The Better Machine by
Lisa Nicol & Michel Streich
(Scholastic Australia)
True to form, exuberant, entertaining author Lisa Nicol writes about her new picture book The Better Machine (illustrated by Michel Streich) for Joy in Books at Paperbark Words blog
A LOT OF HAT & A LITTLE VISION
When Joy kindly asked if I would like to write a blog post about my new picture book, The Better Machine, I asked if there was anything in particular she had in mind.
“Hats and how the illustrator has captured your vision,” she replied.
Hats? Hats? At first, I wondered if ‘hats’ was a typo. Then a lot of neurons resembling leafless lorax trees called out to each other across my wobbly bobbly brain: Ah! Hats!
Lately, I’ve been getting about all over town in a very silly hat. And Vivian, one of two protagonists in The Better Machine, puts her hat inside the machine to see if it can do what it claims it can – make any ‘thing’ better. (It can.)
Perhaps that’s what Joy meant?
Weirdly, I had never stopped to think if people might find it strange that I was now getting about in a very silly hat. As a children’s author, I wear many hats. It’s how I stay afloat. While I regularly teach creative writing (in my teacher hat), presenting – doing author talks – requires a very different hat indeed.
Writing for children, I strive to be entertaining. I consider it mandatory. If kids reading for pleasure was corporeal, we’re currently bleeding out. But being entertaining on a page in no way resembles being entertaining in a cavernous, cold, echoey hall, in front of hundreds of cross-legged kids. Not only that but the competition is fierce. There are seasoned comedians out there and illustrators who can dazzle with a mere white board marker like the magicians they are. (I can’t even doodle.)
From memory it was the end of a busy month of author talks for book ‘week’. I’d been dragging my wheelie suitcase filled with camel bells and vuvuzelas and stuffed kakapos (don’t ask) across car parks and kerbs, up the coast and down. Some days I’d found myself feeling decidedly, I’m afraid to say it, middle-aged. Often, I had very bad hair (it’s curly, I’m not in charge). And occasionally, especially at the start of the ‘season’, I also felt a little anxious. Was the tech going to work? Will the kindies keep up? Will they give me one of those clicker things? Was the session actually a whole hour? Can the kids concentrate that long? Can I concentrate that long? (Let’s hope so, since I’m booked to do four.)
And as I dragged my suitcase through yet another set of school gates, kakapo squawking, camel bell clonking, it struck me.
I need a hat.
Hats are powerful apparel. Some may say magical. It’s why sharmans wear headdresses and queens wear crowns and cowboys wear ten-gallon Stetsons. Hats can express our fantasies, bestow authority, connect us to something greater than ourselves. They can disguise us, reveal us, enhance and transform.
I put a call through to my artist friend immediately. (She’s a ceramicist but what did that matter.)
‘I need a hat,’ I said.
‘What sort of hat?’ she replied.
‘Hmm, good question … Looney Toons meets Frida Kahlo?’
And she got to work.
Lisa in her silly hat: Hat by Anne Kwasner (Don’t ask me what the base is made of, oh alright it’s one of those old, bejewelled brassieres.)
So when ‘book week’ rolled around this year, I was ready. And sure enough, as soon as I pulled my glorious, floral-feathered ornithologist’s dream onto my weary, worried head, the hall transformed into a stage and I (I hate to boast dear reader) stepped out onto it, story-teller extraordinaire!
‘We love your hat, miss!’ they said.
‘I do too!’ And no one asked why I was wearing it. It was obvious, I guess. We’d gathered together to tell and talk stories. It’s exciting and important business. Of course I was dressed for the occasion.
Which neatly brings me to ‘my vision’ for The Better Machine (it doesn’t but let’s move on) and whether the illustrator Michel Streich managed to capture it.
In a blog post that is uncomfortably confessional – so far I’ve admitted being middle-aged, occasionally anxious, and frequently out and about not in charge of my own hair (not to mention wearing a hat made from a form fitting undergarment) – there’s still one to come.
When I hand over my words to illustrators, I don’t have a vision. If I did, I know it would pale into insignificance in comparison to theirs. Particularly when you’re lucky enough to work with someone like Michel Streich.
I was thrilled when my editor, Beck Young at Scholastic, suggested Michel. His work has such humour and humanity. And I waited eagerly for the moment I would get to meet the curious Moz and Vivian ‘IRL’ and see what the Better Machine actually looked like. It’s not that I don’t get visuals in my head as a write, I do. (In my head the Better Machine was like a telephone box. Too much Dr Who.) But when working with an artist I believe it’s best to stay out of their way. I want them to bring their whole imagination to the work. The more imaginations, the better.
And Michel did not disappoint. He elevated the story with his delightful, warm and very funny drawings. The double page spread of the enormous queue is nothing short of spectacular with hundreds of individuals, each clutching their goods in ‘need’ of an upgrade. In the final spread, I had Moz and Vivian up a tree but Michel suggested they be by the sea. New and better text was written, inspired by his visuals. It was far superior to my original ending.
It’s a funny life being a children’s author.
To be completely honest with you, sometimes when I’m walking back to my car with my wheelie-suitcase full of instruments and stuffed animals, a bird-covered bra upon my head, I feel ridiculous.
Good, I think to myself.
Nothing great ever came from comfortable.
And kids deserve great.
Website: lisanicol.com.au
@lisanicolauthor
Lisa Nicol about The Adventures of Pongo and Stink (ill. Karen Blair) at Paperbark Words
