The Next Big Thing: The Klipspringers by Pam Newham

“The Next Big Thing” asks writers to self-interview about their books, post online and then “tag” writers for the next week to do the same.

Thanks to Kerry Hammerton (These are the lies I told you) who tagged me. Read her wonderful interview here.

What is your working title of your book?

The Klipspringers is both the working title and the published title.

Where did the idea come from for your book?

I was approached by Oxford University Press to write a first-language novel for grade 7. I was on holiday in the bush when I got the email and so I came up with the idea of setting the story on a game farm. The main characters are the children of the people who work there.

What genre does your book fall under?

Pre-teen adventure, I would say.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

I’m afraid I have no idea. I don’t know the names of South African child actors.

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

A group of children, calling themselves The Klipspringers, save the rhino on the game reserve from being killed by poachers.

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

It was published by Oxford University Press and has been accepted by The Department of Basic Education as a prescribed book for grade 7 in 2014.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

I was given a very short deadline by the publisher (due to the Dept of Education’s tight deadline) so I wrote it in about 10 weeks.

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

I know they’re ancient but think Enid Blyton’s Famous Five and Secret Seven series (with cell phones and laptops!).

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

I never intended to write for children but in 2010 I saw a competition for children’s literature advertised by Maskew Miller Longman and decided to give a try. My book, Three Blind Dates, got into the finals and was published. This inspired me to write a sequel, A Dog’s Best Friend, (to be published by Maskew Miller Longman later this year). I have found that I really enjoy writing for older children.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

I think the subject Is topical and it’s set in Limpopo which does not seem a common locale for South African books. Also, I hope my readers find it not only exciting, but amusing.

It has been difficult to find someone to tag on The Next Big Thing – so many writers have already been tagged or are too busy writing – which is probably what I should be doing!

Walking on a beach without a dog

by Pam Newham

The first time, I thought, would be the worst.
The pewter sea lay heavy as sluggish waves
folded and unfolded over cold bland sand.
I stood and watched the others:
sort out scolding seagulls
roll in ripe seal remains
wrestle with kelp-strands.

But months later when a light south-easter
whisked the waves and thirty four degrees
filled the beach, I watched them again:
tumble tennis balls through the surf
lift legs against bright beach bags
race together in disorderly packs
and, above the waves,
a faint voice calling,
come back.

Why?

by Angela Prew

You switched the stars on in the sky,
and lit the silver moon,
showed me rainbows in the waves,
and jewels in the sand;
but why is it you cannot see
the red light straight ahead?

My love, you’ve changed the world for me
you fill my days with joy;
we sit in the sun, walk on the beach
and journey to distant lands
but why is it when we come home
I have to pay the speeding fines?

The Judas Tree

by Michael Keeling

In summer
horizons shimmer

my shade gives respite
to the passer-by

birds search for insects
before the scorch of middle day

voices drift the valley
mushrooms are broad-brimmed hats

———-

In winter
my branches are bare

waiting
in deep sleep

waiting
for the spill of blood

as buds unfold
on stark limbs

and droplets fall
through the noose of remorse

What would my twin say

by Kerry Hammerton

if I had not consumed her,
sinew by sinew, bone by bone,
pressed my flesh to her flesh
sucked-up her spinal fluid,
twined my nerves around her nerves,
drunk her blood, tapped into her lymph,
until there was just one body, one brain just me
waiting to be born? What would my twin say,
if she had a mouth with which to speak?

Ode to my sofa bed

by Liz Trew

Before setting eyes on you
I’d laid my head on many beds,
those fly-by-nights …
sunken beds with broken strings
hairy beds in rented rooms
slippery sleeping bags
countless recliners
narrow bunks
once I was caught in a hammock-web…
I tried a modest twin
and a sumptuous king
but none like you
and although you’ve changed
from cream to salmon to midnight blue
in cotton twill
I still fold
unfold the same old you,
your solid frame, strong arms and back
your everlasting springs …

‘I have measured out my life with coffee spoons’

The Love Song of J Alfred Prufrock
T.S. Eliot

by Lise Day

I need a canteen of cutlery for mine:
the blunt fish knife for tender partings
dying dog, old mother, children flown;
forks to sharply prod the memory
stab the lethargy of age;
Granny’s silver spoon to scrape the dish
lick the sweetness of batter raw;
serrated blade to incise the sinew
when the tender meat’s devoured
cut away the gristle, spit it out;
then great ladles of sloppy gravy-joy
that pool and soften every course.

Distinguished Visitors

by Elaine Edwards

have arrived in Melkbos.

Stalking around on spindly legs
they look down their aristocratic noses
at our local crowd.

Heads down they become
croquet hoops, turning the small vlei
into a liquid lawn.

Honourable guests
please stay awhile.

Continue to beguile us
with your pink and white presence.

Fragments from a Cottage by the Sea

by Annette Snyckers

1.

Suspended from the roof beams
in the children’s bedroom,
hangs a fairy made of felt and feathers,
a remnant of halcyon holidays long past.
With the house closed up,
the fairy flies through dark days,
her bell’s a little rusted.
Every time I come, I dust her off.
She scares the little ones now.
Neither do they like
the sea horse on the curtains.

2.

There in the basin
I bathed you both
as new-born babies.
I remember how
your tiny, big-bellied bodies
bobbed in the familiar warmth,
how your mute eyes spoke
midnight blue messages,
holding tight to my gaze.

3.

In a cupboard in the cellar,
invaded by more than mould,
is a box of fishing tackle all a-jumble,
twisted hooks and sinkers, trapped memories
of night-fishing expeditions
by the young boys of this house.
Late the lamp returned over the dune,
brought into the kitchen
where, by its steady light,
they slaughtered and consumed
the freshly baked bread .

4.

Digging in a drawer
for thumb tacks and the scissors,
I find puzzle pieces, shells,
self-made cards for Christmas,
drawings of bunnies with long ears,
a witch upon her broom.
On the first morning of the new millennium,
you both climbed into bed with me.
Outside the sea lay silver
so we pretended it was a ship –

all of us so unprepared
for the rough passage ahead.

Over and Out

by Pam Newham

Inuits, when old, used to be
left out in the snow
or on an ice floe
Now, I hear, NASA’s
planned something new
and soon we’ll be told,
“Buckle up, oldies.
It’s off to Mars with you”.