Rodeo Rumination
The Reno Rodeo is in full swing—cattle and mustangs and cowboys, oh my! My Rotary Club is running it’s annual fundraiser working a beer trailer at the rodeo. I get to call it an “annual” fundraiser now because this is our second year! Very exciting stuff, particularly since this year I’m running the show.
For those who might not know, Rotary International is a service and social club in over 200 countries and territories worldwide (I think there are a few tribes in the Amazon rainforest we haven’t reached yet). Rotary’s service goals focus on peace and conflict prevention, disease prevention and treatment, water and sanitation, maternal and child health, basic education and literacy, economic and community development, and protecting the environment. We’ve got our fingers in a lot of pies.
For my club, the Rotary Club of International Exchange based here in Reno, Nevada, peace and conflict prevention is our main area of focus. Rotary primarily tackles this goal through its youth exchange program (RYE), which many of our members are alumni of. I was an RYE student myself, and spent a year living in Germany. I’m currently working on a series of essays about the program in relation to the growing restrictions of J1 visas, which make our program possible.
The money we raise at the rodeo will allow our club to continue to support the Rotary Youth Exchange program, as well as fund other service projects. One project we’re planning for the upcoming year is in partnership with the Karma Box Project supplying Reno’s homeless population with essentials like nonperishable food and hygiene products. Our club hopes to sponsor new boxes around Reno.
It’s going to be a busy week (and a smelly one, no offense to the cows), but it’s definitely time well-spent. Keep an eye out for news about my essay series to learn more about the exchange program, or visit rye5190.org. Or just shoot me a message. I love to talk about this program, and would be happy to answer any questions!
Character Study: Sirena Turns to Piracy
Exploring the Backstory of a Character from My Novel
She stood, as she often did, at the westernmost edge of the city wall, peering out across the land to the faint glimmer of the ocean in the distance. Her vision blurred, as it often did, with blues and greens, a swirl of white bubbles, a sense of warmth. Sirena breathed in deep, and she tasted the salt of sea spray and smelled the rank sweat of sailors. There was a laugh in her ear, sweet and mischievous and enough to make her toes curl.
A deep voice interrupted her vision. “Back again?”
Sirena took another slow, deep breath.
The guard sighed. “The Seer doesn’t want you up here.”
“She’s being paranoid.”
“She’s a seer.”
Sirena deigned to glance back at the guard. He’d been the one to escort her back to the castle half a dozen times, now. Much more of this and she might bother to learn his name. “She’s just afraid one of these days I’m going to finally do it.”
The guard frowned in puzzlement and scratched absently at his armpit. “Do what?”
Sirena looked back at the faint glimmer of the sea. “Run off.”
He coughed awkwardly. “Well, er, since she’s in charge, and all, I’ve got to bring you back.”
“She’s not the queen,” Sirena said petulantly. But for now the visions had faded, so she pivoted on her heel and started walking briskly back along the wall to the nearest tower. The guard hurried along behind her. “Oh, do stop. I’m going right back where I’m expected to be, and I don’t need a babysitter to get there.”
She heard the footsteps behind her falter and slow, then stop, and finally recede as the guard returned to his post. Sirena knew she was just putting off the inevitable, but she decided to make a loop around the grounds before returning to court. After all, she wasn’t a prisoner. As much as she might feel like one, some days.
Years ago her grandmother had a vision. The Great Seer of Marshkeep, usually so unflappable, was suddenly paranoid, hardly letting Sirena out of arm’s reach. It had taken a year for Sirena to convince her to explain.
She’d seen Sirena at sea, fierce in battle, making enemies as easily as friends. And a final battle, where Sirena would fall.
Sirena thought that should probably scare her more than it did. But all she could think about was the smell of the sea and the delighted laugh echoing in her ears.
She stopped to smell the roses, and then looped around the stables. She was heading for the kitchen door when a commotion at the gate caught her attention. She hurried toward the sound and stopped in the shadows of the colonnade.
A banner of knights stood in the courtyard, dismounting their horses. Two of them held chains, leading a man in shackles. The man was dirty, his hair and beard in knots, and broad and bulky with cords of muscle. His face betrayed no emotion, and his head did not turn at all, but his eyes swept the scene with cool calculation. They landed on Sirena, and she sucked in a breath. The man’s eyes were the color of yarrow.
Sirena’s vision went again, swirling into the blues and greens of the sea, struck through by white-capped waves. She was in a squall, a torrent, all around her there was water and the taste of salt in her mouth and the smell of fresh fish in her nose. Only those yellow eyes remained, in the center of the whirlpool, drawing her in. And then there was that laugh again, and suddenly the owner of that laugh swung into view, riding a rope down from the top of the mast, and Sirena’s breath caught at the sight of her silhouette, brazen and strong in front of those eyes, which had become the blazing sun.
The vision faded, leaving Sirena panting for breath. One corner of the man’s mouth twitched up and he winked.
The knights led him up the steps and into the castle, preoccupied enough with their prisoner that not one of them noticed Sirena trailing after them. None except the prisoner himself. He watched her with faint turns of his head and in reflections in mirrors. As they passed through the corridors, each torch they passed lit up the man’s eyes, making them look as if they, too, were aflame.
Sirena noticed they weren’t heading for the dungeons, as they ordinarily would for any petty thief or drunkard causing trouble in town, or even a bandit captured in the woods. Instead, they were heading directly to the throne room. Sirena hurried, drawing closer than was perhaps wise to the yellow-eyed man, so she could slip through the doors before anyone spotted her and could demand she leave. She skirted the room, darting behind a column, and hid behind a flower arrangement.
A buzz of conversation had broken out at their entrance, but the room fell silent when the Queen stood. “What is the meaning of this, Sir Thorald?”
Thorald knelt between the Queen and the prisoner. “We found him in the lower town, my lady. Hiding out in the mill.”
“And who, pray tell, is he?”
“The Wolf of the Sea.”
There were gasps around the room, followed by muttering. Sirena’s heart pounded, her eyes locked on the most notorious pirate in the realm—plunderer of the great ships, bane of the north. It was said that he had made pirates of more sailors than any other captain on the sea. That sirens were lured by his call. That Oarskeep sent an entire fleet of battleships after him and when the battle was over, his was the only ship left afloat. Then three weeks ago Oarskeep sent word amongst all the northern kingdoms that they had managed to run him aground and apprehend his crew. He was alone and on the run—on land, where he wasn’t at such an advantage.
He stood straight and tall and unbothered, his yellow eyes—wolf eyes, Sirena thought—trained steadily on the Queen.
She stared back, watching him with a single raised eyebrow. “How do you know this is the right man? We’ve no reliable account of his appearance.”
“We found this.” Thorald held up a sword, laid reverently across his palms. It sparkled in the light, its handle beset with a hundred pearls.
“The Seaweaver,” the Queen murmured. She descended the dais, approaching the prisoner behind him, still held fast by the other knights. “Do you deny that you are in possession of the ceremonial saber of Oarskeep, stolen by the Wolf of the Sea?”
“No.”
The man’s voice was deep and soft, and brought visions of seafoam churning at the base of a rocky shore to Sirena’s mind. Her feet were bare against the rough surface of the rocks. Beside her, laugh dancing brightly through the air as she teetered on a boulder, was the mystery woman. That now familiar warmth flowed through Sirena’s veins.
The vision faded, too soon, the warmth seeping away with it. She’d missed something. The room was loud with gasps and murmurs, and the Queen had reared back like a snake preparing to strike.
“You dare threaten my Seer?” she hissed.
“Grandmother?” Sirena murmured, frowning.
“It isn’t I who threatens her,” the Wolf said calmly. “I am but the harbinger.”
He didn’t speak like any pirate Sirena knew of. Not that she knew many pirates.
“And why would the unscrupulous Wolf of the Sea risk capture to bring warning of this threat?”
The man’s eyes flickered briefly towards Sirena. “I hold a great respect for Seers.”
With a scoff, the Queen waved her hand in dismissal. “If half of what I’ve heard of you is true, I doubt you have much respect for anyone.” She settled into the throne again, studying the man before her. “Whatever your plan, it will come to naught. None have escaped the dungeons of Marshkeep in a hundred years. And that is where you shall remain until Oarskeep can send word on what they’d like us to do with you.”
The knights, recognizing the dismissal, began to lead the Wolf of the Sea away, but the man twisted, hauling the chains back over his head with enough force to bring the two holding him to the ground. He spun, the chains lashing out around him and sending everyone scattering out of range, leaving him alone in the center of the throne room.
The Queen watched him, sitting stiffly upright but otherwise unbothered. “Will you kill me now, pirate?”
“Now I will implore you, again, to send the Great Seer of Marshkeep to Glenbrooke. If she remains within these walls, she will die before morning.”
There was a pause where no one moved. Sirena held her breath.
“Pharon,” the Queen said calmly.
The court sorcerer stepped forward, hand out and chanting. The chains rose round the Wolf of the Sea and snapped taunt, pulling his arms out in opposite directions. The knights quickly swarmed him, securing him with additional chains and two men holding the end of each one. The Wolf was led away, glowering at the Queen.
Once he was gone, the Queen turned to the captain of the guard, stationed behind her throne. “See that extra protections are in place. I don’t care if she argues with you. I want at least two guards on her at all times.”
“Yes, your majesty.” The man bowed and left.
Sirena hurried out, uncaring if anyone saw her leave, and ran up to her Grandmother’s rooms. She remained stubbornly at her side for the rest of the afternoon. Her Grandmother did argue the guard, and Sirena pressed her to accept the extra protection. She sat with her back against the door while her Grandmother worked. The sun set, and Sirena lit the candles, refusing entry to the maid. When they went down to dinner, Sirena studied the alcoves they passed, paranoid that every shadow might hide an assassin.
They stood at their usual seats on the east side of the long table while the Queen entered and took her place at the head. Then they sat—the two young princes and their nursemaids, four counselors who resided in the castle, two visiting lords, the housecarl—and servants began to bring out the meal. The Queen eyed Sirena with pursed lips, and she tried to avoid the perceptive gaze.
“I saw you rushing from court today, Sirena,” the Queen began. “I hope you weren’t too badly shaken.”
“No, my lady,” Sirena said dutifully.
“One can never trust a pirate,” the Queen said, cutting into her portion of roasted pheasant. “I wouldn’t have you putting any stock in his baseless threats. Your Grandmother is quite safe within my halls. Still, it’s prudent to be cautious.”
“I know that, your majesty,” Sirena said. She offered a small smile. Still, her stomach churned. She prodded at her meal, forcing herself to take a small bite of carrots.
“I would think,” one of the visiting lords cut in, his voice cheerful with the pleasures of gossip, “if the Seer were in any real danger, she would have foreseen something of it. The gall to come into your court, my lady, and suggest that your Seer would have missed something like that… why, it’s not bright, is it?”
“I’ve never known a Seer to foresee their own death,” her Grandmother mused, unconcerned, “but I’ve no reason to fear. As has been said, there is no threat to me within these walls.”
Just then there was a faint whistle, and then a rush of air to Sirena’s left, and then a smattering of something warm and wet over the left side of her face. She stared ahead, a knot in her stomach telling her not to look, as the older of the two princes began to scream, pointing. The baby began to cry. The nursemaids stared, apparently too horrified to tend their distraught charges. The lords leapt to their feet, backing away from the table. One of the counsellors stuttered, trying to put together words that Sirena couldn’t make out.
She turned to look to her right. To look at the Queen. Her eternal calm was shattered, her mouth parted in horror and her eyes bright with pain. The Queen stared at Sirena’s left, too, rising up, hand outstretched, a breathless “no” on her lips.
There was a gurgling sound to Sirena’s left. Like when the river flooded and water forced its way up through the muddy ground. Slowly, she made herself turn to look.
An arrow, its shaft made from bright-red bloodwood and fletched with black feathers, protruded from her grandmother’s throat. Her mouth worked desperately, blood welling up around her tongue, a wet gulping sound coming from her throat. Her eyes swiveled to meet Sirena, wide and desperate, and her hand grasped desperately until it found Sirena’s knee, clenching tightly.
Sirena screamed.
The room seemed to burst into action. Guards swarmed, gesturing to a high window—but no, it couldn’t be, that would have been an impossible shot—and ushering the Queen, princes, and lords from the room. The physician was called for, but Sirena could see it would be too late. She watched her grandmother’s eyes darken, their focus fading. The hand on her knee went slack.
Sirena fled the room. No one called after her, too preoccupied with the murder and the breach of security to worry about one girl with no real role in the castle. She ran, and by the time she decided to go to the dungeons she was halfway there, her feet having decided long before her mind caught up. No one stopped her, even the dungeon’s guards having gone to help with the chaos upstairs. She ran until she stood opposite the bedraggled man, the Wolf of the Sea, who sat calmly against the far wall and studied her through the bars.
“It’s done, isn’t it,” he sighed. “My sympathies.”
Sirena beat her fist against the door. “You dare give me condolences? You did this!”
“I did not.”
She snarled. “Then how did you know, if you weren’t in on the plot?”
He stood, striding closer to her. His eyes, nearly glowing in the dark, bore into hers. “Because I am like you. Like your grandmother.”
“No.” Sirena took a step back. “You can’t be a Seer.”
“And why not?”
“Because Seers are respected members of society! They are counselors and guides, not… not pirates!”
The Wolf scoffed. “A Seer is whatever he or she makes of themself. Before I was Wolf of the Sea, I had visions not of what was around me, but of people and places in distant lands. The visions nearly drove me mad, plagued with images of pain and destruction I could do nothing about. Until I stopped trying to force my gift to bend to my will. Not all can be changed—not all should be changed—but I was able to take action as needed. Tales spread, some of them true, and my reputation grew. And now that the visions are coming less frequently, less clearly, I’ve found you, Sirena of Marshkeep.”
“Me?” she stuttered. “You came here for me?” Fury rose in her chest. “You let her die, didn’t you?”
“I could not have stopped it,” he said evenly, hardly blinking in the face of her anger. “I foresaw only one course to prevent this tragedy—if your grandmother went to Glenbrooke. The sudden journey would have disrupted the assassin’s plans tonight, but Glenbrooke isn’t so far as to provide opportunity on the road. Nothing but magic can stop an arrow of the Lordecai, and then only when it is wielded with enough speed. It takes an extremely powerful sorcerer, the likes of which there are only a few in the world. It so happens one of them is currently visiting the king of Glenbrooke. So, save convincing your stubborn queen to send your stubborn grandmother away against her will, there was nothing I could do.” He smiled, all sharp teeth. “I tried, knowing it was pointless.”
“Why, then, if there was no hope?”
“I suspected I wasn’t meant to prevent it, but rather the vision would lead me to the next Seer that would take on my mantle. I Saw it in the courtyard. You are drawn to the sea, are you not? Your visions plague you, trying to lead you to your destiny, and the more you resist them the worse they become.”
Sirena said nothing.
The Wolf of the Sea clucked chidingly. “I was you, not so long ago. I know what it is to hold fast, to deny yourself. Remember, this tragedy could have been averted. The blood painting your face needn’t have spilled, little Wolf. That is what you will do, out on the sea. Prevent tragedies like this one. Right little wrongs, as you see fit. And yes, you might bend the rules, if you so choose. Take from those that have too much. Take those who have nothing into your crew. Indulge in personal vendettas. I don’t pretend to be a good man. But I am offering you an opportunity to seize your destiny. To be any kind of woman you want to be.”
Sirena stared into his gleaming yellow eyes. She turned, walking back toward the door. Slowly, second-guessing herself every moment, she reached up for the keys hung on the wall. She held them to her chest, thinking. Unbidden, she heard the crash of waves, the tinkle of that maddening laughter. She felt the warmth return, its comfort almost harsh in contrast to the cold emptiness lodged in her chest. Sirena turned, made her way back to the cell door. She fit the key into the lock and hesitated, meeting the Wolf’s yellow gaze again. Then she turned it and opened the door.
The Wolf of the Sea had clearly planned their escape in advance, and he led her quickly through the halls to the walls of the keep, where he took up some rope and secured it to scale down the side, helping Sirena along. They ran for the forest before a sentry could spot them moving away, but Sirena couldn’t help but pause at the tree line and look back at the only home she’d ever known. The wall loomed before her, obscuring her view of the castle, but she could see the place she’d so often stood, yearning for the distant sea.
She turned away and followed him into the forest.
Movie Review: Not Just a Goof
The Hero's Journey behind a heartfelt film that inspired a generation
This documentary begins with a new idea at Disney Studios in the early nineties—can you make a film that’s comparable to Disney’s blockbuster features, on the budget of their made-for-tv movies? This ‘B-String’ launches with A Goofy Movie, a project inspired by the then-popular ‘Goof Troop’ TV show. What begins as a flat, uninspired command to make a movie starring Goofy grows into a deep, twisting, emotional journey into one of the most beloved characters of all time. Every hurdle the production team faces results in another layer of depth, another relatable detail, another emotional through-line. The end result is a film that is celebrating its 30th anniversary this year as a cult classic, one of Disney’s most beloved ‘B-string’ films of all time.
Anyone who grew up with A Goofy Movie will enjoy Not Just a Goof, but it’s also a great stand-alone film for anyone who loves a story about grit, perseverance, connection, and family.
The way the documentary is put together carries you through the story beautifully. It truly feels like a hero’s journey. Kevin Lima, then an up-and-comer who wanted to direct but had been told there was no room for him on the docket, is given the opportunity to prove himself and sets out to turn this goofy little project into something meaningful. Everyone on this project had something to prove. This was the group of animators, writers, and creators that were talented enough to put on a big project, but not well-known enough to stick on Disney Studio’s A-list films of the time, like The Lion King. That scrappy can-do attitude drives them through setbacks and roadblocks, finally bringing them to the culmination of all that hard work…
I won’t spoil it for you. But if you’re familiar with the Hero’s Journey, you’ll know that any hero must face the “abyss” before reaching their reward. It’s no different in this true story about a Little Movie That Could. And if you’re not familiar with Kevin Lima’s work, he’s the director that brought us Tarzan four years after A Goofy Movie was released.
Me with Bill Farmer (the voice of Goofy since 1987) at the Cordillera Film Festival in Reno, Nevada last October.
A Goofy Movie is itself a moving story about family and fatherhood and growing up, and ultimately Not Just a Goof is about the same themes. It encompasses how those elements reverberated through audiences who grew up with this film, and why it became not just an iconic symbol of a generation, but a pivotal influence on the lives of its audience. Heart—something Goofy hadn’t previously been known for—is the key to A Goofy Movie’s long-term success.
The film expertly blends new footage, archival footage, found footage, and animation. One of my favorite details is when the interviewees’ stories are animated with everyone reimagined as Goof Troop-style dogs. It’s a fun way to keep the story moving when there otherwise wouldn’t be any action onscreen, and a great opportunity to inject some comedy—after all, would it really be a film about A Goofy Movie if it wasn’t a little, well, goofy?
You can watch both A Goofy Movie and Not Just a Goof on Disney+.
Not Just a Goof was directed by Eric Kimelton and Christopher Ninness.
