A Beginning, a Muddle, and an End: The Right Way to Write Writing

by Avi

  "Isn't that hard?" asked the snail.

  "Eggs are always hard," said the crow. "But if you want children, you have to sit on them. That's why parents have such a hard life."

  "I'm not sure I understand," said Avon.

  "An egg is not likely to grow on its own," said the crow crossly.

  "She's right," said Edward. "I've never seen a grown-up egg."

  "The egg doesn't grow!" cried the bird. "It's what's inside that grows."

  "Then why don't you sit on what's inside?" Avon asked.

  "Because there's a shell."

  "What makes you so sure there's something inside?" asked Edward.

  "It's always been that way!" insisted the crow.

  "Do you know what's inside?"

  "I am hatching a baby crow," said the bird indignantly.

  "Perhaps it's a story," said Avon with great interest. "I've heard of creatures hatching plots. I could use one."

  "That would be poaching," said Edward.

  "I hate poached eggs," said the crow.

  "Forgive me for asking," asked Edward, "but if you're sitting on the egg, how will you know when it's ready?"

  "I'll know," said the crow, "when the egg cracks."

  "Being a parent," Edward scolded, "is not a laughing matter. These days an egg in the nest requires a nest egg."

  "But that's so very costly!" protested the crow.

  "My point," cried Edward, "eggs-actly!"

  The crow sighed. "I'm just going to have to wing it."

  "You know," said Avon as the two friends returned to their house, "for that bird's sake I can only hope being a parent is what it's cracked up to be."

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  In Which Avon and Edward Learn a Rule

  It was early in the morning two days later, and Avon was out on the porch taking a break from not writing. Edward was there to help.

  Suddenly Edward cried, 'Avon, look out!"

  A startled Avon looked around. Not far from the two friends, a large, spotted green tree frog was glaring at them.

  "What are you doing here?" asked the tree frog.

  "I'm trying to write a story," said Avon.

  "How long?" demanded the frog.

  "Story or writing or trying?" asked Avon.

  "What difference does that make?" said the frog. "The point is, did you get my permission to do it?"

  "I don't think he needs anyone's approval to write a story," put in Edward.

  "That's a likely story!" cried the frog. "Because he does need permission since among the three of us, I'm the biggest. Therefore, I'm in charge."

  "There's nothing reasonable about that at all," retorted Edward. "The only thing you're bigger than, here, is us."

  "Us is enough for me," insisted the tree frog. "Bigger means best."

  "Does that mean best means bigger?" asked Avon.

  "Bigger—better, it's the same thing," said the tree frog.

  "They are different words," Avon pointed out.

  "Nonsense!" cried the tree frog. "Since they have the same number of letters, they are equal."

  "Lots and none have equal letters," Edward protested. "But they are unequal."

  "And," said Avon, "huge and large have different numbers of letters, but they pretty much mean the same thing."

  "Both words end in an e," said the tree frog. "Which is why they almost have the same meaning."

  "Hold on!" cried Avon. "Politely and rudely both end in ay. Are you saying they're the same?"

  "You're just playing with words," said the tree frog, puffing herself up. "I repeat, the important question is, who is bigger?"

  "Sometimes," Edward pointed out, "small is bigger if you compare small things with even smaller things."

  "Don't try to confuse me with logic," said the tree frog. "The only things I hate more than logic are facts that tell me I'm wrong."

  "What about facts that tell you you're right?"

  "This being a free country," said the tree frog, "I don't care what you say as long as I get to decide which facts are right and which are wrong."

  "That doesn't seem fair," said Avon.

  "Not a fact!" objected the tree frog.

  "I think we're right," said Edward.

  "The fact is," said the tree frog, "a fact isn't a fact unless someone—meaning me—decides it is a fact."

  "And where do you get your facts?" asked Edward.

  "I make them at a factory."

  Avon said, "Well, my fact is, I am going to write a story, and I don't think I need your permission to do so."

  "Not so fast!" cried the tree frog.

  "Oh, you needn't worry about that," said Avon. "I am writing very slowly."

  "You are talking to me," said the tree frog. "That's the only fact I approve of."

  "Well then," said Edward, "prove it."

  "Your friend here"—the tree frog nodded to Avon—"claimed two things. First he said he was writing a story. Well, look at him. Is he writing? No. He's talking. He's just a talker who thinks he's a writer. Then he said he didn't need my permission to write or talk. That's not a fact, either."

  "Is that your proof?" said Edward.

  "Must I say it again: The only proof I need is that I'm the biggest creature around here."

  "And I say again," exclaimed Avon, "that's size, not fact!"

  "Right," said Edward. "In any case, you're not bigger than the tree."

  "And the tree isn't bigger than the forest," added Avon.

  "And the forest isn't bigger than the world," said Edward.

  "And the last time I looked," Avon pointed out, "the world isn't bigger than the universe, though I'm willing to admit I've never actually measured it."

  "Right," said Edward. "So if the biggest thing gets to decide what a fact is, I have to ask if it's a fact that you got permission from the universe to ask permission of us?"

  "Well ... no," admitted the tree frog.

  "Don't you think you should factor that in?" said Avon.

  "I ... don't know how to talk to the universe," said the rather embarrassed frog.

  "Excuse me," said Edward. "But if you look right behind you, there's a robin. The way she's gazing at you with her open beak—this is just my opinion, not yet a fact—I think she's considering eating you."

  The tree frog glanced over her shoulder, saw the robin, and immediately leaped away to safety.

  Avon and Edward watched her go.

  Then Edward said, "Do you know, Avon, what I've noticed is that there's always something bigger than something."

  "Unless it's smaller than something," said Avon.

  "That's called a measured response," agreed Edward. "Which means that the only rule for things is—there's no need to have a ruler."

  "Good gracious!" cried Avon. "Then everything is always bigger and smaller at the same time!"

  "Exactly. Wherever you go, you're always in the middle."

  "Edward!" cried Avon. "Now I understand why I haven't been able to write. I always thought the way to start off was to write the beginning. I now realize I can put an end to my writing problems by starting to write in the middle!"

  Very excited, Avon took up his pencil and wrote the word—Something—right in the middle of a fresh piece of paper.

  "Avon!" exclaimed Edward. "Once again you've written Something very well!"

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  In Which Avon and Edward Are Blown away

  Avon stared at what he had written for a long time. "I have to admit," he said, "what I've done is not very good. In the end, though I have composed the middle, it's only a beginning."

  "I suggest you consider it a first draft," said Edward.

  Avon looked around. The leaves and branches of their tree were certainly being tossed about. "It is a drafty evening," he said.

  "Very few writers get away with just writing Something," said Edward.

  "The truth is," admitted Avon, "I've not gotten away at all. In fact, I've gotten nowhere."

  "Writers usua
lly need to do some rewriting," said Edward.

  "Do you really think so?"

  "It's the way professional writers work," said Edward.

  With a sigh, Avon picked up his pencil and wrote Something in the middle of the paper five more times. He showed the paper to Edward. "Have I rewritten it enough times?"

  "Avon, just because you've rewritten Something doesn't mean it's anything," said Edward.

  "Edward, if I wanted to write anything, I wouldn't have written Something."

  Edward held up a leg and measured the wind. "More drafts," he said.

  "I'm afraid," Avon said, "I don't have a way with words."

  "Avon, by now you should know that words don't really weigh anything. In fact, the way this wind is coming on, your words are likely to get blown away."

  "At least my writing would get someplace," said Avon. "Which is more than I can say for myself. The truth is, Edward, all this failure is making me feel quite edgy."

  Edward became alarmed. "Just how many edges do you have?"

  "Does it matter?"

  "Get twelve edges and you're a block. Being blocked is very common to writers. Perhaps that's your problem."

  A tear gathered in one of Avon's eyes. "I suppose I've gone as far as I can go."

  "But going as far as you can go," said Edward, "means that as far as you are concerned, you've gone nowhere."

  "But look!" said Avon. "There's sky above us. And clouds. Lots of wind. And what about the sun? What's the point of my being at my top if there is so much more on top of me?"

  "Try looking at things sideways."

  Avon did so, staring out over the forest. "Edward, now all I can see is more leaves and bark."

  "Avon, do I have to remind you: You're not barking up the wrong tree, you're writing. Just remember the old saying about not seeing the forest for the trees."

  Avon thought for a while, and then, as he continued to look about, he said, "It seems to me that even if I were to be in a different tree, I'd have the same sky, clouds, and sun over me."

  "That's because even when you get to the top, you're always below something."

  Avon looked down. "I have to admit, it does look as if there's more down there than up here. Does that mean the higher you go, the less there is?"

  "Avon, that's what I'd call downright smart!"

  "Do you really think so?"

  "Avon, it appears that you've gotten to the bottom of things at last! I suggest you try one more draft."

  Avon bit down on his paper and held it up. But right then a strong puff of wind caught it like a sail and blew him—and his writing—off the tree.

  Not pausing for an instant, the ever-loyal Edward dived right off after him.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  In Which Avon and Edward Fall into an Argument

  Avon and Edward were falling.

  "What are you doing here?" asked Avon from midair.

  "I always think it's good for old friends to catch up," said Edward.

  "Edward!" cried Avon as he tumbled. "I can't see you very well."

  "Don't worry. I can see you."

  "Where are you?"

  "Not very far from where you are."

  "What do I look like?"

  "Pretty much the same as always," said Edward. "Only now you're up in the air."

  Avon did a flip. 'Ah, there you are. But, oh gosh, Edward, you're upside down."

  "Actually," returned Edward, "I think it's you that's been turned around."

  "Edward, I'm sure it's you," said Avon.

  "But," said Edward, "I'm just as convinced it's you."

  "Edward!" cried Avon with excitement. "We're finally having a falling-out!"

  "We can't argue about which way is up or down," returned Edward.

  "Are you telling me you're not up for it?" asked Avon.

  "No! I'm saying if you're upside down," said Edward, "then down is up and up is down. It's all about how you're standing."

  "But, Edward," said Avon, "I assure you, at the moment I don't stand for anything. In fact, I'm falling."

  "Actually, you seem to be falling all over yourself."

  "Which way? Up or down?" asked Avon.

  "Avon," said Edward, "you can't really believe that up is down and down is up, can you? Until now up was always up and down was always down."

  "Not if you're upside down," insisted Avon.

  "Avon, you have a twisted way of thinking."

  "Your way is backward!"

  Even as he spoke, the wind turned him over again. "Ah," said Avon. "Edward, I must apologize. You're right. Up is down and down is up."

  But Edward, who also had rolled over, said, "That's very upright of you, Avon, but it's you who are correct. I can see it now. Down is up and up is down."

  "I don't think this is getting us anywhere," said Avon.

  "Yes, it is," said Edward.

  "Where?" said Avon.

  "We're falling," said Edward.

  "Which direction?" asked Avon.

  Edward looked about. "It's either up or down," he suggested.

  "Well," said Avon, "since we are so confused, it's a good thing we can have only two choices.

  "But on the whole," he added as he, his friend, and his writing continued to tumble down through the air, "I'd rather rise to the occasion."

  "Being such good friends," agreed Edward, "I certainly don't wish to fall apart."

  Sure enough they continued to drift down.

  "Edward," cried Avon, "what's going to happen to us? There's nothing for us to do!"

  "I wouldn't say nothing," said Edward, pointing to Avon's writing, which was fluttering down not far from where they were. "That's what's so wonderful about writing. We've always got Something to read."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  In Which the Question, to Sea or Not to See, Is Reviewed

  As the wind continued to toss Edward and Avon, as well as the paper Avon had been writing on, Avon managed to stretch his neck out, take hold of the paper with his mouth, and pull himself onto it. Edward, who was close, pulled himself onto it, too.

  "It's good to have Something solid beneath us," said Avon as they drifted through the air.

  "I'm not so sure," said Edward, who was peering cautiously over the edge. "Things might not go so well if what we land on is harder than what we're flying on."

  "I didn't find Something that hard to write," Avon said. "What do you see down there?"

  "The world."

  "That seems like a good place to go."

  "But at the moment," said Edward, "all I'm seeing below is sea."

  "Did you say you're seeing sea?"

  "It's hardly a secret. Look! There are two seagulls flying by."

  "Is the second one a sequel?" asked Avon. "Sequels make me seasick."

  "If you get sick of seeing," said Edward, "try looking at things with your eyes closed."

  "It's hard to keep an open mind with your eyes closed," said Avon. "What will we do when we land?"

  "If it is land, I won't have a sinking feeling," said Edward.

  "But what if we bounce?" asked Avon.

  "Life is full of ups and downs!"

  "I'm hoping for the first!" cried Avon.

  Nevertheless, they continued descending. It took so long that Avon said, "Edward, I'm really hungry."

  Edward stole another look at the sea. "I don't know about food, but in a few moments there will be a lot of seasoning."

  "Actually, my favorite season is summer."

  "Too bad, because right now it's nothing but fall."

  "Being dropped this way," sighed Avon, "makes me want to have a more grounded life."

  "Too late for that," said Edward. Sure enough, within moments the paper fluttered gently down and landed on the sea. There it floated, bobbing aimlessly on the waves.

  Edward considered what Avon had written. "Here's hoping we have Something going for us."

  "I'm so sorry, Edward," said Avon. "This is all my fault. If I had never written Someth
ing, this wouldn't have happened. I hope we don't sink. Being at the bottom would top everything."

  "If we do go under," said Edward as he gazed into the ocean, "I only hope we can rise to the occasion."

  Even as he spoke, an enormous fish poked his head out of the water and stared at them. "Who are you?" he demanded.

  "Avon Snail, at your service," said Avon.

  "Edward Ant," said Edward. "But I am not at your service."

  "Are you eatable?" asked the fish.

  "Actually," said Avon, "I was only just saying I haven't eaten in a long time."

  "Neither have I," said Edward.

  "Well," said the fish as he opened his mouth very wide, "now you can say you've been eaten," and he swallowed the two friends in one great gulp.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  In Which Avon and Edward Are Kept in the Dark

  It was very dark inside the fish. Avon looked this way and that, but could not find Edward. Then he heard, "Avon?"

  "Is that you, Edward?"

  "I think so," said Edward. "But Avon, is that you?"

  "As far as I can see."

  "Just how far can you see?" asked Edward.

  "I've been told I'm far-fetched, but that's not very far at all."

  "That's exactly what I'm seeing."

  "At least we're seeing eye to eye."

  "But I can't see your eyes. I can't even see my own eyes."

  "I've never been able to see my eyes," said Avon. "Are they worth looking at?"

  "If not at, certainly with."

  "Where do you think we are?" Avon asked.

  "I'm afraid I'm in the dark," said Edward. "But I don't mind being in the dark as much as I mind being kept in the dark."

  "Do you think the whole world has turned dark?"

  "Maybe since we're inside a fish, it's just dark here."

  "You mean, outside the fish...?"