Child’s play

Yesterday evening the lovely S was telling me about an American childrens pony club-type book she had started reading.

In a nutshell she’s disappointed.

It seems that the cover and the blurb were better reads than the content.

Unsurprisingly.

I say ‘unsurprisingly’because I’ve read many American childrens pony club-type books and without exception they’ve all been rubbish.

Perhaps I should say trash?

Two reasons.

Firstly the language.

Wilde was right when he said of the US and UK two nations divided by a common tongue.

The technical terminology in the two equine worlds is different; what should be obvious similarities, umm, aren’t.

The foreign language leaves this reader cold. Or out in the.

Secondly the writing.

It’s as if the Americans can’t write quality fiction for children.

This, I believe, is why the US in particular has gone Potter Mad when even the Harry Potter books aren’t brilliantly written.

So having finished speaking with the lovely S I went hard-disk mining.

Sure enough, tucked away in a dark, dingy and very dusty corner of my laptop I found a small file containing two complete short stories that I wrote for my daughter in November 2005.

I’ll admit that neither is award-winningly written but, in mitigation, they were hastily created for a noisily demanding, frighteningly bright (too bright!) eight-year-old.

The first story (little more than an introduction to the two main characters) is just over 200 words.

The second (the two friends go on a holiday and have fun) is around 1,200 words.

There’s a third but it’s unfinished.

Well.

Now I’ve found them…

What do I do next?

I ask this question because I’m so completely overburdened with all this free time I have don’t have.