The Green Dragon

Scales. I remember the scales. Intricate and painstaking and green. I mean of course they had to be green - what sort of dragon would it be if it didn't have green scales?

The dragon was massive, as dragons should be, but it wasn't until I was drawing each individual scale on its hide that the enormity of the task dawned on me.

I didn't mind, though. Nobody bothered me, and I was able to sit quietly for what seemed like a long, long time, drawing each tiny scale on my gigantic dragon.

Strangely enough, I don't really remember the story I wrote that went with the drawing. Damien and the Dragon was the title. I know that's somewhat undemanding, as far as titles go, but please allow that I was only about six or seven years old and even today, I am genuinely terrible when it comes to picking a title. I remember that Damien was a knight (because of course he was) and that he had to journey up a mountain to find the dragon (because of course he did).

Or was it through a forest? Or through a forest and then up a mountain? I feel sure there must have been a castle involved somewhere, somehow, but I have no memory of such a place in the story. I remember nothing at all of the character of Damien. I don't recall what happened on his journey. I don't even recall what happened when he finally made it to the dragon's lair.

I suspect they spoke (because what sort of dragon would it be, if it could not Speak With Capital Letters). But I don't know that they did.

I suspect they fought. But I don't know that they did.

I suspect one died. But I don't remember which one.

I remember as a small child spending vast amounts of time poring over an illustrated, condensed version of the death of Beowulf, fighting a dragon with his metal shield to protect himself from the monster's flames. I wasn't really able to read it all that well, but I remember the illustrations. I remember that Beowulf died while vanquishing his foe, but I suspect that ending was a little too dark to make it into my own childhood dragon story.

I've forgotten almost every detail of Damien and the Dragon, but I have a very clear memory of drawing the dragon's scales, when it came time to illustrate it. It was important to me to get the scales right - and I had plenty of experience even at a young age of what they should look like.

We grew up surrounded by lizards and snakes of all descriptions, on the farm in Outback Australia. The first word of one of my sisters was "lizard", while pointing at one of the many little geckos that darted this way and that all over the walls, looking for insects. One of my very early memories was being given the talk about what to do if I saw a snake around the house. An important talk for a small child in the Gulf Country of North West Queensland - a bite from a King Brown would likely kill a child before the Flying Doctor could arrive all the way from Mt Isa, at least an hour's flight. A bite from an Inland Taipan (which I think the old-timers called a Down's Tiger Snake) would kill you even quicker. I remember solemnly receiving the instructions in the kitchen of the old house (don't go near it, stay still, shout 'SNAKE' so an adult can hear, and keep an eye on where the snake goes while you're waiting for the adult to come and help), and then immediately seeing a huge King Brown slithering up the path towards to me, as soon as I stepped out the kitchen door. I'm not sure I ever yelled anything as loud for the rest of my life, like I yelled SNAKE in that moment.

I digress. Back to the scales.

It was important to get the details right. I didn't just want it to look good. I wanted that dragon to look real. I felt that if I could just draw this dragon well enough, it would feel real to anyone who saw it. Like it could leap off the page and fly away with one flap of its mighty wings. So of course, the scales were important.

It took a long time to draw each individual one, but I didn't mind. Nobody bothered me, and I was able to sit quietly by myself for ages.

Finally, however, the job was done. The dragon was complete and I was able to withdraw from the little creative bubble I had been in for who-knows-how-long, and finally see my creation for myself...

...and the scales were all wrong.

Less of a lizard or a snake, and more like the huge scales on a barramundi from the river. Massive scales like an ogre's thumbnail. At least they seemed that way to me, in that moment. I remember feeling it was grossly unfair, that I was apparently unable to transfer the image I had in my head down onto the page with perfect accuracy.

There was no way, looking at this dragon with its gigantic scales, that it would ever feel real. No way that it would ever leap off the page and fly away with one flap of its mighty wings.

Even today, I still get that feeling. Whenever I finish writing something, and I emerge back into the world from whatever little world I had created in my little bubble, and I finally see my creation for myself...I still get the feeling that I haven't quite transferred the images from my head down onto the page as perfectly as I wanted. I haven't transferred the feeling that I wanted. Sometimes I get closer to the mark than others, but I never hit the bullseye dead centre.

But I still enjoy the act of creating. Being able to sit quietly in my own little world for hours, wrapped up in my own little stories. Perhaps one day, something I write will match the image of it I had in my mind.

Perhaps one day, the dragon will fly.