Steven Lyle Jordan's Blog, page 6

On writing shorts

I’ve been writing novels for… well, a long time.  In that time, I’ve concentrated on the novels, as I considered them my best product, the best thing I could create with words.  Unfortunately, they’ve been markedly unprofitable.  And in my search to attain said profit, I’ve had some people recommend I try writing shorter form content instead.

Anthologies, short story collections and articles are supposedly still decent business, a way to get exposure and cred for your writing, and they pay by the word or by the submission besides.  A lot of people have made this business their full-time job, and there’s a lot of material out there on how to do it, just waiting for a rube like me to swim up and bite.  It’s been suggested that if I build an audience for my shorts, they will make up the beginnings of an audience for my novels.  And even if not, I’ll still get paid for the short content.

But I have real doubts about that.  Why?  Well, I never felt short stories were my—pardon the pun—long suit.  I’ve written a few, but I never received much of a response from readers about them.  Even when I’ve offered them up free on my blog (don’t bother; they’re not there now), I saw little evidence that they were even being read, much less enjoyed by anyone, and I never got a single comment about them on the site.

I wrote a comedy-adventure novella that my stepmother loved the hell out of… and no one else.  I contributed a short to an anthology a few years back.  But the book fizzled and disappeared, the publisher dissolved, and I received nothing beyond a tiny initial “thanks for playing” payment.  I try to remind (convince?) myself that my involvement had nothing to do with its failure.  And as far as my articles, opinions or critiques—in other words, the contents of this blog—the silence is deafening enough to make my ears bleed.

[image error]So, do I consider this idea a slam-dunk?  Well…

But hey, it’s not like I’m working on something else and don’t have time for it, right?  So I’ve decided to approach this like an assignment, a task to accomplish.  I need time to research potential publishers, prepare accompanying content (bios, whatever), prepare to deal with contracts and legal documents, and put together a system of keeping track of it all.  And after all that is done, I need actual content to submit to whomever is willing to take it.  It won’t happen overnight, and it won’t be a walk in the park.  But after over two decades of effort trying to write and sell the books… it can’t be much worse.  I’m pretty sure.

Am I concerned about all this work?  Yes, as I don’t know if any of it will bear fruit.  Do I doubt myself?  Sure, I’ve never tried this before.  Am I afraid of rejection?  Of course… it’s stupid, but yeah, I have an ego, and I hate the idea of failure.  Again.

But… am I afraid of making money if it works?  Not so much that I won’t give it a shot.

The beginning of the thaw?

[image error]For a creator like me, it’s usually fun to come up with a new and potentially entertaining story idea, plan and assemble the bones and flesh out the details.  (Hmm… maybe I should have posted this during Halloween.)  One of those ideas came to me last week, and—because I had a bit of time on my hands—I got busy brainstorming the bits and pieces.  Before I knew it, I had a nicely-developed concept, ready to be let loose.

Unfortunately, reality started to set in once I had it developed… specifically, the reality of actually selling my new concept, which, as you all now know, has proven to be my nemesis and a lethal mood-breaker.  As I’ve mentioned in an earlier post, I’ve recently read through Kristine Kathryn Rusch’s posts about turning ideas into Intellectual Property (IP) and licensing that for profit.  I’ll be honest: Kristine’s articles had put a deep, dark scare into me, because they implied I needed to turn myself into a salesman to sell my ideas… and as I’m willing to say, in as Doctor McCoy-ish a voice as I can manage, I’m a writer, not a salesman!  Before the articles, I had already put any writing plans on indefinite hold until I could figure out what realistic promotion options (if any) I had.  After reading them, I felt literally brain-frozen, unable to contemplate any possible way for me to continue on.

[image error]And so there I was, with a brand new and promising-sounding idea, but with total petrification thoroughly set in.  What could/should I do, going forward?  Was there a way I could get this raw idea off the ground?  I had no idea.  And until I had an idea, I couldn’t move forward.

Fortunately, I’ve continued to get encouragement from others who seem to like my work (really, it’s been the only thing that’s kept me from deleting every book I’ve ever written and taking up weed-pulling as a hobby.  I wish more of those encouragers were actual readers… but hey, I’ll take what I can get).  In this particular case, encouragement came via an inspiring phone call from Thaddeus Howze, an author I managed to connect with a few years back, who has managed to build a writing career, and make bankable income, by finding multiple short-form writing venues in which to showcase his talent and expertise.  He called to explain how a similar strategy might work for me, and encouraged me to check them out.

Talking to Thaddeus helped to remind me that there are a lot of venues, ways to help promote my work, that I haven’t tried or gotten very far with yet, and people to help me better access those venues.  He, as well as notable others cheering me from the stands, also helped me to appreciate that, as long as I have those venues to pursue, it’s not yet time for me to give up on writing.

Of course, none of these are quick fixes.  (Mostly, in fact, they’re more like slow burns.)  I still need help reaching those other venues, and time producing content that will work for them.  But at least I have a direction… a new strategy… a way to thaw my brain-freeze.  And that’s something.

 

Wait… what’s that you ask?  What’s the idea?  That would be telling (and no, it’s not a Prisoner reboot).  I will say that it’s science fiction, set mostly outside of the Solar System, and intended to be a serious SF vehicle.  Maybe soon I’ll be able to tell you more, but it’s too early in the process, and I don’t want to give too much away.

For now you’ll have to be satisfied that it’s an idea that isn’t being buried under a mound of ice.

Serious SF enriches our lives

[image error]In a previous post I said that science fiction is much more than the admittedly lighthearted, fun, “junk food” sci-fi that has always dominated theaters; and that we as fans, and society, need more of the “meat and potatoes” serious science fiction like 2001, Solaris, Contact, Arrival, Soylent Green, Ex Machina, Ad Astra, etc.

This is not an idle notion.  The fact is, society has advanced and thrived over the years thanks specifically to concepts and ideas that were created in or inspired by science fiction and its creators; our lives would be unrecognizable without the technology that surrounds us and enriches our lives today.

[image error]It was SF that gave us the concept of the robot, for instance; which directly led to applying robots to manufacturing, then to exploration of the rest of the Solar System.  We now do more exploration and manipulation of our own planet, using drones.

And no discussion of robots is complete without the discussion of the robots’ “electronic brains” that inspired computers and artificial intelligence.  The desire to miniaturize and improve computers influenced the development of quantum physics that guided the invention of integrated circuits.  Those fanciful collections of components can now out-think and out-perform humans in many ways, and have made more advanced examination, planning and execution of any task possible.

[image error]When Arthur C. Clarke came up with the idea of orbiting satellites to relay radio messages around the world, even he did not imagine the impact on entertainment and personal communications, much less our ability to track and monitor geologic and meteorological data or human activity at the individual level.

Combining those communications breakthroughs with computers, inspired by numerous SF stories, gave us the smartphone, a device capable of connecting with people on the opposite end of the globe and sharing incredible types and amounts of data nigh-instantaneously.

And we can go on, discussing atomic power, photovoltaic (solar) power, lasers, tasers, video, digital data storage, digital entertainment media, diagnostic sensors, GPS, and so much more… all inspired by science fiction stories and later brought to our daily lives.  Literally everything around you—unless you are literally living naked in the woods—has been impacted in a positive way by the creations inspired by science fiction.

And most importantly, it’s by the influence of present and future science fiction stories that budding scientists, engineers and planners will investigate, study and create the science and technology that will shape our future.  We can hope that we’ll someday see solutions to our climate crisis, ways to clean our air and seas, better methods to reclaim and reuse materials, technology to make our homes and streets safer, and better ways to share important information.

[image error]And that’s just the stuff we can easily think of.  Just as we know so much of today’s world was barely guessed at by most of us 50 years ago, we can expect the next 50 years could be filled with things that seem impossible today, and concepts that we cannot even imagine now.

We get so much more from science fiction than space battles, killer robots and alien marauders; and it’s that so much more that drives the ideas and inspirations that shape our world.  Right now we need a better future so badly that we should be doing everything we can, to make sure there’s plenty of those positive ideas and inspirations out there.  And we need to nurture those who can provide those inspirations.

We should be encouraging authors to stretch their imaginations to envision our futures and the tools we’ll use to get there; we should be reading those authors, getting their visions onto the big screen, and making sure the people who will shape our futures will see them.  We need as much serious science fiction as we can get, to guide us all forward into a better future.

I (I) I (I) I (I)… won’t do NaNoWriMo! (Ooh-oh!)

[image error]Every year in November, National Novel Writing Month (aka NaNoWriMo) comes up, and writers nationwide encourage each other to write, just write, get in 50,000 words, who cares how good or bad it is, just write!  The idea is to encourage authors to commit to the time to write, to just create, even if the creation itself isn’t really up to snuff.

And every year, whatever I’m doing, whatever projects I have going on, I always make sure I sing to myself: “I (I) I (I) I (I)… won’t do NaNoWriMo! (Ooh-oh!).”*

Why?  Because I consider it an artificial challenge, which I choose not to entertain.

Remember The Princess Bride, and the scene when Inigo and Fezzik bring a mostly-dead Westley to Miracle Max?  Inigo tries to rush Miracle Max’s efforts to revive Westley, to which Max replies:

“Don’t rush me, sonny.  You rush a Miracle Man, you get rotten miracles.”

If you watch American television, you’ve probably seen programs where teams of experts in something (bakers, carpenters, grillers, whatever) are challenged to create something… then given a ridiculously short amount of time, forcing them to rush, cut corners, inevitably screw something up, and get judged on whatever they were able to jury-rig before the alarm goes off.  Those shows are designed to create additional (and unnecessary) drama for the audience, but it also means that these master creators never turn in their best work because of the time crunch.  And every time I see one of those shows, I can’t help but to think about what real artistry might have been accomplished if they’d had time to do the job they’d wanted to do and do it right.

[image error]This is why I’ve passed on every “contest” that comes along, asking me to create a writing product on a tight deadline, whatever the intent.  I don’t consider it a fair challenge to push me to rush through the one thing I know how to do well.  I know I can write, and when I’m ready to write, I don’t have a problem putting in the time to write.  If I’m going to create, I’m going to create the best product I can create, and it’ll take however long it takes.  I believe in quality, not quantity.

I won’t be rushed.  You rush a storyteller, you get rotten stories.

*Sung to the tune of “Sun City.”  Look it up.

We need more than junk food SF

The lackluster box office performance of Ad Astra was disappointing to me: I saw the movie, and although it may not have been perfect, it deserved much more attention and accolades than it has received.  But then, the fan response to Ad Astra has been pretty typical of serious SF movies since… well, pretty much forever.

I wish I could say I was surprised that science fiction seems to get so little respect in American society.  But I get it.  Because despite SF’s incredible potential to teach, to reveal and to enlighten, the notable bulk of its fans seem to be interested almost exclusively in its more juvenile aspects.

[image error]If you examine the most popular science fiction movies over time, a clear trend emerges.  SF fans have clear attitudes and preferences for what they like in their movies:

The power fantasy desire to see problems solved with violence;
The transplanting of our military industrial complex to space;
The belief that all strangers are naturally dangerous;
The idea that humanoid robots are destined to revolt and destroy us;
The preference of phasers, lightsabers and bat’leths over sonic screwdrivers, tricorders and universal translators;
The idea that, in a galaxy potentially full of alien races as intelligent as we presume to be, all of them must ultimately want to enslave and/or kill us and;
The idea that humans have, and will never be dislodged from, the intellectual and moral high ground.

[image error]If you examine most of the so-called intelligent SF movies of the past that either did badly in the box office or took a while to become popular with audiences—movies like 2001, The Andromeda Strain, Solaris, Soylent Green, Contact, Moon, Arrival, Ex Machina, Annihilation—it is clear that they bucked most of the above trends.  In fact, even many badly-acted, poorly-produced sci-fi flicks that have followed the above trends have done much better than many of the much-better-produced serious SF movies of the past.

I realize this sounds like a rant against all “fun” science fiction movies, but really, it’s not; I can enjoy popcorn sci-fi as much as the next guy.  It’s also not a reaction against/about the “Science Fiction Makes You Stupid” article in The Guardian that suggested, then refuted, a study that suggested SF was essentially low-brow entertainment.  Science fiction can be, and often is, just harmless fun, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

But I still find myself wishing that the stories I grew up to appreciate were better received and remembered more fondly than stories about killer robots, acid-blooded monsters, time travel shenanigans, superheroes and weird aliens being killed by exotic weapons.

[image error]Stories that show people in SF settings embracing new technologies and new people, moving human understanding and enrichment forward… discovering and learning things about themselves and others… seeing the error of approaching new problems with the same old solutions… realizing that there’s more to the universe than our own narrow viewpoint… those are the real meat and potatoes of science fiction.  The stuff that encourages real thought and creative problem-solving, cooperation and advancement.

All the other stuff… that’s the burgers and sodas of sci-fi.  It’s leftover Halloween candy, every day.  It’s tasty, it’s fun… and it’s the main reason science fiction is thought of by the world as the junk-food of genres.  And I think the sugar rush is affecting our collective vision and ruining our ability to think clearly.  We’re no longer talking, we’re reacting… and more often with guns and fists than with hands and help.  We’re becoming surly, testy, impatient and downright dim.  We’re acting like tantrum-prone little kids who need to be put to bed.

[image error]Well, I’m not ashamed to say that I want more meat and potatoes from my science fiction diet.  And everyone else should get that, too: This world needs stories that properly enrich our minds, so that when we have the inevitable square-peg-into-round-hole problems, we don’t try to solve them by nuking the holes.

Again… I’m not swearing off the candy, nor telling you you should, too.  I am saying SF is much more than just candy.  I am saying we need a more well-rounded diet of science fiction in order to be really healthy.  Let’s break open the cookbooks and get busy.

I’d reboot… WHOA, hold on.

Just the other day, I was composing another “I’d reboot that” post about a past SF show that I think could be remade with upgrades here, new ideas there and some modern special effects, turning it into the greatest new show since sliced atoms.  I developed some ideas about the premise and how it could be improved and modernized, spoke a bit about how I’d spin the stories and create compelling new content…

And then the brakes locked up… the record skipped… the screen froze… pick your own metaphor.  What was I doing?

I was already forgetting the lesson I’d just learned about content, as I described in my post I’m a writer… not an IP licensor.  According to the posts by Kristine Kathryn Rusch, Business Musings: Rethinking The Writing Business, the business of making money by writing novels has been effectively supplanted by the business of making money by selling intellectual property, or IP, to licensees.  Rusch describes the process of breaking down initial ideas into their component elements, from characters, premises, significant elements, notable ideas, etc, and offering those bits of IP to different licensees, from publishers, to movie companies, to toy companies, manufacturers, marketers, etc… allowing them to buy the IP and take on the chore of actually producing a product, while the creator produces a beeline to the bank.

And I was sitting here, writing down a bunch of perfectly valuable IP content which I was about to publish on this blog for nothing, allowing anyone to take my IP to producers and profit off of selling my clever and potentially valuable ideas.

Okay, maybe the show I referenced in my post is never going to be rebooted (though we seem to be an a period in Hollywood where they’ll reboot absolutely anything that once had a pulse—or a profit—because they see it as an easier sell than absolutely anything new).  Maybe there’s no office to enter and no one waiting to hear that IP pitch, and no money waiting to be made.

[image error]But just in case there is… I’m not going to make it easy for someone to potentially profit off my ideas and leave me nothing.  If I can find a potential buyer, I’ll pitch my ideas to them.  And as you might have noticed from past posts, I do have some.  Ideas, I mean.  Ready to be pitched.  And bought.  And until then, they’re staying with me.

So: No more reboot ideas.  Go develop your own live-action Huckleberry Hound, y’all.

The 20th century Everyman has moved on.

Here’s a trivia question for you: What was the second-most overused science fiction hero trope of the 20th century?  Answer: Buck Rogers, created in 1928 by Philip Nowlan, has been reused and recycled in SF media of all kinds more often than any other SF character concept, save one.  (The most overused?  The science-created superhero, from Superman-on.)

[image error]And there was a reason for all that overuse: Buck Rogers was the prototypical Everyman, magically shifted into a world not his own, a world of weird creatures, exotic technology and people who, for some reason, needed the help of a man from the past to save their asses.

Buck was renowned for quickly mastering futuristic technology and showing the natives how we did it back in the good-old days.  In each iteration, there was some quality about him that was somehow missing from the people of the future, making him an invaluable asset (and weapon) against the forces of evil.  And for a world just being introduced to science fiction in the early 20th century, trying to figure out where they fit in a world of flying machines, foreign conflicts, ray guns and tight breeches, having a familiar character as their anchor to the future was important.

[image error]Buck became the standard of sci-fi heroes early on, first in illustrated form, not long afterward in movie serials starring Buster Crabbe, and in numerous other comic versions for decades afterward.  Because the character was so relatable, he became a favorite of Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry, who did his damndest to revive the archetype in no less than three television series (Earth II, Planet Earth and Andromeda).  And after the success of Star Wars, the original Buck was brought back to TV by Universal.  And Farscape‘s John Creighton is clearly patterned after Buck.  Clearly, Buck’s gotten a lot of mileage out of him over the years.

So, is it time to resurrect this stalwart hero of yesteryear?

Hell, no.

It’s the 21st century now… we’ve almost reached 2020.  We already live in a world of flying machines, foreign conflicts, exotic weaponry, computers and communicators in our pockets, Moon landings, space stations, electric cars, drones, AI, robots throughout the Solar System and regular visits to the Titanic.

Moreover, we’ve had those things, and the vast amount of media about them, for so long that we’ve all become more than accustomed to the idea of new technology, space travel, instantaneous communication and AIs winning at Jeopardy (and no Captain Kirks blowing them up with reverse-logic traps).  Science fiction isn’t the exotic idea it used to be, and we no longer expect ourselves to become the proverbial strangers in a strange land when exposed to it.

Does this mean that, because sci-fi has lost much of its original mystery and fascination to us, it’s lost its luster and attraction?  No; it means we’ve grown more confident in our knowledge and expectations for the future, and we believe we can jump right in, grab that phaser, identify the stun and kill settings at a glance, and get busy.

[image error]Perhaps this is why our more recent sci-fi Everyman heroes are people who seem right at home with the science and technology, whether or not they were born into it; the Corben Dallas’, the Mal Reynolds’, the Peter Quills, the Rick Deckards, and all those Star Trek competence-porn officers who can field-strip a warp core over lunch.  People who can grab a new piece of tech and subdue the bad guys without stumbling or asking which is the scary end.

Our perceptions of the future have changed, and our exposure to technology and change has grown our comfort and confidence with that future.  The days of Buck Rogers ended with the 20th century; no more reboots for you.

Ad Astra: The irony is not lost on me

I saw Ad Astra last weekend, 3 weeks after its American release.  It’s a beautifully acted and produced science fiction movie, one that might—eventually—become a renowned production in SF circles.  But right now, it’s being ignored by most of the SF market… and after seeing it myself, I immediately understood why most popular reviews were tepid to outright cold about this movie, and why most moviegoers have stayed away from it.  Unfortunately, it’s a reception that this movie doesn’t deserve, and the reasons behind it are so ironic that it’s hard for me to decide whether to laugh or cry about it.

[image error]Brad Pitt plays Roy McBride, an astronaut renowned in Space Command for maintaining his detachment and utter calm to even the most extreme goings-on around him at all times, but clearly unable to feel for anything or anyone (including his estranged wife).  He is also the son of a famous astronaut, Clifford McBride, who was lost in outer space years ago, on a mission to search for life in the cosmos.  But one day Roy is told his father is not dead, but for some reason causing incredible, potentially deadly energy surges from the orbit of Neptune that now threaten the Earth.  Roy is sent to try to talk his father down and stop the energy surges.

(Spoilers follow, skip ahead)

Most of Roy’s journey is spent in much the same way his personal life progresses: He is alone, dedicated single-mindedly to his mission to reach his father.  Along the way, Roy finds himself in numerous hazardous scrapes; death seems to follow him, often at his own hands… but he shoulders on with his unerring calm.  Before he reaches his father, he discovers that Clifford was equally single-minded about his mission to find alien life, intentionally killing his crew to prevent them from aborting his mission.

[image error]When he finally reaches Clifford, Roy realizes how far gone his father is: Still completely alone, no thoughts other than the mission; not even regrets for what he’d done to abandon his wife and son, or kill his resistant crew, to remain out there.  Clifford ultimately cannot accept the idea of destroying his station, even though he knows it is the cause of the deadly surges, because that would mean ending his mission and returning to an Earth that no longer interests him.  In the end, Roy must leave his father behind and return to Earth (the destruction of the station being almost an afterthought in the story at this point), but in the process comes to a realization that will change his life.

Is it that Clifford managed to discover life in the cosmos?  No; the movie draws short of actually saying that there’s no life out there, but it’s clear that Clifford failed at finding any; and the very thought of humans being alone in the universe has left Clifford almost catatonic in grief.

However, Roy manages to get a look at the sensory readings his father has collected from planets throughout the cosmos, and realizes what Clifford has missed: That after decades of extensive scanning, he has built up an incredible wealth of scientific data on worlds throughout the cosmos, discoveries no other man has achieved.  Ironically, Clifford’s obsession with the search for life had blinded him to his other accomplishments… as well as to the people around him, including the entreaties of his son.

And Roy realizes how much his life has reflected that of his father, shutting out his wife, making no friends or connections, and ending up isolated through his own actions.  At the end, Roy comes to understand how precious those relationships with others are, and decides to reconnect with his wife, to make connections and appreciate what he has.

(End spoilers)

[image error]

When Ad Astra was released, popular critics and science fiction fans immediately criticized the movie for being downbeat and depressing, for lacking the excitement typical of sci-fi, for “ruining” a space movie.  It was not Star Wars or Star Trek.  There were no alien miracles or death stars or firefights.  So-called sci-fi fans shunned the movie because there was no fun.  And that was their mistake.

Much like Stanislaw Lem’s classic Solaris, another psychological SF drama, Ad Astra contains many of the familiar external trappings of sci-fi, but is really about looking inward, into Roy’s psyche, not outward.  And that’s the real irony of Ad Astra: That critics and the public—as myopically intent in expecting aliens, firefights and unambiguous happy endings out of science fiction movies as Roy McBride was in accomplishing his mission—also failed to see the real point of the story; that Ad Astra is not a movie about seeking alien life or stopping outer space threats, it’s a movie about a man discovering his own disastrous disconnection with human life.

Eventually, scientists and engineers will stop criticizing the physical errors of this story (there are some), fans will stop discussing its action sequences (largely gratuitous), and critics will stop berating it for not being what sci-fi fans expect (it’s not); and they’ll all realize this is a rare example of an intelligent and important science fiction film… not a story about people using space fighters and futuristic toys to fight aliens or bad guys… but about people who unfortunately allow the pursuit of science to obscure their humanity, and the dire consequences of that.  Unfortunately, it may take time for the science fiction world to catch on to what they’ve missed.

On that day, I hope to be there to say: “Told you so.”

Feminism vs superheroes

I was introduced to an excellent article from last year: Shoshana Kessock’s The Feminism of Black Panther vs. Wonder Woman examines the examples of feminism in both movies, and concludes that the world of masculine and feminine equality as depicted in the land of Wakanda was superior to the feminist message brought by Diana and spurned by the masculine-dominated outside world.

It’s a wonderful article, which I highly recommend for its examination of feminism in these two movies… just as it casually leap-frogs over the real irony of both movies’ connection to feminism itself: Namely, that there isn’t any.

Because what we’re talking about are superhero movies… and let’s face it, there’s nothing even remotely feminist about the superhero genre.

Superheroes, modern mythology’s answer to demigods and icons, are essentially all about the concept of Might Makes Right… a particularly testosterone-fueled point of view.  And with virtually no exceptions, its characters demonstrate that the answer to all problems ultimately come from the physical defeat of the bad guy.  In comics, men are depicted as strong, agile and skilled, the better to take down their nemeses.  And women often dress in revealing outfits more suitable for male eye-candy, but their actions tend to denote a masculine answer to conflict… they also fight the bad guys and win.

[image error]Regarding the women in Black Panther and Wonder Woman, they are depicted almost exclusively as warriors, winning their place among men by proving their equals on a battlefield… in other words, proving their superior masculinity.  (The exceptions in both movies are both Queens, who, in quite queenly fashion, mostly stand aside while others fight around them.)

[image error]A major tenet of feminism is supposed to be cooperation, communication… bringing people together, reasoning out agreements to solve problems.  But these traits are little seen in either of these movies… or, when they are seen—such as when Diana tries to argue with the war leaders in London—and I’m not sure a comparative moment even comes up in Black Panther—it never works, and the women are forced to resort to battle.

Understand, I don’t mean this to sound like a criticism of Kessock’s article; if anything, it is a critique of the superhero genre itself, which is built on conflict so thoroughly that it even celebrates good guys fighting other good guys, and usually for pretty dim reasons like minor misunderstandings, mistaken identities or simple territoriality.  Superhero women, no matter how feminine they are intended, inevitably end up enforcing the superhero mold by being as bad-ass a fighter as the men.

In fact, the Captain America movie Civil War—a great example of good-guy superheroes goaded into fighting each other—has a small scene that sums this up nicely.  During the fight between pro-regulation and pro-independence heroes, old friends and SHIELD operatives Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton, aka Black Widow and Hawkeye, grapple with each other to a standstill.  In a moment when Natasha pins Clint to the tarmac, she suddenly asks: “We’re still friends, right?”  Even in battle, Natasha’s feminist side asserts itself, trying to patch up the situation and establish a bond with her opponent.

Clint’s response: “Depends on how hard you hit me.”  The masculine qualifier thereby established, they continue their fight.

[image error]This is the superhero world, a playground that forces femininity to bow to masculinity’s will or else (or else what?  Become a damsel in distress, or a victim, generally).  Back to the two movies, Wonder Woman’s Diana has perhaps the best tools of the feminist: The bracelets that allow her to deflect an attack; and the lasso that compels truth out of the wearer (for honest communication).  But Diana more often uses the lasso as a whip or device of capture… and she carries a sword to go on the offensive, a distinctly masculine weapon.  The women of Black Panther use shields, spears and other high-tech tools, but all as offensive weapons.  Apparently the incredibly high-tech arsenal of the Wakandans doesn’t include tools to diffuse weapons and attacks.

[image error]In Black Panther, Nakia and Shuri demonstrate their cleverness as spy and technologist, and the Queen mother Ramonda displays her calm… but no one is capable of talking down Killmonger as he criticizes Wakanda and plans to attack the rest of the world to satisfy his black takeover agenda.  In fact, the challenging way all the Wakandan leaders, including Ramonda, treat Killmonger when he first arrives in Wakanda only serves to anger him and further guarantees he will not back down or try to reason with the Wakandans.  Masculine bluster encourages masculine antagonism, when a touch of feminist reasoning from Ramonda or world-savvy Nakia, at just the time when the subject of re-entering the world stage was already on the Wakandans’ minds, just might have diffused the situation.

[image error]And so both movies default to the standard superhero template, reducing one side or the other to being the Bad Guy, with the express intent of physically taking them down.  And in both movies, defeat of the Bag Guy is absolute; no capitulation, to rehabilitation, only death.  Masculinity is served.

So, which movie was more feminist, Black Panther or Wonder Woman?  Both movies are excellent… but the genre in which they exist explicitly prevents them from being able to satisfy a feminine agenda.  The question is a lot like asking which is the taller building… the Washington Monument or the Pentagon?  Because one may be taller than the other, but neither really does an adequate job of representing tall buildings.

Adam ruins me

Maybe you’re familiar with the TV series Adam Ruins Everything: Where writer and show host Adam Conover aims to debunk the myriad misconceptions that pervade U.S. society.  I love the way he not only points out the popular beliefs and assumptions presented in each episode, but provides references and sometimes actual authorities on the subject to bedunk those myths and assumptions.

[image error]ARE has covered a myriad of subjects, but last night’s subject, about conspiracy theories, made me stop and consider some of my own perceptions, to wit: Do I have a realistic take on how my own life has progressed?

As an example: Being African-American, I’m aware of the many aspects of American life that have been tailor-made to disadvantage and downright oppress me based on my color, while providing advantages in similar situations to European-Americans.  Over the years, I’ve had my share of missed opportunities of one kind or another; and occasionally, I suspect my color to have played a role in those losses.

[image error]But can I make an honest (much less accurate) assessment of that?  In cases where I don’t know one way or the other, should I assume that I was purposely disadvantaged because of my color?  Was I actively discriminated against?  Was it just my personal inadequacies that lost me those opportunities?  Or am I assuming conspiracies where there are none?  I realize that much of those discrimination-based processes are specifically designed to obscure evidence of its effects… but without concrete evidence, should I automatically assume the worst?  And should I make future decisions—what I do, where I go, how I act towards others—based on unfounded assumptions and evidence I don’t actually have?

Another example would be my attempt to become a successful novelist: Most of the assumptions I’ve made about my failures to sell my books are, admittedly, based on a lack of data rather than actual evidence.  For instance, I could assume that my writing should have been good enough to forward my career… but without hard data, and only a few readers’ comments, I never had real support for that assumption.

[image error]More vexing was actual promotion of my work: Can I assume that my blown promotional efforts were due exclusively to my own failings as a promoter… or could it be that the indifference or even animosity of colleagues and strangers played a part in my failure?  Were my inadequate efforts at connecting to potential supporters all my fault?  Did prospective support sources ignore me… just not notice me… or did others intentionally distract them from me for their own ends?  And my face wasn’t exactly hidden: Did my race, my age, my looks, my glasses, my weight, etc, etc, adversely impact my attempts at promotion, or discourage those who would support me?

Most importantly, should I make assumptions upon my own character based on what are essentially theories?  Should I hate on others, based on theorized slights… or should I hate upon myself for supposedly not being good enough, savvy enough, persistent enough to succeed?  Should I assume the world is out to get me… or that my failures are all on me?

What’s most frustrating about this conundrum is that one decision takes you to anger… while the other leads to an inferiority complex.  Where is the middle ground, where you can just shrug off the past, no harm no foul, not assume the worst of either side, and live your life without regrets?

I wish I knew.  Because living a life that feels like one part anger, one part inferiority and seemingly nothing else, leads you down a dark path that you might never find your way out of.  Unlike Adam Ruins Everything, I have lots of questions, but no hard data to support answers.  So I’m stuck with either second-guessing myself or self-identifying conspiracy theories against me, neither of which is a particularly good head-space… or a reliable way to make decisions.

At least I can apply one lesson from Adam Ruins Everything: Question.  If unsure, investigate… ask… study.  Just don’t blindly accept.  And when unsure, temper your responses to avoid prejudice or unfounded assumption.  Or don’t respond at all.

[image error]This where I feel like I am now: Unsure and unable to act or respond, because I don’t have the data I need to make informed decisions.  I’m just going through the motions, wanting to take the next step, but not knowing what that next step is, and vaguely hoping something will present itself that will help me make a decision… any decision.

Or, hoping something—good or bad—will come along that will take the decision out of my hands and set me on another path entirely… because at least then I’ll be doing something.