OwnStories: Two Indian friends joke about converting each other to their respective religions (Islam, Christianity)
Anon said:
i'm a Tamil Roman Catholic writing two Indian best friends. one is Bengali + Muslim, and the other is Malayali + St. Thomas Christian. both are actively religious, and have a running joke where they kid about converting each other. they are both content with their own religions and love each other, but still joke about converting the other. i have similar jokes with my own friends, but i am unsure of whether this would be offensive in writing?
Should be ok, but with caveats
Just a disclaimer: I’m including some points for anyone thinking of doing this.
As a member of a minority religion that’s undergone forcible conversion attempts throughout most of our history and currently faces religious based systemic oppression in all the South Asian countries we live in, I would not be comfortable with these jokes, especially if there was a systemic power imbalance between the people making the jokes.
I don’t think all jokes about religion are bad - before writing jokes about conversion, look into historical and current systems of oppression. Or are there currently missionaries using predatory tactics in their areas to convert others? While you’ve already specified that the characters are best friends, the relationship between the characters should also be taken into consideration.
I personally only make jokes like this with my other Sikh friends about converting each other to other sects and I would not stay friends with someone who joked about converting me to their religion, especially if there was ever force implied. In India, there’s no systematic power imbalance between Muslims & Christians - you’re probably fine, but hearing a diverse set of opinions won’t hurt.
- SK
The Importance of Boundaries
The important thing is your protagonists need to have boundaries. They don't have to establish them in-story, but you have to know what they are when writing that dialogue.
Story time: when I was a freshman in college, a fellow Indian girl in choir befriended me. We ate lunch and talked about life, as well as classes. Then she tried to convert me to Christianity, while recommending A Voice in the Wind. I think I was polite and explained my cynicism, namely my dad dying despite all the prayers my Hindu family gave. Her response was to use a parable from the Bible, which again, I didn't believe in, to try and prove her point. In hindsight, that was super uncomfortable.
This is why boundaries are important. Real friends can establish what is okay and what's not when making these jokes.
- Jaya
Probably OK
From my perspective, I don’t see much wrong with this, if only because my desi Muslim friends and I do this a lot in the US. This obviously wouldn’t work back home. Islamic conversion of Hindus historically has a lot of baggage and certainly, the current tactics of Hindutva against Sikhs, Christians and Muslims would add another nasty layer. Not to mention little things like how the relationship between India and Pakistan is often used as fodder for religious conflict. However, I think the relationship between Islam and Christianity in India is akin to the relationship Islam and Hinduism have in the US (That is to say, in both contexts, the religions involved are minority religions with members that experience oppression from the members of the majority religion).
Like you, I honestly like that my friends and I can joke about our religions. It beats fighting over them like people do back home and takes a lot of the sting out of history. It’s also a great coping strategy for us as a way to deal with the persistent, aggressive and sometimes violent confrontations we experience with members of various forms of Christianity in the US. That said, you might want to give some consideration as to where you set this story or the context within which your characters make these jokes. As you no doubt are already aware, a Muslim and a Christian joking about conversion in India will feel very different to members of other religions who overhear their banter. If you have any Sikh or Hindu friends, it might be worth your time to hear their opinions.
I wish you luck with this story. Any work of fiction that can get desis to calm the heck down when it comes to religion is probably good for us.
New series soon to be published... Sunday in Berlingske. Portraits from The World Cup in football for men over 70 years...⚽️⚽️⚽️ #portræt #portrait #soccer #football #worldcup #men #oldmen #freelance #ownstories #ownideas (her: Gladsaxe Stadion)
CW-TW : Haunted house, possession, mention of drugs, mention of slavery, mention of a serial killer, slightly gory description of a murder, confusion, emetophobia.
Main genre : gothic horror (inspired by a picture of a gothic mansion)
June, maybe the third or the fourth, 1978...(that can't be right…)
I hear a scream sometimes. Sometimes, it's a long, desperate moan, and sometimes, it's a dreadful, angry scream. An expression of despair and anger. Irrational, passionate. It doesn't scares me now. The first time the scream has occurred was when I discovered the lower rooms of the mansion. It was dark and cold, and from what I could see at first glance, it was running deep into the belly of the house. I took a first step on the stairs when the crack of the wood echoed into the dark corridor. I froze for five or six second before I was able to walk again. Now, I would say it was a short time during which fear distracted me from the rational thoughts but at that exact moment, I felt it, I knew it, someone was listening. When I had reach the lower floor my foot met a cold pavement of gray stone. The only light was the light of the upper room, from the stairs, and I couldn't see any further. Again, I took a step in the shadow and a shiver run through my bones, my blood felt cold and my mouth was dry. Then, I heard it, a violent screech. The only thing I manage to remember now is the slam noise of the door behind me, and the light of the upper room, bright and comforting. I have no remembrance of my choice of running on the stairs and close the door, only the smell of my sweat, the difficult breathing and the slow recovering of my mind.
He fold the journal page in four and put it in his jacket's breast pocket. The atmosphere of the mansion was heavy, apart from the loud music in the main hall and the smell of alcohol, sweat and drugs, the mansion felt empty and draining. He raised his head in direction of the stairs only to see Henry and Mark, they were shortly joined by Kim and Barbara. He decide he should follow them, as he knew his friends were always prone to get in trouble. He reaches them, Kim took Barbara's hand in hers and followed the men into a corridor covered by an old wallpaper, decorate by outdated motif. The remaining bass sounds of the music grew distant as they walk deep into this upper level of the mansion. Kim seems delighted by the view, by the mystery that was unfolding before their eyes. Barbara, on the other hand, seems too drunk to care and she was now griping her girlfriend arms as if she could disappear at anytime. Henry and Mark abruptly stop their walk when the corridor lead to a door. It wasn't like the other ones of the mansion. This door seems older than the place itself, engraved with world he couldn't understand. Mark opened the door and, he, for second that felt like hours, could only hear the frightening scream of Barbara.
June, twenty-five,2025
There is something wicked in this place.
He woke up on the ground of the main hall, his mind was blinded by a strong dizziness. He look around him, hoping to see his friends healthy, and self. He jumps on his fit and relax instantly. Mark and Henry were sharing a cover on the floor, Kim was on the couch, resting on Barbara's shoulder. He smiled at them before walking away. The dizziness didn't go away that day, nor did he could forget his friend's scream. It was as if it resonate inside his brain, again and again.
"Hi," said a voice behind him.
He faced Henry and smiled at him, of the four, Henry was the sweetest. He was a little bit older than the others. Always dressed well, with what seems like expensive suit. This time, he wore the one with the dark olive jacket and pant, and the cream-color shirt underneath.
"Hi, Henry."
"Are you alright? You seemed a little bit lost last evening."
"I feel a little dizzy since last evening. I think I fell asleep and had multiple nightmares."
"Well, to be fully honest with you, I don't remember going to sleep, yet I was deeply asleep and, I don't remember a lot from what happened last night."
"We were upstairs, and Mark opened a door. Then Barbara screamed, and then nothing. I woke up on the ground."
"Upstairs? There isn’t any second floor. You're sure it wasn't part of your nightmare?"
"It probably was, to be honest. But also, If I am fully honest, I would say that this house is weird anyway."
Henry shrugged. He pass near him, his perfume followed him, a strong scent of sandalwood which always felt like something to make him look even older. Henry was, as a matter of fact, handsome. His hair were dark and thick, he was tall and always dress appropriately. His skin was brown and soft. He was also great at speaking, probably because he had a lawyer for mother and his father was a pastor. The mansion was his, passed through generations until it came down to an uncle that couldn't spend much more time and money into maintain a huge and empty house. This house has saw many thing because, at some point it was mainly a ruin. Nobody came here except sometimes young people, because it always was a good place to party and hide from authority, and sometimes people in need like homeless people or addict. When Henry inherit the mansion, he paid for its renovation. Later, Kim and Barbara became friend with Henry and his boyfriend, Mark, and they started organizing parties and receptions in the main hall of the house. Looking at his friend, he knew he was lucky to have him, and them. His feeling of unease intensified, for a couple of second, he wasn't able to remember when did they met each other.
"Coffee?" asked Henry, distracting him from his train of thought.
"Yes, please."
July, third, 2025,
Sometimes, I wonder if the house choose me, or if I am the house.
He keep discovering notes. Entry journal from someone that seem unsure of where or who they are. Some entries are just one sentence. One of them felt heavy on his heart, as if he understand that feeling. As if he knew the person who wrote this phrases. The author heard a scream too, or even more. He tried to understand what his friends were talking about when he felt dizzy again. He looked at them, a frowned on his face.
"Where is Barbara?" he asked.
"Barbara?" repeated Mark,
"I don't know anyone with this name."
"Are you alright?" asked Henry.
"I'm not sure. I feel as if…" he shook is head,
"I'm sorry, maybe I'm remembering wrong."
"There is a Barbara in my class. She is hot." said Kim, a huge smile crossing her face.
He shrugged, maybe they didn't met yet, it is alright, the house must have been messing with time again, said a voice. He froze, a cold shiver run through his bone and blood. He close his eyes and took a deep breath. When he open them, he was back in the cold upper room. Next to him, the door. He could heard her scream again. He took another breath and lie back on the bed.
March, fourth, 2025,
Three years ago, Mark opened a door that didn't exist in any blueprint of the mansion. Since then, I have travel many times of the house history. I have met many people from whom I’ve learnt many things of the world. I keep record of it, which help me understand if I was back in the present or not. But at some point I think I have lost track of it because I am sure some of the notebooks are missing. If not, then I am in the present. If yes, it could mean two things, one, I'm lost in time and can't keep track of the travels, or, two, someone or something stole my notebook. For a long time, I tried to find my friends but the house kept changing. Time period, rooms, layout of the building, numbers of floor. Everything is always different. The only proof I have that my friends are somewhere is the echoing of their voices and screams. But how to be sure it's not the reminiscences of the house's past, profoundly marked by the horror of what happened three years ago?
He wasn't always like this. He wasn't always sick. It started some times ago, when a group of young people opened a room he didn't know. The weird thing is that he was with them. And the house started to rewrite things. In the past, he his part of this group, but really he is not. And since Henry interacted with him, he couldn't repair the loop. Now, he is their friend but he is also...He couldn't think further. Where did they met if not in the house? Did the house choose him, or was him the house? He unfold that note. It was written. The third day of July, year 2025. But now that he is in the bathroom, the music blasting through a giant sound system machine, Mark and Henry making out in the corridor next to this room, he was sure it wasn't 2025. Kim wasn't there, so maybe it's 2021? He couldn't know because he wasn't part of it. He couldn't remember because they didn't met. The group, one day, open a room he, himself, didn't know existed and then everything started to fall apart. He was trapped. But was he part of the group, or something else? Someone started knocking at the door.
"Brandon can you please get out of here? I really need to pee…" said a voice he didn't recognize.
He open the door. "How…" His eyes met the eyes of the girl, she was younger than the others. But the others were there too.
"Thanks!" She shut the door behind her.
He, Brandon, stand there in the middle of the corridor. Mark smiled at him.
"The kid is my niece, I would prefer if she stayed at her mom's with a nanny or something but apparently she start to be too old to have a nanny watching for her."
"So, what happened?"
"Marcilla, my sister, told her she could stay with me. She is fourteen and she doesn't listen to me at all."
"She couldn't stay at home by herself?"
"I guess she could if one of her friend didn't throw a party while her parent were traveling. The girl took something hard and drown herself in the pool. Since then my sister is freaking out."
"So you decide you'd bring her here surrounded by twenty something people and a place full of drug and all?" He asked in disbelief.
"Well, she followed me."
Oh, that explained thing a little bit.
"Who was that guy with you?" he asked, fishing new informations.
"I forgot to ask his name but I know he is the madman who plan the party. You don't know the guy?"
"I just know him from afar, I guess I did know the name before drinking this much." Mark laugh.
He was a great kid. Always a smile on his face, his red hair always well brush, his blue eyes surround by freckles and glasses with thick black branches. From this conversation, he could understand that the people here knew him as Brandon, and that it's the day Mark and Henry met. But he couldn't place where and when did he met Mark.
I don't know when I am,
There is part of this mystery I couldn't grasp. In some of my memories I am part of their group. My name is Brandon. But in some others, I feel like I belong there and that people around me can interact with me as "someone they know" while being unable to say from where they know me. And I can't really ask them. I have tried, like, "do you remember when we met?" but they always frowned and say something like "It feels like we always have knew each others." Which is frustrating but, also, made me think about another theory. Maybe they think they know me, and so they give me a name and a personality but doesn't actually know anything about me…
He was trembling from the illness. He spend sometime of the day throwing up and shaking with fever. But it seems like he was alone in the house. No one was coming. He remember that he was walking through a corridor with the wall paint in a deep navy blue, he heard a voice calling the only name he could identify with, Brandon, so he followed it when his vision became narrow, then peach black. When he woke up, it was snowing outside. The house was a pity. Mostly destroyed by the fall of a huge tree that had ripped the roof, letting ivy and snow get inside. And he was sick, half his leg and part of his arm was covered of weed and ice and he felt has if the state of the house reflected itself in his illness. When he felt asleep, he was back in the corridor, but no one was saying the name now.
I don't think this theory is right because I did only had one name through my entire life and through all my travels and it was Brandon. As for my illness, it did happened before, but since they opened the door, I could see how it had gotten worse. The main issue I have is that I don't know when it happened.
He was calm for the first time in his long existence. The house has been going through many changes since the start of the summer. A new person inherit it and started to put effort in the maintain of the building. The damage as been repaired and it was cleaning. He started healing. But he didn't met the new person, not now, not then. Everything smelled like clean sheet and felt soft.
April, fourth,2022
There is something wicked in this place. It's been a month since my friends and I opened the door. I don't really remember what I saw, I just remember that it smelled like rotten meat. I still here the scream. I think my friends are somewhere because I can hear them.
He met Mark first. Or well, he find one of the notebook where he detailed that, while the house was in construction, he met Henry. But Brandon met Mark at university. When the group open the door, it created a loop were He, the house and Brandon became the same entity. He was starring at the stairs. They were back but he didn't know what to do. He tried many time to get were they opened the door in the first place but he couldn't. He, or the house, or Brandon, couldn't do it. So, he didn't. And when he was back in the room, he wrote everything down in his current notebook.
April, fifth, 2022
I've read the notebooks on the shelves. Apparently, I am taking the place of someone else that have been in this place for a long time. There are entries that refers to when the place was the possession of an owner of slaves. The person write down everything he had learn about them, the slaves, their life, their stories. The person was profoundly wounded by what they learn. The thing that it very strange to me is that it looks like my handwriting.
"Why would you do that?" asked a voice
"Because I can. See, as long as no one hears a word of this, I can do anything."
"That is weird. You want to build a second floor and an access underground, fine, do it. But why would you ask multiple architects to build it?"
"So no one will ever know where all of this go, it'd create a labyrinth of sort."
"But, why?"
"Because I need some room."
"For what?"
The person didn't respond and he was too scared and sick to watch but he heard the sound of the knife, he heard the struggle of someone who try to speak while blood runs out of their throat. He knew that it will not be the first death. This place reeks death since it's was build to exploit and kill slaves. He knew something was wicked is this house but he hoped it was the end. He hoped it was better now.
August, fifth, 2025
I remembered. The killer. He build many rooms and stairs to hide the...and Henry...Did he knew? Did they find one of this room? I...It seems like I cannot hold those memories long enough to be able to write them. As if I, him or the house tries to forget.
The door opened in front of them, Barbara screamed. Brandon took a step in front of Henry and Mark.
"How did you find that?" he asked
"They aren't on the blueprint, I was curious about it."
"I see."
"What's that smell?" asked Kim, covering her nose
"Blood."
"How do you know?"
"I did med school, Brandon."
Oh, yes. He felt a strong feeling of anxiety. His body froze and look around. The room was almost empty. Like Barbara, they were shocked by the table, a surgical set was left on it. The wall covered of wallpapers as old as the ones in the corridor, but stained with brownish mark. Blood, he thoughts. A sharp pain struck his lungs, and his heart, as if is whole body was screaming from all the misery of the room.
"Hey, look at this." called Kim.
In the back of the room were another door that open on what looked like a huge restaurant's fridge. A mortuary.
"What are you gonna do ?" asked Mark to Henry.
"Call the police and try to get rid of all of this. I think it was an operating room for trafficking or something."
"Yeah, that's awful." said Kim while patting Barbara's arm.
Brandon felt like his breathe was difficult, painful, as if he could feel the pain of the dead. He was crying.
"Hey, calm down kid, it's alright, I'm taking care of this." Henry said, gently stroking his head.
He didn't calm down, he knew this pain wasn't his, but he couldn't say it nor explain it. It was as if something tried to tell him something. Henry took him in his arms, Brandon closed his eyes.
When he opened them, the room had disappeared, his friend too. He anxiously looked around him. The last words of Henry echoed aroung him, get rid of all of this, get rid off him, of the house. He was in a dark corridor, stairs in front of him were going up were bright light was blinding him. I know this place, he thought. He took the stairs and was back inside the room he used to rest and write in his notebooks...Or was it someone else's notebooks?
CW-TW : eldritch horror, death, buried alive, slightly gory description
Main genre : folk horror
There was a land, almost naked, only covered by soft grass and small mushrooms. The legend said there was a lake, or something else, a long time ago, that prevent people from taking a step in that land surrounded by forest. Another legend, much older one, said that the land was the deathbed of an hungry god who used to chase human from the land. The ones who dared set a foot on the soft green grass died in atrocious manner.
As he climbed on the top of the rock that he often used as a viewpoint to look at nature, he missed a step and slide to the side, his fall ended in the mud, his face half sunk in the dirt, he cough it out of his mouth and jump back on his feet. A shiver runs through his back as he looked around him, only ten feet from there were the land of the Hungry God. He stared at the deep dark greenery. He laugh at himself, for he was not a child nor a teenager anymore. As he turned around, hoping to manage climbing the rock and contemplate the peaceful forest, a whisper reached his hear. He froze, fighting the urge to turn around and see who, or what was standing behind him. Two enormous and strong hands laid over his body, one one his shoulder, claws tightened around the bones, slowly breaking his skin and sinking in his flesh, the other one, delicatly pressed on his waist, the claws long enough to warp it. The creature made a step and press its chest on his back, an obnoxious smell hit his nose, he retched and the creature talked again, close enough to his ear so he could grasped the sounds and meanings.
I thought you found me beautiful, it croaked,
Who are you ? He asked, tears ruining down his cheeks as the hold of the creature got even more painful.
The creature hold him tight against itself, as if he was a treasure.
They all go away, but you did not. You stayed. I saw you climbing that rock to see how beautiful all of this was, but I also saw you admire my land.
He didn't say anything, wishing he was asleep on the safe side of the forest. Slowly he realized that they were moving. One of his shoes were missing and his sock was covered in mud. Around them, the life of the earth was fading, each step toward the land was a step from life to death. He should be scared, he should scream and fight, but he didn't wanted that. He let the pain go away, he let the creature holding him like if he was not heavier than a leaf and, when his back slowly hit the ground in the middle of the naked land, he looked above his head and saw the creature for the first time.
It was a marvelous entity, some spot of its body were covered of big mushrooms, others were bark and moss, its head was covered by ivy and flowers. It didn't stinks anymore, instead, there was a soft perfume of honey and sugar. It lay down on the earth and wrapped its claws around his arms, delicately pulled him over itself. For a second, holding the entity in a soft, languid, embrace, he thought about this moment like it wasn't a death but a rebirth, that he was about to metamorphosed, that the thick liquid that the entity started laying all over him was made for his chrysalis. He felt the strength of his muscles fading, He fought a bit against his eyes trying to close themselves. His breath was slow, his heart beats were about to stop when the god's ribs cracked open and spread around his body. The god made one with the earth under it and slowly covered him with humus, fungi and bones. He resisted the urge to close his eyes once again and saw the hands of the god wrapped themselves around his body. A strong sence of safety submerged him as he saw the roots and dirt closing up the hole now far apart from him. His eyes slammed themselves as his strength finally went away, but during his last few seconds of life, he heared the last few words of the god.
You were the only good human around here, but I'm too hungry.
@ownheroes. What is a place they've never been to, but dream about visiting (maybe with someone in their life)?
due to the nature of being a spy & assassin , anya has been to a great many places in their life. it's hard to think of very many places she would 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚘 𝚝𝚘 that she hasn't already been to. she hasn't been to space though. space was something she was 𝙰𝙻𝚆𝙰𝚈𝚂 𝙸𝙽𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝙸𝙽 & has always said they would jump onto the opportunity to go there someday. whether it was a mission or whatever other reason ... she'd probably be like a kid in a candy store if she actually got to go someday. so in other words ... 𝚂𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚃𝙰𝙺𝙴 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙾 𝚂𝙿𝙰𝙲𝙴 𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 𝙽𝙾𝚆!!!
How teachers can help students navigate trauma | Lisa Godwin Source | YouTube | TED "To make a difference in the life of a child ... I made the commitment to tell my personal story," says educator Lisa Godwin. In this moving talk, she shares her experience of overcoming childhood trauma with the quiet, unwavering support of a teacher and school counselor -- and shows how educators can help students and families navigate hardships by sharing their own stories https://human-engineers.com/wp-content/uploads/2020/03/HR-V1-7.jpg https://human-engineers.com/how-teachers-can-help-students-navigate-trauma-lisa-godwin/?feed_id=5355&_unique_id=609a5cc44076f https://human-engineers.com/how-teachers-can-help-students-navigate-trauma-lisa-godwin/?feed_id=5355&_unique_id=609a5cc44076f
Adira's Wolf Moon is a postmodern fantasy saga written by Melina Lema (mel-mellow.tumblr) between 2012 and 2015 (Well, as far as I know). It took concepts and references from a work team of which I was part at a time called La Tríada, founded in 2011 under the name Escritoras Jr. and with an unknown dissolution. In other words, I quitted from my position in La Tríada after having reached Chapter 4 of my personal work called Libro 19, a remastering of the Silver Warriors saga. But that is the subject for another article.
I had the unique opportunity to have a closer look (and my own experience) of the EXHAUSTIVE work to which a person is exposed when saying "I want to write a book". It is a chaotic universe full of corrections, details, worldviews and argumentative debates.
This work begins fully by embarking us on the Germany of 2010 with a grumpy lycanthrope named Adira, the protagonist of our story and first-person narrator of the events. Just a couple of lines below we are presented with her literal and immediate Antithesis: Gloomerly. From the very first moment this story makes an excellent and clever nod to general culture, creating a bizarre friendship between the most estranged characters in the history of fantasy literature. A werewolf and a vampire looking for adventure? It's an arc that cannot fail!
The diversity of characters began in sort of a shaky way, pointing towards the least expected regarding to the typical argumentative plot in a juvenile genre. Alexander and Marcus, with their appearance and prominence in the first chapters give freshness and credibility to the first book. Personally I liked that resource of breaking with the typical group of stereotyped teenagers. The tall, the short, the cute, the ugly, the funny, the dark. By the time this work was written (2011), juvenile novels were having a hard time being involved in so many empty stereotypes to attract teenagers and make them spend money on books. In fact, The Simpsons knew how to explain very well the anti-creative and marketing process of a standardized book in Chapter 492 of its Season 23, The Book Job. Highly recommended.
The personality profiles have so many tones, such depth of parallel stories that really play a lot with the plausibility of the characters. Did Lily exist in real life? Has Christian been inspired by someone the author actually knew?
And this is when the plot begins to tremble a lil' bit about its root concept: The chapters pass and we continue to be introduced to more and more characters, one more beautiful than the other. The Fifth Problem with their rock band Heir, Los Leyendas, all the cast from La Universidad. From here, there, from one country, another ... And Adira is somehow overshadowed by being surrounded with such strong personalities. Her character as a main is not exactly "nice" for the reader, but the author makes up for it very well with a solid origin story that positions us entering Phase # 3 on the path of a hero: The Rectification. (If you want to know the phases of the Path of a Hero according to the composition of La Tríada, comment and I will make a separate article). Adira is popularly known by her enemies as The Girl of a Thousand Lives, I give the plot extra points for the epic name of legend that I love. That popular nickname is due to her ability to preserve her memories and acquired knowledge despite dying over and over again in tragic wars or conflicts.
The rectification in Adira's back story is precisely this odd turn in her way of behaving and the construction of her person outside the war machine that she has forced herself to be one life after another. Meeting Gloomerly, then starting a herd -or family?- along with the rest of the Toledo's, having real friends at the University and the return of David (her only relevant romantic interest), etc.; All these are isolated events that force this rude protagonist to expose herself, to become human, to leave her comfort zone and socialize, to get closer in some way to her condition as a human being and that is precisely what brings us chapter after chapter to see what else there will be. How immersive this universe is and how far Adira is willing to go around this modern world in which she doesn't fit at all. Along with her humanity comes the climax of unraveling the mysterious and important cause for which she and many other werewolf herds fight.
Regarding the great revelation of Azrethar: The matter of the magical portals to explain the passage from one world to the other seemed to me a somewhat hasty decision that left loose a plot arc in the story that is key: Where do all these fantastic beings come from?
This also leads me to a conceptual crack that as an author (and ex former counselor?) I noticed: That is Magic in the Adira universe. Compared to the rest of the great concepts that the novel itself had been working on, this matter of "magic for magic's sake" could have been worked from a slightly more Rowlingnian perspective: Give magic a method and it will come to life by itself, all along. Humans love the feeling of being able to achieve everything if they somehow "automate" it, "methodize" it. It gives it truthfulness. Adira's universe presents us with plenty of tools to exploit this matter of magic in an inexhaustible way and unfortunately it always leaves us wanting a little more. Marcus's powers, Lesthia Academy, Samuel's relationship with dragons, Alexander's mere existence ... And even once inside Azrethar, we walk through the portal and expect to see magic around every corner when ACTUALLY the plot is exploited through racial species. This is a colorful and very useful resource especially because all The University Cast came from there. And yet there they leave us wanting more.
Once in Azrethar, the languages, the continents, the peoples, the kingdoms are presented to us in an overwhelming and -in my opinion- not very organic way. When we turn to Adira's Crescent Moon or Adira: Luna Menguante we hope that those questions so magnetically attractive that one asks as a reader will be answered. Who are the Vulcas? If there's a kingdom of fireproof and sexually active millionaire vampires there should be water vampires somewhere on the continent, or earth-type vampires. And if there is a vampire kingdom, will the kingdom of Tumma be the werewolf kingdom?
Finally, Adira's universe and sex. Maybe it's because we were very young when we wrote about such adult characters and in plots that involved contexts that we never lived in until by that time, but the lack of sex takes away the depth of the characters a little bit. One of the main problems (I include myself very hard) when writing during puberty -or teenage writing- is the lack of approach towards sex. Victim of the time, in the novel the hues lack diversity. I mean, it was 2011 and that demi-feminist sexual revolution had not yet arrived and we only have Ryan and Darren as the only representatives of the LGBTQ community. Simply put, Azrethar is way too big to be that heterosexual. The lack of sexuality in a fantasy world that is governed by cultural diversity is an almost Tolkian mistake but completely admissible and real.
In conclusion, the triggers are exceptional and they are all very well worked. The key to giving the story a proper cliff hanger by a "next generation" we are introduced to is the creation of Thamer. Thamer is perhaps the only one in the entire Adira universe who will be able to tell the story as it's being handed down to us and, as the eldest of a herd of little children whose parents will be legends. I mean, Melissa's twins, then Styx, the exaggerated but valid litter of twelve heirs to the Vulcan kingdom of Atsil ... They all give us hope that the story will continue along with its growth and expansion. And honestly, I look forward to it.
Today's feature for Pride Month 🏳️🌈 is a work of non-fiction by the brilliant Myriam Gurba who many of you may know from boldly speaking out about the importance of #ownvoices representation and how important it is for people outside of a certain community to listen when BIPOC point out hurtful stereotypes, racism and disparities and injustice. She has also been very instrumental in the #dignidadliteraria movement. She has also been vocal about disparities in pay that BIPOC authors face as well and is a fierce advocate for antiracist education. SYNOPSIS: Myriam Gurba's debut is the bold and hilarious tale of her coming of age as a queer, mixed-race Chicana. Blending radical formal fluidity and caustic humor, Mean turns what might be tragic into piercing, revealing comedy. This is a confident, funny, brassy book that takes the cost of sexual assault, racism, misogyny, and homophobia deadly seriously. We act mean to defend ourselves from boredom and from those who would cut off our breasts. We act mean to defend our clubs and institutions. We act mean because we like to laugh. Being mean to boys is fun and a second-wave feminist duty. Being mean to men who deserve it is a holy mission. Sisterhood is powerful, but being mean is more exhilarating. Being mean isn't for everybody. Being mean is best practiced by those who understand it as an art form. These virtuosos live closer to the divine than the rest of humanity. They're queers. #Pridemonth #ownvoices #memoir #ownstories #representationmatters #weneeddiversebooks #queervoices #LGBTQIA #readqueerbooks #books #bookdragon #bookworm #nerdlife #listentowomen #metoomovement #readtounderstand #readandlearn #dignidadliteraria #readersforequality (at Bushwick) https://www.instagram.com/p/CB9iK0UgK6X/?igshid=urr1iuadi2ps
