5 Things We Can Learn From Margaret Wise Brown
"Is it nonsense, is it brilliance?"
In 1926, Virginia Woolf wrote in her diary, “Is it nonsense, is it brilliance?” She was questioning her writing approach for the second section of her novel To the Lighthouse. It’s a question I’ve recently been asking myself, too. After years of thinking about writing children’s books, this year, I’m finally doing it.
Actually, I wrote my first story last year but decided to step away from it for a few months. I wanted to see if, upon returning, I still felt the same enthusiasm for it. Thankfully, I do, especially now that it’s been edited many times. But I’m also trying to work on a couple new story ideas, and it’s very challenging. A new idea is so elusive. To capture it, I have to keep my mind open and receptive, and once it’s latched on, I have to gently nurture it or I will stifle its potential for growth. And each story idea wants a different approach, voice, style, and structure; figuring out what those are takes time, and sometimes, when I think I’ve finally nailed it, I quickly realize that I hate the idea, which isn’t always a bad thing. If I thought all of my ideas were good, that would undoubtedly mean they were bad.
So how do you know if your story is nonsense or brilliant? I think, like Woolf, you’re probably on the right track if your story is walking a tightrope between those two poles. Hopefully, you’re trying something new, taking risks, and pushing the form, but that also means you could easily fall in the wrong direction. Although, perhaps the wrong direction is the right direction. Sometimes nonsense is brilliant. It’s a tricky thing. Of course, you have to like it and other people have to like it, but not everyone has to like it. It reminds me of Margaret Wise Brown. Her books are never simply beautiful, there is always something a little bit off, a little bit strange about them, even if it’s just a word choice or the structure of a sentence, she always surprises you.
When I feel overwhelmed by this process, I revisit Margaret Wise Brown’s insightful essay, “Writing for Five-Year-Olds,” and it reminds me to pay attention to the small things:
“When I look at stories and wonder what started them I find that it was not always some big idea but more often merely some small thing I saw that amused me or touched me - a kitten for the first time with all the wonder and surprise in the world in its bright little eyes. Or I start thinking of the small animal dignity that children and puppies and shy little horses struggle so hard to maintain at times. I wonder what the world looks like from the little space above the ground where children and small animals live. Or I just remember all the silly things that make them laugh. Sometimes I have dreamed a phrase and a half formed situation that has started a story.
I suppose what really happens is that all of a sudden you see or hear something that seems significant. And by writing it out in a story form that significance becomes crystalized for whoever reads the story and for yourself.”
Here are five things we can learn from Margaret Wise Brown
1. Leave space for quiet
“In this modern world where activity is stressed almost to the point of mania, quietness as a childhood need is too often overlooked. Yet a child's need for quietness is the same today as it has always been—it may even be greater—for quietness is an essential part of all awareness. In quiet times and sleepy times a child can dwell in thoughts of his own, and in songs and stories of his own.”
We’re living in an age of distraction. We’re bombarded with information and grossly overstimulated. Books, television shows, and films are getting shorter, louder, and flashier. There’s no time for quiet. There’s no time for thinking. But reading Margaret Wise Brown helps. Her poetry is a way for us to pay attention to the things we tend not to pay attention to: the belly of a bumblebee, the sound of a train roaring across a darkening sky, the salty taste of air by the sea, and once we notice them, we realize that it’s the small moments that make up a big, beautiful life.
2. Attention is love
Children are intuitively skilled at paying attention. This was also Brown’s superpower. As a writer and poet, she was uniquely adept at paying attention to the things of the world, but also to our inner worlds—our sensations. The sonic texture of her words awakens the senses, bringing awareness to abstract thoughts and feelings. Her poetry opens up small moments, creating space for expansion—suddenly, the reader sees, hears, and feels things with more depth and perplexity. She notices the “blue nights with a foggy moon, smoking in the trees” and pauses to remember “the ticklish sneezing smell of a hot daisy.” Her gift was finding constellations of surprise in ordinary, everyday moments.
(1 & 2 are from “Margaret Wise Brown and the Art of Paying Attention,” which you can read in the Moonbow archive.)
3. Fully embrace life
Margaret Wise Brown had a wild, vivacious spirit that I’m envious of, probably because I’m not very bold or spontaneous. I love what children’s author Mac Barnett wrote about Margaret Wise Brown’s eccentricity in The Important Thing About Margaret Wise Brown (2019), illustrated by Sarah Jacoby:
“People thought Margaret Wise Brown was strange, and they thought her books were strange too. Now it’s true that Margaret Wise Brown did strange things. She swam naked in cold water. She put a door in her house that led out to a cliff that plunged into the sea. And when Margaret Wise Brown first got paid to write a book, do you know what she did with the money?
Margaret Wise Brown found a flower cart on a street in the city and she bought the whole thing. Not the cart. Not the horse. But every last flower.
Margaret Wise Brown filled her little home with flowers and she threw a party and invited her friends. After a few hours her friends left. And after a few days the flowers died. Some people might think it’s silly or sad to spend so much money on something that is over so soon. But I think it is beautiful. How about you?”
4. Don’t be afraid to experiment
There are countless examples of Margaret Wise Brown subverting expectations. Like the introduction of the kitten, who can talk to the island, in The Little Island (1946), illustrated by Leonard Weisgard—a strange and beautiful way to address the connections between nature and other beings. But sometimes, the peculiarity of her stories comes from her style choices.
Above, on the left, is a section from Pussy Willow (1951), illustrated by Leonard Weisgard, and on the right is a 1991 reprint edited by Diane Muldrow, illustrated by Jo-Ellen C. Bosson. Muldrow’s rewrite is cleaner and less wordy, but it’s less evocative.
(How great is the line “the peepers were peeping”?!)
Writing "wild flowers" four times in a row is truly striking—a brilliant touch!
5. The self is not fixed
These days, there is so much pressure to create a personal brand, to “be authentic.” But what does that even mean? A recurring theme in my writing is the exploration of my sense of self. Who am I? But now, at 42, the same age that Margaret Wise Brown was when she died, I realize that the self is not a fixed thing, and why should it be? It’s exciting to be in a constant state of change, even if it’s sometimes painful.
Margaret Wise Brown struggled to find her way after she graduated from college. “She told a former teacher she felt like a bunch of peas that weren’t cooked yet ‘but are doing a lot of whirling about in the kettle.’”1 That’s how I always want to feel. Because who wants to feel like a bowl of cooked peas?
Virginia Woolf on the true self
Listen to me read an excerpt from “Street Haunting: A London Adventure” by Virginia Woolf (1930)
“The Radical Woman Behind Goodnight Moon,” by Anna Holmes, published in The New Yorker (2022).
(I was inspired to make this list after reading Katy Hessel’s “5 Things” series on The Great Women Artists, and thought it would be fun to highlight a children’s author.)
I loved this, and it makes me realise I don’t know MWB well that all. Time for a deep dive I think. Thank you for the inspiration!
Oof, I knew she died young but 42! What a shame.