📌 What Do I Want My Stories to DO?
A strange list from a strange (yet earnest) fellow creative.
I’ve previously fretted to certain people (“critique group members,” cough, cough, “Sean,” cough, cough, “you,” cough, cough) about my angsty picture-book-writer problem of not being able to consider my missing-their-visual-narrative manuscripts “finished.” (Other PB writers: do you feel me on this? It feels different to me than, say, having an unpublished poem or short story because at least I can share my unpublished-but-completed works on my website or something. But there’s no point in sharing an un-illustrated picture book, is there? It is only fit for certain trained eyes.)
And all my wonderful sounding boards gave very sound advice: Elayne, don’t use external validation (i.e., getting it published) as a litmus test for a successful story because you don’t have much—if any!—control over that. Which is savvy, truthful and kind advice—but also much harder to put into practice than I wish it were for me! 🍷
Anyhow, I’ve been mulling over it (as I tend to do with anything anyone says to me, ever), and I decided maybe it was time to make a list of what, by Grabthar’s Hammer, outside of publication, could signal a successful-in-my-own-eyes' Elayne” picture book manuscript. What *could* I use as a healthier but believable (even to skeptical me) measuring stick?
In no particular order, here is my present, ongoing list of success signals:
When my writing causes a reader to smile right back at it. Look, I know this external in a way, but it’s also kind of not? What I mean here is: I want my work to be enjoyable, and I am also my own reader.
I want the story to create a feeling of “bemused curiosity.” Essentially, I want readers (and myself) to sign up for a strange mini-journey to see how the story pans out. I want them to know what they are signing up for—but only a little. (In short, I don’t want my stories to be incredibly predictable.)
You know how you can sort of see what you want to see in busy, irregular patterns like woodgrain and freckles? Like that, I want a weird little mix of ambiguity and exciting possibility somewhere in the stories I write—maybe especially in the endings.
I have felt “warmed twice” by the work I put in. Meaning I feel warmed by both the creation of the work and the final product. (I know this one is weird, but it’s all from a quote I latched onto in middle school and still love, “Chop your own wood and it will warm you twice.”)
It’s “lyrically funny” (to me). Once, I was in a picture book class and asked, "Would you rather be the funniest writer in the room or the most lyrical?” This was a tricky question! On the one hand—absolutely, the funniest! But I think to be the genuinely funniest (per my tastes), I will need to be lyrical? Because to me, a hallmark of lyrical writing is not in it being flowery, but that it makes connections in unexpected (yet understandable) ways—that one’s word choice is surprising, poignant, and revels in juxtaposition, wordplay, and unusual details. That it is memorable or inventive. So, I would like to eventually be the funniest lyrical writer in the room! (Related: in my estimation, James Marshall is the patron saint of funny, lyrical kidlit writers, and George and Martha are his Sistine Chapel.)
I am still okay with being durian if I have to be, but I would rather be more in the vein of, say, a Wes Anderson (who people also either love or hate) because while people love both durian and Wes, no one thinks durian is clever and no one buys it every time they see a new one, and durian does smell (which I would be remiss to ignore). I guess what I am saying is that I appreciate not only sentience but a pretty defined sensibility and point of view, and not just being polarizing on accident or by circumstance. (I’m learning so much about myself with this list. 😂)
Finally, for now, do I think it will create a “bonding through smiles” experience for the reader and the child who is read to, or the child and the book? Will they be able to pick it up later, knowing it will be a reliable hit of dopamine? This is very important to me because kids (and sometimes, their caretakers!) really have very little control over their life circumstances, and a reliable laugh is priceless.
Related to all this, Melanie Conklin did a great post about her definitions of success, both before and now, and how artists get to decide for themselves what success is. Highly recommend.
Your “trying out a new recipe” friend,
Elayne
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Love this!!