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.”