Yeah - try to work out what they all have in common. Michael Morpurgo regularly slides down hills on a tea-tray? Is Carey Mulligan secretly a bestselling-children’s author?
The answer’s obvious - the first two have just won something - a BAFTA, a gold medal in the Winter Olympics - and Morpurgo is instituting a writing competition for children in order to create interest in and glorify creative writing. Because it’s all about competition, innit? To be the Best.
I haven’t see An Education, but I will, and I’m looking forward to it. I’m glad for Carey Mulligan. I’m not going to follow the Winter Oympics despite Williams’ medal because it’s just TOO MUCH SNOW! As for Morpurgo’s initiative ...hmmmm.
I know competition is part of life, but it’s not a nice part. For everyone who gets a top accolade, there are all the losers - so many more of them. I can’t tell you the number of people I’ve spoken to who have given up writing (or at best, suffered a great blow to their self-esteem) because they weren’t even long-listed for some competition. And even for the winners, it’s not all that. Next year, you might not win - and then you’ll feel like a has-been. And winning is like crack cocaine for the fame junkie. A big high, followed by a craving for more. In short, you feel better about winning a prize than doing the thing that got you the prize.
I love writing, and I try to distinguish between the two sides of it - the good side, and The Dark Side. The good side is the fun of making stuff up, the joy of words, the thrill you get when someone likes what you’ve written, the sheer intensity of it. But the Dark Side. That’s when you get hung up about being published, reviews, how many fans you’ve got, whether you’ll be shortlisted for a prize, feeling envy of writers more successful than you - and worst of all, the feeling that you might be a cut above the rest of humanity because you’re a writer. Writing feeds vanity - it was Orwell (blessed be his name) who said a motive in all writers is ’sheer egoism.’ I’m not sure writers can ever free themselves from egoism, but they ought to recognise it in themselves.
Back to Morpurgo. Is a competition really the best way to get kids to enjoy writing? By giving a few of them Great Expectations and a load more that sinking, disappointing feeling of being a loser? Or should he be doing something else? Such as using his influence to get the exam boards and teacher training colleges to upgrade creative writing, and make it part of the curriculum - and taught as well as it’s possible to teach it? To get firms to sponsor writing residentials for children so a group of them can all feel special? To fund writers in schools? To have Festivals of Children’s Literature ... Well, there’s a coincidence! Manchester Metropolitan University is going to do just that in July - watch this space!
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We had to put Ollie to sleep on Tuesday. Rachel and I stayed with him. Rachel brought his favourite toy - a large, stuffed dog (don’t ask!) and he lay on it as he let go of the little bit of life that he had left, after his kidneys failed him.
I know we made the right decision and that he had a good life. I know pets have a shorter lifespan than humans, all being well. I knew this day would come.
I still feel utterly bereft. He was a gentleman among cats - lovely to other cats, which is virtually unheard of in the cat kingdom. He looked after and played with Phoebe’s kittens, like an indulgent uncle. When Shug was confined to the travel box with a broken hip, he sat on the top and waved his tail over the grille so she could bat it for entertainment.
He would never miaow very loudly, but would emit a polite semi-cough of a miaow if he needed attention. He loved having the underside of his chin stroked. He used to stand on the landing by the banisters and rub the side of his head against them, then stick his nose through when someone came up the stairs.
He was the soul, the centre of the Ashworth house, embodying all our values.
It’s very empty here without him.
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