📌 "It's About X, But It's Really About..."
For example, "It's about French pastry, but it's really about picture book writing."
I am a bit1 of a French2 pastry fan, and it’s due to one wonderful word: lamination.
Lamination is the arduous process of creating a dough with layers (and layers) of butter folded in so that, when baked, the final product is filled with delicious, airy, oiled substrata. Some easily-conjured examples of French laminated doughs are puff pastry and, of course, croissant.
Lamination is not for the impatient or lazy. (And yes, I’m including myself there! The day-in, day-out dedication makes professional bakers a special breed.) I mean, sure, in theory, I *could* take 2 -12 hours to make a passable laminated dough, roll, and bake it, but instead, I do what I always do when I want a croissant: walk to a nearby bakery. In short, I outsource—which is ideal for things one has decided, for whatever reason, not to create oneself.
Because…creation is the supreme act of in-sourcing. The bakers at my local don’t do their lamination work to show off or because they are “just so extra” or because they have any more hours in a day than the rest of us do. They do it because the results speak for themselves in terms of their quality. They know, when they do all that upfront work, the wonderfully airy, buttery layers are baked right in, and people from all over will visit their shops, with their hard-earned money in their hands, to buy their specially crafted goods. They believe in their process, and they believe in their mission: pastry art.
And I think that is what irks me when certain people (even, sometimes—other creators) pooh-pooh the art of writing picture books. Sure, at its loveliest, it’s truly a joy to write a picture book manuscript; being a short form, it may even *feel* relatively easy to write, once you have a great idea. But just as making one tray of scones does not prepare one for the rigors of running a bakery, nor does a handful of happy-dabbling babysitting moments paint a full picture of being a parent, writing great picture books is no art cakewalk. Just as being a great parent requires a thoughtful and growth-oriented mindset, along with lots and lots of hands-on time, so does writing to that same audience.
IMHO (and of course, not only in my opinion3), picture books deserve to be thoughtful and inspired pieces of theater art—which a child can enjoy and ideally grow alongside. Too, humankind already has all the half-baked we need. What we really need, especially as children and as caregivers of children, is something that delights—and sustains.
So, doing some deep thinking about one’s picture book manuscript can, similarly, yield lovely layers, even if it’s not always the easiest when we so often crave the immediate. No, no, I don’t mean you—or me! We would NEVER.
Ahem.
I’m not usually one to give advice that I assume any given reader *needs* to hear. In fact, if you look through my posts, you will (hopefully) see I try to be very careful not to assume everyone’s process, needs, or goals are my own.
But this might be my exception. If you are a picture book creator, I hope you consider this idea, which I first heard from my now-agent (in a webinar4 before he was my agent) and Sean first heard about from writer Corey Finkle. “It’s about x, but it’s REALLY about y.”—where x is the external/narrative arc, and y is the internal/emotional core.
Thinking through the story's underlayment in this way ensures that two arcs work in tandem without being identical (and, therefore, one-note). While I’m trying, I cannot TELL you how much this “thinking structure” has helped me puzzle out my intentions—benefitting both my writing, and my creative psyche. It’s really something, though, you have to try to believe.
In my debut picture book, THERE’S SOMETHING ODD ABOUT THE BABYSITTER (illustrated by John Ledda), the rough plot is that some trenchcoated raccoons show up to babysit a sitter-averse boy named Freddie—and ridiculousness ensues. So, that’s pretty much the x.
As a “fun writing exercise5,” I could have stopped there—but no publisher would have bought it (and, correctly so). There’s certainly a common public misconception that a ridiculous and funny plot is enough for a picture book. I’m not saying that *never* happens—and also, I do believe that children deserve entertaining books, which should definitely include the silly and ridiculous—but I will say: one-note books are definitely the exception to the rule. Today’s professional picture book authors are serving buttery, flaky, delicious layers galore—otherwise, today’s editors simply won’t find them appetizing.
However, due to my hard work on it, BABYSITTER’s plot is not the entire story. What the story REALLY is about (the y, at least in my mind—though it will be interesting to hear what readers think!) is two things: looking past how “people” present themselves to see what may really be going on with them, and how having empathy can be a problem-solving tool (essentially, creating a two-person team where there once was none).
While some creators may be naturally gifted at this sort of layering and can somehow dream up a story that people “see” layers in later (that they themselves may not have even intended), I have to work at it. And by work, I mean think. Brainstorm. Dream. Mull. (Oh, god, the mulling!)
The main inspiration for the plot came from an old episode of Shaun the Sheep, where the sheep stack to buy a takeaway pizza, and how clueless (some!) of the people surrounding them seem to be about the whole thing.
But the inspiration for the *story* is genuinely pulled from my own experience of being naive and inexperienced, both as a polite (but observant, and therefore kinda judgey) kid who was babysat by a LOT of different sorts of people, as well as my later experiences of being a babysitter (which, for me, began at age 8 and continued through college). Thinking (and thinking) through those things helped me hone the “twist” (which I’m hoping will be a good one that readers will enjoy) about what is, in fact, odd about this particular babysitter. Could someone smarter have figured out a better way to do it? Sure. But they didn’t. :) And here I am (and with thanks to so many fabulous people), my foot somehow poised to walk through the traditionally-published door come June!
Because kids deserve books with flaky, delicious layers, it’s up to us to laminate—and ruminate. For them, of course, for our careers (and for our publishers)…but most of all, for ourselves. For who among us doesn’t want our books to have meaning that grows with readers?
Your “vive la différence” friend,
Elayne
My posts are always free, but my focus isn't; if you found this post interesting or useful, please consider ♡' ing it so I know. Thank you!
This is an understatement. However, I realize you would have to know me personally to understand how hypobolic (not sure that’s a word, but I’m going to use it to mean understatement for comical effect) this statement is. Let me assure any well-meaning strangers: I am a huge fan.
Aux français je dis: tu as catégoriquement les meilleures pâtisseries du monde. Bravo!
See http://www.thepicturebook.co/ for more. This is printed out and on my wall (it never hurts to have such a visual reminder).
Two points here. First, the webinar (titled “Lost in Pace: Making Sure Your Picture Book Doesn’t Go Off the Rails,” which, 👏👏) was through Inked Voices, and if you are a member, it’s still available to watch! Second, I really "felt" this webinar, both in Sean's explanations and his sense of humor! So, just a note that if you are in a webinar/presentation/meeting where you just really connect with an agent or editor, notice that. It doesn't necessarily mean you'll get to work together, but having a common language or thought process (and, in this case, a sense of humor) certainly can't hurt if an opportunity does arise.
Which I am a fan of, I swear!
But why are layers so hard?