A. Lee Martinez's Blog, page 59

To Censor…or Not To Censor

The new DC Comics reboot has given me a lot to think about, but this is NOT a blog post about comic book superheroes, so please, stick around.  I promise not to waste your time making you read about obscure fictional characters you probably don't care about.  It does make a good jumping off point though.

Recently, there's been a kerfluffle over the rather dreadful Red Hood and the Outlaws title that featured Starfire, an alien superwarrior from the Teen Titans.  You have probably never heard of her.  Or if you have, it's probably from the Teen Titans animated series that aired on Cartoon Network.  The cartoon was aimed at a younger audience and featured a version of Starfire that was cute and sweet, kind of naive, certainly an outsider from another culture.

The comic book version is apparently a sex robot who has repeated sexual encounters with no emotional attachment.

Now, I'll admit that I really don't know much about Starfire, so I can't judge whether this characterization is consistent with past versions of the character.  That's not what I'm interested in writing about anyway.  Instead, I'd like to wonder why this was included in the comic book at all?

I'm not asking this in a judgmental way.  I'm just curious.

As a writer myself, I often struggle with what to include in my stories.  There's no way to avoid controversy, but I'll take controversies I intended versus accidental ones anyway.  For example, if someone doesn't like Gil's All Fright Diner because of Earl's copious amounts of swearing, I'm pretty okay with that.  I knew that would turn away many readers.  But if they are upset because Duke wears a No Fat Chicks T-shirt in the first chapter (and some people were) then I find myself frustrated because the shirt wasn't meant to offend anyone.

This isn't to say that people are wrong to be offended by it.  It's to say that it annoys me that I offended people unintentionally.  It's not even an issue of respect.  I have no problem with the many fat jokes made at Loretta's expense in the book.  Those, I knew would be trouble.  But the T-shirt . . . that was a complete accident.

Because I write standalone novels, I often ask myself what to add or take away in each story.  Gil's has adult language, sexual situations, and, yes, fat jokes in it.  Too Many Curses has none of that.  Chasing the Moon sits somewhere in-between.  Emperor Mollusk Versus the Sinister Brain, due out next year, has no language and no sex.  Meanwhile, Helen and Troy's Epic Road Quest, my current project, has some mild language and some mild sexuality (though not much really).  Each book requires its own set of standards, that's true, but my ultimate goal is still to sell as many books as I can.

It's not "selling out" to decide NOT to include something for the sake of a broader audience.  One of the things that genuinely annoys me about DC's new reboot is that it seems as if no one, not the writers, not the artists, not the editors, seems to ever say "Maybe that shouldn't be included."

I don't need to see a Starfire who is soulless sexual being.  I don't need to see a full page spread of softcore Catwoman / Batman porn.  And I don't need to read a Green Lantern comic where people are dismembered.  And I'm not sure anyone else needs to either.  Or, more to the point, I'm not sure what these elements add to these comics.

DC's stated reason for the reboot was to draw in new readers, but what's the point of drawing in new readers if you're going to turn them away.  Like it or not, Starfire is probably best known to the general public as a quirky alien from a cartoon show.  Making her a sexbot seems counter-productive to me.  And while Catwoman has always been an anti-hero, there are more tasteful ways of exhibiting sexuality than drawing her straddling Batman.

To some degree, I think this is a dilemma common to all media.  Comic book superheroes, in particular, haven't been for kids in a long, long time, and the fans and writers have been conditioned to throw in adult content, often more for reflex than any other reason.  It's the same reason I can't get into so many HBO series.  I don't mind nudity and gore, but after a while, it just seems so indulgent, so risque for its own sake.

It makes me wonder if it isn't intentional.  "Oh, the average person thinks of Starfire as a cute cartoon character.  Let's sex her up a bit to correct them of that notion."

But it's not just the sexuality that confuses me.  Nor is it the violence.  Neither of these are new elements to comic books.  It's the presentation, overt and shocking, that confuses me.  If you want to suggest that Starfire has sex, that's cool.  But you can do it in subtler ways than they've chosen.  Same for the violence.

Okay, so I promised this wouldn't be specifically about comics.  Whoops.  Sorry about that.

In my own stories, I find myself less interested in elements that can end up forming a barrier to the audience.  Especially easily avoided things.  I know that if I write about an alien space squid supervillain that many people are going to be uninterested from the get go, but that's a price I'm willing to pay.  But what would be the point in giving that same space squid a dirty mouth other than to possibly turn away readers?  Maybe that's selling out, but it seems to me that it's merely avoiding a pitfall.

At least, I'm writing my own characters and universes.  If I want to muck it up, who really cares?  But we're talking about characters with some mainstream appeal, with some access to the public consciousness.  Even if the writer wants to add mature content, why do the editors allow them to?  Maybe a writer doesn't care, but shouldn't an editor?

In my first draft of Monster, our hero was a real jerk.  My editor and I bumped heads over just how much of a jerk he should be.  It was annoying at first, but she had valid concerns about the likability of the character.  There are still elements from the original draft I miss, scenes that didn't make the cut, but at the end of the day, she was probably right.  Even if she wasn't, the stuff that was cut doesn't actually hurt the novel for its absence.  And if it allows even one reader to enjoy the book more by lessening Monster's unpleasant qualities then I see it as a success.

Believe it or not, that's part of an editor's job.  Maybe the biggest part.  To save we writers from ourselves.  Or at least to get us to think about stuff like that.  It's not that I always agree with my editors, but they always come at it from a good angle.  Sometimes, it's a simple question like "If we lose this element, does the story really suffer?"  Surprisingly often, the answer is no.

This is why I avoided the latest Transformers film.  I just wasn't interested in watching robots begging for their lives, getting popped execution style when all I wanted to see was a cool space robot adventure.  It's why I stopped watching HBO's Rome because, really, how many Roman wangs do I need to see in an hour?  And it's why I haven't picked up any of DC's new comics because if I wanted to see dismemberment and casual sex, I'd rent Saw and  porno flick instead of buying superhero comic books.

It's okay to NOT do something if it makes your story accessible.  It's not always easy to know what to cut and what not to cut, when it's worth it to use a naughty word, an innuendo.  But when in doubt, it's usually wiser to play it safe.  That's my current philosophy.  Maybe it'll change later.  But for now, it's where I stand.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

On Creativity Vs. Copyright

Back from Fencon.  It was a terrific time.  One of the best cons I've been to in a while.  Enjoyed every panel I participated in or watched from the audience.  Met some very cool people.  And just had a lot of fun.  I don't know what else to say beyond that.  Great convention.  Great time.  Just supremely great.

It even gave me some ideas for some good blog posts.

Today, I'd like to write about a conversation I had with a fan.  He approached me after a panel and remarked that he had seen me on a panel from last year on the subject of copyright.  He was struck immediately by my lax view of copyright, and how I didn't think it should last nearly as long as it does.  It intrigued him enough that he went ahead and bought one of my books.

First, that's always wonderful to hear.  While I do enjoy sci fi cons, I don't do them for my own pleasure.  I do them for the exposure, to get people excited about my books.  If I can get one or two people to take a chance on something I've written, then I consider things a rousing success.  One step at a time, right?

Even better, he read the first book, liked it, and bought another.  Don't remember which books he mentioned, but he said that he enjoyed the second book too and had recently bought a third.  All great news.

Then he mentioned that he could see why I didn't fear shorter copyright laws because I was constantly creating new characters and settings, so while another writer might have a vested interest in preserving their primary creation / universe, I was clearly a guy who'd just go make another.

For the record, I don't think of myself as more creative as other writers.  Well, some other writers, sure.  But there are plenty of creative writers who are primarily series writers.  And it's worked out well for them.  It's just not my thing.

While it's not my intention to free myself from copyright concerns by writing varied characters and universes, perhaps that's an accidental byproduct.  Whereas many writers are looking for that golden goose to pin their career on, I'm more interested in writing fun, cool, varied fantasy stories.  While it has probably stifled my career's growth, bucking a common trend, it's also helped me in other ways.  And maybe one of those ways is giving me the confidence to believe that I don't need to hold onto a story forever.

I like coypright.  I certainly like getting paid to create stories, but I do think there's a danger of creative stagnation that comes with current copyright law.  It's most visible in comic book superheroes, where so many older characters refuse to step aside for the next generation.  (Although this is trademark law, which is slightly different, but close enough for our purposes.)  Would Marvel continue to publish Spider-Man comics if the character was in the public domain?  Maybe.  But they'd also have the impetus to create new characters that could be more reliable revenue producers.

It's true.  If I only had one money-making character / universe at my disposal, I'd want to hold onto as long as possible.  But I don't.  Or at least, I choose not to.  Maybe it's because I'm dumb.  Given current copyright law, one really strong, popular idea is worth a dozen less popular ones.  As I've said before, if I was writing my ninth Gil's All Fright Diner novel, I'd probably be in a stronger place as a novelologist.  I don't begrudge any writer who takes that path.

I just decided not to.  Rather, I just ended up going another way, mostly by habit and accident.

There are bonuses.  My fans tend to enjoy that I don't write sequels.  They almost always have a favorite character / setting they'd love to read more of, but they also appreciate the variety.  And at least one guy respects me for it, which is always nice.

And then there's Hollywood.  I've been fortunate enough to dip my toe in that pool, and it's been a lucrative, fun experience.  I've earned a small reputation as a creative guy who can come up with cool ideas.  I've had several books optioned for films.  I can't say whether they'll go anywhere, but there still out there, still working for me, earning me a check now and then.  And getting me work that I never imagined I'd do.  Yes, I've written quite a few treatments and worked as a consultant.  I don't think that would've happened if I'd just written a long-standing series, though if I were lucky enough to have a popular long-standing series, I'd have no reason to complain.

But I don't have one of those.

What I do have is eight (make that nine, next year) fantasy / sci fi novels that have done respectably well, and a reputation as a creative guy who isn't afraid to experiment a little bit.  That's just fine by me.

Though selling more books is always something to strive for.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Random Thoughts

By the time you read this, I'll probably be at Fencon.  It's a great sci fi convention in the Dallas area, and if you happen to be in the area, it's well worth your time.  It also holds a special place in my heart because when I was a teeny tiny novelologist just starting out, Fencon was my first convention as a guest, and it was a wonderful experience for a guy who was way in over his head.  So drop on by.  Say hello.

In the meantime, here's a smattering of thoughts running through my head.

Nobody succeeds or fails on their own.  It was the wonderful Elizabeth Warren who recently observed, "Even if you built your factory on your own, your products were shipped via roads built by public works projects and your factory was protected by a police force paid for by tax dollars."  That's really the problem though.  Roads and police and other things provided by the public sector are invisible when they work.  We take them for granted.  Until they're gone.

So it is too with our own successes and failures.  Psychologically, we have a much higher opinion of our own abilities and reason than of others.  If you ask most people why OTHER people are religious, they'll usually say it's for primal emotional reasons like fear of death or sense of powerlessness.  But ask someone why they're religious, and you'll usually get a more profound, more nuanced answer.  If we see someone else throwing a temper tantrum in public, we just shake our head and assume they're classless jackasses.  But when we do the same, we excuse ourselves by saying we're having a bad day or that the target of our wrath deserved it.

We are immensely forgiving of ourselves, cruelly judgmental of others.  WE are amazing.  THEY are lucky.  It's in our nature.

In this way, I don't find the wealthy and successful any different than any other group.  Of course, the wealthiest people will consider themselves hard-working and deserving of their success.  And they'll assume that the poor, the unsuccessful, are lazy or just need to apply themselves.  That's not an attitude that comes from having money.  That's just an attitude that comes from being human.

Yet as a professional writer, I realize just how dependent I am on all the people around me.  Whether it's the mother who supported me all those years, the DFW Writer's Workshop that encouraged me endlessly when publication seemed impossible, or the first editor who finally was able to convince someone to take a chance on me.  (Thanks, Paul.)  Beyond that, there are all the people who help in the editing process of the book, the hard-working folks who actually manufacture and transport the things, and the fans and critics who get them noticed.  And the people who buy the books.  At the end of the day, without those people, I'm out of a job.

That's why I'm not entirely convinced of the merits of self-publishing.  Not because I believe the writing is innately worse, but because the self-published writer is often working alone.  That, more than any other factor, is why I'm reluctant to recommend self-publishing.  Novelology is a tough biz, and I can't imagine going at it alone.   (Though I'm certain that as technology continues to advance that self-publishing will become more and more viable.  Just not entirely convinced it's where it needs to be at the moment.)

I haven't achieved my meager level of success because I'm awesome.  It's because of the work and support of a hell of a lot of folks.  And the world would be a better place if we'd all take a moment to remember that, to view the other guy not as an obstacle toward our success but as a necessary partner in our endeavors.  Or we can all just sit around, resenting each other.

Yeah, we'll probably stick with that.

Meanwhile in the world of comics…

DC Comics relaunched all their comics with a new line up of 52 new titles.  I've read through a few of the new titles and have yet to be impressed.  They're not bad comics, but they don't really seem new and interesting.  Especially because the stated reason for the reboot is to make comic books friendly to new readers.  Yet the comics seem to be plagued with all the same problems that have been dragging down superhero comics for years.

There's continuity, which despite claims to the contrary is still just as overwhelming and incomprehensible as before.  Except now it's even a bit unfriendly to old time readers because some of the old continuity doesn't count and some of it does.  Even if it really doesn't make much sense.  Like Hal Jordan, who apparently in the space of five years became a Green Lantern, turned evil, died, then came back to life and returned to the Green Lantern Corps, fought an intergalactic war with Orange, Red, and Black Lanterns.  That's a lot of livin' in five years.

Granted, comic book time is always kind of wonky, and it should never be taken too seriously.  Which is why it should never be set in stone.  Dates and times are something to be avoided in ongoing universes with characters that literally run for decades.  I'd much rather DC reboot the universe and just start from the beginning.  Not that I'd be too crazy about that either.  But starting from square one would certainly be easier for new readers to jump on board and diehard fans might complain, but they'd still buy the titles anyway.  They always do.

But what really gets me is that the comics are still struggling to find an acceptable level of reality for superheroes.  I don't need to read about Batman and Catwoman having sex.  In point of fact, I tend to prefer my superhero comics very light on the sex.  There's something unsettling to me about superheroes having sex, something absurd.  Bruce Wayne, I have no problem with.  But Batman, it just seems like weird fetish porn.  It's just a bad idea, is all I'm suggesting.  Especially since superheroes should generally be about punching people, not getting it on.

Even the violence though tends to be on the unpleasant side.  Once again, realism is not your friend in the superhero genre.  Now every supervillain seems to be a sexual deviant, more likely to rape and murder than build a death ray or rob banks in unnecessarily elaborate ways.  And where once it was a genre of escapist fantasy, it so often seems to revel in reminding us that superheroes would be awful and frightening in real life.

I get that I'm an old man.  The comics I grew up with are not the comics being written.  They certainly aren't the comics that influenced the current generation of writers and fans who seem intent on rewriting Watchmen and The Dark Knight Returns endlessly.  I've never really understood why the deconstruction of the superhero genre became the default goal of mainstream superhero comics.  Deconstructions only work in limited capacity.  What makes Watchmen readable is that it is a single story.  You can do whatever the hell you want to the characters and their universe with no fear of having to keep things going.

But if you write that story where the Joker murders schoolchildren, you're stuck with it.  Forever.  And suddenly, every time the Joker shows his face, we're reminded that here's a remorseless killer that no one can stop.  And if you write that story where "nothing will ever be the same", you'll soon realize that everything HAS to be the same because you can't really change anything important in an ongoing, shared universe.  Not very often anyway.

I wouldn't say DC's new titles are bad.  They certainly aren't any worse than most mainstream superhero comics, and just because they don't appeal to me, that doesn't make them objectively bad.  Taste is a subjective thing.  But at the end of the day, the reboot doesn't seem to have changed anything.  All the same problems are still bothering the industry and while they're sure to get a nice boost from the publicity, I don't see it solving the long term problem of an business model built on writing stories originally intended for children and selling them to a confused market that isn't even really sure what it wants.

That's the real dilemma, and I can certainly relate.  I'm a guy who often complains about not being taken seriously enough just because I write stories about robots and space squids.  Maybe if I threw in more sex and ritualistic disemboweling, I could prove I'm a gritty, hardcore writer.  Though I'm not sure I'd want to write a cephalopod sex scene.  And I'm definitely sure I wouldn't want to meet the fans who were eager to read it.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

The Invulnerable Man Rule

This blog entry . . . ANYONE CAN DIE!

Okay, probably not.  Because that's not something I do.  It's not something that interests me.  I've got a pretty light touch when it comes to killing characters.  I'll admit that.  I'll usually kill or destroy or otherwise get rid of the bad guy, but it's not my thing to introduce a colorful supporting cast and then pick them off to establish the credibility of the threat they face.  It's probably yet another thing that keeps me from being taken as seriously as I'd sometimes like.  Nothing like a little blood on the page to remind everyone that you're not screwing around.

I think this is probably because of my love of comic books.  Comic book superheroes are some of my earliest influences.  But I have a bad habit of liking the strange and obscure characters.  The very same characters that tend to die whenever a writer needs extra drama.  It puts me in a strange position.  If you're favorite hero is Batman, Superman, or Spider-Man, you can rest assured that they aren't going anywhere.  They might die for a gimmick, but no one with any sense believes they'll stay dead.  Same with all the popular villains.  But if you, like me, enjoy Quasar, Diamond Lil, or Arnold Wesker, you are stuck walking a very difficult line.

Quasar, for example, is a character who was never popular but nonetheless had his own comic book series that lasted 60 issues before fading into complete obscurity.  I had the whole series and really loved it.  It also had the unfortunate side effect of making me a fan of several other even more obscure characters in his supporting cast.  Seriously, does anyone else out there like Makkari the Eternal?  If so, love to hear from you.

But then Quasar disappeared into comic book obscurity.  He did eventually reappear.  Only to be killed by an evil alien.

Story of my life, a comic book fan of the little guy, the obscure, the forgotten.

I think Quasar is back because death is rarely permanent in comic books if someone likes you, so clearly someone out there has a soft spot for Quasar.  Good luck, buddy.  I'm rooting for you.

Danger is often an important aspect of adventure fiction, but it shouldn't be the only aspect.  Or even the most important one.  The conflict from adventure fiction should rarely be about the protagonists' continued survival, but on their ability to achieve their goals.  Danger is only one of the obstacles that can get in their way, and it is, more often than not, an artificial one.

I call it The Invulnerable Protagonist Rule.  The rule says that if making your hero explicitly invulnerable to physical harm removes all the tension from your story, then you're doing something wrong.

Almost all adventure protagonists are invulnerable.  Not explicitly.  But they're invulnerable just the same.  Batman is not going to get shot and die, no matter how many times he leaps from the shadows into a mob of thugs.  Indiana Jones is not going to be killed, execution style, by the Nazis.  And no matter how many times James Bond is facing incredible odds, he won't die.  This is necessary for most adventure fiction.  Without it, most protagonists would probably perish in very short order.

We might thrill to the adventures of action heroes, but for the most part, we know they are in no real danger because who wants to watch an superhero movie where the heroes spend all their time in traction?  Or watch Conan the barbarian get eaten by a giant spider?

The tension in adventure is found in whether our heroes can triumph.  Can Superman save Earth from an alien invasion?  Will Indiana Jones keep the Nazis from finding that magic superweapon?  Can James Bond keep Goldfinger from nuking Fort Knox?  Being invulnerable helps an action hero, but they usually have to work at it still.  Just because no one is going to shoot Batman in the back, it doesn't mean he automatically wins.

I'm often surprised that this source of tension is lost among both writers and readers.  It's one of the arguments most often used for why someone prefers Batman to Superman, for instance.  As if a Batman story is going to end with Bats getting mortally wounded.  The only difference between Batman and Superman is that Batman conveniently jumps out of the way of bullets while Superman doesn't usually have to.  At the end of the day, they are both functionally invulnerable as their stories demand.

Yet there seems to be no greater joys for most writers than to get to write the story where ANYONE CAN DIE!  And the audience tends to dig it too.  And that's their choice.

But I always get a little angry with it.  I don't like stories where a character I've invested in is killed.  I don't like them even as imaginary stories, as alternate universe adventures.  I find it annoying, manipulative.  Sometimes, it even seems a little abusive of the artist / audience relationship to trick the audience into caring for a character only to kill them off to supply drama.

I'm not suggesting that it shouldn't be done.  I'm all for a diversity of stories, and if some stories make life cheap and the fans like it, well, good for them.   But in my fiction, if I'm going to invest in a character (or ask my readers to invest), I'm not going to yank the rug out from under their feet just because I can.  Frankly, I've lost too many important people in my life and in my fiction already.

This one goes out to you, Thunderstrike.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Influential

How about a special Friday post?

One of the reasons I don't like being considered a silly writer is that it lowers the bar.  Silly is fine, but it's just a trifling thing.  It will always be considered unimportant.  And to some degree that's to my advantage.  If someone reads a story of mine with no other expectation than to be entertained by some strange humor or weird situations, then it's a standard I can usually meet.  If I was purely out to make a buck, then I'd be perfectly happy with that standard.  It's not especially challenging, and others have built a career out of this kind of escapist fiction.  Writers I even admire.

But I have to admit, it bugs me to be thought of as slight and hollow.  I'm not writing the most meaningful fiction in the universe, and I'm certainly not out to change the world with my stories.  But they aren't just stupid stories.  Not to me, at least.

What's often frustrating to me isn't my own writing and its reception, but the reception and excuse-making of other writings.  It annoys me to no end when someone excuses bad writing because a story is dumb and I shouldn't expect it to be good.  It bugs me even more when a writer makes the same excuse.  In my last post, I mentioned my disappointment that DC Comics took the previously established short and stout Amanda Waller and turned her into another supermodel.  I've heard more than one comment on other sites that people are making too big deal about this, that comic book superheroes are "escapism" and who really cares if every single character is traditionally thin and good-looking?

I care.  And so do other people.

The notion that comic books are a lesser form of media and as such, are given free reign to avoid diversity is a false one.  I'm not saying I want comic book superheroes to go out of their way to be relevant and important, but just because they're stories about people in funny costumes fighting aliens and evil clowns, that doesn't excuse an outright hostility toward non-traditional character types.

The thing about escapism, about silliness, is that it actually matters a whole hell of a lot.  Because as much as we want to believe there's a separation between meaningful media and silly media, there isn't.  Both have tremendous influence on us as a culture and how we perceive things.  In fact, I sometimes think silly, escapist media is even more influential.  Because meaningful media is stuff we're supposed to like, but escapist media is stuff we seek out.

This is why I've never bought in the idea that something like Jersey Shore or The Real Housewives as being meaningless candy.  More people have probably watched these shows than the latest academy award winning movie.  And regardless of how much we might pretend to laugh at the people who star in those shows, there's no denying their influence.  You can bet there are plenty of folks who model their personalities after the morons of Jersey Shore.  And why should that be surprising?  People lined up in droves to get "The Rachel" haircut while Friends was popular.  And Marlon Brando made leather jackets cool.  We are influenced by our media, whether we admit it or not, and escapist, entertaining media is what we most often seek out and imitate.

All artists have a responsibility, even if they deny it.  When I wrote Gil's All Fright Diner it wasn't my intention to insult anyone with the fat jokes at Loretta's expense.  I still stand by the book and think she's a great character.  But it doesn't change the fact that some people were put off by it, and I can certainly see why.  More importantly, if my response to their anger was a dismissive "Well, it's just a silly story so get over it" I'd be guilty of ducking the responsibility.  After all, Gil's is probably still my most popular novel.  It won several prominent bits of recognition.  So it's hypocritical to say that it's "silly, inconsequential" when it suits me, and "smart, clever" at other times.

It's a paradox of sorts.  Shows like Jersey Shore, Real Housewives, etc. are popular and make a lot of money.  And they make a lot of money because people watch them.  But if confronted with their influence, producers and stars will often say they're just TV shows and they don't matter.  So apparently they matter enough that they earn millions of dollars but not enough that they actually have any influence on our culture.

In Bruce Campbell's great autobiography, If Chins Could Kill, he observed that he once got a letter from someone who said his television show, The Adventures of Brisco County Jr., had saved their life.  Campbell was deeply flattered, but also reluctant to accept this.  He understood that if you take credit for saving someone's life, you have to also be ready to take credit for the opposite,  Yet media is quick to do exactly that.

Even if I am just a silly writer, I refuse to embrace the label because it would mean that my work, my art, would be ultimately meaningless.  But I don't write meaningless stories.  I write from a certain point of view, and I have influence, whether I want it or not.  Even the stupidest story means something to someone.  Even the most mindless piece of art can affect someone in profound ways.  And the artist can't deny that responsibility when it suits him.

But this isn't just about art and media.  This is about all of us.  We are all tremendously influential, whether we realize it or not.  Our kind words can make all the difference in the world.  Our bad moods can spread like wildfire.  Our fears, our loves, our compassion, our disgust, these things aren't self-contained.  They reach out and touch everyone around us.

Sure, as a novelologist, I have a larger reach than most people.  And if my career continues to grow, that influence will grow with it.  The more money I make, the more fame I gather, the less comfortable I am with the idea that I'm merely a silly writer of insubstantial stories.  And as I ponder the nature of media in this day and age, too many people try to avoid their obvious affect on our society even as they cash the huge checks that come with that influence.

There are no silly stories, no meaningless cotton candy entertainment.  It all goes into the cultural mix, and while that doesn't mean every story has to be conscientious, uplifting, or insightful, it does mean that we can't dismiss any of it as unimportant just because it's about superheroes, robots, or egotistical chumps from New Jersey.  Because it all matters.

There's nothing wrong with enjoying a little light entertainment, a little frivolity and silly escapism.  But escapist does not equal meaningless.  And while not every story can (or even should) be culturally enlightening, every story that reaches the world shapes it somehow.

We are who we admire, who we pretend to be.  We model ourselves and our world after our art.  Art imitates life, but life imitates art.  And if you're confident on which has more influence on which, congratulations on that.  I'm not so sure.

All I know is that if being taken seriously as a writer means taking lumps for intended and unintended influence, it's a burden I bear gladly compared to the alternative.  Although really, I don't have any other choice.

None of us do.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Diversity Matters

Quick.  Name all the wheelchair-bound protagonists you can.  No cheating now.  Just off the top of your head.

Me?  I've got Ironsides and Oracle.

Oh, wait.  Scratch that second one.

Now name all the overweight minority characters in positions of authority in fiction.

There's Amanda Waller from DC Comics . . . or at least there used to be.

Granted, there are probably handicapped protagonists I've never heard of and not-size-6 minority characters in prominent roles I'm also unfamiliar with.  But this only highlights how rare and difficult they are to find.  In comparison, if I were to ask you to name a prominent white male protagonist, the list goes on and on and on.  No problem filling that one out.

Diversity matters.  It's time to acknowledge this.  It's time to prioritize this.  And it's time to stop making excuses for those who don't.  Or, worse, those who actively fight against diversity, if even only by accident.

This is why DC's reboot annoys me.  It's not the comics themselves, which I have not found particularly impressive but also don't really have a problem with.  I've got my nitpicks, my dislikes, but I'm just one opinion and it's been clear for a long time that I'm not a reader most comic books care about.  And that's cool.  But when you take prominent characters who are basically the sole representatives of entire groups of people and remove those qualities from them, you have to accept the consequences.

If there were more prominent handicapped characters in comics, I wouldn't care if Barbara Gordon started walking again.  If there were more powerful, intelligent, capable minority characters in comics, I wouldn't care if Amanda Waller went on a diet.  But there are not.  These characters, for better or worse, carry that weight on their shoulders.  And when writers reset the characters (or in Waller's case, just re-envision her as skinny because they can) then they should be called on it.  It should be mentioned.  It should be talked about.  It's not an imaginary concern.  It's not reactionary.  It's a reversal of everything these characters brought to the collective storytelling table, and we're all poorer for it.

In my current project, Helen and Troy's Epic Road Quest, Helen is a minotaur.  She's almost seven feet tall, has horns and hooves, and is covered in fur.  I chose this because how often is a female character allowed to be "monstrous"?  And how often is this condition removed by the end of their story?  But Helen starts a minotaur, and she'll remain one by the end of the story.  It's true that being a minotaur isn't all bad, but it's also true that Helen isn't going to win any traditional beauty contests.

Troy is Asian.  There's no reason for that other than I could do it.  I didn't go out of my way to make him or his family "Asian" because the premise of Troy is that he's the all-American ideal.  He's good-looking, smart, athletic, and just about perfect.  He could really be any race, but I chose to make him Asian.  Not as a twist.  Not as a joke.  But because it's nice to add an Asian to the collective culture.

In Emperor Mollusk Versus The Sinister Brain, Emperor is a ten pound invertebrate.  His bodyguard is a fierce warrior woman from Venus named Zala.  She could just as easily been male.  Her sex serves no purpose in the story.  There's certainly no sexual tension between the two.  But i figured if I was going to have a major character, why not have her be female?

This is the question that more writers and creators should ask themselves.  Why should I?  Or why shouldn't I?  Especially in questions of diversity.

In DC, there's a certain logic (that I don't necessarily agree with but don't disagree with either) that Barbara Gordon started out as Batgirl.  And comic book characters get reset all the time, so it shouldn't be surprising that they took her out of her wheelchair.  It's only surprising that they took so long to do it.  But Amanda Waller isn't being reset.  She's being undone.  Not for any other reason than a writer thought it didn't matter if they changed her.

Well, it matters.

Taking Harley Quinn out of her traditional costume and sticking her in underwear matters too.

And, while we're on the subject, taking all the characters from The Last Airbender and making them white for the movie was a huge mistake.  Not that it would've helped the movie to keep them ethnic because the problems with the film are found in its hamhanded direction and writing.  But still, it doesn't help.

Yet there's no getting around a real and unspoken problem here.  When someone complains about a white character becoming ethnic, everyone talks about it.  When someone complains about an ethnic character becoming white, it draws very little attention.  It seemed like there was more press attention to "Black Heimdall" than "White Airbender".  And when an alternate version of Spider-Man is black, the world gasps.  When the Avengers film drops its prominent female founding character, The Wasp, there's not a peep from even the comic book fan community.

It's time to look beyond ourselves, to realize that just because something is unimportant to us that doesn't make it culturally unimportant.  I am neither black nor a woman nor do I have body issues.  But I'm bothered by the thin-ifying of Amanda Waller because we can't afford to lose her.  And I'm less concerned with Barbara Gordon walking than I am with the fact that once she does, we're having to look all the way back to a Raymond Burr series from the late 60′s for a handicapped hero.

If aliens were to judge American culture by its media, they could safely assume that we are all good-looking, thin, mostly white people who usually single.  And if we're not single, we're almost never married.  And if we do get married, it's usually the end of our story, not the beginning.

Aliens could also deduce that it's the job of minority characters to act as a support staff for the white characters, that fat characters are okay as long as they're the sassy sidekick, and that mostly, minorities are around to either die for dramatic tension or sacrifice themselves for the good of a white character's story.

They'd notice too that white male characters tend to have a complex array of personal histories and personalities, while most minorities and women are obviously of a hive mind and function on a certain baseline.

I'm not claiming racism / sexism here.  I'm claiming something even worse.  Indifference and insensitivity.  Or, worst of all, a lack of imagination on the part of our cultural creators.  After all, if you can't tell a story with married characters, then maybe it's your fault, not the characters.  And if you can't tolerate even one fat chick in your otherwise size zero universe, then maybe it's time to admit you have a problem.

Writing the good write, Fighting the good fight,

Lee

King of Tokyo (A Game Tuesday Review)

It's Tuesday.  Time for something about games.

I thought I'd go ahead and review a great new kaiju-themed game from iello (yeah, I don't think it's capitalized).  It's called King of Tokyo and if you're looking for a fun, fast game with a neat theme, you could do a lot worse.

Anyone who knows me knows there are two things I love.  Kaiju stories and tabletop games.  And when those two things combine, it's usually enough to put a smile on my face.  I own several kaiju-themed board games already.  Monsterpocalypse remains a favorite (though sadly, a movie deal has put the breaks on the actual game, which is very disappointing), and I own both Monsters Menace America and its inspirational predecessor Monsters Ravage America.  But King of Tokyo is my first monster-themed dice game, and it's a great little game.

Each player takes the role of a giant monster out to become undisputed King of Tokyo by either gaining 20 victory points or being the last monster standing.  It's a game for 2 to 6 players, and plays in about 30 minutes.  Actually, it prob only takes 30 minutes if you play with the full 6 players.  So far, most of my games have been 2 player affairs, and games take 15 minutes at the most.  My 3 player games took perhaps 20 minutes.

This is a dice game, and the basics of game play will be familiar to anyone with even a passing acquaintance with the idea.  You roll 6 large special dice and go for combos.  Depending on what you end up with, you can score victory points, heal your monster, gain energy, or attack other monsters.  It is a very simple system and doesn't take five minutes to explain.  This is a game that everyone can be playing within minutes, and even if you aren't a kaiju fan, it's solid enough that it shouldn't matter.  It certainly doesn't wear out its welcome, and you'll be likely to want to play again after the first time.

But the game's simplicity is deceptive.  For a light game, there are plenty of decisions to be made.  One of the best elements to me is the monster cards that you purchase with energy.  These weird mutations can change the game in various ways.  Perhaps your monster will grow an extra head (and get to roll an extra die every turn because of it) or develop the deadly acid attack (inflicting extra damage every turn).  There are also great targets of opportunity to score extra victory points, provided you have the energy to topple a skyscraper or eat an apartment building.

But the big choice is found in claiming Tokyo itself.  A monster in Tokyo is a target for every other monster in the game, but he's also able to dish out damage to all the other monsters in the game.  As the game progresses, monsters will fight over Tokyo in a battle royale, a constant back and forth.

Production on the game is top-notch.  I've heard some reports of faulty components, but mine were all in great condition.  In a game like this, presentation goes a long way, and the art and card descriptions are just wonderful.  The stand up monster figures are bright and cartoony and very evocative, and the health / victory point tracker is a cool little device.  My only complaint would be about the dice themselves, which will probably wear out over time faster than normal dice.  But ordinary six-sided dice could easily be substituted if required.

The bottom line is this is a fun, furious, giant monster-themed slugfest that has tremendous appeal if you love kaiju.  And even if you don't, it's still a cool game that is a perfect quick game with enough strategy to keep you interested and enough luck to keep it unpredictable.

My recommendation:  Buy it.

Hipster, Go Home

Quick health update, gang.  As you may or may not be aware, I've been experiencing some severe headaches that have basically shut me down cold.  The neurologist thinks it's a nerve over my eye.  The good news is that I had an MRI and my brain looks good.  Which is nice, since I try to use my brain nearly every day.  And while I have a few more tests coming up, the pain has subsided as I've taken to exercising, eating regularly, and just generally taking better care of myself.  Writing, like many jobs these days, is a sedentary profession.  It's easy to spend all day just sitting in a chair, staring at a computer screen.  Heck, even when goofing off, I don't have to get up.  So I'm mindful of periods of inactivity, and it seems to have fixed the problem.  So hopefully, it was just my body telling me to stop sitting so much.  I'll keep you updated.

Oh, and that Mack Megaton short story I promised, I haven't forgotten it.  But these last few weeks have thrown me a bit behind schedule and Mack has taken a backseat.  But he's coming.  I swear.

And I'm back to my regular blog schedule.  So let's get to it.

I think I've grown to hate irony.  Or rather, the hipster version of it.  Probably because so many things I love are deemed silly and dumb and only worthy of ironic appreciation.

The things I love, the stories I enjoy, they come from a sincere, honest place.  It doesn't matter if it's the globetrotting adventures of Scrooge McDuck or the larger-than-life battles of a superheroic god of thunder, these stories always work best for me when they don't wink at the audience.

It's no secret that I'm not a fan of dark and gritty stories for their own sake.  I can't stand most modern superhero comics because most of them go out of the way to remind me that this is serious business.  DC's recent relaunch seemed to miss a great opportunity to start fresh.  Instead, we get more of the same blood and gore and mature-content that has been the bane of comic book superheroes since the 90′s.  I don't particularly care for Batman stories were people are tortured to death and where faces are cut off.  But that's not going away anytime soon, I guess.

On the other hand, I'm not a fan of when a writer apologies for the weirdness of a story.  I prefer it when a story is presented from a sincere place, even when it is bizarre.  Whether it's Kung Fu Panda, Tangled, or The Incredibles, I much prefer my fantasy to be absurd without irony.

Often my own books get confused with a hipster attitude, as if I don't take them seriously because of their subject matter.  But I do.  I care about the characters and the stories.  My next book, Emperor Mollusk Versus The Sinister Brain has many of the hallmarks of hipster irony.  It's hero is a space squid supervillain.  It takes place in a universe of superscience and grand adventure.  And Emperor Mollusk is the embodiment of the brilliant, nearly infallible adventurer who populated classic pulp stories.  Except that he only weighs about ten pounds and doesn't have a spine.  But otherwise, he's just Doc Savage with a more nefarious backstory, more or less.

But this isn't ironic.  It's an intentional throwback to an age of fantasy when every planet seemed like it was inhabited, when lost civilizations covered the Earth, and when the idea of a hidden island filled with mutant dinosaurs seemed cool, not silly.  My inspiration was every classic story where the Martians invade or where some intrepid explorer goes to the center of the planet.  It's a world of secret assassin guilds and nefarious plots, where every corner of the universe is filled with weird adventure.

Of course, I'm sure many will find it silly.  But I care about Emperor and his universe.  And, at least on my end, there's nothing ironic about it.

I have to believe there's a middle ground between irony and unpleasant.  I don't think a story needs to brandish a smirk like a shield or drown in maudlin dreariness.  A story can be crazy, bizarre, and downright weird without being stupid.  A space squid can fight a disembodied brain for the fate of the galaxy, and it can be both fun and sincere.  I'd like to think so.

This always comes up because it's something I struggle with.  Not just in my writing, but in so many things I love.  And the battle for the soul of weird fiction is far from over.  But if I had my way, there'd be a lot less irony, a lot less blood, and a whole heck of a lot more sincerity.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Horse Vs. Chimp

What makes a a great actor?

As we move further into this digital revolution, I find myself frustrated on occasion by our refusal to admit that some of our best acting isn't being done by people, but by animated characters.

And I'm not talking about motion capture actors.  I find the whole idea of motion capture to be rather silly.  It's a strange crutch that allows certain people to relax and enjoy an animated film.  And while Avatar certainly would have been a commercial flop if it'd been a straight animated film.  But that's mostly what it was, with a few live action bits.  Though the promotional material does its absolute best to avoid that label.  It even turned it into a selling point by having special features that amount to "Look how hard we worked on making this cartoon."

Frankly, I find it annoying that animated films never really get the credit they deserve.  While recently watching Tangled, I was struck by just how great a film it is.  And, sure, people might acknowledge the writing, the music, the characters.  But they so rarely acknowledge one of the most important elements of the film.  It has absolutely amazing acting.

In fact, Tangled is pretty damn awesome all around.  A lot of hard-working, talented people made this film, and it's a shame that, aside from perhaps a nod to voice acting, most viewers will just take it for granted.

Most probably, it's because we can't put a name to the countless number of people behind the scenes.  They're invisible.  Would people marvel at the acting of Caesar in Rise of the Planet of the Apes if there wasn't a face to put to it?  Maximus the horse is a wonderful character without a single line of dialogue, but because he's a horse played by a team of nameless animators in a film based on a fairy tale, few people will put him in the same category.  Certainly, they'll be no talk of a best actor nomination for an animated horse.

There are other elements to this lack of respect.  Tangled is an all-ages film based on a fairy tale while Rise is a dark sci fi tale.  Tangled has old-fashioned musical numbers, broad (and subtle) comedy, and worst of all, an unapologetic happy ending.  You'll never be taken seriously if you do that.

This doesn't change the fact that Tangled is a really great film.  It's fun.  It's lively.  The writing is sharp.  The animation is beautiful.  And, yes, the acting is flawless and as good (if not better) than anything you'll see in any other film, animated or live action.

My personal favorite moment (among many) is the moment Rapunzel first descends the tower and touches the grass.  The moment is absolutely beautiful, accompanied by a wonderful song.  It really makes me smile every single time.  The movie is full of this flawless combination of character and emotion.

Yet it's nothing new.  Animation has been doing this for years.  Pixar may have started the trend, but Dreamworks and others have certainly risen to the challenge of late.  And traditional animation is still going strong on TV, creating some of the best adventure / fantasy fiction you'll find.  My love of superheroes, for instance, survives almost entirely because of television animation.

Tangled, Kung Fu Panda, How to Train Your Dragon, Wall-E, The Incredibles, Batman: The Animated Series, Avengers, Justice League Unlimited, Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs.  The list goes on and on and on and on.  And it only gets stronger every passing year.

So the next time I hear someone praise Caesar the chimp, I think I just might go ahead and mention Maximus the horse.  Maximus is every bit as good an actor, but also has a terrific knack for comedy.  He's also not too shabby with a sword either.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Respect the Aquaman

Hey, everyone.  Check out my latest guest post on SF Signal.  It's an erudite defense of silly superheroes.

http://t.co/xLybYMD