As most writers do, for every project I complete, I have a backlog of others that I’ve been researching, outlining, cogitating upon.
Now, the next book I’ve chosen to focus on from my holding pen happens to be in the genre of youth fantasy, which is a departure from my first two novels, to say the very least.
I have been sharing some of my thoughts for the book with my daughter, who is eagerly awaiting the first chapter. We sat at her brother’s soccer practice last weekend, chatting animatedly about characters and background, completely oblivious to the curious stares of other parents listening in on our conversation.
It hadn’t occurred to me until a phone call to the library yesterday just how bizarre we must have sounded. I was trying to locate a children’s book to read to my older son’s class, and had one in mind that we’d enjoyed immensely over the summer. The problem was that I couldn’t remember the title or the author, so I was attempting to describe the plot to the incredibly patient librarian on the line:
“There’s this really short godmother, I think she’s Yiddish or something, ’cause it looks like she’s wearing a babushka. There’s a sleeping princess who can only be awakened by a perfect peach, and the godmother doesn’t like either of the peasant woman’s 2 older sons, because they’re rude to her in the forest, so she sabotages their quest for the perfect peach. But she likes the youngest one, so she gives him a magic flute which he can use to summon all 100 of the king’s rabbits at once for the stew, and if he doesn’t lose one, he gets a chance to save the princess.”
The librarian paused for a moment, allowing me the opportunity to replay in my head what I’d just said to her, and as I did, it occurred to me how crazy I sounded.
After reassuring her that I was not, in fact, on crack, and that this was a real book, I tried to describe the cover to her. Taking down my information, she assured me she’d do her best to find it.
After I hung up, I shook my head ruefully, thinking about how my description of that far-out story must have sounded to her. I held out little hope of anyone being able to make enough sense of those plot points to identify the work in question.
But I had underestimated the librarian: she called me less than fifteen minutes later with the title and author and offered to place a hold on it for me.
“I’m so glad you found it! Otherwise you might have thought you were talking to a crazy person!” I laughed.
“Not at all,” she replied, “That’s actually pretty tame for a children’s book plot.”
The lesson I’m going to keep in mind as I begin my next book is that often, the things that seem the craziest to adults are the very things that children find the most endearing and imaginative. Those are the things that invite them to open a book in the first place.
As for my novel, I did take a break yesterday, but I spent it playing Chutes & Ladders with my kids instead of cleaning out the refrigerator or catching up on laundry. Today’s another day.