I was over the moon and back to be invited to be part of Bath Festival of Children's Literature's newest project - The Big Blog Story, a rolling adventure written by a whole bunch of lovely authors.

The story so far has taken many curious twists and turns, click on the links to follow its progress. You'll find my chapter below.

8 September Bath Festival of Children’s Literature http://bathkidslitfest.wordpress.com/   

10 September Robin Etherington http://theetheringtonbrothers.blogspot.com/     

12 September Annabel Pitcher http://www.annabelpitcher.com/blog-news/             

14 September Paul Stewart and Chris Riddell  http://www.stewartandriddell.co.uk/immortals_tour.php  

16 September Hannah Shaw http://hannahshawillustrator.co.uk/?news.html  

18 September Writing From the Tub http://carlybennett.blogspot.com/     

20 September Lauren Kate http://laurenkatebooks.net/category/blog        

22 September Marcus Sedgewick http://marcussedgwick.blogspot.com/  

24 September Alan Gibbons http://alangibbons.net/   

26 September John Boyne   http://www.johnboyne.com/category/blog/   

28 September Catherine Bruton http://catherinebruton.com/blog/  

30 September Achokablog http://www.achuka.co.uk/achockablog/

And here's my bit... Chapter 15 hope you enjoy it. x

It's obvious really that young Scribble is poor Cynthia's only hope. It was clear from the very moment his eyes alone saw her plop from the sky that their destinies would be entwined forever more. And anyway, leave a mission as grandiose as rescuing such a magnificant orb of light to a bunch of battling woman and Cynthia will surely melt and die. Neptune will be munching her on toast, grilled, with sun dried tomatoes, a little chopped basil and black pepper. 

"Flibbermegibbitandkippers," huffs Mr Catch, checking his watch and looking at Scribble, "I was hoping to catch some fish today, I'm a little bit peckish and me wife will be boiling lobster mad at this rate. But what with Cynthia being dark and cold and damp an' all the goings on I can hardly up and leave you can I? What with you being so small and blue and... well...."

He turns to Scribble who is hovering in coral light not quite knowing what to do with his hands.

"You see the thing is, lad," says Mr Catch, in a voice as kind as custard, "you need to..."

Scribble's innocent blue eyes search Mr Catch's gentle face.

"Well..." smiles Mr Catch, "what I'm trying to say is, if we're going to get the job done an' all and Cynthia here back up in the sky in the nick of time, you'll have to stand bigger in your boots, lad, you know, stand up and speak out. Find your voice."

Scribble cringes as far back into the shadowy corner of his soul as he can. Memories of bad things, dark evil things that appeared long ago in the dead of night, and stole his voice away, and stictched his lips together with twine, flash terror, no, no, horror in his cobalt eyes. The last tufts of blue fur, his only protection against the dark forces on his trail, drop like a whisper from his skin. He trembles, wide eyed and white teethed and weak kneed.

He quickly scribbles on his pad, Nothing I can do! They stole it!

Mr Catch pulls a dried up old anchovy from his beard, picks off the mould and pops it into his mouth.

"Who stole it, lad," he says, "you can trust me I'm a mate of Captain Bird's Eye."

Scribble melts on the floor from fear. He points first to Cynthia, then to his own terrified heart, and then with a clammy, trembling hand writes Firework display. Minnaloushe. Scotland.   

To read the next chapter click here