Small Boy's latest school project is to write and illustrate a picture book. As I was a picture book editor in a former life, I announce my intention to steer well clear.
"I do not want to be blamed for anything going wrong," I say.
"Well, that's good. Cos I don't want you to help anyway. You don't know anything about picture books any more and you only actually write animal books and my book is not going to be an animal book, so you wouldn't have anything useful to tell me," Small Boy retorts.
He sets to work and very soon has produced something which, I have to admit, is rather good. I particularly like the back cover, complete with blurb (a word all school children seem to know these days), barcode, price, publisher (Macmillan - not sure if they were consulted on this) and a quote from the Guardian (betraying his parents' preferred weekend reading habits).
"This is great!" I congratulate him.
"I know," says Small Boy. "I'm going to get Macmillan to publish it properly with a proper Real Life Cover and everything," he adds.
"Right," I say.
"And I was thinking," he continues, the bit wedged firmly between his new front teeth, "as I know all about publishing now, I might get started on a new book straight away. It's always good to have a two-book contract, don't you think? Also, Dad and Sister oughta write books too. Then we could be a Totally Writing Family and all work at home and Dad wouldn't have to go travelling for his work any more."
"OK," I say. "What are your suggested titles?"
"Well," says Small Boy, brow furrowed in concentration, "Dad's book oughta be called 'How To Stop Rudely Being Rude At The Table', cos it's a subject he knows all awful lot about."
"Oh yes?" I say.
"Yes. And it could be divided into chapters like this: Chapter One: How Not to Pick Your Nose at the Table; Chapter Two: How Not to Pick your Ear at the Table; Chapter Three: How Not to Pick Your Nails at the Table; Chapter Four: How Not to Use Your Blackberry at the Table; Chapter Five: How Not to Not Listen While Other People Are Talking at the Table--"
"Right, I get the picture," I cut in. "What about your book?"
"That's easy," says Small Boy. "It'll be called 'The Big Book of Knowledge'."
Daughter choses this moment to walk in on the conversation. "What's he going on about now?"
"He's going to write a new book called 'The Big Book of Knowledge'," I explain.
"Yeah, like, right!" scoffs Daughter.
"I've got an idea for a book you could write too," says Small Boy, smiling dangerously.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah! It should be called 'The Big Book of Drama'."
"OH WHAT???! YOU ARE SUCH A------!" Daughter screams, storming out of the room.
Small Boy shoots me a look of unbridled triumph.
"I think," I say carefully, "you might need to work on your inter-personal skills before progressing further with building your publishing career."
"Really?" says Small Boy.
"Yes, really," I say, shuddering.
Moved over Murdoch: Small Boy Wilson is lurking in the wings, just waiting to pounce.
"I do not want to be blamed for anything going wrong," I say.
"Well, that's good. Cos I don't want you to help anyway. You don't know anything about picture books any more and you only actually write animal books and my book is not going to be an animal book, so you wouldn't have anything useful to tell me," Small Boy retorts.
He sets to work and very soon has produced something which, I have to admit, is rather good. I particularly like the back cover, complete with blurb (a word all school children seem to know these days), barcode, price, publisher (Macmillan - not sure if they were consulted on this) and a quote from the Guardian (betraying his parents' preferred weekend reading habits).
"This is great!" I congratulate him.
"I know," says Small Boy. "I'm going to get Macmillan to publish it properly with a proper Real Life Cover and everything," he adds.
"Right," I say.
"And I was thinking," he continues, the bit wedged firmly between his new front teeth, "as I know all about publishing now, I might get started on a new book straight away. It's always good to have a two-book contract, don't you think? Also, Dad and Sister oughta write books too. Then we could be a Totally Writing Family and all work at home and Dad wouldn't have to go travelling for his work any more."
"OK," I say. "What are your suggested titles?"
"Well," says Small Boy, brow furrowed in concentration, "Dad's book oughta be called 'How To Stop Rudely Being Rude At The Table', cos it's a subject he knows all awful lot about."
"Oh yes?" I say.
"Yes. And it could be divided into chapters like this: Chapter One: How Not to Pick Your Nose at the Table; Chapter Two: How Not to Pick your Ear at the Table; Chapter Three: How Not to Pick Your Nails at the Table; Chapter Four: How Not to Use Your Blackberry at the Table; Chapter Five: How Not to Not Listen While Other People Are Talking at the Table--"
"Right, I get the picture," I cut in. "What about your book?"
"That's easy," says Small Boy. "It'll be called 'The Big Book of Knowledge'."
Daughter choses this moment to walk in on the conversation. "What's he going on about now?"
"He's going to write a new book called 'The Big Book of Knowledge'," I explain.
"Yeah, like, right!" scoffs Daughter.
"I've got an idea for a book you could write too," says Small Boy, smiling dangerously.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah! It should be called 'The Big Book of Drama'."
"OH WHAT???! YOU ARE SUCH A------!" Daughter screams, storming out of the room.
Small Boy shoots me a look of unbridled triumph.
"I think," I say carefully, "you might need to work on your inter-personal skills before progressing further with building your publishing career."
"Really?" says Small Boy.
"Yes, really," I say, shuddering.
Moved over Murdoch: Small Boy Wilson is lurking in the wings, just waiting to pounce.
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