Josanne Cassar meets Manuel Zarb who recently beat 126 other children to win first prize in an international writing

competition organised by www.youngwriters.toowrite.com

Manuel Zarb is ten years old; a quiet, unassuming boy to look at him. But beneath the spectacles and his shy smile lies a vivid imagination, which is constantly churning out ideas for the stories he writes.

Although the Zarb family speak Maltese as their first language, Manuel’s love of the English language has turned him into an avid reader in English. At the age of six he was already reading Harry Potter, and his teachers at St Albert the Great College immediately noticed how advanced his reading level was for his age.

It is clear from all the books lining the shelves at the Zarb family’s home, that he is not the only one who devours books. Manuel’s parents, George and Anna (a school counsellor and a teacher respectively) confirm to me that they, too, are constantly reading.

Gradually, however, they came to realise that their oldest son was not just a reader; he was something of a prodigy.

Even as a young child, Manuel would ask his mother for words to describe his drawings, and eventually he started writing out stories in copy books which he stored away and kept secret because he was too shy to show them to anyone. When his parents eventually discovered that their son was constantly writing, they encouraged him to join The Young Writers Club, organised by the Foundation for Educational Services. It was here that Manuel opened up and learned to share his work, particularly as the course encourages Peer Response in which the children take turns giving their comments about each other’s work.

“It first it wasn’t easy to accept the criticism or suggestions but then I got used to it,” Manuel tells me.

The course has taught him a lot about technique, word limit and other writing skills. His father remembers a time when Manuel wouldn’t even want to change a single word he had written, “because it will change the entire story”, but he has now come round to accepting these suggestions as well.

Seeing his natural talent for writing, one of the teachers at his school, Marisa Deguara, encouraged him to take part in a competition organised by the website www.youngwriters.toowrite.com. Manuel submitted two stories, Lost at Sea and Checkmate. It was the latter one, a clever tale in which a pawn on a chessboard describes the battles between the whites and the blacks, which won him the prize. Manuel uses Olde English combined with his other love – history – to weave a story which takes us into this other world. This young writer not only has a way with words, but also an impish sense of humour - such as when he speaks about ‘pawn gossip’. Or when, after adulating King Alvin a couple of times with the line ‘May he live forever’, he finally cuts this down to ‘May he live etcetera’.

The idea for Checkmate had been brewing in his mind for a while, but when he learned about the competition, he wrote the entire story in just two hours.

These days, Manuel is no longer reticent about showing his work. In fact, during the interview, he eagerly showed me his neatly bound stories (part of an ongoing project called The Crazy Light series, I might add), which he now types on computer. To his mother’s surprise, he even showed me those first early copybooks written in a childish hand, which he used to hide away with such secrecy. “He hardly shows them to anyone,” she says.

“I get my ideas from books, from cartoons even from computer games. Then I just use my imagination,” Manuel adds.

His parents confirm that he never goes anywhere without a book to read, and a copybook just in case he gets the germ of an idea for a story.

Manuel’s younger brother Aaron, aged 7, is also involved: “I give him ideas for stories, and sometimes I have to correct him because he writes the story so quickly that he puts ‘he’ instead of ‘she’,” he tells me with a laugh.

The Zarb family was obviously thrilled to learn that Manuel had won first prize.

The competition promised that they would send the winner ‘your height in books’, and they were true to their word. Two boxes full of books arrived, and thanks to Julie Bailey, the website’s editor, she made sure they were suited to Manuel’s love of fantasy.

Manuel’s parents are understandably proud of their son and are encouraging him to take part in other children’s writing competitions, which they have found through the Internet.

“We are even trying to get in touch with publishers abroad so that eventually, he might get his stories published,” they say. Meanwhile the Foundation for Educational Services is due to publish some of his work shortly.

It is not often that one stumbles upon a natural writing ability in someone so young.

So remember the name Manuel Zarb – I have a feeling that we will be hearing a lot more about him in the future.

Manuel’s winning story: Checkmate

Greetings. I am Thomas, soldier of The Great White King Alvin (May he live forever). Well, actually, I am a pawn. Here, I recount the tale of our great battle against the Black Wizard Horus and his army.

We are Chess pieces, yet we do not only live in battles. When no one is looking or listening, we live, and we live like normal people. I live in the Land of the Chessboard, in The White Castle, spending most of my time in the Pawn’s Chamber. It is a very big room, as big as a quart of the Throne Room, but it is not enough for me and seven other pawns: Gawain, Howard, Jonathan, Arthur, William, Henry and Oliver. There are only five beds (and not very comfortable ones at that), so we take turns sleeping on the floor.

Our Knights are certainly better off. The two of them, Sir Joseph and Sir Henry, sleep in a bedroom with a fireplace and servant bells. In addition, there are at least fifty other reinforcement Knights, in case any Knights get slain in battle.

Snobs!

The bishops, Father Peter and Father John (Henry and John are popular names), are friendlier. Father John talks with me about religion in the evening. The Queen. Hmm.

We never really see her, but we know that:

• She is the most beautiful woman in the world,

• She has a solid ruby bed (doesn’t sound comfortable),

• Her eyes are all the colours of the Rainthread,

• She is the daughter of a fairy,

• Her baby has magic powers.

That proves how true Pawn Gossip is. Our King, King Alvin, is wonderful! He is kind and just...and terrifying. When William lost his comb he...oh, anyway. Some weeks ago, I found a letter in the tower. I showed it to the king. It said:

Surrendere. If you do not, I wille destroye your castle. You have exactly one weeke to reply. Be warned, I am not merciful. The Black Wizard.

Not another foolish battle. Aye, another battle. King Alvin (May he live forever) would not surrender. The others would slay us anyway. We polished our army. The Knights practiced horse riding. The Bishops prayed for hours without stopping. The Rooks (that’s right, our castle) practiced stomping. My patience was tested. We assembled our Great White Army some distance from the castle. I talked with Arthur before the battle. “Do you think we will win?” I asked. “The Wizard’s army is as big as ours. Our chances are even, yet we have the offensive,” he responded calmly. “What is that?” “Surprise.”

The next morning, we woke early. The Black Wizard’s army was in the distance, waiting. I gulped as I saw how well armed they were. We had a sword and a shield. They had two long swords, a dagger, a short bow, arrows and a huge metal shield. Though I am usually brave, I was scared stiff. Before we began, Father John preached to everyone about bravery, honour and trust. He said we had to work in all jointly in order to win. The bugles were blown. I took a deep breath. This was for my castle and my king. As is the Chess custom, White began.

We ran at our challengers, shouting our battle cry. The Knights and Bishops, who learnt archery, shot arrows. The black wizard’s army welcomed us. I swung my sword at a Black Knight’s head in frenzy. Do not get me wrong. I dislike battles very much. But when I fight, I am filled with spirit. Must be Father John’s prayers. The Enemy Knight narrowly avoided me. I attacked someone else. Whoever he or she was, I didn’t care. The battle raged on for hours.

Finally, we retreated at night fall for reinforcements and to care for the wounded. We could not fight in the dark, and we were tired. King Alvin (May he live forever) strolled about in front of us. His Queen sat beside him. “We have fought well,” He said. “But, unfortunately, not all of us have survived. Our beloved soldier, William, was slain in the battle. He died boldly, like any soldier of mine should. Let us devote a few moments in silence for his soul.”

I felt a lump in my throat. I had not been a very close friend of William’s, but I had got used to seeing his face everyday. It was a fine blow to me. King Alvin (May he live forever) was just. He treated everyone the same. He would speak to me as if he were speaking to an educated, important scribe. “Also,” he added. “Sir Joseph has broken his arm. We will need reinforcements. Sir Joseph, mount your horse and go back to the castle. Send one knight and one pawn as replacements. That is all.” Sir Joseph carefully mounted his horse and galloped off. That was the last I ever saw of him.

The next morning, I found that we had two new additions: Sir Avian and the new pawn, who wished to remain unknown. We rushed into battle a second time. This time, I brought down a whole rook! It came crashing to the ground, a big distraction for the black wizard! I crept into the wizard’s tent in the confusion. I found a pile of wrapped scrolls. Curious, I opened one and read its content. I crept out just as both armies retreated again. King Alvin (May he ex-cetera) looked very satisfied. Grinning from ear to ear, he told us: “Not one single person was lost! We are winning! Winning!” he shouted, punching the air with his sword. I rolled out the scroll from the enemy tent and waited for my king to read it. He looked down and smiled.

The next morning, I picked a tuft of grass. I was going to be slain, I was sure of it. The bugles sounded. I unsheathed my sword and walked towards the battle field. The third battle began. I greeted the enemy with a smile and a sword. We were losing. Our soldiers kept getting wounded and running off to the castle. The enemy had seven times as many troops as us.

The last thing I saw was the black queen. She raised a long sword high up in the air. I looked at Arthur as he crept up behind the Black King. Perfect. I licked my lips, and uttered a single word. “Checkmate.”