The Shneedlevert, a jester, a king and a deadly disease.

Ok. If that doesn't get your attention, then nothing will.

Hello and welcome to blog three from me. I'm currently in bed, with the electric blanket on, a sore throat and aching eyes, and I'm torn between feeling sorry for myself and being grateful that I get to rest. Teaching is equally wonderful and soul-destroying, so the thought of adding a day of complete bed rest to today's handbrake turn into a brick wall actually sounds delightful.

So what to write to you all? Well, let's keep this one simple. I thought I'd post some samples from some of my pieces. Read, share, dissect, and analyse away until your hearts' content. It occurs to me that this is a pretty arrogant process really, assuming that people will want to read what you write, or even that it's actually resembling something that's any good. I figure that you lot are probably the best judge of that, and at the end of the day, you signed up for this, so you have no one to blame but yourselves!

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Shall we begin?

Let's start with The Shneedlevert. This bad boy of a poem runs for six chapters, which I wrote largely because I was trying to avoid writing school reports.... Now you get to enjoy it.

"The pirate blue with shriveled pride,

A tear fell slowly from his eyes

And to the victor did award

Surrender of his pirate sword

The Shneedlevert with sword in claw

Swished it once and then some more.

And in a flourish, half a sec,

Rested blade ‘gainst pirate’s neck!

But pirate flashed a toothless grin

And stroked, himself his pimply chin

Then from beneath his flowing locks

Withdrew a dozen chocolate blocks.

Shneedle’s eyes grew saucer wide

He let his sword droop to his side.

And Shneedlevert and pirate beast

Indulged them both in chocolate feast."

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Okay, okay, enough of the nonsense poetry. How about that deadly disease that I promised you... This is Boringitis, middle-grade fiction that was so much fun to write. It's a classic students-take-revenge-on-the-world's-most-boring-teacher tale, and considering I am a teacher, I didn't feel like I had any need to hold back.

"Mr Brown nodded enthusiastically. “Why Principal Flaggle-Guts, of course!” Now Principal Fuzzlepuffs was kissing Mr Brown’s shoes! Fuzzlepuffs sighed a deep and satisfied sigh. He stood and shook Mr Brown’s hand enthusiastically. “My good Mr downtown, when I ring Professor Pantaloon she will be thrilled.”

The bell rang and the class collected their things ready to go home. At the end of each day, Mr Brown always said exactly the same thing. “Go home, and eat your Brussel Sprouts,” but today he looked at his class, and in a serious voice said, “mooooooooooooo.”

Principal Fuzzlepuffs agreed. “Moo, baa, woof, quack, cock-a-doodle-doo!”

Mr Brown trumpeted like an elephant, and arm in arm the two men skipped out of the classroom. Everyone gathered around Barry Bottom, who was laughing so hard that if he didn’t go to the toilet in the next two minutes, there’d be a puddle on the floor."

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Okay, should we take the crazy down a notch? Welcome to The King and the Jester. This is a novel about displacement, identity, and the sort of friendship that every kid wishes they had. Mina's a traveler and home is on the road, but when her father builds a white picket fence around their caravan in a town that hates them, Mina has to figure out where she belongs and how to stand up against those who want to destroy them.

"Sometimes she wondered why they stayed, but she knew there was more than the occasional job and baker’s bread that drew them back… She picked up the smudged parchment from the mantlepiece, tracing the familiar lines with her finger. “If only…” She sat down beside the fire and sobbed until she was wrung dry.

As the sun kissed the horizon, she wiped salty streaks across her face, and busied herself with chickens, fire and all things campsite. Father would be away two days, three at the most, and his parting present was the vague memory of a goodbye and the usual job list that was twice the length of her arm.

Two hours later, she threw down her broom in disgust. The day was calling and chores could wait. She hurdled the fence and flew off towards the river. Georgi was in his usual spot, leaning against the city wall. He was snoring up a storm, head lolled to the side, one leg straight, the other pulled up to his chest, totally unaware of the world. The bustle of people was far too busy to notice the vagrant boy sleeping at the side of the road. Maybe that’s why they fit together so well. Both lived somewhere between unnoticed and unwanted, and right now, Mina was happy just to be unseen.

She walked past him, tipped her flask of water over his head, and tore off through the gates. She slowed a little until he was on his feet and then took off again. Left around a stall, they ran, through someone’s legs, a leapfrog over a bench, and slammed straight into a colossal pyramid of melons. Fruit salad cannon balls assaulted the market in a chaos of melony madness. A rogue melon projectile flew through the air, turning a large plate of tomatoes into a fruity shower that rained saucy mush over the livid melon vendors.

Georgi was on his feet, a large piece of melon clutched in each hand. “Run?”

Georgi pulled Mina to her feet. “Like, yesterday,” agreed Mina. The melon men charged at them, eyes full of fury. Shouts and curses sent them speeding across the marketplace, under tables, over benches, zigzagging between the stalls. They could hear the men behind them snarling like frothing

dogs. They flew around the chicken pens, through the pigs and dived through the open doors of the clock tower, only seconds before the two men rounded the corner and ran straight past them!

“A little too close, Georgi!”

“Much too close,” panted Georgi. Remind me to give us a bit more time next time we decide to go melon bowling!”

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Well, that's it from me. I hope you enjoyed something that you read. I'll go back to feeling sorry for myself now :)

Cheers,

Matt