A Book Worth Reading. . .


Three more weeks of #lockdown. An excellent time to read one of my books.

All my books are available from Amazon, some of them are free if you have a kindle. Which one will you choose?

UK Amazon Link Here

US Amazon Link Here

Australian Amazon Here

Amazon India Here

QuaranTime to Read. . . Chapter Ten


What if…a happily married woman falls in love with someone else?

Chapter Ten

Due to the KDP rules on Amazon, I am not allowed to upload a whole book anywhere other than on the KDP site. I can therefore share chapters with you, but must remove them when read.

 

If you would like to read the whole story, or perhaps buy a copy for a friend, it is available from an Amazon near you. The link to my author page is below:

Author Page

 

Thanks for reading.
Why not sign up to follow my blog so you don’t miss the next chapter?
anneethompson.com

***********

QuaranTime to Read. . . Chapter Nine


What if…a happily married woman falls in love with someone else?

Due to the KDP rules on Amazon, I am not allowed to upload a whole book anywhere other than on the KDP site. I can therefore share chapters with you, but must remove them when read.

 

If you would like to read the whole story, or perhaps buy a copy for a friend, it is available from an Amazon near you. The link to my author page is below:

Author Page

 

 

Thanks for reading.
Why not sign up to follow my blog?
anneethompson.com

If you’re enjoying Invisible Jane, you can buy a copy for a friend from Amazon. Also available as a kindle book.

What if…a happily married woman falls in love with someone else?

UK link here: UK Amazon

I have become a 1950s wife, but without the pointy bra. . .


Hello, and how has your week been? I have to admit, I’m feeling a bit ‘down’ now—this whole lockdown experience has moved from weird to depressing. For me, I hit a real low point when Boris Johnson was admitted to Intensive Care. Now, I have a few differences of opinion with Boris (such as whether it’s okay to lie to people) but I didn’t like the idea that our Prime Minister was now fighting for his life. It was very destabilising. I was sent various ‘calls to prayer’ on social media (I get sent lots of Christian messages and videos on social media—some are excellent, many are not). It was a reminder that we should all be praying for our leaders, whatever our political view.

Some things about lockdown are good—I have rediscovered my breadmaker, and am churning out cinnamon buns and focaccia breads as fast as my family can eat them. I find baking to be therapeutic, if not especially good for my cholesterol levels.

Our conversation has become rather predictable though. Someone will start talking about Covid-19, we will discuss the information for about 5 hours, and then someone (often the person who raised the subject) will say: ‘But we’re talking about Coronavirus again, change the subject!’ We also regularly comment on how quickly the dishwasher refills, how much bread/milk/tea has been consumed, how all the mugs are dirty again. We discuss (though don’t necessarily do) possible types of exercise, plans for the garden, general tidying activities. Mealtimes have become important, and have become the focal point of the day; there is something comforting about familiar food when the rest of the world seems to be off-kilter.

I find I am lonely. Although the house is full, everyone is busy working, doing important conference calls and ‘Zoom’ meetings, and I am left with a lot of dirty dishes and a vacuum cleaner. I have become a 1950s wife but without the pointy bra and lipstick smile, and at low points in the day it upsets me, and I wonder what the point of my life is. This isn’t something I can post on social media, where everything is jolly and jokey (as it should be) but I thought I would share the truth with you, in case you sometimes feel the same. If you are unsettled by the news, and find that you’re not sleeping as well as you used to, and worry about the unpredictability of the world, then take comfort in the knowledge that you’re not alone. There are lots of trite solutions flying round the internet at the moment, but actually, if we are real with each other, ‘now’ is not a great time, and there is lots to worry about.

I am also fed up about my writing (if I am going to have a truthful moan, I might as well share it all!) For an author to be motivated to write, they need to know that someone is going to read their work, which for a novelist means selling books. This is not something that any author I know enjoys, but it is necessary. If no one reads our work, there is no point writing it. I found the best way for me to sell books is at book-signings in bookshops, and stalls at craft fairs. Obviously, these avenues have closed for now. I had booked stalls at several fairs (at a cost of between £40 and £60 per session—which is quite a lot of books to sell just to break even). Each day, I dread opening my emails, reading that yet another event has been cancelled, another opportunity to sell books won’t happen. Although my books are also available from Amazon, I find it difficult to promote them, and I sell very few to new customers. All very depressing, and it all gets tangled up with worries about the economy, and what will happen if people start to lose their jobs, plus the health risks of the virus, and at 2am it whizzes round my brain in a sort of never-ending loop of negativity.

And so, each morning I force myself to run down the lane (which brings me quite close to actual physical death, and so takes my mind off the depressing virtual death I worry about). I then have a decent cup of coffee, eat some cake, read my Bible, and tell God about my worries, before going and baking something delicious. It sort of works—I’m still here.

I hope that you are finding ways to cope with life as we find it.
Take care this week.
Love, Anne x

PS.

Now, after I had written the above, I began to worry, as I often do after writing blogs, that someone might misunderstand what I am trying to say. I remembered something I have seen online recently, where Ellen (famous American person) described feeling as if she was in prison due to lockdown, and instantly, lots of people sent complaining messages (or ‘tweets’ as I believe it was on Twitter) saying that it was appalling that she used that analogy, as she lived in a massive house with great views and a swimming pool. And I began to worry, maybe someone would point out that I am lucky enough to have a garden, and how can I complain, when some people are stuck inside a flat?

But here’s the thing. Yes, Ellen lives in a mansion—but for her, lockdown made her feel like a prisoner. It’s fashionable at the moment to say: “it’s okay to not be okay.” But then, with the next breath, we are outraged at someone who admits they are ‘not okay’ because there are people worse off than them, and they jolly well should be okay! Well, it doesn’t work like that. Ellen might live in a better house than me (though actually, I don’t think she has cockerels roaming her garden, so maybe she doesn’t…) but she still felt shut-in. I live in a nice house with a garden, but it’s still depressing. You may tell me that someone in a flat is worse off than me, and yes, they are, but I can still be fed-up. The person with the flat is better-off than some of the slum-dwellers I visited in India, but that doesn’t make their situation any easier.

There is something in people that likes to point out when others are worse off, to suggest that admitting we find life tough is not, actually, okay. I don’t think there is a limit to this. When I had a brain tumour (and accompanying 5-year migraine) I was often reminded that people with cancerous tumours were the ones who ‘really’ had a right to worry. And yes, they had it tougher than me, but other people had it tougher than them, and if we are going to continually tell people that ‘someone else has a tougher life’ then we are going to continue the cycle where we cannot admit we are not happy, we do not look ‘Instagram Ready,’ we are not all hunky-dory. And so, I would like to state that I know I have loads to be thankful for, I have many ‘blessings’ to count. But today, I am fed-up, and if you are too, that really is okay.

Thanks for reading.
Why not sign up to follow my blog?
anneethompson.com

When I tell people I’m feeling low, they often send photos of sunshine or jolly little messages designed to cheer me up. Whilst this is kind of them, it mainly makes me want to punch them! No, what I find most helpful–and you might too–is to read the book of Ecclesiastes (which is about the middle of the Bible). It doesn’t have any trite little messages, it basically agrees that life is pointless and like chasing the wind. You should have a look.

And then, you could do worse than to read one of my books. They’re available from Amazon, and the UK link is Here! You can decide whether to choose a feel-good happy book, or one that is gritty. Depends on your mood really. . .

The Invisible Jane story continues tomorrow

************

Easter Eggs Are Pagan. . . So, Should Christians Ban Them?


IMG_1163

The festival was for Eastre,
Goddess of fertility.
But they swept it away,
With a cross of humility.
They took over the sunrise–
Coloured eggs were hidden,
They introduced religion,
And pagans were forbidden.

Then the bunnies
Hopped back,
With the chicks
And the eggs.
Spring flowers
In bright posies
Feast times
And families.

But beneath it all
Well hidden within,
Was a story of death
And the blackness of sin.
The anguish of God
Turning his back.
A story of tears
When the world went black.
That tragic tale,
Which won’t go away,
Has a promise of peace
That we long for today.
And the torture and pain
And despair of that day,
Is why God turns and listens
When we kneel and pray.

IMG_1188

***

Originally, at this time of year, there was a pagan festival for Eastre (sometimes spelt with an ‘O’) who was the goddess of fertility. That is where the sunrise, eggs, bunnies and chicks come from. People gave gifts of eggs to enhance fertility, there was dancing at sunrise, a bit of a party.

Then the Christians arrived and they wanted to celebrate the death and resurrection of Jesus. Rather than create their own festival, as the resurrection happened at Passover time (a Jewish festival timed by the phases of the moon) and this was a similar time to the Eastre festival, they sort of merged the two. Everyone was used to having a happy time, so why not simply change the focus? It seemed to work, and gradually people forgot why they were using symbols of fertility, and they became symbols of new life, a promise of what we find if we let God into our lives. It is a little like the Christmas festival, which today we use to celebrate the birth of Jesus, but once was a pagan Winter Festival (there were no fir trees when Jesus was born!)

Does it matter? Should Christians refuse to give gifts of eggs, because the tradition is pagan? Well, I don’t think so. If you read some of the letters in the Bible, the first believers in Jesus were told that if it didn’t cause anyone a problem, then they could eat meat that had been offered to idols. When I give chocolate eggs to my friends and family, I don’t think any of them assume this will improve their fertility! It’s just an egg. The Bible also tells us that celebrations are good, we were designed to have festivals and special times. So try to make today special, whether it is with eggs or a big dinner or some other treat. Remember that Jesus rose up from the dead, which means we really can talk to him, however fed-up we might be feeling, whatever struggles we’re facing right now. Jesus is alive, and he’s on our side.

Thank you for reading. Have a lovely day.
Love, Anne x

***

Thank you for reading.
Why not sign up to follow my blog?
anneethompson.com

***

Good Friday: A Sword-Pierced Heart


I watched my son die today. My beautiful boy, beaten, battered and left to die. And my heart broke. I held my cloak close and I remembered the weight of him as a babe, like a boulder on my hip, wriggling to be free, to run and jump and climb. Those legs will run no more. Those limbs — I was so proud when they grew. I remember when he grew as tall as me, then taller even than Joseph. I remember watching him, stretched out as he ate, those long limbs seemed to go on forever. “I grew him,” I used to think with pride. Those limbs will not sprawl relaxed in my home ever again.

I watched his hands, the hands that used to pat me cheekily on the head when he’d grown tall. Those strong hands which laboured with wood, which helped me carry heavy loads, which lifted young children playfully. They are no longer strong. I saw them bang nails through the flesh, felt that I heard the sound of bone shattering over the thump of the hammer, heard his ragged breath as they forced the cross upright. And I wondered if I too might die. But I watched. I am his mother and I would not leave him alone.

When they tried to take me home, when they told me to shield my eyes, avert my gaze, I did not. For he was my son. I would never leave him alone, not at such an anguished hour of need. Others watched. Some women were there, terrified and hanging back. Not me, I am his mother. I stood with John, where he could see me. What could they do to me that was worse than this?

Others watched who hated him. They mocked and spat and called abuse. It could not hurt him now, I thought, let them shout. “He trusts in God,” they called, “Let God save him now,” and they laughed, even as he died they laughed. Yet even God deserted him by the end and that was hardest to bear. He called out with a loud shout, asking why God had turned from him.
“My God,” he called in anguish, “why have you forsaken me?”
But I was there. I did not leave. I saw them crucify him, naked upon a cross. No mother wants to see her grown son naked, but still I did not look away. I was there at the beginning, I would stay with him until the end.

The soldiers took his clothes, for fabric is costly and even that of a criminal should not go to waste. Most they tore and shared between them, but not his tunic. They cast lots for that, not wanting to spoil something precious. Yet my son was precious and they destroyed him.

It began last night. They woke me from my sleep and warned me there was trouble. He had been arrested, taken from a meal with his friends and questioned by the temple authorities. They feared the invaders, so he was then referred to a court of Godless law, a place that feared no God. They told me that he was scourged, beaten with whips that removed chunks of flesh as they struck. He was mocked and abused, then brought to this place.

I came, stumbling through streets full of people, full of noise and smells and fear and hatred. I came to this place, this Godforsaken hill beyond the city wall and I saw my son, my boy, diminished, shrunken somehow. I saw that what they had told me was true, smelt the repugnant stink of excrement mingle with the metallic stench of blood. I heard the shouts of abuse, the curses of the guards, the screams from the prisoners, the wails from friends. And him, like an oasis of calm amidst the turmoil, suffering but at peace.
And he saw me. Those dark eyes that as a baby had watched me intently when he fed. Those eyes that twinkled merrily when he teased me and became serious when he wanted to explain something important. Those eyes, red rimmed with exhaustion now, turned to me. Even hanging there, with parched mouth and dried lips, he spoke to me. His voice was hoarse, for he had refused the wine they offered, but I heard him well. A mother knows her child’s voice. I stood with John and my son told me that this was to be my son now and he was to care for me as a mother. Even in his torment he cared for me, fulfilled his duty as my son. Still I would not leave.

Then it ended. The sky had turned as black as my world and he drew his last breath. It was finished.
Those who had mocked became silent, some cried, some beat their breasts in despair. The blackness of the sky frightened them and many fled, wondering at what they had done.
Then I left, I let them lead me away. My soul was broken and my heart beat even though I bid it stop. My boy was gone, my firstborn, special baby, was no more. I carried that knowledge like a rock within me, I would have rather died in his place. How can I live, continue with my life knowing he is gone? There will be no more sunshine or laughter, nothing matters now. The core of me has gone. I cannot even cry.

Afterwards, I could not rest and I heard strange stories. They said the soldiers pierced his side, to check there was no life in him. His blood had separated so they took him down, a solid corpse that had no life.
A man came and took the body, they said they followed and knew where he lay, in a tomb that was guarded. They told me of strange things, of the temple curtain torn in two, of dead men walking and boulders breaking open. I do not know. I only know my boy is gone. That is all that matters.
It should not have been like this. It was so recently that people praised his name, sang and danced before him, treated him like a king. It should not have ended like this.

And yet, I recall a song, it comes persistently to mind, sung often in the synagogue. It speaks of one forsaken by God in his time of need, scorned by many. He belonged to God from before he was born, then suffered at the hands of many. They sung of bones poured out like water, a heart of melted wax, that is how my boy would have felt. They sung of hands and feet pierced like his and enemies gloating over him. They sang of lots being cast for clothing and of God’s ultimate victory. They sung of remembering him for ever, not just now but families of every nation, even those presently unborn. For he has done it.
Is this my son’s song? Were the words written for him? He spoke of his death often, he tried to warn me that he would die. But not like this, not before my own time has come. No mother should bury her child, it goes against what is natural and right. Though, he showed no fear, he knew what his end would be. And he told me there was more.

As I turn now to sleep, I wonder at his words. Will he truly return somehow and will I know?

Has he finished what he was sent to do?

************

If Mary was a young teenager when she learned she was pregnant (which would fit with the age that girls became betrothed in those days) then when Jesus died aged thirty-three, she would have been about forty-seven. How does a woman of that age cope with the things she was forced to witness and how much would she have understood at the time?  I have sons, contemplating their dying is too horrible for words. I am sure she loved her boy as much as we love ours.

Crucifixion was a ghastly way to die. We learn in the Bible that Jesus, who never sinned, who never did anything wrong, died to save the world. What does that mean? You can learn more Here

However, many people were crucified, some probably unjustly accused. So is it the death that was important or was it that God became separate? I think that this is the key issue here: the part of Jesus that was God, left him. That was more terrible than crucifixion. That is what each of us deserves and what we do not have to suffer if we choose to come to God.
If we want to know God, we can, even if that means changing our minds.

You may not believe in God, but God believes in you.

The song which Mary recalled in the story was Psalm 22. It has some striking similarities to the account of Jesus’ crucifixion. It was written about one thousand years before the event (wow!)
It begins: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
It finishes: “…future generations will be told about the Lord. They will proclaim his righteousness to a people yet unborn–for he has done it.”

****

Thank you for reading.

If you liked this, why not sign up to follow my blog?

anneethompson.com

****************

QuaranTime to Read . . . Chapter Eight


What if…a happily married woman falls in love with someone else?

Chapter Eight

Due to the KDP rules on Amazon, I am not allowed to upload a whole book anywhere other than on the KDP site. I can therefore share chapters with you, but must remove them when read.

 

If you would like to read the whole story, or perhaps buy a copy for a friend, it is available from an Amazon near you. The link to my author page is below:

 

Amazon Link Here!

 

 

Why not sign up to follow my blog so you don’t miss the next chapter?

anneethompson.com

QuaranTime to Read . . . Chapter Seven


What if…a happily married woman falls in love with someone else?

Chapter Seven

Due to the KDP rules on Amazon, I am not allowed to upload a whole book anywhere other than on the KDP site. I can therefore share chapters with you, but must remove them when read.

 

If you would like to read the whole story, or perhaps buy a copy for a friend, it is available from an Amazon near you. The link to my author page is below:

Amazon Link Here!

 

 

To be continued. . . 

Thanks for reading.
Why not sign up to follow my blog so you don’t miss the next chapter?
anneethompson.com

Being Positive in a Surreal World


Being Positive

Hello and how has your week been? Things are very odd, aren’t they? I keep reminding myself that this has happened before, with the 1918 Flu epidemic—I just wasn’t around to experience it. We have had epidemics before, and they passed, and one day things will become normal again. ‘Normal’ feels very precious, doesn’t it?

Have you been personally affected by the virus? So far, although I know of friends-of-friends who have had the virus (in various degrees of severity) no one in my immediate circle has caught the virus. Which means it all feels a little surreal, and the main impact on my day to day life is the government directives rather than the actual virus. I have stopped watching the news—other than the headlines, because I find it rather depressing. There are too many discussions about things that are going wrong, the worries that people have. These are very real, and I don’t want to suggest otherwise, but I find I can only cope with so much horrid stuff at once, so I limit what I watch. I certainly ignore any headline with the word ‘could’ in it. Too much dire speculation. In fact, I find the most interesting news are the simple stats, with no commentary at all. I found a good link: worldometers  

Worth bearing in mind when viewing stats, is that normal flu deaths average about 17,000 in the UK each year. So although covid-19 is worse (because everyone needs hospital help at the same time, and hospitals cannot cope) the mere numbers are not as scary as they seem.

However, there is a lot that is rather special. When I was diagnosed with a brain tumour, everything seemed scary/unreal at first. Gradually, God taught me to live in the present, to notice lovely things about ‘now’ and to leave the future to him. I cannot reassure you about the future, because none of us knows what that will hold, but I can tell you some lovely things about the present. I look outside at the spring flowers, the squirrels bouncing around, the chickens wandering round the garden…

Now, one challenge is shopping. I am shopping for my household (currently 5 people) plus my mother, plus random neighbours of my mother who give her their shopping requests. These requests tend to be very specific: ‘4 conference pears but only if they are ripe’. As they are isolated at home, they have no idea how impossible some of these requests are. I expect they think I am rather tardy/stupid when completely the wrong food arrives. So far, they have been too polite to say anything. I wander round the shop in a complete muddle, trying to juggle different lists and remember what I wanted myself.

One mistake was mentioning to Husband that I was having trouble finding tinned tomatoes. Every time he leaves the house now, he manages to return with tins of tomatoes. I have no idea where he’s finding them—some are very odd varieties. I keep telling him we are fine for tomatoes, but it seems to have become lodged in his brain, it’s like one of those nightmares where you open every cupboard, and each one is full of tomatoes. . . or perhaps you don’t have that nightmare?

I do sort of enjoy shopping now. True, it was disorientating at first, when I popped down for milk and there was none, of any kind, in the shops. But now I go expecting to not find things, and it’s a nice surprise when things are back on the shelves. This is due to the supermarket staff, who are being rather wonderful. Let’s face it, I doubt if any of the cashiers and shelf-stockers previously saw their work as a vocation. And yet there they are, risking all the customer germs, dutifully working so we can eat. When I went down today, there were queues outside, and they were allowing people into the shop gradually: one out, one in. What a hassle for them, yet they were incredibly polite and cheerful, trying to keep us all safe. Inside, I could see them wiping down baskets between each customer, washing their hands, doing their best to be as germ-free as possible.

I could of course list all the other wonderful people: the medics, the bus drivers, the teachers—so many people who are risking their own health to keep the country going. Personally, I think it’s rather marvellous.

Have you found it hard to keep track of the days? With everyone working at home, every day is very similar. I find some of the online conference things help, and some of my normal activities are now continuing in a virtual world. You have to be careful to remember when you are on camera though, I have seen a few mistakes (the worst one being a woman who took her phone to the loo and everyone on the conference call could see her!) Most churches have some sort of virtual service, and we sat round last Sunday and watched our old pastor from New Jersey preaching (I think he was in his basement!) Thankfully, he wasn’t wearing his pyjamas, which most people working from home seem to do (or maybe that’s just in my house). If you want to tune in next Sunday, the link is here

We also watched our UK service online. The link is Here

Both pastors are doing their best not to look like they’re making a hostage video! They are mostly succeeding…

One of the best things for me, is the jokes spinning around the internet. I think some of my isolated relatives spend all day sourcing hilarious memes to send. Here are a few of my favourites:

 

There is also lots of useful information among the scaremongering—you just have to check the source. My understanding of how viruses work is growing—did you know that there are different degrees of infection? So, if you have very slight exposure (maybe one person coughs near you on the street) then your level of infection, and therefore your likely illness, will be slight. However, if you mix with several people carrying the virus, you will have a higher rate of infection and therefore be more ill. The correct term is ‘viral load.’ This means even if you are all in the same family, it is worth isolating ill people, to limit the infection (don’t think that because you all have the virus, you should all sit round watching telly together — you can add to each other’s infection.) Interesting huh? It also means our medical staff, who will have lots of exposure to the virus from various sources, are very much at risk, and therefore very deserving of our admiration.

I hope you are finding some happy things among all the chaos. Take care—and wash your hands!

Love, Anne x

Thanks for reading.
Why not sign up to follow my blog?
anneethompson.com

How to Teach Your Child to Read


How to Teach Your Child to Read

by Anne E Thompson

 I wrote this article several years ago. Now that many parents are forced to implement some kind of home-education, I thought it might be useful. There are some practical ideas, as well as a little educational psychology to explain why some things work better than others. I hope it’s helpful. Please share with people who will find it useful.

If you want to teach your child to read, as a primary school teacher, I am tempted to say: “Don’t!” There are lots of things, like tying shoe laces, identifying birds in the garden and cracking an egg into a cup, which are easiest taught at home and which you will do so much better than a teacher. When teaching to read is done badly, it is actually possible that you might delay your child’s reading or cause problems that can take years to undo.
However, as a mother, I know that teaching your child can be rewarding and fun, and we want to do it. This article therefore aims to give you some helpful hints on the sort of things that you might do at home with your child. It also lists a few of the problems that can arise.

Firstly, the most important thing that you can do is read, and let your child see you reading. Children are great imitators, and if they see both their mother and their father reading, then they will want to. You can read anything: books, newspapers, recipes, instruction manuals. What is important is that your child sees you reading. Young children who never or rarely see their parents read are less likely to want to themselves because it does not seem important. They are at that stage where they think everything you do is wonderful, and will want to copy. (Unfortunately, this stage does not last long. By the time they are teenagers they will think everything you do is wrong, so make the most of it!)

You also need to have lots of reading material in your home. This does not have to be expensive: join the library, or visit jumble sales and buy some cheap second-hand books. If children see their parents reading, and if there are books in the home, it is a natural step for them to pick up a book and turn the pages. It does not matter if they are only looking at the pictures or saying words that are not in the book, the first stage of learning to read is ‘playing’ with a book for pleasure.

You also need to read to your child. Sit them on your knee, and read them a story. They will learn that reading is something pleasurable, that can be done in a relaxed manner and will also start to internalise written language. This can be done at any age (some people even advocate reading to your unborn baby!) It will help your child learn to read as naturally as they learn to speak.

Much of reading is to do with prediction (which I will explain in more detail later) and if they have heard, “Once upon a time…” a few times it will help them later, when they are decoding for themselves.

Let your child see that you turn the pages one at a time, and read the words from left to right, top to bottom. Even before they can read, they will start to copy this behaviour.
If you are a working parent, it can be hard to find time in the day to read with your child. However, it really is important. Try to set aside the same time each day and make it part of the rhythm of the day. It does not matter if it is every day while you eat breakfast, or last thing in the evening when they are in bed. Read to them! It is as important as cleaning their teeth.

Do not rush into ‘proper’ reading lessons with your child. There is an age whereby a child is physically too young to learn to read. The human brain is a wonderful organ and it takes about 21 years to be fully developed. Different parts of the brain have different functions and control different things. It develops from back to front, and inside to outside. You would not sit your child in the driver’s seat of your car and tell him to drive—if nothing else, you can see that he’s not tall enough to look out of the windscreen, and his legs aren’t long enough to reach the pedals. Learning to read also needs physical development, but it is harder to gauge because we cannot see that a child is not ready. There is a substance called myelin, which I do not fully understand (I am a teacher, not a neurologist!) which is essential for a child to be capable of reading. This is the stuff that carries messages to and from the brain, and it coats different nerves as time goes on—so, first a baby can control their large limbs (arms and legs) later, they have finer motor control (can use their fingers). After a few years, it enables the eye to carry symbols to the brain, and for the brain to then decode them into language.
Now, if a child is ‘forced’ to read before they have developed sufficiently, they will use different parts of the brain to decode symbols (the brain is very clever, if it cannot use one pathway, it will make a different one.)For example, they might attempt to memorise, rather than decode. This can then cause problems later, and they will have to ‘unlearn’ what they are doing, which is very difficult. For this reason, some countries will not begin to teach reading in schools until a child is aged seven and they can be confident that the brain is sufficiently developed.

However, some children are ready to read long before then—which is why you are reading this article. My daughter learnt to read when she was aged three. One son learnt when he was four, the other was not ready to learn until he was well over five, and had started school. There is no correlation between when they learnt to read and their long-term academic success. It is not an indication of intelligence; it is an indication of physical development. So do not get involved in competitive ‘parent talk.’ You may just as well be proud of your child’s hair colour, as the age they learn to read.

It can be difficult to know when your child is ready to learn to read. I do not have a fool proof method, so will simply share my own experience.

Firstly, I watched my children. As children develop, they are able to use and control their large limbs first (Swaying an arm to hit a baby mobile) then their smaller limbs (holding something in a fist) then their fine motor skills develop (playing with a thread of cotton and holding it with a fingertip and thumb.) Fine motor skills give an indication of how your child is developing.

Secondly, I played a game with them to discover if they could recognise a symbol. I wrote lots of random letters on a piece of paper (or could be shapes) and wrote one at the top. Then I said, “This is an ‘a’, can you point at the other ‘a’s on the paper? If they could consistently match letters/shapes, I would begin trying to teach reading. If they did not seem to be learning, I stopped, and tried again in a few months.

So, what do you actually do to teach your child to read? I think that you need to understand the different components of reading and give your child experience in all of them. Education is constantly changing, and the methods of teaching and testing reading ability seem to change from decade to decade. However, you are a parent, not a teacher, so you do not have to worry about current policy, you can just give your child a varied reading experience and discover what works for you. Here are some ideas which I suggest you muddle up and use in any order as often as you can. Just be sure that every activity is fun.

Reading is very similar to listening. To listen, you hear sounds, your brain sorts the different sounds into words and you derive meaning. When reading, you see symbols (which in English are letters, grouped into words) which the brain then deciphers into meaning. When you listen, you do not hear every word. Much of your understanding comes from the tone and the context and what you feel makes sense. The same is true of reading. When you read you do not look at every letter—you do not even look at every word if reading fluently and quickly. Again, you use the context, and what is logical, to make sense of what you have read.

Context is very important. You can even ‘read’ things that make no sense, because you will use your understanding of how language works to fill in the gaps. So, if you read:
“Judy loved to blimp. Every morning she went blimping. Whatever the weather, rain or shine, Judy could be found blimping away. When she thought back over her year, Judy realised she must have … a thousand times.”

If you are a fluent reader, you will probably decipher the last sentence as “Judy realised she must have blimped a thousand times. This is with you having no idea what the verb ‘to blimp’ means.

You can teach your child to use the context of what is being read by asking them to predict the end of phrases. Ask them to read with you and when you read: “Once upon …” let them read: “…a time.” Sit so your child can see the words, you read the story but leave some gaps where there are ‘obvious’ words and let your child say them. This is developing their prediction skills and their ability to use the context of what is written. Later, when they are reading on their own, they will also use the pictures as part of the context that helps them decode the text.

Another part of reading is word recognition. There are words which we hardly need to look at, we know their shapes so well. I would teach word recognition as a separate activity to reading. There is, in my view, a real danger that children will focus too much on individual words and not enough on the meaning of the text. We want our children to become fluent readers, not people with amazing memories who can remember thousands of words.

One good way to teach word recognition is to cut up some cardboard, and write some simple words on it. Then play a game of ‘pairs’ or ‘bingo’ with the words. Later, when you are reading to your child, if you come to one of the words that they have learnt you can stop, and let them read that word. Reading then becomes a shared activity, with you reading most of the story and them filling in any words they have learnt to recognise plus any that are obvious from the context. Gradually, they will read more and more of the text themselves.

Children need to see lots of words, and several different types of text. If they are cooking, help them to follow a simple recipe. If you have time, write out a recipe for them, if nothing else they will learn lots of imperative verbs. (Imperative verbs are bossy verbs, like ‘put’, ‘fill’, ‘place’.) Reading a recipe, is still reading.

Some people make word cards, and place them around their house, so every coffee table, kitchen appliance, door, etc is labelled. I expect that this does help children to recognise words (however, I personally would not want to live in that house, so I never did that with my own children. Plus, my children were quite inventive, so would probably have switched the labels around, thus confusing the youngest!)

Magnetic letters on the fridge are a fun way for children to practice making words. Do check them though, one of my children wrote lots of misspelt swear words. He thought that as he’d never heard me say them, I would not know what they were! It was funny, but slightly embarrassing when visitors came.

Another part of reading is phonics (the sounds of letters.) A fluent reader rarely uses phonics unless they are introduced to a new word. It slows the flow of reading and is fairly inaccurate. Most people do not say the pure letter sounds, so ‘l’ becomes ‘le’. If you sound out ‘le’ ‘o’ ‘o’ ‘ke’ ‘e’ ‘de’ it is very unlikely you will decipher ‘looked.’ However, it can be useful in giving children a clue about what a word might be, if they are also using context to decode a sentence.

Again, I always taught phonics as a separate lesson to reading. It is a natural part of a spelling lesson, and when children have internalised phonics they will use them very naturally when reading. If they are directed to ‘sound out’ words too often, then they start to focus all their attention on individual letters and all meaning of the text is forgotten. It is possible to say all the correct words, and not actually derive any meaning from the text. If given some German to read, I can probably say all the words correctly, but will not have any idea what the text is about. Unfortunately, some children learn to read like this. They are able to say the sounds of the letters to form words, but the words never seem to touch their brain, to have any real meaning. They have to listen to themselves speaking to understand what the words mean, which obviously slows up their reading and is not what they should be doing.

A good way to teach initial letter sounds is to play “I spy”. You can use either letter names, or letter sounds (your child needs to learn both) and they will gradually build up a good knowledge of words that begin with the same sounds. You can always write the letter on a piece of paper, so they also begin to recognise the shape.

I often told The Magic Pens story (see under Children’s Stories at anneethompson.com Link is Here ) It is best told rather than read, and I would tell it to the class whilst writing the relevant words on the white board. The children always, unprompted, joined in by chanting the lists of words, which made a fun way for them to learn phonics. Also, as the initial letter is a different colour, it helps dyslexic readers. It was a great time-filler when waiting to go for lunch or assembly, and the children always enjoyed it, especially if we included some naughty words like ‘bum!’

It can be extended by the teacher returning to the classroom in the morning and making a sentence with the words, such as : “Kit wanted to sit, but a nit bit her, so she had a fit.” You can do the same activity at home. If you write a sentence with the words, put it on the fridge and your child can return to them throughout the day and read what was written. Obviously, change the letters used each time, so the child begins to build up a good knowledge of letter blends. You can also start with initial sounds, such as ‘br’ or ‘ch’ and change the story accordingly.
{Incidentally, I have only ever told the Magic Pen stories in a classroom. If you try them at home, please let me know if they are still fun and if the child joins in!}

Your child also needs to be reading books. Proper, child friendly, story books. It does not matter if they cannot initially read every word, they need the opportunity to explore them and to practice reading. Try to find some simple books that have very repetitive language. Read the story to your child a few times first (Yes, they will remember the words, that is okay, reading uses memory.) If there is a word they cannot read, just tell them. Do not tell them to ‘sound it out’, that takes all the fun out of reading. If they are asking you for help, that is excellent, they are showing that they understand the text has meaning and they want to know what it says.

Do not ever be tempted to buy the books from the school reading scheme. Your child’s teacher will be using them to both teach and as a diagnostic tool to assess your child’s progress. If your child has read them at home, they will give an unrealistic performance (which the teacher will be aware of) and the child will be bored with them, and not want to read them again at school. It is hugely unhelpful and will slow their progress. If your child’s teacher wants the child to practice the school books at home, they will be sent home for you to borrow.

Do not force a child who does not want to read to begin learning. I home-schooled one of my children when we were living abroad, and I found reading a real tension point. It really mattered to me that he should read fluently and he decided he did not want to learn. (This is the child who every day picked up his pen by the wrong end and told me he could not remember which way round it went! Some children need more patience and prayers than others…) I did teach him eventually—mainly  thanks to finding some simple books about a dragon who had a pet cat that pooped everywhere, which appealed to my son immensely! However, he never enjoyed reading. Even as a teenager, he would pay his younger brother to read to him the books set by his school while he did something ‘more interesting.’ I do not know if his personality means he would never have enjoyed reading, or if my daily frustration with his four-year-old awkward self somehow left a lasting impression. If I could turn back the clock, I would tell myself to stop trying, have a rest and start again in six months’ time.

On a similar vein, do let older children choose their own books. Another mistake I made was when my daughter, who had read fluently from a very young age, was about eight. I decided that she should be reading books that would extend her, and gave her lots of the child classics (The Railway Children, Little Woman, that sort of thing.) She just wanted to read simple tales of magic and princesses. After a while, she stopped reading for pleasure completely. She did, after a year or so, begin again but I had made the mistake of taking the fun out of reading. It has to be fun. If children enjoy reading, they will always read. We might enjoy reading Dickens, but we need a few novels in between time too.

Your child will learn to read at his/her own pace. Just as some children learn to walk as early as ten months of age and others are well over a year, so some children acquire reading skills very quickly and others learn more slowly. Try not to worry and absolutely do not start comparing with other children. You have been given a very special role in raising your child, let them develop at their own speed, they are not like anyone else. If they seem completely disinterested in reading, stop trying to teach them (but do not stop reading to them) and enjoy other experiences instead. If there is a problem, your child’s teacher will alert you but probably your child is just not quite ready to start learning yet.

Watching your child learn to read is hugely rewarding and very exciting. I hope that you will both enjoy the experience and it will be special activity that you share.

More articles, stories and poems at: anneethompson.com

Thank you for reading.
Why not sign up to follow my blog?
anneethompson.com