One Small Thing: Chrissie Manby

At the start of lockdown, I embarked on a wild cleaning frenzy and filled several bin-bags with rubbish. I couldn’t believe I’d been holding onto for so much tat for so long. But there were treasures too and among them is my “one small thing”.  It’s a plastic keyring of a Disney character called Stitch, a small blue alien who looks like a cross between a koala and a Gremlin.

The keyring was a gift from Jack, a friend’s son, at the end of a trip to EuroDisney fifteen years ago. I can’t say I’d been excited about going to the theme park. Growing up, I spent a lot of time worrying what I would tell my parents if they ever announced we were off to Disneyland, knowing that if a grown adult in a Mickey suit tried to hug me, I would definitely scream and probably vomit. Thankfully, it never came up. Anyway, that day at EuroDisney was a riot and the way Jack solemnly presented me with that keyring at the end of it made it particularly special.

“He reminds me of you.”

“Wow.  Thanks.  Has he got two rows of teeth?”

The little boy who gave me the keyring is now in his twenties but seeing Stitch takes me back to that perfect sunny day.  But it’s more than that.  Bonkers as it may sound, seeing Stitch again was my call to arms.

I had no idea who the little blue monster was that long-ago day in Paris. I watched Lilo and Stitch for the first time a few months later on an overnight flight. In that strange mood when you want to sleep but can’t, a cartoon seemed to be about my limit. 

In case you haven’t watched it a hundred times already, Stitch is an extra-terrestrial convict on the run, who hides out on Earth by impersonating a dog. When Stitch is adopted from the animal shelter by sweet six-year old Lilo, mayhem ensues, because, of course, he’s not a puppy, he’s a space monster hell-bent on destruction.

By the end of the film, I was a mess. I don’t think I’ve ever cried so hard at a movie. As a child, I’d never had a favourite Disney heroine. The usual pure-bred princess narrative was difficult for me as an adoptee, who worried that at any moment I would be found out and sent back because I wasn’t from the right stock.

Stitch told my story.  He was me as a child, living the adoptee experience: trying my best to be a dog when I was really a monster with extra teeth and a propensity to sudden bursts of gleeful misbehaviour. Of course it’s Stitch’s monster-nature that wins the day and everyone loves him all the better for it.

Now sitting on my desk again thanks to my lockdown clear-out, Stitch makes me smile every time I catch his evil eye. He reminds me that we can’t be anything other than that which we were meant to be. There’s no power in pretending to be sweeter than you are and that’s true in writing as well as in life.

In lockdown, I’ve been working on a romantic comedy but as I near the finish line my thoughts turn more and more often to another project. It’s been bubbling under for years.  Part-memoir and part-true-crime, it has the potential to upset many people but finding Stitch again feels like an exhortation to get it started regardless. The next fifteen years will fly by as quickly as the last.

“When are you going to write what you really want to write?” Stitch asks.  

You can find out more about Chrissie's work here, and her books are available at Amazon, Waterstones and Hive.

Stay well, stay safe, stay home.