“I told you she was fancy,” Rune says to Lorelei as we all three set down the things we’ve carried from the kitchen onto the table on the back porch for dinner. We’ve wrapped up our meticulous photographing of clothes for the evening. Emphasis on meticulous. I thought I was picky about details when working on a project. Rune takes things to a whole new level.
It took a while for us to find our stride working together tonight. Eventually, we did click back into our old collaborative mode as kids. But wow, he certainly knows how to focus in on creating the vision of what he wants.
“Fancy?” I scowl at him a little and then glance at the table, “I didn’t put on a tablecloth or use the nice china.”
“He means the cloth napkins, matching placemats, and the flowers,” Lorelei says, and nods to what she just set down, “and all of the little dishes instead of just putting the dressing bottles and the bag of cheese on the table.”
“Cloth napkins are more sustainable, the flowers were from the photo session,” I say, admittedly a little primly, “and my parents would kill me if I started putting salad dressing bottles or a cheese bag on the table.”
“Fancy,” Lorelei agrees with Rune, as we head back in for the rest of dinner.
“Fancy?” I almost snort at Rune’s back, “That’s rich from a guy who had a blazer tailored for a costume party, and just double-checked every artistic choice I made for a photo session to make sure it reached his exalted level of taste.”
“Point taken Seashell,” he agrees jovially, picking up the tray with the bowls of chili on it while Lorelei takes up the salad bowl. I grab our drink glasses and the pitcher of tea, and we all head back outside again, “But isn’t it more important to focus on the big systemic changes needed to head off the climate crises than personal actions like choosing cloth napkins?”
He asks this innocently enough as if he really is curious, but I feel the imaginary fur rise on the back of my neck. I frown as I set the pitcher of tea and glasses down on the table. This was an argument I’ve had several times with Jack. He thought my gardening, and reducing my own plastic use was silly, that my volunteering and working with ReWild was enough of a commitment for one person on climate change since it’s big industry that’s the real culprit.
“You mean like helping to get climate-friendly politicians elected? And collaborating with other advocates to get the local and regional governments working on viable climate plans that will really help turn back global warming rather than platitudes or continuing to stick their heads in the sand?”
Both Rune and Lorelei’s eyebrows are raised almost to their hairlines at my tone. Both have their spoons in midair over their chili. Lorelei’s eyes dance with mischief. Rune starts to laugh so hard that he almost chokes.
“Seashell I should have known you’d be way ahead of me on this one,” he actually wipes a tear from his eye. I’m mollified, sort of, but a part of me still wants to fight.
“Individual actions are important because people need to feel a sense of ownership rather than being overwhelmed with despair,” I say, “and we need to viscerally understand what really works.”
“We’re flexitarians,” Lorelei chimes in proudly.
“We are,” Rune agrees between mouthfuls of chili, “but I have a feeling Shelby will convince us there are other changes we need to make too.”
“Like no more paper napkins,” Lorelei nods.
“You have a lot of power as a professional storyteller,” I say to Rune, feeling a frisson of excitement for one of my favorite soapboxes, “Hollywood isn’t doing a very good job yet of educating people about climate crisis solutions, it’s still focused on action thrillers all about doom and gloom.”
“What about the excellent documentary films getting made?” He counters, pouring himself more tea.
“They’re great, but they don’t get nearly the promotion or distribution of a popular TV. Oh!” I hit the table with excitement, “You’re such a good director. You could fictionalize the work of ReWild. You could tell a cool story of teens who are learning how important sustainable farming is. You could somehow make that as an action thriller!”
“I’d like to watch that!” Lorelei exclaims excitedly and fist bumps me.
Rune’s chewing on his lower lip as we say this, watching us both intently. I ignore my pelvis doing its happy dance each time I feel his eyes on me, “Why don’t we start by telling the full Hero’s Journey stories of a few of the real teens in the program for the fall fundraising drive?” He asks.
“How’s that different than what Jack and I did?” I ask, confused.
“What you did was good, but they were anecdotes rather than fully crafted narratives,” he says, adding more grated cheddar to the top of his chili.
“I guess I don’t know the difference,” I admit, feeling a bit daunted.
“Can you give me an example?”
Rune runs his hand over his mouth and through his almost beard, which he still hasn’t shaved since he arrived.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Now you’re in for a lecture,” Lorelei warns me, “this is one of his favorite topics.”
“The book we’re getting at the library tomorrow on Sybil Luddington and her horse Star might be a good example,” he says, “It’s easier to show than tell.”
**
I had the Tsunami dream again early this morning. On one hand, I’m pretty freaked out about it. I’ve never had the dream so close together, but there is a small crumb of hope.
I did something different this time. I took a step toward the wave. There I was, terrified, watching a mountain of water rising above me, realizing I couldn’t outrun it, and the thought occurred to me, “What if I walk into it?” I woke up as soon as I took the step.
I still feel a sense of dread but with a small spoonful of possibility. Maybe I had the dream because I have a call scheduled with her at eleven thirty to talk to my mom about her website and social media. I scheduled it for then so I can only talk for half an hour. Rune, Lorelei, and I leave at noon for our adventure to the library.
Unfortunately, with the scary energy of the dream still in my head I’m in no mood to make any more progress on Vivienne’s eBook cover right now. But buoyed by my courage in the dream, and Rune and Lorelei’s enthusiastic response to my original Horse Girl illustrations, I’ve decided to take stock of what as a toe in the water towards maybe doing a crowdsource campaign towards creating something. What that thing is, and whether I can do it this year, I have no idea.
Today we’re not just going to the library and lunch, we’re also going to check out a local bookstore in downtown Poulsbo. Rune wants to look at the best sellers, and I want to look at their calendars.
I’m always looking at Etsy and Pinterest for inspiration, to see what clever things artists are doing with their illustrations for gift items. But there’s something special about being able to see things in person.
Rune’s comment about Hero’s Journey stories last night was interesting. I remember how fun it was to learn about these goddesses, real women, and their horses when I first decided to try and draw a coloring book. I had no idea how much effort it would take.
The very first Horse Girl illustration I created was of the Quaker author Anna Sewell standing together with her famous fictional horse Black Beauty. Her story is inspiring but heartbreaking. In 1877, as a first-time author and invalid she published one of the best-selling books of all time. But she died at the age of fifty-eight, not long after it came out.
The second woman I drew was the Celtic goddess Epona. I drew her as she’s often shown, with both a mare and foal, a crown of oak leaves on her head, and she’s holding a sheaf of wheat.
The third woman I drew was Sacagawea. I drew her sitting on a horse with her baby on her back. Of course, I learned about the famous young indigenous scout in school, and that it was in big part her navigation skills that made the Lewis and Clark expedition a success. But I certainly didn’t learn back then that she’d been kidnapped and sold to her French-Canadian fur-trading husband.
I lay all ten finished drawings out on the big wide desk that runs along almost the full length of the office, under the windows. Inspired by the positive response to my Howl’s Moving Castle coloring page as a work in progress (and that most people are accepting my choice of Asher Dill as Wizard Howl) I snap a pic of each of the original Horse Girl pages.
For the tag on Instagram, I type “exciting new #wip, more coming soon” under it. My phone beeps. It’s time to chat with mom.
“Darling!” Mom picks up right away, “Thanks for giving your old mom some pointers!”
“How’s the interest from your NPR story?”
“Amazing, I’m going down to Santa Monica tomorrow to meet with two very promising possible window display clients. More importantly, Pamela and I are having dinner with Franklin Haus. He’s crazy about the NPR piece.” she says excitedly.
“That’ll be fun,” I say, hoping we’re not going to talk too much about them on this call, especially my giving Franklin any of Theo’s vintage clothes, or my convincing Rune to work with Pamela, “did you go ahead and relaunch your Instagram account?”
“Your father got that all set up for me. I have to say I don’t like the idea of having to do all this straight from my own phone. How do celebrities do it? Beyonce can’t be handling her own Instagram.”
“Some do it all themselves, but usually they have a separate phone and number just for Instagram and have a social media assistant handle it,” I tell her.
“Smart! So, I could just get a different phone and number, have your dad set up the account, and then we could ship it up to you to handle it? You could coordinate it all with Pamela’s guidance?”
What I want to say very tersely is, over my dead body and you don’t need Pamela, but what I say instead carefully is, “You’ve officially signed up with Pamela’s agency?”
“I’d love to. But we don’t have the budget right now unless you’ve convinced Asher Dillion to sign on with her? How’s that going?”
“I’m sorry Mom. I’ve tried,” I say, “he’s not seeing her as the right fit for him and what he’s focused on right now.”
“That’s very disappointing.”
“He’s narrating books right now and not keen on her focus on reality show contestants,” I ad-lib. I looked up what Pamela’s up to these days on Instagram. It seems to be focused on nightlife and parties.
“Maybe he shouldn’t be so narrow-minded,” Mom sniffs, “Franklin’s so disappointed in Asher after he’s been such a mentor to him. He needs a brand refresh. Speaking of which Pamela thinks you should create an illustration of me for my Instagram page to help with my own new branding. What did she call it? Oh yes, an avatar.”
“New branding?” I ask, with a sense of dread. Right now, Mom’s website isn’t anything fancy, but it’s elegant and has some great images of her remarkable event designs.
“Pamela thinks I need a fresh look. She wants me to celebrate my move into designing windows again as well as events. And of course, I need to capitalize on the upcoming anniversary of One More Midnight with You.”
“While I agree that icons can be fun,” I say, hedging “you’re so photogenic…” I don’t hate the avatar idea in general, but I’m not going to be art-directed by Pamela to draw my own mother. I honestly do think she should just be photographed.
“Thank you, sweetheart, I’m holding up well but Pamela has this marvelous idea of my new site being very retro fashion-oriented. Franklin would love this idea too. Pamela thinks you should create custom illustrations of me done in the style of the brilliant Rene Gruau -- won’t that be fun to do?”
Fun? No. Gruau is only one of the most brilliant fashion illustrators ever with a very distinctive style, “I’m flattered Pamela has faith that I could pull it off…”
“Don’t sell yourself short darling! Pamela reminded me you’re brilliant at copying other artists’ styles,” Mom says happily, oblivious to why I might find this not the compliment they both appear to think it is.
I remember my dream and how I stepped towards the tsunami, “The thing is Mom, my days of doing that kind of copycat art for graphics are over. I’m focused on polishing my own illustration style now.”