non-fiction
Upstairs downstairs
Decades ago when I began to make the decision to try my hand at fiction, I had this rosy dream of writing for both adults and children – fun alongside the serious stuff; nurturing my mental health, etc etc etc. So, having published my debut medical ethics novel, I drafted my first children’s book and asked my colleague Alexander McCall Smith to give me feedback on it (that was before he was a household name, I hasten to add!).
So far so good. OK. Next find an agent. Ahhhh – what? A different one? As well as a different publisher? As well as a different marketing strategy? Hold on a wee minute. Working full time in academia, already publishing non-fiction as part of my job, juggling that number of balls was beyond my pay grade. King Midas Sandy McC S could do it; but not I. It was the children’s books that had to go.
And I’ve never returned to them … with one notable exception: the annual story/play for my grandchildren (now aged from 15 to 10).
Sadly, my recent illness put paid to performing the 16th one at Christmas time as usual, so it was postponed … until this Saturday. Given that it’s a private family event, a complete secret to everyone else until the day, I am author, screenwriter, casting director, producer, director, wardrobe mistress, stage hand, general factotum … and master of none! But we always have a great time, and on the day, others become cameraman, music maestro, supporting cast. The youngsters enter into the spirit of this amateur production with enormous enthusiasm.
So today I’m going to give you a brief and lighthearted glimpse into the remnants of my career as a children’s author.
This year the story featured the three children of the 11th Duke and Duchess of Fountain-Linton who lead a restrictive life upstairs being taught to take their places in the upper echelons of a very formal society.
That is, until their cook and her granddaughter introduce them to fun and laughter below stairs.
Cue lots of dressing up, activities, and games … 
… all concluding in a couple of hours of handcrafting de luxe chocolates – a sure fire winner! And destined to raise money for less-privileged children in Africa – yes, seriously!
And the moral of the tale? Happiness comes from kindness to and helping others, not from acquiring wealth and possessions.
The whole enterprise took place over eight hours (excluding the sale of the chocolates) and is both physically and mentally quite challenging, which all served as a tangible measure of how hugely indebted I am to a very skilled electrophysiologist, who managed to cure (through ablation) both my heart arrythmias in one fell swoop six weeks ago. I am back to my original energy levels.
Somewhere in the deep recesses of a back-burner the next Christmas story is already fermenting – only seven months to bring it to fruition this time! But for now I must return to the serious writing … missing teenagers, body image issues and locked-in fears. What was I saying about mental health? Ah yes, but we shall also be producing the 16th children’s story, Upstairs Downstairs, in book form.