Tony Hart

As a child watching after school television, amidst all the mayhem of the Funhouse and the drama of Grange Hill, it was the calm creativity of Take Hart and Hart Beat that best held my attention.

I grew up fascinated by The Gallery, and would be inspired to new heights of crayon / glitter creations by the pictures sent in to be given their moment of glory on screen. My seven year old self could see instantly that I could draw trees better than ‘Lucy, age 8’ but how on earth did ‘Leon, age 7’, create that technically brilliant landscape? I still remember the picture I sent in – a beach scene with a cave and rock pools – but never saw it appear in the gallery. I wonder what happened to all the pictures – apparently the show could get 6,000 submissions a week. I bet crayola were happy.

Tony Hart had such a nice manner – he never spoke down to his young audience, and used his considerable artistic skills to fascinate and astound viewers. Blue Peter to some extent also showcased activity, but their finished ‘here’s one we made earlier’ product seemed a world apart from the starting kit of a slightly squashed toilet roll. Hart Beat, on the other hand, made more sense and appealed to my imagination. It made me want to draw.

It was sad news to hear Tony Hart has died, aged 83, and I hope he realised that he was a happy part of so many childhoods. Goodbye Tony, you inspired children to think creatively – I am sure your influence stretches far wider than you ever imagined. And in honour of his memory, I shall dig out my oil pastels and try to recreate that beach scene.

A few hours later... Click play on the clip below, and then scroll down - in my own way I made it into The Gallery after all!

Those Pesky Three Chapters

I finally plucked up courage to email my prologue and first three chapters over to my good friend C to get some feedback. This was the first time anyone had seen the new, revised, all-singing-and-dancing version, and I had to resist the temptation to call her every ten minutes to ask if she had read it yet. Oh the agony of not being able to pester!

There is nothing more interesting to me than someone else’s interpretation of my words. I want them to draw my characters – will they see them as I see them? Does our landscape match? Did I paint a good enough picture for everyone? I don’t expect perfect duplications, but I am curious how much readers will add and subtract for themselves. It’s an endless fascination, and I guess it comes most to the fore when books are translated to TV or film – did they cast the characters right? When it works it bloody works well, when it doesn’t – eek.

Friend C really liked it, which is great as she’s a lady that knows her own mind and wouldn’t shy of telling me if I was wasting my life, in the nicest possible sense. However, she did make a very interesting and valid point about my main character, an elderly female. I wanted her to sound like an ill-tempered old lady, at least in the beginning, and fab – that is exactly how she comes across. What I didn’t think about was why readers would wish to read on about an ill-tempered nasty old bat. She doesn’t actually stay that way, and a lot happens, but it is a very good point. It’s easily rectified – I can keep her acerbity yet allow a certain amount of compassion in how I portray her, which would actually improve matters anyway. It just means I still haven’t finished fiddling with chapters one to three! So this week it will be back to poking at those chapters with a long stick.

It just goes to show how important it is to get feedback from people you trust. I am the person standing inside as my novel plays on in 3D all around me - people reading it are coming from the outside in, and as such approach from a different vantage point. It is the sort of thing a good editor would spot, to be honest, but until those heady days, I'll surround myself with trustworthy souls, and a novel-poking stick.

Moments on a journey

The tube

I’ve always liked the way my reflection looks in the window of the tube as it rushes along the black tunnels. I like being indistinct, blurred, a shadow of a person looking back at me. I prefer this image than the all-seeing electric light, so easy to be critical under its harsh gaze. I like being the outsider looking in at the world. It makes me feel safe.

The wind

Why am I always the only one in the eye of a gale? Everyone else walks by sedately under their obedient umbrellas, their hair just so, their coats steady. I, meanwhile, battle my wilful umbrella from one side of the pavement to the other. It appears either determined to smack me in the face, turn inside out and rudely wave its underskirt in the street, or carry me off like Mary Poppins over the rooftops. ‘Let’s go fly a kite’ is all very well as long as I am not the kite. And my hair! Ye Gods – it wraps itself around my face like a scared child hanging onto its mothers legs while my coat acts as a rudderless sail, propelling me through the high street.

Logistics

“I’ll just hop on the Northern line and come and meet you after work! I’m at Goodge Street -- Oh, I’m the wrong branch of the Northern line? -- Can I go to Bank and change? – Bugger – Hm, so go to Tottenham Court Road, change at St Paul’s and walk across the bridge? – Bit of a trek -- Ah, the Jubilee line? – Where from - Bond Street? – Sounds a plan! Bye!”

Tottenham Court Road should be called Tottenham Caught Road given the amount of times charity workers stopped me. Charities – please heed me. This tactic does not make people love you.

Smile

Seeing friends is like coming home to a house straight out of Disney. Lovely people – especially when they cry ‘bottle of red’ and plunge into the nearest pub, the slick pavement glistening with spilled yellow light as the door closes behind us.

On Writing

I have just finished a good book called ‘On Writing’ by Stephen King. It is part autobiography, part brilliant advice. It has inspired me to take a gleaming sharp hatchet to Chapter Two, it being too fat and bloated to run away.

And now my bloody hatchet is out and wildly swinging in all directions. Useless dialogue attribution, adverbs and extraneous sentences are all heading for the chop. Stephen King, I shall either thank you tremendously for this or howl at your feet as my novel turns into a postcard.

Finally I stand amidst the wreckage. Something has happened to the first 54 pages. They seem to be breathing on their own now. They sparkle and wink at me. I think they hopefully would do the same to you, too. It’s miles better, even objectively I can see that (and believe me, it could still be pants, its just now the Agent Provocateur of pants as opposed to Primark).

Stephen King's advice in his book has been a great help. Luckily I am not a big fan of the old adverb (she said firmly), as the whole idea is that the dialogue and preceeding action should tell the reader whether the sentence is said firmly, or not. I also much prefer to say 'said' (she shouts), so the dialogue attribution is generally okay, although there was one dodgy page when everyone cried, gasped, and whispered instead. Are the characters incapable of talking normally? Dearie me...

I remain amazed by the edit process. I feel like shouting 'CONSTANT VIGILANCE!' like JK Rowling's character Alastor Moody from 'Harry Potter'. But it is true - it's needed!

And Happy New Year!