Will it not rain?


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I’ll be posting some kinda special stuff soon. My dad has given me a few pieces of *work* I did when I was a kid; y’know, back in the early 80s, when I was seven.

I must of had a productive year, ‘cos my dad gave me four books I wrote and illustrated. Four! And I have to say, they are pretty awesome. Classics. And to be honest, I haven’t written a book since. This opens up a pandora’s box of questions; not the least of which is: What have I been doing with my life?

Here are the titles to get you salivating:

  1. The Bravest Knight That Ever Lived
  2. Trans Formers: I Like Trans Formers
  3. The House Of Horror
  4. A Story About The Magik Pencil

I kind of remember making these books. Or remember at least how they came about. We would write a story in class, and the teacher would take our intellectual property home (your word was a guarantee back in those days), type them out on a typewriter (!!!), bind staple them together with some coloured cardboard covers[1. Note to primary school teachers, and Seir: If you’re going to make some books for your kids to illustrate, please don’t come back with covers in the following colours: dark brown, dark green, and two shades of dark blue. Coloured Texta™ on dark card just doesn’t work. OK? Thanks.] and bring them back with big fat white spaces for us to illustrate within. That’s all I remember. Oh, and Sophie Pappas (yes, you) argued with the teacher that her favourite “flavour” of ice-cream was pink. Also, I used to eat Ruben’s cashews. Free cashews. Those were the days.

As mentioned earlier I produced at least four of these… let’s call them volumes, and I’ll be releasing them for free on this website. Maybe one every week for a month to build suspense (likely), and a cult following (more likely). So, stay tuned.

In the meantime, I’d like to leave you with another scrap from my childhood. It’s an example of letters we wrote to “penpals” in other classes. I had two penpals in 1983 (grade one), one was called Despina (her best friend was Matoula according to her writings), and the other was Panayiota. The Sadist. I didn’t see it then, but I think Panayiota was fucking with my head. What do you think?