A rock story

"Won't you help me?" said the rock. "I won't," I said.

Hi there, this is dress like a bird! A little newsletter/blog where I talk about my fav things: writing and cookery and books, and general life things. Feel free to subscribe!

The other day I was thinking, like, what if I never get to make another book again? What book have I now? Well, technically none, but there are two manuscripts, that, if everything goes okay, should be full fledged books between now and two years from now. But what if not any after that? After all, we sold those all the way last year, very close together. And I’ve had a couple of other things go out on submission since then— to rejections. So what then: what if? What if this is it?

On mother’s day, I saw Everything Everywhere All At Once with my friend, his friends, and my daughter. Everyone loved it. Everyone cried. And out of all the multiverses I liked the rock one best, and I posted about it.

It reminded me of a story that I started in 2016.

I got it critiqued at two different conferences.

There has been so many iterations that when my writer friends say “oh yeah your rock story!” I know they’re not even talking about the same story.

Is it the version with a gem-hunting bird? Or a fervent rock collector? Maybe it’s the one about a rock who wants to grow up to be a mountain? Is there a grasshopper in one? And a movie theatre in a desert in another?

Well, when I saw that rock scene, where two googly eyed rocks speak, I got that feeling.

I think creators know this feeling.

It’s not unlike the feeling you get when you get the urge to connect with a long-lost friend; when you get that sudden craving for something you loved as a kid; when out of the blue something snags your curiosity and annoyingly doesn’t let go so your dress now has a run in it but you don’t mind because look it’s a [fill in your fav discovery here].

The morning after the movie, I went back to my rock story — last called I’M A ROCK — and rewrote it. And hated it, still.

But the character sat there, in a corner of my head, saying things like, “Won’t you help me?”

“No,” I said. “I won’t.”

And I kinda liked that exchange. It’s not anything, but something about it sounded interesting. So I “drew” it in “comic” format. I use quotations here because it aspires to be both of those words, but doesn’t quite make it.

I didn’t know how to end it so I petted my cat, Tiger Toe, who now likes to sit beside me.

Then I stared at nothing in particular. But this is the view from my chair.

I was like, oh yeah! That guy. He was into rocks.

Peter Fischli.

Rock on top of another rock, to be exact.

Jon Klassen had posted a photo of it like probably 5 years ago, and I really liked it and I wrote down the name to look him up later and then I NEVER DID.

Until last week.

I guess he worked with another guy called David Weiss, and they did some cool stuff. I only looked at pictures and skipped the essays, but I really liked the clay sculpture called “Two ducks looking at their image,” probably because I’m writing a duck story right now.

Anyway. Anyway?

I got some other rock books from the library.

That’s pretty much where it’s at now.

I don’t know if this story will ever become anything, and in case I never get to make another book ever again, maybe it would be a fun project to document the process/progress? Because what if that’s all there is lol.

My friend says no one cares about process: only the end result. I told him, that’s not true! I love seeing how things get made.

That’s fine but their process isn’t very useful to you if you don’t know what they were trying to achieve. What their goals were, he says.

The most common note I get on my picture book stories is that it’s confusing. I’m often trying to do too many things.

What’s it about?

Pick one thing to focus on.

So in the spirit of making this project a bit more useful to me and you, that’s the goal.

One thing. Clarity. Brevity.

I like what Meryl Streep says in the movie Adaption when Charlie Kaufman is on the verge of losing his mind trying to adapt the book The Orchid Thief:

(And I really should be using a rock metaphor but this line is so good).

Whittle it down.