It's here! Doodeedoo is released today!

In honour of the fabulous Doodeedoo being released today, here is a great interview with author Tony Gilbert:

      What books or authors have influenced your writing?

As a children’s author, my original and best influence would have to be Roald Dahl. Now, that’s not to say that my writing style is even remotely similar but ‘Revolting Rhymes’, for example is right up my street. I love the mad rhymes and crazy stories and I have tried to incorporate that type of thing into both ‘Doodeedoo’ and ‘Super Fred’.

       Are you a ‘plotter’ or a ‘pantser’?

What’s plotting? I’ve tried plotting my work before but I end up fighting with myself and it completely changes during the actual writing. I think, what the hell, I’ll write and see what happens. You don’t plot life, you roll with the punches and that is what I try to do with my writing.

       Do the illustrations come first, or the writing?

In regards to my picture books this is? Writing first, every time. After all, the illustrators are the ones with the talent, all I do is put a load of crazy words together that shouldn’t rhyme, but really do.

      Why have you chosen your particular genre?

To tell you the truth, I haven’t. I love writing my picture book rhymes but I also write novels for older children (‘The Youngest Knight’ comes out early 2015 through Ghostly Publishing) and adult fiction (recently my work has been featured in a JWKFiction anthology, ‘Terror Train’ and my own short story/poem collection, ‘Driftwood From The Specific’, comes out within the next two months). I’m constantly trying different styles and age ranges and I’m not ready to tie myself down to one in particular just yet.

       What inspired you to get writing?

Truthfully it’s a rather dull and cliché story. I have always been a big reader and one day I went to my book shelf and realised there was nothing I fancied. I could, of course, have popped down the library or down to the bookshop, but no, I decided to jump into a life of hardship and write my own.

       Is your book based on any real life experiences?

Of course. In fact, Doodeedoo, the monster made out of socks and superglue went to the same school as me. Unfortunately I lost contact with him shortly after year six. I think he passed his eleven plus and went to grammar school, though I can’t be sure.

What is the most challenging aspect of being a writer?

I don’t thing I find it a challenge really. Is it a challenge to sit down and write down the weird things in my head? Is it a challenge to come up with ideas? Not really.

I know a lot of people struggle with rejection, bad reviews etc, but they don’t really bother me. I know not everyone will like what I have done, but I do, so there!

       What are you reading right now?

I am reading Elgon Williams – ‘Fried Windows – In A Light White Sauce’.

      What’s next?

I am finishing up a poetry book which has been completely written by the pupils at the school of two of my children. It is something we decided to do to raise money for the school library.

Also, finishing up the editing of my short story collection, ‘Driftwood From The Specific’. This is a prime example of my not sticking to a particular genre. As well as poetry, it contains horror, scifi, noir and general fiction.

Writing wise, I am currently about 2000 words into my first full length adult novel.

      Tell us a little about your book, and who it would appeal to.

Doodeedoo is based on the Frankenstein’s Monster story. Created by a tiny mouse with terrific sewing skills, he is scared and lonely. When he goes missing, the mouse has to search the house and find out why he ran away.

The illustrations are by my super talented wife, Sammy.

I have aimed the story at children the same ages as my own children, so anywhere from 0 to 10.

Amazon page - http://smarturl.it/TonyGilbert

Facebook page - https://www.facebook.com/tonygilbertauthor

Blog - http://tonygilbertauthor.weebly.com/

Doodeedoo is available through Amazon.co.uk and Amazon.com!

Doodeedoo by Tony and Sammy Gilbert

This is the fantastic cover for Visionary Press Collaborative's newest release, Doodeedoo by Tony and Sammy Gilbert. It comes out next Friday, 27th June, and it's going to be a blast! 

This is the tale of Doodeedoo
Who was made of socks and superglue
By a little mouse with tiny paws,
Red painted lips, and well-trimmed claws.

She'd read a book called Frankenstein
But never passed page 109,
And as she said, "I'll have a go!"
The mouse picked up some thread to sew.

Now if you'd read old Frankie's tale
It would make your face go rather pale
For in it he's not nice at all,
He likes to hurt and fight and maul

As he was made of evil stuff,
Of bits of dirt and all things rough.
How was the little mouse to know
As Doodeedoo began to grow?

Tony and Sammy Gilbert have been together for nearly a decade and married for just over half of that. They have four children, Tony having brought twins from a previous marriage.

They do everything together yet this is the first time they have combined their talents - Tony's writing and Sammy's art - but hopefully not the last.

If you are looking for a fun, scary, imaginative children's book in which the story and the illustrations match up perfectly, then look no further - this is it! 

Flash Fiction: Card Reading

Julia stopped card reading on her thirty-fifth birthday. It used to be a favourite past time of hers, to leave the hectic stream of the high street and enter the bright, warm, orange infused glow of the greetings card shop, her glasses instantly misting and then clearing as she started to make her way to the with sympathy section. She’d always start there; she felt it grounded her, reminded her that she was mortal, made her appreciate the life she was living. She tried to remember those cards when she was frustrated, or angry, or just generally having a bad day. It sometimes even worked.

After her sobering start, she moved to the anniversary cards. She had no one to buy one for, but it didn’t stop her looking. Pastel colours or bright, bright reds and pinks, hearts, flowers, teddy bears… Soppy and silly, but so beautiful in their charming, clichéd way.

Other sections received a brief glance, and special occasions, such as Valentine’s or Christmas, necessitated a much longer rest stop in the shop, since it was often busier inside than out. But no matter what, the birthday cards were never ignored. This was what she came for. This was what she adored, and this is what she wanted. She spent long minutes, if not hours, searching for just the right card. Sometimes she came away with nothing. Usually she came away with nothing. So far, from her hundreds of visits to the shop, she had bought just seventeen cards. She only wanted one more.

She never bought her eighteenth card.

It was twenty years before that she went to the psychic to ask her one, specific question; When will I have a baby?

Before you are thirty-five, was the answer. Certain. Definite.

It never occurred to Julia that finding a man should be her priority if she was to achieve this goal. She didn’t think of that at all; instead she planned everything else, bought everything, painted and decorated a nursery, bought a stock of nappies and clothing in different sizes, opened up a savings account for her child’s education. She had so many toys she had to store most of them in the loft, in cardboard boxes, labelled ‘Baby’.

On her thirty-fifth birthday, Julia stopped card reading. She sat, silent tears of a lost life dripping onto the seventeen birthday cards she had so carefully picked out for her child. The eighteenth would stay in the shop. Someone else could have it.

©Lisamarie Lamb 2014 

The Book of Mandragore... Out Now! (9th May 2014)

The Book of Mandragore is out now in paperback and Kindle editions - this children's fantasy adventure book tells the tale of three friends (Alice, Caleb, and Lance), who must travel across unfriendly lands and battle with strange beasts and stranger people in order to find the three pieces of The Book of Mandragore. This magic book contains the spell of immortality, and there are many people who would love to get their hands on it...

Chapter 1

There is a place, in another world, another time, another planet, another dimension, that we can never know. We can’t see it. We cannot go there. It is impossible for us. But sometimes, in the dead of a winter’s night, a story floats down to us from the frosty stars. Stories of gods and battles, of quests and adventures. Of life and death. These stories are gathered up by the people who understand such things, and they are kept safe, waiting to be told.

This is just such a story.

And the time to tell it is now.

***

Once upon a time – which time isn’t important, and it may indeed have happened more than once – there were gods, ancient, wise, all knowing, and deadly, dully bored. They had a life that mortals would envy; no death, no pain, no fear of anything or anyone, and yet still they grew restless with their lot.

When they had finished creating new things and new creatures and new worlds, they did not know what to do. Until they created people. Their very own play things, smaller versions of themselves that they could twist and mould and bend to their will. It was all a game to them. Everything was just for sport. Kill a human here, reward one with gold there, ask too much of another, and allow more to have an easy life like the gods…

Now these immortal and immense beings had toys to play with. Real, living, breathing toys that would do anything to live in the world the gods had created for them, and therefore would do almost anything that was asked of them.

For millennia this was good, and boredom was broken.

Until one day…

The throne room of Eland, the great city of the gods, was quiet. Rouf, lord of the gods, creator of all, peered down from his throne of gold woven clouds and sighed. Another war was taking place, another shrine was being built. People were travelling across the country, others were farming, more still were creating their own cities and towns.

The game had become dull once more.

Rouf shifted in his seat and flicked at a speck of dust that had landed on his arm. He couldn’t feel it – he, and all the gods, could feel nothing – yet he knew that it looked out of place; and it was something to do. The half a second that it took to remove the mote was a pleasant relief.

“Arken!” he yelled into the mists that hovered around Eland, the place in which the gods lived. “Arken!”

Rouf’s right hand god, Arken, appeared in an instant, grinning. “Yes, my lord? Is there something I can do for you?” Please say yes, please say yes… Anything!

Rouf nodded slowly, dragging every movement out. He slipped from his throne and wandered over to the viewing platform, the one place in all of Eland that any god could see what was happening down in the world below. “I’m going to visit the world,” he said, glancing at Arken for a reaction. “I’m going to allow myself to be seen.”

Arken gasped. “But my lord! You can’t! It’s against the rules!”

Rouf laughed, and the sound bounced around the throne room, jumping into the sparkling corners and out again. “Rules? I made the rules, Arken! I will break them when I want to.”

Paperback from Amazon.com          Kindle from Amazon.com

Paperback from Amazon.co.uk        Kindle from Amazon.co.uk

The Book of Mandragore... Out Soon!

One book holds the spell that can make gods into men. One book holds the key to death. One man's life hangs in the balance. One world could die with him.

When The Book of Mandragore is ripped apart by feuding gods, it is up to three young adventurers to find the scattered pieces before anyone else does. If they find it first, they can save a man's life. If their enemy finds it first, the world will end in fire.

And the gods, good and evil, will just watch as the story unfolds...

Poem: Last Sunset?

I sat and watched a sunset, the red and orange

And pink and… It covered me. It hurt my eyes.

I think I even enjoyed it, despite the blindness.

But it occurred to me; what if this were my last one?

I worried about whether it was the best I’d ever seen.

I worried about missing out on better.

I worried about worrying about sunsets

Because weren’t sunrises just as important?

So I vowed to see each one right at its conception.

I set my alarm and stumbled from my warm bed

Just to see the sun turning up for a day’s work.

Just to see the day turning on.

And then I’d wait all day to see it turning off again.

And I thought, it’s just a giant light switch and I was

Getting tired and bored and wondering who stares at a light?

Each time it wasn’t my last I became a little less

Interested.

The sun set and it rose and I was still here.

The sun set and it rose and I wasn’t dead.

So I stopped setting the alarm, and I stopped watching

The sun do its thing. Because it was going to do it

Whether I saw or not. Maybe that’s the thing I was

Supposed to realise. In the end it doesn’t matter

If you see the sunrise for the last time,

If you see the sun set no more – you’ll never know.

ãLisamarie Lamb 2014

Flash Fiction: Junk Mail?

Joan loved waiting for the post.

She sat on her chair in the kitchen – the chair that gave her a view of the street – so that she could see the postman trudging up the road, laden down with letters, bills, parcels, birthday cards. She could see who got what and when. She could imagine their reactions, and it made her smile.

It was, she realised, the highlight of her day.

The post came slip-sliding through the letterbox, landing with a hopeful, happy smack on the mat that sat behind the front door. Joan, ninety years old, alone and bored, stood with a grunt, the effort of leaving the hard pine chair lessened only by the thought that she now had something to do.

Joan shuffled onwards, through the hallway and to the door. Then she bent, her back aching and creaking, to retrieve her mail. Shiny envelopes that she knew were filled with rubbish; pre-approved credit cards (that required her to fill in a form and send off for that approval), pizza menus, curry menus, Thai and Chinese, and, of course, the letter that she and hundreds of other people had received, telling her that she had definitely, absolutely, positively won a huge sum of money.

That was it.

That was all.

That was more than enough.

Joan gathered everything up with only the slightest twinge now, her interest in what might have arrived in her home blocking anything else out. She returned to the kitchen, slumped back into the chair, and spread the junk mail out on the table. She poured herself a cup of tea from the pot and cut a slice of cake.

It was time. Finally. The postman had been a little late today, fifteen minutes, and Joan had almost, almost, had a sneaky slice of the jam and cream filled sponge. She had almost, almost, had half a cup of tea. But now she was glad she had waited.

It was worth it.

Joan always opened the post, whatever it was. Every envelope, even the ones addressed to The Homeowner. And then, when they were all open, when everything was spread out on the table, Joan filled in the forms.

A free trial of a hearing aid… That was a good one. The form was only short, but the hearing aid looked like quality. She carefully printed the details, a black block letter in each tiny box. She checked it over once, twice, three times, and then sealed it safely in the pre-paid envelope. Next was a subscription to a book club, and there was an offer of two free books as well (assuming more were bought within a certain period, of course, of course, nothing was ever really free). That form was longer, with lots of details asked for so that the people behind the books could work out which offers to send out, how to get the most money from their ‘customers’.

And so it went on. Life insurance, pet insurance, car insurance… Credit cards and holiday offer DVDs… Requests for brochures on curtains, carpets, whole house cleans…

Joan particularly enjoyed finding the fake cheques made out to her for ridiculous sums. She kept all of them. She added up the total and kept it in a little notebook, carried with her always. Her will, she called it. And she teased her family – the ones who never visited, who never called, who never even sent a letter – with the promise of money when she was gone. Oh, there was money, all right. Millions by now. But it was all pretend, just like their love for her. She often thought it was a shame that she wouldn’t be around to see their faces, her children, grandchildren, even the great-grandchildren, when they realised what fools she had made of them.

She pulled her coat on and popped all of the neatly filled in forms into her bag. Now to post them. Then she could sit back and wait. And laugh. In a few days’ time, the postman would be weighed down with packages. A free hearing aid (free until the bill came) for Mia, the girl next door who played her music so, so loudly. A curtain catalogue for old Mrs Jenkins across the road who loved to watch the street with her beady little eyes. Details on car insurance for the silly boy who so enjoyed whizzing up and down the street in his old banger.

Joan loved waiting for the post.

 ©Lisamarie Lamb 2014