Eve Ainsworth's Blog

Alongside being an author, I have also worked for several years in safeguarding and wellbeing roles. One of the most challenging issues I have faced is school avoidance, often known as EBSA (Emotionally Based School Avoidance), and I have seen first-hand the profound effect it can have on both the child and the parent/carer.

Often, there are many reasons why a young person might feel unable to come to school. It is a complex range of issues that need to be carefully unpicked and understood. What is frustrating for many families and schools is that this can take time – and the longer it takes, the harder the young person might find it to return to school.

However, the truth is that many children find school, especially secondary school, overwhelming. It brings a raft of issues – large class sizes, different teachers, unstructured and loud environments, bright and busy spaces, coupled with the constant teenage need to ‘fit in’, to belong and to be accepted by their social groups. If asked, most young people would admit they find school exhausting or challenging, but for some, just the thought of walking through those school doors can become too much.

In Jellybean, I wanted to explore a character who was experiencing this. I didn’t want there to be one clear-cut reason for her school avoidance, but a myriad of things happening that made it difficult for her. I want Jellybean to provoke discussion to help children and parents/carers feel less isolated. It is not there to provide answers because, sadly, answers are often hard to come by. Instead, I want it to challenge our thinking and help to increase our empathy.

I wonder what more we can do to support those struggling with school avoidance and also those who are still attending school but are finding each day a challenge. We are all aware that the children’s mental health service (CAMHS) is crumbling under pressure, while cases of mental-health issues in young people are at their highest number to date. It is essential that schools have access to wellbeing and pastoral support services, ideally counselling too. Also, other services such as educational welfare officers (EWO) and health (GPs) can play their part in supporting families and ensuring a plan is put in place to help ease children back into education.

Within my role, I have yet to work with a child who flatly does not want to be in school. In truth, they usually do. They want an education. They want to make friends and to have access to the same opportunities as their peers. The difference is, they need some kind of flexibility – whether that be a reduced timetable, more support in school, or help with friendship issues. Children do not always fit in the neat little boxes that the education system has set up for them – and I think this is ultimately where we fail them.”.

I wasn’t aware of my class as a child, but I knew we were poor. I also knew that certain things were tougher for me, but I tried not to let that get in my way too much. My parents were avid and eclectic readers, feeding my love for books and expanding my knowledge. Weekends were spent scouring jumble sales or charity shops for new reads or stocking up on library loans. A new book was a birthday or Christmas treat. However, if I ever brought up the notion of wanting to be a writer – this was quickly, but not nastily, shut down. I soon learnt that there was an expectation that ‘people like us’ didn’t become writers – we didn’t have the right connections – and we probably weren’t ‘good enough’ to make it anyway.

My father was a talented artist and scholar. He swotted up on the works of Shakespeare, highlighting where he felt there had been errors in the later writing and making corrections. He sent his work off to numerous experts but felt largely ignored because he had no ‘merit’. He was an unemployed, working-class man with no connections and no qualifications to his name. The process left him feeling defeated. My father also invented board games and created great pieces of art – but was never recognised in his lifetime – and I think a lot of his self-doubt was hinged in his own lack of self-worth. The imposter syndrome looms deep inside working-class people. It’s a nagging voice that never shuts up – no matter how successful you become,

Seeing my dad go through rejection and hearing his cynicism only made me more determined. I knew from a young age that I wanted to be an author, and despite an English teacher telling me it wasn’t possible (‘someone from your background would struggle’), I pressed on. I figured I didn’t have much to lose and if anything, I had a lot to prove – and a lot of people to prove wrong. That I never read many working-class voices when I was younger became a driving factor for me. I was aware that a lot of the publishing space was taken up by white middle- class writers and this made me feel unseen as a child. The few working-class characters I encountered in books were often stereotypical tropes, often very harmful and sometimes humiliating. They certainly didn’t represent the life that I recognised. I knew I wanted to write about things that reflected my life better – and although I would often touch on gritty subjects such as poverty, addiction, and mental health – I wanted to do so in a way that wasn’t patronising or harmful.

I suffered a lot of rejections along on the way and have been on more slush piles than most, but I learnt to smother the voice of self-doubt that continued to nag at me. As I accumulated positive feedback, I started to believe that maybe one day I would be published – and my dreams wouldn’t be as far-fetched as I once believed.

I began to work in secondary schools with young people from disadvantaged backgrounds. This was an important career move for me, as I became even more motivated to amplify working-class voices. It was here that I began writing my first YA novel, subsequently published in 2015.

From that moment on, I focused on writing books that reflected the community I grew up in and work with. I strive to write about working- class issues in a fresh, honest and unpatronising way – and many readers have contacted me, thanking me for writing characters and themes they recognise and can relate to. This, for me, has been one of the most rewarding aspects of being a published author.

I really do believe it’s vital that working-class writers continue to have a voice in children’s writing so that they can continue to inspire and ignite a new generation of authors. I never want a young reader to feel, as I did, that books didn’t represent me, such an isolating and damaging feeling. The publishing industry is still, despite some improvement in diversity, predominately white middle-class and I fear that due to low pay and limited opportunities, this will be slow to change.

I just wish my Dad could have seen what could be achieved with a lot of grit and determination (and some luck along the way). Sadly, he died before my first book was published. Yes – it is a bit harder for those of us from underprivileged backgrounds and yes – we do have to shout just a little bit harder to be heard – but we must never give up. Our voices are so important, and they need to be out there.

I just hope, that one day in the future, articles like these will no longer be necessary and working-class and other underrepresented voices will be fairly represented.

Hi Everyone

I’ve recently written this article for Jericho Writers on Plot v’s Character and I’m hoping that it might help a few of you.

Which area do you most struggle with? Let me know in the comments.

Do keep your eye on this blog for a regular feature that will be starting soon. If you want to read about the real life trials and tribulations of being an author, this could be of interest to you.

In the meantime – keep writing xx

@eveainsworth My new proofs have arrived! I’m so excited! Pre order now https://amzn.to/34C5kV6 #authortok #authorlife #unboxing #booktok ♬ original sound – eveainsworth

I’m really excited that my first adult book is coming out on May 26th.

LISTEN TO MY PODCAST ON MIXCLOUD

Join us on 16th February to celebrate my new book, MAGPIE. Eve will be in conversation with Katherine Woodfine talking all about tackling tough subjects in books for children

We would love to see you there!

Link to register: https://crowdcast.io/e/magpie–eve-ainsworth-in

Please Join us on 16th February to celebrate my new book, MAGPIE. I will be in conversation with Katherine Woodfine talking all about tackling tough subjects in books for children

Link to register: https://crowdcast.io/e/magpie–eve-ainsworth-in

I would love to see you there to celebrate

I’m so excited to be able to announce my new adult book deal with Arrow Books (part of Penguin Random House). Duckling will be published in 2022.

https://www.thebookseller.com/news/arrow-signs-eve-ainsworths-moving-adult-debut-1222206

I will post more details soon, but in the meantime I will be celebrating with cake and a nice cup of tea!

I can’t wait for you all to meet Duckling. I hope that she flies.

xxx

In 2012, my comedy teen novel ‘The Art of Kissing Frogs’ was shortlisted for the Greenhouse Funny Prize. This was key moment for me. After years of rejection – and after having more rejections than Mary Berry has had cakes – I really thought I’d got somewhere.

I drank wine. I did a silly dance. I thought I’d made it. I was convinced an agent would pick it up.
But the rejections continued. One after the other, after another. They were good rejections, with bright positive comments:
You write well, but…
I loved this so much, but…
I can see you have talent, but…
It was the ‘but’ that stuck in my brain. Despite the good stuff, all I could see was the less appealing negative bits. The fact the ‘comedy was tricky to sell’, that I wasn’t ‘distinctive enough’, that ‘the character motivation wasn’t clear’.
And this time the negative weighed heavily on me. I remember stomping round the house, muttering under my breath ‘I don’t care. I never wanted it anyway’ whilst inside I was so bitterly disappointed.
I stuffed Frogs into my drawer and scowled at my husband – “that’s it. I’m not writing anymore. I’ll take up knitting or something.” I really did wonder if it was time to give up, to face the fact that I would never be a novelist. I wondered if I was just deluded, like an out-of-tune X Factor contestant, looking for something I’d never achieve.
But I couldn’t quite bring myself to start knitting. Those big needles just freak me out…
What was strange, though, was how I couldn’t stay away from writing. From then on, instead of focusing on agents and publishing deals – I just wrote for pleasure. I started writing about stuff that meant something to me. A troubled teen, tormented by a bully, and a bully, tormented by her damaged family. The words took shape quickly and I was swept up in excitement. Within three months I had something to be proud of.
I sent the draft to some trusted readers and was delighted with their feedback. I realised I was a good writer, I just needed some luck. I also recognised that my own writing had improved and strengthened and the years of rejection had just made me more determined.
This time, when I submitted to agents, I had a tougher resolve. As rejections trickled in, I recorded them – noted any patterns. As I got requests for full manuscripts, I dared to believe this could be the time. Or maybe not. Either way, I was getting closer. Some agents dithered, they were concerned about the market and how well my book would sell. I tried not to let the negative feelings build – there was still interest and this was the main thing.
And then finally one agency, a bloody fantastic one, whipped my manuscript off the slush pile and fell in love with it. They signed me within two months and sold Seven Days a few months later. It was so fast I nearly had to stab myself with a knitting needle to believe it.
A year later, I was holding the proof copies of my first YA novel in my hand and marvelling at how quickly things can change.

I now have 8 YA/MG books published, with 3 more due next year. Not bad for a girl who thought she would remain in the slush pile.

Being rejected is not a bad thing at all. In fact, I truly think it shapes you as an author and an individual.
I wear my rejections as a badge of honour now, war wounds that I can proudly show off:

Hey, I’ve been there. I know just what it’s like….Please don’t give up.