I believe I’ve griped elsewhere that I envy artists’ ease concocting the fantastical. I don’t know that I pinpointed the part that annoys me the most: that they can do it with obvious style, accuracy, and expedience.
There are differences in drawing giant lizards and writing giant lizards. An artist draws the exact giant lizard she has in mind: the one with baggy skin, porcine snout, but sinuous tail. Or maybe the one with a thick-veined dorsal fan, tusks, and dainty wren-feet. Currently, an author expounding anything is to be held in disregard for the sin of ‘info-dumping’. An author, rather, must become a modeler. Starting of with giant lizard lump-of-clay then gracefully mentioning excessive rolls of leathery skin when it moves the plot forward, or the piggish facial features when it enhances the theme, and finally the sinuous tale when it increases the conflict. Or maybe none of this at all–just knowing inside that it was all there despite the literal omission required to novelate commercially.
For author’s these days it’s about the journey and not so much the scenery along the way. Scenery is fine to be sure as long as we readers don’t have to slow the vehicle to take it all in. There really is no picture taking and definitely no scrapbooking in novels these days.
Fairness is not a concept I worry too much about when I gripe, but I always wanted to be an artist, so I have decided to find out just how hard it is to craft a giant lizard in a visual language. I suspect I’ll go for the same 1000 day conceit I’ve been pushing here–though I don’t make as big a deal of it over there.
Maybe some day I’ll have color.
Word count: 291