Stephen Kozeniewski's Blog, page 52
January 18, 2016
January 15, 2016
January 13, 2016
Re-Animated #1: "The Simpsons"
Hey there cats and kittens! Welcome to the very first installment of my new recurring (whenever I feel like it) segment Re-Animated. Wondering what the deal is? Check out my introduction post. Now let's jump in.
Our Favorite Family (shudder)
If I were a more famous person, I would expect my post last week to be littered with comments along the lines of, "Eww, why are you starting your discussion of cartoons with 'The Simpsons?' That's blasphemy. You should be starting it with X instead." And where X is Looney Toons, Mickey Mouse, Felix the Cat, Betty Boop, Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, "Snow White," or, hell, even 'Fantasmagorie' for fuck's sake I could understand the argument.
And no, "The Simpsons" is not the most important cartoon of all time, nor the first, nor is it really where we would have to start our discussion on adult cartoons (not that I specified that adult cartoons would be the focus of Re-Animated, although largely it will be.) So why start with "The Simpsons," Steve?
Well, "The Simpsons" is, if nothing else, a watershed. I'm comfortable saying that there was animation before "The Simpsons" and animation after "The Simpsons" and never the twain shall meet. "The Simpsons" was what the Doctor would call a fixed point in time. There's no avoiding it.
So when I start to expand with this animation discussion, I'm going to expand in one of two directions: forward from "The Simpsons" or backwards from "The Simpsons." It always has been, and always will be, my North Star.
But you probably already guessed that coming from someone who wrote an actual book called BILLY AND THE CLONEASAURUS. Part of what's so important about "The Simpsons" is that it's the North Star for an entire generation. My generation, it so happens, whether you want to call that Millennials, Echo Boomers, Gen X, or god knows what all else they're calling us now in the fucking Chicken Little old guard press.
I read once that Baby Boomers knew they had ascended to power when Beatles lyrics began to be quoted in newspaper headlines and that my generation would know we had ascended to power when "Simpsons" quotes were the source of newspaper headlines. Of course, we don't really have newspapers anymore, but the point remains: "The Simpsons" was our cultural touchstone. It was the thing everybody watched and everybody understood and everybody could unite over.
So where did this peculiar (and make no mistake, it was damn peculiar, both for the time and still today) TV show come from? Well, imagine a time before streaming services had supplanted cable, when cable had not yet even supplanted broadcast networks. TV was broadcast by towers...okay, maybe I'm going to deep into it.
Here's the deal: there was this asshole named Rupert Murdoch. He's still alive today unfortunately. He had made his bones as a newspaperman, but had recognized by the '80s that TV would be the source of future public opinion. He started a network called Fox, and in the early days Fox was notable only for being raunchy and crass. Shows like "Married With Children," which were considered the zenith of humor, were how Fox was trying to make a name for itself. While the Big Three broadcast networks (ugh, okay kids: NBC, CBS, and ABC) considered themselves respectable to one degree or another, Fox was like the kid who didn't mind eating worms in the playground as long as someone was watching him, for Christ's sake.
"The Tracy Ullman Show" was a skit show and was what passed for a hit in the early days of Fox programming. "Tracy Ullman" was a "throw the spaghetti against the wall and see what sticks" kind of show, and one particular piece of spaghetti was a weird little interstitial segment that featured a crudely drawn family of yellow-skinned freaks.
Like "Pinky and the Brain" (which we'll get to...uh...sometime) "The Simpsons" quickly eclipsed the popularity of its host show. To this day I can still remember playing around the house until my parents called me because a "Simpsons" skit was on. The rest of "Tracy Ullman" was dull as dishwater to a kid my age. I didn't even get it.
Fox took what was a wild gamble at the time. Because, honestly, what did they have to lose? As a bottom-dwelling network with abysmal ratings, what did it matter what they did? Like Tracy Ullman, they could afford to throw spaghetti against the wall. And since people were sort of talking about that weird animated skit on one of their more popular programs, the Fox execs decided to take a chance and ordered a full half hour comedy series from "Simpsons" creator Matt Groening.
There was a certain genius to this move, but also a certain amount of crazy, one-in-a-trillion luck. It's hard to explain it now when adult animation is everywhere, but in the late '80s there was quite simply no such thing. Cartoons were for afternoons and Saturday mornings when kids watched TV. Just like soap operas were for weekday early afternoons, news was for 6pm, and primetime was for cops and lawyers. To order a cartoon show and play it in primetime was just insane.
And somehow, by some combination of genius and luck, the closest thing I would call a miracle in my short little lifespan, "The Simpsons" became the voice of a generation. Overnight. The President of the United States was talking about "The Simpsons." Negatively, of course, but still. How many shows are deemed important enough for the president to talk about?
Bart Simpson shirts were banned in schools. I remember this. Can you even imagine now? Bart didn't swear or say anything racy or profane. His catchphrases were (and I quote) "Don't have a cow, man" and "Eat my shorts." If a kid said "eat my shorts" to me today - or in 1989, to be quite frank - I'd probably chuckle at how quaint it was.
"The Simpsons" smashed through the wall of adult animation like the Kool-Aid man. Suddenly every network was desperate to find a "Simpsons"-style hit...which we'll talk about in another segment or two. But looking back at those first two seasons of "The Simpsons" only when I'm feeling charitable can I say that they're watchable. They captured the Zeitgeist of the late '80s/early '90s, to be sure, but were it not for the entrance of two very important people into our tale, I suspect "The Simpsons" would languish as a relic of a bygone era. I mean, honestly, when was the last time you watched "Wings" or "Northern Exposure" or "Beverly Hills, 90210?"
But what happened with "The Simpsons" was a wunderkind writing duo entered stage left as the new showrunners: Bill Oakley and Josh Weinstein. And from give or take 1992 to give or take 2000 "The Simpsons" went from being a weird, crass, Frankenstein's monster to the most sublime television show possibly in history. I'm not exaggerating to say the Oakley/Weinstein era was one of sheer genius. Quote almost any line of dialogue from almost any episode to someone of my generation and they will never fail to respond with the next.
And so "The Simpsons" hadn't just kicked in the door, it had turned into a juggernaut. I could go on. I could go on and on. I could talk about the decline and (still not yet!) fall of the once mighty "Simpsons." I could talk about how it influence every speck of animation that came afterwards. But I have the rest of the year and an as-yet undecided amount of future Re-Animated posts to do that. For now, let's just kick off the first part of my recurring series with a salute to "The Simpsons:"
The cause of...and solution to...all of life's problems.
Our Favorite Family (shudder)If I were a more famous person, I would expect my post last week to be littered with comments along the lines of, "Eww, why are you starting your discussion of cartoons with 'The Simpsons?' That's blasphemy. You should be starting it with X instead." And where X is Looney Toons, Mickey Mouse, Felix the Cat, Betty Boop, Oswald the Lucky Rabbit, "Snow White," or, hell, even 'Fantasmagorie' for fuck's sake I could understand the argument.
And no, "The Simpsons" is not the most important cartoon of all time, nor the first, nor is it really where we would have to start our discussion on adult cartoons (not that I specified that adult cartoons would be the focus of Re-Animated, although largely it will be.) So why start with "The Simpsons," Steve?
Well, "The Simpsons" is, if nothing else, a watershed. I'm comfortable saying that there was animation before "The Simpsons" and animation after "The Simpsons" and never the twain shall meet. "The Simpsons" was what the Doctor would call a fixed point in time. There's no avoiding it.
So when I start to expand with this animation discussion, I'm going to expand in one of two directions: forward from "The Simpsons" or backwards from "The Simpsons." It always has been, and always will be, my North Star.
But you probably already guessed that coming from someone who wrote an actual book called BILLY AND THE CLONEASAURUS. Part of what's so important about "The Simpsons" is that it's the North Star for an entire generation. My generation, it so happens, whether you want to call that Millennials, Echo Boomers, Gen X, or god knows what all else they're calling us now in the fucking Chicken Little old guard press.
I read once that Baby Boomers knew they had ascended to power when Beatles lyrics began to be quoted in newspaper headlines and that my generation would know we had ascended to power when "Simpsons" quotes were the source of newspaper headlines. Of course, we don't really have newspapers anymore, but the point remains: "The Simpsons" was our cultural touchstone. It was the thing everybody watched and everybody understood and everybody could unite over.
So where did this peculiar (and make no mistake, it was damn peculiar, both for the time and still today) TV show come from? Well, imagine a time before streaming services had supplanted cable, when cable had not yet even supplanted broadcast networks. TV was broadcast by towers...okay, maybe I'm going to deep into it.
Here's the deal: there was this asshole named Rupert Murdoch. He's still alive today unfortunately. He had made his bones as a newspaperman, but had recognized by the '80s that TV would be the source of future public opinion. He started a network called Fox, and in the early days Fox was notable only for being raunchy and crass. Shows like "Married With Children," which were considered the zenith of humor, were how Fox was trying to make a name for itself. While the Big Three broadcast networks (ugh, okay kids: NBC, CBS, and ABC) considered themselves respectable to one degree or another, Fox was like the kid who didn't mind eating worms in the playground as long as someone was watching him, for Christ's sake.
"The Tracy Ullman Show" was a skit show and was what passed for a hit in the early days of Fox programming. "Tracy Ullman" was a "throw the spaghetti against the wall and see what sticks" kind of show, and one particular piece of spaghetti was a weird little interstitial segment that featured a crudely drawn family of yellow-skinned freaks.
Like "Pinky and the Brain" (which we'll get to...uh...sometime) "The Simpsons" quickly eclipsed the popularity of its host show. To this day I can still remember playing around the house until my parents called me because a "Simpsons" skit was on. The rest of "Tracy Ullman" was dull as dishwater to a kid my age. I didn't even get it.
Fox took what was a wild gamble at the time. Because, honestly, what did they have to lose? As a bottom-dwelling network with abysmal ratings, what did it matter what they did? Like Tracy Ullman, they could afford to throw spaghetti against the wall. And since people were sort of talking about that weird animated skit on one of their more popular programs, the Fox execs decided to take a chance and ordered a full half hour comedy series from "Simpsons" creator Matt Groening.
There was a certain genius to this move, but also a certain amount of crazy, one-in-a-trillion luck. It's hard to explain it now when adult animation is everywhere, but in the late '80s there was quite simply no such thing. Cartoons were for afternoons and Saturday mornings when kids watched TV. Just like soap operas were for weekday early afternoons, news was for 6pm, and primetime was for cops and lawyers. To order a cartoon show and play it in primetime was just insane.
And somehow, by some combination of genius and luck, the closest thing I would call a miracle in my short little lifespan, "The Simpsons" became the voice of a generation. Overnight. The President of the United States was talking about "The Simpsons." Negatively, of course, but still. How many shows are deemed important enough for the president to talk about?
Bart Simpson shirts were banned in schools. I remember this. Can you even imagine now? Bart didn't swear or say anything racy or profane. His catchphrases were (and I quote) "Don't have a cow, man" and "Eat my shorts." If a kid said "eat my shorts" to me today - or in 1989, to be quite frank - I'd probably chuckle at how quaint it was.
"The Simpsons" smashed through the wall of adult animation like the Kool-Aid man. Suddenly every network was desperate to find a "Simpsons"-style hit...which we'll talk about in another segment or two. But looking back at those first two seasons of "The Simpsons" only when I'm feeling charitable can I say that they're watchable. They captured the Zeitgeist of the late '80s/early '90s, to be sure, but were it not for the entrance of two very important people into our tale, I suspect "The Simpsons" would languish as a relic of a bygone era. I mean, honestly, when was the last time you watched "Wings" or "Northern Exposure" or "Beverly Hills, 90210?"
But what happened with "The Simpsons" was a wunderkind writing duo entered stage left as the new showrunners: Bill Oakley and Josh Weinstein. And from give or take 1992 to give or take 2000 "The Simpsons" went from being a weird, crass, Frankenstein's monster to the most sublime television show possibly in history. I'm not exaggerating to say the Oakley/Weinstein era was one of sheer genius. Quote almost any line of dialogue from almost any episode to someone of my generation and they will never fail to respond with the next.
And so "The Simpsons" hadn't just kicked in the door, it had turned into a juggernaut. I could go on. I could go on and on. I could talk about the decline and (still not yet!) fall of the once mighty "Simpsons." I could talk about how it influence every speck of animation that came afterwards. But I have the rest of the year and an as-yet undecided amount of future Re-Animated posts to do that. For now, let's just kick off the first part of my recurring series with a salute to "The Simpsons:"
The cause of...and solution to...all of life's problems.
January 11, 2016
Changes...
I don't make it a habit to eulogize celebrities. That being said, we are all diminished today by the loss of a man. But we must not forget that all we lost was the man. That is a tragedy for his family and loved ones. But it is not a tragedy for those of us who didn't know him. The miracle of art is that it lives on after the artist, speaking for him: a flame that can never be extinguished. And so the great artist is immortal. David Bowie will never die because we still have his music. And his music is his gift to all of us - the living and the generations to come.
January 8, 2016
Release Day Blitz: MIRANDA'S RIGHTS
It's that time! If you tuned in last month you saw our big cover reveal for Lily Luchesi's sophomore outing, MIRANDA'S RIGHTS. Well, since then there's now a book trailer aaaaaaaaand...
The book is out today!
So head out there and support your favorite vampire author.
About MIRANDA'S RIGHTS:
The dead don’t always rest easy...
Retired detective Danny Mancini is haunted by nightmares after he found out that paranormal creatures exist. All he wants is to forget them…especially a certain half-vampire. When cursed werewolves show up trying to kill him, he is forced to go back to the Paranormal Investigative Division for help against a powerful old enemy. What he was not expecting was a dead ex showing back up after twenty-six years.
Buy it now on Amazon and add it to your Goodreads!
Cover art by Rue Volley
About Lily Luchesi:
Lily Luchesi is a young author/poet born in Chicago, Illinois, now residing in Los Angeles, California. Ever since she was a toddler her mother noticed her tendency for being interested in all things "dark". At two she became infatuated with vampires and ghosts, and that infatuation turned into a lifestyle by the time she was twelve, and, as her family has always been what they now call "Gothic", she doesn't believe she shall ever change. She is also a hopeless romantic and avid music-lover who will always associate vampires with love, blood, and rock and roll.
Her interest in poetry came around the same time as when she was given a book of Edgar Allan Poe's complete work. She then realized that she had been writing her own poetry since she could hold a pen, and just had not known the correct terms. She finished her first manuscript at the age of fourteen, and now, at twenty-one, has two contributing credits in anthologies and her debut novel, STAKE-OUT (Paranormal Detectives Series Book One), was published by Vamptasy Publishing on May 19th, 2015. Book two, MIRANDA'S RIGHTS, will be released on January 8th, 2016.
She has a short story, "Undead Ever After" in the Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly anthology LOVE SUCKS (released on June 13th, 2015). Her first erotic short story, "Have No Fears", was published in the Hot Ink Press anthology NAUGHTY BEDTIME STORIES: IN THREE WORDS on October 10th. She will also have a short erotic horror story, "The Devil's Dozen", in the upcoming Hot Ink Press anthology DEATH, LOVE, LUST which will be released in February of 2016.
You can find Lily on her website, Amazon, Twitter, her business Facebook, her personal Facebook, Instagram, and Goodreads.
The book is out today!
So head out there and support your favorite vampire author.
About MIRANDA'S RIGHTS:
The dead don’t always rest easy...
Retired detective Danny Mancini is haunted by nightmares after he found out that paranormal creatures exist. All he wants is to forget them…especially a certain half-vampire. When cursed werewolves show up trying to kill him, he is forced to go back to the Paranormal Investigative Division for help against a powerful old enemy. What he was not expecting was a dead ex showing back up after twenty-six years.
Buy it now on Amazon and add it to your Goodreads!
Cover art by Rue Volley
About Lily Luchesi:
Lily Luchesi is a young author/poet born in Chicago, Illinois, now residing in Los Angeles, California. Ever since she was a toddler her mother noticed her tendency for being interested in all things "dark". At two she became infatuated with vampires and ghosts, and that infatuation turned into a lifestyle by the time she was twelve, and, as her family has always been what they now call "Gothic", she doesn't believe she shall ever change. She is also a hopeless romantic and avid music-lover who will always associate vampires with love, blood, and rock and roll.
Her interest in poetry came around the same time as when she was given a book of Edgar Allan Poe's complete work. She then realized that she had been writing her own poetry since she could hold a pen, and just had not known the correct terms. She finished her first manuscript at the age of fourteen, and now, at twenty-one, has two contributing credits in anthologies and her debut novel, STAKE-OUT (Paranormal Detectives Series Book One), was published by Vamptasy Publishing on May 19th, 2015. Book two, MIRANDA'S RIGHTS, will be released on January 8th, 2016.
She has a short story, "Undead Ever After" in the Crushing Hearts and Black Butterfly anthology LOVE SUCKS (released on June 13th, 2015). Her first erotic short story, "Have No Fears", was published in the Hot Ink Press anthology NAUGHTY BEDTIME STORIES: IN THREE WORDS on October 10th. She will also have a short erotic horror story, "The Devil's Dozen", in the upcoming Hot Ink Press anthology DEATH, LOVE, LUST which will be released in February of 2016.
You can find Lily on her website, Amazon, Twitter, her business Facebook, her personal Facebook, Instagram, and Goodreads.
January 6, 2016
Re-Animated: Introduction
There must be some irony in the fact that come rain or shine, hell or high water, all other manner of folksy either-or variable constructions, I never missed a scheduled post in 2015. Then no sooner did January 1 sneak up on me than I completely dropped the ball.
Seriously.
Friday came and I took a road trip to Philadelphia, and I just plumb forgot. I hadn't scheduled ahead, I hadn't mentioned I'd be taking a hiatus, and to be perfectly honest, I didn't even notice I had until Monday.
So I guess that's probably a sign from whatever Providence or natural law drives the universe that 2016 is going to be a bit of a loosier-goosier year than 2015 here on Ye Olde Blogge. That being said, I do want to introduce my newest recurring segment: Re-Animated.
In 2015 I got to know some truly amazing people. When I listen to someone like Brian Keene opine on his weekly podcast about horror, I am always amazed at his aptitude for horror. He knows it inside-out, upside-down, backwards, forwards, and twice on Sundays. His co-host Dave Thomas is similarly well-versed in metal music. People like my friends Mary Fan and Elizabeth Corrigan sometimes blow my mind with their knowledge of current YA - they can go back and forth for hours and each knows every book the other brings up.
At Chessiecon in particular I felt like a dumb n00b being on panels with people like Seanan Maguire, Don Sakers, and Tamora Pierce. People who are so well versed in something, whatever it is, that you feel like you've met a true expert.
For a while I wallowed. I wallowed about never seeming to be smart enough in any single subject I aspire to. I don't know horror the way I should, I don't know sc-fi the way I should, even after the 2013 Hundie Challenge I don't know classics the way I should. I know fuck-all about music. I know fuck-all even about classic rock, the one area of music I thought I was marginally well-versed in.
Then, suddenly, in conversation over Christmas I realized what I was a total geek-out, balls-to-the-wall expert on. Cartoons. I watch a solid two to three hours of cartoons every night. In college, through the army, and the years after, it was closer to five. I remember studiously watching every episode of every {adult swim} show and then watching them again when they replayed for late night. Not to mention that half of the people I geeked out over having - let alone inviting on - during the Year of Interviewing Dangerously were involved with cartoons.
I'm an expert in cartoons the way Brian Keene is an expert in horror, Mary Fan is an expert in Young Adult, and Ian McClellan is an expert in scat play. So I decided that in 2016 I'm going to try to systemize my thoughts on all the vast swathes of animation I've wasted my life ingesting.
Re-Animated is going to be a recurring segment this year. I'm not certain I've watched 156 cartoons, so it probably won't be taking up every M-W-F post. And besides, that would probably get boring as shit. Not to mention that since I already fucked up posting on the first day of the year, 2016 is going to be a lot looser on the blog front. I'll still aspire to post three times a week, but if I don't get around to it, I won't get around to it. Besides, I have at least two deadlines to hit for Sinister Grin/Mirror Matter, the first of which is February 1. So if I end up going incommunicado...well, you can still tweet me or find me on FB, so no big worries there.
I was considering going with "Re-Animated 2016" but it could very well crop up again in the years to come, so I'm not going to limit myself. That being said, I do intend to more or less conclude the segment this year. I just don't want to rule out future segments as new cartoon shows come down the pike.
All right, well, we'll see you sometime with this new recurring segment, starting, as it probably must, with "The Simpsons."
Seriously.
Friday came and I took a road trip to Philadelphia, and I just plumb forgot. I hadn't scheduled ahead, I hadn't mentioned I'd be taking a hiatus, and to be perfectly honest, I didn't even notice I had until Monday.
So I guess that's probably a sign from whatever Providence or natural law drives the universe that 2016 is going to be a bit of a loosier-goosier year than 2015 here on Ye Olde Blogge. That being said, I do want to introduce my newest recurring segment: Re-Animated.
In 2015 I got to know some truly amazing people. When I listen to someone like Brian Keene opine on his weekly podcast about horror, I am always amazed at his aptitude for horror. He knows it inside-out, upside-down, backwards, forwards, and twice on Sundays. His co-host Dave Thomas is similarly well-versed in metal music. People like my friends Mary Fan and Elizabeth Corrigan sometimes blow my mind with their knowledge of current YA - they can go back and forth for hours and each knows every book the other brings up.
At Chessiecon in particular I felt like a dumb n00b being on panels with people like Seanan Maguire, Don Sakers, and Tamora Pierce. People who are so well versed in something, whatever it is, that you feel like you've met a true expert.
For a while I wallowed. I wallowed about never seeming to be smart enough in any single subject I aspire to. I don't know horror the way I should, I don't know sc-fi the way I should, even after the 2013 Hundie Challenge I don't know classics the way I should. I know fuck-all about music. I know fuck-all even about classic rock, the one area of music I thought I was marginally well-versed in.
Then, suddenly, in conversation over Christmas I realized what I was a total geek-out, balls-to-the-wall expert on. Cartoons. I watch a solid two to three hours of cartoons every night. In college, through the army, and the years after, it was closer to five. I remember studiously watching every episode of every {adult swim} show and then watching them again when they replayed for late night. Not to mention that half of the people I geeked out over having - let alone inviting on - during the Year of Interviewing Dangerously were involved with cartoons.
I'm an expert in cartoons the way Brian Keene is an expert in horror, Mary Fan is an expert in Young Adult, and Ian McClellan is an expert in scat play. So I decided that in 2016 I'm going to try to systemize my thoughts on all the vast swathes of animation I've wasted my life ingesting.
Re-Animated is going to be a recurring segment this year. I'm not certain I've watched 156 cartoons, so it probably won't be taking up every M-W-F post. And besides, that would probably get boring as shit. Not to mention that since I already fucked up posting on the first day of the year, 2016 is going to be a lot looser on the blog front. I'll still aspire to post three times a week, but if I don't get around to it, I won't get around to it. Besides, I have at least two deadlines to hit for Sinister Grin/Mirror Matter, the first of which is February 1. So if I end up going incommunicado...well, you can still tweet me or find me on FB, so no big worries there.
I was considering going with "Re-Animated 2016" but it could very well crop up again in the years to come, so I'm not going to limit myself. That being said, I do intend to more or less conclude the segment this year. I just don't want to rule out future segments as new cartoon shows come down the pike.
All right, well, we'll see you sometime with this new recurring segment, starting, as it probably must, with "The Simpsons."
January 4, 2016
The Top 15 Manuscripts Burn Posts of 2015!
I may have to start whittling down these end-of-year lists as the century proceeds, but since it's still only a bit over 10, I'll stick with the 15 of '15 conceit. For now. And, as you're about to see, my Year of Interviewing Dangerously was a smashing success, as with very few exceptions my boldly requested interviews were the top posts of the year. And so, without any further ado, here are the 15 most popular posts of 2015:
15. Never Mind Molly Ringwald (Interview with Christine Morgan, Author of MURDER GIRLS)14. The Quintessential BRAVE NEW GIRLS Post13. Identity is What We Share and What We Hide (Guest Post from Jay Wilburn, Author of THE DEAD SONG LEGEND12. My 1000th Post11. No Bonus Points (Interview with Joanna Gaskell, Writer and Actor for "Standard Action")10. Feeling All Britishy (Interview with Guy Haley, Author of THE RISE OF THE HORNED RAT)9. Review: EVE BRENNER, ZOMBIE GIRL by A. Giacomi8. 2015 Appearances7. Stupid Dinoaurs (Interview with Tara Pratt, Actor on "Fringe," "Supernatural," and "Standard Action.")6. Good Hearts in Small Jars (Interview with Lily Luchesi, Author of STAKE-OUT)5. Literally Just a Chunk of Congealed cow Blood (Interview with Phronk, Author of STARS AND OTHER MONSTERS 4. A Lil Between the Sheets (Interview with Shawn Coleman, Arranger and Co-Composer of "Too Many Cooks")3. Ten Rules (Guest Post by Katrina Monroe, Author of SACRIFICIAL LAMB CAKE)2. Five Things I Rate About You (Guest Post with Kit Power and Rich Hawkins)
I'ma let you finish, but by a wide gulf our number one is not just the most popular post of the year, but by a margin of nearly 2:1, the most popular Manuscripts Burn post of all time (OF ALL TIME):
1. Behind the Potatoes and Molasses (Interview with Patrick McHale, Creator of "Over the Garden Wall" and Creative Director of "Adventure Time.")
Big thanks to all of my guests, and especially to you, my dear friends and fans. I hope your 2016 is a smashing success!
15. Never Mind Molly Ringwald (Interview with Christine Morgan, Author of MURDER GIRLS)14. The Quintessential BRAVE NEW GIRLS Post13. Identity is What We Share and What We Hide (Guest Post from Jay Wilburn, Author of THE DEAD SONG LEGEND12. My 1000th Post11. No Bonus Points (Interview with Joanna Gaskell, Writer and Actor for "Standard Action")10. Feeling All Britishy (Interview with Guy Haley, Author of THE RISE OF THE HORNED RAT)9. Review: EVE BRENNER, ZOMBIE GIRL by A. Giacomi8. 2015 Appearances7. Stupid Dinoaurs (Interview with Tara Pratt, Actor on "Fringe," "Supernatural," and "Standard Action.")6. Good Hearts in Small Jars (Interview with Lily Luchesi, Author of STAKE-OUT)5. Literally Just a Chunk of Congealed cow Blood (Interview with Phronk, Author of STARS AND OTHER MONSTERS 4. A Lil Between the Sheets (Interview with Shawn Coleman, Arranger and Co-Composer of "Too Many Cooks")3. Ten Rules (Guest Post by Katrina Monroe, Author of SACRIFICIAL LAMB CAKE)2. Five Things I Rate About You (Guest Post with Kit Power and Rich Hawkins)
I'ma let you finish, but by a wide gulf our number one is not just the most popular post of the year, but by a margin of nearly 2:1, the most popular Manuscripts Burn post of all time (OF ALL TIME):
1. Behind the Potatoes and Molasses (Interview with Patrick McHale, Creator of "Over the Garden Wall" and Creative Director of "Adventure Time.")
Big thanks to all of my guests, and especially to you, my dear friends and fans. I hope your 2016 is a smashing success!
December 30, 2015
How to Write an Author Bio
I was delighted earlier this week when rock star super-agent Janet Reid followed through on a vaguely delineated promise she made me six months ago and bought my newest release. She then upped the ante by posting about it on her well-trafficked industry blog. I'm hoping this turns out to be a big break, but I suppose time will tell.
In any case, on the blogpost Janet praised my author bio, pointing out that every single aspect of your web presence is part of your marketing. A weak bio might not hurt you, but a clever bio certainly can get your name in front of people - I'm proof positive of that. So I can't give you a magic bullet for how to write a strong bio, but I can tell you how I wrote mine and that might at least give you a shove in the right direction.
So, here is my current bio:
Stephen Kozeniewski (pronounced "causin' ooze key") lives with his wife and two cats in Pennsylvania, the birthplace of the modern zombie. During his time as a Field Artillery officer, he served for three years in Oklahoma and one in Iraq, where due to what he assumes was a clerical error, he was awarded the Bronze Star. He is also a classically trained linguist, which sounds much more impressive than saying his bachelor's degree is in German.
First of all, this bio is actually a shortened form of the bio I originally wrote when BRAINEATER JONES was first released. Let's look at that now.
Stephen Kozeniewski lives with his wife of 9 years and cat of 22 pounds in Pennsylvania, the birthplace of the modern zombie. He was born to the soothing strains of “Boogie With Stu” even though The Who are far superior to Zep, for reasons that he doesn’t even really want to get into right now.
During his time as a Field Artillery officer, he served for three years in Oklahoma and one in Iraq, where due to what he assumes was a clerical error, he was awarded the Bronze Star. The depiction of addiction in his fiction is strongly informed by the three years he spent working at a substance abuse clinic, an experience which also ensures that he employs strict moderation when enjoying the occasional highball of Old Crow.
He is also a classically trained linguist, which sounds much more impressive than saying his bachelor’s degree is in German.
So, what's up with the changes? Well, first of all, I wanted to cram as much personality into my bio as possible, and I didn't realized until a bit later that this is just way, way too long for the bio of an unknown author. Stephen King? Sure, maybe you want to know all about him. Someone like me? Three sentences is plenty.
So I cut out the second and fourth sentences entirely. I still think they're clever, of course. I wouldn't have included them even in the initial draft if I didn't. But when you look at this, is talking about my musical taste (and my dad's, for that matter) really important? No. And it could turn people off. In a very, very early draft of my bio I said something about wanting to punch Adele in her golden throat. But you know what? That not only alienates Adele fans, it also comes off as misogynistic, and really doesn't say all that much about my musical tastes anyway...and, frankly, my taste in music is not really defining for this book. A fictional book about a garage band? Sure. A book about a zombie detective? Not so much.
As for the fourth sentence, I cut that for the opposite reason. It does say a lot about why I wrote BRAINEATER JONES. But I've since written other books, and my substance abuse background doesn't really matter for those. I love the "depiction of addiction in is fiction" line, but I haven't really depicted addiction since BRAINEATER. So that got the heave-ho.
What about the other minor changes? Well, I realized after my tenth anniversary that I either had to update my bio every year or leave that line out. And when I got my second cat, I decided to jettison the "cat of 22 pounds" bit. Sure, it's a nice bit of flavor to know I have a gigantic behemoth of a cat, but for one thing, his weight also fluctuates (not so much that I would need to change the line, but still) and for another, look how clunky the line becomes: "Stephen Kozeniewski lives with his wife of many years and two cats, one of which is many pounds." That's just not very punchy.
So I guess my first suggestion is to keep your bio short and punchy. I think three sentences is ideal. I've read hundreds of author bios since I wrote mine, and in every one I at least partially mine it for good ideas. And overall the length is generally pretty static. You notice, at a minimum, the super long ones, like mine originally was. And not in a good way.
Now let's unpack what I kept.
Stephen Kozeniewski (pronounced "causin' ooze key")
Here's another change I made. People quite frankly can't pronounce my name. I've always known this was an issue, and it was one of the things I had to take into consideration when opting out of a pen name. Sometimes I regret it, but, you know what, it's not the worst thing in the world. Ta-Nehisi Coates won a National Book Award. A weird ethnic name is not going to fuck up my career. Plus, I think the mnemonic is clever, especially for my horror work. I also thank the Maker that I never went with my original comparison, which was Bill Cosby.
lives with his wife and two cats in Pennsylvania, the birthplace of the modern zombie.
This section humanizes me. Almost every author mentions their family and pets. Like I said earlier, the 22-pound thing was great, but I just couldn't quite stuff it in. So this section is a bit bland. That's why I decided to spice up the location with a little personality. I debated for a long time how specific to get with where I live. Some authors just say "somewhere in the American south." Others get down to the city, or, in some cases, the neighborhood they live in. Ultimately, because several of my books have to do with zombies, I decided to take a balanced approach and go with Pennsylvania, which is relatively specific, and tack on the Romero reference. It would be better if I lived in Pittsburgh, but, oh well.
During his time as a Field Artillery officer, he served for three years in Oklahoma and one in Iraq, where due to what he assumes was a clerical error, he was awarded the Bronze Star.
If you break down my bio, each sentence focuses on something different in my life. Sentence 1 is about my family, Sentence 2 is about my professional history and awards, and Sentence 3 is about my education. Is this a perfect construction? No, not necessarily. But it works for me, and I think it suggests a well-rounded person. I'm not obsessed with my cats, and I'm not obsessed with my military service either. A second suggestion I would make is to outline the three most important things in your life and write a sentence about each, then punch it up until it's perfect.
So here we're looking at Sentence 2. I've always thought "army officer" sounds juvenile, and just "officer" is a little unclear to the average reader, so I went with "Field Artillery officer." You know I was in the military in some capacity, even if you're not 100% sure what the Field Artillery is or what an officer does. I talk about the places I lived, to suggest a little bit of worldliness. I'm not just some shut-in who's never left PA: I've been to Oklahoma and even overseas.
Now, the Bronze Star bit is tricky. When you're writing your bio, think about what awards or honors you've earned. Were you valedictorian? Have you got a Hugo, Nebula, or Bram Stoker? You should probably mention those, instead, then. But until I've earned some kind of writing award, the most impressive decoration I've received is my Bronze Star. I want to let people know I wasn't just Lynndie England over there, I was actually decorated for service.
But as almost any veteran will tell you, it's hard to say these things without feeling like you're bragging. I wouldn't even say I'm sure I deserve my Bronze Star. Partially that's true: a lot of guys got a lot less and contributed a lot more than I did. But partially it's impostor syndrome, too. I'll never feel like I was a brilliant Soldier, even if maybe I was better at it than I ever felt like.
So I decided to split the difference again. I think the "due to what he assumes was a clerical error" bit suggests humility, but is tongue-in-cheek enough that you know it wasn't really a clerical error. It's modesty bordering on silliness bordering on false modesty, which I know is a tricky needle to thread, but I think it's better than outright arrogance.
He is also a classically trained linguist,
Here in Sentence 3 we get into my education. I am a (admittedly half-assed) linguist. Why bring this up at all? Well, again, I don't have any awards or honors from my education. I wasn't valedictorian or summa cum laude or anything like that. But I did study language. And since I'm asking you to read a book I wrote, I want you to believe that I understand what I'm doing when I put pen to paper or finger to keyboard. Sure, some of the best novels in history came from the school of hard knocks. But that's not where I learned to write. And I've always liked the term "classically trained" because it sounds elegant, although I have no idea what it means.
which sounds much more impressive than saying his bachelor's degree is in German.
People don't actually say "classically trained linguist." I mean, it sounds similar enough to "pianist" that it still rolls off the tongue. But again I clarify exactly what I meant with that rhetorical flourish: I have a degree in German. I've studied language. Trust me when I say I can take you on a journey of word. But also this section goes back to the (false?) humility of Sentence 2. I want you to know that I'm a linguist, but I also want you to know it's really no big deal.
So, there you have it! A breakdown of how I wrote my author's bio. The only other suggestion I can give is to keep revising it, keep using different words to tell the same piece of information until what you have is perfect. If you're anything like me, you've probably done this to try to condense a long tweet down to something 140 characters long but still saying essentially the same thing. Just revise, revise, revise, reword, reword, reword until you have a scintillating gem.
What about you? Any suggestions, tips, tricks, or ideas for writing an author bio? Feel free to share in the comments!
In any case, on the blogpost Janet praised my author bio, pointing out that every single aspect of your web presence is part of your marketing. A weak bio might not hurt you, but a clever bio certainly can get your name in front of people - I'm proof positive of that. So I can't give you a magic bullet for how to write a strong bio, but I can tell you how I wrote mine and that might at least give you a shove in the right direction.
So, here is my current bio:
Stephen Kozeniewski (pronounced "causin' ooze key") lives with his wife and two cats in Pennsylvania, the birthplace of the modern zombie. During his time as a Field Artillery officer, he served for three years in Oklahoma and one in Iraq, where due to what he assumes was a clerical error, he was awarded the Bronze Star. He is also a classically trained linguist, which sounds much more impressive than saying his bachelor's degree is in German.
First of all, this bio is actually a shortened form of the bio I originally wrote when BRAINEATER JONES was first released. Let's look at that now.
Stephen Kozeniewski lives with his wife of 9 years and cat of 22 pounds in Pennsylvania, the birthplace of the modern zombie. He was born to the soothing strains of “Boogie With Stu” even though The Who are far superior to Zep, for reasons that he doesn’t even really want to get into right now.
During his time as a Field Artillery officer, he served for three years in Oklahoma and one in Iraq, where due to what he assumes was a clerical error, he was awarded the Bronze Star. The depiction of addiction in his fiction is strongly informed by the three years he spent working at a substance abuse clinic, an experience which also ensures that he employs strict moderation when enjoying the occasional highball of Old Crow.
He is also a classically trained linguist, which sounds much more impressive than saying his bachelor’s degree is in German.
So, what's up with the changes? Well, first of all, I wanted to cram as much personality into my bio as possible, and I didn't realized until a bit later that this is just way, way too long for the bio of an unknown author. Stephen King? Sure, maybe you want to know all about him. Someone like me? Three sentences is plenty.
So I cut out the second and fourth sentences entirely. I still think they're clever, of course. I wouldn't have included them even in the initial draft if I didn't. But when you look at this, is talking about my musical taste (and my dad's, for that matter) really important? No. And it could turn people off. In a very, very early draft of my bio I said something about wanting to punch Adele in her golden throat. But you know what? That not only alienates Adele fans, it also comes off as misogynistic, and really doesn't say all that much about my musical tastes anyway...and, frankly, my taste in music is not really defining for this book. A fictional book about a garage band? Sure. A book about a zombie detective? Not so much.
As for the fourth sentence, I cut that for the opposite reason. It does say a lot about why I wrote BRAINEATER JONES. But I've since written other books, and my substance abuse background doesn't really matter for those. I love the "depiction of addiction in is fiction" line, but I haven't really depicted addiction since BRAINEATER. So that got the heave-ho.
What about the other minor changes? Well, I realized after my tenth anniversary that I either had to update my bio every year or leave that line out. And when I got my second cat, I decided to jettison the "cat of 22 pounds" bit. Sure, it's a nice bit of flavor to know I have a gigantic behemoth of a cat, but for one thing, his weight also fluctuates (not so much that I would need to change the line, but still) and for another, look how clunky the line becomes: "Stephen Kozeniewski lives with his wife of many years and two cats, one of which is many pounds." That's just not very punchy.
So I guess my first suggestion is to keep your bio short and punchy. I think three sentences is ideal. I've read hundreds of author bios since I wrote mine, and in every one I at least partially mine it for good ideas. And overall the length is generally pretty static. You notice, at a minimum, the super long ones, like mine originally was. And not in a good way.
Now let's unpack what I kept.
Stephen Kozeniewski (pronounced "causin' ooze key")
Here's another change I made. People quite frankly can't pronounce my name. I've always known this was an issue, and it was one of the things I had to take into consideration when opting out of a pen name. Sometimes I regret it, but, you know what, it's not the worst thing in the world. Ta-Nehisi Coates won a National Book Award. A weird ethnic name is not going to fuck up my career. Plus, I think the mnemonic is clever, especially for my horror work. I also thank the Maker that I never went with my original comparison, which was Bill Cosby.
lives with his wife and two cats in Pennsylvania, the birthplace of the modern zombie.
This section humanizes me. Almost every author mentions their family and pets. Like I said earlier, the 22-pound thing was great, but I just couldn't quite stuff it in. So this section is a bit bland. That's why I decided to spice up the location with a little personality. I debated for a long time how specific to get with where I live. Some authors just say "somewhere in the American south." Others get down to the city, or, in some cases, the neighborhood they live in. Ultimately, because several of my books have to do with zombies, I decided to take a balanced approach and go with Pennsylvania, which is relatively specific, and tack on the Romero reference. It would be better if I lived in Pittsburgh, but, oh well.
During his time as a Field Artillery officer, he served for three years in Oklahoma and one in Iraq, where due to what he assumes was a clerical error, he was awarded the Bronze Star.
If you break down my bio, each sentence focuses on something different in my life. Sentence 1 is about my family, Sentence 2 is about my professional history and awards, and Sentence 3 is about my education. Is this a perfect construction? No, not necessarily. But it works for me, and I think it suggests a well-rounded person. I'm not obsessed with my cats, and I'm not obsessed with my military service either. A second suggestion I would make is to outline the three most important things in your life and write a sentence about each, then punch it up until it's perfect.
So here we're looking at Sentence 2. I've always thought "army officer" sounds juvenile, and just "officer" is a little unclear to the average reader, so I went with "Field Artillery officer." You know I was in the military in some capacity, even if you're not 100% sure what the Field Artillery is or what an officer does. I talk about the places I lived, to suggest a little bit of worldliness. I'm not just some shut-in who's never left PA: I've been to Oklahoma and even overseas.
Now, the Bronze Star bit is tricky. When you're writing your bio, think about what awards or honors you've earned. Were you valedictorian? Have you got a Hugo, Nebula, or Bram Stoker? You should probably mention those, instead, then. But until I've earned some kind of writing award, the most impressive decoration I've received is my Bronze Star. I want to let people know I wasn't just Lynndie England over there, I was actually decorated for service.
But as almost any veteran will tell you, it's hard to say these things without feeling like you're bragging. I wouldn't even say I'm sure I deserve my Bronze Star. Partially that's true: a lot of guys got a lot less and contributed a lot more than I did. But partially it's impostor syndrome, too. I'll never feel like I was a brilliant Soldier, even if maybe I was better at it than I ever felt like.
So I decided to split the difference again. I think the "due to what he assumes was a clerical error" bit suggests humility, but is tongue-in-cheek enough that you know it wasn't really a clerical error. It's modesty bordering on silliness bordering on false modesty, which I know is a tricky needle to thread, but I think it's better than outright arrogance.
He is also a classically trained linguist,
Here in Sentence 3 we get into my education. I am a (admittedly half-assed) linguist. Why bring this up at all? Well, again, I don't have any awards or honors from my education. I wasn't valedictorian or summa cum laude or anything like that. But I did study language. And since I'm asking you to read a book I wrote, I want you to believe that I understand what I'm doing when I put pen to paper or finger to keyboard. Sure, some of the best novels in history came from the school of hard knocks. But that's not where I learned to write. And I've always liked the term "classically trained" because it sounds elegant, although I have no idea what it means.
which sounds much more impressive than saying his bachelor's degree is in German.
People don't actually say "classically trained linguist." I mean, it sounds similar enough to "pianist" that it still rolls off the tongue. But again I clarify exactly what I meant with that rhetorical flourish: I have a degree in German. I've studied language. Trust me when I say I can take you on a journey of word. But also this section goes back to the (false?) humility of Sentence 2. I want you to know that I'm a linguist, but I also want you to know it's really no big deal.
So, there you have it! A breakdown of how I wrote my author's bio. The only other suggestion I can give is to keep revising it, keep using different words to tell the same piece of information until what you have is perfect. If you're anything like me, you've probably done this to try to condense a long tweet down to something 140 characters long but still saying essentially the same thing. Just revise, revise, revise, reword, reword, reword until you have a scintillating gem.
What about you? Any suggestions, tips, tricks, or ideas for writing an author bio? Feel free to share in the comments!
December 28, 2015
By George
I've been wondering lately what it must be like to be George Lucas. I've never wished George ill will. To be honest, I try not to wish ill upon anyone. That being said, a lot of people do seem to be taking the success of "The Force Awakens" as a chance to dogpile on ol' George.
And that really gets me thinking. It gets me thinking about art and an artist's duty to his audience, and an audience's duty to the artist, and all kinds of fuzzy, complicated, artsy-fartsy type bullshit.
But back to George Lucas. I have always, even back to the '90s when I first started thinking about such things, believed that George Lucas was someone whose reach exceeded his grasp as a storyteller. As a technician, it's been pointed out by better people than me that George has done more for filmmaking than just about anybody short of Edison. But as a storyteller his skills have always been...limited.
So looking at "Star Wars" (I should probably call it "A New Hope" for clarity's sake, but old habits and all that) I have always seen a story that was not all that great which was redeemed by groundbreaking special effects. Even as a kid I remember always thinking the first hour or so, which consisted of the cybernetic equivalents of Bert and Ernie wandering around a desert and complaining, was incredibly dull. Then the action gradually ramps up and by the time of the breathtaking dogfight finale all is forgiven.
And it's interesting that I use that word: forgiven. A lot of watching "Star Wars" - even the original three films - is about forgiving transgressions. We forgive George the Ewoks. We forgive George the parsec mistake. We forgive Luke being whiny and we forgive the lack of women and we forgive the code-switching and we forgive and forgive and forgive because...
Why exactly? Because we have fond memories of it from childhood? Probably. Because it's ultimately exhilarating? Yeah, a bit of that.
I've always felt that George Lucas was someone who could land on the green with one stroke every time, and then whiffed seven strokes in his short game. You can see it in every single movie he's ever made. He is a genius when it comes to knowing what would make a great, compelling setpiece that people will want to watch, and then he always fucks it up in the minutia with pillow talk about sand.
Every time George has had a co-writer - "The Empire Strikes Back" and "Revenge of the Sith" spring to mind - all those issues seem to just get ironed out. I mean, it's no great issue to admit you have a weakness. George is great at the mythic scope stuff, he's just not so brilliant at the piddling little details of human interaction. I can think of artists with far greater glaring holes in their skillsets.
But I think because of the initial success of "Star Wars" (again, I mean "A New Hope") George never realized or refused to acknowledge his shortcomings. I mean, imagine trying to tell Taylor Swift right now about the weaknesses in her songwriting. She'd probably look at you, pat you on the head and say, "I think I'm doing all right, sweetie."
And perhaps rightly so. But it wouldn't make the weaknesses go away. And in thirty years who knows, maybe Taylor Swift won't be able to coast by on being the powerhouse Taylor Swift anymore. Maybe she'll write a song and realize that the entire music industry has already internalized all of her tricks and she's left sounding like a bland copy of herself.
And I think that's basically what happened to George Lucas. I mean, from 1977-1999 he was George Fucking Lucas. The guy who did "Star Wars." The guy who did "Indiana Jones." And if he said put in a weird, vaguely racist, Jamaican monkey-frog thing, by God you were going to put in a weird, vaguely racist, Jamaican monkey-frog thing.
And when the sequels came all those glaring errors in the original trilogy that we had spent 22 years forgiving, came into focus. "Phantom Menace" wasn't released into a vacuum. Neither was it released in 1984. It was released in 1999, when Hollywood had already grokked all of George's secrets and tips and tricks, and with releases like "The Matrix," had already exceeded it. (Now if you want to get into a story about forgiving shit because of good special effects, I could write a whole other post on "The Matrix." But I digress.)
I've never thought the prequels were all that bad. It's become very haute coutour these days to shit on the prequels. I've even seen videos making the rounds where people are walking out of "The Phantom Menace" for the first time and they are exhilarated and excited and openly joyful about how much they enjoyed it. And these videos are meant to make laughingstocks of those people for enjoying what are now generally reviled films.
But here's the thing: I don't remember anyone shitting on the prequels when they first came out. Everyone enjoyed them, loved them, much the same way we seem to be enjoying and loving "The Force Awakens" right now in the two weeks since it came out. It was only with time that the vitriol against the prequels began to build up, and I think it was partially because we kept hoping that Episode II would redeem Episode I, and finally that Episode III would redeem Episode II and Episode I. I still think Episode III is an objectively good movie, and there are vast swathes of Episode II and even Episode I that I enjoyed. But what was missing?
Forgiveness. Maybe the kids who were ten when they first saw it will grow up to be people who forgive the prequels all their flaws. Probably not, though, because as I mentioned, Episode I wasn't released in a vacuum. In 1977 there was literally nothing else like "Star Wars" and there wouldn't be, couldn't be, even, for many years. Forgiveness was baked into its DNA. If you were a kid in the '70s or '80s, Star Wars stood head and shoulders above anything else available at the time. For a kid of the '90s, Star Wars was just one among many other spectacle movies - some, like "The Lord of the Rings," even eclipsing them.
So, the emperor's (no, not Palpatine, it's a metaphor, meathead) nakedness was laid bare. George Lucas was a SFX pioneer, but as a storyteller, he left a bit to be desired. And his myth had grown so powerful that people wouldn't even challenge him. I maintain to this day that all the elements for a great - not just serviceable, not just good, but truly great - series of movies is all there in the prequel trilogy. With a really solid edit from a really good script doctor, we would probably be talking about how great the prequels were instead of how lousy they were except for a couple of thrilling setpieces. So George was a victim of his own myth in a way.
I don't think it's fair to excoriate him for it. And now that "The Force Awakens" seems to be everything we ever wanted from a new "Star Wars" movie people seem to be practically dancing on George's grave.
I could go on about how it's more than immature, it's unfair, because this is a guy who gave you a lot of joy and really changed a lot of lives. But I think we probably all know that inherently. And I could go on about how it's certainly premature, because I have no idea how time will treat Episode VII. Fifteen years from now will we be comparing it to Episode IV or Episode I? I can see it going either way. Remember those people from the viral video praising Episode I? That'll be us in fifteen years. Perhaps we'll seem prescient, or perhaps we'll seem silly.
And yet, for all its failings, the prequel trilogy was a new story. It didn't lean heavily on the first trilogy. I mean, at all. Say what you will, but George absolutely told a new story. And fans reviled him for it and said, "We wanted more 'Star Wars,' not whatever this new garbage is." So J.J. gave them more "Star Wars," whatever that means, and I can already see the cracks in the seams as people begin to point out how derivative "The Force Awakens" is. So which way was right? George Lucas gave us something new, and we reviled it. J.J. Abrams gave us the same old same old, and we seem to be happy...but how long until the pendulum swings and we start reviling it again? What about ten years from now when we've had a Star Wars movie every year? How derivative and creaky will all this shit seem then? Will we be kicking ourselves, wishing we'd left it up to George who at least had a vision, at least was an auteur, rather than kicking our beloved childhood story up to Disney, who, let's make no bones about it, is a corporation looking to monetize our nostalgia? Are we going to regret letting Disney run "Star Wars" into the ground? Or will we perhaps just be so happy being force-fed what we told Lucas for years we wanted, that we'll just take our medicine and enjoy it?
I don't know. I don't have any answers. And I've barely even touched on what was supposed to be the original topic of this essay: what it must be like for George Lucas to be treated like dogshit and scraped off our collective shoes after giving us "Star Wars" for Christ's sake. I imagine he must be a bit sad, and, yeah, he made buku bucks, but he basically had to sell his baby to do that. But, then again, hadn't he already pimped out his baby? It's hard. It's a Gordian Knot.
But how about that fucking lightsaber fight, huh? Against the guy with the power gauntlet? And the lasers were all like, "pew pew?" Pretty fucking cool, huh?
And that really gets me thinking. It gets me thinking about art and an artist's duty to his audience, and an audience's duty to the artist, and all kinds of fuzzy, complicated, artsy-fartsy type bullshit.
But back to George Lucas. I have always, even back to the '90s when I first started thinking about such things, believed that George Lucas was someone whose reach exceeded his grasp as a storyteller. As a technician, it's been pointed out by better people than me that George has done more for filmmaking than just about anybody short of Edison. But as a storyteller his skills have always been...limited.
So looking at "Star Wars" (I should probably call it "A New Hope" for clarity's sake, but old habits and all that) I have always seen a story that was not all that great which was redeemed by groundbreaking special effects. Even as a kid I remember always thinking the first hour or so, which consisted of the cybernetic equivalents of Bert and Ernie wandering around a desert and complaining, was incredibly dull. Then the action gradually ramps up and by the time of the breathtaking dogfight finale all is forgiven.
And it's interesting that I use that word: forgiven. A lot of watching "Star Wars" - even the original three films - is about forgiving transgressions. We forgive George the Ewoks. We forgive George the parsec mistake. We forgive Luke being whiny and we forgive the lack of women and we forgive the code-switching and we forgive and forgive and forgive because...
Why exactly? Because we have fond memories of it from childhood? Probably. Because it's ultimately exhilarating? Yeah, a bit of that.
I've always felt that George Lucas was someone who could land on the green with one stroke every time, and then whiffed seven strokes in his short game. You can see it in every single movie he's ever made. He is a genius when it comes to knowing what would make a great, compelling setpiece that people will want to watch, and then he always fucks it up in the minutia with pillow talk about sand.
Every time George has had a co-writer - "The Empire Strikes Back" and "Revenge of the Sith" spring to mind - all those issues seem to just get ironed out. I mean, it's no great issue to admit you have a weakness. George is great at the mythic scope stuff, he's just not so brilliant at the piddling little details of human interaction. I can think of artists with far greater glaring holes in their skillsets.
But I think because of the initial success of "Star Wars" (again, I mean "A New Hope") George never realized or refused to acknowledge his shortcomings. I mean, imagine trying to tell Taylor Swift right now about the weaknesses in her songwriting. She'd probably look at you, pat you on the head and say, "I think I'm doing all right, sweetie."
And perhaps rightly so. But it wouldn't make the weaknesses go away. And in thirty years who knows, maybe Taylor Swift won't be able to coast by on being the powerhouse Taylor Swift anymore. Maybe she'll write a song and realize that the entire music industry has already internalized all of her tricks and she's left sounding like a bland copy of herself.
And I think that's basically what happened to George Lucas. I mean, from 1977-1999 he was George Fucking Lucas. The guy who did "Star Wars." The guy who did "Indiana Jones." And if he said put in a weird, vaguely racist, Jamaican monkey-frog thing, by God you were going to put in a weird, vaguely racist, Jamaican monkey-frog thing.
And when the sequels came all those glaring errors in the original trilogy that we had spent 22 years forgiving, came into focus. "Phantom Menace" wasn't released into a vacuum. Neither was it released in 1984. It was released in 1999, when Hollywood had already grokked all of George's secrets and tips and tricks, and with releases like "The Matrix," had already exceeded it. (Now if you want to get into a story about forgiving shit because of good special effects, I could write a whole other post on "The Matrix." But I digress.)
I've never thought the prequels were all that bad. It's become very haute coutour these days to shit on the prequels. I've even seen videos making the rounds where people are walking out of "The Phantom Menace" for the first time and they are exhilarated and excited and openly joyful about how much they enjoyed it. And these videos are meant to make laughingstocks of those people for enjoying what are now generally reviled films.
But here's the thing: I don't remember anyone shitting on the prequels when they first came out. Everyone enjoyed them, loved them, much the same way we seem to be enjoying and loving "The Force Awakens" right now in the two weeks since it came out. It was only with time that the vitriol against the prequels began to build up, and I think it was partially because we kept hoping that Episode II would redeem Episode I, and finally that Episode III would redeem Episode II and Episode I. I still think Episode III is an objectively good movie, and there are vast swathes of Episode II and even Episode I that I enjoyed. But what was missing?
Forgiveness. Maybe the kids who were ten when they first saw it will grow up to be people who forgive the prequels all their flaws. Probably not, though, because as I mentioned, Episode I wasn't released in a vacuum. In 1977 there was literally nothing else like "Star Wars" and there wouldn't be, couldn't be, even, for many years. Forgiveness was baked into its DNA. If you were a kid in the '70s or '80s, Star Wars stood head and shoulders above anything else available at the time. For a kid of the '90s, Star Wars was just one among many other spectacle movies - some, like "The Lord of the Rings," even eclipsing them.
So, the emperor's (no, not Palpatine, it's a metaphor, meathead) nakedness was laid bare. George Lucas was a SFX pioneer, but as a storyteller, he left a bit to be desired. And his myth had grown so powerful that people wouldn't even challenge him. I maintain to this day that all the elements for a great - not just serviceable, not just good, but truly great - series of movies is all there in the prequel trilogy. With a really solid edit from a really good script doctor, we would probably be talking about how great the prequels were instead of how lousy they were except for a couple of thrilling setpieces. So George was a victim of his own myth in a way.
I don't think it's fair to excoriate him for it. And now that "The Force Awakens" seems to be everything we ever wanted from a new "Star Wars" movie people seem to be practically dancing on George's grave.
I could go on about how it's more than immature, it's unfair, because this is a guy who gave you a lot of joy and really changed a lot of lives. But I think we probably all know that inherently. And I could go on about how it's certainly premature, because I have no idea how time will treat Episode VII. Fifteen years from now will we be comparing it to Episode IV or Episode I? I can see it going either way. Remember those people from the viral video praising Episode I? That'll be us in fifteen years. Perhaps we'll seem prescient, or perhaps we'll seem silly.
And yet, for all its failings, the prequel trilogy was a new story. It didn't lean heavily on the first trilogy. I mean, at all. Say what you will, but George absolutely told a new story. And fans reviled him for it and said, "We wanted more 'Star Wars,' not whatever this new garbage is." So J.J. gave them more "Star Wars," whatever that means, and I can already see the cracks in the seams as people begin to point out how derivative "The Force Awakens" is. So which way was right? George Lucas gave us something new, and we reviled it. J.J. Abrams gave us the same old same old, and we seem to be happy...but how long until the pendulum swings and we start reviling it again? What about ten years from now when we've had a Star Wars movie every year? How derivative and creaky will all this shit seem then? Will we be kicking ourselves, wishing we'd left it up to George who at least had a vision, at least was an auteur, rather than kicking our beloved childhood story up to Disney, who, let's make no bones about it, is a corporation looking to monetize our nostalgia? Are we going to regret letting Disney run "Star Wars" into the ground? Or will we perhaps just be so happy being force-fed what we told Lucas for years we wanted, that we'll just take our medicine and enjoy it?
I don't know. I don't have any answers. And I've barely even touched on what was supposed to be the original topic of this essay: what it must be like for George Lucas to be treated like dogshit and scraped off our collective shoes after giving us "Star Wars" for Christ's sake. I imagine he must be a bit sad, and, yeah, he made buku bucks, but he basically had to sell his baby to do that. But, then again, hadn't he already pimped out his baby? It's hard. It's a Gordian Knot.
But how about that fucking lightsaber fight, huh? Against the guy with the power gauntlet? And the lasers were all like, "pew pew?" Pretty fucking cool, huh?
December 25, 2015
The Linguistics of "Krampus" and "Star Wars"
By now you've probably seen the Yuletide horrorfest "Krampus," apparently the first of many Krampus-themed movies coming our way in the next few years. While most viewers were enjoying the gore, the humor, or both, as a former language student I was of course particularly fascinated by some of the linguistics lessons "Krampus" had to teach us.
I found of particular interest how "Krampus" tackled the subject of code-switching. And while fanciful Christmas demons and murderous toys are a bit far-fetched, "Krampus" was surprisingly accurate in its portrayal of the code-switching phenomenon, in contrast to the vast majority of movies which feature it.
So what is code-switching? Code-switching is the linguistic term for carrying on a conversation in two different languages in tandem. (Think Chewie and Han in any of the "Star Wars" movies.) In reality, code-switching is an exceedingly rare phenomenon.
Imagine, for instance, a Russian businessman and a Chinese businessman meeting without translators in, let's say, Beijing. It's a good bet the Russian businessman was sent on this trip because he has a strong knowledge of Mandarin. The Chinese businessman sent to meet him also likely has at least a fair knowledge of Russian. That's just good business on the part of both companies. But since the meeting is in China and all around everyone's knowledge of Mandarin is strongest, they'll probably communicate in Mandarin exclusively. Reverse the particulars and they'll likely communicate in Russian exclusively.
Point being: even if both parties are fluent in both languges, they'll usually communicate in only one. Why? Well, picture yourself at the office working on paperwork when the phone rings. You have to "switch gears" from paperwork-processing mode to phone-answering mode. The phone call essentially acts as an interruption. And when you return to your paperwork, it'll take you a moment to find your place again and recall what you were doing.
Genuine code-switching is like that. Every time the Chinese businessman says something in Mandarin, the Russian businessman would have to translate it in his mind into Russian, then respond in Russian. Then the Chinese businessman would have to translate that into Mandarin, and then respond in Mandarin. It's much easier for both men to just stay in the same "gear."
Now let's back up a little. Let's say our characters are meeting in Tokyo, a "neutral" location, and they're both only semi-fluent in the other language. Another way they may communicate is with a patois. A patois is a blending of one or more languages. Across the Caribbean, for instance, there are various regional patois which are blendings of English, French, and sometimes the aboriginal languages and the languages of the African slaves. So the Russian businessman will attempt to speak in Mandarin as much as he can, but will insert Russian words where his vocabulary fails him. Similarly, the Chinese businessman will respond in Mandarin, but may be forced to clarify more complicated words with their Russian equivalents. Basically, the two are creating a Venn diagram of shared understanding. Neither understands their second language perfectly, but since they both have a lot of overlapping knowledge, they can effectively communicate.
Now at this point you're probably saying (and rightly so) that this example is bullshit, because most international business is actually carried on in English. And you're right. English is the most studied second language in the world and for the most part when two non-native English speakers meet, English will be their strongest shared language. In the modern world English is what's known as a lingua franca or trade language. Lingua franca itself is a fascinating term. It's a Latin term, and Latin itself was once the lingua franca of the Christian world, because a priest in France and a priest in Poland would both speak liturgical Latin. But lingua franca itself means literally "French language" and harkens to a time not so long ago when French was the trade language for much of the world.
But since the time of the ascendancy of the British Empire over the French, and the rise of the United States as a cultural and military superpower, English has replaced French and Latin as the trade language of the world in general. Everyone, for instance, watches Hollywood movies, often subtitled rather than dubbed. (Much to the chagrin of many national film industries.) The average American could probably easily go through life without ever having to be exposed to another language if they don't want to, except maybe in a mandatory school class. In much of the rest of the world, though, there are years of mandatory English classes in school, and a non-American can expect to be exposed to a great deal of English-language entertainment, and likely will have to do business in English.
There are, of course, regional trade languages. Hindi, for instance, is the lingua franca of India (although, due to British colonial and American cultural-colonial influences, it is also largely being supplanted by English.) Only roughly a quarter of Indians (258 million) claim Hindi or a Hindi dialect as their native tongue, yet Hindi is the lingua franca and official federal state language of India. So someone who grew up speaking the Gujarati dialect should theoretically be able to go to a Bengali-speaking province of India and communicate in Hindi. Looking at the world as a whole, though, English is the most common lingua franca.
So, now that we've established what code-switching is not (it's not speaking in a patois, it's not speaking in a shared language, it's not speaking in a lingua franca) it becomes clearer what it is. Han carries on his conversations exclusively in Basic. Chewie responds entirely in Wookiee. Neither indicates any difficulty understanding the other.
Code-switching as depicted in "Star Wars" is actually fleetingly rare. As I said, even if a conversation is initiated by code-switching, both parties will usually settle into a single, shared mode of communication. The reason it happens so much in "Star Wars" (R2-D2 and C-3PO also code-switch, as does Jabba, Greedo, and some of his other minions) - or, well, I should clarify, the in-universe reason it happens so much in Star Wars, at least according to the old EU canon - is that humans are incapable of speaking Wookiee, and vice versa. Artoo, similarly, is unable to communicate except through beeps and whistles.
The "real" reason of course, is so we can understand what our favorite alien characters are saying without subtitles. For some reason (I'll avoid opining on in this blogppost anyway) American audiences are extremely loath to have to read anything in their movies. A few fleeting subtitles filmmakers can get away with, but too many extended foreign language sequence usually relegates a film to the arthouses. (I'm generalizing here - "Inglorious Basterds" got away with it, but for the most part, studios try to avoid subtitles as much as possible without being completely disingenuous.)
With something like "Star Wars" that is targeted to kids who may not even be able to read subtitles and general audiences who largely despise doing so, code-switching is a convenient way to have aliens speaking an alien language and imply the content of their speech. In fact, this has become something of an art form in Hollywood. Just look at "The Force Awakens." (Spoiler alert?) In one scene, a Resistance medic tends to Chewie's wounds, and by her response and Chewie's subdued speaking, we gather that he's a bit of a whiner and she responds as she would to a young child or pet.
So now we know what code-switching is not, we know what it is, but when does it really come into play? Well, interestingly enough, another holiday movie this year that I would otherwise have difficulty calling "accurate" in any meaningful sense, got the phenomenon of code-switching correct. Genuine, no-shit code-switching mostly occurs in multi-generational immigrant homes. In "Krampus" the grandmother, called "Omi" (just a diminutive for "Oma" or "Grandmother") spoke German almost exclusively. And her son and grandson replied to her in English almost exclusively.
Obviously both parties understand both languages or code-switching wouldn't work. In one scene, the father comforts his mother in German. And in another scene, Omi switches over to English because she wants everyone to understand her story about Krampus. So why does code-switching occur at all?
I've generalized a lot in this blogpost (it's hard not to when you're trying to condense massive linguistic concepts down into a few short, hopefully readable paragraphs) so I hope you'll forgive me if I generalize just a little bit more. I think of code-switching as the result of "letting your hair down" at the end of the day. We all, to one extent or another, put on a little performance for the people in our lives. I wear a tie to work, and a shark costume to conventions, and neither is quite the real me. I'm polite to customers on the phone when internally I'm cursing them out and sometimes I curse out my friends when internally I love them deeply but we live in a culture where guys can't just say that. (Sober, anyway.) Our lives are all, to some extent, performance art.
But in your home, with your family, you can be yourself. Sure, some of our affected behavior (maybe most of it) is for the benefit of our families. But at a certain point at home you become the real you. Maybe you change into sweatpants. Maybe you stick your hand on your crotch, Al Bundy-style. And maybe, just maybe, even if you're the perfectly integrated immigrant who speaks English all day at work and at play, you finally relax and switch over to your mother tongue.
In an immigrant home the parents (and sometimes even grandparents) who emigrated grew up speaking their native language. English will always be their second language. Most of our capacity for language learning is closed off by the age of thirteen. (Which, yes, makes our foreign language education in this country a complete disgrace since we hardly even start by twelve - but I digress.) Fluent though I may be in German, until the end of my life I will always have an American accent when speaking German, because I learned it after I was thirteen. German will always be my second language.
Consider though the children (or grandchildren) of immigrants. Even if their parents native tongue (let's say German, as in "Krampus") is exclusively spoken at home, every time they go out they'll learn the tongue of their home - let's say English. And then comes school, and English comes hard and heavy from the age of 5 or 6 up. German - the mother tongue to their parents - becomes just that thing I have to know for when Mom's yelling at me. Gradually English becomes the native tongue of the children, as they are exposed more and more to English. They talk to their friends in English. They watch English language TV.
And so in multi-generational immigrant households we find the almost unique situation of shared understanding of two languages, but one generation considers German their native tongue, and the other considers English. Hence we have true code-switching. At the end of the day, Mom and Dad will yell and grouse or even express their love in German. And son and daughter will respond in English, because when their hair is down at the end of the day that's who they really are. Our good friend Mary Fan recently wrote a fascinating blogpost which taught me something new: when her parents got mad they would yell about "you Americans." Interesting that her parents considered her of a different culture, isn't it? Just one of many reasons I find code-switching such a fascinating phenomenon.
Well, hopefully I didn't bore you too much and hopefully you even learned a little something about some of your favorite holiday movies this year. Until next time, cats and kittens.
I found of particular interest how "Krampus" tackled the subject of code-switching. And while fanciful Christmas demons and murderous toys are a bit far-fetched, "Krampus" was surprisingly accurate in its portrayal of the code-switching phenomenon, in contrast to the vast majority of movies which feature it.
So what is code-switching? Code-switching is the linguistic term for carrying on a conversation in two different languages in tandem. (Think Chewie and Han in any of the "Star Wars" movies.) In reality, code-switching is an exceedingly rare phenomenon.
Imagine, for instance, a Russian businessman and a Chinese businessman meeting without translators in, let's say, Beijing. It's a good bet the Russian businessman was sent on this trip because he has a strong knowledge of Mandarin. The Chinese businessman sent to meet him also likely has at least a fair knowledge of Russian. That's just good business on the part of both companies. But since the meeting is in China and all around everyone's knowledge of Mandarin is strongest, they'll probably communicate in Mandarin exclusively. Reverse the particulars and they'll likely communicate in Russian exclusively.
Point being: even if both parties are fluent in both languges, they'll usually communicate in only one. Why? Well, picture yourself at the office working on paperwork when the phone rings. You have to "switch gears" from paperwork-processing mode to phone-answering mode. The phone call essentially acts as an interruption. And when you return to your paperwork, it'll take you a moment to find your place again and recall what you were doing.
Genuine code-switching is like that. Every time the Chinese businessman says something in Mandarin, the Russian businessman would have to translate it in his mind into Russian, then respond in Russian. Then the Chinese businessman would have to translate that into Mandarin, and then respond in Mandarin. It's much easier for both men to just stay in the same "gear."
Now let's back up a little. Let's say our characters are meeting in Tokyo, a "neutral" location, and they're both only semi-fluent in the other language. Another way they may communicate is with a patois. A patois is a blending of one or more languages. Across the Caribbean, for instance, there are various regional patois which are blendings of English, French, and sometimes the aboriginal languages and the languages of the African slaves. So the Russian businessman will attempt to speak in Mandarin as much as he can, but will insert Russian words where his vocabulary fails him. Similarly, the Chinese businessman will respond in Mandarin, but may be forced to clarify more complicated words with their Russian equivalents. Basically, the two are creating a Venn diagram of shared understanding. Neither understands their second language perfectly, but since they both have a lot of overlapping knowledge, they can effectively communicate.
Now at this point you're probably saying (and rightly so) that this example is bullshit, because most international business is actually carried on in English. And you're right. English is the most studied second language in the world and for the most part when two non-native English speakers meet, English will be their strongest shared language. In the modern world English is what's known as a lingua franca or trade language. Lingua franca itself is a fascinating term. It's a Latin term, and Latin itself was once the lingua franca of the Christian world, because a priest in France and a priest in Poland would both speak liturgical Latin. But lingua franca itself means literally "French language" and harkens to a time not so long ago when French was the trade language for much of the world.
But since the time of the ascendancy of the British Empire over the French, and the rise of the United States as a cultural and military superpower, English has replaced French and Latin as the trade language of the world in general. Everyone, for instance, watches Hollywood movies, often subtitled rather than dubbed. (Much to the chagrin of many national film industries.) The average American could probably easily go through life without ever having to be exposed to another language if they don't want to, except maybe in a mandatory school class. In much of the rest of the world, though, there are years of mandatory English classes in school, and a non-American can expect to be exposed to a great deal of English-language entertainment, and likely will have to do business in English.
There are, of course, regional trade languages. Hindi, for instance, is the lingua franca of India (although, due to British colonial and American cultural-colonial influences, it is also largely being supplanted by English.) Only roughly a quarter of Indians (258 million) claim Hindi or a Hindi dialect as their native tongue, yet Hindi is the lingua franca and official federal state language of India. So someone who grew up speaking the Gujarati dialect should theoretically be able to go to a Bengali-speaking province of India and communicate in Hindi. Looking at the world as a whole, though, English is the most common lingua franca.
So, now that we've established what code-switching is not (it's not speaking in a patois, it's not speaking in a shared language, it's not speaking in a lingua franca) it becomes clearer what it is. Han carries on his conversations exclusively in Basic. Chewie responds entirely in Wookiee. Neither indicates any difficulty understanding the other.
Code-switching as depicted in "Star Wars" is actually fleetingly rare. As I said, even if a conversation is initiated by code-switching, both parties will usually settle into a single, shared mode of communication. The reason it happens so much in "Star Wars" (R2-D2 and C-3PO also code-switch, as does Jabba, Greedo, and some of his other minions) - or, well, I should clarify, the in-universe reason it happens so much in Star Wars, at least according to the old EU canon - is that humans are incapable of speaking Wookiee, and vice versa. Artoo, similarly, is unable to communicate except through beeps and whistles.
The "real" reason of course, is so we can understand what our favorite alien characters are saying without subtitles. For some reason (I'll avoid opining on in this blogppost anyway) American audiences are extremely loath to have to read anything in their movies. A few fleeting subtitles filmmakers can get away with, but too many extended foreign language sequence usually relegates a film to the arthouses. (I'm generalizing here - "Inglorious Basterds" got away with it, but for the most part, studios try to avoid subtitles as much as possible without being completely disingenuous.)
With something like "Star Wars" that is targeted to kids who may not even be able to read subtitles and general audiences who largely despise doing so, code-switching is a convenient way to have aliens speaking an alien language and imply the content of their speech. In fact, this has become something of an art form in Hollywood. Just look at "The Force Awakens." (Spoiler alert?) In one scene, a Resistance medic tends to Chewie's wounds, and by her response and Chewie's subdued speaking, we gather that he's a bit of a whiner and she responds as she would to a young child or pet.
So now we know what code-switching is not, we know what it is, but when does it really come into play? Well, interestingly enough, another holiday movie this year that I would otherwise have difficulty calling "accurate" in any meaningful sense, got the phenomenon of code-switching correct. Genuine, no-shit code-switching mostly occurs in multi-generational immigrant homes. In "Krampus" the grandmother, called "Omi" (just a diminutive for "Oma" or "Grandmother") spoke German almost exclusively. And her son and grandson replied to her in English almost exclusively.
Obviously both parties understand both languages or code-switching wouldn't work. In one scene, the father comforts his mother in German. And in another scene, Omi switches over to English because she wants everyone to understand her story about Krampus. So why does code-switching occur at all?
I've generalized a lot in this blogpost (it's hard not to when you're trying to condense massive linguistic concepts down into a few short, hopefully readable paragraphs) so I hope you'll forgive me if I generalize just a little bit more. I think of code-switching as the result of "letting your hair down" at the end of the day. We all, to one extent or another, put on a little performance for the people in our lives. I wear a tie to work, and a shark costume to conventions, and neither is quite the real me. I'm polite to customers on the phone when internally I'm cursing them out and sometimes I curse out my friends when internally I love them deeply but we live in a culture where guys can't just say that. (Sober, anyway.) Our lives are all, to some extent, performance art.
But in your home, with your family, you can be yourself. Sure, some of our affected behavior (maybe most of it) is for the benefit of our families. But at a certain point at home you become the real you. Maybe you change into sweatpants. Maybe you stick your hand on your crotch, Al Bundy-style. And maybe, just maybe, even if you're the perfectly integrated immigrant who speaks English all day at work and at play, you finally relax and switch over to your mother tongue.
In an immigrant home the parents (and sometimes even grandparents) who emigrated grew up speaking their native language. English will always be their second language. Most of our capacity for language learning is closed off by the age of thirteen. (Which, yes, makes our foreign language education in this country a complete disgrace since we hardly even start by twelve - but I digress.) Fluent though I may be in German, until the end of my life I will always have an American accent when speaking German, because I learned it after I was thirteen. German will always be my second language.
Consider though the children (or grandchildren) of immigrants. Even if their parents native tongue (let's say German, as in "Krampus") is exclusively spoken at home, every time they go out they'll learn the tongue of their home - let's say English. And then comes school, and English comes hard and heavy from the age of 5 or 6 up. German - the mother tongue to their parents - becomes just that thing I have to know for when Mom's yelling at me. Gradually English becomes the native tongue of the children, as they are exposed more and more to English. They talk to their friends in English. They watch English language TV.
And so in multi-generational immigrant households we find the almost unique situation of shared understanding of two languages, but one generation considers German their native tongue, and the other considers English. Hence we have true code-switching. At the end of the day, Mom and Dad will yell and grouse or even express their love in German. And son and daughter will respond in English, because when their hair is down at the end of the day that's who they really are. Our good friend Mary Fan recently wrote a fascinating blogpost which taught me something new: when her parents got mad they would yell about "you Americans." Interesting that her parents considered her of a different culture, isn't it? Just one of many reasons I find code-switching such a fascinating phenomenon.
Well, hopefully I didn't bore you too much and hopefully you even learned a little something about some of your favorite holiday movies this year. Until next time, cats and kittens.
