“These are the chronicles of a writer and her stuffed bear…” So begins a blog post, in a galaxy far, far… well, actually, no, not far away at all. Right here, in fact. The chronicles of a writer—that’s me—and her stuffed bear—that’s Steve.
If you’ve been with us on this blog for a while, you’ll have encountered Steve quite a lot over the years. But it occurred to me that lately, he’s not been much in evidence. So I thought we could re-introduce him to our esteemed readership, and while we’re at it, give you—Ta-daa!—THE STORY OF STEVE.
The Story of Steve starts with Christmas quite a number of years ago. Truth be told, I’m not sure how many—it might have been 2007? “Nobody ever gives me any stuffed animals for presents!” I lamented. The eldest Offspring took it to heart. Enter: a small brown teddybear.
He was a Gund, and his tag said his name was “Aiden”. As anyone knows, when you adopt an animal, you rename him to properly make him part of your family (Louis the Cat was called “Sugar” at the SPCA. Yeah, no). So what to call this little brown guy? “Call him Steve,” the Offspring suggested, “because Steve’s a nice name!” That’s a quote from the movie Over the Hedge, in which the woodland animals are frightened by the sudden appearance of a hedge in their forest, and they decide to name it Steve in order to be less scared of it. For some reason that line is eminently quotable. So I laughed, and Steve it was. (The incriminating “Aiden” tag got removed in a labelectomy some years later.)
Steve spent the next couple of years hanging out on my bedside table. But his real rise to prominence came with my first ever blog post, August 1, 2010. I’d taken a course on how to blog, and the instructor said to never publish a post without a picture. So, I took a quick photo of Steve and stuck it in the post. “That’s Steve,” I said. “He’s better-looking than me, not to mention more photogenic, so he gets to have his picture in the blog first.”
Steve got popular quite quickly, being the designated cover model for the blog. He came along on coffee dates, he shoved in his oar on poetry and fairy tale studies, he wrote a blog post or two, he even acquired a Facebook page. (He claims I don’t let him on that page much, but, come on, when he has gone on he’s hardly posted anything.) He underwent a fashion makeover—from stylish bow to cosy knitted sweater—and he got several new friends in stuffed-animal-land .
He also came along on pretty much every trip I’ve been on in the last dozen years (except for the one where he was forgotten). He’s very portable, being so small and squishable. He’s been to writer’s conferences, family visits, sightseeing trips, weekend getaways, and once even a cruise; he’s seen Munich, London, Vancouver Island, Cambridge, and Stuttgart (mostly from the inside of my bag). I sometimes wonder what hotel housekeeping staff make of that small bear sitting next to my bed, and I live in dread of forgetting him someplace one of these days.
Steve writes poetry, but he’s never deigned to share it with me in a publishable format. He also has definite opinions on what stories I should write (they’re supposed to have bears in ‘em). Other than that, he’s a very restful roommate. At the moment, he’s hanging out with Molly the Plot Bunny on the bookshelf behind me in my study, keeping the print copies of my published books warm (he’s useful that way).
Steve has been a wonderful companion over these last few years. If you’ve ever considered inviting a stuffed bear into your life, do. I can highly recommend it.
So this, for today, was Life, the Universe, and the Story of Steve the Stuffed Bear. Stick around, you’ll see more of him. He’s that kind of bear.
