I don't have a serious bone in my body today. It might be the cough medicine or the allergy medicine. Regardless, I'm just a bit loopy. My artist friend Richard Jesse Watson's blog "My Inner Zoo" inspired me earlier and I decided to jump off this week's blog from his artistic nudge. His cover on the SCBWI Bulletin of a T-rex flying a kite in a snow storm hits the nail on the head about what stories should be.
I think an injection of whimsy is what many stories call out for. I get the message. You have to shake the ridiculous out of your noggin and onto the page. It's got to make sense. Take your quiet little story. It might be as sweet as coconut cream pie and as fluffy as lemon whipping cream frosting. It might have the rich heart of a dark chocolate covered macadamia nut, but still it's bland and flat. You may need a T-Rex flying a kite in a snowstorm (Richard Jesse Watson). A golden fairy with dead chicken (Rembrandt Van Rijn), or a blue goat playin violin (Chagall), or a fire breathing alligator climbing out of a two dimensional world. (Escher)
Now don't misunderstand me. Whimsy has to work. It needs to be fresh and surprising.
It needs to inject needed contrast into a quiet place. T-rex might have a tough time diving into the middle of a space battle but she might fit in quite nicely at a father-daughter dance.
Okay, I know I'm ridiculous. And yet, I hope that you toss in some whimsy. Have fun. :)
See you next week when hopefully this drug induced fog clears.
The doodle comes from a series called: "Bushbaby." I draw this little guy a alot.
And now whimsical quote from a master:
"I am the umbrella that holds up the sky. I am the umbrella the rain comes through. I am the umbrella that tells the sky when to begin raining and when to stop raining. I am the umbrella that goes to pieces when the wind blows and then puts itself back together again when the wind goes down. I am the first umbrella, the last umbrella, the one and only umbrella all other umbrellas are named after, first, last and always." When the stranger finished this speech telling who he was and where he came from, all the other umbrellas sat still for a little while, to be respectful.
" — Carl Sandburg (Rootabaga Stories)