"And the Grinch, with his grinch-feet ice-cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling: "How could it be so? "It came without ribbons! It came without tags! It came without packages, boxes or bags!" And he puzzled and puzzed, till his puzzler was sore. Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't thought of before! "Maybe Christmas," he thought, "doesn't come from a store. "Maybe Christmas...perhaps...means a little bit more!"
Watched “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” last night as I was wrapping gifts. I don’t think it’s possible to get tired of that holiday special. I mean, I’ve watched it about every year since I was a kid, and it still has the power to make me stop what I’m doing and stare at the television screen. And laugh. And sniffle a tear away.
But then the network followed it up with some kind of “how the movie was really made” TV commentary, which I promptly turned off because, really, that’s not where the magic is. I don’t want to know how the drawing went from 2-D, black-and-white to 3-D and animated. I don’t want to see the man behind the curtain. I just want to enjoy.
I guess that where the true talent lies, when it comes to authors as well, huh? The really good ones make us forget we are reading words on a page. They transport us to somewhere else entirely. They make us fall in love with characters and miss them when the story’s done. They rarely remind us of all the sweat that goes into the effort of making that experience so easy for the reader.
Darn it. I knew this stuff wasn’t easy…