Whatever is happening? I must have left the front door open at The House of Stories and it's full of visitors. Find a seat and I'll tell you about the first Mistmantle otter.
It was, I think, thirteen years ago and I'd begun to think about Mistmantle. I knew squirrels lived there, and I wanted a few other animals too. Hedgehogs I was sure about, and I'd pretty well made up my mind about the moles, but I wasn't sure about otters. They're bigger than the others.
It was autumn, and the evenings were growing long and dark. In North Yorkshire there is a very beautiful ruined abbey called Fountains. It started off with a few monks huddling against the cold all winter, but then they got an injection of money from somewhere, did some serious building, and found out about sheep farming. It became one of the biggest and most prosperous abbeys in the country until Henry VIII got in the way. Now, it's a vast and impressive ruin run by the National Trust. On weekend evenings in autumn they floodlight it and play monastic plainchant as visitors stroll about. It's magical.
I was in that 'otter or not-an-otter' stage one Saturday evening in autumn when Tony and I were wandering about Fountains. There's an old mill house and a stone bridge, and we walked away from the monastic buildings to stand on the bridge and look down at the river as it wiggled away over the stones.
Something was moving in the water, something long and big, just under the surface. I wanted it to be an otter, but it couldn't be, couldn't possibly be, because in those days otters were rarely seen in Yorkshire rivers. I could tell from the way he watched that Tony wanted it to be an otter, too.
"It can't be," I said. "It's a pike."
Tony wasn't sure, and as the creature slid under the bridge we dashed to the other side to watch like a couple of kids playing Pooh Sticks. The thing that couldn't possibly be an otter swam to the bank, scrambled out, shook itself dry and lolloped away. OK, I thought. I get it. Within a week Padra had made up his own name and walked into the book, wearing his sword, circlet, and captaincy lightly, and giving that reassuring feeling that as long as he's there, it'll be all right.
The next year we saw another otter, or possibly the same one, in the same place. By then, Mistmantle was on its way to publication. And though I've seen many otters since in animal sanctuaries and such, I've never again seen one in the wild.
7 comments:
lucky you.:)
Did Padra's name just come to you? Or dud you have to think about it?
Hello, Margaret!
Wow, I can't imagine how beautiful and fascinating it must have been to see an otter in the wild, even if it was only for a moment :) Unfortunately; I can't say I've had the same experience, but living on the east coast of the US; we DO have otters here as well.
Thirteen years ago, hard to believe it was such a long time ago now; isn't it? :/ to think, I wouldn't quite have been six years old in the fall of 2002, thirteen years ago. Time is such a mysterious thing, isn't it?
Also, Margaret, I emailed you on Friday and look forward to your reply whenever you can answer :)
Agreed, time is mysterious...
Ah, and a good thing you saw that otter too! There's no one like Padra--and no one like Fingal either, for that matter! Mistmantle wouldn't be the same without otters.
I've heard that otters are making a comeback in Nebraska--where I live. They were once "locally extinct", or whatever you call it, but now there have been sightings of them! I probably won't see one, though. They're still pretty rare.
As for time--whenever I think the simple tautology "now is now and then was then", my mind is blown! Just the fact of moments past, and the current moment, and more moments ahead...I can hardly think about it, it's so strange. Yet so familiar!
Hi, Margaret!
Oh man, I'm really sorry about not responding to your follow-up comment on Apple's post a while ago; I just checked back into the site (this time at a reasonable hour in the night) and I enjoyed this little tidbit about how otters arrived on the island.
And to answer your question, yes, I am majoring in Writing at school. Not sure where I'm going to apply it yet - journalism and the media is sort of out-of-whack these days and I'd hate having deadlines, so perhaps I could just hope on getting published someday or be willing to generate pieces for other people. One of my English teachers pointed out that I'm a more of a "tell, not show" writer, but I still haven't figured out what I should do with that advice. Cookbooks, maybe...?
Lastly, sorry for having such an odd pseudonym; should probably come up with a less peculiar one...!
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Sam, he just turned up with his name. It's always a good sign. Foxglove and Song, do you know your Dr Who? It's wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey.
Command Fire - good luck! As to telling or showing - and 'show don't tell' is something writers keep reminding themselves - that's all part of what you're going to college to work at, and so is finding what direction you want to take. Make sure you have another employable skill of some sort, because it takes a while before you can make a living out of writing.
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