I have just finished writing my first novel. 50,000 words. I like to write it with numbers rather than a ‘k’ because it looks more and makes me feel cleverer.
What is it? I hear you cry? Because obviously everyone of course wants to know. Well I will tell you so sit down, preferably with a cup of tea/coffee/bovril and stop looking at your phone or out the window because I’m very shy about these things and so you could put me off and you wouldn’t want that on your conscience would you, no. Right.
It’s a middle grade fantasy fiction novel because there’s not enough of those in the world right now, obviously. It’s about two twins (I know, unique!) and their mother has died. They move to a different place and then magical stuff starts happening.
Now I know what you’re thinking. That is the start of probably 90% of middle-grade novels. Yes. Well. There’s a very good reason for that and i shall tell you for why.
Being a kid is magic. It is a time of first times, a time of unknowns, a time where time takes a very long time. As a grown up I can sit here for what I think is 5 minutes writing this for you and whooooosh, 35 minutes has flown by. As a kid I can sit her for 5 minutes and it feels like 35 minutes, like when you dream. Pure magic.
When I was a kid I spent my summers stuck up trees, making full silver service dinners for tiny gnomes in the garden out of shells, stones, and bits of leaves, and singing at the top of my voice about my imaginary world. Granted I still do that but now I put it all down on paper to try and help pay off my mortgage.
I watch my daughter and son's play, and it is exactly the same: testing the boundaries of their imaginations with anything in front of them.
Imaginary play has absolutely no limits, except maybe the limit of your own imagination. Isn’t that amazing. Just let that sink in for a minute. Right now, if you feel like it, you can close your eyes and go anywhere you like. Wow.
My dad was in prison a lot in the army. He wasn’t a bad person; he just didn’t like following rules. His kit got stolen on his very first day and he was told he’d have to enrol for an extra year to pay for it. He chose to do nothing that year and so got into quite a bit of trouble. He wasn't rude; he didn’t hurt anyone. He just politely declined so he was put in what they called the ‘glass house’ in solitary confinement. For others, this was a form of torture: sitting in a small empty room, no windows. My dad learned to love it. He realised that he rather liked his own company and could go for days happily in his own little world. Rather that than cut the grass field with a knife and fork, which they had so kindly requested him to do.
My point is, imagination is vital. Vital for our development, our growth, resilience, problem-solving and pushing beyond our limits to see what could be. This is why fantasy, magical realism is so important and so very loved.
Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely love a real story. Stories set in the past, set in a setting I’ve never been to before, through the eyes of someone I’ve never met. This too is magical.
Some people are put off by fantasy fiction and that’s fine. I think sometimes the change of rules can be a bit too much. The concept of believing in things that don’t exist and then making them a key plot point in a story takes a lot of convincing. Many try and fail to write ‘good’ fantasy fiction. When I say ‘good, I mean ‘good’ as in convincing the reader. I personally feel a truly ‘good’ story should be one that you fall into, a book that makes you forget where you are. Sometimes I don’t even need lots to happen as a reader because I’m just happy sitting at the kitchen table shooting the breeze with these brilliant characters in their funny little world.
If you’re going to get to know me you must know I am my father’s daughter and I’m not a big fan of following rules. however, I do have one rule. I’ve always believed in this rule. I don’t know if there are any exceptions but, it’s my rule so go get your own rule if you don’t like it.
Fantasy place + fantasy people + fantasy action/reaction = too much fantasy.
If you change just one of these elements in this equation, then it instantly becomes much more palatable, more relatable. Try it with me.
So, let’s say we’ve got some witches, a coven of three terrible witches, and they are in a witchy cave and they are chanting witchy stuff. It's okay, I suppose, but I'm not a witch so I can’t really relate to their ‘first-witchy-world problems’. (or am I?)
Stick these witches in a Holiday Inn somewhere like Kettering and bam! You’ve got yourself a load of ‘what ifs’ there my friend. (Brace yourself because I’m going to write a whole other post on what if’s soon).
Stick these witches somewhere on the coast in 1990s America, and you've got the plot to most of the films I was obsessed with as a kid: The Craft, Practical Magic, Sabrina the Teenage Witch. Awesome!
Like the building of a house, the planting of a tree, or the calming of an old hippy; you need grounding, man. Something relatable.
JRR Tolkien had maps and although the characters were Orks and Hobbits, their traits were often very human, along with what they strived for. Even the beloved Sir Terry Pratchett, as mad as his worlds got- they always smacked of characters that were relatable with a good dose of British humour. These writers played with rules we already understand- just tilting, stretching, and warping them slightly.
In my own debut novel, I have leant heavily into humour and real family chats. I use my kids constantly as guinea pigs to wonder what they would do in so many strange scenarios. This often helps to bring real heart onto the page. Honest reactions to strange circumstances.
The ‘strange circumstances’ in my book happen to be the world of British folklore; an obsession since I first learned to read. I love, love, love magic realism and using local mythology created by real, working-class people from my neck of the woods for hundreds of years. For me, that’s as good as it gets.
As a child I loved the strange. I think this was because I grew up Catholic. Being Catholic we were taught to believe in saints and martyrs, the blood of Christ, and Stigmatas. Priests dressed in elaborate, gilded drag, the heady scent of incense and secrets in the confessionals. Oh the drama of it all! Most of my friends were C of E which often meant they only went to church at Christmas or for a christening, the lucky bastards.
In the village I grew up in, the old locals still believed in wives' tales and some folklore—giving reasons to the seasons, strange weather, and rough beasts. As I’ve grown up this has forever stuck and evolved into a love for the uncanny. Films like ‘the Witch finder general’, ‘the Wicker man’, ‘Midsommer’. Art that show the bubonic in the bucolic. I don’t believe in ghosts or the supernatural but I’m always eager to be convinced otherwise. I think the love is more not the what, but the why. Why people use their imaginations in such a way and why these strange fantasies stick.
So let me know. Do you love middle-grade fantasy fiction and why?
Can you tell me any novels that break the rules and are 100% fantasy and still 100% brilliant. Convince me.
Also, if you happen to be an agent looking for middle grade fiction… would you like a new best friend?
Why fantasy fiction? Why the Dickens not, eh!
Thanks for reading x
