Hello, everyone, this is Rhea with a quick note.
This is a preview of an episode exclusive to Little Stories Premium.
Little Stories Premium gives you more of the stories you love, an ad -free listening experience, and access to Little Stories for Sleep, an exclusive on a bedtime playlist.
Subscribe or purchase a gift subscription by visiting LittleStoriespremium .com.
Now on to the show.
This is Rhea. Welcome to Little Stories for Tiny People.
I was recently in the middle of editing a draft of a story, crossing out entire paragraphs, scrolling big question marks next to passages that made absolutely no sense when a question struck me between the eyes or between the ears.
Anyway, it would not leave me this question and eventually it became so insistent that I couldn't possibly focus on the draft on my desk.
I took the papers and threw them out the window.
What was this pressing question, you ask?
What has Mr. Beetle been up to?
I immediately sat down on my hard metal stool and began drafting this story.
Let's hear it. It's called Old Mr.
Beetle's Night Off.
Take it away, Carter.
Remember, there are no pictures.
You have to imagine them in your mind.
You can imagine them however you want.
Okay, here we go. It was a warm Tuesday evening in summer.
The sky was a blue lavender and the stars were twinkling gems.
Old Mr. Beetle, a respected boot maker turned a late in life storyteller, was having tea with his faithful assistant, Gwen, on their usual branch.
It was one of the most beautiful evenings the tree had seen in months, maybe even the whole year, but Mr.
Beetle wasn't focused on that.
Gwen, can you believe the unruliness of last week's storytime audience?
I could barely hear myself think.
Thinking is necessary for storytelling, Gwen.
They did seem rather animated, Gwen murmured.
They were downright boisterous.
Gwen took a sip of her tea.
None of these young bugs seem to appreciate the challenge of inventing new stories each and every week.
Hmm. I have no idea what story I will tell tomorrow night.
All this boisterousness has hindered my creative flow.
I'm running out of plots, Gwen.
I see. What if tomorrow's crowd is as rowdy as last week's?
I didn't become a storyteller to… Maybe you should take a night off, Gwen offered.
Mr. Beetle's eyes went wide behind his spectacles.
He set down his tea a bit too roughly.
A night off? Perhaps you need a break from your weekly storytimes.
After all, you don't want the quality of your storytelling to diminish due to your frustration with your fans.
Won't this upset my adoring fans?
Mr. Beetle grimaced at the thought.
On the contrary, I believe it will buttress their admiration for your work.
Buttress? It will highlight the rarity with which you take vacations.
Mr. Beetle was quiet for a moment, his expression serious.
Then a grin crept across his face.
Gwen, you've convinced me.
I'm lucky to have you.
The two Beatles clinked their teacups together.
The following afternoon, Mr.
Beetle and Gwen traveled up to the 25th branch in order to post the sign announcing there would be no storytime that evening.
This is a tremendous idea, Gwen, Mr.
Beetle said as Gwen pulled a poster board and some paint set of a knapsack.
This night off is going to do me good.
Surely it will. I'll be completely.
Mr. Beetle went silent as a young bug scurried onto the 25th branch and took a seat near the little stage where Mr.
Beetle performed his usual Wednesday night stories.
Gwen? Yes. Gwen, do you see that young bug?
I suppose he decided to be punctual in order to get a good seat.
Punctual? If I were to tell a story this evening, it wouldn't begin for another two hours.
Some bugs consider being early to be on time.
At this, Mr. Beetle, Hrumphed.
Hrumphed. He watched as the young bug opened a comic book and settled in to read.
It was another lovely summer day on the tree.
The late afternoon sun was warm but not blazing hot.
There was the slightest breeze that made the broad green leaves dance.
But Mr. Beetle didn't focus on any of that.
Gwen, he said in a loud whisper, do you think I'm doing the right thing?
Perhaps I made this decision too hastily.
Hmm, Gwen murmured.
She held the poster board up against the tree trunk, trying to find the best place for it.
I think I'll postpone my night off, just for a few weeks.
Give everyone more notice.
Mr. Beetle nodded and smiled to himself.
Yes, that's the way to go.
Without turning around, Gwen said, well, I'd hate for you to tell a story without musical accompaniment.
Mr. Beetle's smile faded.
What do you mean, Gwen?
What do you mean without musical accompaniment?
Won't you be here to work the music player?
Well, Gwen said, finally turning to face him with a solemn expression.
I have plans. Plans?
Mr. Beetle saw the young bug by the stage startle and swivel to glance over.
Plans, Gwen? It's Wednesday evening.
How can you possibly have plans?
I wouldn't normally have Wednesday night plans, but after we decided to take the night off, I made plans.
Mr. Beetle's right eye, twitched.
You mean to say that the second you were freed from the burden of tonight's story time, you skittered off to make plans for yourself?
I wouldn't phrase it that way, but yes.
Mr. Beetle was flummoxed.
He could scarcely begin to process this shocking information, and he could scarcely imagine carrying on with Wednesday night's story time without Gwen at the music player.
With a final frustrated glance at the young bug casually reading a comic book, Mr.
Beetle harrumphed, grabbed the poster board from Gwen and tacked it to the tree with a mallet.
He grabbed the paints and scrawled, due to surprising, distressing, and unforeseen circumstances, Mr.
Beetle's story time is Mr.
Beetle stopped short.
He'd written the words, so large that there was only a tiny space left on the poster.
He proceeded to write, canceled and will resume next week, in letters so small they were barely visible.
The young bugs would likely need a magnifying glass to read them.
Gwen watched all of this with a mix of fascination and befuddlement.
When Mr. Beetle finished the job, he turned to her.
Gwen, I am puzzled by the speed at which you've raced off to make these plans of yours.
That said, I feel it is my duty to accompany you.
Gwen stared into the late afternoon sky with a thoughtful expression.
I suppose if we get there early, you may be able to purchase a ticket at the door.
Perfect, Gwen, just perfect.
Gwen? Yes? Where are we off to?
Welcome, everyone. I'm your host, Gregor McBeetlesmith, and this is Forest Game Show.
There is so much more to this story.
You can hear the full episode by becoming a Little Stories Premium subscriber.
Visit littlestoriespremium .com to join.
And thank you, as always, for listening in.
