A Proper Santa Claus by Anne McCaffrey (Demon Kind, 1973) opens with a young boy called Jeremy painting a cookie (which he eats) and drinking a glass of Coke (which he drinks). As the story develops we see more of his artistic creations, and realise that he isn’t imagining all this but has an ability to make what he paints come to life:
Although he dutifully set out trick-or-treating, he came home early. His mother made him sort out his candy, apples, and money for UNICEF, and permitted him to stay up long past his regular bedtime to answer the door for other beggars. But, once safely in his room, he dove for his easel and drew frenetically, slathering black and blue poster paint across clean paper, dashing globs of luminescence for horrific accents. The proper ones took off or crawled obscenely around the room, squeaking and groaning until he released them into the night air for such gambols and aerial maneuvers as they were capable of. Jeremy was impressed. He hung over the windowsill, cheering them on by moonlight. (Around three o’clock there was a sudden shower. All the water solubles melted into the ground.)
As the story develops, Jeremy is unable to produce work that satisfies his teacher’s requirements, and this comes to a head with her criticism of his Santa project. This gives him “so overwhelming a sense of failure” that “he couldn’t imagine ever creating anything properly again”.
I suppose the message of this piece (criticism of children’s creative endeavours can be destructive) is valid enough, but I’m not sure that it provides a good story.
* (Mediocre). 3,300 words.