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Cheaper by the Dozen
by Mark Ury
Ideas are not a dime a dozen. They’re closer to $0.0001. That’s because they’re commodities. Everyone has them, everyone can think of them, and, as a culture, we’re saturated with them. Like most raw materials, ideas are worthless unless you turn them into something else, something of greater value.
How do you add value to ideas? With other ideas.
The concept of wit—one of our most enjoyable forms of ideas—is premised on taking one cliché and combining it with another to make something unexpected and remarkable.
An arrow pointing right is a cliché for a courier company. But burying it between the negative space of the “E” and “x” of FedEx makes it new. It makes the image memorable, if not surprising, and the idea valuable.

“You can’t teach an old dogma new tricks” is the written equivalent of the FedEx logo, as are many of Dorothy Parker’s best quips. “Take care of luxuries and the necessities will take care of themselves” and “It serves me right for keeping all my eggs in one bastard” whip two lazy ideas into shape and keep them marching for decades.
The economics of wit are 1+1=3. When your ideas are competing for a publisher’s or reader’s attention, those are valuable numbers to have on your side.
How do you create wit? The simplest technique is to tinker with clichés since they contain recognizable patterns that your audience can latch onto. For example, the cliché “ideas are a dime a dozen” gives you three things to mess about: ideas, money, and—thanks to the word “dozen”—eggs. If you were drawing, you might play with the notion of ideas as light bulbs and then substitute them for the eggs in a carton. You now have a new image to play with and the shadows of a scene. Who needs ideas? Inventors. But why cheap ones? Well, perhaps this inventor is down on his luck. Can’t you see him there at the register, digging into his empty pockets looking for a dime? Around him are other wealthy inventors, buying cartons of the stuff. But he can only afford one bulb for his last, terrible experiment…
The key to playing with clichés is to think visually AND conceptually. Sometimes the images line themselves up, like the example above. Other times, the concept is unlocked through narrative interplay. For instance, you might start with the visual of ghosts, creeping around in a mansion and scaring people. But then you flip to the narrative pieces and start toying with their DNA: the ghosts aren’t the antagonists. The ghosts don’t know they’re ghosts. The audience doesn’t know they’re ghosts. Before you know it, you’re in Spain with Nicole Kidman filming The Others.
In fact, if you want to study the blending of routine ideas into something fresh, Hollywood has a not unsuccessful record. Alien is the fusion of the shark thriller (Jaws) and outer space (Star Wars). Mad About You was pitched as thirtysomething, but funny. The Sixth Sense, Unbreakable, The Village—many of M. Night Shyamalan’s films—rely on flipping everyday ideas to produce entertaining new ones that “unpack” their meaning as you watch.
That’s the benefit of folding two ideas into one. The audience experiences it in reverse: one idea unfolds into two and the brain has the joy of connecting the dots to find the hidden meaning.
Don’t worry about great ideas. Look for everyday, unbankable ones. If you invest and repackage them, they’ll outperform your reader’s expectations.
That’s my two cents.
Mark Ury is the co-founder of Storybird.
If you’re a picture book writer, you’ve read hundreds of picture books. Maybe even thousands. (And if you haven’t, I’m sending you to bed without supper!)
I know you have favorites. But have you ever stopped to analyze why a picture book has earned your top rank? Is it the premise? The voice? The twist on the final page? Does the book’s heartfelt sentiment or cheeky sense of humor hook you? Is it all of the above?
Timothy Knapman’s Guess What I Found in Dragon Wood stands out among recent reads. Why? When I began Knapman’s story, I assumed it had a been-there-done-that premise: boy discovers a creature in the forest. But on the third page, I was thrown.
This is no ordinary boy-meets-dragon story. It’s dragon-meets-boy.
Told from the dragon’s point of view, Dragon Wood turns a common premise upside down. When the young dragon finds a boy “called a Benjamin,” he brings it home and asks his mom if he can keep it. Slowly the dragon uncovers strange facts about the human world—the Benjamin’s striped boots aren’t his feet, his eyes leak when he’s sad, and he loves a game involving a black and white ball. But the dragons have a tough time learning soccer. They just want to burn down the goalposts and eat the ball.
In Dragon Wood, young readers know more than the main character. And kids love that. Think about it—all day long they’re in school, being told how much they don’t know. When they can be smarter than a picture book character, it’s a fun feeling. (Just like when we adults are smarter than a fifth grader.)
Knapman’s book has several things going for it: surprise, humor, a unique voice, kid sensibilities and adult appeal. Let’s not forget that a picture book should keep the grown-up—the one with the wallet who’s reading—entertained as well.
When I boil this dragon tale down, it’s a story about friendship. I could also argue that it’s a book about the importance of family and finding one’s true place in the world. These are universal themes that will never go out of style.
As I come up with ideas this month, I think about the theme at its heart. Will my theme stand the test of time? Can I write this theme with humor and an element of surprise? What have I learned from Dragon Wood that I could apply to my own unique story?
Other favorites:
In Cressida Cowell’s That Rabbit Belongs to Emily Brown, the relationship between a little girl and her favorite toy is magic, a love that everyone can understand because they’ve experienced it, too.
In The Louds Move In by Carolyn Crimi, the author balances seven distinct characters—an entire family of Louds plus three quiet neighbors. Even the names are brilliant: Earmuffle Avenue, Miss Shushermush, Mr. Pitterpatter.
In Laurie Keller’s Arnie the Doughnut, I guffaw at its crazy, quirky humor. Arnie is alive—and the poor chocolate-frosted treat doesn’t realize that doughnuts are for eating.
Okay! Are you ready to try it? Go play with a favorite book. What do you love about it? How can you create something lovable?
So, how’s it going today?
Today, bookish Brooklynite Elana Roth of Caren Johnson Literary Agency agreed to join PiBoIdMo to offer grand prize number THREE.
If you haven’t checked the prize announcement page, please do! It’s been updated with Elana’s information and the tentative prize schedule.
I’m also planning to give away books and other goodies, so stay tuned. I’ve got more figuring to do. And you’ve got ideas to flesh out.
Have you ever considered writing a picture book biography?
I’ll be honest. I never did.
My perception of bio writing was that it was snooze-worthy, the stuff read by droning teachers in echoing classrooms. Don’t ask me where I got that impression, although it might have to do with Doc Shapiro’s U.S. History class circa 1986.
Then, at the recommendation of Kelly Fineman, I read Mermaid Queen: The Spectacular True Story of Annette Kellerman, Who Swam Her Way to Fame, Fortune & Swimsuit History!
Wowza. Have you seen this book? The splashy, colorful illustrations grabbed me, but it’s the story that kept me turning the pages. And it’s not about some über-famous woman, either. I had never even heard of Annette Kellerman until I read this book.
Kellerman invented water ballet, introduced the idea of the female athlete to the masses, and became the first woman to attempt swimming across the English Channel. She designed the modern swimsuit, freeing women from their heavy woolen garb.
Shana Corey’s mermaid tale proves that picture book biographies can be imaginative and fun, and they don’t have to be about a president to make a splash. (Yeah, I used that pun twice. Sorry. It’s day 15. Stick with me here.)
Catherine Brighton’s Keep Your Eye on the Kid focuses on the early years of Buster Keaton.
Did you know Harry Houdini gave Buster his name after watching baby Keaton tumble down the stairs? (“Gee, that was some buster the kid took!”) His parents had a touring act and would throw him across the stage every night. These unusual details, told in Buster’s voice, toss you into the story. The sentences are crisp and tight, and Brighton doesn’t dwell on the demanding reality of Buster’s touring lifestyle. She keeps it fun and lighthearted, with illustrations that mimic an old comic book. And the cover? You’ll fall head over heels for it. [Insert corny laugh track.]
Coretta Scott by is a lyrical biography by Ntozake Shange, illustrated with bold paintings by Kadir Nelson.
It doesn’t begin “I was born on April 27, 1927” and thank goodness for that. Instead the first page reads, “some southern mornings/the moon/sits like an orange/sliver by the treetops.” There’s a simple, glorious painting of the glowing sliver above a silhouette of trees, the sky wide open. Yet the next page introduces the reality of segregation. Coretta and her siblings “walked all/of five miles to/the nearest colored school/in the darkness/with the dew dampening/their feet.” The rest of the story sings, as Coretta meets Martin Luther King, Jr., marries, and helps lead the Civil Rights Movement.
These three books represent the best of picture book biographies, telling a story with style rather than bogging it down in facts. This is not your history teacher’s non-fiction. No siree.
Today for PiBoIdMo, do research. Read picture book biographies. Which ones sing to you?
Is there a figure in history who fascinates you? What has been written about that person? Are there picture book biographies or texts for older children? How can you tell that person’s story in 32 pages, in a way that’s suitable for young children? Which details would you keep? Which would you toss? Would you tell the story in verse or prose?
So, how’s it going today?


I am not like most writers. Ideas don’t just slam into me while I am out for a walk. I don’t get “Aha!” moments while luxuriating in a steamy tub. I have to work hard for my ideas. I have to dig deep to find them.
Brief Encounters of the Picture Book Kind

Jeannine Q. Norris
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