Christabelle Grant Author

New Zealand

"Books are always a good idea."

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Live a life in yellow.

  • “Science Experiments”

    I never was good at Science.

    Physics was merely a bunch of strange hypothetical questions about trains going odd speeds to get to a location nobody cared about.

    I didn’t care then and I certainly don’t care now.

    But there was a time, that I did care about science.

    It was relatively short lived however I’ll take it none the less.

    When I was a child, my sweet tooth led the way and was the basis of a lot of my decision making.

    As kids, we ate for the most part a very healthy diet with lots of fruit and vegetables- including yes, the disgusting brussel sprout, or as my Brownies used to call them “Mini cabbages of death.”

    We did baking every week with mum, and always, always got to lick the spoon, however, I decided I needed access to more sweet things in my life, and thus, I declared my need to make “Science Experiments.”

    Now you may be wondering where I might get a train from, alas, the science experiments I had in mind did not involve a train, or an unknown destination.

    My science experiments only needed an empty egg carton and a series of baking ingredients from the pantry.

    One cardboard egg holder would hold brown sugar, the next white sugar, coconut, chocolate chips… you get the picture.

    Everything sweet in one egg carton, in which I would then “mix” ingredients together to get the best combination.

    These “Science Experiments” were a big part of my childhood and would keep me entertained for hours on end- much to my parents amusement.

    So whilst Physics and I were quite literally never on the same page, my own “Science Experiments” always were.

    Once a sweet tooth, always a sweet tooth, and no-one, I mean no one, can take that egg carton away from me.

    23.10.2025

  • ” I am NOT a delectable Panda”

    Everyone starts somewhere.

    For me, I started young, with the books that is, and soon after ,with words.

    For the past quarter of a century I have been obsessed with words, stories, poetry and the way words can make you feel.

    My journey to being a published author has been a long one, weaving in and out of the ups and downs of life.

    Recently I had my first book launch and I’ve been on cloud nine ever since.

    On my journey to date, I have spent hundreds of hours in libraries. I have researched, taken out books on writing, and learned of all the many ways one can become a writer, and how writing can change every part of your life.

    One book I got out was titled “Social Media for Writers” by Tee Morris and Pip Ballantine. I read this book cover to cover in a matter of days and several mugs of peach and pineapple tea.

    One of the tips was to create a blog, to start writing, continue writing and build your own community.

    I started this blog just one month ago, with the vision to connect with more writers and share our passion for words and supporting each other with our dreams.

    I recently checked my subscribers, of which I had four.

    One was myself, another my mother, the third, a fake account (also my mother) called “Delectable Panda” and lastly, one from Mohammed. I do not know a Mohammed.

    Last night I hit my mum up about the fake account and she goes ” Who me?! I am not a delectable panda! I haven’t created a fake account, I don’t know how!”

    I laughed until l I was wheezing, alongside my Dad, as Mum’s eyes popped out of her head, her sleuth alley cat nature on the internet uncovered. She (and we) had no idea how she had managed to both create a fake account, and also simultaneously not know how she had done so.

    To be supported twice by your own mother, and to have her make up 50% of your subscribers really is a moment to remember.

    Delectable Panda even though you are a fake account, you are real to me.

    Here’s to our mum’s supporting us from the sidelines, the dark side of the internet and most importantly, for supporting us from the very beginning.

  • “Between the pine trees and the beach”

    The waves were there before we were, lapping the shore of Rarangi Beach.

    The Community Hall was opened and the wooden seats were carried one by one over the stones to a clearing beneath the trees, lectern front and centre.

    High vis vests were worn, as the cars were directed left and right to park, people piling out.

    And as the people came, there was smiles and laughter and well wishers all around.

    9th August 2025, the day of my very first book launch for “Orchestra Class.”

    My friend and Illustrator Debbie Godsiff arrived, with her daughter Freja and partner in tow.

    Person after person walked over the rocks and made their way to a seat, where they chatted amongst themselves.

    The Mayor popped out of a car, and joined in on the fun too.

    Everything was still and everything was perfect.

    My Mum got up to welcome the community of people that had gathered to celebrate this day.

    I got up, and hobbled over the stones and pine cones to the clear lectern that stood proudly beneath the trees.

    My gold dress and moon boot were quite the pair and as I stood there and told my story, I couldn’t believe that we were finally here.

    Becoming a published author had always been a dream of mine since I was 4 years old. It was all I knew I wanted to be.

    A day to remember, a day between the pine trees and the beach.

  • That witch in the damn cherry tree

    When I was a kid, a new book hit the shelves at the local small town library.

    “The witch in the cherry tree” by Margaret Mahy, a well known New Zealand author, flew off the shelves and straight into my little hands.

    I was obsessed with witches and this one in particular, took my fancy.

    The story goes that a young a young boy was baking with his mum on a rainy day, when out of the blew (or out of the sky) a witch appeared in the cherry tree- watching them both and devouring only one of the best scents in the world- that of home made baking.

    The young boy ended up giving the witch a taste of his baking- which was all burnt- and coincidently, the witches favourite.

    Now, at this point in my life, I did an awful lot of baking with my own mum alongside my brother and sister, with my favourite part being licking the spoon after the butter and sugar had been creamed together.

    There really is no taste like it.

    However, I was of course, very wary of the fact that each and every act of baking, could bring on an un-invited visit from a witch in the garden.

    Now one might say that that was illogical, but given the fact that I had read about this very thing in a book and was highly aware of my surroundings- including the every looming cheer tree in the backyard, I was not and I repeat WAS NOT going to have the wool pulled over my eyes- not then, not now, not ever.

    As I baked, I scanned the garden. Watching, waiting, for that damn witch to make an appearance.

    Oddly, she never did.

    Now perhaps that may be due to the fact that she didn’t like the particular cherry tree in the garden, or perhaps it was due to the fact that I never burned my baking (just the way that witch liked it) we will never know.

    What I do know is that books, both big and small, have huge influence over our imagination, especially as children and can prepare us for situations (ahem) that may or may not take place in our lives.

    That damn witch in the cherry tree- she had me then, she has me now- and I for one, won’t let my baking burn- and I bet after this blog post, you won’t either.

  • It started with words, as it always does.

    When I was a kid, I was surrounded by books.

    Books in my bedroom, books down the hallways and books in my hands.

    Every good thing- it came from a book.

    When I was four years old, my sister went to school and it was there that she learned how to read. It was there that she started bringing books home, always tucked away in her fluro book bag with the velcro at the top.

    One thing I always wanted to be, was my sister.

    As my sister went to school each day, my brother and I spent a lot of our days with Mum, doing baking on the kitchen bench, playing in the sprinklers in the garden, and when we were lucky- which was once per fortnight, we would get to go with mum to the supermarket and “help” her with the grocery shopping.

    Now I feel it’s important to note that Mum’s definition of “help” and ours appeared to differ somewhat.

    To keep things easy, mum would pop my brother and I into the shopping trolly and then place all the grocery items around us. It seemed like nothing much could go wrong. However, as the designated ring leader in any situation, I soon found that if I scratched the bottom of a bag of brown sugar quietly and discretely enough, that my brother and I could slowly eat our way through the deliciousness that is brown sugar. Time after time, mum would get to the checkout, load the items up, and then became exasperated that there was a hole in the brown sugar bag. She would race back up the aisle, and bring a fresh bag up to the conveyer belt- and away we would go again.

    Fortnight after fortnight this happened, and to this very day, or should I say to this very blog, Mum had absolutely no idea that her two little bowl cut cherubs were the reason for the never ending holes in the brown sugar bag.

    Now on one of these fateful trips to the supermarket, we somehow found ourselves in the VHS section- a section that was often swiftly passed, as the video tapes were a whooping $30- which was 30 weeks of pocket money at that stage.

    I remember vividly seeing a VHS tape, with an ostrich and a dog dressed, naturally, in Safari gear, with the title “Working with Words.”

    I had never seen anything so beautiful in my life.

    Day after day, I begged Mum and Dad for this VHS tape, and day after day they said “We’ll see.”

    I must have wore them down, for a few weeks later, I was presented with my first (and last) VHS tape in my small little hands.

    “Working with Words” became a daily event, and soon my brother and I could chant it by heart.

    The fact that a taking dog and ostrich had to move hell on earth to find their friend Schnoz Ali was mere semantics.

    The point was that I was learning to read, and learning to read fast.

    I went to school at six, with books flying through my hands both day and night.

    I knew then, that I was going to be a published author one day

    – and the day has finally come.

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