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If you could be any Jacqueline Wilson character who would you be?
Dear Jacqueline, Why are your books mostly about problematic families? When I have just finished one of your engrossing books, I tell my Dad in detail about my favourite writer's story. He says "Cor, that's pretty grim isn't it?!". Especially the book "Secrets". Treasure's Step-dad was really HORRIBLE to whip her with a belt. I can see why she wrote a torture manual for Terry! But not all of your books are about abusive fathers so I can't go droning on like this! I've also noticed that diaries crop up into your work as well. I love my diary. It's a big, thick, leather coated, 800 page book! (writer's lisence!). I've written in it since I was eight years old! I have never missed a day (I think!?)! My teacher Mr WILSON thinks I'm a good story writer, witch is funny because when I'm doing a test for my SATS, (English) I find myself stressing about not having enough description in my passage or wondering have I written to many ands in this paragraph?? Who is your favourite writer other than your brilliant self?! I would love to know because I hope to be a very sucsessful writer like you some day and I want to step on the same beginning l as you. Today our year at school did a class assembly, (more like a year 5 assembly) the subject was India. I was D in the A-Z facts of India. "D is for Dawali, the Hindu festival of light." My costume was green, and it had tiny mirrors on the neckline with embroidery around them. Auntie Sharon had bought it when she went to India for her work. You tie the straps of the tunic together in a bow. Baggy, cotton trousers finish my look. And with a bindi on my forehead I feel like I'm in India! I was going to play a flute duet with my friend Shayna, but we only had TWO days to prepare so we thought we'd stumble on the notes and be humiliated! I have to say some Indian grandparents of Olga's were not very pleased with our presentation! Afterwards we made Naan bread, it was tasty! Then some cricket. I hate P.E because all the boys shout at you if you get the minor thing wrong. We did cricket obviously because the Indians love Cricket. Finally, our class made some Divas to hold your candles in, before we put them in the art room cilm, we painted them. Chad, who's nickname is Chadder Cheese,flicked neon orange paint a my sari! From your number 0 fan, meaning better than number 1 fan, Jessica xxx
Dear Jessica,I agree with your dad that a few of my books are pretty grim – but I struggle hard to include lots of imaginative and funny things too. It’s great that you enjoy keeping your diary. Keep it very safe, for when you are grown up and quite possibly a famous writer. Your teacher is absolutely right – you’ve got a very good lively writing style, and made the account of your Indian class assembly really come alive. My favourite writer is Katherine Mansfield.Love from Jacqueline
x
Dear Jacky,My daughter, Phoebe, is 12 years old and is dyslexic. Every week she attends extra lessons to help with her reading and writing. We live in Saudi Arabia but her father visits London every month and he always brings back books for Phoebe. The only books she truly loves are those written by you and it is thanks to you that she is now enjoying reading. Today she attended one of her lessons and was asked to write a poem about something she is interested in. We are currently reading Hetty Feather (I read a page and then Phoebe reads a page) and the most amazing thing happened. Phoebe wrote a Ballad about Hetty and her brother Saul. I have typed it out and copied it below. I thought you might like to read it as it is your writing which has inspired her to read! Thank you Jacky.Kindest regards,Diane
It was coming close to winter,It was desperately cold,Flu was raging fiercely,It killed both young and old.Hetty searched the dormitories,Going up and down the line,Searching for poor Gideon,"Where is that brother of mine?"In a bed of twenty,Lay a small and shriveled child,It was not poor Gideon,But Saul, all meek and mild.Hetty saw how sick he was,She made a powerful plea,"Oh please, oh please, don't take him,Don't let him die before me!"Turning reluctantly away,From his mournful bedside,Returning to the dormitory,Fell on her bed and cried.The fever raged for hours,Saul tossed and turned in pain,His body grew much weaker,Hetty's prayers were all in vain.He was buried in an unmarked grave,Before dawn in cold and rain,No one mourned his passing,'Saul' was never heard of again.
Dear Phoebe,I absolutely love your ballad about Hetty and Saul. I’m so pleased and proud that my book, Hetty Feather, inspired it! You might struggle a bit with your reading but my goodness, you’re a brilliant writer. I think your poem is wonderful.Love from Jacqueline