Diane Connell's Blog

This book is heart-warming, life-affirming, happy and sad. It will make you laugh and cry. The Improbable Life of Ricky Bird (Simon and Schuster 2022) by Diane Connell will appeal to anyone who loved Eleanor Oliphant, or the characters in Ove or The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time. This is the kind of book that transports the reader immediately, from the first page, to a place of deep immersion in the life of a young protagonist and the tricky navigations of their life. The voice in this book is unique, distinct and so completely identifiable right from the start. Ricky Bird is a name you will not forget.

The book opens with the words: ‘She believed there were two types of disaster.’ Ricky Bird is no stranger to both types. She is completely devoted to her younger brother Ollie and loves making up stories and imaginary worlds for him, building him forts and protecting him from the world. But their father has moved away to start a new life and both children feel abandoned. Ollie begins to have ominous hospital visits and Ricky doesn’t quite know what is wrong. Their mother is so overwhelmed with their circumstances that she barely notices that Ricky is having problems too.

And then there’s Dan, their mother’s new partner, who has insinuated himself into their lives and who annoys the heck out of Ricky from the very start. He is certainly no replacement for their father.

This story features excellent characterisation and a great plot. There are two very special aspects to the novel. One is the very distinct voice of Ricky Bird, who will stay with you long after the last page. Her quirky sense of humour, her imagination and the way in which she views the world are delivered with wit, grace and unforgettable language. We get right inside Ricky’s head. Or do we? Ricky’s imagination is certainly evolved from the very beginning, but is she an entirely reliable narrator, or is there more going on than we are privy to? The novel reveals the subtle and complex state of her mind and personality with each chapter, and the ending is surprising, shocking, painful and sad, yet somehow also inevitable and hopeful and comprehensible and satisfying.

Ricky’s life might be unpredictable and even seem to be spiralling out of control, but her character remains dependable, thoughtful, insightful and playful. She is wise beyond her years, even if she doesn’t know it.

There is a large cast of supporting characters who all have a part to play. Connell explores everything from the social angst of adolescence to nosy neighbours, from distracted parents to smarmy hangers-on, from new friendships to the familiarity of sibling attachment. Ricky’s imagination, pluck, courage and determination shine. What she lacks, she creates.

I absolutely loved Ricky Bird and her witty, insouciant, funny, critical, quick and loving personality. She had me laughing out loud in the first few pages with her irrepressible humour and deprecating depictions of those in her orbit. This is a book to pass to friends and loved ones.

https://cassmoriarty.com/the-improbab...

'Ricky Bird is a 12-year-old tomboy who escapes into stories when her real life is turned upside down. Her parents have divorced and she moves with her mother into a London council flat, where she draws unwanted attention from her mum’s new boyfriend. Meanwhile, her young brother Ollie has become terribly sick, and her mum is too distracted by the anxieties of that to notice what is happening to her daughter.

The onset of puberty heightens Ricky’s turmoil, but her dauntless spirit and outlandish imagination provide a refuge from the bleak realities she faces, and sometimes the children in this novel seem wiser than the adults. Ollie is an old soul; Ricky – as one adult recognises – is a writer at heart, and her vivid narration buoys a novel through dark and desperate undercurrents.

The Improbable Life of Ricky Bird has been compared to Curious Incident and Shuggie Bain, and it’s true that Diane Connell lends unique voice to a child struggling to make sense of an adult world.'

Review May 14, 2022

https://www.smh.com.au/culture/books/...

Ricky is a big, vibrant character. With her big If you were charmed by The Curious Incident, laughed with Eleanor Oliphant and cried over A Man Called Ove, you will love Ricky Bird. Discover more about Diane Connell’s lead character, the power of imagination and more on writing The Improbable Life of Ricky Bird.

Ricky Bird is a wonderful character that we know readers will love – can you tell us a little about her?
DC: Ricky is a big, vibrant character. With her big energy and big personality, she’s not easy to overlook or dismiss. She’s funny, clever and creative, and she has a special gift. Ricky knows how to tell a story.
As her own story begins, Ricky is uprooted from her home and loses virtually everything that has defined her: the father she adores, her network of friends and the family’s allotment, a sanctuary where she enjoys a profound connection to nature. Ricky is transplanted into an alien and hostile new place. She is alone and vulnerable. She does not know who to trust. When things start going wrong, no one wants to listen.
What Ricky does have is her extraordinary talent for storytelling. She uses her gift to seek out allies and confuse or repel those who wish her harm. Through her stories, Ricky also attempts to sound the alarm. The content of the stories is not always as important as her reason for sharing them. When things begin to spin out of control she is trying to say: ‘Look at me. See me. Hear me. Help me. I have something to say and it is urgent and important.’
Her stories may not always reflect actual events but what choice does she have when no one is interested in her truth?

Apart from Ricky Bird, do you have another favourite character in the book and why are they your fave?
DC: Ricky’s brother Ollie is a favourite. I have very tender feelings for this gentle boy who puts his own suffering aside to help his sister. He’s knowing, loyal and true. Ollie is the heart and the conscience of the book. He shines a light on his sister’s troubles and celebrates her remarkable creativity and strength. Ollie is also a vault of her secrets. He and Ricky communicate through her stories.
It’s probably ridiculous for an author to love her characters the way I love Ricky and Ollie. They are my people and are very real to me. I see them clearly in my mind’s eye. I know their desires and their struggles. I think and feel with them. There are parts of their stories that still bring tears to my eyes.

The power of imagination and storytelling are big themes in your novel – how important have they been to your own life?
DC: Storytelling was a huge part of my childhood. I grew up in a large family with a wild and very funny mother who instilled in us all a love of the absurd. She also taught us the power of a good punch line. If you could make her laugh, you could distract her from your petty crimes and win her favour. Indeed, making her laugh was reward in itself. It’s still one of the best things.
Telling stories was how we communicated with each other. It’s how you got attention in a roomful of noisy siblings. If you couldn’t express yourself in an original way, if you dragged out a story or if you let your ego get in the way of its entertainment value, you were side-lined. I wanted ‘in’ so I learned to pick up the pace and apply my imagination from an early age.
For most of my life, I have lived outside my country of birth, spending many years in Japan, France, Britain and Australia. The skills I learned as a child have served me well as I moved through the world. Storytelling is essential to every culture, in every language. Stories are how we share and communicate. It’s an essential part of being human.

There are lots of heartfelt moments in The Improbable Life of Ricky Bird – as an author, how do you know when you have got the emotional tone right?
DC: I write and rewrite every word countless times until it reads smoothly and nothing jars. I’m not saying my work is perfect. What I mean is that Ricky’s story is the result of multiple layers of editing. I work and rework until the story starts to sing and my characters feel authentic to me. I try not to fudge things in a ‘That will do’ manner. I also try to avoid forcing emotions and actions on my characters. The trick is to engage the emotions of the reader without force or sleight of hand and without resorting to sentimentality. Another trick is to keep my ego out of my work. I start out with a big head and big ideas but by the end of the writing process, my ego is locked in a cupboard in a dark room. Writing is a relentless, humbling process.
I wrote the first draft of Ricky’s novel over a period of about six months. I followed an outline I’d created and just kept moving forward. When it came to the second draft, I reworked the manuscript and rewrote virtually everything. This process was repeated over many, many drafts in a process that took, cough, years. By stripping away and rewriting, I got closer and closer to something genuine. I reached a point where I felt every word deserved to be on the page. Then, of course, the manuscript was run past the sharp eyes of my wonderful publishing team.
The book I started out writing is absolutely not the book that ended up being written. And let me tell you, The Improbable Life of Ricky Bird is a much better book for it.

What are some of the writers that you really admire?
DC: I love a good novel and tend to admire writers who write with empathy and humour about troubled characters, the misunderstood square pegs of this world. My favourite books are emotionally complex and character driven. Some of my favourite writers: Elizabeth Strout, Sebastian Barry, Alice Munro, Elena Ferrante, William Trevor, Carson McCullers, Jane Bowles, Jean Rhys and let’s not forget Tennessee Williams.

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Recently, I was asked to name seven books that meant something to me as a child. This would be virtually impossible for me because I grew up in a house without children’s books or novels. At some point my father bought the family a set of encyclopaedias but we had no fiction books. It was all about television in our house, that and the stories we told each other and our friends.

Naturally, English was my worst subject at school. I didn’t read so I had poor grammar and spelling. When I had to study a novel in class, I simply followed the notes the teacher gave and skip-read parts of the relevant book. I stumbled through blindly, all the time thinking that reading was a task rather than a pleasure.

What did I know? I was a working class kid with no understanding of literature or the arts. I came late to it all in my teens when I discovered the explosive joy of reading a novel. I had no idea of how much pleasure a book could deliver. It was like a gift. It still is.

Reading is a joy because it gives me the opportunity to use my imagination. It’s not a passive experience like watching a film or a television programme. It involves me. It puts me at the control console. A writer can only ever provide an outline of places and characters. It is the reader who gets to expand on these descriptions and fill in all the details.

I had to do a hell of a lot of work and overcome many obstacles to become a novelist. I still struggle with it but I think the main reason why I write is because I want to give people pleasure, to share the joy that I experience as a reader.

Many years ago, I met a woman who described herself as a novelist. ‘I’m a literary writer,’ she told me, setting herself apart from those who write commercial fiction. I didn’t know the difference then and I still find the dividing line between the two categories blurred but her attitude made me curious.

I told her that I had been writing for years first as a journalist and then as an advertising copywriter.

She gave me a horrified look. ‘I would NEVER write advertising!’

A picture started forming. It was a pyramid. On top were literary writers who wrote things of worth that did not necessarily sell well. Below were commercial writers who wrote less worthy words but sold more books. I lumped journalists in with this lot because at this point, you could still make a living from writing for newspapers and magazines. At the bottom of the triangle, rubbing shoulders with the ne’er-do-wells rustling sheep and stealing money from pensioners were advertising copywriters.

The woman’s assessment of my writing career affected me. It made me question what I had been doing with whatever talent or skills I had managed to assemble. Her comments could have very easily put me off attempting a book of my own but instead her words made something flare inside me. It was bright and hot, like the tongue of flame from a Bunsen burner.

I decided to write a novel.

I had no idea how to start a book. What I did have was a story to tell, several in fact. I also knew how to string sentences together. What was missing was an understanding of novel structure or form. I didn’t know that fiction needs a spine of sorts, a narrative arc to carry its characters through trials and tribulations and to give the story tension and intrigue. Basically, the narrative is what compels you as a reader to keep turning the page. How the writer tells the story is what makes you love what you are reading.

I had to learn how to write fiction the hard way through a long process of trial and error. My first book was written and rewritten many, many times. Early on, I threw away the first 40,000 words and started again. At another point, I threw away the latter 50,000 words and rewrote the second half completely.

You see, I didn’t want to write any old book. I wanted my book to be brilliant.

I think one of the things you absolutely need as a novelist is stamina. A book can take years to write and you’ve got to be able to stay on the bronco until the ride is over.

The trick is to keep driving forward while living inside the book you’re writing. You need to be able to survive – live even – with doubts and setbacks. But there are moments, sometimes days, when you feel capable of creating work of authenticity and beauty.

I write best in the quiet of the morning. When I sit down to my computer soon after waking my brain is not cluttered by the business of living and I can tap into the big imagination machine of dreams. My thinking is unbounded and playful then, more eager to take risks. The work I do tends to be more authentic and original. I have great moments of, well, illumination. At this time of the day, I am audacious and open to possibility. I can happily give a character wings, steal the family silver or put a house to flames, huge flames that lick the bubbling paint off a window frame and explode the wall clock in the kitchen with an almighty bang.​
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I am a morning writer but I have friends who write best in the quiet of the evening, who do their finest work when they write late into the night. What we all have in common is the experience of finding a still point for contemplation and self-reflection, of engaging one to one with our page.
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Writing is a solitary endeavor and unless you are part of a team project, you need to give yourself time to work on your book. Allocate this time and then ring fence it. Put up barbed wire and bring in the German shepherds. As a writer, you must guard your time and space fiercely because there is a world of distraction out there – needy friends and family, social media, a barking dog, the unwashed dishes, telephone calls. It’s a lot of noise and it wants to lure you away from the silence of commitment.
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Writing, when you take it seriously, is not a hobby. It’s art and it’s work. It’s more important than watching television or mowing the lawn. It’s more rewarding than driving a fast car or spending a night at a pub. If you are compelled to write then it is the very thing that will bring you happiness.
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When I write seriously, when I routinely sit down and plug into that big creative engine, I feel good about myself. When I’m distracted and avoiding the page, I am a vague and self-doubting animal, wrong-footed and itchy inside my skin.
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It’s not always possible to engage or create but the more you put aside time to work, the easier it gets. When you write as part of your daily routine, the connection to imagination and inspiration widens. Words and ideas come more easily to you. You see symbols and discover patterns and dovetails that give your work fascinating complexity. There is flow, and flow is where the joy is.
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It takes effort, commitment and skill to write but good writing is not just about the mechanics of getting words down on paper. Good writing contains within it something of the divine, the stuff that falls into your head from the big ‘out there’. These are the ‘I don’t know where that thought came from’ and the ‘How did I write that?’ that charge your writing with electricity.
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The best advice I can give new writers is to be serious about your craft while also leaving room for play. Be serious about your intention and commitment. Indeed, do the work. But be playful with what you create. Leave the door open for the unexpected and the remarkable. Seek out and open up to your muse.
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Indeed, let the kitchen clock explode and a neighbour’s dog start barking. Wake up the woman sleeping off a hangover in the bedroom down the hall. Fling open the window and hurl her to safety before the entire house goes up in flames.

I’m a novelist and write books for a living. But my first love was illustration. I can’t remember learning how to draw. It was something that fell from the sky and landed in my lap. I was never formally taught techniques but as soon as I was old enough to hold a pen, I was drawing.
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Writing, however, I had to learn. Telling stories came naturally but putting them down on paper involved certain skills and these I had to acquire the hard way. I used to think that illustration and writing were two distinct forms of expression. Now I believe they come from the same source. Visual artists and novelists are both curious about the world. We see the fantastic in the mundane and we’re obsessed with expressing our perspective in an authentic way.
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All people possess a creative imagination. We all dream and we’re all capable of fearing the unknown or anticipating the future. But only a handful of us will pause the non-stop cinema of images and words that run through our minds and attempt to give them form. The illustrator and writer are not only willing to open themselves up to the spark of possibility, to the magnificent and the absurd, but are also ready to do the work and put it down on paper.
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It’s the getting it down on paper that sets the artist apart. This is never easy because when you create from a shapeless idea, you don’t work to guidelines, and often not even for a pay cheque. There’s no guarantee that what you make will sing or will delight an audience. Often you can pursue an idea for days only to discover that it doesn’t work. Being an artist requires time: time to daydream and play, to explore the glimmer of an idea and to hunt it down and capture it.
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The simplest of things can set me off: a ragged line on a pavement, the metallic bark of a dog, words spoken in a supermarket queue, a random image in my mind’s eye as I’m falling asleep. Such things seem to carry their own electrical charge. They light up the inside of my head and thrill me. But they’re also elusive and easily lost or forgotten. They must be pinned down before they lose their lustre.
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The creative process is not a glamorous one. It’s an activity that requires solitude and discipline. The only way I can write or draw is to be alone. But while the journey is private, my overriding motivation is a public one. I create for others. I do it with the intention of bringing some form of happiness into people’s lives. My intention is to uplift, stimulate, provoke, inspire, to make others think and hopefully laugh.