People often ask writers, “where do you get your ideas?” And the answer is: we steal them from our children…
One night, I was reading the most boring children’s book in the long history of the world to my daughter, Sophy (who was six at the time). I won’t tell you who wrote it, because
A) I don’t want to embarrass them, and
B) the book was so brain-wipingly boring, I have forgotten the writer’s name.
Anyway, it was a picture book about a nice, friendly, perfectly boring rabbit and a nice, friendly, perfectly boring bear.
What happened in the book?
NOTHING!
At one point, a third friendly, boring animal arrived, just to give the illustrator something new to draw (she must have been getting bored too).
The new animal didn’t do anything either, and it was so boring I can’t even remember what it was.
You couldn’t tell any of the animals apart: they all talked the same, and acted the same, and were nice and friendly to each other, until the book ended, or the reader died of boredom, whichever came first.
There was no conflict; no drama; no STORY. All the animals were polite, well-behaved, and perfect. They had nothing to learn, and nowhere to go. No problem to solve.
Now, I am not nice, friendly, and perfect. My daughter is not nice, friendly, and perfect. Nobody I know is nice, friendly, and perfect. Everyone I know is complicated and sometimes nice and sometimes nasty and sometimes friendly and sometimes angry and sometimes sulky and sometimes funny and sometimes stupid and sometimes clever and always interesting.
And no animal I know is nice, friendly and perfect. How boring would THAT be? Animals wee on the carpet sometimes, and sniff each other’s bottoms ALL the time, and chew the furniture. And that’s just our pet cat, Aífe. (If you don’t keep her litter tray clean, she will deliberately poo in your shoe.) And wild animals… are even wilder than that! What is the point of having bears and rabbits in your story if they aren’t WILD, and doing the crazy, surprising, and often rather rude things real bears and rabbits do?
So my daughter and I started talking about how terrible the book was, and about how it could be better.
“What if the new animal that arrived was a wolf?” said my daughter. “And then the wolf could chase the rabbit!”
“Exactly!!!” I said, sitting up in bed. “Then you have a story!”
And so my daughter and I rebelled against the world’s most boring bedtime story, and started to write a better one. We threw ideas back and forth.
“What if the rabbit was grumpy and unfriendly and didn’t like the bear?”
“Great! And what if the rabbit doesn’t help the bear build a snowman? What if the rabbit is jealous, and tries to build his own bigger, better snowman?”
“Great! And what if the rabbit steals the bear’s food!”
I realised that our story was about ten million billion times better than the book we had read. So, when Sophy was asleep, I stayed up late, and wrote it all down…
The next night, I read it to Sophy as her bedtime story. She enjoyed it enormously, but, of course, it wasn’t perfect (because nothing is perfect, especially the very rough first try at a story). And so she told me which bits she liked (“Great!”), and which bits she didn’t like (“Boring!”), and I went away and rewrote it again.
But of course it took AN INCREDIBLY LONG TIME to get from our rough and scruffy bedtime story to the finished book (Rabbit’s Bad Habits, which was finally published this year with Jim Field’s amazing pictures). I had to get the story as good as I could get it, before my agent could look for a publisher, and get an award-winning, genius illustrator like Jim to bring it to life. And that took a couple of years, because I did it in my spare time. I was good at writing novels (and plays, and poems, and things like the ending to Minecraft, which I wrote for Notch): but I was still learning to write children’s books.
And I wanted to do something quite hard: to combine the charm and humour and complicated, funny, interesting characters of Winnie the Pooh with the weird, different-kind-of-interesting, real-life facts of David Attenborough’s wildlife documentaries. Because in the real world, wolves try to eat rabbits. And rabbits have some very surprising habits…
If I could combine the two – David Attenborough meets Winnie the Pooh! – that would be something new, I thought. And, as I writer, I always want to try something new. To have a challenge. To solve a problem. Because solving difficult problems is the fun part of life. And so I did a lot of research on rabbits, and bears, and wolves…
I wrote, and rewrote, Rabbit’s Bad Habits, over many, many drafts. Every couple of drafts, I’d try it out again on Sophy. She laughed at the good bits, frowned at the bad bits, and, at one point (while I was reading her the latest version of a funny scene), burst into tears.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, worried.
“You’ve taken out…” she sobbed, “…my favourite line!”
She was quite right, I realised; and so I put it back in. (It’s the line, spoken by Wolf, “I’m sick of my dinner running away from me at forty miles an hour.”)
Now, THAT’S a passionate and committed editor…
And, finally – with her help – I think I found a way to combine Winnie the Pooh, and wildlife documentaries. Certainly, the book is getting more five star reviews than anything I’ve ever written. I think readers can tell how much thought, and time, and love, went into it.
And that’s why I dedicated Rabbit’s Bad Habits to my daughter. It’s not because I’m nice and friendly and perfect: it’s not because she is nice and friendly and perfect (though she is my favourite person on earth): It’s because I got her to do loads of unpaid work on the book, and stole all her ideas.
Writers, like animals, are complicated and interesting, and NOT ALWAYS NICE…
Buy Rabbit and Bear: Rabbit’s Bad Habits, by Julian Gough and illustrated by Jim Field, at the Guardian bookshop.