I know it’s an overused quotation, but I can think of none more appropriate to sum up my experience of 2021.
One of my gifts to myself in 2022 is going to be spending less time on social media.
Increasingly, I’ve found myself flinching from Twitter and reluctant to post. When I go for my daily scroll I am often overcome by sadness or sparked into anger, or outrage.
It used to be a place where light-hearted quips and creative experiments took place. Do you remember: when an entire opera libretto was written on Twitter? Neil Gaiman wrote short stories inspired by your tweets? And Caitlin Moran invited people to build their own adventures with her? Tuesday evenings used to be #AskAgent night. Communities gathered around their commonalities to celebrate their passions. It can still be that on some days, but on others, it is a dark, angry and frightening place.
2021 has been one of the most complex and extreme years I’ve experienced on this verdant planet. It began with my family all having the Kent variant of Covid 19. We tested positive on Boxing day and were quarantined for the first two weeks of the year. My husband’s sense of smell still hasn’t returned.
The UK was in full lockdown for all of January, February and half of March and I was writing Danger at Dead Man’s Pass. I managed to do Yoga with Adriene every day in January, be positive, and finish the first draft of the manuscript. I had to get up at 4am to do my yoga and writing before homeschool began. Our house was a sanctuary. There was solace in the knowledge that having had Covid, we were immune and hadn’t been frighteningly sick. We knew a vaccine was coming.
But by February the cracks were beginning to show. My yoga routine fell apart. I was exhausted from the effort of completing a manuscript and being a teacher. The news every day was terrifying, so many people were dying.
My oldest son was in his final GCSE year and the way they were going to be assessed changed every week. He became despondent, lethargic and the only thing that was keeping him from utter despair was having a PlayStation that enabled him to connect with his friends virtually. He was not impressed by my cheerful attempts to get him to revise.
My youngest son, who is eternally optimistic and joyous, refused to do the google classroom sessions his teacher held because seeing his friends, while not being able to play with them, upset him.
I grew increasingly worried about both my boys’ mental health. The house felt like an ever-shrinking pen, in a zoo, filled with prowling cats.
But, good things happened in February too.
Murder on the Safari Star was published in a world where all the bookshops were closed and Sam Sedgman (my co-author) and I feared it wouldn’t reach readers, but the opposite happened. Readers were eager for an escape into a cosy crime and it hopped straight into the children’s bestseller chart. Readers got in touch saying that Adventures on Trains were helping them and, more importantly, their children, through the lockdown. This knowledge buoyed me up during the online promotion, virtual events, and final edits of Twitch.
‘One day at a time’ and ‘Just keep swimming’ became my perpetual mantras.
In March I discovered the depths of my personal reservoir of resilience. I had to remind myself daily that being trapped in my nice home with people I love is not unendurable, and yet, every day I prayed for the schools to reopen. I grieved for things I was supposed to be doing. I grew increasingly worried about my children and my husband. Many of my friends were hurting. People were angry and frightened. I struggled.
When society tentatively opened its petals again at the end of the month, I went wild booking tickets for theatre, dance and comedy shows for the rest of the year. I was starved of inspiration and human contact. These were things I had taken for granted before, but not now, not ever again. I resolved to live life to the fullest. I cried, a lot.
The enthusiasm for the Adventures on Trains stories was reflected in lovely reviews, book sales, support from the wonderful bookselling community, and in May, The Highland Falcon Thief, won the Nibbie for Best Children’s Book 2021, beating off stiff competition from heavyweights such as J. K. Rowling’s The Ikabog, Tom Fletcher’s The Danger Gang, and David Walliam’s Code Name Bananas. The ceremony was virtual. We were presented with the award online by Sir Lenny Henry, receiving it in the post a month later. I tried not to mind not getting to wear an outrageous dress and walk on a red carpet. It is such a wonderful award to win.
In June, Twitch was published. This book means a great deal to me because it’s dedicated to my mother-in-law, Jane, who died a week before the pandemic took hold of the UK. My family and I have felt the loss of her deeply throughout the past year. She was the heart of our wider family, a primary school headmistress and an avid supporter of my being a children’s writer. Twitch is infused with her spirit of kindness, her wisdom, and the wonder of birds. If you have read or championed this book, I am enormously grateful. I do so want it to fly into the hands of as many children as possible, which is why, when it won the Sainsbury’s Children’s Fiction Book of the Year 2021 in August, I was over the moon. Jane would have been so proud and delighted.
In August my oldest son discovered that he’d passed all his GCSEs and had a place at sixth form college. I wept on and off all day. This monumental achievement under such impossible conditions was unexpected and more wonderful than anything else that has happened this year. I still can’t believe it. If I could only keep one highlight from 2021, it would be this one. I cannot tell you how upset I have been, and still am, about the way the government has treated children throughout the pandemic. Without Marcus Rashford’s incredible campaign, they would have let the most vulnerable children starve.
In October, my third book of 2021 was published, Danger at Dead Man’s Pass. It was hotly anticipated by readers enjoying the series and it too chuffed into the children’s bestseller list. Of all our train books so far, this is has been my favourite to write because I got to invent a code, weave Faust through the story, and create a fantastically spooky library.
Twitch was nominated for the Carnegie Medal in November, which made my soul soar.
November was busy. I was writing and editing Sabotage on the Solar Express (for publication in February 2022). Sam Sedgman and I were invited by Network Rail to take a trip to COP26, to ride on the UK’s first hydrogen-powered train. We took the Caledonian Sleeper train to Glasgow, which was a blast, then got the shock of a lifetime when Prime Minister Boris Johnson gatecrashed our event on board the HydroFLEX for a photo opportunity!
In October, Scandinavia opened its borders to travellers from the UK. Sam and I immediately booked a research trip for the second week of November. The sixth train book in the series, The Arctic Railway Assassin, is set in Sweden. We went for four days in mid-November, travelling to Stockholm, Kiruna, then through the Arctic mountains to Narvik in Norway. It was the first time I had travelled abroad in two years. It was beautiful, surreal and utterly inspiring. I feel lucky to have got to go to the Arctic. Borders are closing again, due to Omicron. Who knows when travelling will get easier again.
On reflection, I’ve had an incredible year. The pandemic has reminded me of how privileged I am, how blessed to have a loving husband and wonderful family. I have charged through this year trying to do EVERYTHING possible and appreciate every spec, every crumb, of being alive.
I’ve been lucky enough to have been invited to appear at literary festivals, online or in person, and after I had the vaccine, I returned to doing school events and meeting young readers. I have travelled to The Bug Farm in Pembrokeshire (an annual pilgrimage to one of my favourite places), seen as many friends as possible, gone to every show, seen every film. I’ve gorged myself on the experiences, parented like mad, pushed myself to work harder, and ultimately I exhausted myself, but I have really lived this year, and I don’t regret a moment of it.
Here are some of the things that have helped me in 2021:
1) Classic FM. I used to listen to Radio 4, but the news has become too triggering. I find Classic FM the most soothing of radio stations, plus I feel like I’m learning the pieces of the great composers. I got my love for Max Richter and Ludivico Einaudi from this radio station.
2) Crumpets covered in butter and jam. Literally the best comfort snack ever.
3) Yoga with Adriene. I credit her with my sanity and feel like she has become my friend. I hope I never meet her because I would get emotional and it would be super weird for her.
4) Neal’s Yard Aromatherapy oils, in particular Woman’s Balance.
5) 2021 is the year I discovered Terry Pratchett’s Discworld books. I have listened to over twenty of the audiobooks this year, read by Nigel Planer and Stephen Briggs. Ankh Morpork has become my happy place. The books have accompanied me on my travels, kept me company when I do the washing-up, or walk Nell on my own. What a wonderful author Mr Pratchett was, with a heart as big as his fantastic brain.
Next year is a daunting prospect. I no longer expect the world to return to ‘normal’ in 2022. I suspect Covid will still be leading us all a merry dance. I will be publishing three new books and writing more. I intend to continue to embrace life, but perhaps a little less desperately. The journey through 2021 has left me frazzled and emotional. It’s been a lot. Next year, I’m going to keep my focus on kindness, creativity and self-care.
Thank you for your support this year, it had meant a great deal to me. I hope your coming year is peaceful and positive, and that the stories I have written for you whisk you away to happy places.
Keep your eyes open to the wonder of birds and beetles.
Much love,
Maya
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