Nick says: I turned 40 this week and am now officially too old to remember being a child and, consequently, too old to write for children. So, I thought I'd turn this blog over to someone much, much younger. Max Tastic is the wunderkind of British publishing and I think you'll find his opinions both entertaining and insightful (as long as you're under the age of 10). I'll see you at the old folks home, third armchair on the left.
My name's Max Tastic, and if you don't know who I am, then you must be an adult. As the mega-selling author behind The Strawberry That Wouldn't Die and the Gritty Grotty Grublins trilogy, I'm worshipped by all right-thinking people (this means you, kids). Even better than being a rich and powerful writer, is that I did it all before the age of eleven, which must make some of you out there feel pretty green. I know that when I meet grown-up authors, they're always moaning on about their publisher and how hard it is to make a living and blah blah blah. I try to cheer them up by offering them a ride home in my limo, but that just seems to make them angrier. I guess they have issues or something.
|The author himself|
It totally makes me mad that these so-called grown-ups think they should be the only ones allowed to write kids' books. What makes them so special? Before I divorced my parents, all they did was complain about the responsibilities they had, when in fact they should have just shut up and worked harder so they could buy me more Ben 10 figures. Kids rule, adults suck – this is the natural order of things. They had their chance to play around all day and do fun stuff – now it's my turn. But even though some of these grown-ups are forty or even fifty years old, with weird wrinkly skin and baggy bits, they insist on writing kid's books to pretend that they're like us. They are not like us. They are sadults.
I think writing books for kids should be left up to people who know what kids really want (i.e. me), but the sadults are sneaky. When I first read Beast Quest, I imagined this awesome dude called Adam Blade who had a special sword with a keyboard on the hilt, so he could type his stories and fight off minotaurs at the same time. But instead, I find out that Adam doesn't even exist and that Beast Quest is actually written by five old men who live in a garden shed in Taunton. Not only do these crusty old codgers smell REALLY bad, but they've never done anything more dangerous than brew their own cider or shake their walking sticks at drivers who don't stop for zebra crossings. And don't even get me started on the time when I found out that Violence McCarthy, bestselling author of the Rambo Magic series was secretly a school dinner lady from Ipswich. Pathetic.
Even more pathetic are books like The Diary of a Wimpy Kid, which appear to be written and drawn by an eleven-year-old. The sadult author might pretend that he's rubbish at drawing, but it says on Wikipedia that he also painted the Mona Lisa AND that super-cool poster of Justin Bieber getting his hair burnt off by a dragon. Every time I turn my back to count up my royalties, the sadults get sneakier – they've even started taking their own names off the cover of their books to try to catch us out. Trust me, even if it says My Absolutely True and Definitely Not Made-Up Journal by Sebastian Gnomeface on the front cover, some sadult has written all the words, and more than that, poor Sebastian probably doesn't even exist (though with a name like that, maybe the kid had a lucky escape). It's a good job that I'm a real live person, or we'd all have to pack up our lunchboxes and go home right now.
So what can we do about this problem? How can we stick two fingers up the nose of sadulthood without getting covered in bogies? Together, that's how. I intend to write a magnificent guide that will help kids everywhere to rise up and write a book for themselves. It will be magnificent! It will be revolutionary!
It will have to wait until after I've done my homework.