DAVID RISH david.gif (17661 bytes)

David Rish writes challenging novels for young teenagers and  junior independent readers, often with a Tasmanian setting. He sometimes writes about serious subjects such as loneliness and alienation but also loves the lighter side of life and has recently been exploring comedy, particularly with his last book Extraordinarily Ordinary and hopes (publishers willing!) to have others released in the near future. Since his first novel, Sophie’s Island, way back in 1990 (when the world was younger and more innocent) he's published another seven books.

He prefers to work slowly, doing many, many drafts. (You have to be a little bit obsessed to be a writer).

Often he lies in bed till late in the day. Some people have accused him of laziness but he insists that this lying in is actually thinking time. (And he needs breakfast in bed to get the thought processes really ticking over, and - if it can be arranged - the morning paper because there might be something in the pages that can be used in his current project!!!)

Once he has an idea that he thinks he might like to spend time developing as a book, he spends a fair amount of time (sometimes a year or more) just letting the project mull in his alleged mind. He stays in bed thinking (as previously mentioned!) and walks on the mountain as he does every day, taking notes on file cards. These notes eventually become the data base from which the skeleton of the project emerges. After the thinking time he might have three or four hundred file cards. These cards (ideas) might be jokes, lines of dialogue, character descriptions and backgrounds, plot points or setting descriptions, etc.

David uses the library to research subjects he does not have a working knowledge of and, if possible, visits the places where the book will be set. For example, on what he hopes will become a future book, he researched cheese-making, by reading, visiting dairies and eating lots of cheese with crispy white bread washed down with glasses of red wine. (The last was not strictly necessary but he did it anyway, that’s just the sort of guy he is!!!)

Then comes the first draft. If he’s lucky it will take three months, but often much longer. When he first started writing, it took another thirty or so drafts to see the manuscript in reasonable form, now, with experience, it usually takes less, sometimes only eight or nine drafts, though he suspects that writing is never something that becomes easy or automatic and with each new book it is necessary to learn the process all over again.

He does it because he loves it.

Long live writing and long live readers (they probably do actually live longer because they keep their brains exercised and their interest in life peaked!!!)

David's first school was the Hackbridge School near his home in Carshalton, England and, in grade one, he was one of the great six-year-old Joseph's in the Nativity play. He still remembers bitterly that while the girl who was Mary got to speak, he didn't and sometimes suspects that the reason he became a writer was to make sure that he did get the lines. What a rotten show off!!!

 David has two children, Olive and Jacob (born in 1987 and 1993  respectively and respectably!) with his partner, Carmel, a librarian. He hardly ever hears them complain when he stays in bed for too long. All three of them will  read his books in manuscript form and often have useful suggestions.

David’s hobbies are sleeping, snoozing, and napping. His favourite word is "pillow" and the sound he most hates is "ringgggggg!!!" (He also hates it when he looks in the letterbox and there’s a manuscript returned from some or other despicable publisher!)

 

A MOMENT FROM MY LIFE

My son, Jacob, wanted a mouse. Here is how he persuaded his mother to let him get one.

Carmel, can I have a mouse for my birthday? -- No, Jacob, you know I hate mice.
Carmel, can I have a mouse for my birthday? -- No, I've already told you no. Don't ask again.
Carmel, can I have a mouse for my birthday? -- No.
Carmel can I have a mouse for my birthday? -- No!
Carmel, ... etcetera, etcetera, until, when Carmel was busy dealing with some work problem over the phone and thus, slightly distracted ...

Carmel, can I have a mouse for my birthday?

Jacob, I'm busy.

But can I have a mouse ...?

Yes, yes, yes! Just leave me in peace for a moment.

Bingo!!!! Success.

 

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JACK 

Dear Jack, it is - I believe - your birthday on the 23 rd of April. You are two years younger than Jacob and he is nine so I guess you must be seven this time around. When I was seven this happened:

I asked my Mum to make me a swimming pool birthday cake.

Mum agreed. She worked very hard. She iced around the cake in white (for the concrete) and the water was this really bright blue. (I ate the left-over icing and went quite hyper!) She put in line markers with little silver balls. The swimmers were cake dolls. The diving board was made from chocolate. (I loved Cadbury Dairy Milk and still do!)

At the end of the party,  Mum proudly brought out the cake. I asked her to take out the candles. She wanted to know why. I told her that fire didn't burn in water. She did as I asked and then I stood on the table. What are you doing, my father wanted to know. Watch, I said and I dived into the pool. Cake went everywhere. It was spectacular. My uncle tipped over backwards. He hit his head. His nose started bleeding. Blood went all over his white shirt and his suit. It was really spectacular. Why did you do that, my parents wanted to know. The water looked so lovely I just had to have a swim, I explained. Sorry about him, he ate all the left over blue icing, my embarrassed mother told everyone. 

My uncle was unable to come to my eighth party. I got a plain round cake. If you do anything stupid this year you won't make it to nine, my father warned before the guests arrived. I didn't and I did (make it to nine) and Jack, I hope you make it to eight and to nine and to many years beyond and that your life is always full of interesting and unexpected things.

Happy birthday from us all and hope to catch up soon.

(Author's Note: Everything in this story is true but for the facts!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

 

 

The only way to become a writer, is to write. And write. And write. Make mistakes. You learn from them. Jot ideas down as soon as they occur. Your ideas (thoughts) are the fuel for your writing.

Do it - but also spend a lot of time day dreaming too!

 

BOOKS

                                    Extraordinarily Ordinary extra_ordinarily.gif

Ashton Scholastic, Sydney, 1998, 1863889892

David’s last published book is a comedy. He used it as an opportunity to write lots of  really groanable jokes (he loves them!) for his cast of believable, likeable & humorous characters. In the story Jess and Simon attempt to save George from being sent to another school when his parents decide his work is not up to scratch. They do so by exploiting the possible psychic skills of their ultra-shy classmate, Emily Coat, to manipulate the world to their advantage. Of course things go terribly wrong and it looks as though they’ll fail in the quest to save George but then ... Well, I’m not going to tell you what happens, you’ll have to read the book to find out, ha-ha-ha!!!!

(Incidentally David studied parapsychology as part of his psychology degree but he has not made up his mind whether ESP is real or if it’s a load of old hokum. And, incidentally again, he had to eat  many, many icy poles before deciding orange ones were the best ones to feature in his story. Sometimes research can be lots of fun!!!!)

Cover illustration reproduced by permission of the publisher.

 

Casey's Case small.jpgCasey's Case

Mimosa, Hawthorn, 1995, 0732715601

David’s first and so far only book for the educational market is a fast paced detective story. He invented a new  word to describe it. 'Spience' is a portmanteau word from 'spy' and 'science', the main elements in his book. Quite a few students have told him on his various school visits that this is their favourite of all his books. He initially thought he might write a series of stories about a boy who - on moving into a new flat - discovers a series of old cases from a mysteriously disappeared private detective, the flat’s previous occupant. He hopes that another story he was planning from that series becomes another book to be called, publisher willing, No Laughing Matter.

Cover illustration reproduced by permission of the publisher.

Other books by David

Sadly David’s first six books (including the Family Award winning Mongrel below) all published by Harper Collins are no longer in print. If you want to read them you have to find them in your school or local library, but you can also pester the publisher and if enough requests come in they may reprint his early works.

Sophie's Island  (Sydney, 1990, 0207167044) - A girl tries to come to terms with the death of her baby brother

Detective Paste (Sydney, 1991, 0207171742) - Dreamy Melissa Paste believes that the local toyshop proprietor has murdered his wife but no-one will believe her.

Portrait of Dog (Sydney, 1993, 0207175438) - A paint box in a junk shop leads Rob to an old house where a runaway girl, Dog, shows him how a slightly less careful life can be a much more rewarding life.

A dozen eggs (Sydney, 1993, 0207181063) - Rad and Annie are different, Rad because he doesn't care, Annie because her intelligence is going to take her out of her small town. On the day before starting Year Ten, Rad tells Annie that he is leaving school and that he is going to break each of the dozen eggs and then, when the final one is smashed, their relationship will be over. A moving love story.

Targett (Sydney, 1991, 0207185352) - When Gordon takes his stay-at-home sister up into the bush, she is scared out of her wits. Then an accident befalls him and Anne has to cope on her own.

 Mongrel  (Angus & Robertson, Sydney, 1995, 0207187576) - No one asked Judy Bishop if she wanted to live in Euduka with the grandfather she’d never previously met. Despite her Mum's assurances that the move will be fun (and temporary and good for her!) Judy is determined to hate every moment: the school, the hick town, the locals, and their so-called sweet country attitudes. All she wants to do is get out of there. But then she finds Ed — a dog on the brink of death. And the country life she despises teaches her more about love and friendship than she ever could have imagined.

David has several projects currently under consideration and bites his nails every time the post arrives.

Hopefully, soon, there'll be a scream of delight from Tasmania indicating that his next book has been accepted for publication.

The moment of having a project accepted is the best moment for a writer and is one of the main reasons for being one.

Here is a short extract from one of those works ...

"the"

Well, if it isn't conceited to say it, it is a very well written "the". I think I handle them fairly competently. I must admit though that my "is"s aren't as assured. If you want to see a good "is" I recommend that you read the one on page 57 (I think) of JK Rowlings first Harry Potter book. She really knows what's what where "is" is concerned.

David?

Yes?

Shut up!

Oh, okay.

Five amazing facts about David

1. His name backwards is Divad.

2. He has a morbid fear of shoelaces ever since falling into a ball of spaghetti bolognaise as a young child. (He doesn't though, have a morbid fear of spaghetti bolognaise, or indeed, any form of pasta!)

3. He has never knowingly caught a Number 32 bus.

4. David hats th fifth lttr of the alphabt

5. David is the principal joke writer for the Hobart and Southern Tasmania Phone Book

 

Here is a very bad joke for anyone happening upon this web site and who has happened to reach the end of it. (You'll understand it better if you're a fan of Steven Spielberg films.)

 

An alien wanting to learn about Earth lands on a golf course. Encountering a golfer the alien says, 'What's that pin shaped plastic object?'

'A tee,' explains the golfer.

The alien is thirsty after taking aboard this new piece of knowledge. The golfer offers it a drink from his thermos.

'What is this drink?' asks the alien.

'Tea,' explains the golfer.

'I thought the pin shaped plastic thing was "tee"' says the confused alien.

'Oh,' says the golfer, 'they're different words meaning different things but sounding the same.'

'Oh!' says the alien. 'Tee, tea, homophones.'

 

 

If you've enjoyed this website and would like to know more about the author why don't you look out for his soon to be released autobiography, Who the Heck Spilled Superglue on my Keyboardddddddddddddddddddddddd?

  mailto:drish@netspace.com.au

Page last updated - 16/03/2003