At the same time and unrelated, in my other life as a children’s book author, an editor asked me if I could do a fairy tale retelling of “The Princess and the Pea,” and I couldn’t do it. I have always found that story … well … squicky. Why does a prince want a bride with skin that sensitive? If a pea under a dozen mattresses is enough to leave bruises, what would a human touch do? Why would you want that? What does it say about the prince? None of my thoughts were the sort of thing you want in an upbeat romp aimed at seven-year-olds. We compromised on “Little Red Riding Hood” and I took my squick elsewhere.
Somewhere between the bone dog and the prince obsessed with tender skin, I wound up with the opening chapters. It included someone called a “dust-wife” about which I knew nothing, and the blistered land and Kania and Damia being married off. And then, as often happens, the story sat fallow for a half dozen years, occasionally getting dusted off and poked and prodded, and then one day I sent about ten thousand words off to my editor with my usual note: “Hey, I got this thing, you want it?” (I have heard some authors write cover letters and synopses and so forth. Someday I will have to try that.)
Well, she did want the thing, as it turned out, and that meant that I had to come up with a lot more book, in relatively short order. What’s a dust-wife? What do they do? Where’s the godmother? Why are godmothers involved at all? Why is my deadline only two months away? What am I doing? Why did I not become a medical test subject, like Mom always wanted? Do I really need both these kidneys, when the black market for organs is so lucrative?
This is a standard part of the authorial process, and of course the questions got answered and the book got written eventually. I suspect that I would probably still be stuck in the grocery store parking lot if not for the aid of a couple of people, though. First, my fabulous editor, Lindsey Hall, who would get excited about certain bits and thus make me realize I had to actually do something with those bits instead of just leaving them dangling in the wind; my agent, Helen, who has made peace with my “you want this thing?” style of cover letter and makes sure that I actually remember to sign forms and get money for the thing; my beta reader, Shepherd, who explained patiently about spinning and drop spindles and weft locks and tapestries, and even demonstrated how a drop spindle worked, despite my refusal to add more sheep to the book; and my beloved husband, Kevin, who is endlessly supportive and also keeps chickens, several of which found their way into the story in one form or another.
I could probably write books without all these people, but they would be significantly worse books and I would be far more frazzled and possibly short a kidney. Any particularly good bits are probably their fault, and any errors were almost certainly mine, made despite their best efforts to stop me.
I hope your dogs are all loyal and goofy and good-natured and that your chickens remain free of demons.
T. Kingfisher
North Carolina
May 2020