I’ve Got a Tail! Terrific Tails of the Animal World

Julie Murphy is pleased to announce the release this month of her latest picture book for children aged 4 to 8 years.  I’ve Got a Tail! Terrific Tails of the Animal World is illustrated by UK illustrator Hannah Tolson and published by Amicus Ink in the USA.  

From dolphins with tails that spin to a viper whose tail looks like a spider, animals from around the world describe how their tails help them survive. Covering adaptations to desert, ocean, forest, and arctic habitats, this narrative nonfiction picture book highlights the diversity of the animal world. For more, go to https://www.amicuspublishing.us/books/amicus-ink/ive-got-tail-terrific-tails-animal-world

This book the third in Julie’s I’ve Got… series. 

Julie’s website is www.juliemurphybooks.com

A whole new world of imagination…

By Melina Byrne

There is something magical happening amongst the hustle and bustle of Collins Street in Melbourne’s central business district. In a fast-paced world of smart phones, 24-hour TV, and internet streaming, children at the Kids on Collins Nursery and Early Education (Little Flyers Learning Centres) are being immersed in the wonder of books. Some of these picture books are the same books that their parents may have grown up reading.

Eric Carle’s ‘The Very Hungry Caterpillar’ has been delighting children since its publication in 1969. In 1980, Australian author Hazel Edwards created an unforgettable cake-eating hippo in ‘There's A Hippopotamus On Our Roof Eating Cake.’ And Graeme Base’s vintage ‘Animalia’ can involve all of the family as they search the beautifully illustrated pages for clues.

Hazel Edwards’ Hippo still receives a lot of fan mail as does his creator, who was awarded an Order of Australia medal for literature in 2013. The Hippo book was also given to the children of the Princess Mary of Denmark as an official Australian Government gift.

I sent fan mail to Hazel myself recently, after finding a newspaper article that I wrote about her Hippo in 1999 as a student journalist. I am now an early childhood educator who reads Hazel’s Hippo books to my students.

I interviewed Hazel in 1999 at the performance of a play about the Hippo at a primary school in Rowville, a suburb in Melbourne’s outer-eastern suburbs. This play was performed in Indonesian and English so it took a bit longer. Using the classroom play scripts that Hazel had already written, plus the music, the school produced a bi-lingual performance by all of their students. Each class performed a different story, in Indonesian and English.  It was a successful and memorable series of performances.

Now the Hippo books have been translated into eight languages, turned into countless plays, a musical and a short film by Pocket Bonfire. The Hippo was featured in a ‘Storytime Stars’ exhibition and the accompanying book of historic Australian children's books in Canberra at the National Library in August 2019. The book was available from the National Library Bookshop to accompany the exhibition, Storytime Stars.

 
When asked how she feels about the Hippo turning 40 in 2020, Hazel said, “Hippo is age-less. But fans of three generations have sent hippo-shaped gifts and anecdotes about how much the character has been loved in their families. And I now have three grandsons, whose parents were involved in creating the original Hippo when our roof leaked, Truman (aged 20), Henry (aged 9) and Arlo (14 months). I've always written a special story for each grandson on their birthday. Now the older ones write their own.”

The future for the Hippo seems bright with the books still being re-printed annually. Hazel said she “would love Hippo to be on a stamp. And travel everywhere. And to tour again as a musical.”

There are seven books in the Hippo series. When asked whether the Hippo will be back in another book, Hazel said, “Each of the seven Hippo picture books shares an experience about which a child might be apprehensive (like starting school). And the Hippo is the reassuring big friend who has all the answers. But I think seven books is enough although I'd like to see them all in one special box families can share. And although they have been translated into many languages including Chinese, Braille and Auslan signing, I'd still love to have a Spanish edition.”

Hazel’s book ‘Hijabi Girl’, which was co-authored with children's librarian Ozge Alkan, is being transformed in a travelling puppet show by the Larrikin Puppeteers for the Children's Book Council of Australia’s 2020 Book Week. ‘Hijabi Girl’ is a story about Melek, a girl who can’t find a super-hero female character in a hijab for a book parade so she creates a costume herself.  And a girls’ footy team in the ‘Hijabi Girl Plays Footy Too’ sequel is being written now. This is also about Melek’s friendships with Tien, Zac and Lily. It is a refreshing look at the diverse mix of cultures within most Australian schools.

Hazel, the award-winning author of over 200 books for children and adults, reveals the importance of reading to children, saying, “as an author, I can tell the children who have been read to regularly. They have longer attention spans, more general knowledge and are more tolerant of differences. They also get the rhythm of the language, or languages, if you have the benefit of a bi-lingual household. Picture books are a great way to cross cultures because the pictures are clues. Families can also share (read or tell) stories from their own family history.”

Hazel explained some of the benefits of reading to children; “A really good story takes you into someone else's world, for at least the length of the story. It shows ways you can use words in your writing or speaking. It gives you more words to re-use, and makes you a better listener. It also feeds curiosity and introduces funny words and you can laugh together.”

Hazel believes that reading to children can make them better equipped to start school because “a child who can read, can amuse themselves anywhere. Books can also reassure; others have faced the same challenges. ‘Antarctic Dad’ has been popular with families whose parents work away from home for long periods.”

If you need help choosing books, Hazel recommends “start with picture books as family gifts where everybody looks in the detail for the answers. Therapy books before starting school or going to hospital e.g. 'Guess What? There's A Hippo On The Hospital Roof Eating Cake' has helped many children in hospital. If you're worried about how to pronounce a word, admit it. The child will be accepting that we all face new words sometimes. But ENJOY the reading. It's not a job, it's a pleasure. Last year my grandson taught me FaceTime and we shared reading on that every night as we live in different suburbs.”

Hazel is often asked to demonstrate how to read books to children. On her website, you can watch an amusing video of her reading one of her books with Yamba the Honey Ant on an indigenous themed book program on Imparja TV in Alice Springs.

About Hazel Edwards:
Hazel Edwards, O.A.M., is an award-winning author of over 200 books for children and adults. Her beloved picture book 'There's A Hippopotamus On Our Roof Eating Cake’ has been hugely popular for almost 40 years, inspiring a musical stage production and a short film.

Awarded the Australian Society of Authors’ Medal in 2009, Hazel has been nominated three times for the Astrid Lindgren Memorial Award.

Melina Byrne was an early childhood educator at Kids on Collins Nursery and Early Education in 2019. She has an education degree and a journalism degree from Monash University. Experienced in journalism, copywriting and publicity, she works as a freelance journalist in her spare time. 

Lesley Gibbes' Achievement

Congratulations to Lesley Gibbes on her publication of a new picture book called Three Little Mermaids, illustrated by Lisa Stewart and published by Scholastic Australia.

          Under the rock shelf, through ribbons             of weed,

          Across the sandbar, where the                        stingrays feed,

          Over the coral, lit bright by the sun,

          Three Little Mermaids begin to have               fun.

 Follow the three little mermaids as they dart and twirl under the sea and find out what happens when they come across a SHARK!

Told in beautiful rhyme by award-winning children’s author Lesley Gibbes and illustrated by Lisa Stewart, this delightful picture book will introduce young children to the magical underwater world of mermaids.

Three Little Mermaids

PB  RRP $15.99

Age Range-0-6 years

Release date-Jan 2020

ISBN-9781742769103

Second Place in 2019 Buzz Words Short Story Prize

‘Sticks and Stones’ written and illustrated by Rebecca Timmis

“Please, Dad? It’s only ninety-nine cents.”

Dad sighed. “What’s it called again?”

“Pseudo. Seriously. That’s not even a whole dollar.”

“Who names these apps …” Dad complained. “I dunno, Tash. Do you really need another reason to be glued to your phone?”

“Most of my class already has it. I’ll be the only one without it.”

Dad rolled his eyes. “Can’t you just talk to your friends at school?”

“Like in the olden days? Come on, Dad, it’s 2050! Besides, I know you texted all your friends when you were my age.”

            “Oh, all right. What do I do?”

            “You have to approve the purchase with your fingerprint.” I pulled back the hair from my neck and turned. Dad’s warm finger pressed down just behind my ear, onto my communications implant. He and every other dinosaur his age still called them phones, but we called them comms. Apps, calls, messaging, video – it was all accessed via your comms implant. I slipped my viewer – a thin, flexible screen linked to the comms – from my pocket to complete the install.

            “Another messaging app is it?” inquired Dad.

            “Sort of. You join communities and post stuff.”

            “Ah. Like Facebook?”

            “Ugh, no, Dad. Facebook is from the Stone Age. Pseudo is way better.”

As Dad left, I settled down onto the couch. In minutes I’d created an account and ticked all the T’s and C’s garbage (seriously, sixty years since the invention of the internet and still nobody reads those things!).

Next was the good stuff – searching for communities to join. Pseudo used your comms meta-data to restrict you to relevant groups, so you could only join communities you had a legit reason to join: my options were the grade sixers of Hollydale State School, my soccer team, and some family groups.

I only cared about one group: the grade sixers.

ACCESS GRANTED. WELCOME, NATASHA!

“Yes! I’m in.”

The app prompted me for a username. I chewed my lip. It had to be something good – something obscure. That was the point, right? I typed in ‘guess who?’ The next available username was ‘guess_who_42’. I tapped ACCEPT.

Pseudo wasn’t like other social media. No profile image. No real names. Your identity was one hundred percent private.

Once in, I started scrolling.

It was even better than I expected.

Secrets spilled, gossip shared, crushes announced. I even had two admirers!

woah_there_cowboy: Natasha Sweeney is srsly cute.

soccer_fiend: Tash Sweeney is 10/10. She’s sooooooo nice!

I wondered who woah_there_cowboy and soccer_fiend were: maybe it was Olivia or Sienna messing with me. But then, maybe it wasn’t. That was the point of Pseudo – no one knew who you were, so you could be totally honest. No bullying. No judgement.

It was so cool.

Until it wasn’t.

My usual group and I were hanging out under the senior playground. Pseudo had been live for a few weeks.

“Who do you think straight_shooter is?” Olivia wondered aloud.

“Isn’t the point not to know?” I asked.

Olivia rolled her eyes. “Yeah, obviously. But still. I like him. He tells it like it is.”

“How do you know it’s a him?” I challenged.

Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “Is it you?”

“Ha! No way. Only old people troll.”

“straight_shooter doesn’t troll.”

“He is kind of mean,” said Sienna. I gave her a quick thank-you look. Olivia could be so full-on sometimes.

“He’s not mean, he’s honest,” said Olivia. “Like that stuff he posted about Alice Myer’s teeth. They are disgusting. She should get braces.”

“Maybe,” I conceded. “I’m sure she already knows that, though. Maybe her parents can’t afford it.”

            Olivia ignored me, scrolling through her viewer. “Oh, he’s posted again. ‘Jack Hendley, please get some zit cream. You look like a measles victim.’ L-O-L much? He’s so funny!”

            “Trolling is not funny,” I argued.

            “Calm down, Tash. It’s not trolling if it’s true. I think he’s being helpful. If there was something wrong with you, wouldn’t you want to know?”

            I let it drop. Sometimes Olivia was just impossible.

After dinner that night I lazed on the couch, scrolling through Pseudo. I thought about switching off for the night and watching TV with Dad, but it was like my finger was on auto-pilot. I just kept scrolling.

            pepper_steak_yum: Cats have the best noses. When I die I’m coming back as a cat. Or a nose.

            definitely_not_james: OMG can my parents please stop posting pics of me on Facebook already. I would actually like a girlfriend one day. One look at my retro Scooby Doo PJ’s and everyone’s gonna RUN.

            I gave that one a thumbs up. definitely_not_james made a good point.

            straight_shooter: @ Alan Yorker. Dude, you have some serious BO issues. Please get some deodorant before we all die! Under-armageddon is coming. Protect your noses! #under-armaggedon

            I sighed. Not this trolling rubbish again. I got to the bottom of the feed and refreshed.

            Several new posts appeared, all with the ‘under-Armageddon’ hashtag.

            mad_game_skillz: @ Alan Yorker. Big W have a sale on Rexona. Please think of the children. #under-armaggedon

            eye_of_the_tiger: Jump off a bridge, Alan, and take some soap with you. #under-armaggedon

            They kept coming. Some people called out the trolls, but a lot didn’t. #under-Armageddon was just too catchy.

            Poor Alan. He was nice. I don’t think I ever noticed if he smelled bad.

I switched off my comms and went to bed.

We were under the playground again. Olivia had her viewer out, watching a music video.

Everything was fine until Alan Yorker walked past on his way to the oval, a soccer ball wedged under his arm.

“Hey, Yorker!” Olivia suddenly bellowed from behind me. “YOU REEK! Under-Armageddon is coming!”

            Alan turned and looked at us – at me.

His ears turned pink. Then his cheeks, his forehead, till everything above his shirt was bright red. Hanging his head he ambled off towards the oval.

            I rounded on Olivia. “Why did you do that? It was so mean!”

            “He’s gross,” Olivia shrugged. “Someone had to say something.” She went back to her music video. I looked around the group. No one seemed to want to jump in, so I dropped it.

            For now.

That afternoon I practiced left footers for hours. The soccer ball pounded against the back fence again and again.

            Why was Olivia so awful? It’s not like she was perfect.

            Maybe it was time someone gave her a taste of her own medicine.

            I went inside and picked up my viewer. Never post angry, Dad always said. Well, too bad. Olivia had crossed a line.

            guess_who_42: OLIVIA BECKETT IS NASTY, SHALLOW AND CRUEL. OH AND SHE CAN NEVER GO TO SLEEP-OVERS BECAUSE SHE STILL WETS THE BED SOMETIMES. #FREETHEPEE

            Then I put my comms on silent and watched TV with Dad.

I woke up the next morning to Mum standing over me, screaming.

            “What’s wrong?” I cried.

            “Nate, Nate! It’s happened to Tash!” She gaped at me, tears welling in her eyes. “Oh, Tash, what did you do?”

            I got out of bed and stumbled to the mirror.

            “What the …”

            It looked like someone had scribbled all over my face with a blue pen. I looked closer. Not scribbles … words.

            On my forehead: NASTY.

            On my right cheek: SHALLOW.

            On my left cheek: CRUEL.

            I scrubbed at my face with my palms, but the words were under my skin, like veins. A thin blue line connected the three words, trailing behind my ear to my comms implant.

            “It’s all over the news,” Mum wailed. “It’s affected millions of people all over the world. Everyone who’s been using that app – what’s it called – Pseudo.”

            “I can’t go to school like this,” I croaked.

            “Too bad,” said Dad. I hadn’t even noticed him standing in the doorway. “If what they’re saying on TV is true, you’re only imprinted with words you actually said.”

            My hands shook as I picked up my viewer and scrolled through Pseudo, searching for my post about Olivia. NASTY. SHALLOW. CRUEL.

            I stared at the mirror; the same words thrown back at me in reverse.

            “But … that’s not fair.” I started to cry. “I was sticking up for someone!” I quickly told them about Alan Yorker and #under-Armageddon.

            “Throwing more mud doesn’t clean the pigsty, Tash,” said Dad softly.

They really did make me go to school. I stepped onto the street, pulling my hoodie down as low as I could.

            I wasn’t alone.

            Kids, teenagers, adults – people hurried to work, to school. Heads down, eyes averted. But you could still see the words.

            LOSER.

            LIAR.

            CHEAT.

            NASTY, SHALLOW, CRUEL.

            When I got to school, half the class was away. Only one student in our class was unmarked, sitting by himself up the back.

            Alan Yorker.

            I went and stood beside him. He looked up, his eyes skimming over my face. Then he gave me a small smile.

            I sat next to him. He smelled like Rexona.

           

Winner of 2020 Buzz Words Short Story Prize

To Catch a Tuna by Annmarie Scott

He was there before us. And we were there at dawn - on the pontoon, with the incoming tide and the raucous call of watchful cockatoos. Dad nodded, greeting the sandy-haired boy as we passed, while I kept walking.

          At the far end of the pontoon I set my tackle box down, flicked the latch and opened the lid. 'This one today Dad?' I asked pointing to a shiny, anodised, blue hook.

          'Yep,' agreed Dad peering through his sunnies into the clear water. 'We'll toss a bit of bread in first, then try the bait.'

          Ritually Dad and I began to thread and tie our lines.

          The sandy-haired boy got up from where he'd been swinging his legs over the edge and walked towards us. When he reached my tackle box, he bent almost double. With his hands on his knees, he tilted his head to one side, like a seagull with his eye on a potato chip. 'I'm gonna-catcha-choona,' he declared.

          Dad and I glanced at one another. Then both of us smiled at the boy. He grinned back and his grin was as wide as the horizon. Neither of us had the heart to tell him that tuna are deep-sea fish, and that we were after bream that day.

          Instead Dad asked, 'What's your name?'

          'Sam,' the boy replied.

          When my line was ready, I grabbed a handful of bread pieces from our lunch bag and scattered them in the water below. I could see the fish and watched their shimmering shapes circle the white lumps of dough.

          'You gonna use one of these?' asked Sam, holding up our bait-shop-bag of soft plastic grubs.

          'Yep,' answered Dad. 'I've got a spare hand-reel. Would you like a go?'

          Sam nodded and made himself at home, sitting on the end of the pontoon - grinning and swinging his legs with us until the morning sun rose high in the sky. We felt a few nibbles, a tug here and there, but we didn't catch a fish.

          'Choona don't like worms,' Sam decided as we packed away our tackle. 'They like nippers.'

          'Nippers eh,' considered Dad. 'Oh, you mean yabbies!'

          'Yeah,' said Sam. 'Live ones.'

          'Caught with a yabby pump,' Dad confirmed.

          'I seen fishermen with them down the spit,' Sam continued. He pointed in the direction of the river mouth, where fresh water meets the sea.

          'I reckon fresh bait's a good idea,' said Dad. 'How about, you meet us here again tomorrow,' he added. 'And we'll bring our pump.'

          Sam's face lit up again. 'Sure,' he said and leapt to his feet. 'See ya!'

          The next morning Mum packed us an extra snack in a lunch bag, 'For Sam,' she said. I grabbed a bucket for the yabbies and another for my favourite fish - the flathead we were going to catch.

          'Don't forget to wear something on your feet,' Mum called as I ran out the front door.

          Dad was already hopping from one foot to another on the sharp roadside gravel. Juggling our rods and the yabby pump, he slipped his thongs on awkwardly, while I flip-flopped along the verge after him. When we reached the riverbank, just the other side of the pontoon, Sam was there before us - again.

          He was standing knee deep in a hole he'd dug with his hands. 'I've got a pipi,' he called. Its smooth, clam-like shell was about the size of a twenty-cent coin. We popped it in a bucket with a handful of sand and some water.

          Then, with Dad working our pump, the pipi was soon joined by yabbies with their salty nippers. They look like translucent prawns - with claws, one larger than the other. 'Owww!' wailed Sam as he hurriedly pulled his finger from the bucket.

          Tail first, Dad threaded a yabby on my hook and handed me the rod. Looking out for the nippers, I waded into the river until I was ankle deep in water. I cast there in the shallows - hoping to find a flathead. Walking with the current, I reeled my line in slowly. Cast, then walked and reeled again.

          Sam followed. But encouraged by Dad, he cast a little farther out. Together we worked like this, making our way along the river, close to shore. Dad kept up with our progress, re-threading our hooks with fresh bait as we went.

          I thought I saw a shadow in the shallows and followed it. But when we reached the mangroves Sam and I stopped. Their tangle of growth, in the brackish water near the river mouth, made it impossible to follow any further.

          So, Dad waded in - halfway up to his knees. Looking this way and that, he searched for dips and hollows in the sandy riverbed. The places flathead like to hide.

At first, he scratched his head. Then he seemed to spot something. 'Perhaps I'll have a little go with a rod, boys,' he said in a hushed voice.

          Just as he raised one foot to take an awkward step in our direction - 'Whump!' Dad leapt clean out of the water, almost hooking himself on my line.

          'What'd you do that for?' I asked.

          'Something had a go at my toe,' Dad replied, inspecting each and counting to make sure he still had ten.

          'Well, I reckon it's swallowed ya thongs,' said Sam.

          Sure enough, when we peered into the clear water from the safety of the embankment, all we could see was sand.

          'How about that!' exclaimed Dad. And he scratched his head again. 'Tuna don't like nippers. They like rubber thongs!'

          We all laughed.

          But Dad wasn't giving up.

          'Reckon we'll bring the canoe down next,' he said. 'And try fishing that inlet across the river.' Dad took another look at his ten toes. 'Same time tomorrow?'

          'Yes!' agreed Sam and I together.

          It was the last day of the long weekend. Just after dawn, Sam and I settled into the bow of the canoe. We held our rods, a leftover bucket of yesterday's yabbies and propped a net between us. Dad folded himself into the centre seat. And with a firm push we were launched into the calm before a turning tide.

          It was as if life still slept beneath the surface of the river - its blanket of blue a mirror of the sky. Only the occasional dip of the paddle disturbed the illusion, as a bank of cumulus floated past. Then we were on the other side.

          Dad stowed his paddle beneath his seat. Silently we readied our rods, and one after the other we cast into the clouds. We felt a rush of air as a nearby pelican took off from a tree stump. Wings spread wide, it wheeled in ever expanding circles overhead - watching.

          Dad cast again, landing his bait closer to the tree stump. A moment later I noticed a tug on his line. Followed by another. Dad held his breath and I mine. Then

s-l-o-w-ly he stood and with steady hands he began to reel.

          When the head of a fish broke the surface of the water right in the middle of the nearest cloud, Sam netted it whole with one scoop.

          'Is it a choona?' he cried, his eyes wide with wonder.

          'Yes!' I said, ignoring the familiar markings of a good-sized flathead.

          Dad winked his approval as he handed me the bucket. 'Now take care it doesn't escape - that's our breakfast!'

          Back on the riverbank, Dad gutted the fish. Sam and I collected wood and made a fire in a sandy hollow. Then we wrapped the flatty in aluminium foil and baked our fish in the hot coals. When it was done, we sat and ate, watching the incoming tide until the spuds were cooked too and the food all gone.

          'Nuthin' like cloud-fishin',' declared Sam.

          'Nothing!' Dad and I agreed

Achievement by Stefan Nicholson

Ruby’s Covert Mission, a stand-alone book is the third in the "Ruby series" by Stefan Nicholson. It continues the adventures of Ruby Peters, the schoolgirl spy recruited at 16 years old. She is now 20 and running for her life all alone, after three years of horrific events, including the psychotic murder of her boyfriend Eric.Ruby who has covertly secured the personal secret papers of deceased MI6 agent Roger Davis who died protecting her.

Davis also hid some more information in Australia, that was so sensitive he could tell no one. MI6, the CIA and a third party of terrorists run by Sergei Mudarov, know about the information but not its location. Ruby is in a dangerous position, as many believe that she is better off dead, rather than reveal the contents of the 'Davis Papers'. However, anyone finding and using the information would be capable of wielding its power to blackmail the world's superpowers by threatening to detonate nuclear 'dirty bombs' in major cities.

This story takes you on an adventurous cat and mouse game to find Ruby - as she tries to find hers way through her problems and re-assess her relationship with the British Secret Service, They send their top agent, Tian 'The Taipan' after her amid rogue agents in the CIA, and Mudarov's plans to rule the world using his cruel hit-woman, Matylda.

 Publisher sales: P.O. Box 370, South Hobart, Tasmania 7004. RRP PRICES: AUS$ 3.00 for Kindle and AUS$ 24.00 for Printed Book from Publisher (incl. postage). Primary audiences are Young Adult Fiction and Psychological Thriller (but really for any age above 15).