Story: Thick and Thin

The only thing suckier than public school is summer school—and the only thing that sucks more than that is getting stuck at school during the end of the world.

I still can’t decide which is worse: cafeteria food for the rest of my life, or being trapped in here with Fisher Vaughn.

“Hey,” he calls now, dribbling a basketball erratically down the hallway to catch up with me. “Tate. Wait up.”

I didn’t really plan to, but the middle schoolers with me stop for him, so I pause too. Washed out under the fluorescent lights, his sandy hair already overgrown even though we’ve only been barricaded in the school for three weeks now, he looks younger. Like a middle schooler himself, almost, except taller.

I can’t tell if that makes me want to be nicer to him or haul back and punch him in the gut, so I start walking again.

“We’re trying to get into Coach Parker’s room,” I say. “We thought office would have keys, but we couldn’t find any.”

“Coach Parker?” he asks, falling into step beside me. “Is he—”

“Not yet,” I say quickly, glancing at the seventh graders behind us. Coach Parker is Tally’s dad—which is the only reason she and her friend were in the high school in the first place, while he stopped by work—and nobody’s seen him since he left the school a couple weeks ago to look for other survivors.

Fisher frowns. “Then why...?”

“We think his cell phone charger might be in his classroom,” Tally says slowly.

Tally’s friend, Rebecca, nods. “If we could charge our phones, we could try to call our families.”

At that one, Fisher and I both hesitate. Somehow, no news on the family front has felt like good news, but I don’t know how to explain that.

After a second, Fisher shrugs. “The janitor would’ve had a ring of keys, right?”

They consider that, then take off for the janitor’s break room. It’s on the other side of the school, but if there’s one thing we’ve got, it’s time.

“They’ll get each other through all this,” he says after a minute. “Thick and thin, right?”

But it’s been a long time since those words have meant anything, so I just shrug.

***

The thing is, a long time ago, Fisher and I used to be best friends.

It started in elementary school, when we both got held in Ms. Kendrick’s class during recess. We lived down the street from each other, and we’d watch TV after school and play basketball at the concrete courts and build forts in the creek behind our street.

In fourth grade, we cut our palms and mixed blood to become blood-oath siblings. Our moms freaked out, but we didn’t care, because we’d read about it in a book and it seemed like the coolest thing ever.

But then we hit middle school, and it wasn’t cool for him to be friends with a girl anymore. In eighth grade, sure, but not sixth grade.

So hanging out turned into talking sometimes between classes, which turned into waving at each other in passing, which turned into the occasional nod, which eventually evolved into desperately avoiding eye contact in the hallways.

As far as I can tell, that system was pretty much thrown for a loop when the Fever swept through the country like a plague a few weeks ago, and our high school became our fortress.

Still, for Tally and Rebecca’s sake, I hope their definition of “through thick and thin” is a little bit different than Fisher’s.

***

A few days later, once the seniors are in on the phone-charger plan, Fisher and I are trying to help them take the doorknob off Coach Parker’s room when we hear it.

A girl screaming, from somewhere down the hall.

One of the seniors swears, but they’re busy setting their tools down, and Fisher and I are already sprinting towards the scream.

Rebecca’s knelt by Tally in the gym, reaching out like she wants to help her, but also like she’s afraid to touch her.

It’s not hard to see why.

Tally’s stretched out on the gym floor, writhing like she’s being electrocuted, face ashen and sweat-slicked.

Blood’s smeared down her face, pouring from her eyes. The way she’s clawing at her lower eyelids probably isn’t helping matters.

Part of me refuses to even approach someone with the Fever, but the rest of me realizes that at this point, it doesn’t matter.

If the Fever’s found a way into the sealed-off school, we’re all screwed anyways.

I drop down beside Tally and grab one of her arms, trying to pin her down. Fisher does the same. It’s barely a minute before some seniors scramble in and haul her away, probably to put her down like a dog.

But it feels like forever.

***

When I leave the gym, Fisher’s sitting in the hallway, staring up at the senior portrait panels lining the walls. His hands are still covered in blood.

“It’ll be okay,” he tells me, even though he looks like the one who needs to hear it.

I don’t leave, but I don’t sit, either. “Doubtful.”

For a minute, he’s quiet. Then, carefully, he says, “If I had to be stuck in here with anybody, I’m glad it’s you.”

But at this point, all that means is one of us eventually holding the other down as they writhe and bleed and burn, so I can’t exactly agree with him.

“Thick and thin?” he says.

I sigh. It’s been a long time since those words have meant anything—but sitting here under the senior portraits of people who are gone now, a dead girl’s blood all over my shirt, I don’t really care anymore.

“Thick and thin,” I say, slumping down against the wall beside him.

When he holds out his hand, I take it.

In this light, Tally’s blood fresh on our palms, our blood-oath scars look brand new.




Author's Note: This week, my story was inspired by "Iagoo, the Story-Teller." In that story, kids are gathered around their elder, a great storyteller. One of the girls hears the North Wind howling outside and worries that it will get inside and hurt them, but Iagoo assures her it won't, then tells them a story about the North Wind to reassure them. I liked the idea of a group of people bracing themselves against something outside coming to get them, and that's what I stuck with for my retelling.



Bibliography: American Indian Fairy Tales by W.T. Larned. Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook.

Image Credit: "Eckstein Middle School Hallway 02" by Joe Mabel. Source: Wikimedia Commons.


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Reading Notes: American Indian Fairy Tales, Part B

The Boy Who Snared the Sun

This time around, the storyteller begins a tale about the world back in the day, when "[i]n all the world there was just one small fire, watched by two old witches who let nobody come near it." But the old man goes on to add that Coyote eventually came along and stole some of the fire so people could cook with it. I like the idea of some kind of special fire or rare, mythical resource watched over by two or three old witches, and then somebody coming along trying to steal it, with no real indication on who's in the right on this—are the witches trying to hoard or protect it? Is the thief trying to play Robin Hood or help himself, hurt the witches? Who knows. Bit of both, I think, in the immortal words of Peter Quill.


The Boy Who Snared the Sun (Part II)

In this one, the line that caught my eye was when the brother asked his sister if they were really the only two people living in the world. I wouldn't want to go quite that route, but I like the idea of a small group of people tucked away in a remote part of the world—not a post-zombie apocalypse kind of thing, but maybe after some kind of disaster. Conflicts and camaraderie within a small, forced-together group are both more powerful for that isolation and the nature of being a small team, and they can lead to great stories, as shown by the episode "Ice" of The X-Files or 10 Cloverfield Lane. So I'd like to experiment a little bit with something like that.


The Boy Who Snared the Sun (Part III)

The way the storyteller stared into the flames of the fire as if "he saw pictures in the flames, and in the red coals, and...these pictures helped him to tell the story" was the first element to catch my eye. It makes me think of a pyrokinetic seer or something, some kind of fire whisperer, and I think that could be fun—a good chance to explore the potential fire has to help or to just completely, gleefully destroy. Sometimes both at the same time.

But the desperation of the rest of the animals to wake the Dormouse—and how practically impossible the task was—were also kind of inspiring. If I were to take that route, I think I'd go with a gender-swapped Sleeping Beauty, more action-adventure than fairy tale, in either a cyberpunk setting or a modern one that still involves spells and rituals and old magic.


How the Summer Came

With this one, I'm probably most inspired by the hunter character who can turn into animals. If I ended up using that for my weekly story, I'd probably go with a guy who's cursed, stuck in some nonhuman form most of the time, and the protagonist who's warily allied with him in the hopes of finding the one who cursed him—because that person's cursed her too. And though the guy's less physically vulnerable in this cursed state, when he does transform back into a person again (at night, or with a certain moon, or however we end up wanting to play this), those formerly minor wounds can cause some problems.


How the Summer Came (Part II)

This time around, I was intrigued by the way the people whispered about the rumors that the boundaries of what seemed like their entire world might just be the beginning of a different world. It makes me think of a group of people gathered together and trapped in a seemingly inescapable area, who eventually realise they can team up and fight their way out. If they work together for a change.

Besides that, I think a personified version of this Lightning they keep talking about could be pretty fun to experiment with, too.


How the Summer Came (Part III)

I really love the idea of a person turning into a constellation, especially with the element of tragedy this story managed to incorporate, which gave it more weight—but I'm not sure I'd be able to pull off anything all that poignant, character-wise, in this short of a story. That said, the scene where the group stayed the night at the other Manito's lodge seemed to have quite a bit of potential, too: especially the part where the protagonist noticed that the three-eyed Manito kept one eye open while he slept. Like I mentioned earlier, I like tropes where untrusting individuals are crammed together into a group whether they like it or not, and these two seemed to exemplify that kind of thing. So I may see what I could do with a setup inspired by that.


The Fairy Bride

From this story, I'm definitely most interested in the early section that describes the main character:

But she liked best of all to walk by herself in the forest, or to follow some dim trail that led to the heart of the little hills. Sometimes she would be absent for many hours and when she returned, her eyes had the look of one who has dwelt in secret places, and seen things strange and mysterious.... What was it that Neen-i-zu saw and heard, during these lonely walks in the secret places of the hills? Was it perhaps the fairies? She did not say.

I like the idea of a similarly distant character as the protagonist's sibling; maybe said sibling is always going on about things that aren't there and is afraid of stuff that can't be seen, and everyone else has come to accept that that's just how the kid is, but there's no real harm in it. Until the main character comes home and finds one of the monsters in their house—or better yet, that one of those monsters has not possessed her sibling, merged with it. The kid is the only one who would've known how to stop the thing—and now it's the only one who wouldn't want to. Your move, Protagonist.


The Fairy Bride (Part II)

The protagonist's eventual fairy groom, described as "[s]omething with the dim likeness of a youth...who glided rather than walked," reminded me a lot of one of Tolkien's elves. But I like how this association was subtle, more in description and mood than straight-out telling. Because I find stories about fey and elves appealing but also feel like they've been done to death recently, I'm interested in using a similar method to imply that connection, but avoiding the staleness that often comes with it. (Brenna Yovanoff does an excellent job with this in her books, for the record.) So we'll see where the elf/fey angle could lead in a story this length.




Bibliography: American Indian Fairy Tales by W.T. Larned. Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook.


Image Credit: "Gloomy Forest" by JovanCormac. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

Reading Notes: American Indian Fairy Tales, Part A

Iagoo, the Story-Teller

In this introduction, the storyteller and the children are huddled up in an igloo, and the North Wind howls wildly outside. One of the little girl worries that the Wind will get inside and hurt them, but the storyteller assures her it can't. I'd like to do something with that premise: the protagonist and a small group gathered inside some building or panic room, trying to defend against some antagonist or creature that's trying to get in. And ultimately failing, because that's when the fun stuff starts, plot-wise.


Shin-ge-bis Fools the North Wind

There's a great image in this story about Indian Summer—

Then, as the summer days grew shorter in the North, Sha-won-dasee would climb to the top of a hill, fill his great pipe, and sit there—dreaming and smoking. Hour after hour he sat and smoked, and the smoke, rising in the form of a vapor, filled the air with a soft haze until the hills and lakes seemed like the hills and lakes of dreamland. Not a breath of wind, not a cloud in the sky; a great peace and stillness over all. Nowhere else in the world was there anything so wonderful. It was Indian Summer.

 —and it makes me want to do a story about summer itself. When you're younger, summer is this time of infinite afternoons and magic, but as you get older, it slowly glazes over into nostalgia instead. I'd like to do a story related to that somehow: two friends at the close of one of their last summers, realizing it isn't how it should be and it'll never be that way again. Things change, Beast Boy.


Shin-ge-bis Fools the North Wind (Part II)

In this story, the part where the protagonist invited his enemy to join him at the fire was brief and pretty insincere, but it still caught my interest. I'm intrigued by the idea of the protagonist and her arch-rival being forced to survive something together or just attend the same event or dinner or something; the rivalry and antagonism would still be there, of course, because that's the fun part—but it'd be interesting to see how they simultaneously have to work together or at least play nice in a passive-egressive way. We'll see.


Little Boy and Girl in the Clouds

Before the storyteller begins explaining about the mountains, he sits staring into the fire, and for a long time, none of the kids feel comfortable interrupting him. When one girl finally does ask a question, the old man snaps out of his trance, "as if his mind had been away on a long journey into the past." This makes me think of doing some kind of scrying story, maybe to either unlock somebody from the past or help rescue them somehow, with all the dangers inherent in scrying (plus some kind of mind monsters or something) to spice things up.


Little Boy and Girl in the Clouds (Part II)

In this story, when the parents are trying to find their missing boy and girl, they turn to all of the animals for help. It's Coyote who eventually helps them find the kids, and his attitude was pretty amusing. He actually reminded me a lot of the BBC Sherlock Holmes: overly self-assured, delivering sweeping insults to everyone else without event thinking about it, brusque and a fan of challenges. The part that really cemented this for me was when the parents ask how their children could've possibly gotten up on the rock, and we get this gem from Coyote: "'That is not the question,' said Coyote severely, unwilling to admit there was anything he did not know. 'That is not the question at all. Anybody could ask that. The only question worth asking is: how are we to get them down again?'"

It makes me want to do a story with the protagonist turning to a character like this for help, much to the protagonist's annoyance. I'm thinking some kind of high school setting; I initially saw the meet-up in a cafeteria, but we'll see what ends up happening.


The Child of the Evening Star

In this story, the protagonist can see the character of people's hearts just by looking at them, and I think a similar gimmick could make for a fun short story. I'm thinking about changing it to a character who can tell if/when others are lying, and is used as a human lie detector and advisor for a court or king or businessman or something. But the jury's still out on exactly what I would do or how it would all play out.


The Child of the Evening Star (Part II)

The dynamic between the protagonist and Osseo at the end of this story was interesting, but more than that, I love the idea that Osseo is a descendant of the Evening Star. I think a lot of things could be done with a character like that, from powers to burnout to the not-quite-human otherness of him, and I'd be interested to see how he interacts with the human world.


The Child of the Evening Star (Part III)

When Osseo was offered the chance to rejoin his father, the King of the Evening Star, and come into his own full power again, it kind of reminded me of the Disney movie Hercules (the best Disney movie, for the record). Along those lines, I might do a story about a protagonist who's desperate to get back to his or her glorified homeland and birthright, but can't—not only because of a curse, but maybe also the consequences of doing so or some personal demons that can't quite be battered down. Not sure yet.


The Child of the Evening Star (Part IV)

This time around, I liked the description of Osseo and the protagonist's son: "a charming boy with the dark, dreamy eyes of his mother and the strength and courage of Osseo." He seems like he'd be a kid full of contradictions, harsh sometimes and vulnerable at others, brash in some ways but curiously reserved, almost shy, in others. I'd like to do a character study on someone like that at some point, though I'm not sure yet what kind of plot would be best to highlight all those contradictions. I'll think about it.




Bibliography: American Indian Fairy Tales by W.T. Larned. Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook.

Image Credit: "Hubble's Panoramic View of a Turbulent Star-Making Region" by
NASA Goddard Space Flight Center. Source: Flickr.

Story Planning: Week 9

I'm terrible with titles and never seem to find them till the story's already written, so my bad about the working title of this post.

I do have a source story picked out, though: the fifth part of the Blood Boy saga, from the Blackfoot Stories unit.

The thing that struck me most about this story is the way that the blood boy's basically just wandering the country looking for fights—the way he drifts from town to town, curb-stomping the bullies before moving on again. That much was clear with his confrontation of the snake chief, which went like this:

Kut-o-yis' picked up the dish and ate the berries and threw the dish away. Then he went up to the big snake, who was lying there asleep, and pricked him with his knife, saying, "Here, get up; I have come to visit you. Let us smoke together."

And the takedown that followed was pretty great, too. But I think it's even more obvious when he asks the old lady he saved where he can find another community, and she tells him about one in the mountains—but then warns that he can't go there, because this terrible villain lives there, and "He will kill you." Blood boy's reaction? "Kut-o-yis' was glad to know that there was such a person, and he went to the mountains." It all makes for one of the most interesting characters I've read about so far this semester, and I'd definitely be interested in doing something with that.

Really, the more I think about it, the more I feel like my interpretation of the character might be cursed with immortality—after all this time, he still can’t die, though he desperately wants to. So he goes around picking fights and being reckless and making terrible decisions.

I’m still trying to decide if I’ll use him as the protagonist or get an outsider’s perspective on the whole thing; I gravitate towards the second option, but we’ll see. If that’s the case, in the end, it’ll look like he’s dead, and there’ll be this held-breath moment where the POV character thinks he is and has some pretty mixed emotions about the whole thing, truth be told—but no. He’s bruised and bloody and broken as heck, but still alive. And that’s his curse.

Then again, it might also be fun to go the opposite way with this: to take a character who knows he's going to die (and soon), and maybe even how he's going to die—and so he decides to take all the risks he can before then, because he knows none of them will matter.

Not sure yet, really. But that's why I'm going with the story planning option this week, so I have some more time to stew over it before I actually commit to taking one route or the other.

Bibliography: Blackfeet Indian Stories by George Bird Grinnell. Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook.

Image Credit: Person Writing by Unsplash. Source: Pixabay.

Reading Notes: Blackfoot Stories, Part B

The Smart Woman Chief

For me, I think the most interesting aspect of this story was the idea of the two tribes meeting for the first time. I imagine there would be all sorts of tension and misapprehensions and room for conflict, and that's probably what I'd use in my story, with a more modern interpretation of the tribes and the setting.


Bobcat and Birch Tree

When Old Man had the prairie dogs teach him how to lie in the fire without getting burned, my first thought was of some kind of fire-eater, or a character with pyrokinesis. Realistically, that's still probably the route I'll take. But when the Old Man got himself into trouble for the millionth and clumsily picked himself back up again, I started thinking about how he's this guy with the power to animate objects and control the wind and make things happen just by declaring them, but he's also so inept in a lot of ways. That could be fun, too: some kind of story about a minor god or a gifted magician or something like that, who has all this power at his disposal but can't seem to get his stuff together long enough to do anything with it. Or a super villain who outclasses the heroes by a long shot, but always seems to defeat himself in the end.


The Red-Eyed Duck

In this story, Old Man agreed to play some music for a group of ducks—with the stipulation that they couldn't open their eyes while he played, or those eyes would turn red. So the ducks danced blindly around, and any time one of them got close enough to Old Man, he'd bash them on the head with a stick and toss them aside so he could eat them later. When a duckling realized what was going on, he opened his eyes and told the others to run, that the man was killing them. I like the idea of a group being picked off person by person, whether they're killed literally or metaphorically, and that there's going to be some terrible, permanent consequence for the character that eventually figures it out and saves them all. That's probably the element I would carry over as the seed of my own story, then.


Kut-O-Yis, The Blood Boy

Obviously, the blood boy's origin story itself is the coolest thing about this story: a starving old man gathers up a clot of blood from a dying buffalo, and is stunned when he finds a baby boy suddenly appear inside of it. It's a bloodier version of Wonder Woman's origin story (born from fashioned clay), and I love it. I also love the idea of him growing up to be a bloodier, darker form of hero, more antihero than anything else: some kind of dark avenger or something.

Kut-O-Yis, The Blood Boy (Part II)

In this story, the blood boy aged from a baby to an adult in a matter of days, and it reminded me of the way clones in superhero stories are always force-grown to age up quickly, so they can take on their original. But I like the idea of using that same concept and using it as a way to look at how that must actually be for the clone emotionally: sure, he's grown up on the outside, but he's only actually been around for a short amount of time. He's essentially a little kid in an adult's body. That's probably what I'd do with this story, from the point of view of a character assigned to be close to him or keep an eye on him—a trainer or a handler or something.

Kut-O-Yis, The Blood Boy (Part III)

The way the blood boy beat up the bear chief's son, then took on the chief himself after the son went crying, sort of makes me think of someone beating up a lower-level member of the mob to get the crime boss's attention. That's probably the direction I would go with this: some thought-dead or long-gone old partner or enemy back from the dead or just a long absence (or maybe both: seemingly back from the presumed dead), coming back for the blood the crime boss owes him.

Kut-O-Yis, The Blood Boy (Part IV)

The thing that struck me most about this story is the way that the blood boy's basically just wandering the country looking for fights—drifting from town to town and curb-stomping the bullies before moving on again. That much was clear with his confrontation of the snake chief, which went like this:

Kut-o-yis' picked up the dish and ate the berries and threw the dish away. Then he went up to the big snake, who was lying there asleep, and pricked him with his knife, saying, "Here, get up; I have come to visit you. Let us smoke together."

And the takedown that followed was pretty great, too. But I think it's even more obvious when he asks the old lady he saved where he can find another community, and she tells him about one in the mountains—but then warns that he can't go there, because this terrible villain lives there, and "He will kill you." Blood boy's reaction? "Kut-o-yis' was glad to know that there was such a person, and he went to the mountains." It all makes for one of the most interesting characters I've read about so far this semester, and I'd definitely be interested in doing something with that.


Kut-O-Yis, The Blood Boy (Part V)

I love how he really has become this avenger, going around like some kind of rogue superhero—saving people, hunting things. And I also love that, before he even approached the last Big Bad, he knew he was going to have to die in the process; he called a little girl over and told her to give his bones to the dogs and cry out a warning, and when she did, he was reanimated from the bones. If I were going to use this story as inspiration, I think I'd like to use that concept of a character going to take on the antagonist, and knowing that she's going to die in the process—but also knowing that that's not going to be the end. My guess is that she has some kind of special ability, but she can only unlock/use/trigger it by dying. I think it could work well with this format, and I'd be curious to see how that plays out for her.

Bibliography: Blackfeet Indian Stories by George Bird Grinnell. Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook.

Image Credit: "Fire Eater" by Parth Shah. Source: Pixabay.

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Reading Notes: Blackfoot Stories, Part A

Two Fast Runners

Initially, when I read this one, I didn't get much from it. A deer and an antelope challenge each other to races, and each wins in his own respective home turf. But if I interpreted it really loosely—even for me—I think I could turn it into a story about a protagonist returning to her home turf and trying to use that to her advantage in the face of what looks like an impossible fight coming her way.


The Wolf Man

In this story, after a man is left for dead, he's rescued by a group of wolves. They take him to their camp, where one of their blind elders heals the man and transforms him into a sort of hybrid: part man, part wolf. If I were to use this story, I'd probably take that idea of someone being saved and taken in. He'd be the main character, but not the protagonist—that would be someone who's part of the group that's taken him in, and watches as he struggles to assimilate and always fails on some deeper, personal level.


The Dog and the Root Digger

From this one, I'd probably do something with a character (one the MC teams up with, probably) who can shape shift between a person and a dog. Not sure yet what kind of trouble they'd get into. Of course, I was also intrigued by the raven who knew to steer the buffalo away from the edges of the cliffs—but I'm not sure yet how I'd incorporate a raven in a way that ties back strongly enough to the source material.


The Camp of the Ghosts

There were tons of interesting things about this one, and any of them could be spun off into different stories: the ghosts' community, the feast with the dead, the old women who appeared to the protagonist in dreams to show him the way. The journey to the ghost camp was one of my favorite aspects of this story, but I don't think I'd have the space to do the camp that or the camp itself justice in this assignment; same issue with a character trying to bring a loved one back from the dead, unless we just showed a snapshot of that journey along the way, including the spirit of that loved one appearing to him sometimes. If anything, I'd probably use this one to tell a story about a character who can travel through dreams, via dreams—intentionally sometimes, and sometimes not so much—and see where that takes me.


The Buffalo Stone

In this story, there are rare, lucky stones—kind of like four-leaf clovers—that occasionally appear, and they bring good hunting luck. When the wife in this story hears a stone singing to her, she does what it says and brings it back to her community, and it does bring good luck. I like the idea of a magical object that talks to people, but I think I'd like it a lot better if this were spun out into a supernatural/horror direction: if the stone object weren't quite so benevolent, and actually used/influenced people to carry some nasty work for it.


How the Thunder Pipe Came

Maybe it's just because I'm in the Halloween spirit, but for me, the highlight of this one was definitely the insanely feared villain, Thunder, and the way he would swoop in and capture people and hang their eyes in his stone lodge. Granted, Home and Garden Television might take a little bit of issue with his taste in decor—but it makes for a great story and a great villain, and the atmosphere was great because of it. That's definitely the detail I'd use if I chose to retell this story.


Cold Maker's Medicine

As fun as the idea of an old-lady serial killer is—and I do mean that sincerely—I loved the idea of the dynamic between the Cold Maker and Broken Bow even more. They're good friends who make a great team, but it's the following few lines that really caught my interest: "When [Cold Maker] reached the camp he went to the lodge of Broken Bow—a brave young man, but very poor. He shivered when Cold Maker entered his lodge and drew his ragged robe about him. They were close friends." I'd definitely be interested in reinterpreting this one as two people who are really close despite the fact that one's presence hurts or is full-on toxic to the other, or something like that.


The Rolling Rock

Though the idea of bats as "night-hawks" was intriguing, for this one, I'd have to go with the dynamic between Old Man and the coyote for my main source of inspiration this time around. I love the trope where two characters are sort of forced together by circumstances and wind up working together in a mutually beneficial sort of way, and that's what I'd use in my interpretation.


Bear and Bullberries

My first instinct with this story was to do a piece featuring a Kid Loki-like interpretation of a trickster figure, and I do still think that could be fun, though it would take a very specific kind of story to set that up well and make it work. But once I got to the end of the story and the twist there—after almost drowning trying to get some bullberries deep below the water's surface, he realizes he was actually seeing their reflection, and they were above the water all along—I think I might rather go with something inspired by that instead. A story involving a quest that was backwards or misguided all along could work well for the shorter length of these assignments, and I think it could still be fun to experiment with.


The Theft from the Sun

In this story, no matter how far Old Man ran, he always woke up again in Sun's lodge. I like the idea of a character—a protagonist who always runs from his or her problems instead of sticking around to face them—finally coming up against an antagonist or obstacle that can't just be avoided, and seeing how that ends up playing out.





Bibliography: Blackfeet Indian Stories by George Bird Grinnell. Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook.

Image Credit: "Raven Croak" by Franco Atirador. Source: Wikimedia Commons.



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Week 8 Growth Mindset

For me, one of the most pleasantly surprising things about this class is the way that it's made up of layers—just like stories. On the surface, it's a lesson on retelling myths; on a deeper level, it's a lesson in rewriting your life into any story you want it to be. 

I wasn't expecting that when I enrolled, but I think it's a really important aspect of the course's molten core, and I appreciate it.

In terms of Growth Mindset, I think just having been exposed to the concept has helped me improve in that area quite a bit. I learned about it at a really receptive point in my life, too, when I had just thinking about expanding my horizons and what I actually want my life to look like, so that's also been a big help.

There are still some areas on the list that I definitely need to work on, though, and a lot of them seem to stem from my perfectionist mindset—I'm ridiculously Type-A sometimes, and it tends to show. But instead of trying to stamp that out of myself, I'd rather find ways to use it to my advantage. I think that could work for me both in class and in life, though like with most things in life that matter, the jury's still out on that one.

Image Credit: Stephen King Quote by BK. Source: Flickr.

Week 8 Reflections

So. Now that we're halfway through the semester—which is kind of freaky to think about, so let's not, thanks—it's time to look back at The Road So Far. (Cue the Kansas music.)

Reading

Overall, I think my process for taking reading notes has been working well for me so far. I try to spin each myth or scrap of lore off into its own story and give myself at least a general idea of what that story would look like, though sometimes a myth just doesn't do it for me, and I don't have anything to say about it. Moving forward, I think I'd like to start trying to do my reading notes during the weekend before they're due, just because it takes me a little time for a story to germinate once I decide on something. That way, instead of having to wait till Thursday morning to do the storytelling assignment, I can take my time on Tuesday or Wednesday rather than scrambling.

During the Native American units, I think I'll at least like to do the Blackfoot Stories unit.

Writing

As a whole, I'm content with the stories I've done so far: there are a couple I wasn't crazy about and a couple I was actually pleased with, so I figure it all balances out. Writing short has always been a huge struggle for me—I'm definitely a long-form writer at soul—but I've enjoyed stretching new writing muscles in that regard.

I think I'm learning that these thousand-word pieces work better if they're structured around a character's core issue or emotional crux that everything can hinge on and relate back to: when there can be so few scenes, that helps me make sure that each scene is the most motivated and necessary, and it also gives the whole piece more resonance. That way the story can serve as a sort of snapshot of an issue, a contained nutshell kernel of a story, instead of just an action gear-up that ends on a cliffhanger and the promise of more to come (which is my natural tendency, but also just doesn't resonate as much).

Initially, I completely regretted all the life decisions that led to me deciding to do a storybook instead of a portfolio, because I couldn't find the right spot in the story to start with for my introduction. Now that that's worked out and I've got a clearer idea of what I'm actually going to do with this, I'm feeling better about the project. Hopefully that doesn't change anytime soon.

Connecting

Going into this class, I knew I'd love the reading and retelling aspects of the assignments, but I'm surprised at how much I actually enjoy the blog commenting. Looking at how different people have such different readings and interpretations of the same stories is endlessly fascinating, and I love seeing the same story spun out in several wildly opposite directions. I generally opt for compliments instead of constructive criticism with the stories, just because of the nature of what they are; I feel like they should be fun and maybe not have to live up to as much expectation and scrutiny as the portfolios and storybooks. Sometimes I wonder if it would be more helpful of me to give constructive feedback instead, but for now, I think I'll keep the informal feedback to go with the informal blog comments.

Image Credit: Hand Writing. Source: Pexels.

Story: Sins of the Father

By the time I made it back to Rocafort, I’d missed Dad’s funeral by three weeks, and Osric was waiting outside the sandwich shop by the train station.

“Seth,” he said, raising his eyebrows, waving me over. “I wasn’t sure you’d show.”

“I said I would, didn’t I?”

I took the chair across from him and lit a cigarette, trying not to look uneasy. During the day, the umbrella over this patio table probably would’ve been nice—but it was night now, and it just blocked out the streetlights, massing all the different shadows together. Mason would be good in this situation, but I hadn’t talked to either of my brothers for almost a year.

“It’s weird, man,” Osric said. “In this light, smoking your dad’s brand—you even smell like him. You could be him.”

I stiffened. Dropped the cigarette to the pavement—a total waste—and ground it out. “Shut up.”

Osric shrugged, taking something from the messenger bag at his feet. In this dimness, his blond hair and ginger scruff seemed less mismatched.

“Here’s what I got for you,” he said, sliding a manila envelope across the table. “As far as anyone official’s concerned, your old man’s death is a mystery. He did have a pretty long list of enemies, Seth.”

“And as far as all the unofficial people are concerned?”

“Well, Christian says...” He considered me for a minute, then shrugged, looking back down at the table. “Christian says it might’ve been the Wolves.”

I shook my head. Christian was the big brother, but he didn’t always know best. “Dad finished the Wolves off years ago. Christian knows that.” I frowned down at the folder, then gave it a little wave, tucked it into the outside pocket of my overnight bag. “Thanks for this, man. I owe you one.”

After I’d slung my duffel over my shoulder and taken a few steps, he said, “I thought you were done with the family business, anyway.”

“Not the family business,” I said, walking away. “Just the family.”

***

I didn’t realize I’d picked up a tail till I was already halfway into the city, at a grungy all-night diner. The guy was bald—shorter than me, but bigger, too, in the kind of way that suggested he wasn’t just here to see where I went.

I waited till I’d put in my order for eggs and bacon, then headed to the bathroom, waited at one of the sinks. Under the fluorescents, my coloring looked all wrong—skin too pale, hair too dark, circles under my eyes like bruises.

The bald guy followed me in a minute later, one hand already reaching to his side.

I swung my duffel off my shoulder, nailed him in the gut. The equipment inside made it heavy enough to double him over, and he dropped the gun he’d just drawn. He moved to catch it—but before he could, I squared a kick at his knee.

He jerked away instinctively. Then he used that momentum to rear back, throw a punch at my nose. I dodged; it caught my cheek instead, breaking the skin over the bone in one white-hot split.

In the time it took me to blink, the man had already knocked me down to the grimy tile. He aimed a kick at my ribs. Another. Another. Something cracked; judging by the way my ribcage screamed, it’d been me.

And then someone knocked on the bathroom door. The man glanced up—and that’s when I kicked out, knocking his feet out from under him.

He plummeted to the floor beside me. I reached over and bashed his head against the tile once. Twice—

“Seth?” someone said.

I froze.

My younger brother, Mason, stood framed in the doorway.

***

“Christian could've gotten you real ice,” Mason said, passing me the bag of frozen broccoli he’d just bought at the gas station behind us.

I shook my head, easing the bag up under my shirt, against my chest. The cold was almost as bad as the cracked ribs. “Thanks.”

He raised his eyebrows. All three of us looked a lot alike, half-brothers or not, but we’d all inherited different parts of Dad. We all had the same dark hair and light eyes, but I had his strong jaw, and Mason had his sharp cheekbones.

Christian was the only one who’d ended up with his easy grin.

“Lucky thing Christian had me tailing that guy,” he said. “You’re out of practice.”

I winced. “Osric said you guys think it’s the Wolves.”

“Might be. All Dad’s old pals have come creeping back, now that he’s gone.” He frowned, leaning against the rough brick of the gas station. “Why’d you come back?”

Because I hadn’t liked the guy, not for a long time, but somebody had to avenge Dad’s death? Because I hadn’t heard from my brothers in a year? Because I missed my family was the truth, partially, but it would never sound like it.

After a minute, I said, “Because when Dad was alive, he owned us. And if we don’t put these guys down now, they’ll think they own us.”

He looked up at me. “That why you left?”

And the truth was, right then, I wasn’t sure. There had been all sorts of reasons at the time—to get away from Dad, away from myself. To somehow avoid turning out just like him, like everyone knew I would.

“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “I’m back now.”

He was quiet for a minute, then pushed off the wall, pulling out his phone. “I’ll call Christian. Tell him about that Wolf we left in the bathroom.” He paused. “It’s good you’re back, Seth.”

I gave a painful little laugh. “Jury’s still out on that one, Mase.”

But standing there beside him, clutching frozen vegetables to my cracked ribs, I couldn’t argue with him.

While he talked to Christian, I took out a cigarette, closed my eyes.

In the darkness, wreathed in smoke, either one of us could’ve been Dad.





Author's Note: This time around, my story was based on "The Ogre of Rashomon." It's a tale about a group of highly accomplished knights, who have started hearing rumors that ogres are responsible for a series of mysterious disappearances. One of the knights wonders if it's true, but his friend insists it can't be: after all, they took out the ogre threat themselves. Ultimately, that's the kernel of the story that I kept for my version—the idea that some shadowy group the protagonist thought he took care of a long time ago is back, which also means fending off the revenge plot that's bound to be coming.

Bibliography: Japanese Fairy Tales by Yei Theodora Ozaki. Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook.

Image Credit: "Smoking Cigarette" by Lindsay Fox. Source: Wikimedia Commons.