Pen Jen's Inkwell: September 2020

Monday, September 7, 2020

THE UNICORN CURE synopsis

LOGLINE

The strength of a unicorn makes you strong enough to achieve anything.

PITCH

When Penrose, a powerful unicorn, is attacked by beasts of the forest and gives his life to save Sunshine, a princess in the Scottish land of Gras, all hope seems lost until Penrose appears in her bedroom as a mystical being. For the rest of her life, Sunshine is protected by the invisible intervention of Penrose and his magical alicorn, once even throwing a dragon into a sea to defend her. Like an angelic being, no one can see him but Sunshine. Because of his strength, she becomes a majestic queen for her parents and her people.

SYNOPSIS

Twelve-year-old Sunshine lives in the land of Gras whose best friend is a unicorn named Penrose. Because her father is King of Gras and her mother is the queen, she lives in a Scottish medieval castle. Penrose goes with her everywhere, protecting her from harmful beasts in the enchanted forest. She loves to play with him in her rose garden and splash with him in the hot, bubbling mineral springs. Only the rhinoceros is known to have a similar horn on its head, and this unicorn’s alicorn has a red tip. More than once, his horn has pierced the heart of beasts of the forest in Sunshine’s defense. Although she is a princess, she has many jealous enemies, trying to prevent her destiny to rule Gras as queen. Sometimes, she spends the night with Penrose in his unicorn lair next to her family castle. She brushes his silky white coat with her own golden hairbrush and braids his long flowing tail. On days when Sunshine is sick, Penrose helps her get well quickly. His horn has magical healing qualities, and he grinds it against a rock and mixes its powder in tea as a potion to cure her ailments.

Days later, his horn grows back to its regular shape, as if he has never used it as medicine. When Sunshine swims in a river or lake, he dips his horn in it first, cleansing it for her. He always makes sure that she is never poisoned by the evils of the forest. In fact, the cup itself from which Sunshine drinks is made from Penrose’s unicorn horn. On the base of the cup is inscribed: “But my horn shalt thou exalt like the horn of an unicorn: I shall be anointed with fresh oil.” So, whatever Sunshine drinks is purified by Penrose’s purifying healing powers and virtues.

One afternoon, Sunshine and Penrose take a nap together by the river in the beautiful forest. The unicorn curls up next to her in the tall grass, neighing, and falling asleep with its head on her lap. That particular afternoon, beasts have been watching the pair from a distance, waiting to pounce. As Sunshine and Penrose rest, the beasts circle, and when Penrose is fully asleep, the creatures descend. Penrose rises to his feet. Although it is devastating, Penrose throws himself in front of the beasts, giving Sunshine a chance to flee. As she runs into the distance, she sees the beasts slaughter her most majestic best friend. She cries all night until she can no longer produce tears, and she feels sick to her stomach. She sobs. Then, a sudden voice booms in her bedroom, shaking the walls. There stands Penrose in all his glory and stately heroism. She runs across the room and throws her arms around his neck, kissing his cheeks as she wept. Almost like an angelic being, Penrose accompanies Sunshine until the day she dies, but only she sees him. “I have as it were the strength of a unicorn,” Sunshine sings, rising from bed each morning in her castle. As queen of Gras, she sits on an ivory throne made of Penrose’s magical alicorn, reigning until age one hundred twenty.

MINUET synopsis

LOGLINE

Magic silkworms spin love in the most romantic way.

PITCH

When Velvet Briar Rose needs a dress for the Cotswolds Ballroom Dance, her wicked aunt admits that she has kept the magic silkworms from her and her mother, who spins dresses all days long for little money. Her aunt lies and tells her niece that the silkworms are known to make one dress per lifetime that brings true love. Since her mother has already had the silkworms make a wedding dress, her aunt says that her mother has lost her chance, but Velvet still has one magic dress that can be spun. The aunt reluctantly gives Velvet the jar of worms, thinking she will get them back without her mother knowing. After the silkworms make both Velvet and her mother Emma dresses for the ball, they both have suitors, and the deception of the aunt is known. Without the worms, her husband goes to jail for fraudulent business dealings, and Velvet and her mother are no longer destined for a life of spinning at a wheel.

SYNOPSIS

Night and day, Emma Souster spins thread on a spinning wheel in her home, causing calluses on her hands. Her thread makes cotton frocks for the women of Bourton-on-the-Water in the Cotswolds in England. Because she is always too busy spinning for someone else, her daughter, Velvet Briar Rose Souster, wears clothes made from the scraps. Most of the time, Velvet even sews them together herself. Now 15 years old, she needs a pretty dress for the winter Cotswolds Ballroom Dance. When Velvet was two years old, her father died of pneumonia in the winter frost. Heartbroken as could be, her mother never remarried, leaving Velvet and her mother to fend for themselves alone. However, her aunt lives in London, and her uncle is a wealthy banker, so Velvet often spends time on the train visiting her aunt and uncle, hardly making ends meet for herself and her mother.

According to her aunt, a fairy godmother gave magic silkworms to Velvet’s grandmother in her youth, and her grandmother gave them to her aunt for safekeeping, not her mother. Years ago, the silkworms spun a wedding dress for Velvet’s mother, but when her father died the “one-dress-in-a-lifetime” magic of the silkworms’ spinning had already run out for her mother, or so her mother had been told. Velvet promises her aunt not to tell her mother about borrowing the silkworms and will return them on her next trip to London. Her aunt secretly plans to never talk to Velvet again once she gets back the magic silkworms.

Upon returning home, Velvet finds her mother spinning at her wheel. The morning of the dance, she wakes up looking for answers from the magic silkworms. The worms, which she hid under her bedroom floorboards, are gone. As Velvet walks into the cottage kitchen, she finds her mother sitting at the spinning wheel, glowing. The magic silkworms visited Velvet and her mother, making each of them a glorious dress for the dance. As it turns out, Velvet meets a suitor at the dance who courts her, and so does her mother. In the meantime, Velvet’s mother receives word that her sister’s husband has gone to jail for fraudulent business dealings. In fact, Velvet’s disheveled aunt busts into the cottage one afternoon unannounced when Emma is out doing errands at the market. When Emma comes back from town, she walks through the door with her suitor on her arm. The evil auntie runs from the cottage without taking the silkworms with her. To this day, the magic silkworms will spin a dress for anyone looking for love.

SHOES synopsis

LOGLINE

If you ever wanted to live in a shoe, now is your chance!

PITCH

There was an old woman who lived in a shoe with a neighborhood of footwear. The Shoes Neighborhood is a place where customers live in their shoes instead of wearing them on their feet, and when a three-footed shoeless giant comes along to squash their homes, even he gets his own special trio of shoes from Grammie and her twelve grandchildren.

SYNOPSIS

Over the river and through the woods, there is an old woman who lives in an ankle boot in the Shoes Neighborhood, a neighborhood of footwear. Although her five children—the parents of her twelve grandchildren—live nearby, her grandchildren enjoy staying at her home more than any other place in the entire countryside, including the village candy store. Of course, she is a good grandma—she feeds her grandchildren, clothes them, scolds them, and encourages them when they are sad. They never lack for anything because she is so wise and creative. Gramps passed away a few years ago, but she keeps his shoes by the fireplace for everyone to remember. In this quaint neighborhood of footwear, much like the shoe section at the village clothing store, there is a type of shoe for everyone’s personal taste. Except in the Shoes Neighborhood, the customers live in their shoes, instead of putting them on their feet.

As much as everyone likes the Shoes Neighborhood for its cleverness and class, it has one enemy: Its long-standing rival, the Three-Footed Giant, whose feet never fit in shoes, because shoes come in a pair, and he has larger-than-life triple feet; so not only is the size a problem, but also his number of feet. The whole ground shakes every time he comes near the Shoes Neighborhood. As the Three-Footed Giant plods his way through the streets, the thigh-high boot home falls over, the roller skate home loses a wheel, and the stiletto home breaks its heel. Several porch sandal straps fall to the ground from a local residence, swinging back and forth with no place to attach. It is not a pretty sight, and neighbors run from their homes in tears and fright, afraid that their shoe house will be next to fall apart. In an attempt to soothe the Giant, Grammie and her grandchildren make him his own trio of shoes. Hurrying to work before he returns, they start by measuring his footprints. As the twelve grandchildren work for five straight nights in a row, they make the Three-Footed Giant individual army boots, matching his three distinct footprints, each of which has varying numbers of toes. When the army boots are painted and laced, Grammie inspects the shoes with her spectacles. She paces about the boots, gearing up for her showdown with the Giant, anticipating the next time he comes ‘round.

Days later, when the Three-Footed Giant comes back to the Shoes Neighborhood, Grammie has been baking, and he smells her blueberry muffins. Grammie bursts through the front door of her home, and she parts the trees in her yard, showing him his new trio of army boots. She tells him that the shoes are for him and that they are a perfect fit. After much fussing, fidgeting, and rolling on the ground, the Three-Footed Giant shoves his feet into the boots. Filled with gratitude, he breaks down sobbing like a two-year-old child. Against her will, the Giant scoops Grammie up in his palm and places her at his heart. He tells Grammie that he loves her, and she responds, saying the same. He wants to bring all his friends with awkward feet to her for shoes. From then on, the Shoes Neighborhood is known as the most generous place for people with misshapen feet.

Saturday, September 5, 2020

Christmas Crackers: A Christmas Folktale from Clerkenwell

It was Christmas 1847 in Clerkenwell, London, and Tom Smith’s cake shop was unusually crowded at the holidays. The gold-painted lettering on the green and black wooden signboard read: “T. Smith’s Wedding Cakes & Crackers – Confections for Christmas.”

“Christmas crackers!” called Mr. Smith, a prominent wedding cake baker, to a shop full of customers eagerly waiting for the noisemakers.

Crates and baskets held the crackers wrapped in shiny foils. They were tied with ribbons and sealed with wax. Although Mr. Smith baked crackers—savory biscuits or water biscuits—his customers stood in line for a different kind: festive novelties that snapped when pulled at both ends.

Brass bells jingled every time the oak shop door opened. Mistletoe hung above the entrance, as if waiting for couples to kiss. Red and green garlands hung across the ceiling.

The smell of freshly baked bread filled the air. Scents of vanilla, chocolate and cinnamon added to the romantic atmosphere. The dark wood shelving held dried fruits, tins of sweets, and candied orange peels. Mr. Smith always made sure to offer trays of cake samples under glass domes on his walnut counter.

Behind the counter sat large, tiered wedding cakes. He specialized in sugar flowers and piped lace. He loved to add tiny bride and groom figures to his creations. Candlelight flickered from inside the shop during winter nights, next to a small gas lantern.

“Come get your Christmas gift!” Mr. Smith said in his white apron, as he handed the green, red, and gold crackers to his customers by the door of his shop. “These crackers contain romantic fortunes filled with Christmas magic.”

He had been trying to attract new customers that passed by on the narrow cobblestone street. It bustled with foot traffic and horse-drawn carts. Inside the shop, his assistants in waistcoats rang up the brass cash register and wrapped gift boxes. They also offered samples and refilled shelves. Customers laughed when fortunes were read.

Waiting for his own true love, he kept baking wedding cakes. Another day, another tier, and another stack of crackers!

“Yipee!” he said, as customers opened his crackers. They made one explosive crack after the other. He watched as the men and women were excited to find their romantic fortunes. “Do you believe in true love?” he asked his customers. “I do, but I just haven’t found it yet.”

His tiered wedding cakes sat delicately in his large bay window, fogged with condensation. The cakes stood on fine china next to a Christmas tree decorated with the colorful crackers and handmade ornaments. The cakes were several tiers high with swirling icing and intricate design. Sculptors sculpted with clay, but he baked cakes.

“I will have a wedding cake just like this one when I get married!” announced an elegant woman who walked in the shop. She wore a long red velvet dress with ruffles. Her black coat, bonnet, and leather gloves were covered with snowflakes from the winter storm.

“When is the date?” Mr. Smith asked his beautiful customer. He adjusted his high-collared shirt, rolled up his sleeves, and wiped the flour from his hands. “I need to make sure to get your order on my calendar, so it’s done in time.”

He noticed that the sun shone a little brighter through the shop bay window. As the snow fell on the sidewalk, there was not a cloud in the sky.

Customers experimented with the crackers, and the noisemakers crackled like logs put on a fire in a twist of paper. Mr. Smith thought his marketing genius seemed to be a big hit!

“Oh, I’m not engaged yet,” she explained, as she took off her bonnet and shook her brown curls. She had a twinkle in her eye. “But I will be engaged soon. Very soon. I just need the right man.”

“Oh, I see. Maybe he will come as a Christmas gift!” Mr. Smith said, as he handed her a sample of his chocolate wedding cake from the counter. “Please enjoy a piece of cake.”

“Thank you very much indeed,” the lovely woman joked. “What are these shiny toys?”

“Those are Christmas crackers!” he answered with a laugh. “I put love fortunes in the crackers that always come true every time.”

“Love fortunes!” she gasped and grabbed a handful. She dumped the change from her pockets on his counter. “I need all the love messages that I can get! Especially if they come true. I’ve been having a terrible day until now.”

“I’m considering putting sweets, jewelry, and small toys in some of them for fun,” Mr. Smith said. “I thought expanding the merchandise might increase business,” he continued, as she opened her first cracker with a pop.

“It says, ‘You’ve just met your true love!’” the brunette woman whispered. Then, she looked up at Mr. Smith.

“Charlotte Thompson—is that what it says?” he stammered and scratched his head. She’d been visiting his shop often and always flirted with him. “Does that mean me?”

“Yes, kind sir, I think it does mean you,” Miss Thompson said, as she smiled at him.

Of course, Mr. Smith had known this woman since childhood, and she had been in love with him for years. She made him so nervous that he never knew how to react to her advances. He was a stubborn bachelor, but he knew that he needed to settle down with a good wife.

Before Mr. Smith could say anything else, Charlotte threw her arms around him and kissed him. The cake baker thought her outrageous behavior must be from the Christmas magic found in the noisemakers. She had never acted so impulsively.

“Marry me!” she exclaimed, as the enchantment must have been spreading all throughout the shop. “Marry me! And I’ll take every cake in your shop for the rest of my life.”

At first, Mr. Smith tried to fight back, but after a moment, he figured there was no use in fighting with a gorgeous woman who loved him and his sweets.

“Christmas crackers! It’s Christmas magic,” Mr. Smith said. He kissed her back in front of his entire shop of customers. A line had formed out the door, watching his romance unfold.

He appreciated Charlotte even if she drove him crazy with her whimsical disposition. Since he was too analytical and rigid at times, she was everything he needed. She charmed him with her charisma. “Will you be my Mrs. Smith?” he asked her.

“Of course, I will,” the wife-to-be agreed, as she painted his lips with icing. “Taste the icing!”

He laughed and thought how wonderful it felt to be loved. Not everyone in the world had such a special person in their life like Charlotte, who always showed up at the right time. He was already shopping for a diamond ring in his mind.

“Get your Christmas crackers!” Mr. Smith said to the other customers in the shop. “They’re going fast! Soon all the wedding chapels will be full.”

Their shop became known as a miraculous place where romantic messages read by customers in the Christmas crackers proved true every time, even if there were a few bumps along the way.

“You can kiss me whenever you want,” Miss Thompson told Mr. Smith in front of their customers. “No mistletoe needed!”

“I’d like a flurry of kisses,” Mr. Smith replied. He kissed her as the shop door opened and blew in snow from the latest storm.

“My snowflake wishes have all come true, and so can yours,” Charlotte announced.

With one final “CRACK!” from a Christmas cracker, the love story between Mr. and Mrs. Smith became legendary. Each year at Christmas, the lasting love of the Smiths was so overwhelming that it caused their Christmas crackers to spread all over the world.

The magic of the fortunes sparked one romantic love story after the other. And so, Mr. and Mrs. Smith lived happily ever after with wedding cakes, Christmas crackers, and marvelous love all around them.

A Merry Christmas Parade: The Story of a Holly, Ivy, and Mistletoe Float

Holly, ivy, and mistletoe floats!

Down the street they go, so get your coats!

If you want to meet good ‘ole Santa Claus

At the end of the parade, make it your cause.

Stand by the side of the street and cheer!

Run behind the parade until he is near.

Jump on his sleigh and tell him your wish.

Slip in and give him a kiss with a swish.

He’s sure to listen if you ask really nice.

If you’re desperate for gifts, maybe ask twice.

Spell your name and give him your address.

A Christmas carol would surely impress.

You could bring a card with your picture inside.

Then, sit on his lap for the rest of the ride.

A Merry Christmas Parade is the best!

Santa is always looking for a new guest.

The Pohutukawa Tree: A Christmas Folktale from New Zealand

“Did you see that shadow by the cave?” Amelia whispered into the wind. “I think it was Mom.” As the wind blew off the ocean on a crisp December evening, she pulled her father’s jacket over her shoulders. The sleeves hung down on the ground.

“There’s a story that the people around these parts of New Zealand believe,” Mr. Brown said. “I’m not really sure if I believe it, but I’ll tell you anyhow. Maybe it will cheer you up!”

“I think I just saw Mom’s spirit standing outside those caves,” his 12-year-old daughter said. She had been so sad that her mother had passed away that she could think about nothing else. Sometimes, she could not sleep, just wanting her mother to hold her again.

“If the folklore is true, the shadow might have been the spirit of the warrior Tawhaki,” Mr. Brown said, as he looked out over the coast. The moonlight shone on the water. “He’s an avenger and guardian of justice. Sometimes, grieving people can see him. He might be fighting to bring your mother justice. The car accident wasn’t her fault.”

Amelia teared up and wiped her nose on his jacket sleeve. She had been so afraid after her mother’s death, not knowing what really happened to her.

“I miss Mom every second,” the girl cried. “Why did she have to go so soon?”

The wind blew hard against the large tree with red flowers that clung to the cliff of Cape Reinga. Then, Amelia noticed her mother’s scarf in her father’s pocket. He carried it with him wherever he went. Once when he wasn’t looking, Amelia saw him pull it out and press it against his face. He closed his eyes, as if he was trying to remember her scent.

“Let me tell you a version of the ancient Māori legend,” her father said, as he took his daughter’s hand. “Your mother used to love this story. We came to visit this place before you were born. She thought it was magic, and I wasn’t so sure, but it’s said that these caves are where spirits pass as they travel onto heaven.”

“Then, maybe I really did see Mom,” she said. “Let’s go inside. I have to see her. Just once more.”

“It’s such a nice night outside, honey. I’m not sure that we should really go inside the caves,” her father said, as he walked along the cliff with Amelia. He wiped a tear from his cheek. “This red tree was known as the New Zealand Christmas tree, and it seems to guard the entrance to the caves that wrap around the cliff.”

“But what if we can find Mom?” the girl cried. “What if she is waiting for us?”

“I’m not sure about that, but as the rest of the story goes, and not all the versions of it agree, this Pohutukawa tree emerged from here on Christmas Eve many years ago. Its burning red flowers are said to symbolize the blood of a warrior who died attempting to avenge his father’s death. His name was Tawhaki.”

“Oh, I think Mom just waved at us,” Amelia whispered. She watched the shadow outside the caves. “Can we please go inside?”

“It’s so dark in the caves,” he said, as he looked up at the stars.

“Well, what’s the rest of the story?” his daughter asked.

“Supposedly the warrior tried to get help in heaven on his mission to avenge his father, and then he fell to earth, causing the red flowers to bloom,” Mr. Brown said. “They say he still roams the earth, trying to avenge his father’s death. He hunts injustice and secretly tries to bring justice to those in need of it. Legend has it that he also guides souls on their journeys from earth to heaven through the caves. Now, I bet you thought it was just a tree?” her father said. “Sometimes, I think it still might just be a tree.”

“I always knew there was something special about the tree,” she told him, as she walked toward the entrance to the caves. “It’s so pretty.”

“I hope the story is true,” the father said. “Either way, everything will be all right.”

“Since Mom died last summer, I’ve seen the same shadow following me sometimes,” Amelia said. “Maybe it’s the warrior. I thought it might be Mom’s shadow. I wasn’t sure where it came from. I was too scared to tell you.”

“Really? Well, I wake up at night, and I think I hear her calling me. Sometimes, I think I’m going crazy,” her father said. “The legend of Tawhaki is really just a lot of folklore . . . and it makes you feel better for a while when you pretend it could be true.”

“Maybe I could talk to Mother one last time,” Amelia cried. “I dreamed I met her in the caves by the tree.”

“I want to believe that’s true, Amelia. I really do,” Mr. Brown said with trembling in his voice. “What if I’m wrong? If Tawhaki exists, he will help your mother. One way or another, justice at the court case regarding her car accident will prevail.”

“The shadow following me could have been Tawhaki,” Amelia said with a worried expression. “I’d rather it was Mom following me though.”

“You have no reason to be afraid,” Mr. Brown said. “If Tawhaki exists, he is probably trying to avenge her death, like the death of his father. According to the myth, he fights to bring justice.”

“Oh, I just saw a shadow again, next to the tree,” Amelia said with a gasp. “Did you see it, Dad?”

“No, I didn’t see it,” Mr. Brown said with a sigh. “If you want to, we could walk through the caves just this one time, but then that’s enough, and only for a few minutes.”

“I would like that,” Amelia said, as she dug in her bag for a flashlight to light their way.

Then, Amelia and her father walked into the heart of the caves. The walls were tight, and they had to squeeze through several spots.

“Maybe we should turn back, Amelia,” her father suggested. “I don’t want to get stuck in here.”

“No, we’re going to find Mom,” Amelia said, as she felt the clammy walls beside her. Then, she slipped and landed hard. “Ouch! I just know we’ll find her.”

“The air’s getting thinner,” her father murmured in the dark.

“Oh, come on!” Amelia said, as she pulled her father’s hand. “Just a little bit farther.”

“I love you, Amelia,” her father said. He took a deep breath and squeezed through the next tight spot.

As they descended deeper into the caves, Amelia froze. Light shimmered. Her mother stood before her surrounded by a bright glow. Tears filled Amelia’s eyes. When she looked at her father, he had no reaction, and she realized he was not able to see the spirit of her mother. She didn’t try to convince him.

“Did you see Mom, Amelia?” her father asked, as Amelia watched the spirit of her mother bend over and kiss her cheek. “I don’t see her anywhere!” he said.

Amelia ignored her father. Her mother’s kiss burned like fire, and Amelia was sure it was real. Then, her mother kissed Amelia’s father, but he must have not felt the fire on his cheek. Amelia’s mother slipped off her diamond wedding ring and pressed it into Amelia’s hand.

“Keep this for me, Amelia. I love you,” her mother said. Then, she turned and walked toward the inside of the caves. In a moment, she disappeared like she was taken up to heaven.

“I’ll love you forever,” Amelia whispered.

“Okay, now, it’s time to go home, Amelia,” her father said. “We can cut some of the red flowers from the tree to represent the spirit of your mother and the warrior we hope is helping her with the court case. We’ll put them by your bedside.”

“At least there is someone looking out for me, so I’m not alone without Mom,” Amelia told her dad.

“I’m looking out for you every day!” Mr. Brown said. “You’re never alone.”

She decided that telling him that she just saw her mother might not help him at all, but it helped her more than she could say. Her mother’s wedding ring hid deep in her pocket, although it was too big to fit on any of her fingers. It felt hard and like it could never break.

“Whatever happened to Mom’s wedding ring?” Amelia asked her father out of curiosity.

“Oh, it was lost in the car accident,” her father said. “We never found it.”

Before they left for evening, Mr. Brown walked over to the tree and left a note.

“What’s that?” Amelia asked her father. The envelope read: “For my love.”

“A note I wrote your mother,” he said. “In case she finds it.”

Then, the wind blew, and the Pohutukawa tree shook, as a shadow fell from its branches. Amelia watched it follow the Browns back to their house and sit next to her bedside. The shadow looked different than her mother did in the cave, and she knew it must be Tawhaki.

“If I had picked her up that night, maybe she would still be alive,” Mr. Brown said to Amelia, as she was sure he could not see the shadow. “I’m so sorry. Good night.”

“I love you, Dad. It’s not your fault,” Amelia said. “I know Mom loves you, too.”

When she woke up the next morning, the shadow was gone, but on the day of the court case, Amelia saw the shadow next to the witness stand as the driver who killed her mother testified. She felt courageous when she saw the shadow in the court room.

“It’s Tawhaki!” Amelia said to herself, as the man gave his testimony. She didn’t feel as intimidated as she might have been otherwise. Still, she wished that she could bring her mother back to earth again.

“I can’t take it anymore!” the man yelled. “I was drunk, okay? I killed her! What do you want me to say? I’ve been haunted by this shadow for the past week. It’s easier to tell the truth. The whole thing was my fault!”

“I motion to strike those comments!” the defendant’s attorney yelled.

“At least he told the truth,” Mr. Brown said to Amelia, who secretly held her mother’s wedding ring in her pocket.

Days later, Amelia watched the judge walk into the court room with the jury ready to announce the verdict. She sat next to her father, her mother’s wedding ring hidden in her pocket. Once again, she saw the shadow linger near the jury box. She wondered if he could sway their hearts.

“We, the jury, find the defendant guilty . . .” rang through the courtroom.

“Thank you,” Amelia whispered to Tawhaki. Somehow, she knew that he could hear her. She gave her father a hug and hoped the verdict was a comfort to him.

One day, when she was old enough to wear a wedding ring, Amelia thought she might ask her husband if he could propose to her with it. By then, maybe she could figure out how to explain to her father that her mother had given her the wedding ring the night they had spent together in the caves.

“Justice,” Amelia whispered.

She stood. Tawhaki’s shadow vanished.

“Justice.”

Editor’s Note: This fictionalized story respectfully draws from Māori legend and acknowledges the cultural significance of the Pōhutukawa tree and Tawhaki at Cape Reinga. It is told with admiration for the spiritual heritage it honors.

Christmas Stockings: The Story of Golden Dusty Chimneys

If you’re in need of a Christmas stocking,

Take your cleanest sock from walking,

And stretch it to its farthest limit.

If it’s too long, be sure trim it!

Try to pick one that’s red or green,

Or whatever you have that’s in-between.

Write your name with a magic marker!

The best kind is bright and darker.

Then, hang it on the fireplace mantle.

If your feet are cold, wear your sandals.

Wait for Santa to fill your stocking with gifts!

Watch for him on open-eyed shifts.

Down the golden chimney he’ll jump!

Toys and gifts he likes to dump.

Now make a stocking for all your friends,

And that’s where this poem ends.

Christmas is not just a stocking holiday,

But fill mine to the top please anyway!

A Shiny Nose: Christmas Magic from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer

“I wish the world was a brighter place,” said Robert May, working on his latest assignment at Montgomery Ward, a successful Chicago mail order house.

It was 1939, and many families were poverty stricken and homeless due to the Great Depression. Often, there was not enough food to eat, and people became traveling hobos.

Robert was a copywriter who crafted advertisements and publicity material for the mail order house. He also liked to write limericks and children’s stories.

Instead of making the annual coloring book, Robert was trying to draft an original Christmas story about a reindeer. Of course, the tale had to involve Santa Claus and his sleigh.

“Mr. Avery, I’m writing this story for my daughter Barbara,” Robert said to his boss. “She loves reindeer.”

“Reindeer?” questioned Sewell Avery, CEO of Montgomery Ward. “Are you sure that this is going to work?”

“It’s not the Great American Novel, but I think I’m onto something with the reindeer,” Robert insisted. “Rollo, or Reginald, or Rudolph? I’m sort of leaning toward Rudolph.”

“Rudolph,” Mr. Avery said. “I would have never thought of a reindeer named Rudolph.”

Coming home from work that evening, Robert felt sad as he looked at his tiny, unkempt two-bedroom Chicago apartment. He wanted so much more for his family.

“How are you feeling today, Evelyn?” Robert asked. He kissed his wife on the cheek. She had been bedridden from cancer for the past two years. “I’ve been working on my poem about Rudolph the reindeer all day again . . .”

“The reindeer with the shiny nose?” his wife said with a cough. “I hope it’s a big hit with the shoppers.”

“Dad, let me hear the latest version!” asked Barbara, his daughter. She ran to her father and sat on his lap.

“I’ll read it to you before bed tonight,” her father said. He hugged her tightly. “Let’s eat some dinner now.”

After dinner, Barbara crawled into bed, in tears. She asked her father: “Why is Mom different than other moms?”

“She’s very sick. She does her best, and she loves you very much, Barbara,” Robert said. He cried as he held his daughter. “Let’s read about Rudolph.”

As Robert read to her about a reindeer named Rudolph with a very shiny nose, she fell asleep. He wasn’t sure if she heard how the others mocked Rudolph. He knew his daughter was sometimes teased at school. The moral of the story resonated with him, so he hoped it would with her as well.

After all, reindeer were not supposed to have big shiny red noses, and it embarrassed Rudolph every time he was teased for being different than everyone else.

As the story went on, even Rudolph’s family ridiculed him for his nose calling him “a red-nosed reindeer.” Since the outcast was the ninth and youngest of Santa’s reindeer, it made the reindeer easy to pick on, like many young children.

“I have to figure out what good can come of Rudolph’s nose,” Robert whispered. He kissed his daughter goodnight. He still didn’t have a complete draft of his story. “Most days, I feel almost like the out-of-place reindeer. I might as well be as awkward as Rudolph . . .”

Later in the week, Mr. Avery, CEO of Montgomery Ward, agreed to consider drawings of Rudolph from Denver Gillan in the company art department. Robert decided to take Denver to the zoo over the upcoming weekend to get visual ideas for the character.

“Monday morning, show me something that will really work!” Mr. Avery demanded. “Every child has to love Rudolph!”

“I suggested that Denver study the features of the deer,” Robert said. “I’ll spend the whole weekend at the zoo with Denver, if that’s what we have to do!”

“Come on Barbara, we’re off to the zoo, so Denver can make some drawings of the deer to craft Rudolph,” Robert explained when Saturday morning rolled around.

“See you later tonight,” his wife said. She wheezed every time she spoke. “Have a great day together. I’ll miss you. Wish I could come.”

For most of the afternoon, Robert held Barbara on top of his shoulders, as Denver sketched the first Rudolph.

“Here, Barbara, you can fill in Rudolph’s nose with the color red,” Denver said, as he handed her a red crayon.

“I feel just like an artist,” Barbara said. She smiled at her father.

“That’s my girl,” Robert said. He kissed Barbara on her cheek and wished her mother could overcome her sickness. He had no idea what he would do without a mother for his child.

“Oh, I wish that deer would turn his head,” Denver pleaded. “Look this way!”

“Merry Christmas!” Barbara called to the deer. The reindeer turned and looked right at her.

The next week, Robert sat at his desk. He wrote notes on pads of paper and threw them into the trash can.

As he stared out the window, he could not see through a thick fog from Lake Michigan. Due to low visibility, the other side of the lake and the city buildings almost disappeared.

“I’ve got it!” he concluded. “Rudolph’s nose can shine like a spotlight through the fog on Christmas Eve, so Santa can make his deliveries.”

When the phone rang, and Robert heard his wife’s mother on the line, he felt sick to his stomach. He knew something bad must have happened.

“Robert, you need to come to the hospital right away,” his mother-in-law insisted, crying. “Evelyn just died. I can hardly believe it.”

“I’m on my way to the hospital,” he said. He hung up the phone and sobbed. How was he going to tell Barbara that her mother had passed away?

When he laid eyes on his daughter in a hospital waiting room chair, he felt nauseous. How would her life ever be the same?

“Your mother has gone to be with the angels,” Robert told Barbara, as he held her close. “She’s gone to heaven. She died, honey.”

Then, Barbara cried and cried and collapsed in his arms, kicking and yelling.

After his wife’s funeral at Saint Joseph Cemetery in River Grove of Cook County, Illinois, Mr. Avery suggested that Robert didn’t have to finish the Rudolph poem, if he wasn’t up to it. Thoughtfully, he sent flowers to the apartment.

“Look, you can take a couple weeks off,” Mr. Avery communicated by phone. “Forget about Rudolph for a while.”

“Thanks, but I think it’s wiser that I finish the story,” Robert insisted on the telephone. “I need Rudolph.”

“If you think so,” his boss said. “I know it’s a really hard time for you, and I don’t want you to feel stressed.”

“It keeps my mind on other things, and Barbara likes the story, I think,” Robert rambled.

After a few more weeks of writing, Robert burst through his apartment door one evening to find Barbara eating dinner with her mother’s parents.

“How was your day, Barbara?” Robert said, hanging up his coat. “I finished the story about Rudolph.”

He pulled up a chair to the table, and read the draft aloud, which told how Santa Claus would never have made it on his annual trip around the world on Christmas Eve without Rudolph’s very shiny nose on one foggy Christmas Eve.

As the story explained, all the other reindeer, who used to laugh and call Rudolph names, are now in awe of the youngest reindeer who helps to save Christmas because Rudolph leads the sleigh through the sky.

“That’s great, Dad,” Barbara said. “I wish Rudolph was real, and I could meet him. Mom would be so happy.”

“Thank you, honey,” Robert said. “I know she would love the finished story about Rudolph!”

“How are the pictures of Rudolph coming?” Barbara asked and jumped on his lap

“Denver is working on them,” Robert explained, showing her the latest sketches. “The book should be out for Christmas.”

“Well, if nobody else likes the story, I like it,” Barbara said. “It’s my favorite Christmas story ever!”

By Christmas, 2.4 million copies of the poem were distributed to Montgomery Ward shoppers.

“To think that all the other reindeer used to laugh and call Rudolph names,” Robert said with a chuckle. “That’s not happening anymore!”

By 1947, after Montgomery Ward gave Robert the copyright to his story—which transferred specific permissions to him to create new works based on the story—Maxton Publishers, a small New York publishing company, printed a copy of the Rudolph book, and it was a best seller.

Robert’s brother-in-law, Johnny Marks, adapted the story into lyrics and music in the song called “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” inspiring animated television specials, postage stamps, stuffed animals, comic books, games, and all kinds of memorabilia.

“What would Christmas be without Rudolph?” Robert asked himself every year for many decades. “Rudolph is almost as famous as Santa Claus. I think his nose made the world a little brighter after all.”

In the end, one reindeer’s shiny red nose lit not just the way for Santa, but the hearts of millions.

Author’s note: This story is a dramatized retelling of how Robert L. May created Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer in 1939 for Montgomery Ward.

Pen Jen's Inkwell Podcast version:

“I wish the world was a brighter place,” said Robert May, working on his latest copywriter assignment at Montgomery Ward, a successful Chicago mail order house.

It was 1939, and many families were still feeling the effects of the Great Depression.

Instead of making the annual coloring book, Robert was trying to draft an original Christmas story about an animal with holiday cheer.

Of course, the tale had to involve Santa Claus and his sleigh.

“I think the poem should be about a reindeer,” Robert imagined, thinking about his daughter Barbara’s love for deer.

“A reindeer?” doubted Sewell Avery, CEO of Montgomery Ward. “Are you sure that this is going to work?”

“I always wanted to write the Great American Novel. I think I’m onto something with the reindeer,” Robert insisted.

“Rollo, or Reginald, or Rudolph? I’m sort of leaning toward Rudolph. I think it’s the most original.”

“Rudolph is definitely an original,” Mr. Avery quipped. “I would have never thought of a reindeer named Rudolph.”

Coming home from work that evening, Robert sighed at the tiny, unkept two-bedroom Chicago apartment.

“How are you feeling today, Evelyn?” Robert asked, kissing his wife on the cheek. She had been bedridden from cancer for the past two years. “I’ve been working on my poem about Rudolph the reindeer all day again . . .”

“The reindeer with the shiny nose?” his wife wheezed. “I hope it’s a big hit with the shoppers.”

“Dad, let me hear the latest version!” Barbara, his daughter proclaimed, running to hug her father.

“I’ll read it to you before bed tonight,” her father promised, hugging her tightly. “Let’s eat some dinner now.”

After dinner, Barbara crawled into bed, in tears, wondering: “Why is Mom different than other moms?”

“She loves you very much, Barbara,” Robert cried softly, holding his daughter. “Let’s read about Rudolph.”

As Robert read to her about a reindeer named Rudolph with a very shiny nose, she fell asleep. He wasn’t sure if she heard the part about how everyone used to make fun of the creature. After all, reindeers were not supposed to have big shiny red noses, and it embarrassed Rudolph every time he was teased for being different than everyone else.

As the story went on, even Rudolph’s family ridiculed him for his nose calling him “a red-nosed reindeer.” Since the outcast was the ninth and youngest of Santa’s reindeer, like many children, it made the reindeer easy to pick on.

“I have to figure out what good can come of Rudolph’s nose,” Robert whispered, kissing his daughter goodnight. “Most days, I feel almost like the out-of-place reindeer. I might as well be as awkward as Rudolph . . .”

Later in the week, Mr. Avery agreed to consider drawings from Denver Gillan from the company art department.

“Show me something that will really work!” Mr. Avery demanded. “Every child has to love Rudolph!”

“Yes sir,” Robert agreed. “I’ll spend the whole weekend at the zoo with Denver, if that’s what we have to do!”

“Come on Barbara, we’re off to the zoo, so we can make some drawings of the deer,” Robert explained when Saturday morning rolled around. “We’re making drawings of Rudolph. You can even help color his nose!”

“See you later tonight,” his wife coughed. “Have a great day together. I’ll miss you. Wish I could come.”

For most of the afternoon, Robert held Barbara on top of his shoulders, as Denver sketched the first Rudolph. Barbara filled in Rudolph’s nose with a red crayon.

“Oh, I wish that deer would turn his head,” Denver pleaded. “Look this way!”

“Merry Christmas!” Barbara called, as the reindeer looked right at her.

The next week, Robert sat at his desk, scribbling on pads of paper and throwing them in the trash can.

As he stared out the window, he could not see through a thick fog from Lake Michigan.

“I’ve got it!” he concluded. “Rudolph’s nose can shine like a spotlight through the fog on Christmas Eve, so Santa can make his deliveries.”

When the phone rang, and Robert heard his wife’s mother on the line, he felt sick to his stomach.

“Robert, you need to come to the hospital right away,” his mother-n-law insisted, crying. “Evelyn just died. I can hardly believe it.”

“How am I going to tell Barbara that her mother has passed away?” he sobbed. “I’m on my way to the hospital.”

When he laid eyes on his daughter in a hospital waiting room chair, she cried and cried and collapsed in his arms, kicking and yelling.

“It’s going to be all right,” Robert assured. “Do you want to hear about Rudolph? The story is almost finished.”

“No, I don’t want to hear about Rudolph,” Barbara blamed him. “He’s not real. He’s just a stupid reindeer.”

“Well, Rudolph is about as real as I can get right now,” Robert cried with tears, hugging his daughter. “I love you, dear.”

“I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings,” Barbara apologized. “I love you. I love Mom, too.”

After his wife’s funeral at Saint Joseph Cemetery in River Grove of Cook County, Illinois, Mr. Avery insisted that Robert didn’t have to finish the Rudolph poem, if he wasn’t up to it. Instead, he sent flowers to the apartment.

“Look, you can take a couple weeks off,” Mr. Avery communicated by phone. “Forget about Rudolph for a while.”

“Thanks, but I think it’s wiser that I finish the story,” Robert insisted on the telephone. “I need Rudolph.”

“If you think so,” his boss stammered. “I know it’s a really hard time for you, and I don’t want you to feel stressed.”

“It’s fun for me, actually,” Robert rambled. “It keeps my mind on other things, and Barbara likes the story, I think.”

After a few more weeks of writing, Robert burst through his apartment door one evening to find Barbara eating dinner with her mother’s parents.

“I finished the story about Rudolph!” Robert exclaimed, hanging up his coat.

He pulled up a chair to the table, reading the draft aloud, explaining that Santa Claus would have never made it on his annual trip around the world on Christmas Eve without Rudolph’s very shiny nose, due to foggy weather conditions.

All the other reindeer, like Dasher, Dancer, Prancer, and Vixen, who used to laugh and call Rudolph names, are now in awe of their youngest brother who helps to save Christmas because Rudolph leads the sleigh through the sky.

“That’s great, Dad,” Barbara cheered. “I wish Rudolph was real, and I could meet him. Mom would be so happy.”

“You never know how something that was once a great shame can be turned into a miracle,” Robert announced.

“If you say so, Dad,” Barbara agreed quietly, jumping on his lap. “How are the pictures of Rudolph coming?”

“We’re working on it,” Robert explained, showing her the latest sketches. “The book should be out for Christmas.”

“Well, if nobody else likes the story, I like it,” Barbara encouraged him. “It’s my favorite Christmas story ever!”

By Christmas, 2.4 million copies of the poem were distributed to Montgomery Ward shoppers to great success.

“To think that people used to laugh and call Rudolph all kinds of names,” Robert chuckled to himself. “That’s not happening anymore!”

By 1947, after Montgomery Ward gave Robert the rights to his story, Maxton Publishers, a small New York publishing company, printed a copy of the Rudolph book, and it was a best seller.

Even Robert’s brother-in-law named Johnny Marks adapted the story into a famous song called “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,” causing animated television specials, postage stamps, stuffed animals, comic books, games, and all kinds of memorabilia.

“What would Christmas be without Rudolph?” Robert asked himself every year for many decades. “Rudolph is almost as important as Santa Claus. I think his nose made the world a little brighter after all.”

https://soundcloud.com/jen-waters/shiny-nose

The Christmas Woodcutter: A Christmas Folktale from France

On a dark Christmas Eve long ago, a little boy knocked on a cottage door in the snowy woods. Looking out the window, Marie thought the boy had lost his way. Since he was so young, a family member must surely be searching for him. Fourcès was a small village in France, and someone must be able to help him find his way home.

“Can I please come inside?” cried the little child freezing in the sharp cold. He peered through the frosted kitchen window of the home of the poor woodcutter.

“Come sit by the fire,” said Valentine, the woodcutter’s only son, as he opened the cottage door. The flames crackled in the night. “It’s Christmas Eve, and you can’t be alone!”

“Oh, you poor thing!” said Marie, the woodcutter’s younger daughter, gently brushing snow from his cheeks. “You must be freezing!”

His cheeks were rosy, and his lips were bright pink. She looked deep into his eyes as if to catch a bit of his soul. She found the boy curious and brave.

The wooden floorboards creaked as the little boy entered the cottage.

Then, the wife of the woodcutter warmed the last of their supper stew for the boy. The scent of thyme and rosemary filled the home. It only had vegetables in it, and the boy could have probably used some meat, but it was the only food that the family had to share. The mother also gave him a warm cup of tea.

Sitting on the wooden side table was a bûche de Noël, set aside for Christmas dinner. Marie watched her mother make the Yule log cake earlier in the day. She was looking forward to eating the special treat filled with chocolate and buttercream.

Ten-year-old Marie knew that her parents did the best they could to provide for her and her brother. She was always happy when there was extra money for sweets and cakes. At age 12, Valentine was growing up so fast. He grew taller every day.

“Thank you, kind people,” the little boy whispered. He nibbled on day-old bread from their table. Marie wished that she had butter to give him. “I am far from home,” he said.

“So, what are you doing so far from home?” the mother asked. “Were you visiting your grandparents?”

“I’ve been on a journey. I know where I’m going,” the boy said. “It’s been lonely, but I’ve had angels with me.”

Marie looked at her mother, who didn’t seem to know what to say.

“I like to go on walks through the woods, too,” Marie said. “I would have felt scared if I got lost, but don’t worry. We’ll find your family somehow.”

Then, the woodcutter walked into the kitchen and noticed the young boy with a surprised look. All day, the woodcutter had been working in his workshop attached to the house. Sales were up, so he had been quite busy. He made the best wooden creations in town by hand: everything from tables, chairs, chests, bedframes, candlesticks, and more.

“Aren’t your family missing you, young man?” the woodcutter said with concern. “It’s too late to go looking for them tonight. Maybe they will find you tomorrow.”

“Papa, we saw him through the window, and he looked so cold,” Marie said.

“He doesn’t seem to know much about where his family is or why he is lost,” the mother said. “He might be too young to understand what we are asking.”

“Well, we must pray for his safe return,” the woodcutter insisted. “Now gather around the table for evening devotions. Usually, we would attend midnight Mass tonight, but it’s too much of an undertaking with our special visitor.”

Marie always looked forward to nighttime prayer, especially during the holidays. She felt warm in her heart when she heard her father pray for their family.

“Dear Heavenly Father, please bless this young boy, and lead us to his family,” the woodcutter prayed. “We ask for his safe return at Christmas. In Your Name, Amen.”

Then, Marie held hands with her brother and the young boy as her father read the scriptures. She always liked to hear the stories of faith and courage in the Bible.

“Come, all you who are thirsty, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy, and eat! Come, buy wine and milk without money and without cost,” the father read from Isaiah 55 by candlelight.

The mother poured the last of their milk from the icebox for the young boy. Marie hoped the family cows would give more milk in the dawn.

“Let’s join in a round of ‘Silent Night,’” the mother suggested. She quietly sang the first verse of the carol. The rest of the family joined in with harmonies.

As the family and little child finished the carol, the father cheered: “Christmas Day is tomorrow! Now time for bed.”

Marie knew that her father and mother had saved money all year for the candies and treats the children would find in their stockings over the fireplace in the morning. The woodcutter had also carved each of them special toys.

“You can sleep in my bed tonight,” Marie said to the little child. “I will sleep on the kitchen bench instead.”

“How very sweet,” the child agreed. “You are so kind.”

“Our father made the bedframes and benches,” Valentine bragged. “He made all the woodwork. It’s so beautiful!”

“Thank you,” the little child said. He crawled into Marie’s bed beneath a soft, hand-stitched quilt, its raised patterns warm against the winter chill.

As the family settled into their beds, Marie tried to sleep on the hard bench with one pillow and a blanket.

“This definitely isn’t like sleeping in my bed,” Marie said. “I will hardly get any sleep at all . . .”

Unable to fall asleep, she watched the snow out the window with a star shooting into the distant night sky. She finally drifted to sleep.

Hours later, she was awakened by faint music floating through the walls.

The cottage felt different—warmer, somehow, as though lit from within by something more than firelight. Not a dream, Marie thought. The bench was so hard that she was sure she was awake. She sat up.

“Is that singing with harps?” Marie asked. “Who is singing?”

Valentine slipped into the kitchen to peer through the window. The children realized they were visited by angels. Their large wings and halos glistened as they floated in the night sky.

“Angels! Dressed in silver robes with golden harps and lutes,” Marie whispered to Valentine as her heart leapt.

While the cherubim and seraphim sang, a group of child-like angels gathered beside them in silver robes. Then, Marie and Valentine turned to see the little child standing next to them in a golden robe and crown. Light glowed all around him.

“Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy,” the little child announced. “I am the Christ Child, the one of whom the angels sing.”

He opened the front door of the poor woodcutter’s home in the breaking dawn to sing and dance with the angels. Amidst the excitement, the woodcutter hurried to the front porch with his rifle. His wife stood beside him in a robe with her hair in a handkerchief.

“What is going on?” the woodcutter yelled, stunned at the gathering in front of his home.

“They are angels, Papa,” Marie said to her father in awe. “The little boy that we took in is the Christ Child. Don’t be afraid!”

After a moment, the woodcutter and his wife fell to their knees in reverence.

The angels continued to sing and dance with the Christ Child on the early Christmas morning in the French countryside. Marie, Valentine, and their parents joined in the celebration. They made merry music with the angels’ harps and lutes.

Then, the Christ Child broke a main branch of a nearby fir tree from its trunk.

“I bless you with the bough of this fir tree. Let this tree be a symbol of eternal life and joy,” the Christ Child declared. He planted the bough in the ground. “It will be the first Christmas tree. May its branches shelter love, and its roots grow deep in faith.”

The fir branch burst forth into the sky and grew into a full fir tree, decorated with golden apples, silver nuts, and wooden toys. Then, the child who was also God disappeared into the early morning air.

“Glory to God,” the woodcutter called into the fields. “Who am I that you would choose me, a humble servant?”

Marie knew that her father was the kindest, most honest person in the village. He never cheated anyone from money. Once, someone overpaid him, and he gave them the money back without hesitation. He also always gave to people in need, even when he had very little.

Marie and Valentine took the gifts from the tree and delivered them to the other homes in the town. They kept a few of their favorite gifts for themselves. Marie knew she must always remember the visitation of the Christ Child. What if she had left him outside in the cold?

“We must never forget what just happened, even if no one believes us,” Marie told Valentine on their way home.

“No one may believe us,” Valentine said, “but that doesn’t make it any less real.”

“I know he is real,” Marie said, as she pinched herself. “I gave him my bed, and the bench was very hard for the night.”

To this day, children everywhere decorate Christmas trees in honor of the little child. They remember the faithfulness of the woodcutter and his family, who welcomed the Christ Child as a stranger and received him as one of their own.