Writing and Film: Writers on Writing

I grew up in Sussex, England, and completed two years of a three year course in Primary School teaching before emigrating to Western Australia in 1970.

Soon after arriving in Western Australia I met my husband Edward Stafford and we joined Subud. The following 17 years were spent raising a family of six. I also taught weaving and spinning, grew flowers for sale, and taught horse riding. Then a back injury and an unexpected late pregnancy made me change direction and start writing.

From the beginning I knew that I would be writing for children. My first book, Chiko, was the story of a small Welsh mountain pony. It was based on a pony owned by us and ridden by my daughter Hermine.

When the writing first started I was very torn between my commitment to the small riding school I was running and my increasing desire to write. I couldn't give up the income from the riding lessons for a very uncertain future writing stories so I struggled on for two years juggling both. The pregnancy made the decision for me. Hermine, who was by then a teenager, took over the running of the riding school and, in-between caring for a new baby I wrote more or less full time. Julia grew up with the sound of the keyboard in her ears! The more the writing developed the more I felt comfortable about who I was. Writing for children seemed to pull together all the disparate threads of my life into one cohesive whole. I knew this was my work and I had to follow it.

Ten years later I am still writing and beginning to be published. My first picture book, Just Dragon, was accepted for publication in 1992 and will come out later this year. Two other picture books, Snow Bear and Amelia Ellicott's Garden will be published early next year. Snow Bear was in the catalogue for the Children's Book Fair in Bologna Switzerland and as a result of this Margaret Hamilton Books are looking at doing co-editions with publishers in Canada, US, UK, and Scandinavia.

As well as the picture books, four of my junior fiction novels, including Chiko, are in the final stages of publication. The books are a series based on my time spent living and working with horses. I have been writing them off and on for about eight years and hope to see them in print next year.

I look on the ten years I have been working so far as an apprenticeship. I have been given a talent but without dedication and hard work it cannot translate into something real in the world. I didn't just have to learn how to write but how to survive in the world of publishing. I am still learning.

Snow Bear feels like my first real success as it has been accepted by a well-known children's publisher and will be published both here and overseas. It came in response to many rejections. I was writing a lot of picture books but apart from Just Dragon none had been accepted. I knew that I had to change the way I wrote and show more courage. Just Dragon had been the beginning of this change.

When I wrote Snow Bear it was summer and I would often get up at night to sit in the cool and the quiet. For several weeks I had been thinking about our interaction with the natural world, particularly animals. I had written a number of notes under the heading 'Shelter' but nothing concrete had formed. Then one night I was about to return to bed when a picture came into my head of a polar bear who was in some kind of trouble. She had been caught in a storm and her cubs were dead. At the same moment the words 'The Snow Bear' were there, and I knew it was the beginning of a new picture book. The next day I bought a notebook and began scribbling in it anything to do with the story. Two days later the story came.

I wrote Just Dragon and Amelia Ellicott's Garden in a similar way. The novels take much longer.

To write the stories I have had accepted for publication I have written many more that were not. But the ones that fail somehow make possible the one's that work. I write every day. In the beginning when I was struggling to learn my craft I would procrastinate till gone lunchtime before sitting down to work. These days writing is like breathing, it is woven into my life to where I am constantly in and out of my workroom all day.

I have included three excerpts from my work. The first is taken from the junior fiction novel Chiko, the first book in a series of four due to be published next year.

The second and third excerpts are from children's picture books. Just Dragon is due to be published later this year and Snow Bear April-May 2000. I love writing for children and hope my work will be well received and read widely.

©Liliana Stafford 1999

Snow Bear

A children's picture book
Publication: April - May 2000

An Excerpt

When winter came and the sea ice was frozen over, the Snow Bear was released from the jail.

' Go quickly, ' Bruun said, but the Snow Bear wouldn't.

' She must leave,' his father said, ' or die. The town is no place for bears. They are too dangerous.'

Bruun put on his bear skin coat and boots. ' I will take her,' he said. The boy and the bear left the town. Their tracks were twin footprints in the snow.

Out on the ice they were alone. ' Go,' Bruun said. 'This is your place. If I stay I will freeze.' But the bear refused to go.

Then a blizzard came in from the north and covered their tracks. It blew so strong and so wild that Bruun became lost and feared for his life.

The Snow Bear made a snow pit and made Bruun lie down. Then she lay down next to him, offering her warmth. The snow began to cover them and Bruun felt sleepy. It was quiet and peaceful under the snow.

When the blizzard was over the Snow Bear caught a seal cub and brought it back to the pit. The raw meat roused Bruun from his dreams. He was too hungry to say no.

In the days that followed Bruun stayed with the bear, rarely leaving her side. He watched while she waited for seals and rested with her after the kill. He learnt how to jump the ice floes and how to sniff the wind for possible prey. And when the bear said wash, he washed, rubbing his face and hands in the snow.

©Liliana Stafford 1999

Just Dragon

A children's picture book
See Above for Ordering Information

An Excerpt

But now Grandpa was old and some days he felt too tired and sick to go out. Emma didn't mind. She would sit with him in his study and listen to stories about the sea.

The best story was about some sailors on a long wooden ship with a great carved dragon on the prow, who sailed away across the oceans to look for gold. They said the Dragon was their friend who was there to show them the way, but they didn't find any gold. They returned instead with many round smooth pebbles of different colours and snatches of songs from places all over the world. Grandpa said that if you listened to the sound of the sea you could hear the songs, and the pebbles could be found on any seashore. They were the treasures the sea had to offer and could make a person richer than any gold.

Later, when Emma was in bed, Grandpa would sit in his canvas chair in the garden and listen to the sea.

And Emma would creep to her bedroom window to watch him sitting alone under the stars.

Then one day Grandpa stayed in his bed. He didn't get up for lunch or supper and he didn't go out to hear the sea. He was so tired and weak that Mum sent for the doctor.

Two days later an ambulance came and took Grandpa to hospital. Emma went and sat in Grandpa's chair in the garden and wouldn't come in for bed. She sat on and on until the garden was dark and she could see all the stars — Grandpa's stars.

And out of the night a long wooden boat came sailing with a great, carved dragon on its prow.

Later, when Mum came to find her, Emma was talking to someone. 'Who are you talking to Emma?' said Mum.

'Just Dragon.' said Emma.

'Would he like a drink and some biscuits?' said Mum. 'No I don't think so,' said Emma. 'He doesn't eat biscuits.'

Chapter eight

Unsure but steady, his straight gaze masking a slight nervousness, the big gelding stood tied to the round yard fence. Cliff James walked towards him from the direction of the shed, carrying a length of poly pipe and a lungeing rope. He too was nervous but years of training horses had taught him to adopt a slightly casual air.

'Never lose your temper and never let'em know you're nervous,' he said to Penny as he reached the railing and gently but firmly stroked Red's face. The chestnut gelding pulled back, away from the unknown. Then he settled under Cliff's hand. Penny leaned on the round yard fence. 'He's big.'

'No more'n 16 hands,' said Cliff.

How old?'

'Three or four. You can tell by their teeth.' He pulled down the gelding's lower lip and Red pulled back his top one and poked both rows of teeth in Cliff's face. Then he blew straight down his nostrils covering Penny and Cliff in a fine spray of horse saliva and bits of chaff.

'Got a sense of humour this one,' said Cliff drily.

Penny climbed up on to the top rail of the fence and sat swinging her legs, enjoying the smell of horse, the warm afternoon and the relaxed handling of the big gelding by the tall, sun-dried old man. 'What's the pipe for?' she asked.

There was no reply. Cliff 's attention was on Red. He talked to him softly, all the time watching his face until he was through the round yard gate and close enough to undo the lead rope.

'Good boy,' he murmured and let the lead rope drop. Then the lungeing rope was clipped on and horse and handler stood facing one another.

Cliff let Red take his time, talking nonsense to settle him down. Then, with a poke and a tap of the black poly pipe, he sent him off round the ring, playing out the rope in his hand and tapping the pipe rhythmically on the ground. At first Red tossed his head and resisted the rope and the pipe then he settled into a steady trot, ears forward, listening to Cliff's voice. The rope in Cliff's hand was straight but not taut. He followed every movement Red made, turning slowly round in a circle, encouraging him to trot on. The big gelding moved forward like he was ready to canter, extending the trot to cover more ground.

Cliff's voice sounded, loud and strong. 'Whoa, boy, whoa!' Red's head came up and he increased his pace. Cliff responded by shortening the rope, making Red trot in a smaller circle. Then the black poly pipe was brought down as a barrier in front of his nose and Red skidded to a halt. He turned to look at Cliff, waiting expectantly for reward or punishment. Cliff said nothing. He simply turned him around and sent him off in the other direction. This time the ' Whoa boy' was rewarded and Red came to a halt on his own.

'Good boy.' said Cliff. 'Penny, hand me that bag.'

Penny jumped down off the fence and picked up an old chaff bag tied to the end of a long stick.' What's it for?'

Cliff took the bag and turned back to Red. Again they faced one another. The gelding's eyes were on the bag. His nostrils quivered and he snorted with fear. Cliff waved the bag in front of him. It rustled and flapped. Red jumped and stood all four feet planted well apart, shivering. Cliff talked and talked, moving slowly but surely forward, the lungeing rope in one hand, the bag in the other. ' Steady boy...steady...stand... ' Red relaxed. His eyes were on Cliff, his ears moving back and forth, listening. The chaff bag flapped up to his chest and touched him on the shoulder.

'Good boy!' murmured Penny. 'He's beautiful. It's almost like he knows.'