About Jonathan Shipton...

I've lived in Carmarthenshire South Wales since 1974. I live on a beautiful smallholding with my lovely friend Vivien. I've got five grown-up children and three grandchildren - Louis, Freya and Archie.   

I've always loved reading and writing. I spent a lot of my childhood with my nose in a book. I think I first started telling stories when I was sent to boarding school at six or seven years old.  I was very homesick and didn't understand what I was doing there. We all had to sleep in a dormitory with about twenty beds and instead of going to sleep like we were supposed to do, we used to take it in turns to tell each other stories. We had to whisper because if one of the big prefect boys caught us we were in Big Trouble. I loved it when the story came round to my bed. I liked telling ghost stories and made sure I ended each episode on a suspenseful moment because the next night everyone wanted to know what happened next.  

They ran down the corridor, nervously looking behind them. Suddenly Mark spotted an open door. 'Quickly!' he gasped, 'in here!' They ran inside and slammed the heavy door shut. Louisa held up the candle and looked around. Shadows flickered against the stone walls. The only furniture in the room was a low bed and a table. There was a half-empty cup on the table. The bed cover was turned back as if someone or something had been sleeping there recently. Louisa pulled the map out of her pocket and held it up to the candle. 'I don't like this,' she whispered, we've got to...'

Shh!' said Mark.

They both heard the noise.

'What was that?'

The two children huddled together and listened. It was horrible. It sounded like someone in pain, a low moaning. It was coming along the corridor towards them. Getting closer and closer. Louder and louder! Desperately they looked around for somewhere to hide but there was nowhere. They backed into a corner and waited. Suddenly the noise stopped! For a moment there was silence. They held their breath. The only sound was the noise of their hearts beating. Then the door handle started turning. Slowly, slowly,  the heavy door creaked open and then... 

I was lucky in having some very inspiring English teachers who encouraged my writing.  I had some short stories and poetry published in the school magazine and it was such a thrill seeing my work in print that I decided I was going to be a famous writer. 

After I left school in 1968 I got a place at Leicester University, but though I had a fantastic time acting in plays, writing poems and getting involved in student protests I forgot to do enough work to pass my first year exams; so I was chucked out. I still carried on writing and had a few poems published. Then in 1974 I moved to a small farm in Wales with a group of friends with the idea of living off the land and becoming self-sufficient. I thought that I would be able to write in my spare time. What I didn't realise was that farmers don't have spare time! There is always something to do. The writing had to take a back seat for a few years.  In 1986 I moved down to Swansea for six months to take care of our son Ceri whilst my wife Viv was doing a course at the Uni. When Ceri started going to playgroup I suddenly had two clear hours of writing time. No nappies to change, no animals to milk, no excuses! 

The result was In the Night published two years later. That might seem like a long time but since then I have had stories that have taken four years from being accepted by a publisher to finally appearing in a bookshop! 

My picture books take an average of three months from getting an idea to finishing up with a story. Although they don't have many words each individual word is extremely important; not only does it have to tell the story, it has to make sense to a young reader and also take the weight of being read over and over again. The sound and rhythm of the words are as important to me as their meaning. My aim is to make every book a pleasure for both the child and their parent.     

I am A Very Slow Writer and do hundreds of drafts (rewritings) of my stories to get them as perfect as possible.  I  tend to do all the early rough work by hand on the kitchen table.  At this stage it's good to be messy and free ranging; one idea leads to another. I like the freedom of not having words in tidy straight lines. (Also there are biscuits nearby.)  Only when I'm happy with the basic shape of a story or poem do I take it to the computer.