LuLu was a tiny mouse of a writer. She may have been quiet and little, but life for her was never dull. Everything she thought she might quite like to do, she did — including raising mouselets, writing stories, and growing ideas.
One day she put together a book she thought others may enjoy too. This book covered a nook within a niche of a market and she knew that big publishers would not be interested in it or her (she was such a little mouse, after all), so she decided to enter the world of publishing by herself.
The door to this world was sparkly and green, and it sprang open as soon as her paw tinkled the golden bell on the door. She stepped over the threshold and into a cathedralesque hall where she stood still for long moments and stared. The colours were magnificent; the decor, dazzling. A pizzicato harp-strum streamed into her right ear and out through her left. It took minutes for her eyes to adjust to the splendour and, when they did, she noticed two very large doors and many smaller ones leading from the main hall, on multiple levels.
Glowing wisps flitted between her and the doors, with high-pitched calls of ‘Choose me’ on their breath’s own breeze. While they all had opinions to loudly share, each had something to say about only one or two of the doors. Thus it became clear that the wisps would be of limited help. LuLu would need to forge her own path.
Then she noticed the door on the roof. It was instantly attractive, in spite (or perhaps because) of its difficult placement. Getting there was a simple task, once she’d stacked up a pile of chairs. And she kung fu fought her way past the weasel henchmen with ease. It soon became clear, however, that this path was modelled after an ancient endurance test for which she was not built.
She opened door after door after door, always finding a new, well-guarded door behind the last, occasionally slipping into trapdoors (twice), and being constantly presented with new bits of paper to read and sign. She was exhausted and, it seemed, no closer to her goal. She shuffled, round-shouldered, back to the main hall, whose harp noise had grown tinny.
She approached the biggest door with some trepidation. It had been right in front of her from the start and she had learned to be wary of objects placed in her direct path…but this door, and most of the other doors she opened after that, revealed rooms that were easy to explore. She began to filter the wisps’ messages, and also learned to leave any doors that were stuck or guarded well alone. Thus she discovered that the easiest route was the best for her, in this world at least.
When she emerged from this place that was no longer strange, she hugged her mouselets tight and used her unique experiences to guide others through that same mire.
To this day, she provides these services and more — under the name of LuLu was a mouse, even though LuLu’s not so little or mousy anymore.
LuLu was a mouse. Wonderful words. Ravishing tales.