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Writing Exercise – The An-Teak Desk

A writer never knows when inspiration will arrive or from where. Because algorithm, I stumbled upon the podcast of a friend’s wife. It was a clip in which she discussed junk drawers with her friend. They laughed in delight at the idea of the drawer opening up like the wardrobe to Narnia.

An hour later, I had 1,700 words.

Jammie, so nicknamed for her love of footie pajamas, followed her brother Matt up the dim creaking stairs, her eyes fixed on the close-cropped black hair that had earned the slender boy a moniker of his own. “Gramma missed a spot, Matchstick,” she teased, pointing at the tuft on his head.

He reached back and felt for the place, his lips hissing a derisive sound when he found it. “That’s my lucky spot. She says if you find one of those, you’ll be lucky ‘til your next haircut.”

“I think that’s one of those things grown-ups say to hide their mistakes,” she retorted.

He looked over his shoulder as they neared the top of the stairs. “With all that reading you do, I can’t believe you’ve never heard of that.”

“You read as much as I do and I bet you’ve never heard of it, either.”

The dark shape of the heavy oak door emerged from the shadows before them, a dull brass doorknob reflecting the oil lamp at the bottom of the stairs. Instead of reaching for the knob, he turned and looked down at her. “You read way more than I do.”

“Yeah, but you read en-cy-clo-pedias,” she replied, drawing out the enunciation as a sign of reverence. She’d always wanted to enjoy them – knowledge was important, her daddy advised – but she just didn’t have the head for it, her grandma said.

“I didn’t have a choice, you know.”

“But you like them now, right?”

He stared at his sister, her face aglow with wonder and curiosity. Her eyes could drink in all the details of the world, and still her inquisitiveness would not be sated. “I guess. They’re now like reading an old story you know by heart.”

“I know all about that. My books never showed me that symbol you found, though. My stories are all made up, and writers are liars.”

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Commission: Tildy Silverleaf by Danny Givens

For a while, I’ve wanted to hire some illustrators to help me populate this site with more imagery. Until the book was finalized, however, I knew it would be a distraction to help me procrastinate. Believe me, writers have an endless variety of options to help with that. Just look at our search history.

Now that I’m working on publishing the book, I have time. I recently hired Danny Givens, who was recommended by another creator I admire. Danny was looking for work and I was looking to hire. Sometimes, it’s as simple as that.

I’ve worked with enough illustrators, designers, and writers to know when to provide direction and when to butt out so they can follow their creative impulses. I’m not going to dictate lines and shading any more than I’m going to dictate seasonings to a chef. It’s the same kind of freedom I appreciate when I’ve taken on a writing job. In my experience, it results in a frictionless relationship. And that’s certainly what I experienced here.

In a recent conversation with another illustrator, I described my philosophy for my art.

I want to give readers enough detail for a scene that allows them to complete the picture in their own minds. It’s a kind of hand-off. In this way, however, I relinquish some control of the story and ownership of it. And that’s perfectly fine. If an artist wants to maintain iron-fisted control over the interpretation of their work, they probably have to keep it hidden from the world. And unshared art is a shame, IMO.

So, I provided some basics about the character and suggested four types of scenes that might make a good visual:

  • Solitude: Tildy perched impossibly upon a branch
  • Action: fighting some of the monsters in the book
  • Friendship: saving her friend Marklin
  • Family: time with her adoptive mother

I let him choose what spoke to him, and then I provided some specifics. Here’s the first sketch, which captured the essence of the scene I provided.

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Writing Exercise: A Day Bright and Full of Promise

It was time for the school bus. Following Benji, I stepped into a beautiful Autumn morning. As though someone spoke to me, this line popped into my head.

A day bright, and full of promise

I stopped in my tracks, my brain beginning to answer the question I no longer had to consciously put into words: “What happens next?” Even after so many years of writing, I continue to be surprised by the amount of creativity sparked by that simple question. Most notably, What if I paused my writing about the lost prince and started a female-centric story about his sister?

It’s a tip I use not only for writing, but in my office job, as well. “OK, we have an issue. What happens next? And then what?” And so on.

The following is about 2 minutes’ work. It’s a minor piece of writing, but I wanted to capture it because it helped inspire me. It’s about having days ahead of you that you want to spend writing. It’s the promise that you’ll create something worthwhile. It’s the power of positive thinking, if you will.

It’s Hope.

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