’s heart. And finally Abigail! To quote Kim: Abigail's poufy hair is nothing like a Barbie doll's, but Abigail  doesn't care two hoots about that. What a wonderfully self-assured little girl, in love with her own glorious hair, and by extension her own glorious self. You just have to look at Rachel Moss’ illustration of Abigail looking at herself in the mirror, to be assured of this.  It’s a wonderful synchronicity that most of these books have been illustrated by the talented Rachel Moss, who is gifted  at interpreting what  the writer imagined.

And now, guys, you know how we wonder if Caribbean children’s literature makes a difference, even though we, the writers, know that it does. But how do you quantify it, we ask, to prove its importance to others?  Okay! I have news for you! One of my friends bought the books at the launch for her grandchildren. She just sent me an email and photo of her little granddaughter who  wanted her hair let out for church this morning, just like Abigail's. Truly guys!  We have to continue writing.  As Kim said in her address: The road is long but we have to keep on going. For the sake of our children’s self esteem, we don’t have a choice.

 

Photos: top left of Dr. Kim Robinson Walcott, courtesy of Michael Reckord. Me, signing books: courtesy of Camille Parchment

Despatches: The Great Amazon Expedition! Children’s Publishing in the Caribbean, a Cottage or Boutique Industry

 I cannot believe that my last post was last year.

That was when I was going to do a dramatic push with my two latest books on Amazon, The Happiness Dress, the story that won the Special Prize for a children's story from  the Commonwealth Foundation in 2011, and Abigail’s Glorious Hair. Picture an expedition into the somewhat unknown.

That did not turn out as well as I had anticipated. First, there was a new app offered by Amazon, Kindle Kid’s Book Creator, which was brilliantly simple to use. Even I could use it, and proceeded to do so. Both books looked fine right up to and including the review of the book. However, once they were up on Amazon, the type was not as clear as I wanted. My friend, Hazel Campbell, who usually uploads my books, had to rescue one by putting it into Word first, which required rearranging of the layout.  I was greatly disappointed in my efforts. I gather that other people have been complaining about this aspect of the app. We know that this won’t matter to Amazon until they have worked through this kink, somewhat like an experiment. In my opinion, nobody in technology  cares about these complaints really. They just continue working to build a better mouse trap. So in my annoyance and disappointment, I did not promote the books much, and consequently got little sales. So Amazon and I fell out, unbeknownst to Amazon. Whose nose was cut off, eh! I suspect that my failure to do regular posts on my blog had something to do with this. Cut off your nose once; cut off your nose twice.

 However, I still believe that it is near to impossible to get the traffic to and interest in the Caribbean children’s books on Amazon. And self promotion continues to be a challenge for me. Nobody is to blame. As they say now, ‘It is what it is’.  So I set out armed essentially with my imagination of what could be. And now the great Amazon expedition is over. I’ll still upload books; it is a place to locate them. I suppose I will still promote them now and then.

 I was, therefore, convinced that I needed to produce print copies of these books. They deserved it. With a monetary gift from a relative, I have been able to do so. They are now printed and are lovely. I plan to launch them early in May, Child Month. However, without that gift I could not have done so. Even then, I could only afford to print 500 copies of each. This means that the unit cost is high. The market cannot bear more than a certain selling price. Consequently, I will not even make enough money to recover costs and do another print run. In other words, my expectation is to be able to cover costs. Without the monetary gift  . . .etc. 'It is what it is'.  And of course, I still have to promote and sell them. I think it  should be much easier than dealing with cyberspace. I’ve done it before . . . albeit some time ago. Let's hope it’s not another expedition of the imagination.

The finances explained above lead me to conclude that nothing has significantly changed in the production of children’s books in the last 30 years. Sorry! No! Something has changed; there are far more writers in the field, which is a very good thing, and many of them are doing self publishing. And there are some young publishers, one in particular, who has published a number of prizewinning books. In fact, there is quite a bit of activity in other Caribbean islands. So there has been progress and there is excellence. Generally speaking, however, publishing of children’s books will continue to be for the love of and passion for it, a cottage or boutique industry. Prove me wrong! Please prove me wrong!

 

No, I’m not disillusioned. Writing for children  is a passion. Passions have to be pursued. And that the next generation is carrying on this passion is truly wonderful.

Kingston Book Festival also speaks to the vibrancy of the literary scene. From the opening readings  on March 6 at the University of the West Indies, which featured Olive Senior reading from The Pain Tree, which has gone on to win the Bocas Award for Fiction, award winning poet, Vladimir Lucien, from St. Lucia, previous YA Burt Award winning writer, A-dZiko Simba Gegele, Mel Cooke, poet and Tanya Shirley, poet,  to the final Bookfair on Saturday. I read from my latest children's books at the National Library of Jamaica Open Day and the Bookfair turned up the most delightful group. They are called Kozy Korner. They have a great idea, a Kozy Box. They  will produce and deliver a gift box of books, accent on local books, with a few international items  to a very lucky child that you know. Fantastic! How innovative! Each generation brings something new to the table. I wish them every success. You can email them at: KOZYKORNERBOOKSJA@GMAIL.COM. I think they will need corporate sponsors as well as the general public.

To go or not to go with e-books on Amazon. What, again? Still asking that question?

 

Ages ago I said I was going to give Amazon a try for my books which had gone out of print. They would now become the latest thing, e-books.  Not surprisingly I did not promote any of the books very much, and to date, have no idea how much of any title I’ve sold. Why? Part of the problem is I only sell one-one, as we would say, and I really would need to know the total sold for the entire time the books have been on the site. However, if you don’t promote . . . In addition, I get very embarrassed that I’m actually promoting my own books. Clearly an attitude from some medieval time before the digital world. It took me ages to send out promotional messages to those in my mailbox. Embarrassed caan done! Consequently, I’ve been philosophical about it all. ‘It’s somewhere to put my books’, and 'Oh, but I really did not expect to sell anything, you know.'  Borrowing phraseology from this clever new world, ‘So if that’s your attitude, it’s the attitude, stupid!’  

However, that’s not totally true. 

1) We know that the majority of people have no visibility on Amazon because there are simply too many books. (Prove me wrong, if you dare).

2) So for us from the Caribbean, visibility could be expected to be even more challenging. The Caribbean is known for sun, sand, (sex?), music, athletics, and in some circles - for adult fiction. But not for children’s stories, and attaching visibility to any of the above would seem to be difficult. I know you can write the prescriptive children’s story about music, tourism, etc. but I think we want to be about more than that.

3)There are all sorts of offers on line to market books, at a cost which we cannot afford (and we do not know that it works), and Caribbean sites promising visibility  have not yet proved that they can achieve this. I’ve asked individuals here if they wouldn’t like to take on the marketing of e-books, but I conclude that they’re not interested, and understandably so. Too much effort for little or no return, certainly not to pay them for their time.

No, I’m not blaming a soul. These are just the facts. So why am I about to put two more children’s books on Amazon, and new ones at that? Well this time I’m going to really try. My change of mind came about because of the digital conference I attended (see posting for Nov. 14). I concluded that the digital age was indeed here and I should try to see if I could get along with it.

So I shall promote my books by writing all the people in my address book, I’ll go on the sites which I’ve joined, try to understand their rules for posting, and endure seeing the book on my timeline every time I post. (Already I’m feeling faint;  waiting for the queasy stomach, threatening headache, breathlessness, tightness of muscles in body - any or all of these symptoms. )

There’s history to these two books, and along the way I changed my mind many times.   Would they just be e-books?  Would they just be print books? Would one be one, and one be the other?

The Happiness Dress is the story for which I had won the prize for the Special Award for a children’s story from the Commonwealth Foundation, 2011. A significant achievement. The Commonwealth! I was honoured and very pleased. Big up Jamaica again! They produced it as audio for distribution to Commonwealth countries. It seemed a shame for it not to be in print. I was pleased when it seemed that I and a local publisher had decided that perhaps it could be published here. But local publishing can be fraught with obstacles, one of the main ones being lack of money. So when things seemed to be lost, I took it over, and the rest is history unfolding. Families, but especially fathers, need to read it.  Fathers and the validation they can give their girls are so often forgotten.

Ah, Abigail! I love the name! Abigail’s Glorious Hair. This story celebrates us, our hair, our rituals, how what might seem to be tedious can be so filled with love. This is the story that I started writing after Talking Tress Literary Festival this year (see post of May 29).  The fact that it’s almost ready to be uploaded is a celebration in itself. The idea had been there for some time. We’ve got to settle this hair business. But it was words said and feelings experienced in Barbados and  the creative inspiration of Talking Trees that suddenly produced it. It deserves to be read by all of the family, but especially mothers and grandmothers who comb hair,  and little girls whose hair is combed. It deserves a post of its own and it will have it.

These two books are both happy books, and we so need happy. They are also about love and families, whatever shape your family takes and whatever role each person plays.

Illustrations by Rachel Moss are happy too. Scheduled date for e-books on Amazon end of November, in time for Christmas. Keeping fingers crossed. Print, early next year, but so far only to be available in Jamaica.

Having written the draft of this last night and felt the requisite queasy stomach at the thought of the marketing I’d committed myself to, this morning I remembered two experiences,  by way of some encouragement.  I  have been privileged to be part of these important developments for children’s literature.

 1) I wrote on the Dr. Bird Reading Series, the first major set of books which were about our own children and their lives. (Ministry of Education,1980). Many other publishers followed our example. Since then Jamaican and Caribbean writing and publishing has grown, even if somewhat sporadically.

 

 

2)  In 2006, I was privileged to manage the process for the next major publication of a series for children, celebrating their lives, Literacy 1-2-3. (Ministry of Education 2008).This gave expression to a new generation of writers and artists. Many gorgeous illustrations; this time, in full colour. Since then Caribbean children’s writers and publishers have continued in their awareness with bright young persons getting involved. Some competitions specifically  for children’s/YA writing are now available to us.

Considering this, should I then  let a little  shyness stop me from taking this next step. My friends, I invite you to join me as we seek to make an impression for Caribbean children's books on Amazon, or anywhere else, for that matter.

Amazing proofing - and a bit of magic

 My story  The Happiness Dress won an award from the Commonwealth  Foundation for the best children's story in 2011. I was greatly honoured and thrilled.  The Foundation published the stories in audio form,  to be distributed throughout the Commonwealth. It was left for the writers to find print publishers. I sought a publisher, thought I had found one, and then faced problems, which resulted in lost time, a couple of years really. So as not to feel totally helpless,  at the mercy of the vicissitudes of life, I  decided to publish The Happiness Dress as an e-book, to join my other children's e-books  on Amazon. Not making many sales really, but at least the book would be somewhere.

I figured that at the most I would just have one more read through of the book before telling the designer /illustrator to make a final copy for uploading to Amazon, when I suddenly found myself in Barbados visiting the grandchildren. Yes, suddenly, as in just like magic, and certainly there is a bit of  magic in this.  Do you believe in magic?

Having tried out another story (in the works) on the 'grands',  to what seemed like a positive reception, I became bolder, and thought I would show them other stories I had brought, a print out of Ebony and the Auntie of the Starlight, a Caribbean Cinderella story (already on Amazon) and The Happiness Dress. My nine year-old granddaughter declared Ebony interesting and humourous. It passed! The Happiness Dress, although below her age group (she's gobbling up chapter books), was next. She loved the illustrations, of course (like Ebony, done by Rachel Wade Moss).

Then: 

"Grandma, here's a mistake!"

"A what? No, there can't be a mistake. A lot of us read it. No, there's no mistake,"  the voice moving from shock to that indulgent adult tone you use when you don't want to discourage  a child who is showing initiative, but has got it wrong.

"Yes, there is,"  says a nine year-old Bajan (pet name for Barbadian) voice, carrying all the certainty with it of a country with a 98% literacy rate (or some impressive figure like that).

"Let me see," I say.

And there it is! An error! How do you miss an error in 500 words, spread across 24 pages? So many of us have read it. So, it's only a question mark, but still.

Then she finds another. Then she finds a page where she says, "Paragraphs!"

And, lo and behold! There it is, a page, a short page, where the paragraphs need revisiting, a nice publishing word for the 'paragraph them wrong'. By then I'm feeling pale and wan. (reference from English lit. in school).

It is only a matter of time before she tells me what I already know about the typeface. The distance between the apostrophe and the next letter (e.g. won' t) is too great. It will confuse young readers. The typeface must be changed. A whole heap of work is left on this book!

I have never claimed to be good at proofing. I like editing, but I always use a proofer, paying for the services of one out of my money if there has been no allowance made for it in a project. But still, how do you miss these errors in 500 words  and 24 pages?

Much praise is heaped upon my granddaughter. She suggests that she can do all proofing for me in the future.

Then my seven year-old grandson shouts that he has found an error.

"No, you haven't," we say.

After all, he is only seven, and the bright reader of chapter books has already 'shredded' the text.

"Yes!" he declares,  "Carolyne is spelt Carolyne in most places, but there is one which is spelt Caroline."

We are all struck dumb. He is quite right. That is even worse than question marks and paragraphs. His mother asks if he read the story. No, he hasn't. He just checked all the Carolynes ( standard proofing procedure,  but did we employ it for 500 words and 24 pages?) This is the boy who does Math exercises for fun, no doubt, hence the zeroing on the concept of checking one word throughout.

No, this is not an adoring Grandma post. I am not saying that my grandchildren are brilliant beyond words. I am not suggesting that you use your grandchildren for proofing, though it might not be a bad idea.  Rather, it's a post to warn you about the importance of proofing, even of 500 words; the challenge of  self-publishing - it is essential to use professionals even if you, yourself, are a professional, or perhaps because you are a professional, and too confident by far. (That's why you should also use an editor.) I tremble to think what might have happened, had I not unexpectedly (magically) come to Barbados. So now, do you believe in magic?

Also, I get a chance to tell you about the upcoming placing of The Happiness Dress on Amazon. However there will be more about that closer to the time.

"Once Upon A Starlight": A Christmas Story

And here we are again, guys; it's Christmas; it always catches us unawares although it comes every year.  As I said last year, I had wanted to write a new Christmas story, but what with one thing and another, I didn't, so here I am again putting up the same Christmas story, Once Upon a Starlight (with the illustrations I painted last year, when I had hoped eventually to break into the 'big time' of doing my own children's book illustrations.  Don't laugh!)  By the way, the illustrator who did the black and white images was Pat Lee. Last year I couldn't find her name.

 

However, there has been one additional experience with this story (first published in 1983 - in A Circle Book, The Big River and Other Stories) and that is, that I used it on a recent visit to a school and got a wonderful reception from the children. It still has relevance, or perhaps new relevance. (See my previous post to this one).

 

So, should I try to republish it as a book on its own? Hmm! Should I try to publish Ebony and the Auntie of the Starlight, a Caribbean Cinderella Story (now an e-book) as a print book, as some have suggested? Hmm! Should I continue in my efforts to get Things I Like published? Hmm! Hmm! And what about my Commonwealth prize winning story, The Happiness Dress, still stuck with a publisher? Hmm! Hmm! Hmm! And again, Hmm!

 

In the new year, I'll share with you my thoughts on  having e-books on Amazon versus/as well as possibilities for further print books. No, I have no plans up my sleeve. I'm just thinking. So please enjoy Once Upon a Starlight, and a Happy Christmas to all!

 

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