Each book turned out to be a unique lesson in showing versus telling, meaning letting the art reveal as much, if not more, than the text does. We discussed at length how we knew that Madeline and her friends attended a Catholic boarding school as opposed to an orphanage, how clear it was that Max’s mother had forgiven him, where Peter and Willie lived, and how much we knew about Olivia’s and Trixie’s families without being directly told… simply by way of their actions in the story, and most of all, through the illustrations.

That night, with showing versus telling on my mind, I watched “The Artist” – Michel Hazanavicius‘ valentine to silent films that is a contender for this year’s Best Picture Oscar. Since the story takes place in Hollywood during the time when silent cinema was replaced by the talkies, 90% of the film is silent. (It is also shot in balck and white.) The result is not only a wonderful, uplifting film and a terrific evening’s entertainment, but an invaluable lesson in showing versus telling.

With so little dialogue – which, when it occurs, is told through title cards – the story is almost entirely conveyed through action, behavior and expression.  It is a truly inspiring lesson for picture book authors, in terms of how little text is necessary to tell a story… as long as you know how to think visually, and show rather than tell. It also left me wondering how many other great silent movies might offer the same lesson.

1)   Write them down the old fashioned way – This requires carrying a notebook with me at all times, which is sometimes challenging to remember to do, let alone find room for in my purse.  I love Moleskins, since they feel so writerly, but I’ve also used Miquelrius notebooks, which I like because they have spiral binding and stay open easily. And of course, we have spiral-bound notebooks with the Childrens Book Hub logo on the cover that are very nice, too.

Peter H. Reynolds mentioned in our interview this month that he always carries index cards in his pocket, to jot down ideas or make quick sketches on, and also to flesh out his ideas, because they allow for shuffling.

2)   Write them down digitally – I love my iPad, but again, it’s not always convenient to carry around with me. What is convenient is my iPhone – and the ‘Notes’ app works well for capturing ideas on the fly. However, it’s not easy to type anything that requires detail on the tiny iPhone screen.

3)   Record them – This is my latest favorite method. I have the free app “Dragon Dictation” installed on my iPhone (I have it on my iPad as well). All I have to do is tap the app to open it, and tap the red button to begin recording. I say as much as I need to, and hit save. This miraculous app instantly transcribes my words to text, and it’s accurate about 90% of the time. One more tap and I’ve emailed the document to myself. When I get home and open my computer, the emailed idea is there, ready for me to edit, embellish or simply drag-and-drop it into the ideas folder on my desktop.

How do you capture your ideas?

Once an idea comes to him (as they do all the time, because he has such highly developed Story Radar!), Peter asks himself, “Who could help me tell that story? What character and what situation can help demonstrate that idea?”

My ideas often start with theme  – with the take-away, so to speak. But good storytelling is all about character, after all. If the characters aren’t compelling, believable, interesting, then the reader doesn’t care… and if the reader doesn’t care, the take-away usually ends up being didactic or lost altogether.

Who can help me tell this story? What character, in what situation, solving what problem, can illuminate this idea?

This Fall, I’ve been taking a workshop entitled “Imagining What You Know” with the incomparable Roger Rosenblatt. Each week, Roger has given us a new writing assignment, the cumulative effect of which has been, for me, a phenomenal workout in developing ‘voice’ – not the vocal kind, of course, but that of character.

Our exercises have ranged from the sublime to the near-ridiculous, but they have had one task in common – imagining ourselves into the character, the setting, the situation. We’ve written in response to paintings, pieces of music and food. We’ve written about ourselves in the third person. But perhaps the most informative exercises have been those that asked us to craft a monologue from the point of view of an unlikely character – a machine, a body part, a type of punctuation, to name but a few.

Children’s book authors often grapple with anthropomorphism – but our degree of success is directly related to how successfully we can imagine ourselves into that character and find their voice.  And as I’ve grappled with finding the voice for my achy left shoulder, my kids’ old Fisher Price jeep or an ellipsis, I’ve discovered that the key lies in discovering the character’s need, or complaint.  I’ve also come to appreciate just how valuable these exercises are… and how many variations of them might be possible. What’s the voice – and/or the complaint – of your kitchen table? Your favorite shoes? The moon?

Each time I’ve shared a piece in class, a fellow student (God bless her!) has remarked “That could be a children’s book!” … and I’ve been reminded that we never know when a simple exercise might venture beyond being a mere tool for development to become the seed of an idea for a story…

I had the good fortune to listen to Joanna Merlin, president of the Michael Chekhov Association – speak about her mentor last week. (MICHA will be one of the theatre companies in residence at our Writers Conferences next summer.)

I have long been aware of the overlap between the dramatic and writing arts, but something Joanna said struck me as particularly relevant.

One of Chekhov’s valued concepts was that of the ‘four brothers’: ease, beauty, form and wholeness. As I listened to Joanna describe these elements with respect to art, I realized they were directly transferable to children’s literature.

Ease – Who hasn’t marveled at the ease of Dr. Seuss’s verse, or Jules Feiffer’s line? When a book really sings, doesn’t it seem effortless? Like it just rolled off the author’s pen? Doesn’t it make us think: That looks so easy! I could do that!

Beauty – From Kenneth Grahame to Gennady Spirin to Jon J Muth, there’s no denying the beauty in children’s book art. But there’s beauty in text, too… Whether it’s an exquisitely crafted message, mastery of language or authenticity of voice, there are times when the stellar narrative of a children’s book can make one weep.

Form – Thirty two pages, one thousand words or less. There’s no denying that picture books have form. The challenge is how to tell that story with a richness of character and plot that compels the reader to turn the page… within the confines of that form. Martha Grahame said “The aim of technique is to free the spirit.” I would amend that to say, “Within the confines of form, anything is possible.”

Wholeness – Beginning, middle, end. Problem, crisis, resolution.  Picture books travel a great distance in a thousand words or less… and the good ones provide a complete story, and a wholly satisfying journey.

Michael Chekhov wrote and published a few great books on acting, but never any children’s books. I suspect that, had he chosen to, he could have penned one with ease, beauty, form and wholeness.

Bark, George! (Jules Feiffer) – The giddy tale of a puppy who speaks every other animal’s language but his own – with superbly spare text and Feiffer’s brilliant, classic line-drawings.

The Dot (Peter H. Reynolds) – A child who thinks she has no creative talent learns how simple it can be to express oneself creatively and to take pleasure in the ownership of one’s efforts.

Goodnight, Moon (Margaret Wise Brown/Clement Hurd) - A little rabbit preparing for bed says goodnight to everyone and everything in his world. The perfect, classic bedtime story.

Don’t Let the Pigeon Drive the Bus (Mo Willems) – A brilliant tribute to the often dramatic and unreasonable behavior of preschoolers, with simple but hilarious illustrations and text.

Harold and the Purple Crayon (Crockett Johnson) – Harold takes a memorable journey with a simple purple crayon… First published in 1955, a tribute to the power and wonder of imagination.

I Stink (Jim and Kate McMullan) – A hilarious ode to the humble garbage truck, reminding us that everyone has value and something to contribute.

Miss Rumphius (Barbara Cooney) – Alice Rumphius has three life quests – to see faraway places, to live by the sea in her old age, and to do something to make the world a more beautiful place.

Olivia (Ian Falconer) – The “Eloise” of pigs! Ian Falconer’s hilarious series about an unforgettable (if a tad precocious) porcine heroine.

Owen (Kevin Henkes) – Owen and his beloved blanket are inseparable, until the first day of kindergarten. Can his parents find a solution that suits everyone and helps their son transition?

Tell Me Something Happy Before I Go To Sleep (Joyce Dunbar/Debi Gliori) – A thoughtful bunny calms his younger sister’s nighttime fears by encouraging her to think happy thoughts.

Best known for creating the hilarious Charlie and Lola in addition to the Clarice Bean series, Lauren Child is an award-winning author and illustrator from England. Her body of work includes many other equally funny and creative books that I adore, such as her brilliant retelling of  The Princess and the Pea and Goldilocks and the Three Bears. She uses mixed media, combining endearing child-like sketches with collage and photos in a totally unique yet instantly recognizable style. As Lola might say, “I am an absolutely hugely enormous and big fan.”

So when I opened up Clarice Bean, That’s Me, I was particularly struck – and inspired – by the inside flap copy.

For anyone who ever loses faith that they might yet get their children’s book published one day, here’s a little gift from Lauren Child (in as close to her font/style as I could capture):

A word or two from Lauren Child about this actual Clarice Bean book…

This book was sent to lots of PUBLISHERS
Some people liked the words
Some people liked the pictures
Not many people liked them both together
Hardly anyone liked the t y p e
A few thought it shouldn’t be written from a child’s point of view
No one thought it would work as a book
the way it was
I DIDN’T WANT TO CHANGE IT

I waited for five years

I STARTED MAKING LAMPSHADES

I MIXED PAINTS FOR AN ARTIST

I BECAME A RECEPTIONIST

NOTHING happened. . .

F  i  n  a  l  l  y   I got a letter
It said, Yes
I still have it
It was one of the most exciting things
that has ever happened to me

(For more on Lauren, visit her wonderful website: www.milkmonitor.com)

Resolution shares its root with “resolve,” and in literary terms, it means the point within the story when the central conflict is worked out, or the problem is solved. Perhaps not exactly how the protagonist intended or hoped, but solved nonetheless, and in such a way that the hero has learned something and has changed or grown in the process.

The best resolutions satisfy a need created at the beginning of the book.  This needn’t be happy – but it should feel both earned and inevitable, which is different from predictable.  Rather than anticipating how the book will end, the reader should be pleasantly surprised, yet also feel “But of course it had to end that way!”  And picture book endings must also be clear, as opposed to implied or left open; young readers may have difficulty choosing between possible outcomes.

Let’s look at an example. In the beginning of Where the Wild Things Are, Max’s mother is angry with him, and sends him to bed without any supper.  The resolution occurs when Max decides, after a long ‘journey’ indulging in all his wild fantasies, to return home where “someone loves him best of all,” and discovers his dinner waiting for him. There’s that memorable last line: “And it was still hot.”

From this the reader understands that Max has been forgiven.  The need established at the beginning of the book – for Max to know that he is still loved, and lovable – has been met.  His problem – going to bed without supper – has been solved.  But note that his Mother is not calling him to dinner at the family table.  He has, after all, been naughty.  Yet we worry for a child who goes to bed without any supper, so dinner in his room feels both earned and satisfying (at least, by the parenting standards of Maurice Sendak’s era!)  And the fact that it’s still hot tells us that it wasn’t such a long journey after all. In fact, maybe just as short as a dream.

Occasionally a story will rely more heavily on art than text, or vice-versa – but more often than not, the balance is equal.   Great illustrations do not simply mirror or reflect the story – they further it. They inform and elaborate in ways that the necessary economy of text in a picture book cannot.  They reveal details about character, behavior, setting and plot that enrich and expand upon the narrative, making for a reading experience that engages aurally, visually, cognitively and emotionally.

While many picture books are enjoyed by emerging or independent readers, they are designed to be read aloud, adult to child. The primary intention behind writing and/or publishing a picture book is for the parent, grandparent, caregiver, teacher, librarian or other loving adult to share the storytelling experience with the child.   As the child listens to the adult read, he or she looks at the pictures, thus absorbing as much of the story through the art as through the text.  Therefore it is essential that picture book authors (especially those that are not also illustrators themselves) learn how to write with illustrations in mind.

When Jane Yolen spoke at the SCBWI Winter Conference about the 10 words every picture book author must know, she referred to this concept as “illustratability.”  She described it as “thinking visually” when writing – making sure that there is action on every page that invites illustration, and avoiding talking heads and internal dialogue.

A character’s thoughts and feelings are not inherently illustratable. Nor are extended discussions between characters. The most successful picture books aalmost all involve a story that is active, and that unfolds with a number of different visual events, locations and experiences.  They are visually progressive, as well as being dramatically and/or emotionally progressive.

This, by the way, is one of the reasons I am such an advocate for picture books, and why I don’t buy into the argument that picture books are dying or agree with parents who push their children into chapter books too early at the expense of the picture book experience. Picture books offer the young reader so much more than just a reading experience. The visual stimulation they provide nurtures and develops the imagination in different ways than the decoding of text does. Picture books teach young readers how to absorb story and information visually as well as cognitively – an invaluable skill in later life for everything from understanding and appreciating film, theater and the visual arts to reading body language in negotiations and relationships, interpreting maps and developing a personal aesthetic.

Polonius: What do you read, my lord?

Hamlet: Words, words, words.

– William Shakespeare, “Hamlet,” Act 2, Scene 2

And so we come to #5 in Jane Yolen’s wonderful list of “10 Words Every Picture Book Author Must Know,” which she shared at the SCBWI Winter Conference a few weeks ago: Words.

Here are the three things Jane said about words – and I shall elaborate a bit on each.

1.  Pick them as carefully as a poet – Language is a fundamental part of children’s literature. Word play, rhythm, alliteration, parallelism, refrain, patterns, echoes, onomatopoeia – it’s all about being imaginative and creative with words.  Personification can be effective too – for instance, instead of “the leaves rustled in the breeze,” you might try, “the leaves whispered,” or “the leaves danced.”  Children’s imaginations are often fired by their senses, so incorporating what can be seen, smelled, tasted, heard, or felt to the touch is a powerful way to engage young readers in descriptive narrative.

Above all, look for juicy verbs.  Verbs are a writer’s best friend. They keep the story moving forward, and help us to show through behavior and action rather than tell through description.  Be as creative as you can be in your use of verbs. Keep a list of favorites – and always keep a Thesaurus handy to find better options for the ones that are common, tired, or overused.  Finally, remember that it’s all about economy with picture books. Three words, artfully chosen, will achieve far more than ten general, rambling ones.

2. Children love big words – don’t ‘dumb down’ your language. While we have to keep the age of our reader in mind in terms of what will engage and be relevant to them, we should never talk down to them.  Their focus may be narrow and their vocabulary limited, but their brains are like sponges, expanding with every drop of information we give them.  Using a sophisticated word here and there invites children to ‘stretch up.’ Whether they infer the meaning through association or context – using the surrounding words to understand the meaning of that one – or whether they pause to ask a grown up what a word means, once that meaning is absorbed it becomes part of the ever-expanding vocabulary and is unlikely to be forgotten.

3.  Words can be made up – just do so with care. Harry Potter, Winnie the Pooh, The Hobbit and virtually every book by Dr. Seuss all contain made-up words unique to their worlds and characters.  Shakespeare, in fact, made up thousands of words and phrases that have since become part of our everyday language. Most education scholars and child development specialists would agree that the creative use of words helps a young reader appreciate the power of expression. In seeing the rules of language being bent or challenged, children learn critical-thinking skills and develop their own imaginations. It’s important, however, to use this tool with care. Don’t overdo it, and make sure that if you are using invented words, their intended meaning can be clearly inferred by the reader.