The Doll in the Window

It's here - It's here! Whee! Sorry it took so long... It's been a busy time for me.

Cover image differs here a little bit from what it is on the official cover of the book - sorry!

The Doll in the Window written by yours truly (me) and the wonderful Australian illustrator Jeff Chen. See Jeff's deviant art page where he is accepting commission work. He clearly lists out what he charges for work. He's easy to work with, too, and very nice. Even though there's a time difference, I haven't had any problem with working with him... so go get on his commissions list! Ha ha ha.

Here are a few details about the story that kind of go around the story of its creation...

When writing this story, it began as an attempt at a 4 line poem which was supposed to test my illustrator's ability to interpret my writing into an image. Two hours later, it ended up being somewhere around 1,700 words long... and very little of it managed to be at all poem-like. The above picture was Jeff's test interpretation based on the story I provided. Something I really loved about that picture was the little girl peeking in the window, and the fact that you can see the doll's face reflecting in the window. It's little details that stick out.

The summary of the story is that it is written from the perspective of the doll. Over time, she is changed. The owner of the shop repairs her shoes, sews her new clothes, fixes her hair...

The back of the book blurb: A doll is meant to be played with. She brings joy and inspires imagination. Day after day she waits in a out of the way shop for the one special child who will take her home. Days pass and seasons pass, but the people pass by, too. Will she ever find her special child?

As the author, if I analyze my own writing (I try to do that sometimes to figure out where I got something right - or in most cases, where I went wrong) I find that the doll story can reflect a number of different themes... These analyses may infer slight spoilers ~~ be warned.

• Acceptance - Changing who we are to try to be accepted doesn't mean we will be accepted. There are those out there who will like us exactly how we are, and there are those who like us how we are and will help us better ourselves... there are those who will take us from where we are collecting dust and ensure we are not alone in life as we struggle through those life altering changes - and help us accept that we can't change everything.
• Modern trends - The doll goes through different clothes through the story, implying that by giving something old a newer appearance, it will become more appealing to the eye and may be more likely to be taken in by someone. This is both true, and not true. Over time, fashion trends and even household trends change. The color bisque (a weird off-white-yellow-tan) used to be very popular for washing machines, but it is no longer a prominent color.
• Loss of a loved one - (This is a back-story spoiler...) This was something that was not outright stated in the book, but I left a line in the book that suggested the doll was only in the shop window because the shop owner's granddaughter had passed away at a young age. The shop owner believed the doll was very special, and that his granddaughter and the doll went on many adventures together.

This story is written for ages 3 and up. My niece had some awesome interpretations of the pictures (she's three years old) and honestly her story was far more enjoyable and adventurous. But on the other hand, if you like your stories following a more natural order of thinking this might just be a great book for you.

Let me know what you think of this. Comment below. :)

Letter to the Class of 'XX

It's been ten years since I graduated, and I decided I would write this.

Hello everyone.

We've all graduated, yea? We've made it to that mark in society that says we can now work at McDonald's more than eight hours a week, and stay out later than curfew because let's face it. Curfews suck...

After ten years, we have all moved on. Loved people, lost people, bought homes, lost homes, married, divorced, had families. Some of us have gone on to secondary schooling. Some became graduates again, and others transformed into perpetual students. Some of us succeeded and some of us failed. Some of us did all of that, and some of us did none.

And sometimes... we felt like the littlest piggy, crying, "Wee-wee-wee," all the way home - with tears, or joy attached. 

The class Valedictorian, or whoever makes a speech at our reunion - if there is a speech - will remind us of all the good times we had together as if they knew they'd need to give this speech one day so they kept a journal of every occasion. 

But I certainly am not the class Valedictorian. I wasn't even in the top 99.9% for grades. It wasn't because I was not smart. Quite the opposite. I didn't do the work, and when I did, I didn't turn it in consistently enough to make the grade. I don't claim perfection. I never have been and never will be. 

I was that kid who got laughs I never wanted. I was the child blamed for my own bullying. Being different made me special. Being different made me want to fade away, and when I faded away, no one noticed me as they bumped into me in the halls.

More than ten years ago, we walked those halls. Each of us bore witness to our individual pains and pleasures. Were any of us aware of the suffering of our fellow classmates? Some of us faced domestic violence or abuse. Some of us felt smothered in our lives. Some of us screamed from a place where we were trapped inside our flesh, "Let me out!" 

We listened to voices. Every one of us heard the voices. "Good job." they whispered when we were doing well. "I can't believe this," they said snobbishly when things went wrong. The white washed walls spoke of the torments of other students who ghosted through from class to class, but we didn't hear it. 

We tormented others, as we were tormented, because high school is a beauty pageant... a popularity contest. 

We forgot that those around us are just as pained by their suffering as we are by our own. 

My memories of high school - at least those that I do have - are tainted. I had books stolen, and pages of writing torn up. I suffered harsh words, and cried myself to sleep in the library stacks more than once. I developed a stammer and a phobia of public speech. I began to fear affection, presuming that affection only meant that someone wanted something from me and they'd drop me as soon as they had it. 

However, even I have some good memories... I watched some of my fellow students mature from what has become the acceptable normal student into young people of a higher class. 

Examples of those included a student standing up for what they believed to be right and defending me when I was bullied - and holding their ground when others disapproved. Another was when I was yet again last in finishing laps at the start of gym and instead of ridiculing me like the rest of the class, two students ran beside me and whispered encouragement until I finally finished my 1-mile run. 

We are older now, and what defines us is how we live our lives. How do we treat others? Do we stand up for what we believe is morally just and right? Do we label others with stereotypes and then dismiss them because they 'are different' than we are? Do we give everyone a fair chance? Do we care about how much we tip at a restaurant, or have we completely ignored the fact that they aren't just a hand to bring our breakfast - they're people too. When someone is being bullied, or harassed, or hazed, do we stand up for them or do we fall in with the massive crowd of blind eyes? 

It's important that we, as a new generation of Moms and Dads and Aunts and Uncles, set a new bar of intolerance so that our kids don't face the same harsh lives we did. It's important that we don't tell our sons to "man up" or excuse our daughter's behavior as "being over-emotional". When we do that, we essentially tell our children that they can't open up about the problems they're having. We teach them that the bullies are right. I've had councilors and therapists and relatives all tell me, "Ignore these bullies. They'll get bored and leave you alone." So essentially when we break down those words, we realize that it's okay for bullies to bully you until they get bored because you're like a toy and when they're done with you, they'll discard you and move on. 

A lot of people are being victimized for being different. Students are being expelled or suspended for homosexuality, or being a female in shorts, or being a boy who likes My Little Pony. As long as our society continues to shun our differences, we'll continue to raise our children in a tiny little box of unoriginality, and we'll continue to churn out a perpetual mass of little worker-drones. 

I guess what I really want to say with this letter is... for the next several years, let's try to teach people to accept what others will not accept. Let's try to see things from a viewpoint not our own. Let's teach our daughters to play in the dirt, and our sons to cook in the kitchen. Let's take the pink and purple Legos and throw them in the same box as the blue and black ones. Let's let our children watch My Little Pony and Justice League regardless of what gender they are. Let us not judge bi-sexuality, homosexual, transgendered, or gender atypical people.

Instead, let us respect these people, and teach our children to do so as well. Children are not pre-programmed to hate something; instead they are the way they are because they absorb everything around them. Teach respect, and this world can be a better place. 

I respect your lifestyle, however you choose to live it. 
Many warm regards, 
Another alumni

©2014 Jaimie Gross