The Adventures of Isabelle Necessary by Martii Maclean Blog Tour with Excerpt
















One gutsy eleven-year-old, a cool beach town, a hilarious crew of friends and oodles of adventures.
Once upon a beach, there was a girl called Isabelle Necessary. A girl with an unusual name and a rather extraordinary life. She roams around a sleepy beach town with her loyal team of friends.  Follow Isabelle, Tammy, David, Nin, Draino the cat and Champ the wonder dog as they navigate one sticky situation after another and figure out how to turn a frog into a movie star, deal with a never-ending milkshake and escape being trapped in a lighthouse.
The type of book that brings back childhood memories and captures the essence of being a free-spirited kid.
Perfect for teachers and educators as the book comes with a teacher’s resource guide and student maker kit by Isabelle Necessary herself. Middle-grade reading level.






From Chapter Two, “Isabelle Necessary Goes Cat-Fishing."

Today was Saturday, and on Saturdays Isabelle liked to lend a helping hand around the Saggy Beach Retirement Village. Aunt Emma needed dried apricots for one of her oops- I-forgot cakes. That’s what Isabelle called them because Aunt Emma sometimes forgot to buy an ingredient. And because Isabelle was going to the shops to get the apricots, she checked in with their neighbours at the village to see if they wanted her to do any jobs for them.
                    
‘Marvellous,’ said Mr Bigg, who wasn’t. ‘Could you please get me some batteries for my fishing torch?’
        
‘Just in the nick of time,’ said Uncle Knock- knock, ‘I need A-grade, number-one parrot seed because the lorikeets are looking skinny.’
                    
Isabelle wasn’t sure what a skinny lorikeet looked like, but she was happy to help out.
                    
After checking in with all the other neighbours, she pumped up her bike tyres and headed along the esplanade towards the shops. She’d just gone past the picnic tables by the swings at the top of the grassy dunes that sloped down to the beach when she heard a noise. She was sure it was a meow. It sounded like a kitten.
                    
She slowed down. She looked left and right, up and down. She heard more meowing, but there was no kitten to be seen. She hopped off her bike to listen more carefully. There it was again, another cat-less meow, coming from the picnic grounds next to the main road. It was definitely a kitten-meow, and it sounded quite echo-y. The meow was coming from the drain.
                    
‘Hello?’ said Isabelle, not knowing exactly what to say in this situation.
                
Meow.
                    
‘Hello?’ she repeated.
                    

Me–ow!
                    
Isabelle peered down the drain. ‘Hello, puss, poor thing,’ she cooed.
                    
A little grey kitten with enormous blue eyes was standing on its back legs and stretching up, pawing at the damp, slimy, cold walls of the deep, dark drain. It meowed loudly when it saw Isabelle looking down. ME–OW!
                    
Lying on her stomach in the gutter, Isabelle reached her arm down into the drain. ‘This won’t work,’ she muttered. She was stretching as far as she could, but she was still nearly a metre away from the kitten.
                    

ME–OW! The kitten meowed even more earnestly.
                    
Isabelle knew the drainpipe went under the park to the beach, where the concrete pipe stuck out of the grassy dune cliffs. When it rained, stormwater from this side of town flowed down the drains, and under the streets and houses of Saggy Beach. The water then flowed out to sea to become rain again another day.
                    
Isabelle knew a lot about stormwater because of Girl Guides. One of the things the Girl Guides liked to do was ‘lend a hand’, and they regularly checked the beach for rubbish that had flowed out of the pipe with the stormwater. This mostly happened during the busy season, when visitors came on holiday and left Saggy Beach covered with litter. When the rubbish floated out to sea, it caused problems for the sea life. Especially dangerous were the plastic bags that turtles ate, thinking they looked like tasty jellyfish. They swallowed them and sometimes choked to death.
                    
Isabelle noticed the sky filling with rain clouds. Leaving her bike, she walked across the picnic area and clambered down the dune cliffs. She looked into the round dark hole at the beach end of the drainpipe. She knew she shouldn’t go in, and it looked too scary anyway.
                    
She stuck her head into the pipe and called, ‘Come on, puss, this is the way out for you.’    
                    
Meow.
                    
‘Come on, good kitty.’
                    
Meow.
                    
Isabelle could tell by the still-distant meows that the kitten wasn’t taking her advice.
                    
‘Puss, puss, puss!’ she called.
                    
Meow.
                    
‘If you walk towards the beach you could get out easily.’
                    
Meow.
                    
‘There’s rain coming, so I need to get you out of there.’ Isabelle looked into the pipe, trying to work out how far away the kitten was.
                    
Meow.
                    
Isabelle sighed. She scrambled back up the dune. The clouds were growing darker. She had to get the kitten out of the drain before the storm came, but how?
                    
She sat on one of the swings and kicked her legs back and forth, swinging slowly as she thought. Then she got a spark of an idea that quickly began to turn into a plan. A plan that she hoped Mr Bigg and Uncle Knock-knock would help her with.
                    
She ran back down to the opening of the drainpipe and called, ‘I won’t be long, little cat.’ Then she scrambled back up the dune, hopped on her bike and rode back to the village to get the equipment she would need to rescue the kitten.
                    
When she got home, Isabelle could hear Aunt Emma whistling as she weeded the garden outside. Isabelle was in too big a rush to explain, so she quickly found her last glow- in-the dark disco bangle, grabbed a leftover sausage from the fridge and jumped back on her bike. The wind was blowing a little stronger now.
                    
A few minutes later she was knocking on Uncle Knock-knock’s door. ‘Can I please borrow a tinkly bird bell from you?’ she asked when he opened the door. ‘I’m going cat-fishing.’    
            
‘Oh, Isabelle, some days you tell better jokes than I do.’ He laughed as he handed her the bell.
                    
‘Thank you.’ She put the tinkly bell in the bike basket with the glow-in-dark disco bangle and the leftover sausage.
                    
She heard the distant rumble of thunder as she rode to Mr Bigg’s bungalow. He was sitting on his veranda untangling fishing line.
                    
Mr Bigg,’ Isabelle said, ‘I haven’t got your batteries yet, but can I please borrow your small, very bendy fishing rod?’
                    
‘Going fishing, young lady?’
                    
‘I am,’ Isabelle said, smiling. ‘I’m going cat- fishing.’
                    

Mr Bigg scratched his head. ‘Cat-fishing?’ He handed her the rod. ‘Cat-fishing?’
                    
‘I’ll explain later,’ she said, resting the very bendy fishing rod across the handlebars. ‘Thank you.’




              






Martii Maclean lives in a tin shack by the sea, catching sea-gulls which she uses to make delicious pies, and writing weird stories. She likes going for long bicycle rides with her cat, who always wears aviator goggles to stop her whiskers blowing up into her eyes as they speed down to the beach to search for mermaid eggs. Or how about this…

Martii Maclean writes fantastical, adventurous tales for children and teens and sometimes adults. She was born in Sydney, Australia and now lives in Brisbane with her husband Trevor and her cat Minerva. Her work as an educator and librarian, allows her to share her love of stories and of story-telling with many young people. This inspires Martii to create thought-filled stories that explore the wonderful world of ‘what if’. Find out more about Martii and her stories at www.martiimaclean.com