Category Archives: Trevor Forest

WIN A FREE, SIGNED BOOK FOR CHRISTMAS!

Misty with books

 

Misty, Trevor Forest’s number one fan with part of her stash.

 

Anyone who buys a T A Belshaw or Trevor Forest book in November, or anyone who leaves a review for one of my books in November (preferably both, will go into a draw to win a signed paperback book of your choice. (kids or adult,) postage free, in time for Christmas. Just contact me any way you like when you’ve done the deed.

You’ll find me on Facebook, Twitter,  at trevorATtrevorbelshaw.com,  trevorATtrevorforest.com  or simply reply via the contact button on this website. Thank you and GOOD LUCK.

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Halloween Hattie Published

 HH Complete

The 6th Magic Molly  book, Halloween Hattie is published on Amazon in both paperback and Kindle versions this week. I’d like to thank my editor Mauren Vincent-Northam and my artist Marie Fullerton for their fab contributions to this project.

The book is not part of the Magic Molly series but is a Halloween special one-off that will compliment the Christmas special, Christmas Carole that was released last year.

In this Halloween Special, Molly Miggins has been given a new task by Granny Whitewand and the Rickety Brooms coven. She must solve the mystery of Halloween Hattie, a ghost witch who appears on a swing in the graveyard every Halloween at eleven o’clock.

Molly teams up with the scaredy-cat ghost, Bartholomew P. Balderdash, a walking talking skeleton called Bony Bob and an ex vampire doctor called Count Von Docula to try to solve the mystery.

Why is Molly’s security parrot practicing Kung Fu?

Who switched on the light in the tower at the long abandoned Hags Hall?

Who stole Bony Bob’s mum’s arm bone?

Who is Myrtle Moonseed?

For the answer to these and other puzzling, head scratching questions, join Molly and her friends in her creepiest, most exciting adventure yet.

The Kindle version can be purchased here for a mere £1.53p   Halloween Hattie on Kindle   Halloween Hattie in Paperback

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Snippet from all new Magic Molly, Halloween Hattie

As Molly left the kitchen she heard the flapping of feathers and a high pitched screech coming from the passage outside her father’s study. Mr Miggins was a magician who went by the name of The Great Rudolpho, Molly knew he was out at the shops so she wandered down the corridor to see what the commotion was all about.

On a tall perch by the study door stood a colourful parrot, he was dressed in a white karate suit, the jacket held together across his stomach by a white belt.

‘Haaaaaa,’ it screeched, bringing a stiff wing down in a chopping motion.

‘Good morning, parrot,’ said Molly.

The parrot leapt to attention on the perch, he pulled his karate top tight across his chest and smoothed it down with the tip of a wing. ‘Password, please,’ he squawked.

‘I’m not going into my dad’s room,’ said Molly smugly, ‘so I don’t need a password.’

The parrot eyed her suspiciously. He claimed to be a world-renowned security parrot, but in reality he was the ghost of Mr Miggins pet parrot that had died a few years before. The parrot had refused to pass over, deciding instead to haunt to passage outside his former owner’s room. Molly had had plenty of run-ins with it in the past. ‘You still need a password,’ he said grumpily.

‘Why?’ asked Molly.

‘Because if you don’t give it I won’t tell you why I’m dressed like this and then you’ll be wondering about it all day.’

‘No I won’t,’ said Molly, knowing he was right.

‘Will,’ said the parrot.

Won’t,’ said Molly

‘Will, will will,’ screeched the parrot. ‘I know you.’

Molly gave up. She walked slowly across the passage and lowered her head until she was eye to eye with the bird.

‘Millet,’ she said.

‘Lucky guess,’ said the parrot.

Molly decided not to get into another argument. The password was always Millet.

‘So,’ she said, ‘what are you doing dressed up in a karate outfit?’

‘Practicing,’ said the parrot.

‘I can see that,’ said Molly. ‘I just wondered why.’

‘In case the Great Rudolpho’s study is attacked by a criminal gang of trick stealers of course,’ said the parrot. ‘I’d have thought that was obvious.’

‘Hmm,’ said Molly. ‘Are there a lot of these ‘trick stealer gangs about?’

‘Of course there are,’ replied the parrot, ‘I wouldn’t be doing all this practice if there wasn’t, would I?’

Molly decided not to argue the point, discussions with the parrot could get very complicated.

‘Are you any good at it?’ she asked instead.

The parrot preened. ‘Let’s just say, it’s a good job I stopped my routine when I did, or you might have got a broken nose or a lost an ear or something. I get carried away sometimes when I’m in the zone.’

Molly held back a giggle and tried to look serious. ‘I’ll keep my eye out for criminal gangs of trick stealers,’ she said. ‘Goodbye for now.’

‘Let me know if you spot any,’ the parrot called after her. ‘And don’t try to take them on yourself, you haven’t been trained to killer parrot status like I have.’

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Clicking Gran

It’s Halloween again, so for your delectation and delight I’m posting Clicking Gran, my kid’s poem about the young lad who goes to stay with his Gran only to find out that she’s a witch. Feel free to print and read to the little monsters in your life for Halloween. The poem made the long list in the Plough Prize for children’s poetry in 2009.

 

Clicking Gran

Last Halloween I took a train
and travelled to the coast again,
to execute my mother’s plan
and spend some time with Clicking Gran.

Clicking Gran has five black teeth
with dark red gums sat underneath.
Her face is wrinkled, like a peach,
her pace is slow, just like her speech.

Gran sucks bread and slurps her tea,
she’s really not a bit like me.
She has a beard and long white hair
and owns a cat called Lucifer.

Gran’s stiff knees go, click, click, click,
as she hobbles with her stick,
her back is bent, her ankles meet,
she’s always looking at her feet.

Gran lives in a creepy dwelling,
how she got it, she’s not telling.
Bats live in the broken eaves,
her letterbox is full of leaves.

On Saturday I got quite ill,
I said to Gran, ‘I need a pill,’
but Gran said she would give to me,
‘a bit of homemade remedy.’

I drank some soup, then Granny said,
‘You’re really better off in bed.’
Granny said that she would stay,
‘until the pain had gone away.’

When I woke up in the night
Gran had gone, I felt alright.
I was hungry, wide awake,
I thought I’d get a slice of cake.

I put my slippers on before,
I crossed the creaky timbered floor.
I heard a noise, a weird sound.
I crept downstairs and looked around.

On the kitchen floor was Granny,
searching every nook and cranny.
Then she caught a hairy spider,
Lucifer was right beside her.

She dropped the spider in the pot,
and stirred the brew, it looked quite hot.
Then I saw my Granny stoop
and drop five beetles in the soup.

She cackled as she added snails
and slugs and tiny mouses tails.
Lucifer sat idly by,
chewing on a hover fly.

After that I saw her bake,
a bat and frog and spider cake.
Then she got a big old broom,
I thought she meant to sweep the room.

But granny pushed the big door wide,
she called the cat and went outside.
I saw her run and very soon,
she was flying ‘cross the moon.

I cut some cake and took a bite,
it tasted nice, to my delight,
I licked my lips and in a trice
I ate another giant slice.

I sped upstairs and packed my case
and ran out of that awful place.
But Granny caught me in the lane
and took me back inside again.

When I woke the sun was high,
I yawned and stretched and breathed a sigh.
Granny smiled and said, ‘it seems,
that you’ve been having nasty dreams.’

We went downstairs and had some tea,
then Granny said, ‘My goodness me!
What have you been doing Keith?
There’s spider’s legs stuck in your teeth.’

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Clarissa Crumb; Changeling

Hi, I’m wearing my Trevor Forest, children’s author hat for this post. This is the prologue to a story I began but for some reason abandoned about this time last year. I’d forgotten all about it until I was editing my www.trevorforest.com website earlier today. So far there is only this prologue and chapter one, which I’ll post here. Could I be cheeky and ask for your thoughts on this? I’m really not sure whether to go on with it or do some other stuff.
Thanks for reading.

The following text has not been edited and is liable to change without further notice.

CLARISSA CRUMB CHANGELING

Prologue

Do you believe in fairies? I don’t mean those itty-bitty things with tiny gossamer wings and sparkly wands that spend all their days sitting on toadstools looking cute. I mean proper fairies. The fairies that live in the forest, the fairies that can do real magic, like change themselves into a bird, a cat, or a hedgehog. The fairies that are able to disguise themselves as something innocent looking, like plant pots or buckets. The kind of fairy that doesn’t like humans much and disappear when we come clomping through the trees in our clompy boots. They probably don’t disappear to be honest; they probably just change themselves into a squirrel, or a nut, or something.

Proper fairies don’t use magic dust to sprinkle over things, they just think about what they want to do, and do it. They don’t live on a diet of berries and buttercup pollen either. They actually like carrots, peas and green beans, that sort of thing. They don’t like potatoes though, and they’re not too fond of Brussels Sprouts, so, if you ever come across a hungry fairy, don’t try to give it the sprouts you hid in your pocket at the Christmas dinner table, because they hate them just as much as you do and they’ll just throw them at you. You’ll find that fairies have a very good aim too. I know that fairies like carrots because we had a fairy, plant pilferer in our garden and our vegetable crop was disappearing at an alarming rate. I stopped its night time nibbling when I ran strands of thin, copper wire over the rows of carrots, peas and lettuce. Fairies can’t do magic if there is copper about and we would probably have seen them if they had turned up disguised as themselves. So, we did have fresh carrots for dinner, for a while at least. Unfortunately, not long after the fairies left, a few rabbits began to visit, and they aren’t put off by copper wire. I reckon the fairies got their own back by telling the rabbits where they could find a free night time feast. Continue reading

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