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.

Of course, we know what happened… paperbacks only served to strengthen the industry, by providing more revenue opportunities for both authors and publishers, and by making books available to a wider audience by virtue of a more accessible price point.

The same level of panic occurred when television was invented – it was to be the end of the film industry. But now, actors, writers, directors, producers, designers and technicians have exponentially more opportunities… and all the more so since the advent of video, then DVDs, and now webcasting.

Why does this all matter? Because in George’s view, all this anxiety about e-publishing signaling the end of books is just more of the same.   George is an esteemed elder in the publishing industry, with decades of experience and perspective.  And he’s excited about the impact of new media and technology on publishing. He views it as yet another huge opportunity for his clients, and for everyone in the industry.  And he’s looking forward to being involved. Me, too.

How about you?

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.

Another one of our faculty members, the biographer Neil Gabler, refers to what he calls “Gabler’s Law”:  First, you just sit there.

I love this, since I can come up with a thousand excuses as to why I can’t yet sit down to write – my favorites being, “I’m not ready,” “I don’t have an idea yet,” and “I’m still stewing.”

Recently I’ve been experimenting with a law of my own:  Just start.

Since I’ve incorporated this law, an amazing pattern has begun to emerge with respect to these writing assignments. It generally goes like this:

Day 1 – “OK, I’ve got the assignment for this week. It seems do-able.”

Day 2 – “What was I thinking? This assignment is the hardest yet! Ack. I’ll think about it tomorrow.”

Day 3: “I might have an idea. I’ll let it stew a bit.”

Day 4: “It’s a terrible idea. Never mind. Help!”

Day 4: “This is impossible. It’s actually out of the question. I don’t have a single idea!”

Day 5: “This may be the week where I have to call in sick. Is there any valid excuse I can come up with for not doing the assignment this week?

Day 6: “God, class is tomorrow. Just sit there and begin – something, anything!”

Day 7: “What time is class?”

What this has taught me is that I can afford to be patient while all those little gremlins in my head cycle through their strange but apparently necessary routine. But then, if I just sit there and START – just put my fingers to the keyboard and begin, something, anything – stuff begins to happen.  It doesn’t matter where I start, just that I do. And of course it’s all about editing – but the miracle is, once I start, I have something to edit, and once I edit, I (usually) have something to present.

I.O.P, or “Illusions of Progress.”  Now, for some this may have a negative connotation.  An illusion of progress, as opposed to the real thing… could sound like busywork.  But it’s Peter’s view (and I agree) that I.O.P. can be a great motivator.

Look! I already have a…

- Chapter done
- Page written
- Outline drafted
- Book jacket idea

… I’m halfway there!

Well, maybe not halfway – but far enough along to make it worthwhile continuing.

Here are a few of my I.O.P’s…

- A rough draft
- A title
- Notes compiled on a subject
- Research on other books on the subject
- A few lines that establish “voice”
- A related list of any kind

What I.O.P.’s keep you going?

Here’s a question: can we fine tune, or improve the frequency of, our Story Radar?  I think the answer is yes, but it has to do with whether we’ve got ours pointed in the right direction, first of all, as well as how regularly we tune into it, and the degree to which we are able to tune out other, non-useful input.  Like any fine instrument, the more one uses it, and the better one cares for it, the more likely it is to hold its tune.  Let it sit there and collect dust, or be subject to interference, and it’s unlikely to work as well.

Any other ideas out there about ways to fine-tune our Story Radar?

Books Not Yet in Print.

You’ve all heard me talk about an “ideas” file, but this takes that concept one step further.  Peter puts everything from an idea for a story to a great title idea to a thought-provoking image in a folder called “Books Not Yet in Print.”  Often, he’ll go so far as to design the book jacket that goes along with the idea or title, even if the story hasn’t even been written yet, just to make it feel more real.

I now have a digital folder on my computer desktop that bears the same title, and I’ve already begun saving ideas in it. Something about the name of that folder is so much more motivating, and confidence-building, than “Ideas.” It’s like holding an empty rice bowl up to the universe – it sends a message of optimism and expectation that creates an ideal environment for ideas to be actualized. Thanks, Peter!