Last week I posted the first part of a very short story (which I call a “vignette”) along with its illustration. Here’s the second and last illustration followed by the last half of the text.
Just as a refresher, in the first part, mama mouse is telling a story to her two young girls, Parsleigh and Persimmon.
“Long ago, a group of muskrats lived in a colony at the edge of a peaceful pond. Trees lined much of the pond's bank, but some parts were open while groups of tall grasses and reeds studded others. The pond and its environs provided sustenance and even home to many creatures, all of whom thrived. As for the muskrats, their colony had grown steadily over the generations, its numberous burrows tunneling among the roots of a group of willows.
“Muskrats are, I think, unfamiliar to you girls, but they are among our distant cousins. Though they resemble very large mice, they’re more sturdily built. Despite their impressive size, their eyes and ears are smaller than ours, while their tails are thicker and flattened side-to-side—all features suited to their largely aquatic life.
“Generation after generation, food was plentiful and living was good for the muskrats at the pond. One spring day one of the muskrats gave birth—an ordinary enough occurrence in the clan. But this birth was different. One of the young was so tiny, with oddly large ears and eyes and a skinny tail. Though she wished she could deny it, mother saw that her baby was not only different, but also was sick and fragile. She came to the wrenching conclusion that this little one had no chance of survival. She knew what she must do.
“Her tears were flowing and her heart was breaking as she carried her tiny child to the base of one of the trees on the far side of the pond. She gathered soft grasses into a pile and tucked the babe into it. At that very moment, he suddenly opened his eyes and smiled at her—a tender, loving smile which threatened to crush her spirit.
“She knew what she must do for the sake of the other, stronger children, so she said a prayer, and turned back towards her burrow. Emotionally defeated, she didn’t know if she had the strength to reach home. But she took one step and then another, to care for her remaining children.”
“Oh, no!” cried Parsleigh. “No, no!” echoed Persimmon. Mother hugged them even closer, then continued.
“That was not the end of the story,” she whispered. “God did not allow that precious creature to die.
“It wasn’t long before Marla wandered by. Marla was also a muskrat, but she lived the life of a hermit, alone and distant from the rest of the group. The muskrats in the colony considered her a bit odd, and she did have many peculiar habits. But she also had a strong connection with the spiritual word.
“Instantly, she saw the babe in the pile of grass and lifted him in her arms. His little face lit with an angelic smile, and from that first moment, Marla loved him. She knew he was different, but she didn’t care. She took him home and tended to him and with her love, he began to grow. As far as she was concerned, his presence in her life was truly a miracle!
“Then one day, Marla noticed that James, her little one, had stopped growing! At first, it didn’t much worry her, as she knew that even twins or triplets could grow at different rates, but after a while, it seemed he had stopped growing completely. Why was he so small? Why were his eyes so big, and his ears so big, and his tail so slender. What was happening?”
“Was he a mouse?” Persimmon cried, her face slowly brightening.
“Yes, darlings—the very first mouse!”
“Then what happened?”
Kissing one and then the other, Mama hugged her girls gently and soothingly stroked their soft fur. “There’s much more to the story. But not for tonight. Now it’s time for sleep.”
I have no plans for Mama to complete this story but will leave the rest to the readers’ imaginations.
As I look at my illustration and reread my writing, I am struck once more with how I repeat the same themes over and over again. Sometimes this feels like a failing, and other times it feels fine. As far as feeling fine goes, it shows that I have a style. But as for the failing point of view, it’s boring to be so predictable. In the end, I fear there’s no answer to the fine-failure question. Things just happen as they will.
Writing these little stories is a treat for me. The ideas come at seemingly random times and usually not connected to anything else I’m doing or thinking at the time. Certainly, they don’t take long to get down on paper, though the editing can take a while in several passes. When something is so short, it’s especially important for it to be as good as I make it. This one still needs more editing, but I thought I'd share it anyway.
And sitting quietly, drawing with my pencil is very soothing. It can take quite a while and lots of erasing to get the sketch the way I want it, but once that’s done, the rest is mostly a matter of patience and paying attention to each little detail. As with the writing, with something so abbreviated, it’s important to get it as good as I can. (That, however, is actually impossible, since it happens as many times as not that once I apply fixative to the drawing, I see something I wish I’d changed!)
I publish a weekly email newsletter, An Artful Path, which contains brief articles on art, animals, writing, and musings on life. You can subscribe on the home page of my website (just click the button below and scroll to the bottom of the page). Don't forget to claim your thank you gift for subscribing - an art instruction video complete with supporting PDF. And while you're on my website, www.KaarenPoole.com, take a look around!
Your email address is safe with me. I don't share that information with anyone! And you can unsubscribe at any time.
Kommentare