A. Lee Martinez's Blog, page 54

Confessions of a Comic Book Hater

Recently, I tweeted on the sorry state of mainstream superhero comics.  Specifically, I commented on the failings of Marvel and DC’s efforts as I see them.  There were a few intelligent rebuttals to those comments.  Never let it be said that I am an unreasonable man (though, of course, like all humans, I have my unreasonable moments).  But it’s time for a little self-examination on my part, and how that relates to a struggling industry.

It’s easy to generalize, but it’s never fair to do so.  By claiming that Marvel and DC aren’t producing anything original or interesting, I’m guilty of a blanket statement, a gross overstatement that should be mocked.  So I apologize for that, and I apologize to all the hard-working writers, artists, editors, etc. behind the scenes who deserve more respect than to have their work roundly dismissed by an outsider.  It was wrong of me to do that, and I’m sorry.

I’d also be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge that many of my complaints with mainstream comic book superheroes are the stereotypical complaints of the older generation with younger media.  Too much sex.  Too much violence.  Excessive gore.  Excessive language.  Maybe those complaints might have some validity, but they certainly sound like the muttered grumblings of an old man who can’t keep up with the times.  There’s no point in denying that some of my favorite comics, the stories and character interpretations I like best, tend to come from my own “golden age” when I discovered these characters and loved them best.  While my own golden age might coincide with the greatest comic book superhero stories ever told, it would be an unlikely coincidence.  Like any medium and genre, comic book superheroes have to change to remain relevant.

These are my own biases.  I won’t pretend they don’t color my opinions.

It’s also easy to play Monday Morning Quarterback in these situations.  I can sit back and criticize Marvel / DC all day, but that’s a luxury that comes from being on the sidelines of that business.  I can suggest they get back to their “roots”, a phrase that, by some strange coincidence, means writing stories I want to read.

When I criticize the comic book medium, I’m really saying, “Hey, write more comic books I like.”  That’s something I dearly wish would happen, but it isn’t necessarily best for the industry.

At the same time, I stand by my assessment that Marvel and DC are bereft of original ideas, that they would much rather repackage what they’ve already done, and have too many artists who are so immersed in their own excesses that they are blind to them.  There is a shameful lack of diversity in its halls, and too often, minority / female / gay characters are treated as gimmicks and toys rather than genuine commodities.  Worse, any complaints about this are usually dismissed as groundless by the people in charge.

Though I realize gore and sex are part of “sophisticated” entertainment, I also point to The Avengers, a movie that is a soft PG-13 and made about a gazillion dollars at the box office.  Pick up any mainstream comic book at random, and you’ll more than likely encounter sex and violence that would rate them as R.  These aren’t horror comics I’m talking about.  Or mature content comics.  These are mainstream comics featuring flagship characters.  Avengers succeeded because it cultivated the mainstream audience the comic book industry so craves while it continues writing stories aimed at cynical 40 year olds who can’t get enough of Batman swearing or, for some inexplicable reason, zombie versions of superheroes.

We’ve established that I’m an outsider in the business, and that this gives me the luxury of complaining without having to be at risk.  With that said, what might I suggest to bring life to an ailing industry?

Diversity, first of all.  Not just a handful of women / minorities either, but a much larger percentage.  Seek these people out.  Recruit them.  Treat them as the asset they could be rather than as a concession.  Stop treating minority / female / gay characters as an obligation.  And realize that having one non-white guy in your team isn’t enough.

Simple stories, told well.  Stop writing complicated epics that go nowhere and don’t pay off.  “Nothing will ever be the same!” only works so many times.  Even if it’s true, people don’t need to be shocked constantly.  They can enjoy a story told well that doesn’t blow up the universe or require reading fifty comics.  It’s true that by tying all your comics together in one massive lump, you’re encouraging (i.e. forcing) consumers to buy a lot of comics, but that also means you’re discouraging people from buying any comics in the first place.

Stop treating more obscure characters as mere fodder for the stories of other more popular characters.  Cultivate lesser characters, giving them the time and care to grow into something more.  Don’t just base your choices on sales, though nobody expects you to ignore them.  We understand you’re there to make money.  But consider if killing a character (even an obscure one) is really going to add anything to your story.  I know as writers we’re trained to up the stakes, but when caretaking a shared universe, every character is loved by someone.  Don’t kill them off lightly in service of cheap drama.

Also, more Squirrel Girl, please.

I’m not promising these will help an ailing industry, but it couldn’t hurt to give it a try.

Now get off my lawn, you damn kids!

Keelah Se’lai

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Subjective

Helen and Troy’s Epic Road Quest is off to the editor, and while that doesn’t mean the book is done (far from it), it does clear up my schedule a little.  It’s funny how little the average person knows about the publishing business.  Just to give a quick summary:

-I write the book

-I revise and edit the book.

-I send the book to the publisher, who then takes a look at it.

-More revisions.  More rewrites.  Even if there aren’t many, there is still work to be done.

-A year or so after the publisher gets the book, it finally comes out.

This timeline excludes the work of the marketing department, the printers, and everyone else involved in this process.  Basically, I just want to make it clear that if you’re reading a book I wrote, even if you bought it the day it came out, I probably wrote it a year ago.  Maybe longer.  So whenever I’m tweeting or talking about something I’m currently writing, while I appreciate any excitement, it’s going to be a while before you read it.

But this is not what I’m here to talk about.

I saw Snow White and the Huntsman this weekend, and it was a decent flick.  It didn’t blow me away, but I have a hard time faulting the film for that because it wasn’t designed for me.  Perhaps it’s because I’m a novelologist myself, but I’ve long ago accepted that there is no story that can appeal to everyone, and while talent and execution are vital elements to telling a good story, you still can’t get around emotional hot buttons (both good and bad) that your audience carries with them.

For Snow White, the entire film is so insistently serious that I have a hard time enjoying it.  There are some striking visuals, some cool ideas.  There’s nothing wrong with the acting, but nobody smiles.  There is no sense of fun in the film.  This isn’t an accident.  It’s a very deliberate choice.  I like it when people smile.  I like it when a film is serious but can still laugh on occasion.  This is why I prefer the more recent Mirror, Mirror.  I wouldn’t call it a better film, but it is certainly a more fun film.

I think these two films show how unimportant an idea is and how fundamentally vital execution is.  Both are based on the same fairy tale, but they couldn’t be more different.  In that way, they are a litmus test for what you’re looking for in a story.  It’s easy to mistake our own desires and emotional triggers as being innately more worthy than the needs of others.  It is, for the most part, an illusion.  Each of us views the world through a prism of our own experience, our own desires, and it’s a bit obnoxious to declare someone wrong for not feeling the same way we do.

When we understand this, it can change the way we see everything.  Instead of judging the world as absolutes, we can start to see the superficial differences that divide us.  Especially in our fiction.  After all, both Mirror, Mirror and Snow White are updates of classic fairy tales.  Both story aims to recast Snow White in a more proactive manner.  Both stories involve an evil queen wrestling with her own ego and insecurities.  Both films have elements of adventure and fantasy.  If you were to write an outline of either, they wouldn’t look all that different.

Yet the two films can be summarized by the way they end.  Mirror, Mirror ends with a musical dance number as the kingdom rejoices.  Snow White and the Huntsman ends with an extended, silent image of everyone, including Snow White, looking very intense and somber.  This moment tells you everything that separates these two films.  One is joyful and exuberant.  One is serious business.  How you respond to either probably says more about you than it does about the quality of either film.

Some people like somber.  Some people LOVE it.  I’ll admit I don’t get it myself.  I enjoy serious moments, and I think most stories benefit from exploring serious themes.  (Those are the Not Funny parts of my stories that some people dislike.)  But I like fun.  I especially like it in my fantasy / science fiction.  But for many folks, this works against their immersion in the story.

Many stories have these defining moments, and I tend to think of these as reflections of the audience, not the story.  In Green Lantern, your reaction to the helicopter / Hot Wheel rescue can tell you how you’ll feel about the movie.  In John Carter, if you don’t get a thrill watching John Carter slaughtering a horde of Warhoon, then there’s really nothing there for you.  And if watching a battleship blasting an alien spaceship doesn’t get you excited, then there’s probably nothing Battleship can do to win you over.

On the flip side, if a slow, lingering shot of Bella and Edward staring into each other’s eyes bores you, then you aren’t Twilight’s target audience.  If you found the final voiceover in The Dark Knight to be pretentious and labored (as I did) then the film wasn’t made for you.  And if you expected more from Tron Legacy than some pretty neon and well-packaged nostalgia, then you probably went for the wrong reasons.

I’m not suggesting that every story is good or that there aren’t poorly executed stories that fail.  Nor do I think that “It’s not meant for you” is always a valid rebuttal to criticism.  I could write a story about robots fighting dinosaurs (and I’m sure I probably will one day), but if everyone hates it, I can’t reflexively hide behind a claim of emotional incompatibility.  I stand by, for example, that Tron Legacy is actually a poorly crafted film and that, taking away the nostalgia factor, most everyone would realize just how clumsy and inept the Star Wars prequels are.  At the same time, I have to admit that I could be wrong.

I guess this is just a roundabout way of saying just because we don’t like something, it doesn’t make it bad.

And just because we do like something, that doesn’t make it necessarily good.

Though robots fighting dinosaurs is ALWAYS awesome, I think we can all agree.

Keelah Se’lai

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Playing Politics

Haven’t been around much these last two weeks, folks.  Finishing up Helen and Troy’s Epic Road Quest, and while I made terrific progress, it always takes longer and requires more work than you ever suspect.  Even when I adjust my expectations through experience, it still is true.  That’s weird, but it’s the nature of the job.  The book is nearly finished, and I’m very happy with it.  But there’s not much point in talking about it at this point since it won’t be out until next year.

Today, I’d like to post something about politics.  Not any specific politics, but the concept of real life politics and how my own opinions of these shape the stories I write.

The short answer is as little as possible.

I’ll be honest.  My chief concern is that if I write anything with any political slant that I’ll be eliminating a sizable portion of my potential audience, and why the heck would I do that?  Perhaps it’s because I lack courage.  More likely, it’s because I like getting paid.  And I get paid based on people buying my books.

But it’s not only a matter of financial sensibility.  Plenty of successful writers incorporate their political leanings and ideas into their stories while maintaining strong careers.  It’s not as if my own politics are uniquely radical or charged with controversy.  And probably that’s why I tend to avoid politics in my fiction.

Politics divide as much as unite.  We live in a world where we are constantly forced into false dichotomies.  Political philosophies (and pretty much all philosophies when you get right down to it) have a tendency to close us off rather than open our minds.  My goal as a writer isn’t to give you certainty or comfort.  It’s to create fun stories and maybe even get you to think about things in a different light.  Yes, I know I’m a funny writer, but that’s one of those dichotomies I’m talking about.  Believe it or not, I like to think my stories are about important ideas and grand concepts.  And in that way, I’m not unique because all fiction is by humans for humans and comments on the human experience, even if we, as individuals, can’t relate to 95 percent of it.

The problem with politics, religion, console wars, Addams Family vs. Munsters, etc. is that people usually already know what side of the line they’re on and so writing about these topics runs the risk of preaching to the choir.  Echo chambers don’t do anybody any good.  Discussion should be about exposing ourselves to new thoughts and strange ideas.  Sure, we’ll reject most of those thoughts and ideas, but if you’re only goal in life is to sit in a safe spot, wrap yourself in the warm blanket of certainty, and believe you’ve smugly worked everything out by reciting a borrowed catch phrase, well, I can only feel sorry for you.

The few times I comment on politics in this blog are those moments when I run across that attitude.  It’s why I can’t stand Sarah Palin.  Her personal politics mean far less to me than her self-satisfied way of dismissing anyone who doesn’t agree with her, of equating her every thought and action as synonymous with patriotism while accusing anyone and everyone she doesn’t like of being secret commies.

And, see, right there, I might have lost a few potential readers.  Although if you’re still on the Palin bandwagon, I’ll admit I’m perplexed by that because what is she now but another controversy stirring pundit who contributes nothing to our society.  Like the Kardashians, but with more potential to do harm.

The problem is that you, as a reader, shouldn’t give a damn about how I feel about Palin.  And I certainly don’t give a damn how you feel about her if you want to buy my books.  Yet by merely bringing up the topic, you can practically guarantee someone will be offended, and I’m a big believer in being offensive on purpose, but not so much doing it on accident.

This is why I don’t often refer to other writers, books, or TV shows when discussing my thoughts on media.  I might have a rant I need to get out, but I’m not out to create a false competition.  If I wrote something like “J.K. Rowling isn’t a very good writer”, then you can sure as heck expect some blowback.  (Do not quote me on that.  I don’t believe anything of the sort.)  There’s already a lot of artificial rivalries created by the fans themselves.  Divine Misfortune inevitably clashes with American Gods, though they have very little in common aside from gods in the modern day world.

I very deliberately choose my battles.

So don’t expect me to bash 50 Shades of Grey.  I’m not here to jump on that bandwagon, and what would be the point?  Much smarter people can tell you why they don’t like it, but I’m willing to remain neutral because I’ve got stuff to do and books to sell.  And don’t expect me to create an evil Republican mastermind who wants to eat all the poor people because such strawmen characters strike me as hollow and self-serving.

Occasionally, I’ll make an exception.  I’m willing to say, without equivocation, that Frank Miller is a godawful writer at this stage of his career.  Or that Marvel and DC’s comic books are full of gruesome gore and sex that I find distasteful and often ridiculous.  And I’ll say that my belief in the power of cooperation and compassion clearly labels me as a liberal and that the more extreme versions of conservatism puzzle me.  My distrust of organized religion only gets stronger as the years pass, and also, The Munsters are way, way better than The Addams Family.

But I don’t try to overtly integrate these opinions into my writing, and I don’t try to trade on them.  Except for maybe the cooperation and compassion stuff, but that’s not really a liberal / conservative idea because, take away the labels, we all tend to agree on that basic premise.  It’s mostly the details we argue over.  And I’d hate to lose a reader over details.

Keelah Se’lai

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

 

Apples and Lampshades

I’ve been finishing up my latest project, Helen and Troy’s Epic Road Quest, so haven’t had a lot of time to post.  But now that I’m near the end and confident I will meet my deadline, I thought it’d be cool to drop by and say hello.

Hello.

I saw The Avengers this weekend.  Then I saw it again.  I don’t generally see movies more than once in the theater, but this was a pretty damn cool movie.  I’ll admit that it bugs me that the official title seems to be Marvel’s The Avengers, but that’s just the way things work now.  Branding is all important, and with Disney now at the reigns of Marvel Comics, it can hardly be surprising.  I’ll also admit that I am not a fan of many of Marvel’s business practices (or of many other companies, now that I think about it).  But you have to pick your fights, and I decided to go ahead and see the film.

It was fantastic.  It was pretty much everything I would want from a superhero epic.  Far truer to the original source material than I would ever have imagined, and also just a great fantasy adventure film on its own merits.  If you haven’t seen it yet, and you need a push to go, then I highly recommend it.

For me, Marvel’s previous superhero films have been a mixed bag.  Putting aside all the films from other studios, I still haven’t been terribly impressed by most of them, even the ones I enjoyed.  Iron Man was good.  Iron Man 2 was clumsy, poorly plotted, and with a terrible final villain.  Captain America was fun, but never really payed off with all its cool ideas and the ending was, once again, rather anti-climactic.  The Incredible Hulk was probably my favorite of the films because it has a solid showdown at the end where Hulk clashes with the Abomination.  Though the Abomination really doesn’t look like he does in the comics, which I now find less forgivable considering how true the other films are to the look and feel of the original material.  But I can overlook it.  Thor was amusing, but (say it with me now) the ending felt a bit rushed.

In case it isn’t obvious by now, I like my superhero films (and action films in general) to have a big payoff at the end.  I’ll put up with a lot if it leads to an awesome battle at the end.  I sat through Avatar‘s boring parts because eventually a space jaguar battles a robot and dragons fight gunships.  The first Matrix is dreadfully paced, but it makes up for it with a kick-ass kung fu showdown.

In this way, Marvel’s films have all stumbled previously.  It is a mistake The Avengers eagerly corrects.  This is a truly epic adventure that dares to be every bit as fantastic and action-packed as it should be.  We’re talking flying fortresses, alien invaders, space dragons, Thor battling Iron Man, Thor battling Hulk, Thor battling Loki.  (Hmmm, realizing how much Thor fighting is in the film and that’s a good thing.)  The final showdown isn’t over in two minutes.  The bad guys are genuinely formidable.  The threat to our world is justified.  And our heroes’ victory is earned through sheer determination and awesomeness.

Did I mention how much I liked this flick?

Special mention goes to the Hulk, who finally gets a movie where he can demonstrate just how formidable he is.  The film finally give him a chance to unleash his full fury in a way I never expected to see.

Inevitably, The Avengers will be compared to other superhero flicks, past, present, and future.  I would compare it most favorably to The Incredibles, still my favorite film.  Both are superhero films that create compelling characters and still find time to have joyful superheroics in a way that most superhero films have rarely done.  I don’t know if The Avengers dethrones The Incredibles for me (probably not), but it certainly earns a special place in my heart.

Comparisons are part of human nature, but they’re so often arbitrary. Already, there are debates on how the new Batman film will stack up against The Avengers.  Yet aside from both being films based on comic book superheroes, they don’t seem to have much in common to me.  The Avengers is an epic adventure and pure, unadulterated fantasy with no apology offered.  Nolan’s Dark Knight Rises will inevitably be an entirely different animal.  Aside from being about superheroes, the films are clearly designed to scratch very different itches.

Now, I’ll admit I’m not a fan of The Dark Knight for reasons I’ve already written about.  I will no doubt love The Avengers while probably not even bothering to see The Dark Knight Rises.  I have little taste for Nolan’s brand of overwrought, un-fun version of Batman.  Yet that’s not an attack on the film itself because many people obviously do.  It’s not my bag, but neither is The Notebook or Saw.  Those films have their fans, and just because I don’t count myself among them, I don’t dismiss them as worthless.

It’s a debate that is largely pointless, like arguing over your favorite color.  It’s great to share our perspective, but it’s not going to change anything.  Just as I can’t fathom why so many people hated the Green Lantern movie or why so many others love the Star Wars prequels.  It’s not a logical choice.  It’s an emotional one.  And while I’m all for a healthy discussion, it’s all too easy for these to become false right-or-wrong arguments, as if everything in life can be ranked and collated into a rigid hierarchy.

If you asked me if The Avengers is superior to most every superhero film that came before it, I’d have to say yes.  But that’s because I’m a guy who likes it when a giant green man punches out space dragons and when a man is so good with a bow and arrow, he can actually save the planet.  Some people prefer their superheroes a bit more down-to-earth, a bit more mopey, a bit more talky.  That’s their call.  I don’t have to understand it.  I only have to respect it.

So let’s do our best to remember that when the inevitable comparisons begin.

Keelah Se’lai

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Inclusive

Here’s a handy thing to know:

If someone is writing about how females are portrayed in fiction, they are not automatically guilty of feminist diatribe.  And talking about minority portrayal is not the sole province of extremists and radicals.  These topics are worth talking about, and just because someone might feel uncomfortable with the conversation, it doesn’t mean the conversation isn’t worth happening.  In fact, it’s probably the exact opposite.

More and more, I find myself frustrated by the pushback that comes with any attempt to discuss these taboo topics.  Nobody admits to racism / sexism / bias, but those biases still exist despite that.  And there’s no better way to see this than to try to have a simple, civil conversation about them.

It’s like when you point out that Fight Club fails The Bechdel Test, and then you get every jerk with a chip on his shoulder crawling out of the woodwork saying that women want to ruin all movies.  The Bechdel Test, by the way, is a measure of female presence in a story.  It goes 1) Is there more than one named woman in the story? 2) Do they have a conversation with each other? 3) Is it about anything other than men?  The test isn’t meant to be an immutable rule.  It’s not even meant to be a measure of feminism.  It’s just there to see how important women are to a story.  And women aren’t really that important to Fight Club.  That’s not an indictment to the film.  A world where EVERY story must have a strong female presence would limit the stories you could tell.  But it’s still something worth noting.

To put it in perspective, if we reverse the Bechdel Test, if it is about the prominence of males in stories, almost EVERY single story passes.  That says something important.  It says that we live in a society which focuses on malesm (almost always white ones).  Simply put, not every story has a place for prominent females, but nearly every story does have one for prominent males.

The same observation could be said for minorities, who struggle to find more than token roles.

The point is that American culture, for all its melting pot idealism, is still reluctant to allow certain types of people to share the spotlight.  And when people want to discuss that problem, they aren’t automatically accusing you of prejudice for not noticing it before.  And they aren’t out to chickify your favorite stories or guilty of reverse discrimination.  (A ridiculous concept, worthy of derision.)  They’re just talking about culture, sharing their point of view, and even if you don’t agree with it, it’s still valid.

We benefit from being a more inclusive, more socially aware society.  It’s not political correctness to try to avoid repeating the mistakes of our past and update our culture.  Giving women / minorities / robots more prominence isn’t an attack on the stories of old.  It’s just part of the forward motion that keeps our stories relevant to who we are.

So the next time you read a story or watch a TV show or go to a movie, take time to apply the Bechdel Test.  And even if you aren’t a woman, realize just how often woman are stuck on the outside of our culture.  Or how often being a minority (of any kind) is the beginning and end of a character’s personality.  Once you look at it honestly, you’ll see that it’s a bigger problem than most people think.

And, no, that doesn’t mean you’re a terrible person for not noticing it before.  It just means you’re a human being busy living your life, but sometimes, you have to do more than that.  Our culture will be the better for it.  More importantly, you’ll be better for it.

Keelah Se’lai

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

At a Glance

I am so over steampunk, I think I went all the way around, liked it again, then passed it by several more times.  Not that I was very into steampunk.  My enjoyment of the genre begins and ends with steam-powered robots.  I love robots in any and all of their forms, and so if you give me a robot in a top hat, I’m on board with that.  Still am.  But that’s about it.

Perhaps it’s unfair to generalize, but it seems to me that steampunk’s popularity is mostly due to its costume design.  Granted, I haven’t read much of it, but how much do I really need to read?  It’s like zombie fiction.  I don’t begrudge its fans, but it ain’t my bag.  It seems too repetitive, too predictable.  It’s an unfair complaint though because I have my share of predictable, repetitive fiction genres that I continue to love and enjoy.

But allow me to explore this thought a little more.

Cosplay is, for better or worse, a big thing among a certain group of sci fi / fantasy fans.  And some characters and concepts are going to be easier to make a costume for than others.  This might just be why zombies remain so popular.  They are, aside from possibly vampires, the easiest monster to imitate.  Put on some bloodied clothing.  Mess up your hair.  Stumble around.  There.  You’re a zombie.  This is undoubtedly why zombie walks are so popular.  You really don’t have to do much.  There are folks who go the extra mile, some truly amazing makeup and prosthetic work done by some, but for the most part, being a zombie is as easy as groaning and dragging one of your legs behind you.

Vampires, depending on the type you choose to imitate, are easier, but they also tend not to be readily recognizable.  Isn’t that one of the appeals of the modern day vampire?  They look like you and me and walk among us, a wolf in sheep’s clothing, undetected.  Vampires in cloaks with fangs or monstrous versions are scary too, but not in the same manner.  And also, more difficult to imitate at a glance.  Unless you go the full Bela Lugosi, a nice option but also not really scary anymore.  So a parade of vampires would, for all practical purposes, be a bunch of regular people walking along.

Steampunk, like zombies, is instantly recognizable.  It takes more work than playing zombie, but it still seems relatively easy.  Buy or make some Victorian-themed clothing.  Take a Nerf gun, spray paint it black, glue some extra bits on it.  And you’re done.  Like zombies there are certainly folks who put more effort to it than others, but at the end of the day, it’s not that hard to be casually steampunk.

With only a passing familiarity for the genre, I’m not implying that it isn’t worthwhile or that its sole appeal is the costumes.  But it certainly helps.  Not just because it’s easy to imitate, but because it’s easy to put on a cover and make instantly recognizable.  Just like zombies.  I don’t doubt that one of the strengths of these (and other) genres is its branding, its ability to be recognized at a glance.

We don’t talk about this enough but branding is important and pretending like it isn’t is rather silly.  In studies, if someone prefers Coca Cola and is allowed to see the Coca Cola label while drinking the soda, the pleasure centers in their brain become more active than if they are just drinking the soda.  Our enjoyment of something can (and most certainly is) affected by previous conditioning.  I am not conditioned to especially fond of zombies or steampunk, but I do love robots.  I could give some justification for that, but it seems to come down to previous experience and habits.  It doesn’t mean I can’t be discriminating.  I didn’t see the last Transformers movie because, robots aside, I had no interest in the brand of robogore and shakycam that the movie had to offer.  But if a movie has a good robot in it, I’m willing to ignore a lot of other things.

Great fantasy / sci fi characters usually have a branded quality to them.  Han Solo has his black vest, black pants.  Indiana Jones has his fedora.  Godzilla has his familiar cry, his fins.  Garrus has that eye thing he wears that serves no obvious purpose, but looks cool.  Superman has his red and blue, his cape.  Batman has his pointed ears, his cape.  Spider-Man has his . . . okay, so this is especially true with superheroes.  The question becomes sort of a chicken and the egg dilemma.  Do these characters make their costumes great or do great costumes make these characters?

The answer is probably that neither is more important the the other, and that these factors intertwine to make great characters.

The steampunk genre has the cool designs.  It’s just waiting for its defining character to arrive.  If that character ever hits the mainstream, then steampunk has a real future.  But right now, it has all the appearances of a fad.  Not that I know that for sure.  Nor do I think there’s anything wrong with it if it does end up being a fad.  I’d kill to have a character or story that was a cultural fad.

But what do I know?  I was positive the zombie genre would’ve been used up years ago, and I seem to have been right.  It hasn’t stopped it from prospering.  Maybe it’s the ease of the zombie cosplay.  Maybe it’s the success of its branding.  Or maybe I just didn’t grow up watching the right movies to appreciate it.  Whatever the reason, it seems to be hear to stay.  And maybe steampunk is the same thing.  I won’t even pretend to be able to predict it.  But as long as there are robots involved, I have no complaints.

Keelah Se’lai

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Mack Megaton Story, Part 1

Hi, everyone.  It’s been a while, but remember when I had people vote on a short story I’d write?  Here, at last, is the first part of it.  My goal is to add a new section every Friday until it’s done.  We’ll see how that goes, but I figure that if it’s out there, at least I might get motivated to finish the damn thing.

So here is the first part of an untitled Mack Megaton short story.  Hope you enjoy it.

 

My first question wasn’t why anyone would steal five dinosaur robots? My first question was how did nobody noticed until after the fact?  The robots had all been life size and while the citizens of Empire City were used to seeing a lot of weird sights, I had to assume five dinosaurs stomping their way through the streets was bound to draw some attention.

That’s what I got for assuming.

Because five robots were gone, and I’d been called in to take a look around.  Grigori (with two I‘s, his assistant had reminded us.  Twice.) Alexandrov had been a Russian immigrant, chasing the American dream with only his chipper demeanor and a small fortune in his bank account.  It must’ve cost him a big chunk of his cash to have his personal vision of artificial paleolithic paradise constructed and stocked with robotic reproductions of his favorite dinosaurs.  His butler or manservant or whatever (I didn’t get the exact title) showed us to the tremendous dome and left us there.

Jung sniffed a frond.  His nostrils flared.  He snorted.  “Plastic.”

Alexandrov stepped from behind a bush.  “Of course, it is plastic.  Robots don’t need to eat, do they?”

Jung shrugged.  While he was a civilized ape, I got the distinct impression that this plastic jungle didn’t sit well with him, put him on edge.  Jung had been born in captivity.  He’d never been in a real jungle.  And after mutating to his current levels of intelligence, he wasn’t interested in going home.  But I imagined this artificial realm reminded him of some of the things he’d lost.  There had to be instincts still buried under there.

Or maybe not.  Maybe the place just smelled bad.  I couldn’t tell.

Alexandrov studied me.  “You are the robot detective?  The one I sent for?”

“That’s me.”

He glanced behind me at Jung.  “And this is your monkey assistant?”

“Gorilla,” I said.  “And he’s not my assistant.  He’s my partner.”

Alexandrov chuckled.  “Fine, fine.  I like monkeys.  They are funny, are they not?”

Jung said, “I’m going to take a look around.”  He loped off with a frown.

Alexandrov said, “Did I hurt monkey’s feelings?”

He seemed honestly perplexed.  Like a lot of rich guys who surrounded himself by toadies, he most likely didn’t understand.  Guys like him weren’t capable of grasping a world outside of their control.  If they offended someone, they could always just ignore that person.  And if necessary, they could throw a few bucks at the problem.  Jung and I weren’t people.  And technically, we weren’t, but it wasn’t our non-human status that caused Alexandrov to see us as animated dolls.  It was probably how he saw everything in this world.

“I trust my people informed you of the situation?” he asked.

I nodded.  “Five stolen robots.  Tyrannosaurus, stegosaurus, brontosaurus, triceratops, and a pterodactyl.”

“Six robots,” said Alexandrov  “Five dinosaurs and a–”  He mumbled to himself in Russian.  “–caveman.”

“Caveman?” I asked.

He shook his head.  “Yes, yes, I know.  Dinosaurs and caveman don’t live at same time.  I know this, and I don’t care.  My jungle.  My robots.  If I want caveman, I get caveman.”

“Fair enough,” I replied.

“So you will find my robots, yes?”

“How hard could it be?” I asked.

“And you will bring them back, not broken.”

“I don’t know if I can promise that.”

Alexandrov grumbled in his mother tongue.  “No, no, no.  You must bring them back to me.  They are expensive.  That is why I chose you.  They are robots.  You are robot.  You will have special insight into problem.  You will understand how important and precious they are.”

I didn’t correct him, but I’d sent my share of robots to the scrapheap.  He greatly overestimated my respect for his menagerie of novelty drones.

“What if they’re already broken?” I asked.

“Why would anyone steal my robots to break them?”

“Parts?” I said.

He laughed.  “What good are parts?  They are nothing special.  Custom made, yes, but all very standard guts.  Ordered from catalogue.  Not even most expensive parts.  I am rich, but I am not stupid.  Easier to buy the parts yourself.  So if someone steals my dinosaurs, someone doesn’t steal them for parts.”

His logic was solid.  There was plenty of loose tech floating around the city.  If someone wanted the scrap, there were simpler ways to get it.

“You take case then,” said Alexandrov.  “You will find my robots.”

It was an order, not a question.  But he was right.  I took the job.  Jung and I rode back in our skimmer.  He drove.

“Are you okay working for this guy?” I asked.  “After the monkey comment?”

“Alexandrov’s a jackass,” he said, “but his money spends the same as anybody’s.  If we worked only for people we liked, we wouldn’t work at all.  And some of us don’t have rich girlfriends to pay our bills.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I scanned through the police report Alexandrov had supplied.  There wasn’t much to it.  He’d awoken two days ago to discover his dinos missing .  No sign of damage or break-in.  The security system had been disabled.

“Inside job,” said Jung.

It added up, but so far, the cops hadn’t found any viable suspects among Alexandrov’s employees.  Most had alibis.  Those that didn’t seemed unlikely to be involved.  And those with a questionable background always had the same question.

Why would anyone steal five dinosaur drones and a caveman auto?

Boned

We live in a world of false choices.  Much of this is due to the limits of language.  I only speak English, so I can’t say for certain that all languages suffer from this problem, but I know that English is full of necessary limitations that create conflict where none need exist.  Conceptually, we tend to stick things into camps, and we tend to treat those camps as innate and indivisible.

It’s why I’ll probably always be a “light” writer because I carry most of the markers of light writing.  I have humor, and it isn’t humor based on cruelty or vulgarity.  While some of my books have naughty language, most of them don’t.  And I find myself less inclined to use mature language as time goes on.  I don’t generally write gore.  I don’t generally write sex.

I’m not against these things.  There is no single correct way to tell a story, partly because what Person X finds distasteful or offensive, Person Y will find satisfying and delightful.  And as my previous post mentioned, I’m all for that.  The only problem is that nudity, violence, sexual content, and anything else you care to label as “mature content” isn’t innately mature.  It’s just a label for all the stuff we don’t like children watching.  But just because something is unsuitable for children that doesn’t make it mature.

I tend not to get into mature shows because they are beholden to certain requirements.  As happy as I am to have a mainstream fantasy show in The Game of Thrones on HBO, I’m also disappointed that, without the boobs and blood, nobody would probably watch it.  Only by adding gratuitous adult content does the show rise above being a nerd phenomenon.  If it was straight fantasy without these elements, it would be kid stuff, no matter how intelligent and well-written.

The false choice that comes with this is that if I express this thought, I will almost always come across as a prude.  But I don’t find blood and gore offensive.  I just find it boring for the most part.  I realize that, at heart, we are merely animals, and that violence and sex have tremendous appeal.  Even people who hate the stuff can’t stop thinking about it.  To me, the person who is captivated by mature content and the person who is repulsed by it are two sides of the same coin.  Both folks are often assigning way too much importance to the stuff.

Yet the paradox is that because people do this, it becomes important.  HBO’s entire brand is built on sex and swearing and blood.  With good reason too because without it, there’s not a whole lot to separate it from the other shows on television.  That’s not an indictment of the network because it’s worked for them.  And if someone wants some gratuitous sex and violence in their dramas, then it’s nice to have that need met.

But a lack of sex and violence doesn’t necessarily indicate kid’s stuff.  And sex and violence doesn’t always indicate maturity or realism.  It’s why I find myself dismayed by so many trends.  Whether it’s Nolan’s dreary take on Batman, HBO’s blood and sex drenched fantasies, or even Michael Bay’s robot gorefests, I am more and more irked by a culture that insists that gritty is cool and that grimdark is innately more valuable.

If it’s starting to sound as if I’m repeating myself in these posts, I’m sorry about that.  It’s just something I feel is worth talking about.  I don’t want mature content to go away, but I do find it has become more and more of a crutch.  Harley Quinn was a far more interesting character before she was half-naked.  The Transformers worked better for me when they were able to fight without tearing each other to pieces, spewing oil and metal like appliance splatterhouse fetish.  And the second you MUST have mature content to have a mature story is the moment you stop creating and start blindly following rules.

Yet how is The Incredibles not considered mature content when it’s about family, responsibility, the soul-crushing drudgery of living in a world that resents you for being special, insecurity, the strength we all have when we rely on each other, and the dangers of hubris?  How is Wall-E only a kid’s movie when it’s about loneliness and love?  How is How to Train your Dragon considered silly when it’s about finding your place in the world and healing old wounds?  How is Emperor Mollusk versus the Sinister Brain considered only a silly book when it has genocide in it as a major plot point?

The answer is obvious.  Without blood, without sex, without cruelty, random violence, or adult language, all the above lack the markers of maturity.  It doesn’t prevent them from being mature, but it does prevent them from being perceived as mature.  Just as if Game of Thrones removed the boobs and only implied its more horrendous violence, it would cease to be worthy of adult praise.  It’s a fact, but it’s a shame.

I don’t mean to imply that the show would be better without these things.  It would only be different, and in fact, it would be a relatively minor change.  It wouldn’t have to affect the story in any way.  It would be the same show, but it would also lose a lot of its street cred.  In that way, the boobs and blood are very important, and it’s why, to be perfectly honest, couldn’t ask the show to change a thing.  These gratuitous elements aren’t gratuitous at all.  They serve a very important purpose.  I know that.  Just as I know that without sex and violence in my own stuff, it’ll be a long time before I get taken seriously.

For the record, if HBO wanted to grimdark up a book of mine and transform it into an original series, I’d be on board.  So it’s not as if I’m trying to claim some intellectual or artistic high ground.  The very fact that there’s the notion of high ground at all is absurd to me.  It’s not about artistic integrity or anything of the like.  It’s only an observation on cultural perception.  Make of it what you will.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Something Something Joseph Campbell

All of us (well, most of us) have a wealth of emotional needs that yearn to be satisfied.  That’s where art comes in.  It always sounds pretentious to use the word “art”, but creative expression isn’t just something humans do.  It’s something we do because we MUST.  Without creative expression (either ours or someone else’s) our world is a poorer place.  Art is one of those things that is hard to screw up, and while it might be controversial at times, even offensive, it is hard to imagine a society suffering for being too artistic.  It probably could happen, but so far, I don’t think any culture has ever suffered from too much art.

Yet conflict is so ingrained in human nature that even in this one area where we should feel free to explore and experiment, we are constantly warring over which form of creative expression is more valid than another.  I imagine this is as old as time.  When the first caveman painted an image of a mammoth, I guarantee you that someone was offended by it.  And someone else thought it was “cute, but nothing to think about.”  And a third someone declared our painter a genius that would forever define the art of painting mammoths.  That’s how it works.  Creative expression and interpretation is such a personal act, it’s no wonder everyone sees something different.

What surprises me is how few of us have ever figured that out.  Maybe it’s because we’re trapped in our own heads, swimming in a sea of our own emotional baggage, but we have a hard time understanding that I am not you, you are not me, and that person is not that other person.  We experience our own thoughts so intimately, it’s impossible to imagine others not feeling the same thing.  And if others don’t, then there is something wrong with them.

This is found on every level of experience we have as humans, not just art.  Recently, a Republican congressman (or senator, I always got those two confused) was shown saying that there were at least “59 to 61 communist party members” in the legislature.  A collective gasp rose up from the audience.  It was, to me, absurd.  But then I realized that, for his audience, communists were a thing to be feared.  I don’t share that fear.  Not because I’m pro-communism, but because the word and concept doesn’t trigger much of any response in me.  I grew up during the Cold War.  I saw my share of generic evil Russian villains in fiction.  But then the whole thing petered out and communism seemed like a relic of yesteryear.  Sure, there’s still China and a few other countries, but the world is different today.  China is economically bound to us in a way the good ol’ U.S.S.R. never was.  All of this, of course, means nothing.  It just comes down to what these people found scary versus what I do.  It’s less about logic than about our own perceptions and emotions.

The reason art matters though is that it should be the one place we are allowed to indulge without fear of judgment because it’s the one area where we can experiment without consequence.  Politics, theology, economics, etc., these all are delicate issues.  We fight over these because we all want a world more to our liking.  Our fears and desires matter there because they have far reaching consequences.  Or that’s what we tell ourselves.  The world tends to go on regardless, but it does change, often in ways we don’t like or appreciate.

But art is specifically a playground designed to be without consequence.  Note that I don’t mean art is inconsequential, though our limited language makes it easy to get confused.  What I mean is that art is a place where our emotions can come out to play, and nobody has to get hurt.  Nobody should fear being judged for their artistic tastes because ultimately, it’s a healthy way to explore what it means to be human.

Note too that I’m not talking about controversial art.  I’m talking about all the art we enjoy.  Even the most shallow tripe has some value to someone.  I’ve never believed that art must be shocking to be valuable.  It need only be satisfying in some way.  Horror movies allow us to experience fear without having to be eaten by a shark.  Comedies allow us to laugh when we need it most.  Romances let us experience what it’s like to be loved.  Fantasy opens worlds of imagination.  And literary fiction allows us to be pretentious.

Whoops.  Kind of stepped on my point there.

We are all prone to judgment to things inexplicable to us.  I don’t know why anyone thinks The Dark Knight is an adequate (much less good) superhero movie.  But I don’t have to.  I only have to understand that it pushes the buttons of a lot of people.  Just not mine.  And in that way, it’s no different than most art, most fears, most joys.  I don’t listen to a lot of music, for example.  Or watch lawyer shows.  Or get into sprawling, epic fantasy.  I find very little enjoyable about these things.  They don’t speak to me.  But they speak to a lot of people, and it would be absurd to say these people were wrong.  Or that these things are bad.

True, we will debate and discuss these things, and we should.  I will say that I find most literary fiction unreadable, and I’m sure many, many people will disagree.  And the debate is fun to have and can even be informative and a great way to see the world through someone else’s eyes.  But at the end of the day, I will never be that person.  I will never be able to experience their life.  And it is unfair of me (or any of us) to diminish someone for liking art we find ridiculous, boring, shallow, grimdark, or whatever.  It’s presumptuous.

It’s also inevitable.

We can’t stop it, but we can at least be aware of it.  We can rant about how Twilight sucks, but we should also accept that it spoke to a hell of a lot of people.  I can say I’d rather get punched in the face repeatedly than read The Road, but that doesn’t mean the book is terrible.  And if I want to go on and on about how awesome Guyver 2: Dark Hero is, you can at least do me the favor of listening, even if you disagree.

Otherwise, the commies win.

Keelah Se’lai

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Endgame

The universe was here long before you ever existed.  It will be here long after you're gone.  It's a hard truth, one that seems wrong to most people.  We are all at the center of our own reality, with everyone and everything else existing as adjunct elements.  It doesn't mean that other people are objects, but we are all living our lives within ourselves.  We are with ourselves all day, every day, and it's strange to realize that all the things that are so important and vital to our own lives are merely passing through the lives of others.  Even our most intimate relationships are just ships passing through the night.

I love my wife and feel we are bound together in a strong and very personal way.  But I don't know much about her work or her coworkers.  I don't read every book she reads.  I don't watch every show she watches.  I don't know her thoughts.  We are two people who live with each other, who have built a life together, but we are not the same person.  We can never be the same person.

Sorry for the metaphysical musings.  I'm going somewhere with this.

I think our human assumption that things begin and end with us is one of the reasons writers love killing off characters and destroying worlds.  Probably not the only reason, but certainly, a big one.  It's a creator acting out the ultimate self-centered view of his creations.  He / She no longer has any use for them so he / she might as well destroy them because without him / her, they have no reason to exist.

This isn't always true.  Some stories are designed very clearly from the get go to be destructive.  Horror stories, dark dystopian fiction, apocalyptic fiction, and so on.  Some universes and characters were made to die, and it's a legitimate and valid thing to do.

But many stories aren't made for that and were never intended for it.  My stories aren't dark in this way.  Most of them could easily have sequels or be part of a series.  Just because I choose not to pursue that option doesn't mean I have to destroy the characters and their worlds.  Those characters and worlds are allowed to go on without me.  I don't mind.  In fact, I assume they do.

It's a weird thought, but in my head, even if I never write a sequel to anything, I see the characters carrying on with their lives.  I can't imagine them standing around, waiting for my return.  They never seem like my puppets.  They're collaborators, people I met at some point and worked with, but who don't need me to exist anymore.  And I could no more casually kill them off than I could push a button that killed a random real life person.

Maybe that's odd.  Maybe it's because I feel that, despite my role in their initial creation, I am not their creator.  They might be fictional, but they're no less real, no less mysterious and beautiful, than all the real people I know.  They're still grappling with their own concerns, their triumphs and tragedies.  And I'm rooting for them.  I want the best for them.  I want them to be happy or at least to have that shot at happiness.

One of the reasons I chose to skip Mass Effect 3 is that I have no interest in a conclusion that changes everything about that universe.  I realize that this is the "final" game of the series, and that usually means something incredibly dramatic and game changing has to take place.  Characters have to die.  And everything has to be be altered forever.  I don't know what compels us to do that.  I wouldn't be bothered if in ME3 if the Reapers were destroyed and Shepherd and crew walk into the sunset.  Even if they never made another ME game, I wouldn't mind at all if I could assume that Shepherd was still out there, fighting the good fight, defending the universe.  And just because Garrus might be leaving my life, it doesn't mean he has to die.

Don't get me wrong.  I'm not saying I want ME3 to be full of rainbows and puppies, where nothing tragic happens, but if you're going to kill off characters I've grown to love and destroy a universe I'm fond of, you shouldn't do it just because you can.  You shouldn't crush a world I love simply because it's not allowed to exist because you're not telling stories with it.

The universe, even universes we've created ourselves, should have more value than that.

I've grappled with this dilemma for a while now.  It's a complex issue, I can't help but feel that part of it comes down to our own self-centered natures.  It just makes sense to us for our worlds to vanish once we're done with them.  Just as it makes sense that our apocalypse of choice is just around the corner.  Maybe Jesus is coming back.  Maybe an asteroid.  Maybe the mole people will burst out of the ground and destroy us all.  But something will see to it that the world ends when I do.  Because without me, what's the point of it existing at all?

Like I said.  It's complicated.  And by no means do I think I've even scratched the surface of this topic, but it's merely some thoughts I had floating around in my head.  Make of them what you will.

Keelah Se'lai

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee