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January 26th, 2011

studio guard gnome

Someone hoisted this gnomish thing up on a pole by the front door of our studio building a couple months ago. I don't know why they put it there but I like seeing it when I come to work in the morning. Depending on my mood and the light, it can look jolly or very, very sinister.



Is it an Enid Blyton character? Maybe it's our Russian house troll domovoi.



I'm hoping to post a sketch later today, but it's been mad here with deadlines. Yesterday I went to my first meeting as a committee member of the Society of Authors Children's Writers & Illustrators Group. I'm not quite sure why they urged me quite as strongly as they did to join when An Vrombaut and Ros Asquith retired, since I'm a real newbie in publishing, but they seemed to think I'd bring in a breath of fresh air or something. A whiff of cluelessness is more like it, but it's fascinating getting all the latest industry gossip. And they use real tea cups, with saucers and everything. Here's the gang that was there yesterday (missing Jeremy Strong and Bali Rai).


Michaela Morgan, Nicola Davies, Nicola Smee, Gillian Cross, Jo McCrum, John Dougherty, Helena Pielichaty

So I may be blogging some Society of Authors stuff for you every once in awhile. Although they gave me a whole list of things I couldn't blog about from the meeting (including mention of a rather nasty use for pinking shears). This seems to be the story of my past few months, everyone finishing their sentences with, but you won't be blogging about this, right? Makes me wonder if I need to invent a whole parallel life that I can blog about. Maybe I should become a pirate.

I the meantime... I pulled myself awake watching two videos this morning, which are as opposite as two things cam possibly be. One is this lovely video of a girl and her dad singing Home by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros (thanks to Couch Fiction writer Philippa Perry). Very family friendly. And the other is this Bollywood Robot film with a Russian voice-over that is so absolutely, appallingly terrible that it's almost good. (Warning, contains a lot of brainless violence.) I like the YouTube comment posted underneath: And thus the age old question was answered: What happens when an 8 year old is given 18 energy drinks and a directing gig? Spot on. (Link thanks to Jamie Smart, whom I suspect imbibes the occasional energy drink himself.)

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Sarah McIntyre

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