Googly-Eyes and the Writing Life

Once upon a time, I taught cartooning and storybook illustration to elementary school children. At our first class meeting, I came prepared with a variety of fruits, vegetables, and inanimate objects like a stapler, a bottle, and a cup. I lined these objects up on a raised box and invited the children to tell me about each one in turn.

Typical responses were: “Something to eat.” “An old bottle and a cup you could drink from.” “Something you use to staple papers with.”

Pretty dull stuff.

“Those are all good observations,” I noted. “But can you tell me how they feel?”

This question generally went unanswered. The children fidgeted and remained silent. I could tell by their expressions that some of the more insightful youngsters were seriously beginning to doubt my sanity.

“Let’s try something,” I suggested.

I then produced a bag of googly-eyes, those round, flat plastic discs which resemble eyeballs. I pasted a pair of the wiggly eyeballs on each object and again asked the children to tell me how the objects felt.

Typical responses were: “They’re alive.” “Yikes!” “He’s looking at me.” “The apple and the orange don’t like each other.” “The potato’s in love with the banana.” “The tomato is afraid and says, ‘Please don’t eat me!’” “The stapler is tired of working all day.” And so on.

The point being that the simple act of adding eyes to inert objects breathed life into them. This idea inspired the children to imagine and sketch incredibly creative and fanciful characters—everything from talking shoes to dancing noodles.

This concept might work to inspire writers as well and get them thinking outside the box (by putting a pair of eyes on that pesky box and literally molding it into a character.) Think of your story—that string of words and punctuation which you’re striving to corral, harness, harass, cajole, herd, and shepherd into a reasonable facsimile of a narrative. Think of that hot mess as, let us say, a zucchini.

And suppose, like many a misunderstood zucchini, your story is going nowhere. It’s just a vegetable, incapable of emotion, dialogue, and action. Ah—but what if you give it eyes? What if you give it a point-of-view, a way to see the world, a way for the world to notice it and consider its existence. For one thing, a zucchini with eyes might cause an observer to look more closely—taking a step which may lead to the discovery that it’s not a vegetable at all. Just for the record, it’s a fruit.

If you have created a wooden character, who refuses to become a waking, walking, talking, emoting being. Try giving him, her, or it a pair of googly-eyes. It might be just what’s needed to animate that character.

If you don’t use the idea of googly-eyes to spice up your characters, you could try putting a pair on your computer mouse or your desk lamp or the frame of your computer screen or a pen or pencil. Animating your writing instruments and your workstation may encourage you to interact on a more intimate level with the tools of the trade. Seeing familiar objects suddenly spring to life might even cause you to laugh out loud. Writing is a serious business—sometimes a bit too serious. Even the most dedicated writer could benefit from an occasional dose of comic relief.

Don Paul Benjamin