A. Lee Martinez's Blog, page 64

Chasing "The Writer"

I get that Stephen King is very, very, very successful.  I get that any writer, myself included, would be lucky to achieve that level of success and influence.  I even get that, if you're going to learn how to be a successful writer, you could do a lot worse than emulate King.

I just don't believe you HAVE to emulate King to be a successful writer.  Or that King has mastered some esoteric secret that you MUST know in order to be a successful writer.  You could substitute plenty of successful writers for King.  It doesn't really matter.  Almost every aspiring writer has their personal hero, someone they aspire to be one day in terms of influence and / or commercial success.  Regardless of the name, the idea is still the same.  That BLANK has become the archetypical THE WRITER and that whatever he / she does must be the archetypical THE WRITER thing to do.

I know it sounds contrary.  And I'm not suggesting that copying your personnal hero's example is a bad idea.  Not in theory, anyway.

But there's a problem, too.  If you believe you MUST do something to be THE WRITER (other than write) then you'll probably end up not being A writer.  It's far too easy for a positive idea to be twisted into a discouraging one.  Being an aspiring writer is so damned discouraging already.  Comparing yourself and your habits to succsessful writers is a dangerous game.

It's also unfair.  I'm not out to be discouraging, but if you're goal as a writer is to be THE WRITER, I can only suggest that you pack it up and save yourself some heartbreak.  I can't say for certain that you won't be the next one, but I can say the odds are long.  That's me being diplomatic.

You ARE not the next Stephen King.

(If I turn out to be wrong, I apologize.  Congratulations in advance on all your incredible success.)

Let's assume, however, that your goal is not so lofty as this.  Maybe you just want to be the best writer you can be, and so why not follow the example THE WRITER has set for you?  Hard to argue with that.  Except that just because a person does something and is successful, that doesn't mean the activity is why they're successful.  Even if it seems related.  Emulation is a good jumping off point, but you can't become THE WRITER simply by immitation.  Just as I can't become Superman by wearing a cape.

Some of this is obvious.  If THE WRITER eats four pounds of a carrots a day, you probably don't need to do the same.  Even he / she crediting carrot gluttony for his / her success, you'd still be unlikely to consider it.  But if THE WRITER writes X hours a day OR reads X books a year OR writes detailed plot outlines, there's really no guarantee that this has anything to do with their success either.  It probably has something to do with it, but even then, that's just a guess.  After all, if being successful was as simple as immitating successful people, wouldn't we all be writers, astronauts, rock stars, and dinobots?

 The reality is that, even if you are the next THE WRITER, there's no reason to believe that you have to be the same incarnation as the previous title holder.  You are your own person with your own quirks, flaws, strengths, and style.  Maybe THE WRITER reads ten hours a day.  But does he / she read that much because it influences his / her writing?  Or is it just because he / she loves writing that much that he simply can't get enough of it?  Or is it just a superstitious ritual, a curious habit that really doesn't have much to do with success or failure?

You'll never know.  Chances are, they don't know either.  Oh, they might think they know.  They might attribute carrots, yoga, or telepathic aliens to all their success.  But every activity THE WRITER does is also being done by thousands of less successful (and unsuccessful) writers.  I'm a somewhat successful writer, for example, and while I'm by no means THE WRITER or anywhere near that, I still earn a living doing this, which is something a lot of people want to do.

I also play a whole lotta World of Warcraft.  While I do enjoy it, and actually do think it has contributed to my career (story technique and presentation is a big part of WoW), it's hard for me to say playing too much World of Warcraft will help you become a professional novelologist.

I love Ducktales, Darkwing Duck, and Chip N' Dale's Rescue Rangers.  If asked, I'd say they were tremendous influences on my style and story technique, even to this day.  Doesn't mean I'm right.  Maybe I love those shows because I was a writer even before I knew I was a writer.  Maybe those shows didn't shape me.  Maybe they simply appealed to the inner novelologist.  And maybe you're inner writer is different than my inner writer, and all you'd see is some cartoon shows with talking ducks and chipmunks.

There are some universals, of course.  You should write, if you want to be a writer.  Though you don't have to spend as much time writing as THE WRITER to be successful, and if you end up burning out trying to write as much, you could even end up screwing yourself in the end.  To the point where writing is such a chore you'd rather never touch a keyboard again.  That's counteproductive, and you'd only have yourself to blame for chasing THE WRITER when you shouldn't have been less concerned with what your hero does and more dedicated to finding what works for you.

All of this isn't meant to be discouraging.  If you discover that THE WRITER likes to stand on his head while whistling showtunes and you discover that this helps you reach new heights of writing yourself, then by all means, go for it.  It might just be a placebo effect, but even a placebo can be effective in the right circumstances.  Anything that helps you write is good.  Anything that discourages you is bad.  Whatever THE WRITER does, it doesn't have to be what you do.  You are more than his / her successor.  You're not there to fill his / her space in the universe.  You're there to find your own space.

Don't be afraid to find it in places THE WRITER never dreamt of looking.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Punching Robots from Space

Recently, I watched Superman/Shazam: The Return of Black Adam.  Despite the title, it's actually a collection of short animated films of various DC Comics characters.  The Superman / Captain Marvel story is the longest bit, and it's really good.  Really, really good.  It reminded me of why I like Superman so much.  Because Superman is limitless.  He's a character who has incredible power and gets to fight giant robots from space and / or tidal waves.  Superman is a character designed to fight the impossible.  I know that's why so many people seem to not like him.  But for me, that quality of the character allows you to tell stories you can't see anywhere else.

Batman stories tend to be crime stories.  You could remove the capes and masks, subtract the gimmicks, and still tell them.  Maybe they wouldn't be as colorful or as fantastic.  But superhero fans seem to more and more dislike the fantastic.  Perhaps they've grown too "mature" for the medium.  Instead of being enthralled by stories of god-like beings waging titanic battles for the fate of the world, they'd rather content themselves with people who just sort of wear funny costumes but really aren't any different than cops with utility belts or criminals with super strength.  It's a generalization, of course.  And one that's not fair.  But it seems like the modern comic book superhero writer is less interested in having Superman punch out an alien armada than having him sit around and think about his feelings.

My favorite heroes tend to be the more powerful ones.  Because if I'm going to read ridiculous stories about ridiculous characters in ridiculous realities, why hold back?  I love Batman, the Punisher, Captain America.  But if I could only read one superhero character, it would probably be Superman or someone like Superman.  At this moment, my favorite comic book characters are Atomic Robo (not technically a superhero, but the guy is a robot built by Tesla who fights Nazi scientists, monsters from beyond time and space, and a dinosaur mad scientist, so close enough) and Squirrel Girl (not the most powerful superhero, but certainly the most fun and capable and angst free).

All a moot point though as I really don't read comics much anymore.  And I read superhero comics even less.  Part of this is the way that comics are all tied together into huge "events" at this point to keep flagging sales from plummeting into the abyss.  But it's a devil's bargain because it boosts sales among fans, but keeps the general reading public away.  Who wants to spend hundreds of dollars to read a single story?  Not many.

And that's what else The Return of Black Adam reminded me of.  It's a compilation of shorts.  The Superman / Captain Marvel one is the longest at about half an hour.  The rest are about ten minutes apiece.  And they're all good, entertaining pieces of short fiction.  All of these shorts tell a satisfying story from beginning to end.  All set a mood.  All introduce a conflict and lead to a solid resolution.  There's no "To Be Continued…" required.  They're just good stories told well.

They're just not something you're going to find if you try to read an actual comic book featuring the characters.  With the possible exception of Jonah Hex, which as a Western comic in DC's "past" is usually exempt from crossover-itis.  But if you were to watch any of these shorts and go buy a Superman or Green Arrow comic, I guarantee you'd be disappointed.  Because comic books are not written to have resolutions anymore.  Not even temporary ones.

The other element worth noting is that even though these shorts are aimed at a more adult market, they are still fairly family friendly.  They don't feature harsh language or sex or even much in the way of violence.  The Specter short is a tale of ghastly murder from beyond the grave, and still, it's tastefully non-graphic.  Most of the gruesome aspects are implied, not shown.  In comic book format, there would be blood.  Lots of it.  And even the less cutting edge titles seem to have forgotten where the line on language is.  And if they do, they still insist on using it with childish redacting in the word balloons.

Saying stuff like that makes me feel like an old man sometimes.  Complaining about language and content?  Seems weird.  Because I don't generally care about that stuff and find it arbitrary and silly.  Still, I'm going on record as saying I don't need to see ritual disembowelment in my Superman comics.  And I don't need to hear Superman call anyone "Bitch" as in, "I'm from Krypton, bitch!"  Something he hasn't said yet, to the best of my knowledge, but probably will soon.

I think it's worth noting that there's a difference between stories with recurring characters and stories without endings.  Stories are generally only good if they end.  Without a resolution, any story is just a series of events, one right after the other, that don't add up to much.  That's fine if you're trying to be "literary" (or as I like to call it, "boring"), but I'm not sure superhero comics should ever strive to be "literary".  I know Watchmen created a whole generation of fans who salivate over the notion that comic book superheroes can be sophisticated and intelligent, but if that means stripping superheroes of the "hero" part of the title, you can count me out.  I actually do think superheroes can be sophisticated and intelligent.  I just don't think they have to be boring to be so.  But that's another discussion for another time.

Stories that are just a series of events without any resolution ARE just like real life.  And when was the last time real life was genuinely satisfying?  It has its moments, sure.  But for the most part, we're just drifting through this thing, trying to make sense of it.  Is it so wrong to find that sense in fiction?  Isn't that part of the purpose of it?  Or did we just give up on that?  Did we come to expect less from our fiction than from reality?  If so, I don't see the point of bothering with fiction at all.

This would explain the popularity of "reality" television.  It's cheap to produce and occupies the audience for a while.  But it's empty stuff because it's not really about anything and can't offer any true satisfaction.  Even relatively harmless shows like Cake Boss or Pawn Stars are built on a simple premise repeated ad infinitum.  Are we so bereft of dreams that we won't even take them in our media at this point?

All I can say for myself is that sometimes it's discouraging to see people clamoring for things I just don't understand.  Partly because it's my job to entertain people, and I don't get a lot of this stuff.  And partly because there are times when I just find it sad.  That's why I can't stand The Dark Knight, for example.  It takes all the fun and joy out of Batman.  Then it tops it off with a non-ending.  It's actually my same complaint against Tron Legacy.  And Skyline.  And most mainstream superhero comics.  Actually, even most "sophisticated" television shows too.

It's strange to be on the outside looking in.  Stranger still when my career is built on trying to create stories that entertain.  There are times when I wonder just how I manage to get paid for this when so much of my taste seems out of line with the general public.  I don't know how that works, and maybe it's best not to question it.

But it's nice to find something worth watching.  Something I can really recommend.  And The Return of Black Adam is one of those things.  It's just about everything I used to love about comic book superheroes (and I guess one cowboy too) in one densely-packed hour.  Whether it's the powerhouse title short, the horror-like Specter short, the light Green Arrow story, or the dark tale of revenge found in Jonah Hex's tale, there's a lot to like here.  I just hope one day, I can find more of it.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Serious Business

Had a great weekend at ConDFW.  Gave me a lot to think about too.  One of those things is humor.  More specifically, the act of "being funny".

It's well-established that I don't consider myself a "comic" fantasy writer.  There's many reasons for that.  Primarily, I don't try to write "funny".  Secondarily, I don't enjoy much comic fantasy myself.  Especially comic fantasy novels, which I tend to find unsatisfying.  My opinion is largely irrelevent, of course.  Most of my fans will describe my books as "funny".  If it's not the first thing they mention, it'll probably be the second or third.  Never further than fourth or fifth.  And I am funny, so it's hard to take offense at it.

So let's just just assume I am a "funny" writer.  Being funny is serious business.  Being funny takes work.

Most people think they're funny.  And they usually are when they're among the right group of people.  We tend to hang out with people like us, who share our attitudes and sense of humor.  And the standard of everyday humor is pretty simple.  A funny voice.  An inside joke.  A clever remark.  A strange observation.  These are the mark of everyday humor, and they work.

But there's a galaxy of difference between being casually funny and professionally funny.  If I am a humorist, even if it is somewhat unintentionally, then I am professionally funny.  And professionally funny means being funny is part of my job.  Believe it or not (and sometimes even I forget this) I take this job seriously.  I'm an artist, sure.  I write stories I like.  But I also write stories I want people to enjoy.  And part of enjoying those stories is enjoying the humorous elements.

This weekend, when I was at ConDFW (or when I'm at any convention really), I was funny.  I was entertaining.  I was "on", so to speak.  I wasn't phony.  But I was certainly friendly, and I was there to make a good impression.  If I'm not there to get people to like me, then why am I?  Yes, I have a good time, but I could have a good time staying at home playing World of Warcraft.  I'm there to work.  And part of that job is being personable, being funny.

One of the things that annoys me about being classified as a "humor" writer is this notion that humor is easy.  That it's just a matter of personality.  That I don't have to work to be funny.  And I don't.  Not to be everyday funny.  But to be professionally funny…that's work.  To be engaging all day while meeting fans and colleagues at conventions, that's a job.  I know it's a job because I come away from these things exhausted.  Being professionally funny is tiring.

I don't know if comedy is really harder than drama.  I don't care to try to quantify it that way.  But I do know that being funny is a lot of work.

I don't think I'll ever consider myself a comedic writer.  I never write a story with intent to be funny.  I write stories intended to be fun, engaging, and strange.  I doubt I'll ever write a "serious" novel by any traditional definition.  My tendency to throw in slime monsters will probably put the kibosh on that.  By my own count, I have slime and slime-like monsters in six of my nine novels, including my current project.  And I have tentacles on four covers.  The odd thing is how I didn't even notice this until fairly recently.

But being funny is more than just something I do.  It's a big part of my job, and if I do it well (or even adequately) then I do it well because I take it serously.

Yep.  I'm a professional.  Considering I'm working on my ninth novel, I guess it shouldn't be strange, but there are times I'm still surprised by it.  And I guess it shouldn't be odd to be considered a funny guy when I've been funny pretty much all my life.

But being a professional reluctantly funny novelologist…that's weird.  But it's my job.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Being Predictable

This is not meant to be a critical post.  It will probably come across that way, but I just wanted to be clear on that.  I'm merely thinking aloud (or is that typing aloud?) some thoughts I had while watching Syfy's new show Being Human.

Being Human is not a bad show.  It's well acted.  The writing is decent.  The dialogue is believable.  The FX are good.  Unlike Sanctuary, which always comes across to me as something you could see on Youtube, except better and more interesting, Being Human comes across as a competent, well-made television show.  To criticize it on any particular level of quality is difficult because there's nothing wrong here.

But it's just so damned generic.

Maybe it's just me.  Possibly a hazard of being a novelologist is that I write stories, and I think about stories.  I analyze them, break them down, see how they fit together, try to make them fit together in new and interesting ways.  Perhaps, just as real police find most cop shows ridiculous or real doctors find medical shows absurd, a writer of fiction loses his ability to just enjoy something at a basic level.

Or maybe not.  Maybe it's something simpler.  As Futurama once put it, "People don't like clever and original."

See?  That came across as critical.  For the record, Being Human is clever.  It is sharply written.  It's not very original, but originality is overrated anyway.  Nothing is really original.  Everything's been done and done again about a thousand times over.  Everything I've ever written is just a variation of something someone else has already done (and quite probably done better).

It's not a question of originality.  Or cleverness.  But absolute and complete predictability.  Having watched a few episodes of Being Human, I have yet to be surprised by any of it.  Not even a little bit.  It's not that I expect to be blown away by the show, but after watching the first episode, I could tell you practically everything that happens in the show thus far.  Heck, just giving me the premise and the title tells me everything I need to know.  None of that matters.  Yet at the same time, the show bores me because there's really nothing new or original about it.  Not even an attempt at new or original.

Of course, the werewolf is a poor schlub who is harmless and almost geekish in his human form.

Of course, the vampire is incredibly handsome and struggling to overcome his primal lust for blood.

Of course, vampires have a secret society that lurks hidden below the surface of the mortal world, manipulating and conspiring.

Of course, the werewolf nearly kills his sister when she tries to help him.

Of course, werewolves and vampires don't like each other.

Of course, the vampire's old sire shows up to tempt him to the dark side.

And, of course, vampires love to have sex covered in blood.

And there it goes again.  I don't want to sound insulting because without a doubt people work hard on this show.  This doesn't come across as a show that just got thrown together.  It doesn't seem phoned in.  It seems like people really care about making the show.  All the ideas above are staples because they work and make sense.

The reason I don't want to sound critical is because I'm not sure the audience wants anything different.  People who like vampires, for example, seem to really enjoy the handsome, tortured, struggling monster archetype.  And a werewolf that's comfortable with who he is and has learned to deal with his problem makes conflict difficult.  If the vampire had a way of handling his cravings for blood, you'd have to find conflict elsewhere, and then why are we watching a vampire show in the first place?

I don't know.  It's not that I want everything in the show to be original.  Or much of anything.  But it'd be nice to have one or two underused touches.  Wouldn't it be cool to see vampires having a support group who tries to help them deal with their bloodlust?  Or maybe the werewolf could actually like the perks that came with being one (minus the huge inconvenience of being a menace once a month).  What if werewolves secretly ran the world and vampires were the outcasts, the down and out?  What if supernatural creatures of all types got along fairly well in the world?  There are loads of possiblities, but none of these will be explored.  Because they aren't the possibilities Being Human wants to explore.  And as much as it might bore me, the show is probably right to not try anything very radical.  The audience doesn't tune in for that sort of thing.  Any more than anyone wants to watch a cop show about paperwork or a doctor show about changing bedpans.  There's no appeal, no demand.

In Gil's All Fright Diner, I wanted to make my monsters very human.  Duke doesn't kill anyone by accident.  Earl's craving for blood isn't really any stronger than our desire to eat.  Neither is cool.  They're just a couple of normal guys.  But I had that luxury because I was writing a story with ghouls, zombies, and monster gods to spice up the conflict.  Without that, a story of just Duke and Earl sitting around talking probably wouldn't be very interesting.

Being Human isn't an adventure show.  It's not about grand adventures.  It has to find its conflict somewhere.  So having the characters being conflicted by their natures is not only necessary, it's the entire premise of the show.  And judged by that necessity, it's a good show.  It's probably better than anything Syfy has had in a while with sharper writing and characterization than its other generic shows.

Still, it would've been nice if it had taken one or two chances, changed a few things up.  Nothing groundshaking.  Nothing too radical.  Just something to say that this contemporary supernatural universe is at least a little bit different than all the others.  But perhaps that's too risky for television, and perhaps they're right that the audience doesn't want those kind of challenges.  They want a well-produced show and the rest is irrelevant.

It makes me glad I write novels.  There's a certain pressure there, too, but it's less.  I have more options, and it's unfair to expect television or movies, which are harder to produce and make profitable than books, to take the esme kind of risks.

Oh, and about the ghost.  I didn't really comment on her because she's not very original either, but there haven't been a lot of TV shows with ghost protagonists.  So even if her storyline is fairly standard, it at least feels like something I haven't seen a million times before from this perspective at least.

Beting Human is a good show.  If you like vamps or werewolves, I'm sure you'll probably like it.  As for me, I won't be watching.  Unless they add a giant robot to the cast.  That'd be awesome.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Suggestion Blog

I solicited my fans and friends for blog topics.  Rather than pick from those offered, I thought I'd go through all of them.

BigHeath2099 on Twitter suggests: "How about what animal would be scariest if there was a vampire version.  I'm thinking giraffe."

Well, BigHeath 2099, as much as I can see where you're coming from, giraffes are simply too gangly to be particularly dangerous.  Any monster that can be foiled by low ceilings probably won't make the Most Terrifying list.

The topic isn't an easy one.  I could, of course, point out that there already is a vampire version of several animals, and that a vampire vampire bat would be some sort of double vampire, which is like making Godzilla twice as radioactive.  In other words, big trouble.  Or vampire leeches, with the ability to become wolves, would be terrifying to behold.

There are two schools of monsterizing animals.  The first is to take a relatively harmless animal and embiggen it.  And it's true that there's nothing like a giant rat, rabbit, or chipmunk to remind us that we're really not quite as secure in our position on the food chain as we would like.  Rarely is an already big animal made larger, although the idea of jumbo-sized elephants or megarhinos could be awesome.

Animals are often zombified, which has become something of a cliche at this point.  Although zombie cows are definitely the height of terror.  But zombie animals are basically just rabid, flesh-hungry beasts.  It's not really a new genre.

But vampires could be cool.  Especially if they were actually allowed to be vampires.  A beast that can turn into a bat, transform into mist, climb up walls, and mesmerize its victims would be pretty awesome.  Even a giraffe with these abilities could be a dangerous beast indeed.  Of course, such a monster would also melt in sunlight, be forbidden from entering uninvited (how would a vampire goose ask for an invitation anyway?), and be repelled by holy water.  Still, it could be a problem for even the most experienced vampire hunter.

As usual, I'm probably overthinking it.  So rather than debate endlessly with myself, I'm just going to settle on the obvious answer.

Dinobot.

RobbClarke on Twitter suggested: "Traditional print for books Vs. electronics."

It's a big topic, not easily covered.  I've already written on this topic before, and it boils down to I like traditional print books and electronic books for different reasons.  I like paper books a lot.  Not the least of which is that once they are bought they are yours forever (or until nature or carelessness destroys them).  They're easy to trade.  And buying them gives me a reason to leave the house.

E-books are just great for accessibility and portability.  The need for electricity is a bit of a downside, but at this stage in civilization, electricity is necessary for just about everything.  If we lost it tomorrow, we'd have more pressing concerns than e-books.  I don't like that e-books are more impermanent than paper books, but that's a trade off that is unavoidable.

I think the Print Vs. E-books debate is built on a false dichotomy.  Maybe it's just human nature but we like to pit things against each other in competition and have a clear winner.  I'm not going to play that game.  (Although if pressed I will say I assume print will eventually lose.)  I'm just going to say that each has their advantages and weaknesses, and I'd like both to be around and prosperous as long as possible.

itendswithZ via Twitter says: "do a silly one. like how 3D looks like crap"

I don't think 3D looks like crap.  I just don't think it really looks like anything.  Aside from a novelty value, it doesn't really add anything to a film.  Except making it more expensive and more inconvenient.  It doesn't appear to be going away anytime soon because the movie industry is really really determined to make it stick.  But that's about the only reason.

I would prefer though that they stopped retroactivally 3D-ing movies that were shot in 2D.  It usually ends up being as successful as colorizing B&W films.  You can't just paste an entirely new format on a film after the fact.  It rarely works.  Just look at the digital effects pasted into the original Star Wars trilogy.  They tend to stick out.  A film is not a stack of Lego blocks that can be broken down and reassambled at will.  Anymore than a well-constructed book could have blocks of text removed and added at whim.  It's this haphazard disrespect for the medium that makes 3D truly destructive to me.

Okay, that's enough from me.  Thanks for stopping by.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Answers to Questions Nobody Asked

It's come up before (perhaps too many times before) that I'm really not into sequels.  The reasons are varied and many and have been covered in much detail in this blog in the past.  I don't see much point in getting into it again, but I do think it's worth talking about the sequel's evil cousins, the prequel.

I am not a fan of prequels either.  Possibly the biggest reason for me is that prequels by their nature take place before a story really begins.  The most obvious example is found in the Star Wars prequels, a series of 3 movies that add absolutely nothing to the original trilogy.  We can put aside the question of whether they're good movies or not.  That's irrelevent.  But do they make the original trilogy stronger?  Nope.  There's really nothing in the prequels you need to know to enjoy the original trilogy.  If you watched The Empire Strikes Back without watching Star Wars (and yeah, I call the first film Star Wars, not A New Hope or Episode 1), you could still enjoy Empire.  But you'd be missing something, elements that made the story payoff.  You could watch Return of the Jedi all alone, but you'd be missing out on the payoff that comes from the arc of the three films.

But the prequels don't add anything.  They elaborate on backstory that is already well established and intended to be just that: Backstory.  As in events that take place before the real story begins.  Even if the prequels had been great, it would be hard to make them relevant to the original trilogy because the original trilogy was made to work without them.

This is the prequel's dilemma.  How do you make something relevant when it is irrelevant by design?  We don't need to see Anakin Skywalker's fall to the dark side.  If you do a good job of it, then we are just allowed to watch events unfold in a predestined way that is difficult, if not impossible, to make interesting.  If you do a bad job, you make established backstory seem ridiculous and stupid.  So you can either be boring or harmful.  You can rarely be neither.

I'm not arguing that prequels cannot be commercial successes, which is ultimately all they're there for.  When a writer is out of ideas and wants to milk a few exra bucks from an established property, prequels work great.  They have the illusion of importance, of being worthwhile information.  If Darth Vader's eventual redemption is worth seeing, then shouldn't it follow his corruption is too?  Well, no.  No, it isn't.  And this can apply to a long list of ideas that don't really pay off the way they could in our ideal imaginings.

Is anyone really excited to know that the Empire was formed via political manipulation?  Does knowing how Luke and Leia's parents met and fall in love add anything to their story?  Is any depth added to Boba Fett when we discover that his dad was a bounty hunter too?  And do we care more about C-3po if he was built by a young Darth Vader rather than just bought at a store?  These are unnecessary, unimportant.  They're the illusion of character development, of world building.  But they are answering questions that don't need to be answered.

Ironically, the character that comes out the best in the Star Wars prequels is Han Solo because he isn't in them.  His dad isn't in them.  We don't learn that Emperor Palpatine built the Milennium Falcon in his garage.  And because of that, Han remains an interesting character.  His past remains mysterious (which is part of what makes him interesting), and we aren't forced to hear about every unimportant detail of his childhood in the mistaken impression that if Han Solo, the smuggler turned hero, is worth following then Han Solo, Jr. space ace, is someone we should watch too.

It's easy to pick on Star Wars.  Heck, all but the most ardent Star Wars fan will admit the sequels are flawed at best.  But the problem with prequels of all sorts is that they just remain pointless exercises.  The Wolverine prequel suffered from the same flaws the Star Wars prequels did.   A meandering story trying to squeeze plot points together into a coherent story, an obsession with making even the smallest details important.  And this isn't just true for films, but for comic books too.

The prequel's comic book cousin is the retcon, a reworking of past events to make them fit a current story.  And it is, with rare exception, a waste of time.  I much preferred when Wolverine didn't have an origin over the one we were finally given.  He worked just fine as a character without it.

Sometimes a story is best served when questions aren't answered.  Either because they're unimportant or because any answer we get will be unsatisfying.  I don't need to know how Bruce Wayne built the Batcave.  I don't need to know how the Kent's adopted the young Clark.  I don't need to know who built C-3po.  I don't need to know a whole hell of a lot to enjoy a story.  And knowing won't always make me enjoy it more.

The observation is as true as it is irrelevant.  Prequels aren't made because people think those stories need to be told.  They're made because they're an easy sell.  And if art is all about money, it's hard to argue that either the Wolverine or Star Wars prequels were failures.  They put butts in the seats.  They make money, and money is what it's all about.  And I can respect that to some degree.  It's like dropping zombies into Pride & Prejudice.  You don't do it for the artistic merits.  You do it for the money.  And, like all artists, the approval.

Having never really gotten that level of approval, I can't even claim to be immune to it.  If someone offered me a million dollars to write a Gil's sequel, I'd write it.  I'm not taking the high ground here.  I'm just making an observation.  It's not a scientific fact, just an opinion from one humble novelologist.  Make of it what you will.

Speaking of unnecessary reboots.  There's a new Spider-Man film in the works.  Funnily enough, the reason has less to do with any demand for such a film as for the legal requirements that if they don't make the film, the studio might lose the rights to the character.  That's pretty common.  As a wise person once observed: "It's true that Hollywood is the Dream Factory.  Well, the factory part at least."

Also, I watched The Mechanic this weekend, and it was a good movie.  Nothing mind-blowing but a good story told well with some nice action pieces.  Jason Statham can sleepwalk his intensity through a film like this at this point, and it's pretty standard.  But SPOILER ALERT, Statham's character lives at the end.  In the original film (which I recommend by the way) the mechanic as played by Charles Bronson dies.  It'd be tempting to say that it reflects a different society that sees no need to have it's anti-hero protagonist get is comeuppance.  But it really has little if anything to do with that.  It's all about sequel potential, something the original film didn't even consider.  But that was a different world, when sequels were the exception, not the rule.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

A Moment of Zen Pondering

There never were any good ol' days.  The past was not some golden paradise from which we've strayed.  The future is not some Apocalyptic meltdown waiting to eat our pets.  Yesterday is probably not as good as you remember it to be, and tomorrow is probably not as horrible as everyone keeps telling you.

Maybe it's the zen in me, but I see a world in constant transition.  You'd think people would understand this more often, but too often, it seems as if they believe the universe was born the second they were and that it will end the moment they die.  Or, even if it doesn't end, it will become something different and unrecocnizeable and, by extension, horrific or terrifying.

The horror is usually less about any specific change and more about change in general.  The very concept disturbs us.  Whether it's little changes like slang and fashion OR big stuff like death and morality, we are constantly trying to find something to hold onto.  I think concepts like the divine exist to give us something to anchor ourselves.  Because without an anchor, the universe can seem a huge and impossible place, indifferent to everything we are.

This is why I think people fear death, for example.  I'm not sure people actually do fear it.  I think they just don't know what to do with it.  Removing the supernatural from the equation, just for a moment's indulgence, the notion that you can be and then NOT be isn't so much terrifying as unimaginable.  And if you really start thinking about it, the idea that in a thousand years, no one is likely to remember you existed is just bizarre.  After all, you exist.  And since you are, for better or worse, at the center of your own viewpoint, this doesn't make any sense.  So we believe in a universe where that isn't true, a world where divine forces care about you.

Yet even this raises uncomfortable questions.  If I were to exist forever, what version of me would be allowed to?  I am not the person I was when I was one year old.  I am not the person I was when I was 10.  Or 23.  Heck, there are moments when I realize how different I am from only a few months ago.  Which one of these people is the real me?  Are any of them?  Is there some special reality, some cosmic waiting room where all of me, in all forms, exist?  Even the concept of ME requires me to suggest an immutability I just don't see.

In the 60′s the Civli Rights movement changed so many sacred values, usually for the better.  Although there are those who would disagree with that, but we'll just ignore them.  But for decades, segregation was the law of the land, unquestionable, and so obviously logical that most people didn't question it.  And then, several turbulent decades later, here we are.

Even in little things, I find well-meaning people decrying changes that have come.  How many people despise technology for it's alienating effects.  I read how internet and cell phones are making it hard for families to relate to each other, and I ask, hasn't that always been true?  Were families in the 50s close and friendly?  Or is that just an illusion of time and Leave it to Beaver reruns?

And maybe there are constants after all.  Maybe the only change is the boxes where we put those constants.  Families have always had a hard time relating to each other because people have a hard time relating to each other.  It isn't the internet, TV, or comic books that make that so.  It's human nature.

People have always been violent.  We are not more violent than we were.  We've just gotten more efficient.  It isn't guns that make people kill (though, honestly, they do make killing a whole hell of a lot easier).  And it isn't fear of guns that keeps people from killing.  Most people don't want to kill.  Some people do.  Why they do it usually is irrelevant.  Which is a genuinely frightening proposition.

The rich will always hoard.  The poor will always be neglected.  The older generation will always gripe at the younger generation.  People will fight.  People will be charitable.  Atrocities will be committed without justification.  Our best laid plans will fall apart.  We will live.  And we will die.  And all of these things will happen, in one form or another, until an asteroid hits the planet or Jesus comes back or The Mighty Robot King returns from Planet R or we all just fade away with nothing but a couple of pyramids to remember us by.

Change is something we seek to avoid.  We shun it.  We pretend it doesn't exist.  We wish the world would just settle into a reality we like and freeze.  And when it doesn't, we get irritated, even angered.  We label the agents of change as evil or misguided, as if we can beat back the chaos around us through sheer willpower.  And we always end up looking stupid when we do.

All I know is it's late, and I'm tired.  So I'll catch you later, gang.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Identity Crisis

Identity is a weird thing.  It is, for the most part, completely arbitrary and /or random.  And most of the things we think of as US aren't necessarily defining who we are.  Or they don't have to be.

I'm a Texan, for example.  This is a simple truth.  I was born in Texas.  I live in Texas.  By the most direct and factual definition of the term: I am a Texan.  But…

I don't own a gun.  Nor do I have any interest in owning a gun.  I don't listen to country music.  I wear sneakers, not boots.  I'm definitely more liberal than conservative.  And, really, so many things that go with the Texan label simply do not apply to me or my life.

These do not make me less of a Texan as a point of fact.  But, if being Texan is an identity, if it comes with certain assumed characteristics . . . well . . . I'm not Texan.

It's not as if I have anything against country music or boots.  And, while I'm inclined to think more gun control would be a good thing, I also don't really care much if people want to own guns.  But if you're idea of a Texan is a rootin' tootin', good ol' boy who likes going hunting (and odds are good that if a character is defined as Texan then he will like doing at least some of those things) then I fall short.

So what does it mean?  Does the term really mean anything if it can be so easily broken and ignored?  Can Texan be my identity if I don't really fit the ideal state of Texan-osity?  Like Plato's shadows on a cave wall, is there a perfect Texan, The Texan, who is everything a Texan should be?

Or is it all just random, flawed assumptions?

I was born in El Paso, after all.  Just miles from both Mexico and New Mexico.  If I'd been born on one side of an imaginary line, would I be any different than I am now?  It's a silly question, but like so many silly questions, it can be a launching pad to greater mysteries.

If those terms that define us can be wrong then what good are they?  For every label I wear, there are certain qualities that I embody, but just as many exceptions.  And that's not unusual.  That's standard.  So few of us easily fit into cookie cutter categories.  And those of us that do always seem the poorer for it, if you ask me.

So what's it all mean?  I don't know.  Just a question without an easy answer.  But usually, those are the most interesting type.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Do You Believe in Magic?

I saw The Green Hornet this weekend.  Meh.  Not a terrible movie, but not very good either.  Mostly forgettable.  Although, once again, I have to state that it is a masterpiece compared to Tron Legacy, a movie that continues to annoy me weeks after I've seen it.  On the other hand, Tron Legacy sticks in my brain as truly incompetent storytelling, so if one measures art's power by its ability to be memorable then Legacy kicks the hell out of Hornet.  But as a story, with fully realized characters and complex motivations, Hornet is a study in nuance and substance compared to Legacy.

Hornet's problem is one of tone.  It's not quite sure if it's a comedy, a buddy flick, a superhero film, or a deconstruction of a superhero film.  In this way, I had the same problem with Hornet as I did with Kick-Ass.  Both films wink at the audience and act like they're cooler than the superhero genre but are just superhero flicks with more swearing.  They don't really offer anything new.  Nothing that hasn't been done better and more interesting in other films.

I don't know.  I'll admit I just don't get it.  I don't get deconstruction of something as ridiculous as superheroes.  Saying superheroes are dumb and that, in the real world, they'd be dangerous, deranged, most likely egotistical individuals never seemed like an impressive observation.  But superheroes don't live in the real world.  Putting them in it only raises too many bizarre questions.  Dropping reality into fantasy is a delicate business.  It ain't easy.

It always strikes me as odd what we will accept as fantasy and what we won't.  Kick-Ass has Hit Girl, an eleven year old girl who can survive gun fights in enclosed spaces and slice off limbs with a sword, even though it's hard to imagine a child having the necessary strength to pull that off.  And, oh yeah, bones.  There are bones in most human legs.  Did we forget that?

Any fight scene where Hit Girl isn't killed is pure fantasy.  It's every bit as absurd and impossible as dragons or cyborgs or magic hammers.  And when The Green Hornet is able to engage in a machine gun battle in the middle of the freeway with no innocent casualties, we have crossed into an imaginary world, one were the rules as we know them no longer apply.  And that's fine.  That's necessary.  All fantasy requires that leap.  Otherwise, we'd have to ask ourselves all those irksome questions that fantasy raises.  And if we really wanted to think about those questions, we wouldn't bother with fantasy.

Another strange example of the limits of believability can be found in the new Thor movie.  Thor is a god (well, he's technically a magic alien in the comics), and he has a magic hammer.  He lives in the same world as Iron Man.  But Thor will be a harder sell on the believability scale than Iron Man.  The reasons are purely superficial.

Iron Man has a technological sheen over his powers and abilities, but those abilities are so far beyond the limits of current technology that they might as well be magic.  Instead of mixing potions in a cauldron, he creates circuits and forges iron.  Seriously, the movies love to show Tony Stark smelting ore like some kind of modern day blacksmith.  It's enough to make you believe that your home computer was forged in fire by the fires of sacred Olympus.  But it really doesn't work that way.

Heck, the Iron Man movies (both of them) rely on a philosopher's stone stand-in, something so rare and powerful that no one else can duplicate it.  It even points this out.

As I've said before, I've always found magic more believable than sci fi.  If Thor's powers come from his innately magical abilities as well as an enchanted weapon that defies the laws of physics, then I'm on board.  My questions are answered before I ask them.  "How does that hammer summon lightning?"  "Magic."  "Makes sense to me."

But how does Iron Man fly?  How does he not get turned into pudding when he's knocked into a bus?  Even if he has armor on, he's still a flesh and blood man underneath that.  We aren't made to be shaken like that.  So for me, the only logical explanation is that Iron Man is magic too.  His magic just happens to look like technology.  Where Thor's magic looks like…well…magic.

As for Thor, I'm mildly hopeful.  Thor was my first superhero comic, and he's always been a favorite of mine.  But I haven't read anything interesting with Thor in a long while.  And if the movie is more concerned with excusing its premise rather than having superpunching then I'm sure we're in for another long, boring film that would rather not be about superheroes, but will throw in a few FX if it really has to.

The one thing the film trailer has going for it is The Destroyer, a magic robot created by Odin to destroy.  In the comics, Odin created it to fight the Celestials, incredibly powerful aliens who even the gods fear.  I don't know what justification they will have for the Destroyer in this film, but I will say that he looks exactly like he stepped off the page of the comic books.  And that's pretty damn cool.

Now here's hoping they don't have the final fight end in two punches.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

PS. Tron Legacy is a really, really bad movie.  If I were to teach a class on basic writing technique, I would have the students watch Legacy then say, "See this?  Don't do this."

Unforgettable

So A. LEE MARTINEZ APPRECIATION DAY!! is upon us once again, and I need to post something because I know all my loyal fans look forward to whatever wisdom I can impart on this very special day.

First, a political thing.  Sort of.  Not that you should come to me for political opinion, but hey, if you're here, why not?  If you're a diehard Sarah Palin fan, skip this.  It's okay.  I don't mind.  I'm not really going to criticize her politics, but I know that some things are hot buttons.  So no need to offend you.

SO JUST SKIP THIS AND GO TO THE NEXT BOLD LINE IF YOU'RE GOING TO BE BOTHERED BY ANY POSSIBLE IMPLICATION THAT SARAH PALIN IS NOT JESUS AND OPTIMUS PRIME COMBINED.

The thing that bugs me about Palin isn't her politics.  Sure, I don't agree with them, but I don't agree with most politicians.  And disagreement isn't a bad thing.  It means were talking about stuff, and I am all about talking about stuff.  The more discussion, the more shared ideas, the better off we are.  That's my opinion, and maybe you disagree.  And that just makes me smile.

The thing that bugs me about Palin (and about people like her) is that they embody nothing less than the sin of hubris, of arrogance, of absolute certainty.  She lives in a world where she can do no wrong, even unintentionally.  She is master of fate, queen of circumstances, always right.  And if you disagree or criticize her than you are clearly an enemy and not worth listening to.

Seriously, Palin fans.  Has she ever admitted to making a mistake?  Has she ever admitted to a lapse in judgment?  Even the smallest moment of humanity where she screwed up or misspoke?  No, because she's perfect.  Because nothing bad is ever her fault, but certainly everything good in her life is because of how awesome she is.  Heck, even when confronted with the very messy world and its unpredictability despite the best of our intentions (like a pregnant daughter while preaching the value of abstinence only education) she refuses to admit that sometimes, oftentimes, life is muddled and difficult and the answers aren't always easy.  When confronted with such complex dilemmas, Sarah just smiles and winks and spouts some well-worn catch phrase.  Which is fine.  She's a politician (sort of), and that's partof her job.  But what's annoying about Palin is that there's no indication that she's playing for the camera, acting certain while understanding the screwed up mess that is our world.  No Palin believes this, wholeheartedly.  She lives in a world of absolutes, and when you dare to suggest that there might be a shade of gray or two in this reality, she merely shakes her head, covers her ears, and wraps herself in a forcefield of smug idealism.

To be fair to Palin, this isn't about her political affiliation.  There are those like her in all spectrums of society.  They're the people who make life harder than it has to be because they're smarter than you, because they blind certainty for confidence, and flat dismissal as debate.

I don't blame Palin for the recent shooting.  That'd be silly.  Crazy people do crazy stuff, and we who are not crazy are usually obsessed with trying to understand it when it's usually impossible to do so.  But I do dislike Palin for refusing to even consider that it didn't help to put crosshairs on a map and that phrases like "Don't retreat.  Reload" might have some accidental unpleasant implications behind them.  To blame Palin for the actions of a lunatic is ridiculous.  To expect her to use it, as so many of us have, to consider our actions and how they might effect the world, is not.

But that's not Sarah.  She's blameless.  She's perfect.  And the sooner the rest of us figure that out, the happier she'll be.

ENOUGH OF THAT.

The other thing that's on my mind is pretty big too.  It's the changing of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn to make it more palatable for our time.

I'm just going to call bullshit on this.

I get where this desire comes from.  Let's remove an unpleasant word because it is unpleasant, because it carries a terrible history that we would all rather forget.  But that's exactly why it should stay there.  Because once you alter a piece of history, you destroy its relevance forever.

Let's face it.  Humans have lousy memories.  It's why politicians can say they don't remember integration being hard, or why, after two months with a new piece of technology, we immediately start to complain about its limitations.  We forget.  Not because we want to forget, but because it's so easy to do.  Our brains are not recording devices.  They are imagination devices, and that's all our memories are.  Bits of imagination cobbled together from half-formed bits of the past.  That's why you can convince someone they saw a Bugs Bunny costume at Disneyland.  All it takes is a doctored photo, a few people they trust reinforcing the idea, and they'll remember.

This is why we have to write things down, preserve art, and carry the actual recollections of the past with us.  Because if we just trust we'll remember, we're sure to forget.

For Huckleberry Finn, inserting Slave might seem like a good idea.  But if you do it, then what happens in fifteen years when the word Slave might be deemed offensive?  Do you change that too?  Perhaps to Servant.  And, heck, while we're at it, let's take out any references to smoking.  Kids shouldn't smoke.  And why have any reference to skin color at all?  Why not leave it undescribed so that everyone can enjoy Huck and Jim's adventure without feeling left out? And does he have to run away?  Can't Huck and Servant Jim just go and have a little adventure before returning home for dinner?

Ridiculous?  Maybe.  But why not?  Why not change everything, one step at a time?  If a book is only a thing meant to reflect our current attitudes and beliefs, then who really cares?  Let's rewrite the whole damn thing and just ignore it.

The problem is one of memory.  We need to remember our imperfections, our faults.  We need to remember that not so long ago, as civilizations measure things, black people were slaves, women couldn't vote, and even if you were a white guy, life still wasn't perfect.  It's all too easy to pine for a glorious golden yesterday that never existed, which is why we occasionally need a hard slap in the face to remind us that it didn't.

It's watching A Day at the Races and seeing the Marx Brothers in blackface.  It's unsettling, but it's also necessary.  It's reading the Constitution.  ALL of the Constitution.  Even the bad parts.  Especially the bad parts because the bad parts show us how far we've come and how far we have to go.  They remind us that even the most sacred document was created by flawed human beings who were just doing the best they could.  And perhaps it's wrong to judge them for their failings, but to acknowledge those failings is a good thing.

The second reason I hate the idea of changing a classic novel (a book I haven't even read by the way) is that it renders all art vulnerable, transitory, meaningless.  Once we decide to rewrite history itself, then we are guilty of denying the flaws in ourselves.  We become obsessed with covering them up and then, you might as well call it a day as a civlization.  Because it takes a lot of effort to continually rework the past into something you aren't embarrassed by.

Take Star Wars.  I really don't care if Lucas wants to play with his creation until the end of time.  Special Edition, Extended Edition, Edition with More Sound FX.  It's his thing.  Let him do what he wants with it.  But that's not enough for Lucas, who, if he had his way, would erase the originals from existence in favor of his new versions.  I'm not going to argue that the originals are better than the new versions (though, let's be honest, they are), but I am going to argue that a cultural event such as the original Star Wars deserves to be preserved, warts and all.  Lucas isn't just indulging in creative masturbation, but that he's guilty of something much worse.  He's destroying a sacred artifact, one re-release at a time.

And that's why we can't allow anyone, not even artists, to go back and change things in their work.  Once anyone starts down that road, once they start seeing history as optional, they will begin erasing it.  Because it's not human nature to reconcile different versions of the same thing.  We like things neat and tidy.  We want one version of Star Wars, one version of Huck Finn.  And if you give many of us the option of taking the original or the new version that edits out unpleasantness or is just more readily available, we'll go for it.  We'll erase the past. 

And the ultimate irony is we won't even remember doing it.

On that pleasant note, I bid you happy A. LEE MARTINEZ APPRECIATION DAY!!

I couldn't do any of this without you, gang.  There'd be no A. Lee Martinez to appreciate without all your support.  And I think we can all agree that would be a terrible thing.  Thank The Mighty Robot King we don't live in that universe.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee