Today I welcome Penelope Crowe to the blog with her fairytale for Christmas…
Henry and Greta were tired of being gophers. Graduating first and second respectively in their class at Pratt three years ago meant nothing in the real world. They had no relatives in the art community, and all their friends had careers of their own to worry about.
So they got other people coffee, bought paint, climbed the ladders when the museum light bulbs went out, and barely make a living. Their apartment was an 800 square foot pre-war charmer, complete with roaches and windows that would not open.
Greta dreamt of a life in the country, with a little house of their own somewhere in the woods far, far away from the dirty city.
Henry’s drawings and paintings rivaled Cezanne. Greta wrote words Hemingway would envy. They worked on books at night and submitted them to publishers.
On Thursday Henry sketched some pictures to show the art director of the museum. They showed the stark white walls of the museum transformed by paintings that looked like stained glass. Their placement brought to mind the opulent Baroque style of churches from centuries before.
The sketches and ideas were stunning, and the art director dismissed him with a wave of his hand.
The next morning the curator announced their next display—an architectural transformation of the museum showing paintings that looked like stained glass. Congratulations were giving to the art director, the genius who thought of this wonderful idea.
Henry and Greta left the museum at 9:23AM, never to return.
They went home and gathered their books and illustrations in a portfolio and started walking uptown.
They left copies of their books with publishers on Varick Street, 24th, 53rd, Avenue of the Americas, and everywhere in between. Their trail of literature led them to the front doors of the Waldorf Astoria. Henry and Greta had to step aside as the doors swung open, and eight dogs of various shapes and sizes stepped through, followed by a very well-dressed old man.
The dogs surrounded Henry and Greta and proceeded to bark. They were silenced when the old man quietly spoke the two words “thank you.” They sat down and looked at the man as if waiting for a treat.
“My dogs have never been wrong,” smiled the old man. “and they tell me you have something to show me. Please come in and have tea.”
Hungry and thirsty after their journey through the city, they agreed.
Sitting in Peacock Alley enjoying scones and tea, the old man, Mr. Kris, pointed past the opulent gift shop and told them his book shop was around the bend. He had a first edition Animal Farm by George Orwell, and Dracula by Bram Stoker. He had a handwritten journal with illustrations touted to be the works of DaVinci. He said it was priceless.
“Please show me your work,” he said, “I am anticipating a glorious release. Everyone has been waiting, and I want to be the one to show your art to the world. My dogs are never wrong.”
Greta and Henry, though confused, showed Mr. Kris their books. With a glimmer in his eye he requested copies, and informed them they would be ready for sale in one week. Thank yous were exchanged, and Greta and Henry left shaking their heads.
They returned in one week and asked to speak to Mr. Kris, but no one knew who he was. No one had heard of him.
As if by magic their books were in every bookstore they passed on the way home.
Greta and Henry started to look for a place to live in the country.
Find Penelope on her blog: http://www.penelopecrowe.blogspot.com/
Thank you for that tale Penelope. Every writer needs a Mr. Kris. Hope you find your’s this Christmas. Happy Holiday Hop and Merry Christmas! 🙂
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