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S – Seirei no Moribito (Moribito)

  • Posted on April 22, 2017 at 1:53 pm

My friends and I joke that this series is about an adoptive mother taking her teenage son to give birth to his unwanted baby. However, Moribito is about so much more than that. The arching themes of this series combine with the characters and the setting to make for an enchanting tale about a young woman trying to atone for her sins and a young boy just trying to survive.

Why I recommend it to Writers: If you want a lesson in how to work a theme into a story, this is the anime for you. If you want to know how to write badass female characters, this is the story for you. If you want to cry tears of joy at the end, this is the story for you.

Warnings: Teenage pregnancy. Just kidding.

For the rest of the articles in this series, please visit this page.

Have you seen this anime? What about it made you want to be a better writer? Do you intend to go shotgun this anime now that I’ve shown it to you? Comment below and tell me what you think!

Eggs of the Golden Variety

  • Posted on April 5, 2014 at 12:32 pm

Papi didn’t have life insurance. He worked part time for four different companies. But he didn’t have anything to leave us when he passed. Mama was distraught. She was too used to being able to be pretty, nails done, hair cut every week, too used to being pampered to accept the death of the only man who ever truly loved her. My brother left town, on some bender through the next several towns on his way to Santa Monica. I was left with the baby, and the birds.

We had four chickens, Allah, Monica, Veronica and Dolce, one goose, Ricardo, and an old rooster named Bernardo. They lived in a coop in our back yard, and the noise they made sometimes kept the baby awake during her naptime. Little Isadora never did sleep very well. She kept us all awake at night with her crying, unless Papi came home, and held her. He sang to her, little songs from his homeland. I loved those songs.

Life was dull, colorless, without Papi’s songs, without his strength. I took to selling the eggs in the morning so that we could buy milk for Isadora, and bread and cheese. I barely felt it one morning when Ricardo nipped my fingers so hard they bled. We were all different, now that Papi was gone. Armando hadn’t been back home in weeks. Mama wouldn’t come out of her room, and spent all her time talking on the phone to grandmama in Oregan. I think she might have been planning to move us out there.

One day, though, there was a new bird in the coop. Isadora babbled on my hip, old enough to walk, but still easily tired out by the distance between the back door and the coop, reaching for the new bird. It was… beautiful. It shone in the sunlight like gold, it’s eyes dark and fathomless. Long plumes like a peacock I’d seen once at the zoo spread out behind it. Dolce was cozied up to it’s side, cuddling up like she did with any bird that sat still long enough, and she looked drab in comparison. This new addition lifted it’s head, and then, I swear to God above, spoke.

“Mi Flora, take a feather. Sell it, and use the money to buy food. Sell the eggs no longer.” It was Papi’s voice. It was Papi’s voice, coming from the bird, and I was going loco. Isadora squealed, and I must have put her down without realising it, because she toddled over, and just like Dolce, cuddled up to the bird’s side. The bird nuzzled her with it’s beak, and she burbled at him in baby language. Him. Oh god, now I was thinking of it as Papi.

I stepped closer, and again, I must have taken a feather without realizing it. The bird was singing, one of Papi’s old songs, and the golden feather was warm in my fingers. I must have dozed off, to the sound of Papi singing. Isadora and I woke up with the chickens clucking around us, and the strange bird gone. I sold the feather for a fifty in the city, and paid it forward to the landlord. He was happy. Mama asked me where I got the money, but I shrugged and didn’t answer, scraping the last of the mac and cheese out onto Isadora’s little baby plate.

It happened again the next day. And the day after that. Months passed, and we were caught up, had food on the table, Isadora had new clothes and a new blanket. Papi came and sang for us every morning while I fed the birds, and Ricardo got fatter, and the girls’ feathers were shining and their eggs had tripled. Life was good.

Then one day, Mama came out of her room. She took money from the pretty yellow jar I’d found for the extra money. It looked like an egg, and Isadora loved playing with it. She disappeared for hours, and came back dolled up. This became the new routine. Weeks passed. We grew wealthier. I put a new roof on the house. The garden started growing better with the fertilizer we bought. Mama got prettier each day.

I came out every morning and spoke to Papi, and he sang, and then one day, Mama must have heard… because she found us there, and gasped. “Orlando?” She breathed, and Papi turned his golden head to her.

“Mi corazon, te amo, you are more beautiful than ever.”

Mama wept. She cried all day. All day and all night. And then, the next morning, when I went out to feed the birds and listen to Papi sing…

He was dead. Again. Mama sat next to his headless body, and held handfuls of swan-feathers, none of them gold. None of them glittering. Isadora screamed, and then cried. And the world turned grey once again. Papi was dead.

Darling Mother Dearest

  • Posted on April 4, 2014 at 12:30 pm

We know the type. The Mother, The Magdelene, She Who Nurtures, and she is the singular woman who defines who we are, who we become, and what we’re going to do with the world around us. Developmental theory often refers to her as the Female Rolemodel. In Fairytales, her title might be Step-Mother, or Queen, or any number of other things. But in the end, she is that one discerning force that brings us out into the world.

Now, this is where we draw the line. There are many types of Mothers.  Good ones, bad ones, evil ones, abusive ones, caring ones, obtuse ones, demanding ones, mothers run the whole spectrum, because they are, in fact, people. And no matter what your experience with them, or lack thereof, they still define parts of you to this day. Often, it isn’t until we grow up and get our own jobs and move on, that we realise our mothers, good bad or missing, are part of what motivates us in the world.

Three very good examples of mothers include Mother Gothel from Tangled, Eudora, Tiana’s mother from Princess and the Frog, and finally, one we all know very, very well, Wendy from Peter Pan. Now, you may be wondering where Wendy comes into this. Just hold on, and let me get to my point.  All of these fine ladies exemplify motherhood one way or another. Each different kinds, each with their own flaws, each with their own strengths. But beneath it all, they’re all women, down to the bones of it. Beneath the veil of “Mother” lies a woman, and it is that woman who determines how her children will turn out.

To start with, we’ll give you a good example. Eudora, the mother from Princess and the Frog, is a good woman. Married to her husband of many years, she works hard in New Orleans in the 20s. Which, for a woman of color, could NOT have been a good time for her. But she made the best of what she had, and because of that, she raised a resourceful, kind, and determined daughter. Because beneath the Mother, there was a resourceful, kind, and determined woman.

Now, Mother Gothel, as you well know, if you watched the movie for even half of its length, was abusive. Emotionally, and at the end, physically. She constantly belittled Rapunzel under the guise of motherly help. She put her down, and if you watch her most minute actions, all of her affection was aimed towards her daughter’s HAIR. The magic, not the girl. No wonder Rapunzel wanted out so desperately! But, if there was anything she did do right, is that she provided for her daughter. Rapunzel never wanted for anything, not food, not a roof, other than entertainment of course. And she encouraged her hobbies, baking and reading and painting. Even the worst mother can have a FEW redeeming qualities, I suppose.

Wendy, however, is a very special case. She actually wasn’t really a Mother. Not to begin with anyway. But the boys adopted her, and unwilling, she ended up a mother. This is the important part. She didn’t WANT to be a mother to those boys. Peter forced it on her, much the way single mothers are forced to take up both parental roles. However, unlike either of the mothers above, Wendy falls under the pressure. She caves. And in the end, she leaves. This too, has an impact upon her ‘children’. The boys once again only have Peter for guidance, and instead of growing up, they languish in Neverland, playing games forever with their child king.

So you see, no matter who she is, absent, missing, there, loving, nurturing, evil, selfish, cold, the mother has a big influence on her children. And before you get into it, fathers do too, but this is about mothers, so hush.  Mothers are what teach us how to emotionally handle the world. They prepare us, one way or another, for what we’ll find when we leave the nest. Some are good at this duty. Some are terrible. But no matter what, even if you loathe your mother and her actions, there is always something that will bring your mind back to them, something that makes you remember her, absent or not. And that, my friends, is why women become Mothers. That is our immortality.

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