Snowcase #6 • 14 August 2007 • The SnowBlog
Snowcase #6
This seems to be going very well indeed - some of the Snowcasers have told me they have had email and phone enquiries already! Go snowbooks, go snowbooks...
Next up is a piece from Hannah Davies who found Snowbooks through the Bookseller piece. I love that she's sent a photo in of herself! Hannah once worked in the film industry. Now she lives in Spain and writes. This is her first book but not her last, she says.
This is the start of The Voices of Angels - the story of a twelve year old boy who believes he's a guardian angel sent to earth to save his father's life. The journey has begun. I am standing on deck staring into the sea and wondering where my parents are taking me. On a ship, in a sea, running away. We left in the middle of the night and drove onboard at dawn. I was asleep. And when I woke I could no longer see land.
I have never seen the sea before so the first thing it reminds me of is the colour of my eyes. It makes me think if everyone's eyes are borrowed from the sea, or the land or the sky. Probably. It's like the time Mum wanted to paint her bedroom, and she couldn't decide between rose petal pink and lavender. If paint colours are stolen from nature, why not eyes? I start to daydream. I imagine Mum coming down here one night when she was pregnant with me. She wears a long white dress and the weather is frosty. She kneels down on the edge of the shore and scoops some sea-water into a jam jar. In the light of a full moon she takes note of the blue/green water. I like this thought of Mum being on the beach at night, collecting the colour of her son's eyes. I also know it is quite far-fetched. I can't remember the last time Mum left our street which makes this trip even stranger.
The ship bobs and I search the sea for dolphins. And after a while I feel someone at my side. Over the salt of the sea and the oil of the ship's engine I can still smell him. He smells like old people do. I look at his hands and they are full of veins. I peek up at him. His eyes are the colour of a pale blue sky with clouds in it. And his face has as many wrinkles as there are waves which batter the hull. Maybe he is searching for dolphins too. And over the crashing of the waves and the throb of the engine I hear a sigh that even the plankton at the bottom of the sea must hear too. He turns to me and ruffles my hair.
'Hello young man.'
'Hi,' I answer shyly.
I smile and there's something about the way we look at each other that makes me think we are friends. I have never met my Granddad because he is dead. This old man smiles back and seems pleased to see me. As his smile widens it's then I spot it.
I almost wish I hadn't.
He must have come out on deck for a reason. Perhaps he has been called out. I sweep my gaze out to sea, the grey clouds, the damp sea salt air, and I bite my lip and wonder if I should I say something.
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Author: Hannah Davis
Email: hannah@streamwriting.com
Emma
This seems to be going very well indeed - some of the Snowcasers have told me they have had email and phone enquiries already! Go snowbooks, go snowbooks...
Next up is a piece from Hannah Davies who found Snowbooks through the Bookseller piece. I love that she's sent a photo in of herself! Hannah once worked in the film industry. Now she lives in Spain and writes. This is her first book but not her last, she says.
This is the start of The Voices of Angels - the story of a twelve year old boy who believes he's a guardian angel sent to earth to save his father's life. The journey has begun. I am standing on deck staring into the sea and wondering where my parents are taking me. On a ship, in a sea, running away. We left in the middle of the night and drove onboard at dawn. I was asleep. And when I woke I could no longer see land.
I have never seen the sea before so the first thing it reminds me of is the colour of my eyes. It makes me think if everyone's eyes are borrowed from the sea, or the land or the sky. Probably. It's like the time Mum wanted to paint her bedroom, and she couldn't decide between rose petal pink and lavender. If paint colours are stolen from nature, why not eyes? I start to daydream. I imagine Mum coming down here one night when she was pregnant with me. She wears a long white dress and the weather is frosty. She kneels down on the edge of the shore and scoops some sea-water into a jam jar. In the light of a full moon she takes note of the blue/green water. I like this thought of Mum being on the beach at night, collecting the colour of her son's eyes. I also know it is quite far-fetched. I can't remember the last time Mum left our street which makes this trip even stranger.
The ship bobs and I search the sea for dolphins. And after a while I feel someone at my side. Over the salt of the sea and the oil of the ship's engine I can still smell him. He smells like old people do. I look at his hands and they are full of veins. I peek up at him. His eyes are the colour of a pale blue sky with clouds in it. And his face has as many wrinkles as there are waves which batter the hull. Maybe he is searching for dolphins too. And over the crashing of the waves and the throb of the engine I hear a sigh that even the plankton at the bottom of the sea must hear too. He turns to me and ruffles my hair.
'Hello young man.'
'Hi,' I answer shyly.
I smile and there's something about the way we look at each other that makes me think we are friends. I have never met my Granddad because he is dead. This old man smiles back and seems pleased to see me. As his smile widens it's then I spot it.
I almost wish I hadn't.
He must have come out on deck for a reason. Perhaps he has been called out. I sweep my gaze out to sea, the grey clouds, the damp sea salt air, and I bite my lip and wonder if I should I say something.
----------------------------------
Author: Hannah Davis
Email: hannah@streamwriting.com