Journey to the Ink Planet

⏱ ~5 min reading

In a far, far corner of the universe, where even the fastest comets can't reach, there is a special planet. You can't see it with an ordinary telescope. On star maps it is sometimes marked with a small black dot - and people think it is just a speck of paper. And that is what it is.

It's called the Ink Planet.

Everything there is like something out of a fairy tale.

The trees on it grow from paper. Thin, rustling, with leaves that smell like a fresh notebook. If you lightly run your finger over such a leaf, words will appear on it. Sometimes a poem. Sometimes a recipe. Sometimes a letter from someone very kind whom you haven't seen for a long time.

The rain there is inky. It falls slowly, in drops, as if someone were carefully shaking a maple pen. Each droplet, falling on the paper, leaves a small mark. You can hold out your hand, and a small word will appear on it. Some of it is yours. Maybe your name. Maybe the name of someone you love.

And instead of birds, letters fly there.

The big gentle A flutters over the meadows like a mother swan. The little cheerful i-i-i squeak in the grass like kittens. The stern B walks and shouts at the mischievous letters. The lively J buzzes like a real beetle. They have a whole flying company there.

When the sun rises in the morning on the Ink Planet — and it is also special for them, round and orange, like an orange flashlight — the letters sit on the branches of the paper trees and begin to sing. Not with their voices — but with their very appearance. They are composed into words. Words — into sentences. Sentences — into poems. And now, in the morning sky, a whole fairy tale is read.

People don't live there. That is, they live — but not like we do. Characters live there. The Little Match Girl — in a house by the river. The Little Fox Sister — in a hole under the root of a paper oak. The Old Sea Tsarenko — in an ink pond. All fairy-tale characters have their own homes there. And all of them are kind to guests.

But how to get there?

Oh, that's the most interesting thing.

You can't build a ship there. There won't be enough rockets. The fastest plane won't get there. But there is another way. The shortest and most famous. It's in every home. In every library. In every backpack.

This is a book.

Every book you pick up is a little doorway to the Ink Planet. Just open it and you're there. Not alone - with the heroes. Sometimes for a minute. Sometimes for a whole day. Sometimes for an entire childhood.

If you've ever been reading a book and suddenly noticed that everything around you has become very quiet. That your mother is calling you to dinner, and you don't hear her. That the sun has already set, and you haven't even noticed. That means one thing: you were there. On the Ink Planet. Among the paper trees. Under the ink rain.

And there is a second way. A little bolder.

You can't just come there - you can be the host there. If you make up your own story.

Once on the Ink Planet with a pen in your hand, you can write simply in the air. Words don't fall. They hang in front of you like little colorful butterflies. The letters obey you. You put a period - and the event quietly ended. You put an exclamation point - and your hero suddenly became strong, confident, brave. You put three periods - and a secret appears in the story, as quiet as a whisper.

Children who fall in love with books sooner or later begin to dream of visiting the Ink Planet. First as guests. Then as scribes.

Here is little Olesya - she first read. She lay with a book on the sofa under a blanket, with a mug of warm milk next to her. She read, read, read. And then one evening she thought: "What if I came up with a fairy tale myself?"«

She took the notebook. She took the pen. She sat down at the table by the window.

The first word was scary. It waited a long time for the tip of the pen. Then it dared. It was put on paper.

And then the second. And the third.

When Olesya was writing, she didn't notice how a small paper tree grew around her table. How a rain of ink dripped softly over the notebook. How a chubby O fluttered over the lamp and sat on the lampshade.

She didn't see it. Because she was there.

When Mom came in to say good night, there was a small notebook on the table. Five pages. A fairy tale about an owl who was afraid of the dark. Mom read it. She smiled. She kissed Olesya on the bangs.

"You know, daughter," she said quietly, "it seems like you've already been there.".

Olesya smiled and fell asleep.

This is how everyone who writes lives. Young and old. Writers in large offices, schoolchildren at the corner of their desks, grandmothers writing a lullaby for their grandchildren in a notebook. They are all inhabitants of the Ink Planet. For half an hour. For the night. For life.

So if you ever feel like space is too far away, that rockets are too expensive, that you can't get to other planets — don't be sad. You have something better. You have a bookcase. And a notebook. And a pen.

A few simple steps are enough.

Open a book and you travel. Open a notebook and you create. Put a period and the event is over. Put an exclamation point and you are suddenly strong.

The world of words exists. It is quiet, gentle, with the rustle of paper and the smell of a new book. It is waiting for you.

All you need is a pen. And the courage to start.

And the first word is always a little scary. But once you write it down, it will become your friend forever. And it will lead you on.

To the paper trees. To the ink rain. To the letter-birds that sing in the morning.

To your own fairy tale.