READING NOTES: KING ARTHUR: TALES OF THE ROUND TABLE (PART B)

Photo Credits: Flickr

Reading Notes:


The Adventure of Sir Galahad
I could write in the perspective of the squire who was with the knight who was injured. I could write in the perspective of the maidens from the castle or I could write in the perspective of the Duke’s daughter. I could make it sappy and have them fall in love. Thinking about my storybook, I could write about Guinevere.

How Sir Lancelot Saw a Vision
Weird that this super holy knight was able to see and be healed by the Holy Graal and then he stole from the knight who was laying there. I thought stealing was a sin?

The Adventure of Sir Percivale
I could write about how he befriended the lion.

Sir Lancelot and the 500 Knights
I feel bad for Sir Lancelot. I know I’ve heard the name before and you would think that it would be good things that he had done. He just couldn’t do anything right!

Sir Gawaine and the Hermit
I wish they could tell each other this so that they could stop trying to find it. Why do they need to find it anyway? It isn’t something that they need.

The Adventure of Sir Bors
I could write about how he almost killed his brother.

Sir Galahad and the Mysterious Ship
I wonder if she was truly a “gentlewoman” or if she was trying to tempt him. I could write the story in her perspective. I like that she was his brother. Interesting that they sent her off with a letter in her hand.

Sir Lancelot and Sir Galahad
I like the idea of all of these dreams. I could work that into my story.

How Sir Galahad Found the Graal
I wonder why they didn’t stay as knights to King Arthur.

The End of Arthur
I like the descriptions with this one. I think this part would be interesting to write a story about. I could write it from Guenevere’s perspective.



Bibliography:  King Arthur: Tales of the Round Table by Andrew Lang and illustrated by H. J. Ford (1902)

READING NOTES: KING ARTHUR: TALES OF THE ROUND TABLE (PART A)

Photo Credits: Pixabay 

Reading Notes (Part A):

The Drawing of the Sword
Okay … I had no idea the TV show Merlin was based off of these stories! My brother and I would watch them all the time and bonded over it. I’m not sure if I could come relatively close to topping that retelling of the story.

 The Questing Beast
I wonder if he has a sister named Morgana in this story. Interesting… In Merlin, Guenevere is a common girl and not a princess. I like how he changes from a man to a boy and back kind of like what he does in Merlin. That was always hilarious the way he talked as the old man. I don’t think I would want to know my death. It would freak me out.

The Sword Excalibur
I love the idea of healers. I would love to know the uses for different plants. I could write about the lady of the lake. I could write in the perspective of Guenevere. I really enjoyed their love story in the TV show so I could work off of that in some ways. Whenever someone says coronation I always think of the movie Frozen. I could write from the perspective of Tor.

The Passing of Merlin
I like the idea of Merlin falling in love with a damsel of the lake. If there is more about her or why she's evil I could write about her. 

How Morgan le Fay Tried to Kill King Arthur
I could write in the perspective of Morgan le Fay. Wow she is super evil and just as evil as the TV show.

The Quest of the Holy Graal
The King’s Pilgrimage
 I could write from the perspective of Gwain, the youth that accompanied King Arthur on his trip.

The Coming of the Holy Graal
I could write the story from the perspective of the king being so happy and then so sad about seeing the Holy Graal. 


Bibliography:  King Arthur: Tales of the Round Table by Andrew Lang and illustrated by H. J. Ford (1902)

STORY: MAN OF THE HOUSE

Photo Credits: Flickr

My husband was a man of honor. His presence demanded respect and his actions showed that he deserved it. When my father gave me to him for marriage, I was happy to be with such a man. My father was almost too old to hunt any longer. He married me to him so that we could all survive the winter months. When we needed meat, my husband ventured out into the woods to hunt. He would always, without fail, bring back more than we could eat in a week. He was skillful at what he did and enjoyed it very much. He was the greatest provider for me and my parents.

It was some time ago that he started to change. He would no longer bring home extra game for my poor parents. Many nights, they have gone hungry because of it. I tried to bring scraps and small pieces of meat too them when I could, but it was never enough. They were starving and would soon die. When I tried to tell my husband this, he would not listen to my reasoning. He discounts my logic because I am a woman.

“You think you know what it is like to hunt and to provide?” He would say, jabbing a finger in my face. “Ha! You are a silly woman without sense. These people have nothing, are nothing. They should die for their laziness and stupidity.” He lectured like this any time that I suggested giving scraps of meat to my starving parents. He would hear nothing of it.



***



I woke up suddenly, plagued by the same nightmare I have almost every night. In the dream, I walk into my parent’s lodge. Smoke hangs in the air like fog, blurring my vision. I walk a few paces, squinting to see. I trip suddenly and fall to the floor. I look back at what I tripped on to be frozen with fear. It was a body that I tripped on. Crawling on all fours, I inch closer to the hazy outline. As I get closer I realize, it isn’t just one body, but two. I cry out when I see that the bodies are those of my parents. Their bodies pale and lifeless on the cold ground. Their cheeks hollow from starvation. Hand in hand, they embraced death together.

Tears streamed down my cheeks from the empty feeling in my chest. I couldn’t help them. I couldn’t save them. My heart ached for the loss I knew was coming. 

Breathing deeply, I tried to relieve myself of some of the sadness. There was work to be done. My husband was gone hunting and would not be back for another night. I went out back to start tanning the cow skins my husband brought me before he left. I was lost in my work for what could have been minutes or hours, I could not tell. But when I looked up, there was a strange man staring at me, not twenty paces from where I sat.

“Who are you and why are you staring at me?” I said, loud enough for him to hear. He looked at me and slowly rose. He did not answer at first. He approached me with cation, as if not to startle me or scare me off.

When he was less than two steps away, he finally spoke. “I am a visitor. I have traveled a long way and I am tired.” Close as he was, I could tell by his eyes that he was not lying. He must have not slept in days. “If you would be so kind as to let me stay the night, I will be eternally in your debt.” He bowed his head in respect.

“Of course you may stay. My husband is gone hunting but will return tomorrow.” I said, knowing that I would be punished for letting a strange man stay the night. I had a feeling about this man. Maybe he could help me save my parents.

The time came and my husband arrived home with the meat from his hunt.

“Who are you? Why are you in my lodge?” My husband roared, his face bright red.

The visitor stood very fast and stared at my husband’s with a force you could almost feel.

“I am a visitor. Your wife was so gracious as to offer me a place to rest for the night. I have come very—“

“You think a woman has the authority to allow you to stay in my house?” He said, body vibrating in anger. He then turned to me and raised a hand to hit me.

“Touch her and I will kill you.” The stranger’s voice was calm and quiet. My husband lowered his hand an inch but did not let it fall completely.

“Ha! You will not tell me what I can or cannot do to my own wife!” He raised his hand again and brought it down hard on the side of my face. The sound rattled in my ears and my cheek stung as I fell to the floor from the blow. I blinked fast trying to clear my eyes of tears. I heard something cut through the air like butter and hit its target. My eyes cleared enough to see my husband fall to the ground, arrow through his heart. I knew at once that my husband was dead.

“I could not stand by while he laid hands on you. I was indebted to you, now even more so for I have killed your husband. I will protect you and provide for you and your family if you will let me.” He said with an air of solidity. His voice was soothing and his words even more so. I could not respond, I was sobbing from the relief that my parents would live and the grief from the death of the person my husband used to be. Instead I nodded and let him hold me as I cried.

 
Author's Note:

In the original story, there were three sisters who were married to the guy. Only one of them, the youngest, would bring their parents meat. The man used the dad to scare the buffalo so he could shoot it. Even though the dad would help hunt, he would not give the dad any meat. One day they find a baby and use magic so that it grew up into a man. He then kills the husband and continues on in other stories to kill other evil things. I changed it so that there was only one wife and the man who kills the husband is a stranger. I didn’t want to bring magic into the picture so that the story seemed more realistic. This story was hard to end but I had to end but I feel it gives the reader more choice over what comes next. I hope you enjoyed reading it!

Bibliography: Blackfeet Indian Stories by George Bird Grinnell (1915).

READING NOTES: BLACKFEET INDIAN STORIES (PART B)

Photo Credits: Wikipedia

Reading Notes Part B:

The Smart Woman Chief: Interesting how men and women started out apart and that women were made first. This guy was not very nice or smart. Obviously he only wanted her when she looked nice. I wonder why she chose a pine tree to turn him into.

Bobcat and Birch Tree: Birch trees always reminds me of camp. Sometimes the way these stories say animals came to look the way they do is pretty demented. Do they have an explanation for everything? Also it is strange that it is a man who makes things look a certain way and not a god or spirit.

The Red-Eyed Duck: I love how a lot of these stories has something about a song in them. The old man likes to trick animals who are being nice to them and then kill them to eat. He is not a very nice old man. I guess the coyote got him back though.

Kut-O-Yis, The Blood Boy: I’m glad my dad doesn’t see me as a means getting something for my marriage. I would smack him now. Also, sharing a toy with my sisters is one things…but hell no. I would not share my husband. I feel like Native Americans were always respectful and would help their elders. This is weird to me. Weird way to find a baby. I could write from the perspective of the youngest daughter.

Kut-O-Yis, The Blood Boy (cont.): What is up with these mean leaders who do not feed their people? This dude is like the liberator of hungry people.

Kut-O-Yis, The Blood Boy (cont.): So, a son-in-law, a bear and a snake. Why do people kill for them? This dude is just looking for trouble. He can’t just hang out and rest.

Kut-O-Yis, The Blood Boy (cont.): I wonder how the wind guy killed everyone. Maybe like a dementor.

Kut-O-Yis, The Blood Boy (end): “avoid her” that was funny. He is just an adrenaline junkie. I wonder if he killed the little girl who helped him live again.

 

Bibliography: Blackfeet Indian Stories by George Bird Grinnell (1915).

READING NOTES: BLACKFEET INDIAN STORIES (PART A)

Photo Credits: wsilver

Two Fast Runners: Two animals meet in a prairie. Could be two people instead. Two kids racing each other.

The Wolf Man: Interesting that both of the wives were not good wives. I wouldn’t be very pleased if my husband had another wife though… I wouldn’t be cleaning or cooking for him either. They seem very shallow minded. They were bored so they decided to kill their husband so that they could go back to the village to talk to their friends. Wolves saved him and call him their brother.

The Dog and the Root Digger: Hungry people are cranky. This would be good for description. Greed gets the best of the son and the wife. Why did he take all of the animals? Could be from the perspective of the family.

The Camp of the Ghosts: Reminds me of up. Interesting that there is a country for ghosts. Shut your eyes and don’t look back. I like this story. I might retell is so that it is in my words but keeps the main story line.

The Buffalo Stone: I like the idea of a song and having to reteach it so that the people don’t die.

How the Thunder Pipe Came: This is a cool story line. Lightning is such a cool thing. I didn’t know that it was sometimes personified. I wish I had some magic that made me see well.

Cold Maker’s Medicine: Wow friendly grizzly bears. Weird that she was so nice and then killed him. I like all of these stories. Maybe I can combine them all.

The Rolling Rock: Was the beer inspired by this? Sad that all the animals died.

Bear and Bullberries: This old man is not very smart.

The Theft from the Sun: I like the idea of a sun lodge. That’s what he gets for trying to steal leggings from the sun. Not a good idea.

 

Bibliography: Blackfeet Indian Stories by George Bird Grinnell (1915).

WEEK 8 GROWTH MINDSET

Photo Credits: I took this photo at Fort Sheridan Beach in IL

This is actually something that I have been thinking a lot about lately. It is easy to move through life not thinking about ways that you can improve or better yourself. Sure, many people think of ways to improve but usually it is for their job or for someone else. I have been thinking a lot about how I can be better for myself and to myself. 

School can be full of stress. Since elementary school, we were given grades based on our performance. I wish this wasn’t how school worked because of all of the things they talk about in the growth mindset. I’m surprised that there are kids who make it through school with a growth mindset because of the way school is structured.

For me, when I got a low grade on a test or assignment, I didn’t think about it as a chance to learn more. Now that the seed was planted in my mind, I feel I am doing a better job seeing a low grade as an opportunity to learn and improve my skills. It is not easy after being stuck in this one way of thinking for so long but it is something I’m working on.

I am working on prioritizing things this semester and being invested in a schedule that works for me. I have a lot on my plate for this semester and I am worried I might have spread myself a little too thin. But I just have to work on prioritizing things and working ahead in my classes so I stay on top of everything so I don’t get overwhelmed.

Something I really need to find the courage to do is apply for internships for next semester. I think I’m afraid of being rejected but I know that I’ll never know until I try. Again, I just need to prioritize it so I actually get it done!

WEEK 8 REFLECTIONS

Photo Credits: Ed Gregory


My favorite types of stories to read are ones that are one or two cohesive stories. I liked to read stories that had a more detailed plot or storyline. Recently I have chosen stories that were shorter and ones without a lot of character building. They were less interesting to me and were harder for me to come up with alternate storylines. I read mostly on Mondays and Tuesdays. If I have enough time on Mondays, I read the whole story. I am always able to find a piece of the story that I find interesting enough to create into a story.

I have found that I like to tell stories that have some element of romance in it. This doesn’t surprise me too much seeing as those are the stories I like to read in my free time. I have found that it is hard to come back out of writing mode and into author’s note mode. I feel like I should stay in character. I am happy with the stories I have told so far. I like writing and it seems that most people like the stories as well. I think I am happy with my choice of doing a storybook. So far so good! I’m excited to connect all of the stories together as I continue this semester.

I think I need to work on stepping into the mind of the person I’m writing about. Figuring out what it was like to be that person at that time. It can sometimes be hard to figure it out when I haven’t studied the time period.

When I look at other people’s work, I admire their attention to detail. I also admire when they are so creative in taking a story and changing it into something so completely different. I would like to stay away from huge paragraphs and stories told from a bird’s eye view with hardly any details.

STORY: THE FLAMES IN THE MEADOW

Photo Credits: Randi Hausken


As the sun crept its way up in the early summer morning, there was an overwhelming sense of calm. The sun stretched out its arms, grazing its fingers along each one of the flowers in the meadow. The flowers seemed to glow with attention, reaching up to embrace the sun’s gentile caress. When the sun had made it above the mountains, the flowers looked more like a sea of fire than a meadow of flowers. With bright oranges and yellows, the meadow looked as though it were alive.


In the midst of the fiery scene stood a small shack, no bigger than one room. The couple who dwelled there were slow to rise in efforts to prolong the charm of early morning. Will and Layla had been together for almost thirty years now. Their love never weakening, through the good years and bad. They looked into each other’s eyes with the same passion and adoration as the day that they wed.


The day they wed was also the day that they ran away from their little village. Their marriage was not approved by either of their families. Sure that they would be cast out on their announcement of marriage, the new couple took all that they could carry and set off to find a new home. After walking for almost a week, they found this meadow, so beautiful and serene, they immediately knew that this was where they were to live for the rest of their lives. Tucked away from the rest of the world, they escaped the judgement of those who could not understand how profound and unadulterated this connection was they shared.


Working together they created their little house from what they could find in the surrounding woods. Growing up, Will was a carpenter’s apprentice in the village. He was good with his hands and was fluid with his work. The house was ready just before the winter winds blew from the north and covered the meadow with snow. While Will worked on the house, Layla gathered what she could before the frost came. She was talented in the way of herbal medicine and set out into the forest to find the array of herbs she liked to keep on hand.






Photo Credits: Pixabay



Winter seemed to go on forever that first year. Their rations were dwindling and there was little game in the forest. The hollows of their cheeks were more pronounced than ever and their bodies were struggling to produce enough heat to keep them going. They held each other close at night, terrified at the thought that it would be there last night together.


Just as they were about to give up hope, the snow started to melt. The two were overjoyed when they saw the vivid green slivers of grass peeking through the melting snow. They were quick to learn how to live on their own. Having been in arms reach of death, they were more determined than ever to make every moment count.


It was then that they realized that just like the waves of fiery flowers that returned every spring, their love would never end. Not even the cold grip of death could stifle something so absolute.





Bibliography: The Crimson Fairy Book by Andrew Lang and illustrated by H. J. Ford (1903).







Author’s note:

I really loved the opening of the story that I read. It was a very vivid image in my mind and I wanted to take that and create something with it. I did not like how in the story the wife offers her child as sacrifice to the creature in the water. All of the characters in the story seem to be very self-important. The husband thought that it wasn’t fair of the wife to ask for different honey when she was very sick. So he decided once he was better that he would have her fetch water for him. It was a very childlike relationship and I didn’t want to write about those elements of the story. So I essentially just took the scene of the story and created something totally different. Although there is less of a plot in my version, I think it simply tells the story of two people who were not self-centered and cruel. I hope you liked reading my version of it!

 



READING NOTES: THE CRIMSON FAIRY BOOK (READING A)

Photo Credits: Stolz Gary M

READING A:

Motikatika:
Love this setting: they lived in a little hut surrounded by grass and flowers. Interesting that they were so happy and that he doesn’t seem overjoyed that she finally feels better. It shouldn’t be about getting even. Also strange that the woman would offer her own child. Usually there is some sort of protection instinct that mothers have for their children. Why wasn’t the child mentioned in the beginning? I could tell the story in the perspective of the woman or the man.

Motikatika (cont.):
I wonder if he has a nickname. It seems like his mother is happy to give him to the ogre to be eaten. This little boy has good ears it seems. What a creepy family. They don’t seem to care much if the other dies. I guess it is the mother’s fault to begin with.

Jackal and Spring:
I could write another poem about this. It would be about the various tricks the jackal played.

Adventures of a Jackal:
I could rewrite this story as if it were people instead of animals. 

Adventures of a Jackal (cont.):
I could write a story from the perspective of the old man who gave the advice. Not having a tail really gives him away. I could write in the perspective of the hedgehog.

Adventures of a Jackal (end):
I was not expecting that ending. It is weird that the greyhound waiting until the end to kill him. 

Adventures of Jackal's Eldest Son:
I could write as though the jackal is a human and that the other animals were his friends. 

Adventures of Jackal's Eldest Son (cont.):
I could write in the perspective of the woman who made the butter. What an evil hedgehog. Now he will never find where the butter is.

Adventures of Younger Son of Jackal:
I could tell the story in the perspective of the sheep.





The Crimson Fairy Book by Andrew Lang and illustrated by H. J. Ford (1903).