It is a pleasure to welcome award-winning author Stewart Foster to the blog.  Stewart is the author of numerous books including The Bubble Boy which won the Sainsbury’s Children’s Book Award and was nominated for the Carnegie Medal.  Stewart’s acclaimed novels tackle emotionally sophisticated subjects with an honest eye.  His books have been included in the Reading Well and on Empathy Lab lists.  Here Stewart discusses his motivations in writing his latest novel, Pieces of Us, and why talking about eating disorders, particularly with young males is so important .

I once told a friend that I was scared about writing any articles about Pieces of Us, for fear that my words would be picked apart by medical experts or those in families where eating disorders have become an issue. This ‘fear’ is mostly generated by a post I placed on social media a couple of years ago, where I asked if there were any books on the subject of eating disorders, out there? That evening I received maybe thirty replies, mostly along the lines of, it’s a subject that shouldn’t be discussed in Young Adult fiction for fear of triggering behaviours and also, stick to writing fiction because you don’t know what you are talking about.

I sat scrolling the replies, thinking, oh shit, what did I just do? Perhaps it is a mistake, just doing this post, but then I got a direct message from another author, an author whom I’;d spent three hours waiting for a train in deep conversation with, after a literary event. And his message said, ‘Stew, I get why some have reacted the way they have, but if anyone should write a book about male eating disorders, it’s you.’

I was, am, and always will be, so grateful for that message.

Because I totally get how sensitive the issue of male eating disorders is… I kept mine hidden from my friends and family for far too many years. I know the hurt, the pain and the shame the sufferer feels, I also know the feelings of frustration but mostly worry that it brings to a family. And how helpless both feel. And the inability, the shame, the sheer ‘It’s so stupid’ the stigma, that stop us talking about ‘It.’

That’s why I wrote Pieces of Us, so it will be on a table or a shelf in a bookshop or a library, or in a reader’s hands and someone will ask, ‘What is that book about?’ And I hope the reply will be that it is about a beautiful friendship between two boys and the problems they faced together as they grew up. The type of friendship I was lucky to have in my late teens and the ‘problems’ we both had. So when I have those worries about not having deep medical knowledge of eating disorders, I can at least say I do know what I am talking about, because I have been there, still am to a great extent. Experience and being able to write, is my main qualification. Getting people to talk about it, is my main motivation.

From the age of thirteen I would never be seen outside of my bedroom without a shirt on. Wore baggy jumpers all through six weeks of the 1977, heatwave. Went for walks on my own rather than go in the sea on holidays. So uncomfortable with my body.

There’s a scene in Pieces of Us where Jonas is out walking before an impending summer thunderstorm. His best friand, Louis, tries to get him to take off his jumper, screw it into a ball, so he can put it back on, dry, when the storm has passed. Jonas refuses because he knows his t-shirt will stick to him and the rain will show the folds of his skin. That scene was true…me and my best friend when I was sixteen.

Two years later and that discomfort with my body grew into making myself ill in order to lose weight. ‘It’ and ‘It had a name, bulimia. I didn’t know. There was no internet for information then.

No one to talk to about it. No one I thought would understand.

You look fine.

You’re fine.

What are you worried about?

But I did worry, almost every minute of every day, even though I absolutely loved school. Was popular I guess. Good and sport, talked lots, wrote poetry about classmates to make them laugh. Same in sixth form, but all the time my body was changing, changing into a shape I hated. Laughter would fade as my friends peeled away from me on the walk home, replaced by a sadness that I never understood where it came from, This happy-go-lucky kid, making other laugh all day, avoiding tea with his parents, making himself sick when the house was quiet. Momentarily happy, for all of ten seconds, before the shame and guilt kicked in.

And now I think back, would it have helped to have had someone to talk to? There was a chance, once, on my own at the doctors, when I had an infection caused by not drinking enough liquid, because liquid was the first thing I’d notice to affect the scales. Was everything okay? Everything alright at school? Yes. Yes. That’s all I could say because my mum was there.

Years on, I may no longer do ‘It’ but everything else is still there… the uncomfortable body, the constant exercising, the relentless battle with the scales. But I cope, and for the most part, cope well, but I know I was 77.2kg last night. 76.3 this morning. But I know longer weigh ten times in between. And I talk openly about it with my daughters as we go back over old family photos sometimes pausing if ‘Dad doesn’t look well there’. And me looking at same photo’s thinking, I look so thin when I thought I was huge.

Another friend of mine, my best friend, often tells me that I can’t help all of the people all the time. This will often come after I’ve been on a visit to a school, met someone, been told something and then telling that person that they need to talk to someone, someone they trust. But then when we are in that position, we can’t think who that person would be. And the trouble is, to me, and maybe their friends, that person can appear to be least troubled person you are likely to meet. Outwardly confident, good at sports, plenty of friends. But then the pressures of social media influencers, perfect people with perfect bodies having perfect lives. The constant barrage of images of people we are supposed to be. And we are all consumed by those images on our screens, where text messages have replaced actual real conversations.

So many people in education say ‘Read. Read. Read.;’ when I wish it was ‘Talk, Talk. Talk.’ If by being in libraries and schools, Pieces of Us can promote conversations/discussions, between students and teachers or just amongst themselves then even though as my friend says, ‘I can’t help everyone,’ I will have done my best to try.

A big thank you to Stewart Foster for the blog and to Simon and Schuster for the opportunity.

Night Shift by Debi Gliori was one of the 2018 CILIP Kate Greenaway medal shortlisted titles.  Debi recently visited Bury Grammar Schools who have been shadowing the awards to provide insight into the background for the book.  

Night Shift had unusual origins.  It began as a series of unplanned pictures rather than as a book.  Debi worked on enormous rolls of paper using charcoal, which she describes as one of the oldest drawing materials.  She used her fingers to help create the work, making this quite literally a hands-on experience and allowing the creation of the smudged fog, a term she uses to describe the depression she's had since she was twenty-five.  'I drew how I felt - numb and miserable.  It seemed as though there was a pane of glass and as though all of the great stuff in life was happening behind that'.  

The series of drawings communicate how depression manifests itself and makes us feel as well as the insidious and sneaky way in which it affects life.  'Creating the pictures wasn't therapeutic.  It triggered memories and reminded of what unfamiliar territory depression was when it first occurred.'  Debi described how the hustle and bustle of working around the clock to meet deadlines led to a lack of sleep and increased pressure in her early twenties.  'It was terrifying, I used to belief I could hear what people were thinking.  It was like static on the radio that I could not tune out from.'  

When Debi's agent, Penny Holroyde, saw the pictures, she suggested with the addition of some spare text, they might form the basis for a special book.

'Debi told me she had been working on some large pictures in charcoal and I asked to see one. She sent me the image of the girl clutched in the dragon’s arm and told me that sometimes, during depressive periods, it’s easier to point at a picture than describe in words how you feel. This image (although cropped for the final book) and the sentiment behind it, moved me enormously and Night Shift, the book, became a little seedling. Debi obviously has a sublime way with words and I thought that simple captions would be the most effective way to carry the imagery and there is an intimacy in the picture book format that suits the subject matter perfectly.'

Penny Holroyde, Holroyde Cartey Agency

 After the conversation, Debi began thinking about the way this could show how depression is a real illness and the way it makes people feel.  She thought back to Leonard Cohen's line, 'there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in,' and realised that finding a way to re-frame depression was the key to giving structure to her illustrations and creating a narrative around these.  

The moment when this clicked into place was serendipitous, it was during a walk on the beach.  Debi recounts how helpful she finds being out in the natural world, among trees, rivers, sea and sky.  On this particular occasion, she stumbled upon a feather, comprised of both light and dark elements, and realised this could provide the shift in perspective that she needed.

Debi's unique honesty and courage in recounting her personal experiences and making these both engaging and accessible for young people made the event every bit as affecting, heartfelt and affectionate  as 'Night Shift' itself is.  The Youth Libraries Group are delighted that Debi will be joining their annual conference Reading the Future this September and discussing the role books and reading can play in unlocking young people's emotion and empathy.