Sam, Amelie and Georgia with their new friends.

As an avid reader all my life I often wondered how other people, who didn’t read books, managed to survive. Weren’t they bored to death waiting in airport lounges, traveling on trains, or sitting for hours in the back seat of a car?

Of course these days they play games or watch movies on their iPhones – if they don’t have an eReader to carry their eBooks for them. But even with all that whizz-bang technology, printed books are still the most reliably portable means of staving off boredom on the planet. With a book the battery never runs out. You can drop it from a great height, run over it in a truck, even immerse it in water (briefly) and it will still be able to make you laugh, make you cry, transport you to exotic places and become your friend for life.

My wish for you, in this International Year of Reading, is that you will find many friends in books.

‘Haste Yo Back’ to Balingup for the Telling Tales Festival

Between Riverton, in the city, and Balingup, in the country all of my books got a workout last weekend.

At Riverton Library on Friday two groups of 4-7 year olds had a lot of fun with Miss Llewellyn-Jones. They heard about Teddy’s adventures, and misadventures, in Miss Llewellyn-Jones Goes to Town. They discovered the parallel story told by Moira Court’s evocative endpapers. And they turned Miss Llewellyn-Jones into a play – four times!

On Saturday and Sunday it was the slightly older reader’s (8-13 year olds) who came to four of my workshop sessions at the annual Balingup Telling Tales Festival. Each year the south-west town of Balingup decks itself out with giant storybook characters standing in the main street and outside the Town Hall. At least a dozen presenters and hundreds of people, mostly families with children, descend on the town over the weekend to take part in what has become one of the best festivals anywhere. Black Jack Anderson struck fear in to the hearts of some and inspired others to visit Middle Island (in their imaginations) in a search for this real-life pirate’s lost treasure. All of my other fiction books were on display too. And everyone who took part in the workshops had the opportunity do some writing of their own and to ask questions about writing, publishing, illustrations and research. Between sessions there were young people performing street theatre, and playing musical instruments. And in the middle of the day the annual parade of story book characters, accompanied by the Pied Piper playing his flute, passed through the town. What a great event to be involved in! Long may the Telling Tales Festival continue to thrive.

‘… or I may have to turn you into a toad,’ says the Balingup Witch

Shark Bay. Dirk Hartog Island is on the left of this map.

L’Uranie has now reached Shark Bay and Rose and Jose have both had an exciting time. They were present when first contact was made with the local Aborigines. When Rose spotted a group of these primitive people on top of a nearby hill, Louis de Freycinet was very keen to meet them. They had been sighted, but had always disappeared when the Europeans tried to approach them during Louis’ earlier voyage with Baudin. This time, however, the Aborigines made their feelings about these strange white people very clear. With much shouting and aggressive spear waving they tried to get the French party to go back to their ship, which was clearly visible, anchored in the bay. Only the persistence of our brave Commander, and the quick thinking of Jacque Arago, prevented an unpleasant confrontation. Instead, both parties sat down together for about half an hour, waving, pointing and genuinely trying to communicate in a friendly manner before the Aborigines simply got up and left. What an experience, to be the first Europeans to encounter these shy and elusive people!

Jose was also excited when Commander Louis de Freycinet sent one of Uranie’s boats to Dirk Hartog Island to try and find a treasure that they thought was buried there! More about that later.

During the week Brian Grove made contact with me about his website. He has the contact details for lots of publishers so any of you who are hoping to become published authors (and I know lots of you are because you have asked me about publisher’s details in the past) here is his website. http://www.myperfectpitch.com

Happy reading and writing.

This week I have had a flurry of fan mail from young people who have been reading Someone Like Me for the first time.

It is always great to hear from readers but it is especially good when they contact me after reading Someone Like Me because it allows me to respond to them individually. Someone Like Me is an unusual novel because I can’t really talk about it to people who have not yet read it. Not because I don’t want to. I love talking about all my books. But the ending of Someone Like Me is special and I don’t want to spoil it for them.

What I can do is tell you a funny story. When Someone Like Me was on the shortlist for the NASEN Awards in the UK, I was spending a month as Writer-in-Residence in Northern Ireland. The Awards Ceremony was being held in London on a Thursday evening. Although I was presenting a workshop that morning, at Abacorn College in Banbridge, I decided to attend the Ceremony. It was just too good an opportunity to miss. Anne Fine was presenting the prizes and I had been a fan of Anne’s writing for ever so, even if I didn’t win, at least I would meet her. The flight from Belfast only takes an hour. I could get on the Underground at Heathrow and get off within walking distance of the venue. But when I arrived at the airport in Belfast all the planes were either delayed or cancelled! There had been an accident on one of the runways at Heathrow and everything was banked up for hours. Nevertheless, some planes were getting through and I had plenty of time – so I thought.

I waited. And waited. Then, at last I was on a plane and making the fastest crossing of the Irish Channel that I had ever made in many years of visiting Northern Ireland. Our pilot was determined not to miss his long awaited slot at Heathrow. Even so, it was dark by the time I caught several trains and got through to my destination. I knew that I was, by then, already late for the start of the function. I rushed up to the surface expecting the building I was looking for to be right opposite the station. I walked this way and that, peering at signs and scanning the brightly lit streets. I asked a passer-by, but they’d never heard of it. Finally, in desperation, I hailed a cab. I told the driver where I wanted to go. He looked at me strangely and said ‘Are you sure?’ ‘Yes!’ I shouted. By then I was frustrated and verging on panic. I had not gone through all this only to be thwarted at the last moment. ‘It’s just down there!’ said the cabby. ‘Fifty metres away.’ I ran. I do remember calling out some sort of thanks to the cabby for his help and rushing up two flights of steps. Then, just as I entered the function room, I heard my name being called out from the podium.

‘This award goes to Elaine Forrestal for Someone Like Me.’ I could not believe my ears! At the publisher’s table one of the Penguin people started to get up, thinking I hadn’t made it. But I rushed up to the front of the room and breathlessly received my award. Anne Fine was wonderful. And I have a treasured photograph of her handing me the framed certificate.

Anne Fine and Elaine Forrestal