Eric Johns

(Website: www.ericjohns.uk)

I wrote my first story when I was about 10-years-old. I remember lying on the grass under my grandmother's apple tree and writing in a school exercise book. I don't know how I got hold of that because the masters at school were very strict about giving out exercise books and you had to show your full one and they signed the back. Anyway, I was very pleased with myself because I had managed to finish the story. I suppose I must have tried to write stories before but not finished them.

Proudly, I showed it to my gran who said, "Now all you've got to do is learn to spell". I discovered two things: one was that I wanted people to read what I wrote, and two that people never say what you want. But that didn't stop me; nothing ever has.

I sometimes think that storytellers are very odd people because they spend their time in a world that they've invented talking to people who don't exist. Don't ask me why I do it: I don't know. I just have to, no choice; and the truth is I don't want to know why because if I did I might stop and then what would I do? As you can see, writing stories is the most important thing in my life – after my family, of course. Well, that's what I tell them.

One thing I did discover when I started writing was that I didn't know enough about people or the world or how to describe things or make people speak. Nothing I wrote sounded true to life. That wasn't surprising since I was still at school. People tell you: write about what you know. But I didn't think being a boy at school was very interesting. I wanted to write about adventurers exploring unknown continents or going to distant planets or fighting battles; like in the stories I read. Somehow I had to get experience of life!

I left school when I was 15. Everyone left my school at that age. I had passed 4 'O' level exams. That wouldn't be thought very good today but I think children are cleverer now. I didn't know what I was going to do when I left. I told my dad I wanted to be a writer. He snorted and said, "You'd better get a job if you don't want to starve." So I went to work. Everyone thought I was working to earn a living but what I was really doing was learning all the things I didn't know that I hoped would be useful for me as a writer.

I've had a lot of different jobs, sort of accidentally on purpose. They've all been useful for meeting all sorts of people I'd never have met otherwise and learning about the world. Here is a list of the jobs I have done.

I had my first job while I was still at school. When I was about 8-years-old I started working in my mum and dad's shop. Perhaps if I'd done my homework instead I'd have got more 'O' levels. The shop was a tobacconist and I used to sell cigarettes to the customers. I don't think children would be allowed to do that now because cigarettes are bad for your health but in those days people thought they were good for you. Anyway doing that job taught me to chat with lots of different people and I learned to put up with being teased. It also made me good at adding up because I had to give the right change. We didn't have those fancy tills which do all the mental arithmetic for you.

A good job for learning about people is a barman in a pub. People tell you all sorts of things when you're serving them drinks and you pick up lots of expressions they use to make themselves sound convincing.

Another job for hearing about people's lives is taxi driver. Often my fares told me all sorts of personal details. They never explained why. Perhaps talking to the back of my head made it easy for them to share their worries. You probably think that taxi drivers just sit in their cabs. Well, they don't. I used to go to one house every morning and take a lady to a day centre where she was looked after. I had to help her out of her house because she couldn't walk very well and some days I even had to help her pull up her trousers. She wasn't a bit grateful. Maybe she was embarrassed or resented me being fit and life being unfair.

Lifting potatoes was the worst job I had. The tractor went up the field ploughing up the potatoes and the potato lifters followed on behind putting them in sacks. When I started there was a little old lady standing next to me. She was smaller than me and looked about a hundred. I felt sorry for her having to do this job. Everyone set off after the tractor. After ten minutes I'd got about twenty potatoes in my sack and I straightened up because my back was aching. The poor little old lady was half way up the field, had filled one sack and was throwing potatoes into another. She appeared to have four arms and was heading for the horizon. That taught me not to feel superior or snobbish towards anyone. I didn't go back to that job for a second day.

I did another job on a farm: these were the two hardest jobs I ever did. This one was pea-vining. Have you eaten Mr Birdseye's frozen peas? Then I might have had a hand in getting them onto your plate. What I had to do was stand by a machine on a concrete platform in the middle of a field and shovel up the vines and pods which fell out of a pea-shelling machine. The peas went into a lorry which rushed off to the factory where they were frozen within half an hour of being harvested. They had to be done in that time to be fresh. I learnt there how people cheat to make money. The gangmaster was a nasty piece of work and dishonest. He charged Mr Birdseye for supplying ten men to do shovelling – but he only supplied eight. The other two were 'ghost' workers. They were never seen but he got paid for them, kept the money and we shovellers had to work extra hard to make up for them. If we complained we lost our job!

Once upon a time I was a soldier, but I never got shot at. You might not believe it but this was a disappointment because I wanted to know what it would be like and whether I would be brave. I suppose I wanted to know whether I would be as brave as my dad. During the Second World War he was in the 11th Armoured Division of the British Army and landed in France a few days after D-day. He was shot at for ten months as he fought his way across France and into Germany. Could I have done that? I'll never know.

Another time I was a teacher. I liked the children but I wasn't strict enough because they soon discovered that it was easy to make me laugh and then they could get away with anything. They used to ask me silly riddles like, 'Why did the kangaroo hop across the road?' I'd say what they expected, 'Because kangaroos always hop.' They'd shake their heads sadly and say, 'Because it only had one shoe!' Unfortunately, I find jokes like that funny so it was difficult to be as serious as a teacher should be. I also like circus clowns.

One autumn I went grape picking in France. The picking started at seven in the morning and you had to fill big baskets with bunches of blueish-black grapes. They made champagne. At nine o'clock the farmer's wife came to the vineyard with a barrel of wine and huge slices of bread smothered in homemade pâté and we had a mug (yes, a ½ pint mug) of wine to go with it. Cheers! That was the good bit. We pickers came from all over Europe and slept in a big barn. You slept with your wallet in your pocket and your watch on your wrist. You can guess why. If you put them down anywhere, they'd be stolen.

OK. I can hear you thinking, "Enough jobs, when are you going to write something?" Well, the only way to learn how to write is to do it, like anything else. So I was always writing in my spare time. Nowadays you can learn to write without bothering about experiencing the world. Universities teach creative writing. I don't think those courses existed when I started. But when I read a story I think I can tell when the writer has researched something on the internet instead of having real experience: even if it's science fiction you can still tell.

By the way, I did go to university, even though I left school at fifteen. I was twenty-nine when I got there and very surprised to be let in. A friend and I wrote a brilliant reference for me saying how I'd written a novel and I'd be a great credit to the university. Perhaps they believed it or perhaps they were short of students. Here's a warning for you: Never believe what storytellers write! I enjoyed university. All you had to do was read something and write about what you'd read. It was a lot easier than working for a living I can tell you.

Another reason I enjoyed university was because I met a girl there who decided that I ought to get married and wouldn't take no for an answer. Well, it was about time I did and I needed someone to support me while I wrote stories. I discovered that she had other ideas. So it was back to work again. Then we had three daughters. I don't know how I ever found time to write. Because I was older than most students at university I was called 'mature'. It's the only time in my life I've ever been called mature. I don't feel mature which is probably why most of the stories I write are for young people.

My stories are often set in places that I know well. The Freewheelers adventures all happen in a small seaside town like the one where I live in Dorset, England. If anyone knew the layout of the town they could follow in the footsteps of the 'Freewheelers' as they try to escape the consequences of their disastrous plans. 'Trip of a Lifetime' also starts there but veers off into mythological realms. The same with 'The Ooser'. That book's named after an ancient mask with mythic powers. I imagine it taking place in a valley on the Dorset-Welsh border. No such place, I hear you say. But geography is elastic when I want it to be.

I sometimes think that storytellers are arrogant people. As far as I'm concerned the whole of history took place to give me something to write about. So King Philip II of Spain sent the Armada to invade England in order to provide me with a useful galleon when I needed one in 'The Big Sniff'! And Hitler laid on the Second World War so that my father could tell me about fighting in France and I could write 'Prisoners of a Shadow World', 'Home Front' and 'Goodbye, Granny'. What kind of person could see all those terrible events as sources for stories? He should be ashamed of himself.

Even in science fiction such as 'Aliens and Earthlings' a time traveller alters history (by blowing up a few people) to make the present better for herself. However, altering things to make them better can also be funny and exciting. It always struck me that stories about snowmen were unsatisfactory since they melted in the end. So I set about putting that right in 'The Oldest Snowman in the World', where my snowman, Mr Crystal, lives forever – although he keeps nearly getting himself melted.

Much of what I write links up with what I've seen and done. You won't be surprised to learn that my three books for adults are about a Scribbler called E. Rick Jones who writes books for young people. He in no way resembles me, a completely different name for a start.

Did I say, you can't believe anything a storyteller tells you? Well, I've changed my mind. You can believe everything. Yes, it's all true - as long as you stay inside the story. So keep on reading, the whole of life is there.