What we learn from a mouse.

And not the one that chewed a larger mouse out of cheese who played music from its own tail, although that mouse was also cool.

I’m going to spoil the plot of the book Frederick by Leo Lionni in this newsletter, so if you haven’t yet read this classic tale, you’ve been warned (you can watch a read-aloud here first, if you want).

Growing up, my grandma had a copy of another Lionni book, Geraldine the Music Mouse, so that was the touchpoint for me and these daydreamy, cut-paper mice. I don’t think I read Frederick until much later, when I was an adult. The story follows a family of field mice who are preparing for winter, including Frederick who spends his time sitting on a rock, gathering sunlight and color and words instead of nuts and seeds.

Everything about my American cultural immersion set me up to go into this story with a productivity mindset. We all know the tale of the Ants and the Grasshopper, right? Or the Little Red Hen? Work hard and you will be rewarded. Sitting around while others do the hard work is not only immoral, but it makes you the fool of the story. When I first read Frederick I assumed it was more of the same: watch what happens to lazy-ol-Frederick when winter hits and he didn’t contribute to the stockpile. Har de har, what a chump.

I remember being a bit shocked when I read the twist… all of Frederick’s sitting around—gathering words and color and warmth, how abstract!—actually did sustain his family through the darkest stretch of winter. He had been working all along! He was a poet, they realized, and his value in their lives was acknowledge and applauded.

I’m not a poet, but as a storyteller, I think of this tale often. I doubt the importance of my work almost daily. It involves a lot of observation, a lot of “taking it all in,” which can appear very passive. And when it comes to the labor, it’s hard to defend the reality of the toil. Writing and drawing are widely cited as hobbies—they are fun, they are pleasant ways to pass the time, they are what you do when all your chores are completed, but they are not the chore itself, right?

I guess Frederick aims to tell us otherwise, and it’s a message I’m not sure I’ve fully absorbed. I commented on Instagram a few weeks ago that someone should rework this tale for adults who need its message: creative work is an essential part of life. I’m trying to convince myself of this even as I write these words. The work of storytellers, of poets, of playwrights and musicians is somehow just as essential as food and shelter. Maybe not on a biological level (although, maybe?) but it offers humanity an important stepping stone from survive to thrive. Frederick’s family finally understood it, hopefully we can too.

my quickly drawn frederick fan art

I could ramble about this all day and maybe I’ll write more in a Part 2, but for now I want to leave it open ended. How has story made your life better, either as a writer or a reader/listener/viewer?

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On that note, my latest story has officially landed! Copies of my newest book Claudia Claws are now available, and if you act fast you can take advantage of my slow Monday-morning-brain and snag the free shipping before I manage to update that. Thanks to everyone who ordered so far, I’m mailing those out this afternoon!

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I may or may not plan a release event for this, but if I do, I’ll send out an invite! Until then, happy spring!

<3
BB