A Present for You is Hidden in Your Shoe

That's about the level it all started at. My Dad would write poems (usually so late on Christmas Eve it was already Christmas Day) that were clues to where some of our presents were hidden. When we were little, the poems were really, really easy, like the shoe poem. And then we got older ...

Now, I write poems for my kids, and hide their presents. I do it for Christmas, and for birthdays too. And now that my boys are old enough, there is no longer any need for holds barred. The mighty cauldron of my brain bubbles up a happy soup of doggerel laced with surrealism, family in-jokes, obscure movie references and truly bad puns. It's great.

I miss my Dad.

I'm taking the next week or so off from blogging. When next I post, we will be into My Big Year, and Questors will be officially official. But will it arrive in the shops in time to be on the shelves for January 4th? Will I get good reviews? Will I get bad reviews? Will I get any reviews? Will my photo spontaneously combust at the Newsagents?

Watch this space! (Better yet, go to a bookshop!)

Happy Christmas, Merry New Year, and Random Good Wishes, Joan.