In the coral kingdoms of the reef, one tiny creature runs the most important business under the sea: the cleaning station. Meet the Cleaner Shrimp, nature’s underwater negotiator. The deal is simple: predators promise not to eat them, and in return, the shrimp gets to climb right into their mouths, picking off parasites, dead skin, and leftover gunk like a five-star spa therapist with nerves of steel.
Their long antennae advertise their services like a neon sign flashing “Now accepting clients.” Sharks, moray eels, even gigantic groupers line up and patiently wait their turn. Break the deal, and the whole reef economy collapses.
This isn’t just mutualism, it’s survival by contract. And unlike most human deals, this one’s been honored for millions of years.
⚡️Original pen & ink illustration available now. Highest bidder wins (bidding in my Instagram Stories). 100% of proceeds go to @coral_org — home of the shrimp, the shark, and the delicate deals that keep our oceans alive. Postage covered by you. Bid here: https://www.instagram.com/s/aGlnaGxpZ2h0OjE4MDgxOTg1Mzg4MDU1ODYy?story_media_id=3746479190918214471&igsh=bm54Nm5uaXBjb3dh
What have you been working on?
Inktober arrives every year like a creative knock at the door, and this time I answered it. Not because I had everything planned, not because I felt ready, but because I knew I needed it. I needed something to pull me back into the rhythm of drawing every day, not for a deadline, not for a commission, but for the sheer act of remembering who I am when the ink is moving freely across the page. I made a decision: I would take each daily prompt and use it as a portal into the unknown world of uncommon animals, creatures that most people don’t even know exist, let alone care about. These wouldn’t just be random sketches. They would be seedlings for my next kids book, the next evolution of my Uncommon Animals of the Alphabet series, each page born out of the raw immediacy of the day’s challenge.
I didn’t expect a miracle. I expected resistance. Rusty lines, uncertainty, the old familiar self-doubt. But instead, something incredible happened. By day three, only three days in, I could feel my skills sharpening at a pace I hadn’t experienced in years. My lines had more confidence. My instincts kicked in before my brain had time to interfere. It was like the part of me that knows how to draw had just been waiting for permission to take control again. And then another thought emerged, a quiet but thrilling realisation: if this is what happens after three days… what will I be capable of after thirty-one? And even bigger, what if I committed to this level of daily practice all year, not just during Inktober? What if this wasn’t a challenge, but the beginning of a new way of living?
Each animal I draw is more than a subject; it’s a messenger. These animals are strange, magnificent, nearly mythical in their rarity. Axolotls that regenerate their own limbs. Cleaner shrimp that run underwater spa services. Tapirs that look like they wandered straight out of the Ice Age. They don’t dominate children’s books or movie franchises. They are the misfits of the natural world, the overlooked wonders, and I can’t shake the belief that if people could just see them, truly see them, they would care. So I decided every drawing would be auctioned, and every cent would go toward conservation efforts that are fighting to keep these creatures from slipping into oblivion. Ink becomes attention. Attention becomes support. A drawing becomes a lifeline.
Somewhere between the scratch of the pen and the steady focus required to ink every hair, every scale, every ripple of muscle and movement, something in me began to reawaken. I’m not just drawing animals. I’m remembering what I’m here to do. I’m building the next book in real time, page by page, while simultaneously sending real-world help to the animals themselves. It’s not just art. It’s purpose in motion. And I keep thinking: if committing to thirty-one days can do this, improve my skills, deepen my focus, reconnect me with my creative mission, then how far could I go if I never stopped? If Inktober is what happens when I show up daily for one month, maybe this is the proof I needed that drawing every single day isn’t just a good idea. It’s the way forward. It’s the path home.
Kids Book Illustrator Andy C Marshall 