Reading Notes: The Palace of Illusions, Part B

When Draupadi meets her long-lost sibling Sikhandi (the reincarnated Amba), he tells her his history and about how he came to be a man: No, I didn't pray to the gods to be changed. I lost faith in them a lifetime ago. This time I invoked a yaksha. He appeared in the sky with his burning demon sword. When he heard what I wanted, he laughed and plunged it into me. The pain was unbearable. I fainted. And when she woke up, she'd gotten her wish. There are plenty of interesting details here, like the demon's response to the wish or the way he used his sword to grant it, but I think the most striking detail is in Sikhandi's personality—in the fact that she didn't even bother going to the gods with her wish, but instead went straight to the demons. Because she knew she knew not to like them or trust them, but it's like that in itself made them more trustworthy—she knew what she was getting with them, and she knew exactly how much it would ruin her. Like I said: interesting.

I was also really intrigued by Sikhandi's relationship with the rest of his family. He's the long-estranged son returning home, black sheep of the family, but Drupad has to at least go through the motions of welcoming him back to save face. There's a lot of tension there, and a lot of history to go with it: King Drupad had invited Sikhandi to stay with him, but Sikhandi politely excused himself. (Drupad tried, unsuccessfully, to disguise his relief at this.) However, when Sikhandi said that he would like to stay with my brother and me instead, I sensed our father's uneasiness. Perhaps he was worried that Sikhandi would be a corrupting influence! But I was delighted. Something about Sikhandi drew me to him... He bore his destiny so casually, it made me worry less about Dhri's and mine. I love this idea of the black-sheep, no-good, supposedly bad-seed older brother coming home despite his dad's wishes, and shaking up the whole family order, changing how the younger sibling sees the world and his dad and himself.

That said, because I'm a sucker for sibling dynamics in general, I really loved the one between Sikhandi, Dhri, and Draupadi—Divakaruni develops it so efficiently and seemingly effortlessly, till it feels like Sikhandi has always been part of the group: We whiled away his short visit in eating and storytelling and playing at dice (for Dhri had taught me this most unladylike pastime). We laughed a great deal, often at the littlest things. I composed poems and riddles to entertain my brothers and watch as they practiced with swords.

Then there's this little gem, in an exchange between Dhri and Sakhandi: Dhri bested Sakhandi easily, then asked with concern, "How are you going to defeat Bheesma?"
    "I don't have to defeat him," Sakhandi said. "I just have to kill him." Let's just make it clear once and for all: besides being a compelling character study, Sakhandi is just plain awesome.

Finally, as my last Sakhandi note, there's the fact that he refuses his siblings' nice parting gifts, because he explains that he's got to take up his penance. They protest, saying that if anybody owes penance, it's all the people who've wronged him. But no. Sakhandi says that he's going to kill Bheesma, the greatest warrior of their time, and that that's a big sin: "It's worse when it's done through trickery—and that's what I'll have to resort to, because I certainly don't have the skill to achieve it otherwise. I'm atoning for it in advance, as it's very likely that I, too, will die in the process." There are a lot of things I love about this—the flat-out acknowledgement (and acceptance) that he won't be able to fight fair and still achieve his goals, the plans for trickery—but more than anything else, I love the fact that he's starting his penance now, atoning for the kill in advance. A downpayment on his sins. There's something slightly Matt Murdock about it, if Matt had become a rough-and-tumble hitman instead of a masked do-gooder, and I'm a fan of everything about it. That's a fascinating character, and one I'd like to get to know. So that's probably one of the strongest story seeds I've been drawn to all semester.

Moving on to other characters now, I was also really interested in Draupadi's reflection on her dad's outlook, and on what a good king but terrible dad that would make Drupad: "Power—that's all he cares about, not his children.... Why won't you ever admit the truth?" I spoke bitterly. "We're nothing but pawns for King Drupad to sacrifice when it's most to his advantage." I think, if spun off in a slightly different direction, with a different perspective and different trappings, that could be a pretty interesting story in its own right. The kids of a chessmaster king, cold and calculating, raising himself an army of kids and doomed heirs to wield like weapons. Collect 'em all, then divide and conquer.

I'm also a fan of this thought Draupadi has about her brother's eventual fate, and think it could make for the great core of a character: I wondered if it would break him or harden him, and which would be worse.

Already, this book has already made me view Kunti differently, and definitely with more respect: Kunti, devastated though she must have been by both her husband's death and his last act, gathered all her willpower. She brought the five princes back to Hastinapur, making no distinction between her own children and those of her rival. She was determined that no one would cheat them out of her inheritance. For years she struggled, a widow alone and in disfavor, to keep them safe in Dhritarashtra's court until finally, now, they were grown. A matriarch like that—all jagged edges and flint soul—would raise such a strong, interesting family, and probably wouldn't have many qualms about doing whatever she has to to claw her clan's way to the top. It makes me think of the mom from Sons of Anarchy or even Animal Kingdom, and I think the whole thing's worth considering through a genre bent.

This makes me think of Ozymandias from Watchmen, and in my book, interpreting it as a very intentional act makes the whole thing that much more worth investigating: "Too few [good kings]," she said, "and they're tired with fighting. In this Third Age of Man, the good are mostly weak. That is why the earth needs the Great War, so she can start over."

Also, I think this could be really promising interpreted in a witchy/supernatural way: Still others whispered their discontent into their sleeping husbands' ears all night, so that the men, waking in the morning, acted out the anger that festered within their wives.

I taked in my previous post about the tight bond between the fire-twins, but it's worth noting again how well Divakaruni makes that clear not only through Draupadi's explanations, but by Dhri's actions, too: "He's old!" I whispered to Dhri in distaste....
    My even-tempered brother shrugged.... "But he's no danger to us. He's not going to win."
    I appreciated Dhri's choice of a pronoun that coupled our fates, but I found slim comfort in his confidence.

Also, a king like this is just dying to get the spotlight in a spec-fic story: Jarasandha, king of Magadhi, with his live-coal eyes. (I'd heard Dhri's tutor say he kept a hundred defeated kings in a labyrinth under his palace.)

This one's short and random, but the phrasing of it caught my imagination: when the portrait artist is unveiling all the suitors' portraits to Draupadi, he describes Duryodhan's as including the crown prince, plus "the scions of his court."

Since Karna's my favorite character from any of the epics, it's probably unsurprising that this snippet caught my eye. But really, it interests me more for the potential of becoming something else: For the first time, I was unconvinced by [Krishna's] words. A man who sat with such unconcern among princes, a man who had the power to perturb Krishna, had to be more than merely a chariot-driver's son. Because I love the idea of some kid from a petty-crime scumbag family raised cocky enough to think he can steal himself the world, and strolling right into a room full of princes despite (and because of) that upbringing.

Then there's also this line, which made me imagine a king sending out all his lower-ranking sons out to test rumors and traps, enemies and potential allies for him: "Princes must not panic until they've tested the truth of a rumor for themselves."

I'm also digging the idea of this road-not-taken option for Gandhari, the blindfolded queen: I wondered if there were days when she regretted her decision to opt for wifely virtue instead of the power she could have had as the blind king's guide and adviser. I get serious Victoria Vinciguerra vibes off this, and they're perfect.

I also loved this exchange, because of the image of the world it paints: "The palace was in an uproar," Dhai Ma said, "people running around wringing their hands, crying thatches was the work of demons... And that's how Duryodhan and his brothers—and their sister Duhsala—were born. Maybe that's why he's such great friends with Karna, who also came into the world in a strange way."
    ...I quipped, "Doesn't anyone have normal births anymore?"
    Dhai Ma gave me a sharp glance... "You're one to talk!"
    As always, I still find the story behind Duryodhan and his brothers' birth really compelling—because if people were sure from your birth that you were the product of demons and devil-work, what chance did you ever really have of being anything else? Born under a bad sign, almost literally. Duryodhan was never going to be the good guy, even if he'd tried.

Speaking of, I find it really interesting that despite all his flaws, Duryodhan has some really positive, admirable qualities, too. It's probably highlighted most clearly at the events of the tournament between the cousins. First, there's: Some cry out Duryodhan's name, for he is dashing, brave, and generous to a fault. Even today, riding to the tournament, he threw handfuls of gold coins into the crowd until his purse was empty.

The generosity mentioned above also makes it easier to believe that he genuinely did want to help Karna, even beyond his ulterior motives/personal benefit. When Drona and his pals try to come up with reasons Karna can't fight Arjun, just to save face, they insist that only a prince can fight another prince, and silkily ask which princely house Karna comes from.
    The stranger's face flushes. My name is Karna, he says. Then, so softly that all in the assembly must strain to hear, But I do not come from a princely house.
    And so Drona and Co. insist that he can't take on Arjun, then, but—
    Wait! cries Duryodhan, springing up in outrage. Clearly this man is a great warrior. I will not let you insult him like this, using an outdated law as your excuse! A hero is a hero, no matter what his caste. Ability is more important than the accident of birth.
    The citizens approve of these sentiments. They cheer lustily.
    Duryodhan continues, If you insist that it is necessary for Karna to be a king in order to battle Arjun, then I'll share my own inheritance with him! He calls for holy water and pours it over the stranger's head. To the cheers of the crowd, he says, King Karna, I now pronounce you ruler of Anga, and my friend.

Also, as compelling as I find a good case of fictional daddy issues, this also really makes me want to focus on a positive father-son relationship in a story: ...[T]he people's attention is caught by an old man who limps into the arena. From his clothing it's clear that he belongs to a lower caste. Is he a blacksmith? No, say those who know such things. He's a chariot driver.
    He heads for Karna and—wonder of wonders—Karna sets aside his bow to touch the old man's feet.
    Son! cries the newcomer. Is it really you, back after so many years? But what are you doing here, among these noble princes? Why is there a crown on your head? 
    With infinite gentleness, Karna takes the old man's hand and guides him into a corner, explaining as he goes.
    Karna's essentially the ultimate underdog here, plus really skilled and worthy at what he does, and those are both proven character traits to win a reader's loyalty and sympathy. But what really kills me is that this top-fighter, battered-knuckled fighting machine is so gentle about taking his dad aside and claiming him and explaining to him, even though it gets him all kind of mockery and jeering.

I'd also be 100% down to frame a story around a character with a similar curse (and reaction) to this one, because it's got all the right elements to induce doomed attachment and long-simmering dread and a sense of painful inevitability: I shut my eyes. I didn't wish to hear any more of this story. I willed Karna to walk away from the fallen animal before he was discovered as its killer. I knew he wouldn't.
    In the morning he finds the owner of the cow, confesses his deed, and offers compensation. But the enraged brahmin says, You killed my cow when she was defenseless. You, too, will die when you have no means of protection. Karna pleads with him to change his curse. I'm not afraid of dying, he says. But let me die like a warrior. The brahmin refuses.
    Also, is it just me, or are all brahmins judgmental, self-righteous jerks? Totally not impressed by the representation we've seen so far.

I love the contrast between the twins, too—especially how straight-laced Dhri is compared to his sister and her nurse. Like in this scene, on Draupadi's ceremony morning: Dhri was waiting outside my rooms to walk me to the wedding hall, where the kings had already gathered. He looked severe in his ceremonial silks. I noticed the scabbard on his hip, carved with flying beasts.
   "Why the sword?" I asked.
    Dhai Ma said, "What a question! Don't you know it's the brother's sacred duty to protect his sister's virtue? He'll have his hands full today, with all those dirty old men drooling over you."
    "Your vulgarity never ceases to amaze me," Dhri told her. She laughed ad gave him a cuff on the ears, then hurried off to bully her way into the best seat in the royal attendants' area.
    But I knew the real reason for the sword. He expected trouble.

Also, I just really love Karna and Duryodhan's friendship, okay? Duryodhan made a comment—probably about me—and his companions slapped their knees and guffawed. Karna alone (I noted with gratitude) sat still as a flame. Only the slightest thinning of his lips indicated his disapproval, but it was enough to silence Duryodhan.

Anyways, all in all, it's probably fitting that my last note is about the King of Anga himself: Dhri unsheathed his sword and braced his shoulders. Karna leveled his arrow—the one he'd chosen to pierce the target—at my brother's chest. His eyes were beautiful and sad and unfaltering, the eyes of a man who always hits what he aims at. Interestingly enough, that last line reminded me so much of S.E. Hinton's Dallas Winston, another of my favorite characters: "I knew he would be dead, because he wanted to be dead and Dallas Winston always got what he wanted." Kind of a bummer, I know, by which I mean mildly soul-shattering, but hey—a lot of the time, the saddest stuff is also the strongest stuff.




Bibliography: The Palace of Illusions, by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni.

Image Credit: Watching Audience, by Unsplash. Source: Pixabay.

Reading Notes: The Palace of Illusions, Part A

One thing that Divakaruni does amazingly well with this novel is taking the events of the Mahabharata and reinterpreting them through a very human lens. So some of the inspirational lines I've snagged below are bits that've piqued my interest before, and some have caught my eye for the first time.

First, there's the perspective Draupadi's nurse brings to the palace preparations followed leading up to the birth of Draupadi and her brother: "We'd been praying for thirty days, from sun-up to sundown. All of us: your father, the hundred priests he'd invited to Kampilya to perform the fire ceremony, headed by that shifty-eyed pair, Yaja and Upayaja, the queens, the ministers, and of course the servants. We'd been fasting, too—not that we were given a choice—just one meal, each evening, of flattened rice soaked in milk... But I was scared, too, and stealing a glance here and there, I saw I wasn't the only one. What if the fire ceremony didn't work the way the scriptures had claimed it would? Would King Drupad put us all to death, claiming we hadn't prayed hard enough?"

And then there's the relationship between Draupadi and her brother Dhri, the twins born from flames. Their bond is established from the beginning: When their father the king came for them, he held out his arms—but for my brother alone. It was only my brother he meant to raise up to show to his people. Only my brother he wanted. Dhri wouldn't let go of me, however, nor I of him. We clung together so stubbornly that my father was forced to pick us both up together.

A little later, even after they've grown almost to adulthood, we see that that hasn't changed: My years in my father's house would have been unbearable had I not had my brother. I never forgot the feel of his hand clutching mine, his refusal to abandon me. Perhaps he and I would have been close otherwise, segregated as we were in the palace wing our father had set aside for us—whether for caring or for I was never sure. But that first loyalty made us inseparable. We shared our fears of the future for each other, shielded each other with fierce protectiveness from a world that regarded us as not quite normal, and comforted each other in our loneliness. We never spoke of what each one meant to each other—Dhri was uncomfortable with effusiveness. But sometimes I wrote him letters in my head, looping the words into extravagant metaphors.

Since I've also been really intrigued all semester about the way divinity and mortality coexist in these stories, I also thought Draupadi's opinion on the rumors about her family friend Krishna was pretty interesting: There were other stories about Krishna. How he'd been born in a dungeon where his uncle Kamsa had imprisoned his parents with the intention of killing him at birth. How, in spite of the many prison guards, he'd been miraculously spirited away to safety in Gokul. How, in infancy, he killed a demoness who tried to poison him with her breast milk. How he lifted up Mount Govardhan to shelter his people from a deluge that would have drowned them. I didn't pay too much attention to the stories, some of which claimed that he was a god, descended from celestial realms to save the faithful. People loved to exaggerate, and there was nothing like a dose of the supernatural to spice up the drudgery of facts.

There's also this line, from a story Draupadi tells about a poor boy who asks his mother if he can try some milk, because the other boys have been talking about how great it tastes. But their family is too poor to afford milk, so instead, the mother feeds him water mixed with flour and jaggery. After, the boy is thrilled that he knows what milk tastes like too, just like the other kids. And we get this gem of a line: And the mother, who through all the years of her hardship had never shed a tear, wept at his trust and her deception. I think that's the really interesting core of a character: someone who lies to other people constantly because the ends justify the means, and hates herself for doing it and the other person for believing it—while also loving them for believing it. It's a really interesting dynamic.

I also find Draupadi and Dhri's relationship with the rest of their family (stepmothers and half-siblings) really interesting: The stories kept us from wondering too much about the rest of Drupad's family—his queens, and the other children whom we saw only on state occasions. What were they doing? Was our father in their lighted, laughing chambers? Why didn't he invite us to join him? The way their dad treats them is especially interesting in light of the fact that he was so desperate to have them, and to have them be different from other children—but that this is how he reacts when he actually gets all that.

Then, talking about when Drona kidnapped his old friend Drupad so he could make them equals (and therefore friends) again: A brahmin embraced a king, a king embraced a brahmin. And the anger that the brahmin had carried smoldering within him all these years left his body with his out-breath in the form of dark vapor, and he was at peace. But the king saw the vapor and knew it for what it was. Eagerly, he opened his mouth and swallowed it. It would fuel him for the rest of his life.

There's also Dhri's relationship with his own prophesied destiny, and the way he lets the perceived inevitability of that shape and change him: I was hoping Dhri would let it be, but he was like a hunting dog at a boar's throat: "And then?"
    Suddenly I was tired and heartsick. I thought, I shouldn't have chosen this story. Every time I spoke it, it embedded itself deeper into my brother's flesh, for a story gains power with retelling. It deepened his belief in the inevitability of a destiny he might have otherwise sidestepped: to kill Drona. Yet like a scab that children pick at until it falls to bleeding, neither of us could leave it alone.
    And then you were called into the world, Dhri. So that what started with milk could end one day in blood.
    There was more to the story. Whose blood, and when, and how many times. All that, however, I would learn much later.
    "What do you think Drona looks like?" Dhri asked.

And then, last, not quite least, there's the palace full of queens, but no mother figures: I'd long been curious about the queens—especially Sulochana—who flitted elegant and bejeweled along the periphery of my life. In the past I'd resented them for ignoring me, but I was willing to let go of that. Perhaps, now that I was grown, we could be friends.
    Surprisingly, though the queens knew I was coming, I had to wait a long time in the visitor's hall before they appeared. When they did arrive, they spoke to me stiffly, in brief inanities, and wouldn't meet my eyes.




Bibliography: The Palace of Illusions, by Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni.

Image Credit: Fiery Orange Gem, by Hans. Source: Pixabay.

Tech Tip: Canvas Notifications

One of my other online classes has discussion posts multiple times a week, and the email notifications for those are a little overzealous. I decided to use this tech tip to opt out of those, and my OU inbox is forever thankful.

As a side note, I was surprised by how many different notification options there are in Canvas, and by how customizable the whole setup is. Just another reason I'm glad the school made the switch from D2L.


Image Credit: Laptop Focus, by Pexels. Source: Pixabay.

Tech Tip: SoundCloud Embedded

For the SoundCloud tech tip, I added The Doors' song "Moonlight Drive" to my Favorite Place post, whose title was inspired by the song.


Image Credit: Doors Elektra Publicity Photo, by Joel Brodsky (Elektra Records). Source: Wikimedia Commons.

[Extra] Reading Notes: The Fugitive

This week, I thought I'd do some extra reading to pick up some bonus points, and I ended up choosing The Fugitive by Rabindranath Tagore.

The first thing that strikes me about it, fittingly, is the very first line: "Darkly you sweep on, Eternal Fugitive..." It's so evocative, and let's be real: a story about any kind of eternal fugitive is my kind of story.

There's also this line: "...the storm centered with your dancing limbs shakes the sacred shower of death over life and freshens her growth." It's interesting to think of death as a process that needs to happen for a new batch of life to grow; it makes the Reaper less of a boss, and more of a handyman.

Plus: "We came hither together, friend, and now at the cross-roads I stop to bid you farewell. Your path is wide and straight before you, but my call comes up by ways from the unknown." I like the idea of two old friends or a longtime couple parting ways because of the paths they see for themselves in life: the protagonist feels like the world is his and he's got all the choices he wants, but his significant other feels like she has to follow the path that's been set out for her, either by her family history or legacy or a curse/something more personalized.

I also really just like the style of this in general: The MC is addressing everything to this mysterious You, who seems like a significant figure in his life, but also possibly one that's constantly shifting, cycling through. Each separate thought, some interesting hybrid between a poem and a micro-fiction story, is separated by a different number, but they're all tied together by the speaker and the way he's talking to that You.

This was another gem, on so many levels: "Do not stand before my window with those hungry eyes and beg for my secret. It is but a tiny stone of glistening pain streaked with blood-red by passion. What gifts have you brought with both hands to fling before me in the dust? I fear, if I accept, to create a debt that can never be paid even by the loss of all that I have."

"This morning, separation from those whom I was born too late to meet weighs on and saddens my heart."

And this one: "Be not concerned about her heart, my heart; leave it in the dark." It makes me think of someone who's done his best to turn his back on someone he used to care about, someone he's tried to convince himself to leave behind because she's too dark-hearted. He tells his companion not to worry about her or fall for her tricks, not to feel bad for her, because she doesn't want it or deserve it anyways.

"You have shattered my freedom, and with its wreck built your own prison." Dang. That's good stuff.

"For a moment bear with me if I forget myself." But interpreted literally.

The character, described by his own actions here, is really intriguing: "I forget if you ever shamed me by looking away when I bared my heart. I only remember the words that stranded on the tremor of your lips; I remember in your dark eyes sweeping shadows of passion, like the wings of a home-seeking bird in the dusk. I forget that you do not remember, and I come." For some reason, the dysfunctional nature of their on/off-again relationship also kind of reminds me of Joel and Clementine from Eternal Sunshine. 

Then there's this line from the exchange between Kacha and the Titan's daughter, Devayani: "Thrice had the jealous Titans slain me, and thrice you prevailed on your father to bring me back to life; therefore my gratitude can never die."

And since I'm gathering too many different story seeds and this post is starting to get unwieldy, I think I'll add one more thing, then save the rest for a different notes post: I really loved the dynamic between the protagonist and his Mind.
    "Why these preparations without end?"--I said to Mind--"Is some one to come?"
    Mind replied, "I am enormously busy gathering things and building towers. I have no time to answer such questions."
    Meekly I went back to my work.
    When things were grown to a pile, when seven wings of his palace were complete, I said to Mind, "Is it not enough?"
    Mind began to say, "Not enough to contain--" and then stopped.
    "Contain what?" I asked.
    Mind affected not to hear.

and

    "It is close at hand," said the mad man.
    I went to the office and boldly said to Mind, "Stop all work!"
    Mind asked, "Have you any news?"
    "Yes," I answered, "News of the Coming." But I could not explain.
    Mind shook his head and said, "There are neither banners nor pageantry!"




Bibliography: The Fugitive by Rabindranath Tagore. Source: Freebookapalooza.

Image Credit: Underwater Swimming by Unsplash. Source: Pixabay.

Week 9: Story Planning (Pre-Portfolio Story)

I'm going to do a story this week regardless, because I'll need something new for my portfolio. But I've got a few options I'm weighing, so I figured I'd plan the story out here, take a little longer deciding between them, and then write the story tonight or tomorrow. That way people in my weekly comment group will have something a little more substantial to comment on than a planning post, too.

For my next portfolio story, I've been batting around an idea of a young war god, but it hasn't quite come together yet. And in my reading this week, I came across a couple of other options that might work out instead:

The first comes from “The Birth of Draupadi,” where a little after Draupadi was born to her father from fire and sacrifice, it was predicted that she would be “the cause of the destruction” of many warriors. Of course, that ended up being because people fought and died to be her husband, which is a little bit anticlimactic, not to mention stupid of the suitors. But I love the idea of this daughter being born of vengeance and flames and then becoming Daddy’s Little Enforcer, the dark, crackling shadow of a girl who goes around taking out enemies of the kingdom or anyone else her dad sends her after.

I was also intrigued by something in “Karna Becomes King": the fact that “surprisingly, it was Duryodha who came forward and gave Karna a chance.” Yes, he was giving him a chance against his own cousins, so it benefitted D—but throughout the rest of the story, he and Karna are actually good friends to each other, and treat each other with care and loyalty. More loyalty than the “good guys” ever show each other, in a way. Thick as thieves, I guess, but I like that aspect of the villains being more loyal and tightly-knit than the heroes. Anyways, I’m always down for a story involving antiheroes or criminals or petty crime. I've also been tossing around an idea involving teenage grave robbers and a tiny magical/cursed-artifact empire, and that could work well with this: the MC and her best friend sticking together even when business as usual becomes decidedly unusual, and everything starts going very south.

Finally, there was a story called “Wax Palace Conspiracy.” I didn't find the tale itself all that interesting, but dang, that title. That title deserves to be spun off into its own story. I’m feeling horror, maybe with a little bit of supernatural/fantasy, but we’ll see.

Anyways, this is what I've been tossing around this week. Once I settle on one and get it written, I'll link back to it or something.

Bibliography: Epified: The Mahabharata, by Epified TV. Source: YouTube.

Image Credit: Man with a Shovel, by tpsdave. Source: Pixabay.

Reading Notes: Epified Mahabharata, Part D

As frustrating as it was to read about Draupadi’s birth-based rejection of Karna in “Karna’s Humiliation,” the way it scarred and impacted his character arc is still really compelling. It might end up being interesting to write about a character who’s got a similarly complex relationship with his birth and bloodline, and how the two interact and conflict—a character who deserves the best based on skill and merit alone, but is also never going to be allowed to accomplish anything through legitimate venues, because of his family or their past, maybe even something his family is known for or illegally participates in. I could see a story spun off of this about a character from a Mickey O’Neil-like background, cast out and judged by everyone else and so deciding to get what he wants by less legitimate means if necessary.

I was also really struck by a line from “Narad Visits Indraprastha.” In it, the Pandavas are being told a story about a couple of brothers with a very tight-knit bond: “They knew the only way death could approach them was if they killed each other.” Unfortunately, the brothers in the story ended up fighting over a girl, because of course. But I do think there’s a lot of painful potential in the idea of two brothers who put each other ahead of everyone else, till something goes wrong and turns the two of them into bitter enemies. Somehow, being enemies with someone you still care a lot about seems much more bitter than someone you’ve just always disliked—you have to love someone at least a little to deep-down hate them, right? Plus the situation would be even more complicated because of the fact that the brothers know each other’s likes, dislikes, strengths, weaknesses, histories. Because they know each other, period, full stop. And I think some interesting, complex storytelling issues could come from that.



Bibliography: Epified: The Mahabharata, by Epified TV. Source: YouTube.

Image Credit: Street Lamp at Night, by Pexels. Source: Pixabay.

Reading Notes: Epified Mahabharata, Part C

The first thing that caught my interest was the story “Karna the Kshatriya,” in which Karna’s new master took a nap and rested his head on Karna’s thigh, and a scorpion came along and bit Karna while his master was sleeping. Not wanting to wreck his master’s nap, Karna ignores the pain, waiting till the older man wakes up. But when he does wake up, instead of being grateful for Karna’s sacrifice, he kicks him out—only a warrior could withstand that kind of pain, he says, and Karna knows he doesn’t train warriors. I love the fact that Karna tried to hard to be good, but that was the very thing that gave him away—that got him punished and kicked out for what he was. I’d probably take this down a monster route, because that’s just who I am, but we’ll see.

Also, in “Karna Becomes King,” there’s the fact that “surprisingly, it was Duryodha who came forward and gave Karna a chance.” Yes, he was giving him a chance against his own cousins, so it benefitted D—but throughout the rest of the story, he and Karna are actually good friends to each other, and treat each other with care and loyalty. More loyalty than the “good guys” ever show each other, in a way. Thick as thieves, I guess, but I like that aspect of the villains being more loyal and tightly-knit than the heroes. Anyways, I’m always down for a story involving antiheroes or criminals or petty crime.

Also, there’s not much about “Wax Palace Conspiracy” that I actually find interesting, but dang, that title. That title deserves to be spun off into its own story. I’m feeling horror, maybe with a little bit of supernatural/fantasy, but we’ll see.

In “Bhim Kills Bakasur,” the Pandavas come to a town where villagers rotate in being chosen to deliver food to a local monster—whereupon the monster, you know, eats the deliverer too. The nice old scholar they meet is slated to play delivery boy and also for death, but Bhima takes his place, then uses that in to kill the monster. I like the idea of the MC agreeing to turn himself over to a local terror figure or crime boss in order to infiltrate the organization, take it down from the inside—you know his plan and the risks, and you learn over time why he’s doing it, what his personal stake is. But the story itself just ends with him meeting the monster or crime boss or whoever and playing nice, starting the process—so you don’t know how it turns out. A taste of what’s to come, only it never actually does come.

In “The Birth of Draupadi,” a little after Draupadi was born to her father from fire and sacrifice, it was predicted that she would be “the cause of the destruction” of many warriors. Of course, that ended up being because people fought and died to be her husband, which is a little bit anticlimactic, not to mention stupid of the suitors. But I love the idea of this daughter being born of vengeance and flames and then becoming Daddy’s Little Enforcer, the dark, crackling shadow of a girl who goes around taking out enemies of the kingdom or anyone else her dad sends her after.


Bibliography: Epified: The Mahabharata, by Epified TV. Source: YouTube.

Image Credit: "Buick Electra in Dark Alley" by Fossa. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

Tech Tip: Embedding a Tweet in a Post

"It may have been in pieces, but I gave you the best of me." - #JimMorrison pic.twitter.com/mprS1XpBH5

— Classics Du Jour (@classicsdujour) December 8, 2016

Learning Challenge: The Value of 10 Minutes

This week, to get my Project and weekly story schedules back in sync, I'm picking up some extra credit instead of adding a new story to my portfolio. I'd never tried the "Learning by H.E.A.R.T." option before, so I thought I'd give the time-managing strategies there a shot.

I ended up reading "The Value of 10 Minutes" by Gregory Semenza, and I’m glad I stumbled across this article, because I definitely related to some of the things Semenza talked about. It’s my last semester before I graduate, and even though I didn’t think my class schedule would be too bad, I’ve been pretty much buried in homework since January. Because I’m a PW major (and because of this class, I guess), a lot of that homework is writing—which would be nice, except that I’m also trying to complete a novel outside of class and seek representation for it, and class projects are stealing a lot of time from that personal project.

At the end of February, I set a rule that I write something on that novel every day, even if it’s just a couple of sentences. That’s helped me chip away at it quite a bit—and sometimes, even if it’s late and all I want is to go to bed, just the act of getting a few sentences down pushes the snowball down the hill, and it’s easy to write quite a bit more than I expected. So I do like that the system is helping me get down more than I would otherwise, even if it’s a little lacking in the “consistency” department. That said, I loved Semenza’s approach of getting up early and trying to get two pages written first thing in the morning. I’m sometimes a slow writer, especially when I’m first getting into a scene, so I definitely wouldn’t have time to commit to two pages every morning—but I like the idea of starting the day out by getting some words under my belt, before everything else gets in the way. I’ve also recently read that author James Scott Bell does the same thing—he calls it the “nifty 350”—before the day starts up and his willpower is given away to other things on his to-do list.

Also, I’ve totally been guilty to dismiss extra ten-minute chunks of time between classes as inadequate to get anything substantial done, and “surrendering” to “distractions” like email or Twitter, like Semenza admits to. This semester, when I’ll take any spare time I can get, it hasn’t been as much of an issue—but I love the 3 points Semenza makes in his case for writing every day:

It makes writing less daunting, demystifying the process.

It makes you want to write more—a snack-sized appetizer, sort of, instead of a full meal that leaves you too full to even think about more food.

And finally, it keeps you in the flow of things: not only on “the specific sentence or paragraph you’ll be starting in on the next time you write,” but also on brainstorming new ideas or problem-solving current stumbling blocks as you run errands or go about your day.

Image Credit: Watch & Work by Unsplash. Source: Pixabay.

Review Week: Week 8 Growth Mindset

Since being exposed to the idea of the growth mindset theory last semester in the Myth-Folklore class, I've tried to keep it in mind for situations outside of class, too. Learning about it came at pretty much the perfect time in my life, when I was starting to realize what I wanted my life to look at but also that trying to make that happen was also kind of scary, and was going to call for a lot of small changes to add up to big, eventual change.

I think part of what makes that so unnerving is the idea of changing not just my habits or beliefs, but changing me myself. I've always been strong in the belief that it's important to be yourself and stick to that gun, and a lot of the times, it's easy to think that self-acceptance and self-improvement are two diametrically opposed things. But really doesn't have to be that way, and I'm working on making myself more of a people person—at least enough of one that I'll be better at connecting and networking and being able to get the kind of career I want—without feeling like a sellout. It's a slow, sometimes uncomfortable process, but it's worth doing, and I'm working on it.

That said, I'm still a raging perfectionist, and I haven't gotten much better at letting go of things and moving on if I haven't gotten them the way I want them yet. Even stuff I shouldn't really care about. While cleaning out my family's garage the other week, I found an old letter from my second-grade teacher to my mom, explaining that I was too much of a perfectionist and was in danger of falling behind in class. I've gotten to the point that I can make that work without falling behind, but everything else is about as fraught as it was back then. And even though being a perfectionist is kind of miserable on a personal level, I can't say I don't want the results. One thing at a time, I guess, but for now, I'm okay with it—as long as I keep working on the balancing act between that and functionality.




Image Credit: "Trust the Process" by BK. Source: Flickr.

Review Week: Week 8 Reflections

So far, I've been content with the reading options I've chosen so far. Sita Sings the Blues was a fun take on the Ramayana, bursting with visual creativity especially, and while the Narayan option was nice for the Ramayana, I found the links in the PDE Mahabharata pretty amazing. I'm really looking forward to the free reading options later in the semester: after some Karna-based reading recommendations from Laura, I'm excited to read Karna: The Unsung Hero of the Mahabharata, The Missing Queen, and The Palace of Illusions. That'll probably take up the main chunk of my time, though I'd also love to read some Indian folktales, because those are almost always my favourite.

As for the writing component of the class, I hate how many weeks I've fallen back on the "story planning" option, but I really am pleased with choosing a portfolio instead of a storybook. As much as I loved how much writing the storybook felt like overseeing a TV show last semester--each episode its own thing, but also tying in to the "season-long" arc in some way so they all dovetailed into the finale that the introduction promised--it was quite a bit of work, and I just didn't have time to do something like that this semester (heck, I haven't even finished the finale of my storybook for last semester). Going the portfolio route has worked well for my schedule this time around, since instead of spending just as much time on my weekly stories and my storybook installments, the work I put into my weekly stories is put towards my portfolio as well. It's also kind of nice having plenty of variety, and getting more expose for the weekly stories, which otherwise wouldn't see much light of day.

Just like last semester, I enjoy the weekly commenting so much more than I would've expected to. It's so interesting seeing how the same source material can end up becoming so many different things once different people start approaching it, and how sometimes you can see the interests mentioned in people's intro posts end up influencing what they do in their stories.



Image Credit: Water Drop Splash by Janeke88. Source: Pixabay.

Week 6 Story: Guns for Hands

Three minutes.

I left the grocery store for three minutes—just long enough to cross the parking lot and grab my wallet from the car—and when I stepped back inside, it had happened again.

All the fluorescents overhead had been taken out, which was my first sign. In the weak light from the streetlamps outside, everything looked pale, ghostly. The bulbs’ shattered glass crusted the linoleum floor like crushed ice, and when I glanced up at the hollow light bays, they stared down at me like empty eye sockets.

That much alone told me I wouldn’t want to see anything else. Already, a dull throb was starting up behind my temples.

But my sister was here somewhere, and I couldn’t leave her.

“Sloane?” I called. “Sloane, it’s me. It’s Reagan. Where are you?”

Nothing.

I pulled my cell phone from my jacket pocket, switched on its flashlight.

Fifteen feet away, on the other side of the fleet of shopping carts, I found the first three bodies.

They were slumped on the floor, halfway behind their checkout counters. Both women looked like they’d landed okay, but the guy had had a rough fall; his neck was bent at a funny angle. He looked maybe nineteen, barely older than Sloane and me.

All three of them were bleeding from their eyes, their ears. Even when they’d stopped breathing, the blood kept trickling. I stood there for a minute, staring down at them in the darkness. Finally, when one of those blood trails rolled out to touch the toe of my boot, I stepped carefully back and maneuvered around them.

“Sloane!” I snapped. “We seriously need to leave—”

And then I found her.

She sat huddled in the middle of the Halloween aisle, surrounded by monsters and witches and foam tombstones. Her long blonde hair hung in a sheet over her face, and I knew she knew I was there, but she didn’t look up. Behind her, a cheap Grim Reaper cloak swung on its hanger.

“Are you okay?” I asked after a minute.

She hesitated, then shook her head. I hesitated, too. Dad would’ve known what to do.

I sighed, then crossed the aisle and took her hand, tugged her to her feet. Maybe she should’ve had to look at the people she’d killed, but I didn’t want to see them again, so we skirted around them.

Dad would’ve known what to do, but he wasn’t here anymore. And the truth was, I knew what to do, too.

I just wished I didn’t.

***

I’d been destined to kill my twin sister since we were thirteen years old.

Really, since we were born, I guess. But I’d been thirteen when Dad sat me down and explained what was wrong with Sloane, why we moved around all the time. He’d quit trying to hide the bodies from me after that.

The thing was, it never should’ve been like this. Tons of people on Mom’s side of the family had abilities. I couldn’t remember her very well, but Mom herself had been scary powerful, and that had eventually gotten her killed. Even she’d been nothing compared to Sloane, though.

Because Sloane had gotten a double dose. Half of her power should’ve gone to me, but she’d gotten both shares, and it was too much for her. Too much for the people around her. Since Dad’s death, she’d only gotten worse, and it was supposed to have been my job to keep that from happening. To stop her from hurting anyone else.

Usually, I couldn’t even think about that. But it was easier now, with those dead grocery store clerks burned into my head, the smell of their blood still in the back of my throat. I couldn’t let that happen again.

Sloane was miserable, and I was miserable, and all we did was break everything we touched. For a long time now, I’d thought we were cursed.

Maybe we were the curse.

Later that night, I waited till Sloane had gone to sleep, and then I dug out Dad’s old pistol. When I stood, that headache had started up again behind my temples, but my hands didn’t shake. I wasn’t sure if that was actually a good thing.

But some small part of me, somewhere in the back of my head, had been planning this since I was thirteen.

***

Sloane couldn’t sleep without a TV on, so muted reruns of old cartoons greeted me when I squeezed into her tiny room.

For a minute, I just stood there by her bed, waiting for some kind of sign. Her back was to me, but something in the slump of her shoulders—the tilt of her head—made her look peaceful. Younger, too.

I lifted the pistol and took a deep breath, but I still didn’t pull the trigger. And then Sloane said quietly, “I wish you would, Reagan.”

“I know,” I said after a minute, lowering the gun.

“I wish you could.”

“Me too.”

She rolled over, staring up at the ceiling instead of at me. I wondered if she’d been awake all along. When we’d moved in, she’d stuck those glow-in-the-dark stars all over the ceiling, even though I’d made fun of her. Now we’d be taking them down and leaving tomorrow. If her outburst at the store had taken out the lights, it would’ve wrecked the cameras, too, but that didn’t matter.

It was time to move on.

“I thought I had it under control this time,” she said eventually. “I wasn’t going to let it happen again. I won’t let it happen again.”

“I know.”

Idly, I wondered which of us was the bigger liar, how many times we’d had this exact conversation before. How many times we’d have it again.

I sank onto the bed beside her. She held out her hand, so I took it.

We sat and planned our next move, and Dad’s gun sat between us.

Neither of us mentioned it.




Author's Note: This week, my inspiration came from "Gandhari and Dhritarashtra," an early story from the Mahabharata. In this story, when the king and queen’s first son is born, there are all sorts of terrible, ominous omens. The royal couple’s advisors explain that their son is destined to bring something terrible upon their kingdom, and that it’ll be better for everyone to just get rid of him while they can—sacrifice the part to save the whole, and all that jazz. But the prince's parents are fond of him—he's their favorite son—and they decide to ignore the omens and the advisors and the best interests of their kingdom, just to spare him.

I found that kind of compelling: the idea of a main character being close to someone and knowing that person will hurt all kinds of people someday, but not being able to bring herself to prevent it. The idea of her choosing to let everyone else suffer before she’ll let this one person die. To explore those themes a little bit, I used Reagan and her sister, Sloane, who’s kind of a gentle soul but also a ticking time bomb. The idea was that they both know Sloane is escalating and only going to get worse, and that both know exactly how to solve their problem—but they aren’t quite strong enough yet. So for now, they just keep running.

Bibliography: Mahabharata Online: Public Domain Edition. Source: Laura Gibbs's Indian Epics blog.

Image Credit: Two Hands by milivanily. Source: Pixabay.