As for the bugs, he explains, "I find them enchanting as fictional characters, but in the real world, doodlebugs and ants are about the only thing I care for, and perhaps an occasional moth or butterfly. But wasps, spiders, and all that stuff drive me crazy."
Joyce's fictitious bugs, in contrast, have panache. Take his Doodle Bug Guild, for instance, a squadron who help the Leaf Men, all the while proclaiming, "Tiny of body but brave of heart, we will finish what we start!" Or the swashbuckling Leaf Men themselves, tiny creatures who look like morphed elves and Martians, clad, of course, in leaves.
"I wanted them to be very appealing-looking fellows," Joyce says. "I kept thinking about Robin Hood and Errol Flynn, of how jaunty, courageous, and dashing Robin Hood and the Merry Men looked." He knew he'd captured the look he was after when his five-year-old daughter, Mary Katherine, examined his illustrations and said, "You know, Dad, I really like the Leaf Men. They're just so handsome."
Their saga involves an old woman who tends her garden, but falls sick, as do her flowers. When the Doodlebugs hear of the problem, they summon the rarely seen Leaf Men, who come to the rescue, battling the evil Spider Queen. Then the Leaf Men are free to march to the woman's sickbed carrying a Long Lost Toy, a little metal man that belonged to her as a child, but has been lost in the garden many years. Happiness and good health return once again to the woman and her garden. It's a sweet story, full of good, evil, action, and magic -- in a word, vintage Joyce.
If it weren't for Mary Katherine, however, this book might never have, well, blossomed. Joyce was supposed to be working on another book, one called Billy's Booger, inspired by a story he wrote in fourth grade, and for which he got sent to the principal's office. In his updated version, a kid named Billy enters a story-writing contest in school and winds up in trouble. But Joyce was stuck -- stuffed up, you might say. "How does one get the right tone for a book on nasal adventures?" he says.
Not only was his work at a standstill, he was depressed, having just returned from a visit with one of his best friends, who was dying. In addition, several relatives had passed away in the past year, and he was still mourning their loss.
One day he and Mary Katherine were spending an afternoon in their garden, and she asked for a story. Her request was unusual -- typically they read books together, instead of making up stories. But Joyce obliged, taking full advantage of their surroundings.
"Somehow the idea of Leaf Men popped into my head," he recalls, "just as a word, really. A lot of times my books start with a phrase -- Dinosaur Bob, George Shrinks -- that appeals to me on some silly level, if silliness can be deeply felt. So out came this story, on the spot, about the Leaf Men, little guardians of the garden. I never thought I'd make it into a book; I just thought it was a little story."
Later, in his studio, as a warm-up exercise for work on Billy's Booger, he drew some Leaf Men, "just to see what they looked like." The jaunty creatures quickly came to life, Joyce recalls. "The drawings 'clicked' and were easy, everything that Billy's Booger wasn't, which he describes as "tedium, effort, and uncertainty."
He dashed off some sketches and sent them to his editor, who said, "Nice, but hurry up and finish Billy."
Joyce replied, "I don't want to. I want to do this."
Obviously, he had his way. (And now he's also happily making progress on Billy's Booger.) The central theme of The Leaf Men is loss and the sustaining force of memories. Joyce admits, "I didn't quite know what I was up to until my wife said, 'Well, you know what this is about,' and then she had to explain it to me."
Joyce says he often does his best work when he doesn't fully understand it, as was the case with Bentley & Egg, about a frog who heroically protects the egg of his best friend, a duck. Only later did Joyce realize that Bentley is about becoming a dad, a new phase he was entering when working on that book.
Whether Joyce knows it or not, he is one of the most inventive, exuberant voices in today's world of children's books. For example, in A Day with Wilbur Robinson -- which Joyce claims is a "thickly disguised account" of his childhood -- a boy spends a day at his friend's house, where a robot roams, a cousin tests an antigravity device, Duke Ellington and Louis Armstrong jam with Grandfather, and a frog yodels.
Where does he come up with such wildness? In addition to his family, Joyce cites the influence of King Kong (his two-year-old son is nicknamed Jackzilla), Tarzan, cartoons, other movie and television thrillers, as well as the art of Maurice Sendak, N.C. Wyeth, Robert Lawson, Maxfield Parrish, and Beatrix Potter. Definitely an eclectic mix, as are Joyce's books, which appeal to adults as well as kids.
Joyce sums up his style by saying, "I do blissful, high adventures where everyone is kind, good, witty, brave, and frightfully well dressed, and where everything works out for the best." Among his fans are Whoopi Goldberg, Bette Midler, Robin Williams, Harrison Ford, and Stephen Spielberg, all of whom own Joyce originals.
Perhaps it was inevitable that such a big TV and movie fan eventually land up in Hollywood. He was on the design team for Toy Story, and when we spoke he and his family were spending several months in Los Angeles, to be on hand for the filming of Buddy, his own screenplay based on the true story of a socialite who raised gorillas in her home, teaching them to mix martinis and other useful, strange skills.
Scheduled for summer release, the movie stars Renee Russo and is being directed by Caroline Thompson, of Edward Scissorhands fame. In addition to writing the script, Joyce is producer, designerÑand an actor. He has two cameos, playing a screaming man and a brain-augmented man at the 1932 World's Fair.
What's more, he's also writing a companion book, a cross between a young adult novel and a picture book, a new form for the author. Instead of being overwhelmed by the whirlwind of projects, Joyce sounds remarkably calm, even laid back, saying, "Well, I know what I'm up to. It took so long to get to this point; it's such a triumph. I just can't explain how fun it all is. I get to paint gorillas, one of my favorite things to do."
Amid all the excitement, one thing, alas, has suffered. The author is no longer decked out in the dapper dress in which he outfits his characters. Today he wears such things "only occasionally."
"I kept getting paint all over my frightfully nice clothes," he says.
Alice Cary is a mother and writer in Groton, Massachussetts.
©1996, ProMotion, inc.