The Too-Crowded House

I wrote 'The Too-Crowded House' about two years ago. 

 

The formal writing came after I had illustrated it, and for a long time I had a lot of strange characters saying silly things to each other in my head. The troll made me laugh most of all, and I still get a bit of a giggle when I think about him clutching stinking socks.

 

Mr Spottles remains the archetype for all of my cat characters, and I have popped heart markings on almost all of my animals since as a little tribute to him. 

 

The stars were particularly special to me too; the first picture I ever put on my shop was 'The Grumpy Star' and she is, of course, what inspired me to name my shop Grumpy Star Studio.  

For one reason or another, I never did manage to get it published (and no, I am not at all interested in self-publishing). All the same, it is a story that was very dear to me when I wrote it and I thought it time I shared it somewhere. 

 

The pictures are just four of my favourites from the story, and you can find them on my Etsy and market shops. 

Enjoy x

“The Too-Crowded House” by Mel Macklin

It started as an ordinary morning. The moon, the stars, Mr Spottles and Camille were all sound asleep. Most mornings did start like this. Of course, this particular morning was Camille’s birthday. But for now, her bed was warm and snuggly and the perfect place to dream about the wonderful things she would do to celebrate.

 

 

Mr Spottles would have preferred to continue his catnap. Still, he thought Camille would want to know about the nasty burning smell coming from the kitchen.

Camille and Mr Spottles blinked their eyes. They did not often find witches in their kitchen.

“What are you doing?” asked Camille.

“We’re practicing our baking and potion-making,” said one witch, peering into a bowl she was holding over her head. “Our exams are tomorrow.”

“But it’s my kitchen,” said Camille.

“Never said it wasn’t,” replied another witch as she stirred something in Camille’s best bowl.

“It’s burnt!” cried the smallest witch, pulling a batch of blackened cupcakes from the oven. “I can’t concentrate! I’ll never pass my exams! It’s too crowded in here!”

For several good reasons, Camille thought it was time to leave the kitchen.

 

 

Camille padded to the bathroom to rinse her eyes. She was seeing odd things this morning and must not be well. Healthy people did not see witches in their kitchen. They especially did not see octopuses brushing their teeth in the bathroom sink.

“Go away!” wailed the mermaid in the bathtub. “I have a horrible squishy spot and you’re crowding it!”

Worse than the mermaid’s spot was the smell coming from the laundry. The troll jumped when he sensed Camille standing in the doorway.

“Um,” said the troll, looking very embarrassed.

“Yes?” said Camille, looking quite annoyed.

“I’m washing my socks . . .” said the troll.

“And?” asked Camille.

“It’s feeling very crowded with you standing there wrinkling your nose.”

“Humph!” said Camille as she stomped off, her nose in the air.

There was a glow in the sunroom, not just from the light streaming through the windows, but from the seven sleeping stars curled up in armchairs and snoring softly. They were very beautiful.

Camille stood in the doorway and stared until one of the stars woke up:

“What are you looking at?” she asked in a voice like silver.

“We fell in a star-shower and need to recharge our solar batteries to get back home.”

“Oh” said Camille, still dazzled.

“Now, if you don’t mind,” continued the star with a pretty little frown, “I’d rather you didn’t crowd us so.”

Camille took a deep breath at the top of her garden stairs. None of her other birthdays had been quite this mad. She gave up hoping things might return to normal when she saw a giant snail looking up at her.

“Hullo?” called a tinkly voice, belonging, Camille noticed, to a girl with very large goggles on her head. “Lots of snail stair-racing practice to do before the world final next week. Makes it a bit crowded with you just standing around gawping.”

Camille hurried down the steps into what used to be her garden. Little gnomes here and there were painting and planting red mushrooms. Camille’s garden had become a miniature mushroom city.

Camille realised there was no room left for her anywhere.

“It’s too crowded here!”

Everything was very quiet. Tears trickled down Camille’s cheeks in the evening sunshine. She wished her birthday had been as wonderful as she had dreamed only that morning. At the very least, she wished she had someone to share a bit of cake with. But everyone had forgotten it was Camille’s birthday.

“It’s lonely here,” she sniffled very softly, so only Mr Spottles could hear.

“SURPRISE!” cried the stars.

“SURPRISE!” cheered the gnomes.

“SURPRISE!” laughed the witches.

“SURPRISE!” smiled the troll.

“SURPRISE!” burbled the octopus.

“SURPRISE!” tootled the snail.

“SURPRISE!” tinkled his rider.

“SURPRISE!” neighed the unicorn.

“SURPRISE!” giggled the mermaid.

“Surprise Camille,” purred Mr Spottles.

“I thought for a while you might have guessed what was going on. The problem was that I’d invited so many people and I’m afraid our little house did get a bit crowded!”

Under the moon and the stars, her belly full of cake and tea, Camille fell asleep.

And her heart, like her house, was crowded- with love.

 

 

for the love of butter

We all have vices. Anyone who says they don't is either telling porky-pies of epic proportions or else dangerously deluded.

I've kicked my smoking habit more times than I care to remember, and a month ago for the last time. I have pretty much substituted this filthy habit with an addiction for gallons of tea, which isn't so bad except I drink way too much coffee as it is and am so immune to caffeine I can fall asleep half an hour after a cup of the stuff at midnight (I honestly do just love the taste and smell of it). Dave is an excellent cook and I've been known to polish off an entire cheesecake, unaided, in a weekend. This is basically my sole reason for a gym membership and running habit. It's a dirty vicious cycle.

Most vices answer to a kind of need I think, and some of us (me) just have addictive personalities. But there are some that fly their own little freak flag; dorky vices, not really malignant but that raise their weird little heads in public situations (or, as the case may be, on a blog) to make us blush and raise the eyebrows of those who love us best.

So I'll just come out with it: I love butter. I smother the most disgusting amount of the stuff on anything more solid than butter. I eat butter with crumpets on the side. Plonk a bucket of it on a mountain of pumpkin mash and I'm yours. It's an absolutely necessary ingredient for shortbread, which is incidentally, the perfect accompaniment to my tenth daily cup of tea. It smells amazing when it gets warm and melty. When my metabolism slows down and I need the help of two fat blokes and a winch to get me out of my chair, it will be for the love of butter!

Lewis Carroll very famously used the irony of the word 'butterfly' to brilliant effect in 'Through the Looking-Glass and What Alice Found There', creating insects made from slabs of buttered toast, who live on weak tea with cream. This sort of butterfly would be wonderful I think, but I'd have to snatch a fair few of them to slake my butter-thirst! I wanted my own to be bigger and nice and drippy; kind of like a flying breakfast.

'brown-bread-and-buttered-flies' is available now in my Etsy Shop for you to gaze on while you munch thoughtfully on your breakfast. And, unlike real butter, this picture is calorie-free.

Blessed be those who love butter!

Mel x

time for rabbit-tea

Hullo poppets!

If you haven't already perused my 'exhibitions' page, chances are you missed this little series. I drew these last year to submit to the Illustrators Exhibition at the Bologna Children's Book Fair. Of course, competition is stiff, so like 2,000 other hopeful illustrators, mine didn't make it this year. After so many rejections, the Capricorn in me has reared it's sadistic little head and I have kept my promise to myself that I will enter every year until I can get in there- even if I'm old and grey!

Anyways, enough of that, here's the little story to accompany 'Time for Rabbit-Tea':

For better or worse, I work best after 4pm. It’s funny; after so many years working jobs that forced me into the habits of an early bird, my brain still refuses to work before midday. Early-morning starts coinciding with a shortage of coffee are so much the worse for everyone in the house!

 If I’m working on a very detailed painting, a large body of work or thinking a lot about the pace and flow of a storyboard, I find myself getting very tired after a few hours. Napping in the afternoon is the only way I can switch my brain off.

 Of course, it’s not really natural to sleep like this. Humans have something like a 90-minute sleep cycle, which goes through the motions of R.E.M., then a deeper sleep and then that sort of shallower window when you can resurface and feel refreshed; your body’s natural time to wake and use the stored energy in a useful way. Alarms interrupt all of this and can leave you feeling, well, alarmed. When I finally acknowledge the snooze button I’ve already punched in a variety of inelegant ways particular to drunks and the sleep-deprived, it is dark outside. You wonder, for a moment, whether it’s morning or night and it dawns on you that it doesn’t matter anyway since sleeping most of the day has not helped tick things off that growing to-do list.

 ‘Time for Rabbit-Tea’ is about a mischievous rabbit and the mad things that happen inside your brain when time becomes fluid.  

Have an awesome day wherever your heart may roam.
♥ Mel