Licking the Bear

from The Medieval Bestiary

As I was writing last Wednesday's blog post, an image popped into my head, the early modern folk belief that the she-bear gave birth during the winter to a formless lump, which she then licked into shape.

You can find references in Shakespeare: Richard, Duke of Gloucester, complains that Nature dared...

To disproportion me in every part,
Like to a chaos, or an unlick'd bear-whelp
That carries no impression like the dam.
And am I then a man to be beloved?
(H6/3, III.ii)

(Richard is, as always, a charming whiner.)

Bill's contemporary George Chapman used the image in his The Widow's Tears, assessing one character's half-ass plot to determine his wife's fidelity: "Nay, I think he has not licked his whelp into full shape yet."

And if you're really curious, go check out the Medieval Bestiary.

The point is that, like the bamboo, our bear cub is an appropriate metaphor for our work. We do not give birth to our work fully formed.  We too must "lick it into shape," bit by bit, ear by ear, cute little leg by little leg, stubby tail by tail. Nudge here, pull there, until finally we have a little bear to call our own.

All of which is to say: when you plop out that shapeless lump, there is no reason to despair.  Just lick that whelp into shape!