Children's Literature Conference, Athens, GA

Ian Ogilvy ("School Bully" and author of Measle and the Wrathmonk)

Sorry I'm so late about this. Apparently, I picked up some awful flu while at this conference and was very ill all the next week.

I should begin by saying that I didn't think listening to authors maunder on and on was going to be worthwhile but I was dead wrong. We started the conference by listening to Ian Ogilvy (above) accepting the Georgia Children's Book Award. Ogilvy is an actor and has pretty much done nothing but acting until he decided to write a book (which actually was an adult book and not the one he was awarded for that day). He was introduced by his acting resume - which was tantalizingly familiar and I sat there squirming, sure I knew the voice. I had watched some "Babylon 5," but he wasn't a regular. "I, Claudius" was so long ago, I couldn't remember anyone but Derek Jacoby (who still calls Ogilvy "Dad" - not that flattering if you consider how old Jacoby looks compared to Ogilvy) - Ogilvy played Drusus, the father of Claudius. But I still felt I must know him from somewhere else. A quick search on IMDB.com brought me the answer I needed: in "Thompkinson's School Days," one of the Ripping Yarns programs put on by Terry Jones and Michael Palin, Ogilvy played the School Bully (Grayson). Suddenly the plummy accent and the face all came into focus for me. Now I wish I'd hugged him when I ran into him on the steps (which he would not have appreciated, since he would probably have gotten whatever I was incubating).
Each of the authors described their methods of writing, what got them into writing, and each one was completely different! There would be no way to emulate all of them - you'd just have to find the method that made most sense to you (or else try them all in succession). Ogilvy annoyed everyone by just deciding to write a book, slogging through it, and getting it published, solely on the strength of his recognition factor. He had succeeded Roger Moore in the role of "The Saint" and was a household word in England at the time.
He remarried in the US (after he realized that his cachet as The Saint only went so far in England he moved to California where he was an illegal alien for a while) and read books to his new family at bedtime. So he thought he'd take a stab at a children's book. Measle and the Wrathmonk is the result. He sent it to his literary agent who found it delightful and set it up to be "auctioned" - which means various publishers would bid for it and run the price up. He was quite pleased with that. At his age, parts are harder to get, and he fancied that a little writing would be a help.
His agent called to tell him that, of the bidders, she recommended Oxford University Press. They had not bid the most, but had sent her a cake with decorations reflecting the plot and characters of the book. If they put that much into just getting the bid, she figured they would put as much or more effort into marketing the final product.
She was apparently right. Ogilvy is quite satisfied with the promotion of the book. He is definitely not satisfied with his American publisher, Harper Collins, who picked it up but let it languish. They told him that only so many books "make it" and apparently they put their money behind the ones they think will. The majority of new books have to fend for themselves.
Ogilvy simmers below the surface. You can see him come right to the edge of a good, solid lambaste, but he deftly pulls away leaving the smoke of charm and politesse in his wake. On the verge of skewering Warner Brothers for making a total dog's breakfast of the script for MatW, he merely describes their tendency (as well as everyone in Hollywood) to "blow smoke." You have to fill in the "up one's arse" for yourself.
The good news on the movie front is that, after a scathing letter from him, the WB executives took him to lunch (instead of airily suggesting they "do" lunch) and agreed with him totally that the script needed a total re-write and that it should start with going back to the original material instead of re-writing the re-write of a re-write of a re-write. Ogilvy is hopeful that his arse was smoke-free.
As to writing, Ogilvy says he pictures the story like a movie and "just writes what he sees." Oh, nice. I'm sure we can all do that. He also passes on what he considered to be good advice in writing, "Put weather in."
So, everyone, picture a story in movie form ... and just describe it! And don't forget the important weather!

Cynthia Kadohata did not look well. People complained about her presentation, but I thought it was good and ... well, I thought she was bearing up well under some stress or illness. She had pictures to show - one of her getting the message about the Newbery Award, pictures of her family, and described her harrowing adoption trip to Kazakhstan. And then I heard people complaining that she didn't go enough in depth!
Cynthia's father spent WWII in an internment camp - which helped inspire Weedflower. She "killed off her sister" for Kira-kira, which annoyed her real-life sister for quite a while. Her love of dogs inspired CRACKER! The Best Dog in Vietnam. Kadohata put many dog-related ideas past her editor before the Cracker story was accepted.
Apparently, she is very heavily edited, and showed us an example of how ideas dear to your heart can be rejected and you just have to get up, dust yourself off, and re-do.
Her recommendation for writers is to write something and send it off (to be rejected) because that will force you to finish a piece. It also helps if your editor is a childhood friend.
The advice so far: be already hideously famous, grow up with a future editor/agent/publisher. The weather continues charming.

Brian Pinkney does not claim to be a speller or a grammarian. He came into writing through the back door of illustrating. His father was an artist as well, so he had the advantage of an example at home and access to materials. He loves working with scratchboard, but that becomes another burden if you want to do something different. "Oh, but you do the scratchboard!" "Oh, but you're The Saint!" "Oh, but you're Japanese!"
Pinkney practices karate and used that in one of his books (Jo-Jo's flying side-kick).
He is a drummer, and was able to use that as well (Max found two sticks). He taught us the paradiddle rhythm and charged us to go home and practice. I tried to do this for my husband who probably thought I was going mad. All of these so-called talents actually take a great deal of practice and concentration. (Rats.)
He convinced his wife to write books for him to illustrate, which raises the specter of husband and wife living and working together. He has rules for that:

• If you're going to talk about work, have a meeting and discuss it like it's what it is: business.
• Never tell your spouse something is a stupid idea.
• If there is something about a drawing that just isn't working, don't say it's wrong, say that that part is "unresolved."
• Preface the bad news with, "Honey, you're off to a great start ..."

It's all a person can do to not fall down and worship David Wiesner. His drawings are brilliant, imaginative, and funny, and you don't have to read anything! He entered illustration at the last gasp of color separation, where you had to do separate overlays of each ink color (remember how children's books used to have only two colors in them? Or their coloring was very, very simple? Ahhh, that explains it, eh?) This rankled him a bit, but publishers weren't going to spend the money for full-color printings on children's books. He'd show them what he was capable of doing and they would tell him it was very nice, but do it the way they asked. An applicant for a position at our library showed us his latest Caldecott winner, Flotsam, and waxed enthusiastic about his work and described in depth his use of the smaller panels to show the action. I was so excited that I used the book in the evening storytime that night. Luckily, I had only one child and she was slightly older. We were able to go through the book and chat about it.
Wiesner will make a terrific sketch and then think, "Can I do more with this?" His goal is to make the reader want to know what could possibly be happening on the next page.

So, be incredibly famous, grow up with an agent/editor/publisher, have a talented father/prolific wife/photogenic children, work something until you've gotten everything out of it you can. Lovely weather, eh? The sun is shining ...

The last author was Mo Willems, author of the Knufflebunny (the K is pronounced - usually) and Pigeon stories. Willems wrote for Sesame Street. He says that if you can imagine the story just from reading, you don't need pictures. You can have too many words or too many pictures (take that, Wiesner!) and he feels the audience needs to do some work. His mission is to write incomprehensible stories for illiterates. Picture books need to be read aloud (great! I'm doin' that; gotcher back, Mo) and that books should be played, not just read. He firmly holds to the belief that the lead character should be drawable by a five year old (and that, Wiesner!). Then he tried to get us all to draw the Pigeon. He says small, real stories are worth being told.
After years with Sesame Street, dealing with suits, etc., he's glad to be in the only industry left where individuality is the norm, that is picture books.

Okay, all of the above, and don't put in too many words or too many pictures. Include the weather. Now, go write a great children's book!

Got all that? Good.