A few years ago I was in a workshop on "Collaboration" at Dragon*Con. I can't remember the name of the writer who first talked about dwarves, but he sat on this panel and told us about one collaborative effort.
This writer had written a pilot for a Network. He'd finished it, and given it to the producer. The producer read through his treatment, nodded a few times. Then he finished and looked at the writer and said, "I like it, but… I'd like to see a dwarf and a cottage in this. Put it in and I'll buy it."
The writer decided the guy was nuts, but he was the one with the check book. The pilot was a city drama. Cops, guns blazing, blood saturating the pavement. Where would a dwarf and cottage fit in? He went home contemplating drink, and called a friend to complain.
After listening to the writer's rant, the friend said, "Look, obviously he sees something wrong with the script. Figure out what it is, fix it, and damn-well, don't put in any dwarves!" The two brainstormed into the wee hours of the night till they realized what the real problem was. They fixed the screenplay without the dwarf. The producer accepted it.
Many months later, when first working on this essay, I had this funny gnome with his tiny hands pulling on my pant leg, saying, "Something's wrong with your story."
“What would that be?" I asked him.
"I'm not a dwarf."
I look down at him. He's right. But his advice is always indirect.
Okay, True: Gerry isn't a dwarf. He doesn't even have a cottage. I think he lives in the walls of my house. He’s not a muse. He's not a dwarf. Dwarves are a bit bigger.
What he's really trying to tell me-in his obscure fashion-is that everything really started with the Jabberwocky. Now Gerry's laughing, because he knows that it took me a while to see that to begin with. As long as I saw his point it doesn't matter. That's part of his job. How not being a dwarf can remind me about the Jabberwocky is part of his own weird mystery.
You see, the Jabberwocky—and yes, that’s an agent— sent me a rejection letter for my second novel. Whiffling and burbling, this Carroll creature informed me in a letter, typed on a real typewriter, that my story was interesting, but it had Gerry's hand prints all over it.
Little known fact: Gnomes and all of his kind make Jabberwockies and all their kind—editors and agents—rather ill. Gnomes, apparently, are more distressing than young warrior sons carrying vorpal swords.
Well, perhaps it's not a little known fact. But it’s the invisible Gnome or Dwarf Prints that confuse everyone else Not in the Know. It is disguised as bad writing. It takes practice to catch it or see it.
Anything to do with any gnome or dwarf in a cottage for that matter, make the Jabberwocky hold sample chapters as far as he can from his person, while holding his nose. As soon as he can, he rejects it. No doubt with eyes flaming with indignation and rimmed red. Jabberwockies and their cousins are highly allergic to anything tainted with Gnomes and all of their kind. Tolerances vary.
The Jabberwocky was perfectly right. Once I looked again at my work, my own eyes were rimmed red. Unfortunately I'm not as allergic to Gerry as I'd like to be. If I were, I'd notice when he interfered with my work. I cried instead.
Fortunately, the Jabberwocky wrote me a rejection letter that wasn't a form letter. It was brutal, and honest. It was the best thing that happened to me.
I started seeing Gerry's handwriting, and knew—sort of—what to do with it. I started learning from him how to catch what was wrong.
Gerry's giving me that look again, because you see, when I first read the rejection letter, I didn't see it as a great thing. I cried for a solid hour. I contemplated giving up. Some of my friends and family know how difficult my way back to writing had been, as well as how much room for improvement I still have. But the Jabberwocky and my gnome have given me some of the best tools I can use to climb my cliff-faced mountain towards my goal.
With a pat on my knee my funny Gnome tells me I'm getting to the point. You see, the Jabberwocky was quite right. My standards were too low. Both the Jabberwocky and my funny Gnome had this advice: When something is wrong with your work, Fix It!
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