Once upon a time there was Pen. He fell in love with Paper. Paper, upon hearing his declaration of love, took a long steady look at Pen. She quickly realized they were meant to be together, forever.
Paper’s family did not approve.
Paper’s family could trace its roots back generations, reaching as far back as the beginning of time. The world was filled with trees, of many types, all of which Paper’s family claimed as kin. Paper’s family felt it was solid. Rooted. Had a rich history. Of the many relatives who disapproved of the union, the Elders were the most vicious in their attacks of Pen.
After all, who was this Pen? An impudent upstart. He couldn’t trace his lineage back generations. He was hard pressed to recall where he’d been manufactured. And he had been manufactured. (The Elders conveniently ignored the fact that as paper, they too had gone through a manufacturing process so intense it completely removed them from their original source.) Pen had the audacity to claim where he came from didn’t matter. Who he was and what he did was of import. Ha! The Elders believed they knew better.
Pen hadn’t come from the earth. At one time, long ago, Pen’s ancestors had been quills, which came from birds, who nested in trees. Some current relations of Pen could claim a connection with metal. (Metal didn’t have roots but at least it too came from the ground.) Had Pen claimed either kinship, the Elders would probably have accepted him. But Pen didn’t claim kinship. He didn’t care! He. Simply. Did. Not. Care!
The Elders were in a tizzy. The one who’d caught their darling Paper’s eye (and heart) was enveloped in plastic! It was too gauche for words. Trees and shrubs round the world would talk. How could the Elders hold their heads high?
They muttered amongst themselves about modern ink being a chemical hodgepodge and plastics being derived from petrochemicals. Even though oil came from the ground, the connection was too iffy. Attempts to create eco-friendly bioplastics were made mostly of cellulose and starch. That just wouldn’t do.
“After all,” the Elders reminded each other, “Paper is derived from trees.”
What was to be done about this obviously mismatched couple? How dare Pen make his moves on dear, sweet, innocent Paper? And move he did! Shamelessly.
It began with letters. Those then formed words. Words formed sentences, which led to paragraphs, and finally stories! Pen claimed Paper was his muse. His inspiration. His end all, be all.
But the upstart wouldn’t leave Paper alone!
Soon came circles. Then lines. Those were closely followed by dots, triangles, squiggles and squares. Before the Elders could say “All paper comes from trees” there were doodles everywhere.
Pen and Paper discovered they liked making doodles. They had fun practicing (and made sure they practiced a lot).
So while the Elders and Other Relatives tsk’d, were askance at the union, and complained about how the two flitted from words to doodles back to words again, Pen and Paper lived happily ever after, in joy and creativity.
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