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I worry that I've spent my whole life with my head in books.
As young as three, I started making scribble ones for my soft toys.
In primary school, I went through readers at such a pace that the
head teacher had to let me take books off the shelves in her office.
I was scolded all through secondary school for reading under the
desk. Wherever I lived, librarians politely pretended they hadn't
noticed I'd been in twice already that week. And as soon as a snowstorm
stopped me getting to the library one day, I sat down and started
my own book.
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I
have had jobs. I taught in a girls' school. (That was exhausting)
I worked in a Public Health office. ("Dear Sir or Madam, I found
this beetle in my pineapple chunk..."). I wrote reports for Oxfam
(and you'll never again catch me wasting my days shopping for things
I don't need.) I taught in a prison. (It wasn't nearly so tiring as
teaching in the girls' school.) And then I had two babies - both girls
- and went to America with my husband. He loved it. I was homesick,
and found it harder and harder to write - especially children's books,
since you do need to watch a bit, and American children are different.
So, in the end, I came home.
Since then, we've had cats, dogs, teenagers and lots of books. I lived
in Edinburgh for years, but now Richard and I have moved to a small
town in County Durham. We're surrounded by sheep, and have lots of
wide skies and tough weather.
I work the way I always have, in absolute silence, hiding my work
from anyone who comes in the room. I write with a 2B pencil and rubber.
When I was young, we never did redrafting. (I don't think it works
anyway. It usually gets staler, not better, and you just hate it more.)
But we did have to do our corrections, and I hated them. Hated them.
If you'd told me that's what I'd end up doing with my days - sitting
correcting, from choice, for hours I'd have thought you were mad.
But that's what I do all day, and I love it.
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