|Miriam and Lucy|
A little boy is looking for Lion.
Lion is looking for lunch.
And so our story begins. But look closely . . . in this tale, nothing is quite as it seems!
Children will delight in this classic picture book with a mischievous twist.
Could you describe both your pre-and-post contract revision process? What did you learn along the way? How did you feel at each stage? What advice do you have for other writers on the subject of revision?
In 2008, shortly after we met, Larry Day asked me to build a story around a character he had drawn: Rusty, a rotund, red-haired boy-king kicking at a puddle.
I wasn’t sure I could do that – after all, this wasn’t my character. (And I was working on a novel. FYI, I’m always working on a novel.) But I tried.
Larry drew. I revised. Larry redrew. There were lions. And chases. The lion Larry had named Philbert was my favorite character– but I was unsure about Rusty himself.
Still, we sent it out. After a couple of rejections, I revised again. Still, something felt off. We revised over and over. Finally, we thought it was ready. Editors unanimously disagreed with us.
At this point, we had been re-re-re-revising for about four years. I did not understand Rusty’s character. I had no idea how to write a picture book. (To be fair, I didn’t know how to write that novel, either.) Rusty’s “story” was still thin — just a beautifully drawn running gag. I felt awful, I especially missed Philbert, but we scrapped it.
A couple of months later, Larry and I met for breakfast at a diner. I guess enough time had gone by, or the “giving up” had released the pressure. (Or maybe it was the coffee?)
I doodled on a napkin. What if: Philbert stayed? And we set it on Lake Naivasha, Kenya, where I had once heard Luo children sing in the middle of this beautiful land where rogue hippos could chase you up a tree? The kid’s from there, too, right? And what if he’s not a king, but just this clever boy who knows how to outsmart a Philbert?
In my (still-working-on-it) novel, characters speak at cross-purposes and misunderstand each other, sometimes deliberately. Characters speak at cross-purposes all the time. Why not in a picture book?
Why not have the word “lion” have two meanings?
We borrowed the first three lines from Rusty and boom: Lion, Lion rushed onto that napkin.
Within a week, Larry had a dummy ready to go. This time, it felt totally right.
We submitted it. One editor loved it, but had just purchased something similar. Another editor loved it, but Acquisitions said no.
Before Alessandra Balzer made an offer, she asked if we were willing to try an urban setting and different animals. We were four-and-a-half years in. By that time, we weren’t worried about changes. As long as the main character and the heart of the story remained, why not?
We played with what “urban” meant: Nairobi? Bilbao? Caracas? And finally settled on a Providence RI/ Brooklyn, NY/ Istanbul-behind-Topkapi-Palace feel.
|Miriam and Larry at a school visit|
We cycled through a whole lot of different animals, and with each change came research: fantasy or not, the animals’ foods still must be correct. And the lion still needs to be aggravated in a way that best serves the story.
The biggest change (and the one I was most resistant to) involved simplifying a particularly dear-to-me emotional throughline. I tried what Alessandra suggested through gritted teeth.
I wrote and rewrote. I was alternately angry and despairing. I wrote terrible versions. Alessandra was patient. I tried again. I honestly don’t know how many revisions we went through, but I do remember the “Yay! Done!” email.
Pretty spectacular, but unreal—I’m still half-waiting for the call to tell me to rework it. Lion, Lion, this picture book with ninety-seven words, took six years.
My advice on revision? None of this is new, and all of it’s worked for me: Listen to your little voice that says something isn’t working. When readers you respect suggest a change, try it, even if your jaw aches from gritting your teeth. Put the manuscript away for as long as you can, so you can re-see it. Take a walk. If a part or a character or a storyline isn’t serving the story, take it out, even if it’s the finest writing ever. Be willing to scrap everything but the heartbeat. Rebuild from there. Play.
As a picture book writer, you have succeeded in a particularly tough market. What advice do you have for others, hoping to do the same?
Honestly? I know it’s been said before, but read read read.
Linda Sue Park gave this lecture where she said (I’m paraphrasing): if you want to write novels, read a hundred novels before you start. If you want to write picture books, read a thousand picture books.
You read and you read and you read, and you get a sense of rhythm, of pacing. Read to absorb the craft. Notice.
Notice how the visuals tell a part of the story you cannot, how the main character manages the problem, how the author trusts the reader to fill in the blanks with imagination and inference.
The thing is, so much in this business is serendipity – and there are books I love so much which don’t get the popular attention I think they deserve – and we have no control over this.
|Miriam and Larry|
Jane Resh Thomas says (and again, I’m paraphrasing), “Do your work. It’s absolutely the only thing over which you have any control.”
Do your work. Quell your impatience.
Be willing to revise a million times.
Consider, really consider, every criticism. Give yourself time.
Don’t be so enamored with your own words that you lose sight of the heartbeat of the story.
Know your characters deeply and well.
Also, full disclosure: Falling in love with your illustrator isn’t the worst thing that can happen.
Larry and I married while he was finishing the final art for the book.