The further adventures of that children's book
/Ah, the travails of a children’s author!
You will recall from my past couple of posts that I worked like a fiend** all week to have ready my version of the assignment that I gave to the Backstreet Writers last Tuesday, resulting in the delightful little A Bug’s Life. Here’s how that went down.
I arrived at Backstreet Community Arts on Tuesday morning, ready to celebrate others’ children’s books and to show the Lichtenbergian process I went through to produce mine. I even brought a lesson on the parts of a book for those who might not have known about those kinds of things.
However, when I got there only one member of the seven or so writers was present. At least he had some scribbles of a children’s book to share. (There was one other writer in the room, but he had signed up for the painting class that was being offered at the same time.)
So I emailed the entire group, offering them a humorous multiple-choice question about what they thought my reaction to their absence was, based on “how they experience reality” and assuring them that I could still do the parts of a book lesson next week, and that I for real hoped that they hadn’t been scared off by the assignment. (They weren’t, I know, but it helps to allay any low-lying fears.)
And then it got weird.
A third member showed up, late, and settled in. I shared A Bug’s Lunch with him as well, and then the two writers present began to brainstorm ways to make our hero Bug into an extended series of children’s books.
I am a highly qualified/trained children’s librarian, but you do not need to have my degrees to understand how problematic their suggestions were for this soon-to-be-award-winning, internationally-beloved, critically acclaimed (as soon as I finish it) children’s book.
To wit:
A Bug’s Love, in which Bug successfully procreates
a fantasy/scifi sidequest, in which Bug takes on the usual bad guys from another dimension
A Bug’s Duty, to understand which you need to know that the fig — a basket of fresh figs was on the table — was for a long time thought to be the only fruit-producing tree that didn’t flower, but what scientists discovered was that there was a particular wasp who knew that the flower was inside the fig, and so we are offered Bug, who goes to inseminate a fig by — and I quote — “crawling into the fig’s little moist hole.”
plus the inevitable grand finale of the series, wherein Bug is squashed by a giant boot.
You see what I have to deal with? I bet Eric Carle didn’t have to put up with this. (I then emailed the missing members of the group, chiding them for not being there and putting a stop to it, even though I am absolutely sure they would have all joined in and made it worse.)
That’s all fine. Because when I’m accepting my Newbery Award, who’ll be laughing then, hmm??
** For Lichtenbergian values of “like a fiend,” of course.
