Monday, 11 January 2010

LOOKING BUT NOT LOOKING.

Today, in a pile of snow-belated post, came copies of the art work for Mouse: a group of black & white drawings that will go into the finished book.

I am quietly but wildly excited and have glimpsed the pictures. Though the editor had mentioned the book might have illustrations, I wasn't totally sure this would happen. I half expected to see the new version of the cover, but it wasn't. It was a set of seven full page illustrations.

Now the next bit may sound a bit odd and masochistic. Having previously opened up envelopes full of illustrated versions of my mostly early reader stories, I have developed a useful rule: do not on any account hurry to send off your comments. Take your time. At least a day or two. Get to know them.

So, once I've slipped the sheets out of their envelope, I look quickly through the images, noting that some I already love, and that some are not exactly as I saw the character or scene. Yet.

It takes time to become used to viewing ideas that have been in your head and heart for months suddenly re-interpreted by someone else. It's rather like the jolt I felt when I saw actors working on a script of mine, because they took the words and characters and re-made them as they saw them. Don't rush, Penny. Don't jump.

So the set of precious images is resting on top of my filing cabinet, like a kind of clever secret. I will certainly sneak in and look at them a couple more times tonight. Get to know them and wagt they are saying. Tomorrow I should be able to think calmly about them, and that's when it's time to think about replying.

Slowly.

2 comments:

  1. Excellent advice. I often rush to respond to something then regret my impatience later. One of the best examples I had was a boss who never responded immediately to an important question or request. He would listen carefully then say, "Let me think about that."

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  2. But that can be annoying too, KarenG. The version home here is "We'll see . . ." (inherited from Mum and Gran) and it drives the kids mad. But I prefer now to think it's the writing mind saying "What options are there from this point? How could the plot play out? What could happen next?"

    There's also that moment when you've just finished a story and you're on a high and it seems wonderful. Don't send it off - let the story cool before you read it, and then decide if its worth sending off!

    In the end, it was a few days before I had time again to look at the artwork.

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