Tony Peak's Blog, page 14
November 26, 2013
JFK50: Represent Truth
Fifty years. That’s how long it’s been since John Fitzgerald Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, Texas, on November 22nd, 1963. That’s how much time has passed since a coup d’état was enacted in full public view. Five decades of lies, mistrust, suspicion, and propaganda. My own interest in this subject has lasted well over a decade. Needless to say, I don’t believe the official conclusions reached by the Warren Commission in 1964. But I’m not going to repeat assassination details, facts, misconceptions, and theories here—there are many other sources where you can read that. I don’t have my own pet theory as to who did it and why, and I don’t have a book to sell or agenda to advertise.
I want the truth.
Before I go any further, let me clear up any assumptions you may have regarding me. I don’t believe JFK was a saint, or that his administration (‘Camelot’) was all that progressive. I do not subscribe to his ‘personality cult’ like others, nor do I agree with how John & Jackie have been romanticized in the years since 11-22-63. They were human beings, and thus fallible. Do I think JFK would have avoided the Vietnam War? Of course; NSAM 263 shows his intentions—and in writing, no less (1,000 military personnel home by Christmas 1963; all military personnel out by 1965). Would this country be any better had JFK lived? I think so, but not so much as others like to imagine. He was a member of the ruling establishment. A wealthy politician. Not a messianic figure that would have made the United States a perfect society.
I’m not a ‘conspiracy nut’. We did land on the Moon. The Holocaust did happen. World leaders aren’t reptilian aliens in disguise. There is no hard evidence for Bigfoot, Nessie, or of UFOs. Atlantean documents aren’t stored in a secret library beneath the Sphinx.
So why does this assassination interest me? Because it reveals the lie behind the American dream. An elected leader was slain in public and replaced by one with far different policies. The assassination was—and still is—covered up by our government. The depth of official lies, media acquiescence, and shoddy conclusions still anger me. Remember, to ignore the past is to repeat it. The JFK assassination is a true, ongoing lesson in state power vs. democratic principles. It cannot be ignored.
This year, I traveled to Dallas to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the assassination. It was the first time I’d visited Dealey Plaza and the Trade School Book Depository (now the Sixth Floor Museum). It really is a small space, which made JFK’s murder all the more intimate for those who witnessed and survived it. Seeing these locations with my own eyes didn’t change what I think or what I know. I didn’t experience some grand epiphany as I walked up the Grassy Knoll. No chill traveled up my spine as I gazed out a window from the Book Depository. No tears dimmed my eyes as I passed the flower-studded memorial parallel with the street, marking the spot of the fatal head shot. The same shot as seen in Zapruder film frame 313.
I was in Dealey Plaza to represent truth, and the hope that it will be revealed one day.
There were hundreds of others in Dealey Plaza too—people who mourned JFK, and those still fuming over the Warren Report’s nonsense. I spotted a few who used the assassination to symbolize their own politics: anti-Obama posters, the city of Dallas and its trite treatment of the assassination (no original witnesses were allowed into the ticketed ceremony on the morning of the 22nd). Then there was the conspiracy nuts that make us real researchers look bad: Alex Jones, blabbing into a microphone in the Plaza; a man with a Carcano rifle slung over his shoulder, with a large Texas flag protruding from the barrel; a local radio station’s supporter carrying an Israeli flag. But there were many who I was glad to see: the guy holding up a sign that read ‘Coup D’état!’; individuals carrying blue signs reading ‘LBJ Done It’; a mother showing her toddler daughter the memorial plaque beside the street. Older couples visiting the Plaza, no doubt recalling a far different America than the one I live in now. People selling newspapers questioning the Warren Report, or the guy I bought Robert Groden’s ‘Case for Conspiracy’ from—maybe they’re trying to make a buck, but at least they’re asking people to question our government.
As I stood behind the concrete barrier on the Grassy Knoll, I felt sad. Dallas—and the world—continued around me, vehicles speeding through the streets, crowds bustling through crosswalks, individuals focused on their cell phones. And before me, dozens milling about Dealey Plaza, often discussing or arguing various theories. I was saddened by the murder of a human being—John Kennedy—and by people’s reaction to it today. They either ignore it, don’t care about it, or argue its points and possible tangents. Apathy or assumption.
I wish the JFK research community would stop all the in-fighting. We need to speak with one voice if we are ever to be heard. The pet theories need to die when evidence dispels that idea. These theories in particular hurt our cause: William Greer, the limo driver, shooting JFK with a pistol; George Hickey, accidentally shooting JFK with his AR-15 from the follow-up car; the Zapruder film being a fake; James Files as the Grassy Knoll shooter; ‘Badge Man’ claimed to be visible in the Mary Moorman photograph; Roscoe White being the Grassy Knoll shooter and the murderer of J.D. Tippit; and the worst, that organized crime planned and carried out the assassination all by itself.
The Zapruder film and the known wounds on JFK’s body, John Connally, and James Tague make it plain that at least five shots were fired: one shot through JFK’s throat; one into his back (doctors couldn’t probe their pinky finger all the way through it, thus it wasn’t the same shot as the throat wound); at least one shot into Connally’s back (that may have caused all his wounds, but unlikely); the missed shot that struck the street corner and cut Tague’s cheek with the resulting shrapnel; and the final head shot that killed JFK. I could go on with many more details about Oswald, the CIA, Clay Shaw, and others, but the basic facts stated above are enough to completely destroy the Warren Commission’s findings.
See? No crazy theories, no gunmen firing from sewers or with fancy ammo. No magic bullet. Just verifiable facts. Don’t take my word for it. Watch the Zapruder film. Examine the testimonies of Parkland and Bethesda doctors. Ask yourself why the best riflemen in the world still can’t match the shooting Oswald is alleged to have done, from the same height, with the exact same bolt-action rifle and faulty scope, with a tree blocking the first two shots, in six seconds (and no, that FBI test didn’t truly replicate the conditions Oswald was supposed to be shooting under—and the agent still failed the test).
But in the end, the number of shots, the direction they came from, Oswald’s CIA connections—that is all just scenery, as expressed by a character in Oliver Stone’s film ‘JFK’. We need to ask: why was JFK killed, and why was it covered up?
Why is our government still lying to us?
JFK is long dead, and so are most, if not all, of the conspirators involved in his murder. So why care? It’s more than justice I seek. For if the truth comes out, that day would be a victory of the people over state power. And state power dominates our lives as we come closer to Orwell’s nightmare. In many ways, we’re already living in the world of Orwell’s character, Winston Smith. Discovering who killed Kennedy, and why, would be the first step in reversing our transition to an Orwellian society.
So when I stood in Dealey Plaza on that cold, rainy Friday, pulling up the hood of my coat to guard against the wind, I wondered when the answer to that question will be known. When I signed the guest book in the Sixth Floor Museum, I wrote ‘we still want to know the truth’. Perhaps, should I live long enough, I’ll be in Dealey Plaza for the 100th anniversary of the assassination. If that comes to pass, I hope that my presence there will be in celebration of knowledge. Knowledge of who did this and why. I don’t want to visit that site again under the auspices of seeking answers.
It’s time that we demand them.
Ask not what your country can do for you…ask what you can do for your country.
What we can do for all of us.
I want the truth.
Before I go any further, let me clear up any assumptions you may have regarding me. I don’t believe JFK was a saint, or that his administration (‘Camelot’) was all that progressive. I do not subscribe to his ‘personality cult’ like others, nor do I agree with how John & Jackie have been romanticized in the years since 11-22-63. They were human beings, and thus fallible. Do I think JFK would have avoided the Vietnam War? Of course; NSAM 263 shows his intentions—and in writing, no less (1,000 military personnel home by Christmas 1963; all military personnel out by 1965). Would this country be any better had JFK lived? I think so, but not so much as others like to imagine. He was a member of the ruling establishment. A wealthy politician. Not a messianic figure that would have made the United States a perfect society.
I’m not a ‘conspiracy nut’. We did land on the Moon. The Holocaust did happen. World leaders aren’t reptilian aliens in disguise. There is no hard evidence for Bigfoot, Nessie, or of UFOs. Atlantean documents aren’t stored in a secret library beneath the Sphinx.
So why does this assassination interest me? Because it reveals the lie behind the American dream. An elected leader was slain in public and replaced by one with far different policies. The assassination was—and still is—covered up by our government. The depth of official lies, media acquiescence, and shoddy conclusions still anger me. Remember, to ignore the past is to repeat it. The JFK assassination is a true, ongoing lesson in state power vs. democratic principles. It cannot be ignored.
This year, I traveled to Dallas to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the assassination. It was the first time I’d visited Dealey Plaza and the Trade School Book Depository (now the Sixth Floor Museum). It really is a small space, which made JFK’s murder all the more intimate for those who witnessed and survived it. Seeing these locations with my own eyes didn’t change what I think or what I know. I didn’t experience some grand epiphany as I walked up the Grassy Knoll. No chill traveled up my spine as I gazed out a window from the Book Depository. No tears dimmed my eyes as I passed the flower-studded memorial parallel with the street, marking the spot of the fatal head shot. The same shot as seen in Zapruder film frame 313.
I was in Dealey Plaza to represent truth, and the hope that it will be revealed one day.
There were hundreds of others in Dealey Plaza too—people who mourned JFK, and those still fuming over the Warren Report’s nonsense. I spotted a few who used the assassination to symbolize their own politics: anti-Obama posters, the city of Dallas and its trite treatment of the assassination (no original witnesses were allowed into the ticketed ceremony on the morning of the 22nd). Then there was the conspiracy nuts that make us real researchers look bad: Alex Jones, blabbing into a microphone in the Plaza; a man with a Carcano rifle slung over his shoulder, with a large Texas flag protruding from the barrel; a local radio station’s supporter carrying an Israeli flag. But there were many who I was glad to see: the guy holding up a sign that read ‘Coup D’état!’; individuals carrying blue signs reading ‘LBJ Done It’; a mother showing her toddler daughter the memorial plaque beside the street. Older couples visiting the Plaza, no doubt recalling a far different America than the one I live in now. People selling newspapers questioning the Warren Report, or the guy I bought Robert Groden’s ‘Case for Conspiracy’ from—maybe they’re trying to make a buck, but at least they’re asking people to question our government.
As I stood behind the concrete barrier on the Grassy Knoll, I felt sad. Dallas—and the world—continued around me, vehicles speeding through the streets, crowds bustling through crosswalks, individuals focused on their cell phones. And before me, dozens milling about Dealey Plaza, often discussing or arguing various theories. I was saddened by the murder of a human being—John Kennedy—and by people’s reaction to it today. They either ignore it, don’t care about it, or argue its points and possible tangents. Apathy or assumption.
I wish the JFK research community would stop all the in-fighting. We need to speak with one voice if we are ever to be heard. The pet theories need to die when evidence dispels that idea. These theories in particular hurt our cause: William Greer, the limo driver, shooting JFK with a pistol; George Hickey, accidentally shooting JFK with his AR-15 from the follow-up car; the Zapruder film being a fake; James Files as the Grassy Knoll shooter; ‘Badge Man’ claimed to be visible in the Mary Moorman photograph; Roscoe White being the Grassy Knoll shooter and the murderer of J.D. Tippit; and the worst, that organized crime planned and carried out the assassination all by itself.
The Zapruder film and the known wounds on JFK’s body, John Connally, and James Tague make it plain that at least five shots were fired: one shot through JFK’s throat; one into his back (doctors couldn’t probe their pinky finger all the way through it, thus it wasn’t the same shot as the throat wound); at least one shot into Connally’s back (that may have caused all his wounds, but unlikely); the missed shot that struck the street corner and cut Tague’s cheek with the resulting shrapnel; and the final head shot that killed JFK. I could go on with many more details about Oswald, the CIA, Clay Shaw, and others, but the basic facts stated above are enough to completely destroy the Warren Commission’s findings.
See? No crazy theories, no gunmen firing from sewers or with fancy ammo. No magic bullet. Just verifiable facts. Don’t take my word for it. Watch the Zapruder film. Examine the testimonies of Parkland and Bethesda doctors. Ask yourself why the best riflemen in the world still can’t match the shooting Oswald is alleged to have done, from the same height, with the exact same bolt-action rifle and faulty scope, with a tree blocking the first two shots, in six seconds (and no, that FBI test didn’t truly replicate the conditions Oswald was supposed to be shooting under—and the agent still failed the test).
But in the end, the number of shots, the direction they came from, Oswald’s CIA connections—that is all just scenery, as expressed by a character in Oliver Stone’s film ‘JFK’. We need to ask: why was JFK killed, and why was it covered up?
Why is our government still lying to us?
JFK is long dead, and so are most, if not all, of the conspirators involved in his murder. So why care? It’s more than justice I seek. For if the truth comes out, that day would be a victory of the people over state power. And state power dominates our lives as we come closer to Orwell’s nightmare. In many ways, we’re already living in the world of Orwell’s character, Winston Smith. Discovering who killed Kennedy, and why, would be the first step in reversing our transition to an Orwellian society.
So when I stood in Dealey Plaza on that cold, rainy Friday, pulling up the hood of my coat to guard against the wind, I wondered when the answer to that question will be known. When I signed the guest book in the Sixth Floor Museum, I wrote ‘we still want to know the truth’. Perhaps, should I live long enough, I’ll be in Dealey Plaza for the 100th anniversary of the assassination. If that comes to pass, I hope that my presence there will be in celebration of knowledge. Knowledge of who did this and why. I don’t want to visit that site again under the auspices of seeking answers.
It’s time that we demand them.
Ask not what your country can do for you…ask what you can do for your country.
What we can do for all of us.
My First Telescope: Infinite Visions with the Planetary Society
Recently, the Planetary Society asked that members share their favorite space photos on the Society's website forum, 'Infinite Visions'. While I don't have the image that inspired me the most, I still have the memory. Here's what I posted to the Society's website:
My First Telescope
I will never forget a cold winter night in 1988, when my father centered a Tasco telescope on a bright object in the sky above. This was the first time I had ever looked through a telescope. I was ten years old, and my interest in astronomy was already keen. My imagination was drunk with what the future might hold for space travel and humanity. Though I’m older and wiser now, this particular viewing has remained with me ever since. While I can’t recall if the object was a star or planet (my father just selected something at random without a chart) I will never forget the flaring effect cast upon it by our atmosphere. The object seemed alive as a result, bulging and writhing up there in that endless void.
How I wish I had an image to share with the rest of you: that faint yellow sphere, set against a backdrop of depthless black, morphing within the narrow light spectrum visible through the wide eye of a ten-year old.
Morphing into my dreams and memories, like a wormhole bridging that night and this one.
Though memories fade and nostalgia paints everything in a golden sheen, that image still inspires me. In that moment I realized I really was a part of the universe. Even now, decades later, that childlike wonder illuminates my being—just like that object lit up a small sector of the sky years ago.
My First Telescope
I will never forget a cold winter night in 1988, when my father centered a Tasco telescope on a bright object in the sky above. This was the first time I had ever looked through a telescope. I was ten years old, and my interest in astronomy was already keen. My imagination was drunk with what the future might hold for space travel and humanity. Though I’m older and wiser now, this particular viewing has remained with me ever since. While I can’t recall if the object was a star or planet (my father just selected something at random without a chart) I will never forget the flaring effect cast upon it by our atmosphere. The object seemed alive as a result, bulging and writhing up there in that endless void.
How I wish I had an image to share with the rest of you: that faint yellow sphere, set against a backdrop of depthless black, morphing within the narrow light spectrum visible through the wide eye of a ten-year old.
Morphing into my dreams and memories, like a wormhole bridging that night and this one.
Though memories fade and nostalgia paints everything in a golden sheen, that image still inspires me. In that moment I realized I really was a part of the universe. Even now, decades later, that childlike wonder illuminates my being—just like that object lit up a small sector of the sky years ago.
October 20, 2013
Why I joined the Long Now Foundation
I have known about the Long Now Foundation for only a few months, but apparently it’s been around for almost two decades. Regardless, it is still a relatively new thing. Kind of like the human race. On a geologic, cosmic scale, our species barely registers in comparison to the age of the Earth, or of the known universe. Yet we as a species must begin thinking of ourselves on such a scale, if we are to survive.
The first essay I read on the Long Now’s website was written by Michael Chabon (‘The Future Will Have to Wait’). Immediately I knew I had discovered a group who ponders the same questions I do. Cares about the same things I care about. As I read more essays and blog entries on the site, this conviction deepened. The Long Now Foundation isn’t a clique or a cult. It isn’t a trend. Likewise, our species shouldn’t be viewed as a passing fancy of biological evolution. It is through the forward, long-term thinking of such organizations as the Long Now that might decide if we remain present on the Earth.
The Long Now Foundation asks people to think about what our planet and civilization will be like 10,000 years into the future. Not, that’s not a typo. That’s ten millenniums. 12,000 AD. And to provide a public focus for such thought, the Foundation intends to construct a clock that will still be ticking in 10,000 years. The purpose of this eternal timepiece is to goad people into thinking about the future. Some have criticized this as a lofty ideal, or a waste of money and resources. I disagree.
First, let’s think about the world in just the next one hundred years. Climate change is a reality, along with rising sea levels, hotter temperatures, and dwindling food supplies. It has been estimated that all top soil will be gone within the next 45-60 years. That means no plant life—and no crops. The acid levels in the oceans are steadily rising, and soon that will mean no marine life. Fifty percent of all water in the United States is used on livestock—animals that we slaughter for food—and according to the Worldwatch Institute, 51% of greenhouse gases come from animal agriculture. And nuclear energy/weapons still pose a deadly threat to us. I could go on, but the point is that change is hitting us. Hard. There’s no turning back from what we’ve done to ourselves and Earth.
But everyone, deep down, already knows this. Doomsday has always been around the corner. This time it really is, though, as life on Earth will become much more difficult in the next few decades. How will people cope? Science alone won’t save us. Religion certainly won’t. Despair will set in, and that is the death of hope.
Thinking of ourselves with a longer perspective can provide that hope. Because if we still think humanity will inhabit this planet in ten millenniums, if we imagine a human ear will be around to hear the clock chime, then we are confident that we will survive.
To get there, though, our civilization must re-evaluate how it functions. We need less waste, less ignorance, and less exploitation of people, animals, and the environment. We need more education, more application of sustaining technologies—and more understanding of each other. This is a herculean task. It won’t be achieved through political, economic, military, or religious means. It must happen in the collective mindset of humanity. Willingly, through an understanding of where we are going as a species, and how we will get there.
I have been a pessimist and a nihilist for a long time now. Reading that first essay on the Long Now’s website reawakened something inside of me.
It gave me hope.
Though I am a new member, I am already expecting the Long Now Foundation to take its message into the mainstream. Just building this clock isn’t enough. Simply getting the support of people like Jeff Bezos, Brain Eno, and Ray Kurzweil won’t be enough. This message must enter the public conscious, and the Foundation’s members should lead by example: advocating sustainable, green energy; soliciting an alternative, healthy diet that focuses less on animal protein and refined sugar; creating real social networks that celebrates pluralism and culture; supporting space exploration; reducing the disparity between the rich and the poor; taking a strong stance on human and labor rights; educating people against superstition and bigotry; and seeing that food and water become the right of every human being, not economic amenities.
Otherwise, 10,000 years from now, that clock will take its place alongside Stonehenge, the Pyramids, and Chichen Itza as the relic of a civilization that thought it controlled its destiny.
In closing, I’ll reference a few lyrics from a David Bowie song, ‘A Better Future’:
Please
don't tear this world asunder
Please take back
this fear we're under
I demand a better future
It’s time that we all do.
The first essay I read on the Long Now’s website was written by Michael Chabon (‘The Future Will Have to Wait’). Immediately I knew I had discovered a group who ponders the same questions I do. Cares about the same things I care about. As I read more essays and blog entries on the site, this conviction deepened. The Long Now Foundation isn’t a clique or a cult. It isn’t a trend. Likewise, our species shouldn’t be viewed as a passing fancy of biological evolution. It is through the forward, long-term thinking of such organizations as the Long Now that might decide if we remain present on the Earth.
The Long Now Foundation asks people to think about what our planet and civilization will be like 10,000 years into the future. Not, that’s not a typo. That’s ten millenniums. 12,000 AD. And to provide a public focus for such thought, the Foundation intends to construct a clock that will still be ticking in 10,000 years. The purpose of this eternal timepiece is to goad people into thinking about the future. Some have criticized this as a lofty ideal, or a waste of money and resources. I disagree.
First, let’s think about the world in just the next one hundred years. Climate change is a reality, along with rising sea levels, hotter temperatures, and dwindling food supplies. It has been estimated that all top soil will be gone within the next 45-60 years. That means no plant life—and no crops. The acid levels in the oceans are steadily rising, and soon that will mean no marine life. Fifty percent of all water in the United States is used on livestock—animals that we slaughter for food—and according to the Worldwatch Institute, 51% of greenhouse gases come from animal agriculture. And nuclear energy/weapons still pose a deadly threat to us. I could go on, but the point is that change is hitting us. Hard. There’s no turning back from what we’ve done to ourselves and Earth.
But everyone, deep down, already knows this. Doomsday has always been around the corner. This time it really is, though, as life on Earth will become much more difficult in the next few decades. How will people cope? Science alone won’t save us. Religion certainly won’t. Despair will set in, and that is the death of hope.
Thinking of ourselves with a longer perspective can provide that hope. Because if we still think humanity will inhabit this planet in ten millenniums, if we imagine a human ear will be around to hear the clock chime, then we are confident that we will survive.
To get there, though, our civilization must re-evaluate how it functions. We need less waste, less ignorance, and less exploitation of people, animals, and the environment. We need more education, more application of sustaining technologies—and more understanding of each other. This is a herculean task. It won’t be achieved through political, economic, military, or religious means. It must happen in the collective mindset of humanity. Willingly, through an understanding of where we are going as a species, and how we will get there.
I have been a pessimist and a nihilist for a long time now. Reading that first essay on the Long Now’s website reawakened something inside of me.
It gave me hope.
Though I am a new member, I am already expecting the Long Now Foundation to take its message into the mainstream. Just building this clock isn’t enough. Simply getting the support of people like Jeff Bezos, Brain Eno, and Ray Kurzweil won’t be enough. This message must enter the public conscious, and the Foundation’s members should lead by example: advocating sustainable, green energy; soliciting an alternative, healthy diet that focuses less on animal protein and refined sugar; creating real social networks that celebrates pluralism and culture; supporting space exploration; reducing the disparity between the rich and the poor; taking a strong stance on human and labor rights; educating people against superstition and bigotry; and seeing that food and water become the right of every human being, not economic amenities.
Otherwise, 10,000 years from now, that clock will take its place alongside Stonehenge, the Pyramids, and Chichen Itza as the relic of a civilization that thought it controlled its destiny.
In closing, I’ll reference a few lyrics from a David Bowie song, ‘A Better Future’:
Please
don't tear this world asunder
Please take back
this fear we're under
I demand a better future
It’s time that we all do.
October 19, 2013
The Transhuman Sheen of Tron: Legacy
Three years have passed since Tron: Legacy was released. For some, it was a nostalgic return to a world within a world: one populated by beings of light and motion, pixels and bits. While many wrote it off, like its predecessor, as nothing more than a gamer’s fantasy, Tron: Legacy is far more than that. Beyond its incredible special effects, slim plotline, and extreme marketability lies a vision of posthumanity and its relationship to artificial intelligence.
The original Tron also had great special effects for its time, but wasn’t taken seriously by film critics. But there were some of us who knew what we were looking at. The Tron universe asked questions that are still relevant: what will sentient, free-thinking AIs think of their creators? What form would a virtual world take, one that allowed total immersion? And most importantly, who would control that world? A human, organic intelligence, or an artificial, machine one?
Tron: Legacy continued these themes, and took them further. In the original film, most programs viewed their programmers (called Users) as deities. Akin to a Creator, a God that had crafted that program in its own image. Reflecting this, the film’s programs physically resemble their Users, and often possess certain personality traits of their Users as well. In the newer film, the programs have challenged the Users. They have defeated their creators, their gods. And in the case of CLU, these programs want to fill their creator’s shoes. Even if that means entering the physical world as the flesh and blood manifestation of a program.
How many critics and fans saw these things as they watched the movie, I have no idea. I’m sure some did, but I’m willing to bet that most didn’t. The idea of Transhumanism has yet to catch on with the mainstream population. Sure, they’ve watched many other science fiction films or read similar novels that deal with these issues. Maybe even heard about the idea of ‘downloading’ the brain to a computer as a form of digital immortality. But Tron: Legacy is supposed to be just a popcorn, fanboy film, right? Part of that is true. Much of it isn’t.
There is a certain genius in these two films, working such issues into the narrative or the background. I say genius because these issues are within the subtext, not beaten over the viewer’s head. Several of these issues are ambiguous enough to allow multiple interpretations, which isn’t easy for any piece of art to accomplish. I’ll touch on the ones I found central to Tron: Legacy.
Jealousy: CLU is as much Kevin Flynn’s son as Sam Flynn is. Created by Kevin to help him ‘build the perfect system’ CLU has a directive and nowhere to practice it. Since he’s made the Grid ‘perfect’—by his tyrannical standards—he seeks to enter the human world and continue his directive. In the film, it’s easy to assume CLU is just another megalomaniacal villain. The movie should have invested more in character depth and development, but what is there is rather engaging in CLU’s case. He has done everything his creator asked, but receives no reward, no praise. He is thus jealous of Sam, who has done so little in his own life to live up to Kevin’s status. On the other hand, CLU has achieved great success on the Grid. Perfection achieved, with just one anomaly: the human presence of Kevin Flynn and any other Users who enter the Grid. The irony is, CLU is a human creation—and by extension, possessing some of humanity’s flaws. Watching the film, CLU seems a tortured character. Is it because he knows he himself is imperfect, and hates Kevin Flynn for making him that way? Jealous of Kevin’s power, and Kevin’s affection for Sam? Jealous of not being shown the world that Kevin originated from? The scene where CLU discovers Kevin’s apartment on the Grid, it’s as if he’s examining things he has no concept of. Knowledge that Kevin kept from him. When one of CLU’s lackeys examines a book, obviously ignorant of its purpose, or when CLU studies a platter of metallic apples—these programs are catching a glimpse of a world denied them by their User. It is Satan being denied access to Heaven by a fallible God.
Control: Aside from the obvious struggle of CLU’s totalitarian rule versus rebel programs and Users, there is another issue of control within Tron: Legacy. Who will oversee a creation like the Grid? It’s not possible for its architect—Kevin Flynn—to manage it all. He can barely macro-manage, much less micro-manage. Enter CLU to accomplish this. The catch is, CLU is sentient and free-thinking. He may have a directive set by Kevin Flynn, but CLU is advanced enough to formulate a successful revolt and coup d’état. What would this mean in the real world? Could an advanced system be governed by a human, yet maintained by an AI? And not just any AI, but one that is capable of independent thought. As our society treads deeper into the Information Age, and reliance on computer networks grow, having AI maintain the system is a logical step. This has its dangers, which has been amply explored in other futuristic fiction. The difference in Tron: Legacy is, the Grid isn’t static. It evolves. Given the rate of accelerating change as dictated by Moore’s Law, such a system could quickly rise to a level that is above human comprehension. In that regard, the relationship between creator and created might flip, placing artificial intelligence in charge of revolutionary thinking and humans to simply a reactionary, subservient level. Granted, this is an extreme example, which leads into the next issue.
Immersive Reality: The world of the Grid in Tron: Legacy is more than just a virtual environment. In that reality, Users bleed (Sam Flynn’s wound in the Arena) and they age (Kevin Flynn’s wrinkled, gray countenance). Contrary to logic, these human Users seem to possess just as much intelligence as the programs. I say contrary, because once artificial intelligence reaches the capacity for independent thought, it has the processing power to focus on and resolve issues that humans might find difficult to formulize in their own mind—and in a much quicker fashion. But in the film, Users and programs seem to have a level playing field regarding intelligence. This hints at a synergy of human and machine that is different than the typical virtual environment. In these respects, the Grid is more than just a simulation. It is a new reality unto itself. The Grid also possesses many anthropomorphic aspects—programs have beds for sleep, they drink liquids, they seem to have intimate relationships (hinted at between Quorra and Castor), and there is even ‘homeless’ programs, which infers a social strata one would not associate with a mere machine/simulation. I admit this is most likely because the Grid is a human design, and, like all things humans interface with, it is approached and accessed in human terms. However, such limitations could be overridden by programs that might see these aspects as unnecessary or anachronistic (i.e., a program wouldn’t require sleep). This, coupled with the presence of the ISOs (naturally-occurring algorithms on the Grid) hints that while this reality is an artificial one, and it can be tweaked, it still maintains an equilibrium outside what organic or machine influences can wreak upon it.
Having said all of this, Tron: Legacy still has flaws—mostly with the by-the-numbers plot and poor character depth. The first film had these same problems. Perhaps that is by design, though, in an effort to allow the viewer to see the greater issues these films address. While they will continue to entertain and thrill fans for years come, the themes inherent to Tron and Tron: Legacy will resonate well into the next step in human evolution.
The original Tron also had great special effects for its time, but wasn’t taken seriously by film critics. But there were some of us who knew what we were looking at. The Tron universe asked questions that are still relevant: what will sentient, free-thinking AIs think of their creators? What form would a virtual world take, one that allowed total immersion? And most importantly, who would control that world? A human, organic intelligence, or an artificial, machine one?
Tron: Legacy continued these themes, and took them further. In the original film, most programs viewed their programmers (called Users) as deities. Akin to a Creator, a God that had crafted that program in its own image. Reflecting this, the film’s programs physically resemble their Users, and often possess certain personality traits of their Users as well. In the newer film, the programs have challenged the Users. They have defeated their creators, their gods. And in the case of CLU, these programs want to fill their creator’s shoes. Even if that means entering the physical world as the flesh and blood manifestation of a program.
How many critics and fans saw these things as they watched the movie, I have no idea. I’m sure some did, but I’m willing to bet that most didn’t. The idea of Transhumanism has yet to catch on with the mainstream population. Sure, they’ve watched many other science fiction films or read similar novels that deal with these issues. Maybe even heard about the idea of ‘downloading’ the brain to a computer as a form of digital immortality. But Tron: Legacy is supposed to be just a popcorn, fanboy film, right? Part of that is true. Much of it isn’t.
There is a certain genius in these two films, working such issues into the narrative or the background. I say genius because these issues are within the subtext, not beaten over the viewer’s head. Several of these issues are ambiguous enough to allow multiple interpretations, which isn’t easy for any piece of art to accomplish. I’ll touch on the ones I found central to Tron: Legacy.
Jealousy: CLU is as much Kevin Flynn’s son as Sam Flynn is. Created by Kevin to help him ‘build the perfect system’ CLU has a directive and nowhere to practice it. Since he’s made the Grid ‘perfect’—by his tyrannical standards—he seeks to enter the human world and continue his directive. In the film, it’s easy to assume CLU is just another megalomaniacal villain. The movie should have invested more in character depth and development, but what is there is rather engaging in CLU’s case. He has done everything his creator asked, but receives no reward, no praise. He is thus jealous of Sam, who has done so little in his own life to live up to Kevin’s status. On the other hand, CLU has achieved great success on the Grid. Perfection achieved, with just one anomaly: the human presence of Kevin Flynn and any other Users who enter the Grid. The irony is, CLU is a human creation—and by extension, possessing some of humanity’s flaws. Watching the film, CLU seems a tortured character. Is it because he knows he himself is imperfect, and hates Kevin Flynn for making him that way? Jealous of Kevin’s power, and Kevin’s affection for Sam? Jealous of not being shown the world that Kevin originated from? The scene where CLU discovers Kevin’s apartment on the Grid, it’s as if he’s examining things he has no concept of. Knowledge that Kevin kept from him. When one of CLU’s lackeys examines a book, obviously ignorant of its purpose, or when CLU studies a platter of metallic apples—these programs are catching a glimpse of a world denied them by their User. It is Satan being denied access to Heaven by a fallible God.
Control: Aside from the obvious struggle of CLU’s totalitarian rule versus rebel programs and Users, there is another issue of control within Tron: Legacy. Who will oversee a creation like the Grid? It’s not possible for its architect—Kevin Flynn—to manage it all. He can barely macro-manage, much less micro-manage. Enter CLU to accomplish this. The catch is, CLU is sentient and free-thinking. He may have a directive set by Kevin Flynn, but CLU is advanced enough to formulate a successful revolt and coup d’état. What would this mean in the real world? Could an advanced system be governed by a human, yet maintained by an AI? And not just any AI, but one that is capable of independent thought. As our society treads deeper into the Information Age, and reliance on computer networks grow, having AI maintain the system is a logical step. This has its dangers, which has been amply explored in other futuristic fiction. The difference in Tron: Legacy is, the Grid isn’t static. It evolves. Given the rate of accelerating change as dictated by Moore’s Law, such a system could quickly rise to a level that is above human comprehension. In that regard, the relationship between creator and created might flip, placing artificial intelligence in charge of revolutionary thinking and humans to simply a reactionary, subservient level. Granted, this is an extreme example, which leads into the next issue.
Immersive Reality: The world of the Grid in Tron: Legacy is more than just a virtual environment. In that reality, Users bleed (Sam Flynn’s wound in the Arena) and they age (Kevin Flynn’s wrinkled, gray countenance). Contrary to logic, these human Users seem to possess just as much intelligence as the programs. I say contrary, because once artificial intelligence reaches the capacity for independent thought, it has the processing power to focus on and resolve issues that humans might find difficult to formulize in their own mind—and in a much quicker fashion. But in the film, Users and programs seem to have a level playing field regarding intelligence. This hints at a synergy of human and machine that is different than the typical virtual environment. In these respects, the Grid is more than just a simulation. It is a new reality unto itself. The Grid also possesses many anthropomorphic aspects—programs have beds for sleep, they drink liquids, they seem to have intimate relationships (hinted at between Quorra and Castor), and there is even ‘homeless’ programs, which infers a social strata one would not associate with a mere machine/simulation. I admit this is most likely because the Grid is a human design, and, like all things humans interface with, it is approached and accessed in human terms. However, such limitations could be overridden by programs that might see these aspects as unnecessary or anachronistic (i.e., a program wouldn’t require sleep). This, coupled with the presence of the ISOs (naturally-occurring algorithms on the Grid) hints that while this reality is an artificial one, and it can be tweaked, it still maintains an equilibrium outside what organic or machine influences can wreak upon it.
Having said all of this, Tron: Legacy still has flaws—mostly with the by-the-numbers plot and poor character depth. The first film had these same problems. Perhaps that is by design, though, in an effort to allow the viewer to see the greater issues these films address. While they will continue to entertain and thrill fans for years come, the themes inherent to Tron and Tron: Legacy will resonate well into the next step in human evolution.
October 5, 2013
Can a UFO Novel Still be Relevant?
This article’s title will place most readers into one of two groups: those who view UFO stories as a relic of mid-20th century science fiction (and thus outdated), or those who turn their noses up at a phenomena that isn’t considered scientific by mainstream disciplines. Does that mean the subject matter is too risky or controversial for a fiction writer to take on? Or perhaps interest in UFOs has reached its nadir, and thus no agent or publisher (outside of conspiracy circles) will give such a manuscript the time of day?
By now you’ve guessed that I’ve written a UFO novel, or I wouldn’t be asking these questions. The first draft, under the working title ‘Project Red Book’ is over two years old; I have placed it under ‘trunk’ status while focusing on other novels. Yet I still love how it begins, and I like cover-ups, conspiracies, and secrecy in fiction. I still want to explore a plot with these characters.
In other words, I’m not ready to give up on my UFO novel. But is it worth pursuing in today’s fiction environment?
Maybe if I revised it into a Young Adult novel—something everyone seems to be doing these days—but my story is too dark for that. My integrity must be invested in the project, so Project Red Book has to remain an adult novel. Either way, the target audience isn’t the problem—my quandary is, I don’t see anyone else mining this subgenre of science fiction anymore. It’s dead. In speculative fiction, the trends are vampires, zombies, steampunk. No big deal, I like a challenge. But browse through a bookstore and the only UFO volumes are in the conspiracy section. And they are short on facts and long on hyperbole. Not exactly what science fiction readers are drawn to.
I’d like to think I’ve done something original, but I know better. Regarding fiction—and science fiction especially—it’s all be done before, and by better writers. My only chance is to put a new spin on it. I won’t give away my novel’s details, but here are several key points I must decide on before revising this story into several drafts, put all the hard work into it, then send it out for an agent’s consideration.
# 1: The Era
In the original draft, I set the story in the modern day. Cell phones, internet, and all the accoutrements of the Information Age are present. Initially I thought this would make it more accessible to readers, plus it gives me the excuse that the hero is always under surveillance (this is a conspiracy-themed story, after all). I also added socio-political concerns that the character must deal with (immigration laws, drug enforcement, accusations of terrorism) that people still face, and are likely to face, for some time in the real world.
But what if I set the story in the past? Maybe during the 1980s, right after the MAJESTIC-12 documents surfaced? Or even further back, in the midst of all the UFO sightings and abduction stories from the 1960s? The past would provide a more concrete setting, since I’d know its limits. (And writing anything in the 60s would be a hell of a lotta fun!) Plus the UFO phenomena was stronger back then. Don’t forget that the U.S. Air Force studied UFOs for several years during the Cold War. This sort of environment might make my story more believable. The problem with this idea is that the reader will know that these events have already happened, and obviously didn’t change the world very much. Might be a hard sell. Unless I can make the story more compelling, so that era wouldn’t matter.
# 2: The Politics
Yes, there’s that ugly word. It plays a part in my original draft because of how human governments react to UFOs and aliens—and how these reactions affect the rest of us. Some will see only political diatribe, but in the real world, the existence of UFOs—particularly any interaction between them and the government—would have political ramifications. I really wanted the UFO phenomena to affect more than just the fringe conspiracy community in my story—otherwise, why even have it as a plot element? This goes beyond mere flying saucers, ray guns, and little green men. In my story, the presence of alien visitors affects government policy, towards the darker side. This also connects to the main character, and what his relation to the government is (he’s been wrongfully accused of domestic terrorism and is on the run).
I may have written the politics in too much, though. And by politics I’m not referring to speeches and elections. I’m talking about public policy regarding drugs, immigrants, guns, and privacy. Hot button topics in today’s world. I worry that it may get in the way of the actual story, making this more of a political thriller than a science fiction thriller. The aliens are what the reader is here to find about, after all.
# 3: The Depth of the Rabbit Hole
How far should the conspiracy go? How many really know about/interact with the aliens? This is a fine line, and I probably crossed it in that first draft. If too many people are in the loop, it might make the conspiracy less plausible. If there are too few, then how is it possible to have a worldwide conspiracy? In the first draft of Project Red Book, the conspiracy is large enough that the government has donated large tracts of (government) property to its upkeep. Alien/Earth hybrids (they all aren’t human-based!) probably appeared too much. Kinda like sighting Bigfoot in every small Nevada town—it just didn’t work.
What if I narrowed the conspiracy down? Make events more mysterious and surreal than blatantly have a hybrid step from the shadows every other chapter? This really appeals to me. But I still want to keep in my mutant Chupacabras, dammit! I’ll think of a way. In the end, though, the conspiracy must remain real—no way would I ever write a story like this, only to have the hero wake up at the end, or turn out to be insane. I might as well punch the reader in the gut.
# 4: The Nature of the Aliens
Without giving too much away, my aliens possess mental powers. Go on, laugh, because I know that’s not original. But these powers allowed them to reach Earth, not just an advanced, FTL propulsion drive. These are also powers that the government has attempted to recreate through the use of hybrids and some immoral gene splicing in the laboratory. One reason I went that route is I always hear that, if the government did indeed capture aliens at Roswell in 1947, then the discovery of their starship is responsible for all the technological advancements made since. What if the government were more interested in the aliens’ biology instead?
Yet while I’d like to retain this idea in a second draft, what else can I do to make my aliens different from the typical ‘Gray’ that has become a pop cultural icon? If this novel is ever going to get off the ground, my aliens must break from this mold. They should intrigue the reader—maybe freak them out a little. Or perhaps they are in plain sight (no, I refuse to do anything resembling David Icke’s reptilian rulers, disguised as humans).
Even if I revise these issues in a second draft, would that really matter? My main concern still rests with the marketability of such a project. I write stories I want to read, but I have so many I want to tell. Focusing on the ones that have the best chance at success becomes a priority—and I’m still unsure if Project Red Book, even after several drafts and a proper retitling, would ever escape from trunk story status.
Then again, if you believe in something, you should stick with it. Maybe I’ll venture once more into the Nevada desert…and bring back a story I can be proud of.
By now you’ve guessed that I’ve written a UFO novel, or I wouldn’t be asking these questions. The first draft, under the working title ‘Project Red Book’ is over two years old; I have placed it under ‘trunk’ status while focusing on other novels. Yet I still love how it begins, and I like cover-ups, conspiracies, and secrecy in fiction. I still want to explore a plot with these characters.
In other words, I’m not ready to give up on my UFO novel. But is it worth pursuing in today’s fiction environment?
Maybe if I revised it into a Young Adult novel—something everyone seems to be doing these days—but my story is too dark for that. My integrity must be invested in the project, so Project Red Book has to remain an adult novel. Either way, the target audience isn’t the problem—my quandary is, I don’t see anyone else mining this subgenre of science fiction anymore. It’s dead. In speculative fiction, the trends are vampires, zombies, steampunk. No big deal, I like a challenge. But browse through a bookstore and the only UFO volumes are in the conspiracy section. And they are short on facts and long on hyperbole. Not exactly what science fiction readers are drawn to.
I’d like to think I’ve done something original, but I know better. Regarding fiction—and science fiction especially—it’s all be done before, and by better writers. My only chance is to put a new spin on it. I won’t give away my novel’s details, but here are several key points I must decide on before revising this story into several drafts, put all the hard work into it, then send it out for an agent’s consideration.
# 1: The Era
In the original draft, I set the story in the modern day. Cell phones, internet, and all the accoutrements of the Information Age are present. Initially I thought this would make it more accessible to readers, plus it gives me the excuse that the hero is always under surveillance (this is a conspiracy-themed story, after all). I also added socio-political concerns that the character must deal with (immigration laws, drug enforcement, accusations of terrorism) that people still face, and are likely to face, for some time in the real world.
But what if I set the story in the past? Maybe during the 1980s, right after the MAJESTIC-12 documents surfaced? Or even further back, in the midst of all the UFO sightings and abduction stories from the 1960s? The past would provide a more concrete setting, since I’d know its limits. (And writing anything in the 60s would be a hell of a lotta fun!) Plus the UFO phenomena was stronger back then. Don’t forget that the U.S. Air Force studied UFOs for several years during the Cold War. This sort of environment might make my story more believable. The problem with this idea is that the reader will know that these events have already happened, and obviously didn’t change the world very much. Might be a hard sell. Unless I can make the story more compelling, so that era wouldn’t matter.
# 2: The Politics
Yes, there’s that ugly word. It plays a part in my original draft because of how human governments react to UFOs and aliens—and how these reactions affect the rest of us. Some will see only political diatribe, but in the real world, the existence of UFOs—particularly any interaction between them and the government—would have political ramifications. I really wanted the UFO phenomena to affect more than just the fringe conspiracy community in my story—otherwise, why even have it as a plot element? This goes beyond mere flying saucers, ray guns, and little green men. In my story, the presence of alien visitors affects government policy, towards the darker side. This also connects to the main character, and what his relation to the government is (he’s been wrongfully accused of domestic terrorism and is on the run).
I may have written the politics in too much, though. And by politics I’m not referring to speeches and elections. I’m talking about public policy regarding drugs, immigrants, guns, and privacy. Hot button topics in today’s world. I worry that it may get in the way of the actual story, making this more of a political thriller than a science fiction thriller. The aliens are what the reader is here to find about, after all.
# 3: The Depth of the Rabbit Hole
How far should the conspiracy go? How many really know about/interact with the aliens? This is a fine line, and I probably crossed it in that first draft. If too many people are in the loop, it might make the conspiracy less plausible. If there are too few, then how is it possible to have a worldwide conspiracy? In the first draft of Project Red Book, the conspiracy is large enough that the government has donated large tracts of (government) property to its upkeep. Alien/Earth hybrids (they all aren’t human-based!) probably appeared too much. Kinda like sighting Bigfoot in every small Nevada town—it just didn’t work.
What if I narrowed the conspiracy down? Make events more mysterious and surreal than blatantly have a hybrid step from the shadows every other chapter? This really appeals to me. But I still want to keep in my mutant Chupacabras, dammit! I’ll think of a way. In the end, though, the conspiracy must remain real—no way would I ever write a story like this, only to have the hero wake up at the end, or turn out to be insane. I might as well punch the reader in the gut.
# 4: The Nature of the Aliens
Without giving too much away, my aliens possess mental powers. Go on, laugh, because I know that’s not original. But these powers allowed them to reach Earth, not just an advanced, FTL propulsion drive. These are also powers that the government has attempted to recreate through the use of hybrids and some immoral gene splicing in the laboratory. One reason I went that route is I always hear that, if the government did indeed capture aliens at Roswell in 1947, then the discovery of their starship is responsible for all the technological advancements made since. What if the government were more interested in the aliens’ biology instead?
Yet while I’d like to retain this idea in a second draft, what else can I do to make my aliens different from the typical ‘Gray’ that has become a pop cultural icon? If this novel is ever going to get off the ground, my aliens must break from this mold. They should intrigue the reader—maybe freak them out a little. Or perhaps they are in plain sight (no, I refuse to do anything resembling David Icke’s reptilian rulers, disguised as humans).
Even if I revise these issues in a second draft, would that really matter? My main concern still rests with the marketability of such a project. I write stories I want to read, but I have so many I want to tell. Focusing on the ones that have the best chance at success becomes a priority—and I’m still unsure if Project Red Book, even after several drafts and a proper retitling, would ever escape from trunk story status.
Then again, if you believe in something, you should stick with it. Maybe I’ll venture once more into the Nevada desert…and bring back a story I can be proud of.
September 30, 2013
Milking the Illuminati: Blinding the All-Seeing Eye
For anyone who has read conspiracy literature, the Illuminati are a common scapegoat. Allegedly bent on world domination, this secret society seems to haunt the nightmares of every conspiracy nut or earns the derision of academics as fringe nonsense. Thus, most are ignorant of the Illuminati’s origins, fate, and stated purpose.
Make no mistake—the original Bavarian Illuminati, founded by Adam Weishaupt in 1776, did desire social change through revolution and knowledge. Nothing esoteric about that. They sought the overthrow of the ‘throne and the altar’—that is, monarchy and organized religion. When the aristocratic regimes of Europe and the Catholic Church discovered their existence, it’s no surprise the Illuminati were declared illegal. Its demise in 1785 wasn’t a watershed event, nor was it mysterious.
Free thought and progressivism have always been under attack throughout history. Nothing has changed. But why do the Illuminati still receive so much notoriety and blame? They have become the conspiracy theorist’s whipping boy. This tradition has survived through the years, but what I really wonder is: do the Illuminati’s original goals still make people uncomfortable? Is that why they continue to be reviled?
Those goals were to resist superstition and ignorance, overthrow state power and religious dominance, and make an attempt at exploring women’s suffrage, gender equality, and ending prejudice.
Doesn’t sound too bad to me. These goals are fairly respectable ones. Ones that I still hope our civilization will aspire to. Though progress has been made since 1776, many of the things Weishaupt rallied against still plague us: state power, ignorance, racism, sexism, and negative religious influence.
Oh, but tradition (read: conspiracy nuts) claims the Illuminati were (are?) bent on world domination—that ‘New World Order’ nonsense. There is indeed a cabal of powerful individuals who control most people’s lives on this planet, but I seriously doubt they call themselves the Illuminati. Instead, they call themselves extremely wealthy—the 1%, lording their dominance of wealth and greed over the rest of us. And we let them do it. I fail to see why the Illuminati, even if the secret organization still existed, would have anything to do with that.
State power has reached immense proportions since Weishaupt’s day. You only need to read the headlines (NSA, global surveillance, cell phone tagging) to comprehend that. If he were alive today, I think Weishaupt would adore people like Chelsea Manning, Julian Assange, and Edward Snowden. They have spoken truth against state power—something the original (and only) Illuminati would have advocated. Instead these brave individuals have been persecuted…again, something the Illuminati suffered in common.
Even the conspiracy buffs will admit, though, that the Illuminati are anti-religion. Weishaupt, like myself, was an atheist. We, like a growing minority, wish to see a firm line drawn between Church and State. Freedom of religion, yes—but also a freedom from its influence over society and politics. Reason and rationality should be the guidelines we go by. Not the beliefs of Bronze Age sheepherders .Yet just like sheep, the gullible will follow anything. Religion is a sharp and dangerous political tool…a fact not lost upon Enlightenment thinkers such as the Illuminati. Again, read the headlines—and not just those concerning the so-called ‘War on Terror’—to see my point. Suicide bombings, abortion doctors slain, books banned from public schools. Yes, those things still go on. The ignorance factory of religion still operates, its black smoke blotting out the sun.
Then we have gender and racial equality. The two things our world still cannot work out. True, headway has been made here too—at least people of different color can now drink from the same water fountain in this country—but much remains to be done. I fail to see why a secret society that is supposed to be cold and callous as it takes over the world would care about equality. Rather, to remain in power, these issues are often played upon to keep people divided. This is a tactic the original Illuminati would have frowned upon.
So why does the conspiratorial tirade continue against these deceased thinkers of the Enlightenment?
In 2002, an Illuminati pyramid was tattooed on my right arm, complete with the All-Seeing Eye atop the capstone. I thus branded myself, to any who understood, as a seeker of knowledge, and an opponent of ignorance, oligarchy, bigotry, and religious fanaticism. No doubt any who’ve seen it think I’m an occultist, or just plain strange. Thankfully I’ve never paid attention to what others think of me.
Some point to the All-Seeing Eye as a sign of the Illuminati’s occult (and thus evil) leanings. Its appearance on the U.S. dollar has sparked controversy and speculation over the years. Its presence is also linked to the occult, Masonry, or world domination. For some, this proves that the Illuminati are a version of Big Brother, spying on everyone. Like Sauron in Lord of the Rings, the Eye sees all. Nothing could be further from the truth. Though its iconography originates in ancient Egyptian religion, the All-Seeing Eye in the Illuminati’s context represents an open eye. An eye opened from the darkness of ignorance, to gaze into a world illumined by knowledge and understanding.
Some people don’t want their eyes opened. Many are resistant to change, even when it benefits others. Ignorance is bliss, they say. But it is a lazy bliss; the shabby intellectual abode of the conformist, the believer…the follower. I want my eyes open, even if the light of truth renders me blind. I would rather know, than not know. What we don’t know can certainly hurt us, after all.
This is why I think the Illuminati still receive a bad reputation. Naysayers and critics claim this organization wanted to destroy religion, government, ingrained social traditions—all the imagined apparatuses of a successful civilization. To eliminate these things is to eradicate ourselves…or so the Illuminati’s detractors would have us believe.
In time, I hope this milking of the Illuminati boogeyman will give way to rational thinking. Those tenets set down by Weishaupt and his compatriots might find support in a world reeling from constant warfare, climate change, economic disparity, racial hatreds, religious bias, and overbearing state authority.
Maybe one day, people will stop blinding the All-Seeing Eye with the failures of the past, the pettiness of the present, and open the Eye to what will bring success to all our futures.
Make no mistake—the original Bavarian Illuminati, founded by Adam Weishaupt in 1776, did desire social change through revolution and knowledge. Nothing esoteric about that. They sought the overthrow of the ‘throne and the altar’—that is, monarchy and organized religion. When the aristocratic regimes of Europe and the Catholic Church discovered their existence, it’s no surprise the Illuminati were declared illegal. Its demise in 1785 wasn’t a watershed event, nor was it mysterious.
Free thought and progressivism have always been under attack throughout history. Nothing has changed. But why do the Illuminati still receive so much notoriety and blame? They have become the conspiracy theorist’s whipping boy. This tradition has survived through the years, but what I really wonder is: do the Illuminati’s original goals still make people uncomfortable? Is that why they continue to be reviled?
Those goals were to resist superstition and ignorance, overthrow state power and religious dominance, and make an attempt at exploring women’s suffrage, gender equality, and ending prejudice.
Doesn’t sound too bad to me. These goals are fairly respectable ones. Ones that I still hope our civilization will aspire to. Though progress has been made since 1776, many of the things Weishaupt rallied against still plague us: state power, ignorance, racism, sexism, and negative religious influence.
Oh, but tradition (read: conspiracy nuts) claims the Illuminati were (are?) bent on world domination—that ‘New World Order’ nonsense. There is indeed a cabal of powerful individuals who control most people’s lives on this planet, but I seriously doubt they call themselves the Illuminati. Instead, they call themselves extremely wealthy—the 1%, lording their dominance of wealth and greed over the rest of us. And we let them do it. I fail to see why the Illuminati, even if the secret organization still existed, would have anything to do with that.
State power has reached immense proportions since Weishaupt’s day. You only need to read the headlines (NSA, global surveillance, cell phone tagging) to comprehend that. If he were alive today, I think Weishaupt would adore people like Chelsea Manning, Julian Assange, and Edward Snowden. They have spoken truth against state power—something the original (and only) Illuminati would have advocated. Instead these brave individuals have been persecuted…again, something the Illuminati suffered in common.
Even the conspiracy buffs will admit, though, that the Illuminati are anti-religion. Weishaupt, like myself, was an atheist. We, like a growing minority, wish to see a firm line drawn between Church and State. Freedom of religion, yes—but also a freedom from its influence over society and politics. Reason and rationality should be the guidelines we go by. Not the beliefs of Bronze Age sheepherders .Yet just like sheep, the gullible will follow anything. Religion is a sharp and dangerous political tool…a fact not lost upon Enlightenment thinkers such as the Illuminati. Again, read the headlines—and not just those concerning the so-called ‘War on Terror’—to see my point. Suicide bombings, abortion doctors slain, books banned from public schools. Yes, those things still go on. The ignorance factory of religion still operates, its black smoke blotting out the sun.
Then we have gender and racial equality. The two things our world still cannot work out. True, headway has been made here too—at least people of different color can now drink from the same water fountain in this country—but much remains to be done. I fail to see why a secret society that is supposed to be cold and callous as it takes over the world would care about equality. Rather, to remain in power, these issues are often played upon to keep people divided. This is a tactic the original Illuminati would have frowned upon.
So why does the conspiratorial tirade continue against these deceased thinkers of the Enlightenment?
In 2002, an Illuminati pyramid was tattooed on my right arm, complete with the All-Seeing Eye atop the capstone. I thus branded myself, to any who understood, as a seeker of knowledge, and an opponent of ignorance, oligarchy, bigotry, and religious fanaticism. No doubt any who’ve seen it think I’m an occultist, or just plain strange. Thankfully I’ve never paid attention to what others think of me.
Some point to the All-Seeing Eye as a sign of the Illuminati’s occult (and thus evil) leanings. Its appearance on the U.S. dollar has sparked controversy and speculation over the years. Its presence is also linked to the occult, Masonry, or world domination. For some, this proves that the Illuminati are a version of Big Brother, spying on everyone. Like Sauron in Lord of the Rings, the Eye sees all. Nothing could be further from the truth. Though its iconography originates in ancient Egyptian religion, the All-Seeing Eye in the Illuminati’s context represents an open eye. An eye opened from the darkness of ignorance, to gaze into a world illumined by knowledge and understanding.
Some people don’t want their eyes opened. Many are resistant to change, even when it benefits others. Ignorance is bliss, they say. But it is a lazy bliss; the shabby intellectual abode of the conformist, the believer…the follower. I want my eyes open, even if the light of truth renders me blind. I would rather know, than not know. What we don’t know can certainly hurt us, after all.
This is why I think the Illuminati still receive a bad reputation. Naysayers and critics claim this organization wanted to destroy religion, government, ingrained social traditions—all the imagined apparatuses of a successful civilization. To eliminate these things is to eradicate ourselves…or so the Illuminati’s detractors would have us believe.
In time, I hope this milking of the Illuminati boogeyman will give way to rational thinking. Those tenets set down by Weishaupt and his compatriots might find support in a world reeling from constant warfare, climate change, economic disparity, racial hatreds, religious bias, and overbearing state authority.
Maybe one day, people will stop blinding the All-Seeing Eye with the failures of the past, the pettiness of the present, and open the Eye to what will bring success to all our futures.
September 4, 2013
Joyce’s Araby: a Clash of Symbolism
James Joyce’s placement of symbolism in Araby creates conflict that gives it its meaning. The two elements he uses, sex and religion, are very strong ones, as they are diametrically opposed to one another. This is a wonderful plot device employed by Joyce. Yet the conflict between sex and religion must be elaborated on to fully understand its usage in Araby.
To know why these two forces conflict, it is necessary to comprehend a bit of Joyce’s background. Raised as a Roman Catholic in Ireland, he would have been taught that sex is a wicked thing, to be used only for the conception of children. In Catholicism sexual intercourse has no other purpose---it is not meant for pleasure. Carnal desires are seen as giving in to the temptations of the Devil, and thus are to be avoided. The ‘Immaculate Conception’ of Mary, mother of Jesus, is a prime example of how the Catholic Church tried to snuff out sexual connotations at the heart of their religion. If Mary had had sex with her husband, Joseph, to conceive Jesus, it would have sullied the aura of purity she, and the Church, were meant to convey. With this knowledge, it becomes plain why the usage of sex and religion as symbols in Araby is so powerful. The garden behind the boy’s house depicts two strong sexual symbols. It “contained a central apple tree and…the late tenant’s rusty bicycle pump”. The former owner referred to was a priest. The apple tree represents the man’s desires for women, while the pump signifies his unused sexuality. Members of the clergy were supposed to remain celibate their entire lives while wearing the collar. This points to an inner conflict of belief and yearning.
Faith and desire are very separate things experienced by the human mind; they cannot easily be reconciled. It’s simple: faith is a belief in something you cannot see. You just assume it’s there; there is no possibility of it being otherwise. Yet with desire, you are focused on something you can see, whether it is a person or a thing. But it’s also more than that. Faith is based on belief and a certain viewpoint of how reality works. With desire, you feel like you need something. You must have it. Such potent feelings at both ends of the emotional spectrum make for a stark contrast. It’s amazing that these two forces are present in the human mind. It is this paradox that Joyce uses to drive his story.
The boy becomes insatiable. “I had hardly any patience with…life…now that it stood between me and my desire…” (emphasis added). He is blinded by it. How do you couple faith with desire? You can’t. That’s what makes Araby so compelling.
“I recognized the silence like that which pervades a church after a service…”. James Joyce knew what he was doing when he placed such imagery in the tale, for after that point the boy discovers that the thing he loves is not what he really wants or needs. The boy’s faith is like a fruitful plant, yet the other seed, his desire, grows into a weed, strangling the fruit of belief. It is plausible the story is a reflection of Joyce himself, rejecting his religion and country because they either could not meet his needs or he felt abandoned by them. He is able to use his own experience to propel Araby beyond the typical ‘coming of age’ story. Rather than being a mere narrative of a boy’s first feelings of love, Joyce illustrates the loss of the boy’s conviction in his beliefs. The love story is simply a veneer covering the clash of sex and religion, lust and creed.
In his crafting of symbolism into Araby, James Joyce produced a thought-provoking piece of short literature. It is a showcase of his strengths as an author; subliminal yet accessible, obvious but hidden. To grasp its meaning is to identify the internal quarrel of what you believe and what you crave. All of this makes Araby a classic example of symbolic storytelling, timeless and inspiring.
To know why these two forces conflict, it is necessary to comprehend a bit of Joyce’s background. Raised as a Roman Catholic in Ireland, he would have been taught that sex is a wicked thing, to be used only for the conception of children. In Catholicism sexual intercourse has no other purpose---it is not meant for pleasure. Carnal desires are seen as giving in to the temptations of the Devil, and thus are to be avoided. The ‘Immaculate Conception’ of Mary, mother of Jesus, is a prime example of how the Catholic Church tried to snuff out sexual connotations at the heart of their religion. If Mary had had sex with her husband, Joseph, to conceive Jesus, it would have sullied the aura of purity she, and the Church, were meant to convey. With this knowledge, it becomes plain why the usage of sex and religion as symbols in Araby is so powerful. The garden behind the boy’s house depicts two strong sexual symbols. It “contained a central apple tree and…the late tenant’s rusty bicycle pump”. The former owner referred to was a priest. The apple tree represents the man’s desires for women, while the pump signifies his unused sexuality. Members of the clergy were supposed to remain celibate their entire lives while wearing the collar. This points to an inner conflict of belief and yearning.
Faith and desire are very separate things experienced by the human mind; they cannot easily be reconciled. It’s simple: faith is a belief in something you cannot see. You just assume it’s there; there is no possibility of it being otherwise. Yet with desire, you are focused on something you can see, whether it is a person or a thing. But it’s also more than that. Faith is based on belief and a certain viewpoint of how reality works. With desire, you feel like you need something. You must have it. Such potent feelings at both ends of the emotional spectrum make for a stark contrast. It’s amazing that these two forces are present in the human mind. It is this paradox that Joyce uses to drive his story.
The boy becomes insatiable. “I had hardly any patience with…life…now that it stood between me and my desire…” (emphasis added). He is blinded by it. How do you couple faith with desire? You can’t. That’s what makes Araby so compelling.
“I recognized the silence like that which pervades a church after a service…”. James Joyce knew what he was doing when he placed such imagery in the tale, for after that point the boy discovers that the thing he loves is not what he really wants or needs. The boy’s faith is like a fruitful plant, yet the other seed, his desire, grows into a weed, strangling the fruit of belief. It is plausible the story is a reflection of Joyce himself, rejecting his religion and country because they either could not meet his needs or he felt abandoned by them. He is able to use his own experience to propel Araby beyond the typical ‘coming of age’ story. Rather than being a mere narrative of a boy’s first feelings of love, Joyce illustrates the loss of the boy’s conviction in his beliefs. The love story is simply a veneer covering the clash of sex and religion, lust and creed.
In his crafting of symbolism into Araby, James Joyce produced a thought-provoking piece of short literature. It is a showcase of his strengths as an author; subliminal yet accessible, obvious but hidden. To grasp its meaning is to identify the internal quarrel of what you believe and what you crave. All of this makes Araby a classic example of symbolic storytelling, timeless and inspiring.
August 25, 2013
Fictional Characters: A Writer’s Alter Egos or Escapist Avatars?
Most fiction writers love to create characters. I know I do. We imagine their voices, appearance, clothing, even their prejudices and quirks. In doing so we strive to create a persona that a reader will empathize with, and want to read about. A literary fabrication we hope readers will care enough about to start—and finish—that character’s story. In some ways, the character is the medium between the writer’s imagination and the reader’s.
But what do a writer’s characters say about their creator? For in the end, a character will always contain some element of its creator’s personality. Sure, this could go off into a Freudian tangent about psychology, but my purpose here is to provide self-examination.
Does a writer live through his or her characters? If so, will a writer admit this? Can we better ourselves by departing from familiar archetypes and writing different ones?
One way of looking at it is that a character is a writer’s alter-ego. Not a carbon copy of the author’s persona, but an extension of it. An individual who is an animal lover in life may create a character that also keeps pets, and rails against any abuse towards them. Another example would be a wine enthusiast (yours truly) who writes characters that savor the results of pressed, fermented grapes. True, part of this is the ‘write what you know’ mantra, but what I’m referring to is an alter ego that does things the writer in question would never do, for the sake of drama and plot. How many writers are comfortable with that?
This alter ego undergoes dramatic events where the character in question reacts in a similar fashion as its creator would. For example, the pacing, physicality (or lack thereof) and ambience of a romantic scene might reflect what the writer finds romantic—not necessarily what the character would consider amorous. There’s nothing wrong with this, but I wonder how often writers actually sit back during a revision and ponder what the character in question would really do.
The second possibility is that characters are advocates for a writer’s fantasies. Critics often charge writers with this, but it bears thinking about. We’ve all read a story where it’s obvious the writer indulged in some emotional need via their characters. I’ve been guilty of it, too (but not any more—I hope!). Perhaps this is the mark of a young or inexperienced writer, but I’ve come across this in the work of famous authors whose careers span decades.
Characters who act as escapist avatars typically share several characteristics: they are attractive to the opposite sex, knowledgeable, rarely undergo challenging experiences they can’t handle, are invincible to physical harm, and impervious to emotional dilemmas. In other words they are paragons we all wish we could be, who always win the day, and never suffer the consequences. Too many writers do this. It’s what I call the ‘Superman' complex.
Superman is invulnerable, cannot be defeated, and is more or less a god-like being. Sure, Kryptonite is his bane, but c’mon, a character with one weakness? It’s too perfect. And too boring, because any plot that challenges him must feature that extraterrestrial substance. Emotional hurdles could be applied to Superman, but rarely are. Comics are different than the written word (and most have the soap opera quality of a never-ending saga where most things don’t have long-term repercussions) but we’ve all come across fiction that fits the same bill. Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels come to mind. I’ve read a few, thought they were good reads—but there’s little character depth to them. Given Fleming’s life, and Bond’s attributes, it’s easy to see the inherent escapism in those stories. Through Bond, Fleming could pull off espionage capers he’d never be able to perform in real life.
Now, I’m not saying Fleming was a bad writer, or that escapist fiction is low-brow literary fare. But pretty much all of the man’s fiction was along the same vein, save for Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
One of my favorite authors, Robert E. Howard, did the same thing. Though there are subtle differences between them, the characters of Conan, Kull, and several other Howard heroes are interchangeable. They are all unstoppable killing machines in battle, have melancholy outlooks on life, and bow to no one. And taking into account Howard’s vicissitudes, it’s easy to drape his works under the escapist shroud: living in a desolate region of Texas, conservative family and neighbors, lackluster social interaction. For me, what pulls Howard’s work out of the ‘Superman’ complex is its visceral power and gloomy worldview. Conan may always win, but knows he too will die one day, as will his civilization. Not exactly Superman saving Metropolis, is it?
Now before you accuse me of berating these authors, take note that both are considered masters of their fields—Fleming for the spy novel, Howard for sword & sorcery tales. They might have had only one theme or genre, but damn did they own it. Most of us other writers should hope to be as fortunate. I could name other best-selling authors who have ‘Superman’ characters, but since I regard their work as less than stellar, I’ll refrain from mentioning them here.
But we all can’t be Fleming or Howard. We have to write what feels natural for a character—yet why not stretch our horizons the next time we create one?
For my own characters, I like to punish them. Bruise them, bloody them, leave them barely conscious on the floor. Then let them struggle to survive. I have no fear of hurting them for the sake of the story. I like placing them in dark, gritty situations. Places where most people wouldn’t want to be—physically and emotionally. Then I watch them climb out of the darkness into the light of self-realization. Finding oneself to overcome adversity. But like the aforementioned authors, I’m guilty of doing this with more than one character.
The real question is, will I grow if I don’t challenge myself? Concerning my writing, I prefer an organic process to a systematic one, but sometimes change has to be actively sought.
Lately I’ve written more stories that feature a female main character. I want their femininity to offer a different viewpoint, not just use it as an excuse to have a ‘babelicious babe’ (as one of my fellow writers so rightfully terms it) in the story for sex appeal. I’d like to write about disabled characters, and ones with a different sexual orientation than myself. What I’m driving for is not a literary escapist fling, or selecting certain attributes to satisfy trends. I want something more.
I’d really like to view my stories through their eyes. As a woman. A homosexual. A blind person. One who is a pacifist, or a dedicated religious follower. Things that I am not, and can only hope to imitate via my fiction. In doing so I hope not only to write stories that entertain, but also allow me to see reality through an alternate perspective…and, I hope, learn from it.
In this regard, my fictional characters might go beyond mere alter egos or escapist caricatures that satisfy banal needs, and become engines of self-discovery.
So come and discover something with me. Within yourself.
But what do a writer’s characters say about their creator? For in the end, a character will always contain some element of its creator’s personality. Sure, this could go off into a Freudian tangent about psychology, but my purpose here is to provide self-examination.
Does a writer live through his or her characters? If so, will a writer admit this? Can we better ourselves by departing from familiar archetypes and writing different ones?
One way of looking at it is that a character is a writer’s alter-ego. Not a carbon copy of the author’s persona, but an extension of it. An individual who is an animal lover in life may create a character that also keeps pets, and rails against any abuse towards them. Another example would be a wine enthusiast (yours truly) who writes characters that savor the results of pressed, fermented grapes. True, part of this is the ‘write what you know’ mantra, but what I’m referring to is an alter ego that does things the writer in question would never do, for the sake of drama and plot. How many writers are comfortable with that?
This alter ego undergoes dramatic events where the character in question reacts in a similar fashion as its creator would. For example, the pacing, physicality (or lack thereof) and ambience of a romantic scene might reflect what the writer finds romantic—not necessarily what the character would consider amorous. There’s nothing wrong with this, but I wonder how often writers actually sit back during a revision and ponder what the character in question would really do.
The second possibility is that characters are advocates for a writer’s fantasies. Critics often charge writers with this, but it bears thinking about. We’ve all read a story where it’s obvious the writer indulged in some emotional need via their characters. I’ve been guilty of it, too (but not any more—I hope!). Perhaps this is the mark of a young or inexperienced writer, but I’ve come across this in the work of famous authors whose careers span decades.
Characters who act as escapist avatars typically share several characteristics: they are attractive to the opposite sex, knowledgeable, rarely undergo challenging experiences they can’t handle, are invincible to physical harm, and impervious to emotional dilemmas. In other words they are paragons we all wish we could be, who always win the day, and never suffer the consequences. Too many writers do this. It’s what I call the ‘Superman' complex.
Superman is invulnerable, cannot be defeated, and is more or less a god-like being. Sure, Kryptonite is his bane, but c’mon, a character with one weakness? It’s too perfect. And too boring, because any plot that challenges him must feature that extraterrestrial substance. Emotional hurdles could be applied to Superman, but rarely are. Comics are different than the written word (and most have the soap opera quality of a never-ending saga where most things don’t have long-term repercussions) but we’ve all come across fiction that fits the same bill. Ian Fleming’s James Bond novels come to mind. I’ve read a few, thought they were good reads—but there’s little character depth to them. Given Fleming’s life, and Bond’s attributes, it’s easy to see the inherent escapism in those stories. Through Bond, Fleming could pull off espionage capers he’d never be able to perform in real life.
Now, I’m not saying Fleming was a bad writer, or that escapist fiction is low-brow literary fare. But pretty much all of the man’s fiction was along the same vein, save for Chitty Chitty Bang Bang.
One of my favorite authors, Robert E. Howard, did the same thing. Though there are subtle differences between them, the characters of Conan, Kull, and several other Howard heroes are interchangeable. They are all unstoppable killing machines in battle, have melancholy outlooks on life, and bow to no one. And taking into account Howard’s vicissitudes, it’s easy to drape his works under the escapist shroud: living in a desolate region of Texas, conservative family and neighbors, lackluster social interaction. For me, what pulls Howard’s work out of the ‘Superman’ complex is its visceral power and gloomy worldview. Conan may always win, but knows he too will die one day, as will his civilization. Not exactly Superman saving Metropolis, is it?
Now before you accuse me of berating these authors, take note that both are considered masters of their fields—Fleming for the spy novel, Howard for sword & sorcery tales. They might have had only one theme or genre, but damn did they own it. Most of us other writers should hope to be as fortunate. I could name other best-selling authors who have ‘Superman’ characters, but since I regard their work as less than stellar, I’ll refrain from mentioning them here.
But we all can’t be Fleming or Howard. We have to write what feels natural for a character—yet why not stretch our horizons the next time we create one?
For my own characters, I like to punish them. Bruise them, bloody them, leave them barely conscious on the floor. Then let them struggle to survive. I have no fear of hurting them for the sake of the story. I like placing them in dark, gritty situations. Places where most people wouldn’t want to be—physically and emotionally. Then I watch them climb out of the darkness into the light of self-realization. Finding oneself to overcome adversity. But like the aforementioned authors, I’m guilty of doing this with more than one character.
The real question is, will I grow if I don’t challenge myself? Concerning my writing, I prefer an organic process to a systematic one, but sometimes change has to be actively sought.
Lately I’ve written more stories that feature a female main character. I want their femininity to offer a different viewpoint, not just use it as an excuse to have a ‘babelicious babe’ (as one of my fellow writers so rightfully terms it) in the story for sex appeal. I’d like to write about disabled characters, and ones with a different sexual orientation than myself. What I’m driving for is not a literary escapist fling, or selecting certain attributes to satisfy trends. I want something more.
I’d really like to view my stories through their eyes. As a woman. A homosexual. A blind person. One who is a pacifist, or a dedicated religious follower. Things that I am not, and can only hope to imitate via my fiction. In doing so I hope not only to write stories that entertain, but also allow me to see reality through an alternate perspective…and, I hope, learn from it.
In this regard, my fictional characters might go beyond mere alter egos or escapist caricatures that satisfy banal needs, and become engines of self-discovery.
So come and discover something with me. Within yourself.
July 21, 2013
Light My Fire, Baby: Revising Infernal Heroes
I recently completed the second draft of my comedic fantasy novel, Infernal Heroes, and the process brought to light several aspects of my modus operandi. The way I’d revise a scene, backtracking to ensure continuity, tweaking character motivations, finessing dialogue—even down to the music I’d listen to or the food I’d eat while revising. I hope in recounting these processes that I might aid others who have hit a wall in revising their own work.
Writing is an organic process, and it’s different for each individual author—but a writer needs discipline. When I write the first draft of a novel, I hammer away at the text every day until it’s finished. And I mean every day. During this early stage, I always write at least one chapter per day. Typically, my chapters have a minimum of 3,000 words (my fastest draft so far was 97,000 words in thirteen days). However, revision and editing require more thought, more focus. I still work on the second draft every day, but the emphasis is now on quality and comprehension, not raw prose.
First, I do a complete read-through of the first draft. I’m the only one who will ever read my first drafts; not even close relatives, loved ones, or friends are allowed to view this initial effort. I make notes whenever I see something that needs attention, such as a detail that requires more research, or if a character comes across too flat. I’m very critical of my work, and ask questions about any aspect that doesn’t match up with the overall story. Should this character speak this way, is that detail really necessary to the plot—simple questions, but important ones.
Afterwards, I expand these questions into a detailed ‘to do list’—areas of the novel that require tweaking, if not outright cuts and rewriting.
Then I wait a month or so until I begin the second draft.
For Infernal Heroes, I waited a year and a half. Not on purpose, but I revised other novels during this time, and to be honest, wasn’t sure if Infernal Heroes was worth the effort. I’d never written a comedic novel before, or one that followed a single character’s POV the entire story. Also, doubts nagged me that anyone would ever publish it. But when I read through the original draft, I still found it entertaining and humorous. To follow a maxim espoused by Neil Gaiman, I laughed at my own jokes. If I don’t find them funny, how can I expect others to enjoy them?
The novel is set in an alternative version of the year 1500 AD. The Church has control of Hell, which follows the cosmology described in Dante Alighieri’s epic poem, The Divine Comedy. My story follows the exploits of Alessandro Catarro, a mercenary demon, and his friends Samuqan (a perverted gargoyle) and Qitara (a sexy but clever genie). But despite this being an alternate historical fantasy, I still researched certain pertinent subjects: Renaissance Italy, the Italian Wars, the condottierres (Italian mercenary captains), and of course, Dante’s poem. I used real historical personas and events, such as Niccolo Machiavelli and the Burning of the Vanities in Florence. I wanted this second draft to feel more authentic, but eschewing infodumps that would bog down the pacing.
I revise chapter by chapter, never skipping ahead. I do this paragraph by paragraph, sentence by sentence. This way, I’m reading the novel a second time even as I firm up the prose. Removing passive phrases, correcting grammar and spelling, selecting richer and more varied words—the nuts and bolts of a revision. For Infernal Heroes, due to its humorous overtones, I selected a more relaxed prose style. Not too verbose, like a William Faulkner or Robert Jordan tale, but not too terse like I’ve done in the past. I also wrote the draft in third person intimate, which meant I inserted non-descriptive comments into the prose, like an internal monologue. In doing so I hope to make Alessandro more accessible to the reader, as well as set this novel apart from my others.
Next was dialogue. It had to be wittier and in-character. I did use modern swear words, as well as a smattering of British slang. Often I cut back on dialogue tags, even the ubiquitous ‘said’ and replaced them with character body language and idiosyncrasies that I hope make each of them more unique. Here’s an example:
“You did remember she’s from Limbo?” Samuqan rose and dusted himself off.
“Yes.” Alessandro gripped his sword tighter.
I still use the dependable ‘said’ when needed, but I feel this style allows me to inflect the dialogue with an extra layer of the character’s personality. Reader reaction to it, though, may depend on personal taste.
One major tweak was the ‘magic system’ used in the novel’s setting. Alessandro and other demons possess minor abilities that aid (or hamper) them during the course of the story. In the first draft, though, they performed these deeds without any costs to themselves and few signs of fatigue. This is something I’ve done in previous novels, and I wasn’t about to repeat that mistake. In the second draft, I added the concept of a demon’s roboris, their demonic power—and it can only be replenished by returning to Hell on a regular basis. Since the main character wants free of his demonic status, I thought this would power Alessandro’s abilities as well as add irony whenever he needs to use them. It’s not perfect, and I expect to revise this even more in a future draft. But the groundwork has been laid. Remember, the first draft is bones…subsequent drafts are the skin and organs.
Sometimes I listen to specific music while I write/revise a piece. For Infernal Heroes, with its Italian locales and light-hearted approach, I often listened to Italian comic opera. Foremost among these was Rossini’s The Barber of Seville, something that always puts me into a frivolous mood. Since Polpettone (Italian for ‘Meatloaf’) is a supporting character, I listened to Meatloaf’s Bat Out of Hell and his work on the Rocky Horror Picture Show. The tone of the latter seemed perfect for my novel, and I even parody one of the film’s songs in a scene.
Since the characters drink wine and other alcoholic beverages throughout the story, I too savored the occasional glass of Sangiovese or Pinot Grigio. This was just one more way of interacting with the story. Utilizing the senses as much as possible to really feel it. This is true for all fiction: it’s one thing to describe a character doing something, but when you can do it yourself—then do so.
Now for the comedy. I wanted more of it in the second draft, and I added what felt natural. Smart-ass comments, ridiculous situations, sexual innuendo, crude, gross-out humor—I used them all, with one criteria: all had to make me laugh. While I wrote them, and when I read them a few days afterwards. Humor is a delicate thing, and what I find uproarious may not tickle another’s funny bone. Plus there is copious satire regarding religion in general and Catholicism in particular, and that will always offend certain people. That isn’t my intent, but those who refuse to laugh at such things aren’t the sort who will read my work anyway.
After all of this labor, it’s time to find a fellow writer who’s willing to read Infernal Heroes and give me their honest opinion. Preferably three or four fellow writers. Once I read their critiques, and select what advice would benefit my story, then I can begin a third draft. Even at that stage, I still expect to revise the novel into a fourth draft, which (barring major story/prose issues) should be a polish pass.
Infernal Heroes was a hell of a lotta fun to revise, no pun intended. It had to be, or I would have allowed it to languish on my hard drive for another year. If you believe in what you’re doing, and if the story still resonates with you, then never give up on it. Never view revising as work or a chore. When that happens, you should move on and find something else to do with your time.
Just remember that revising isn’t all about making a story readable, palatable, or better—it’s about revisiting a part of yourself, and making sure you still enjoy the stay. A novel is art, and as such is an extension of its creator’s personality, values, and dreams. Revising is part of this process. I think of it as staring at yourself in a dirty mirror. With each cleaning pass, less dirt obstructs the reflection…allowing yourself and others to see what you’re capable of—and who you really are.
Writing is an organic process, and it’s different for each individual author—but a writer needs discipline. When I write the first draft of a novel, I hammer away at the text every day until it’s finished. And I mean every day. During this early stage, I always write at least one chapter per day. Typically, my chapters have a minimum of 3,000 words (my fastest draft so far was 97,000 words in thirteen days). However, revision and editing require more thought, more focus. I still work on the second draft every day, but the emphasis is now on quality and comprehension, not raw prose.
First, I do a complete read-through of the first draft. I’m the only one who will ever read my first drafts; not even close relatives, loved ones, or friends are allowed to view this initial effort. I make notes whenever I see something that needs attention, such as a detail that requires more research, or if a character comes across too flat. I’m very critical of my work, and ask questions about any aspect that doesn’t match up with the overall story. Should this character speak this way, is that detail really necessary to the plot—simple questions, but important ones.
Afterwards, I expand these questions into a detailed ‘to do list’—areas of the novel that require tweaking, if not outright cuts and rewriting.
Then I wait a month or so until I begin the second draft.
For Infernal Heroes, I waited a year and a half. Not on purpose, but I revised other novels during this time, and to be honest, wasn’t sure if Infernal Heroes was worth the effort. I’d never written a comedic novel before, or one that followed a single character’s POV the entire story. Also, doubts nagged me that anyone would ever publish it. But when I read through the original draft, I still found it entertaining and humorous. To follow a maxim espoused by Neil Gaiman, I laughed at my own jokes. If I don’t find them funny, how can I expect others to enjoy them?
The novel is set in an alternative version of the year 1500 AD. The Church has control of Hell, which follows the cosmology described in Dante Alighieri’s epic poem, The Divine Comedy. My story follows the exploits of Alessandro Catarro, a mercenary demon, and his friends Samuqan (a perverted gargoyle) and Qitara (a sexy but clever genie). But despite this being an alternate historical fantasy, I still researched certain pertinent subjects: Renaissance Italy, the Italian Wars, the condottierres (Italian mercenary captains), and of course, Dante’s poem. I used real historical personas and events, such as Niccolo Machiavelli and the Burning of the Vanities in Florence. I wanted this second draft to feel more authentic, but eschewing infodumps that would bog down the pacing.
I revise chapter by chapter, never skipping ahead. I do this paragraph by paragraph, sentence by sentence. This way, I’m reading the novel a second time even as I firm up the prose. Removing passive phrases, correcting grammar and spelling, selecting richer and more varied words—the nuts and bolts of a revision. For Infernal Heroes, due to its humorous overtones, I selected a more relaxed prose style. Not too verbose, like a William Faulkner or Robert Jordan tale, but not too terse like I’ve done in the past. I also wrote the draft in third person intimate, which meant I inserted non-descriptive comments into the prose, like an internal monologue. In doing so I hope to make Alessandro more accessible to the reader, as well as set this novel apart from my others.
Next was dialogue. It had to be wittier and in-character. I did use modern swear words, as well as a smattering of British slang. Often I cut back on dialogue tags, even the ubiquitous ‘said’ and replaced them with character body language and idiosyncrasies that I hope make each of them more unique. Here’s an example:
“You did remember she’s from Limbo?” Samuqan rose and dusted himself off.
“Yes.” Alessandro gripped his sword tighter.
I still use the dependable ‘said’ when needed, but I feel this style allows me to inflect the dialogue with an extra layer of the character’s personality. Reader reaction to it, though, may depend on personal taste.
One major tweak was the ‘magic system’ used in the novel’s setting. Alessandro and other demons possess minor abilities that aid (or hamper) them during the course of the story. In the first draft, though, they performed these deeds without any costs to themselves and few signs of fatigue. This is something I’ve done in previous novels, and I wasn’t about to repeat that mistake. In the second draft, I added the concept of a demon’s roboris, their demonic power—and it can only be replenished by returning to Hell on a regular basis. Since the main character wants free of his demonic status, I thought this would power Alessandro’s abilities as well as add irony whenever he needs to use them. It’s not perfect, and I expect to revise this even more in a future draft. But the groundwork has been laid. Remember, the first draft is bones…subsequent drafts are the skin and organs.
Sometimes I listen to specific music while I write/revise a piece. For Infernal Heroes, with its Italian locales and light-hearted approach, I often listened to Italian comic opera. Foremost among these was Rossini’s The Barber of Seville, something that always puts me into a frivolous mood. Since Polpettone (Italian for ‘Meatloaf’) is a supporting character, I listened to Meatloaf’s Bat Out of Hell and his work on the Rocky Horror Picture Show. The tone of the latter seemed perfect for my novel, and I even parody one of the film’s songs in a scene.
Since the characters drink wine and other alcoholic beverages throughout the story, I too savored the occasional glass of Sangiovese or Pinot Grigio. This was just one more way of interacting with the story. Utilizing the senses as much as possible to really feel it. This is true for all fiction: it’s one thing to describe a character doing something, but when you can do it yourself—then do so.
Now for the comedy. I wanted more of it in the second draft, and I added what felt natural. Smart-ass comments, ridiculous situations, sexual innuendo, crude, gross-out humor—I used them all, with one criteria: all had to make me laugh. While I wrote them, and when I read them a few days afterwards. Humor is a delicate thing, and what I find uproarious may not tickle another’s funny bone. Plus there is copious satire regarding religion in general and Catholicism in particular, and that will always offend certain people. That isn’t my intent, but those who refuse to laugh at such things aren’t the sort who will read my work anyway.
After all of this labor, it’s time to find a fellow writer who’s willing to read Infernal Heroes and give me their honest opinion. Preferably three or four fellow writers. Once I read their critiques, and select what advice would benefit my story, then I can begin a third draft. Even at that stage, I still expect to revise the novel into a fourth draft, which (barring major story/prose issues) should be a polish pass.
Infernal Heroes was a hell of a lotta fun to revise, no pun intended. It had to be, or I would have allowed it to languish on my hard drive for another year. If you believe in what you’re doing, and if the story still resonates with you, then never give up on it. Never view revising as work or a chore. When that happens, you should move on and find something else to do with your time.
Just remember that revising isn’t all about making a story readable, palatable, or better—it’s about revisiting a part of yourself, and making sure you still enjoy the stay. A novel is art, and as such is an extension of its creator’s personality, values, and dreams. Revising is part of this process. I think of it as staring at yourself in a dirty mirror. With each cleaning pass, less dirt obstructs the reflection…allowing yourself and others to see what you’re capable of—and who you really are.
