A while ago I was suddenly struck by the realization that there weren't many rhymes for the word "gastropod." That sent me reeling headlong into a story that I've been dreaming of transforming into some sort of picture book ever since.
I told it completely in limerick form, the setting being a sort of "bug pub" called "The Golden Louse." The story involves a shy little cricket meeting a blustering, self-focused snail and their rather one-sided conversation. The purpose of the story is basically "don't monopolize the conversation or you won't have any friends." Which is perfectly true—and a trap into which (almost) everyone occasionally falls.
Below are the sections pertaining to the single illustration I actually like:
"You know, in fact, it’s very odd,"
Quoth the learned gastropod,
"That we never ever had one
come to call;
I remember there were times
While I dwelt in sunny climes
When there’d be whales
summer, spring, and fall!"
"And come to think of it," said he,
"There were so many at the sea–
How I miss it
when there’s summer in the air!
But I left to save my skin–
That salt breeze near did me in!–
And with my home aboard,
I’ve gone most everywhere."
And as he talked he gave a glance
Of such pomp and circumstance
It made the cricket weaken at each joint–
And to wonder what he’d wrought
By forgetting he’d been taught
That once a snail starts,
your presence has no point."
I told it completely in limerick form, the setting being a sort of "bug pub" called "The Golden Louse." The story involves a shy little cricket meeting a blustering, self-focused snail and their rather one-sided conversation. The purpose of the story is basically "don't monopolize the conversation or you won't have any friends." Which is perfectly true—and a trap into which (almost) everyone occasionally falls.
Below are the sections pertaining to the single illustration I actually like:
"You know, in fact, it’s very odd,"
Quoth the learned gastropod,
"That we never ever had one
come to call;
I remember there were times
While I dwelt in sunny climes
When there’d be whales
summer, spring, and fall!"
"And come to think of it," said he,"There were so many at the sea–
How I miss it
when there’s summer in the air!
But I left to save my skin–
That salt breeze near did me in!–
And with my home aboard,
I’ve gone most everywhere."
And as he talked he gave a glance
Of such pomp and circumstance
It made the cricket weaken at each joint–
And to wonder what he’d wrought
By forgetting he’d been taught
That once a snail starts,
your presence has no point."
The picture was done with colored pencils, hence the rather weird smearing and/or white spots.
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