So I gave that assignment into the hands of my teacher (see Part 1), feeling it was almost perfect. She agreed. Her criticism brimmed with encouragement, even when addressing the same imperfection I hadn’t known how to resolve: the ending. (Have you ever struggled to write an ending? Perhaps it is the most elusive writing skill.) She offered a couple of suggestions. I pondered them for a few minutes before moving my brain on to the next assignment, and I tucked my manuscript away in a safe place for later.
Sometime in the following year my Nashville grandparents came for a visit. That pair was instrumental in fostering my early love of children’s picture books, as they had long prioritized reading with children. When my dad and his siblings were young, Grandma would bustle everybody and a box to the public library each week, where they would max out their library card and fill up the box with a new pile of books to borrow. When I was young, she and Grandaddy would both read stories with me snuggled on their laps; that was a favorite Grandma-Grandaddy pastime among all the cousins. So when they came for a visit during my senior year of high school, I naturally shared the story I had created for a class with them.
A few months later I received a piece of Real Mail in my college post box, precisely typed up in Grandma’s signature fashion. She had contacted a publisher in Nashville to ask about submitting manuscripts, and detailed her findings for me with the admonition to “keep the faith, be persistent and patient” in the face of any potential rejection. Her letter was the first time the idea of publishing my book got any legs to grow on, and her belief that I could do it buoyed the dreams in the back of my mind for years.
But there were other things to put my hands to first. I finished college, married my sweetheart. We must have had periodic conversations about the Book Endeavor: "Someday I would love to..." and "Wouldn't it be amazing if..."
Babies arrived. I read other people's wonderful books to my babies. I did craft projects with them, teaching them how to color and cut and paint and paste. I continued to pore over picture books, admiring their stories and artwork, sharing the treasure with my children and others’. I still talked about Someday with my husband.
Last year he finally said, “What are you waiting for?” I didn’t know, except the season had never felt right; it hadn’t occurred to me as a pursuit for the present. God has a way of keeping the doors closed on an endeavor until what He calls “the fullness of time.” He has been at work behind the scenes on this process for the last fifteen years, allowing me to marinade in good children’s books and gain the confidence to go for it, to put my own work out there into the world. What a gift.
But when Andy gave me that “What are you waiting for” pep talk, a new season was ushered in. The time had come to begin again. I knew my original story was basically good. I also knew that, though I basically liked the original illustrations, they would have to be redone; it seemed pretty certain that faded construction paper and packing tape just wouldn’t cut it. So last spring I set to work (there it was, springtime again!) editing the text and exploring new artistic techniques to decide how best to capture its emotion and movement and vivid color.
Those were surprisingly difficult decisions for me, but I finally settled into learning new techniques that suited my imagination and vision for The Colors Danced. Inspired by the work of creators like Lois Ehlert and especially Ashley Bryan, I took up my exacto knife and began bringing my own story to life with papercutting. And I found enormous joy in the process of creation.
Next week, I will share with you the nuts and bolts of this technique, equipping you to try it out for yourself and to simplify the process to be doable even for small children. Because with the right ideas and practice time, even the most unartistic of you can surprise yourself!
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