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Today I want to put a spotlight on all the effort that went into a single page from my upcoming beginning reader, Two Ballerinas . . . and a Moose. It took us a while to get it right and, amazingly, I think we did. Believe me, that’s not always the case. Sometimes the more we revise and tinker, the worse things get. Overcooked might be the word for that.
You be the judge.
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To begin, a Ready-to-Read is typically 32 pages, not unlike the vast majority of picture books. After dispensing with the title page and copyright information, there are basically 29 pages left to tell our story. That means every word, every page, every illustration counts.
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We meet two ballerinas on the opening spread, pages 4-5.
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Note the use of ovals. (I’m not sure whether to credit the book designer, Leslie Mechanic, or the illustrator, Abigail Burch.)
Store away that oval feature in your head.
Next Moose enters our story and he wants to dance, too. But Moose is hardly a ballerina. Ho-ho! That’s the story’s engine, if you will.
For starters, Moose is not dressed properly. Not for ballet.
Hippo points out that Moose is not even wearing the proper footware.
To which Moose replies . . .
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Now comes the payoff, the visual punchline.
Here’s Abigail’s initial sketch . . .
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Crocs! I believe that was my original suggestion in the art notes in the manuscript. A humorous idea, but . . . um.
For me, the crocs weren’t reading. The visual was too subtle, especially for young children. The joke wasn’t paying off. I conveyed that to Elizabeth Barton, the book’s editor, who consulted with Leslie, who then discussed it with Abigail.
Abigail came back with a revised sketch . . . and new shoes!
Terrific, now we were getting somewhere! Elizabeth noted that for the final art, they wanted even bigger platforms on the shoes.
I was still troubled by the shrubbery, which I saw as visual clutter. So I wrote to Elizabeth — who sought my opinion — with a further suggestion:
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PLATFORM SHOES SPREAD: Much better.
BUT WHAT IF . . . the right hand spread is, like, an oval around a much tighter focus on the shoes.
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The next day, I explained in a follow-up email . . .
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This design, in my view, breaks a rule of mine. Early on, there’s a spread with Beaver and Hippo enclosed in ovals. I like that technique. But then it never returns for the rest of the book, and I think that’s a structural design flaw (that no one will notice, mind you!). It’s why I thought the shoes gave us an opportunity to bring back that shape.
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Once again, to her great credit, Elizabeth and Leslie met my comments with an open spirit of collaboration. It was time to move beyond sketches into final art.
Here’s what Abigail came up with . . .
Nailed it!
Right?
Visually, yes. Now the joke works!
But I had one last minor worry.
I emailed Elizabeth . . .
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I realize that a late change might be a hassle, but since it seems possible, I would like a change from “dancing” to “ballet” for this image.
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Because obviously those are awesome shoes for dancing.
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It’s a case of writing a text and then adjusting when the art comes in.
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If possible!
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If not, the world will continue to spin.
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Once again, Elizabeth agreed.
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For the record, Elizabeth does not always agree, nor should she. My goal is not to “get my way,” it’s to have a creative voice in the process. After all, I’ve been in children’s books for 40 years. I might have some worthwhile observations along the way. And I can also be massively wrong about things, too. It’s the editor’s job to navigate all of that while keeping on eye on the prize — making the best book possible — and protecting the illustrator’s creative freedom. A balancing act of concerns.
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Anyway, that’s one page, one joke in a simple little story. We traveled a distance to get there. Many emails and conversations. To me, today, those shoes make me happy. It’s part of the pleasure of this job. I mean, we’re making a book for young children. It should be fun, right?
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Not every creative partnership works this way. Publishing can be closed and many times “they” prefer to keep the writer out of the process. The message: Stay in your lane. Which I also respect, because the illustrator needs her agency, too. As much as I want to be respected, I must also give that same measure of respect to everyone involved. We all have opinions, thoughts, but no one knows. We’re all guessing. The last thing I want to be is a headstrong, interfering writer.
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Nobody wants to work with a pain in the butt and I was dangerously close to becoming that guy.
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But here’s another thing I’ve learned in this business: The only thing that matters is the final book. There’s not a reader in the world who cares how you got there.
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I feel extremely fortunate to work with Elizabeth and Leslie and Abigail on these “. . . And a Moose!” books. And like any relationship, we are figuring each other out.
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Next up: Two Astronauts . . . and a Moose!
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Addendum: The “final” corrected page just came in:
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True story: If it was just me, I’d bring down the word “for” to the next line, to avoid what we call the “widow” (a line with just one word) for ballet.
But I’ll stop for all concerned.
THANKS FOR STOPPING BY!
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