A. Lee Martinez's Blog, page 15

Statistically, you’re reading this because you’re already somewhat a fan of mine. Maybe only a slight one. Maybe a deeply infatuated one (I’d like to believe). Maybe just a semi-curious person who heard my name bandied about somewhere or accidentally typed a random series of letters that just happened to lead to this web address. Regardless, you’re probably not discovering me by just dropping in.

This is the eternal problem all artists face. I can post and make every effort to be a web presence, but people already know where they like to go on the internet, and if I’m not on their list, I’m not going to make it. So let’s just assume you’re here because you’re familiar with my work.

I’m going to suggest maybe you don’t understand it.

I know. It’s about as stupid a thing as an artist can write. It’s pretentious and self-righteous and, jeepers, does it sound obnoxious. But I’ve been published for ten years now, and I’ve done all right. Yet I can’t escape the shadows of certain giants that shall remain nameless. My books are often dismissed as brain candy or fluff or slight amusements, and I’ve mostly sat on the sidelines and accepted it, assuming someone would get it someday.

And some people do.

But for those who don’t, I’m here to spell it out. Yeah, it’s not a great sign for an artist’s ability if he needs to explain his work, but it’s also entirely possible that people are so busy trying to interpret my work through the lens of the work of other authors that they aren’t really looking for what I’m trying to do. Instead, they frame it in terms of others in my field are attempting, and by doing so, I’m inevitably on the losing end of that battle because A) they’re already giants so I can’t compete with them and B) I’m not trying to compete with them in the first place.

It might seem weird to think that, despite the wide range of fantasy and sci fi genres I’ve explored, there’s a linking theme, but there is. And that theme is pretty obvious if you’re looking for it.

Life is weird, confusing, and difficult. We are not in control of our own destiny. We are at the mercy of forces beyond our ken. And the best way to get through this thing called life is to stick together and help each other out.

Seriously. That’s it. That’s what every A. Lee Martinez story up to this point has been about. Whether we’re talking about vampires or space squids, robots or moon monsters, it’s always the same theme, time and time again.

I don’t write satire. Satire is intentionally ridiculing through exaggeration. I’m not ridiculing anything. I’m not commenting on society. I’m not poking fun at culture or other topical issues.

I don’t write farce. Farce is comedy through exaggerated buffoonery, slapstick, etc. I’m not doing that.

I’m not writing parodies. I love the sci fi and fantasy genres. Why would I waste a whole book making fun of them?

No, I’m writing about what it means to live in a weird universe. And, in case you weren’t paying attention, you and me and everyone else kind of do. We might not have to deal with the same level of weirdness as my protagonists, but it’s still all there. The difficulties, the ups and downs, the uncertainty. And through it all, it’s our relationships that tend to keep us going.

That’s what every A. Lee Martinez story is about, thematically.

Let’s break it down, shall we?

In Gil’s All Fright Diner, a couple of combative friends stand against the end of the world. They fight. They wrestle with the expectations of the world around them (both as men and monsters). The vampire overcomes his aversion to ghosts to somehow create a real relationship. And when the end of the world happens, it’s only by working together that these characters (and a few others) save the day. (Spoiler alert.)

In In the Company of Ogres, a loser who can’t die gets assigned to a military unit of losers and misfits. Somehow, this disparate group of individuals comes together to save the day. Also, the big bad isn’t really that bad, and ultimately, the day is saved when he sees these lowly creatures as worthy of respect precisely because of their silly, pointless struggles.

In A Nameless Witch, a cursed witch ends up building a weird family unit around her, falling in love, and through that love (say it with me now) saving the world. It isn’t a story that promises love conquers all, but it does conquer some. And maybe that’s more than enough.

The Automatic Detective: An aimless reformed robot finds purpose through connections to the strange biological creatures that surround him.

Too Many Curses: In a castle full of cursed residents, the only thing they can count on is each other. And Nessy’s heroic quality is her compassion, kindness, and patience to all those troublesome souls around her.

Monster is sort of the anti-theme of this list because it’s sort of a tragedy that Monster himself can’t really stop pondering his own problems to form lasting friendships. Even then, it’s his temporary one that ends up helping to … save the world.

Divine Misfortune: Gods learn that even immortality doesn’t free one from the burden of living with and for other people, and the rewards that come with embracing that responsibility.

Chasing the Moon: Basically, Cthulhu learns about people and finds himself identifying with them in a way that changes his whole outlook.

Emperor Mollusk versus the Sinister Brain: Even if you’re the smartest guy in the universe, it doesn’t mean you don’t need some help now and then. And what good is unlimited power without some guiding intent, hopefully benevolent?

Helen & Troy’s Epic Road Quest: Two young people struggle with the barriers that bind them, both personally and culturally, and find strength in each other. And a group of aging orcs discover kinship on the road.

And now, The Last Adventure of Constance Verity. It is, above all, a story about an extraordinary woman wrestling with the same dilemmas we all face. She can save the world, but she still isn’t master of her own fate. There are things she wants she can’t have, and one of those things is a nice, simple day where nothing goes wrong.

Can’t we all relate?

As we draw closer to The Last Adventure of Constance Verity‘s release, I’ll be talking more about it and my books in general. For too long, I’ve expected people to get what I do while mostly being dismissed as a silly writer who writes silly books. This isn’t likely to change many people’s opinions, but if you’re on the fence or if you love my books but could never put your finger on why, I’ll be happy to give you a reason or two.

Yep, we’re doing A. Lee Martinez on A. Lee Martinez. It might be indulgent, but somebody has to do it, right? Might as well be me.

Keelah Se’lai

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

LEE

Wren & Hess
The age of gladiators was long over. No more fights to the death. No more warrior versus beast. No more lives offered up for the entertainment of the savage masses. Not quite. The guards stationed at the door surveyed Wren and Hess. Nobody liked constables visiting The Pit. Not The Pit’s managers, who knew it was bad for business. Not the Tower, which knew it was mostly a waste of time. Still, there were rules, and those rules, loose as they were, needed to be enforced. A reminder was due every now and then.  The guards reluctantly stepped aside, and Wren and Hess entered The Pit. It stank of sweat and blood and violence. The crowd cheered as two fighters battered each other in the sunken arena. No more axes or spears. Nothing but fists and flesh. The orc bruiser landed a crushing uppercut on his human opponent who fell over. The orc pounced on his staggered foe and commenced to rain more blows to the satisfied roars of the audience. Wren and Hess went to the back, where the warriors waited between fights. The fighters cleared a path for them, but a lanky man stood in front of them. Gold John, so-named because of his habit of draping himself in so many gold chains he couldn’t stand straight, stabbed a finger at Wren. “My boy hasn’t done nothing wrong,” said John. “He fought fair and square, and if you’re here to arrest him, you don’t have a leg to stand on.” “Nobody’s here to arrest anyone,” said Wren. “We just need to ask a few questions.” The massive ogre sitting on a bench in the back snorted. “It’s fine, John. They’re just doing their job.” Gold John moved aside. It was understood that Wren would do the talking. The Pit put Hess on edge. His long tail whipped back and forth with sharp snaps and his frills straightened. He was always like that when they had to come down here. “You’re Victus?” asked Wren of the ogre. The blue-skinned giant nodded. “Is the kid all right?” “He’ll live,” she said. “Lost an eye. Might lose a leg.” Victus slumped. “Idiot.” “Did anyone mention he pulled a knife on my fighter?” asked Gold John. “That’s against the rules.” “Shut up, John.” Victus stared at his hands. They still sported the bloodied wrappings. “He was just a little guy.” “Do you want to tell us what happened?” asked Wren. “Like John said. He got a knife in there. I defended myself.”  He nodded to John who handed Wren the weapon. It was only a few inches of cheap steel. “Is this it?” she asked. “It’s still a weapon,” said Gold John. “It’s still against the rules.” Wren gave the knife to Hess. “Doesn’t look like much of a threat against your fighter here.” “Rules are rules,” said John. “And if we let someone pull that kind of thing without being punished, it’ll only get worse.” “So you were punishing him?” “Never said that. Don’t put words in my mouth.” Victus grunted. “I did it. He broke the rules, and it pissed me off. I hit him, and he fell. And then I hit him again. And again. I heard him break, and I still hit him a couple more times.” “That’s it. No more. You want to talk to my fighter, you call him to the Tower. We’re done here.” Wren held up her hand. “Take it easy. We’re not here to arrest anyone. The kid pulled a knife, and things got out of control. The Tower accepts that will happen now and then. What I want to know is why this scrawny kid was in the arena with Victus anyway.” “He paid. If you pay enough, you get your shot at the champ. Stupid kids come along all the time. Victus usually just gives them a smack and sends them on their way. No real harm done.” “A couple of months ago, didn’t a challenger get his neck broken?” “That was an accident,” said Gold John. “I hit him too hard,” said Victus. “I didn’t mean to. They’re just so fragile.” He squeezed his hands into fists and closed his eyes.  “That challenger was this kid’s brother. He was here for revenge,” said Wren. “It’s clear he was at fault.” “I want to press charges,” said Gold John. “Shut up, John,” said Victus. “Tell the kid I’m sorry, all right. Tell him . . . just tell him that.” Hess’s tail stopped swishing. He inhaled and flicked the air with his tongue.  “This place always reminds me of home. It’s the smell, just like my hatchery. They never gave us enough food. Let the strong survive. Earn your life. I was bigger than most. I managed. But there was another who was biggest. He was taken away to become a soldier. Never had a choice in it. I think of him sometimes. Never chose to be the strongest. Never had much of a choice at all. I got out. He probably died somewhere on some battlefield, fighting some other poor bastard over some stupid thing nobody cared about. And, sure, it wasn’t his choice, and maybe that comforted him. I’d like to think so.” The cheers of the arena echoed through The Pit. “Doesn’t change things. Doesn’t wash away the blood. Doesn’t give that kid his eye back. Doesn’t bring back his brother. But what’s done is done. But you weren’t hatched here, and the only thing keeping you here is you. You’re sorry? You tell him.” Hess frowned. “I really hate this place.” They finished up, reassuring Gold John and Victus that charges were unlikely. It was ugly business, but all within what was acceptable for The Pit. “Think he’ll do it?” asked Wren. Hess shrugged. “Probably not.” “Yeah,” she said. “Probably not.” They left The Pit and its stink of dried blood behind.

While Civil War is a solid move and one I actually like a bit more as I think about it, I think it’s important to remember that applying real world logic to superhero stories is tricky at best and silly at worst. For one thing, in a world of superhumans, supervillains are bound to arise. When that happens, you need superheroes. They are not optional. They are a necessary bulwark against powerful individuals who can destroy worlds by blinking. I love The Incredibles, but it gets around the “What happened to the supervillains?” question by simply not asking it. And there are supervillains in this world, as implied by Frozone and Mr. Incredible’s conversations and by the appearance of the Underminer at the end of the film. I don’t mind that the focus of the movie isn’t “What happens when supervillains are allowed to run unchecked?”, and I’m glad it doesn’t bother trying to answer the question. But for the idea of banning superheroes to work you have to imagine all the supervillains going away as well. Even stories that deconstruct the superhero ideal usually do it by either A) having a world with relatively few superhumans and B) having a character go mad and eventually be stopped by another superhuman. Alan Moore’s Miracleman is indeed a horrific glimpse of a world with an incredibly powerful mass murderer. His rampage only ends when he’s killed by another superhuman. Dark? Yes. Anti-superhero? Sort of.  Civil War’s “damning” evidence of the danger of superheroes is all examples of heroes stepping up to prevent greater disasters. Nobody wants the Hulk running around unfettered, but when a giant space dragon attacks the city, you are ultimately glad he’s around. Even the opening action sequence of Civil War is about how Cap and his team prevent bad guys from escaping with a bioweapon and, in the process, eleven people are killed and others injured. That’s bad, but when you consider the number of people endangered by the bioweapon and the possible death toll of that explosion, you can see that the casualties are very low. Which doesn’t mean our heroes shouldn’t be criticized. Cap doesn’t ever justify the loss of life and damage by pointing out the greater good. But in this fictional universe, it is irrefutable that our heroes (yes, even the Hulk) have proven to be an invaluable asset to the Earth. Real life is a hell of a lot more complex. It’s interesting to explore these ideas in a fictional universe, but it doesn’t mean that the real world parallels are going to pan out. In a world where a man flies around in power armor and a supersoldier fights evil with the powers of a red, white, and blue shield, let’s not get too carried away about the needs of “reality”.Keelah Se’laiFighting the good fight, Writing the good write,LEE

It’s counter-intuitive for me to say this as an artist, but I don’t think the creators matter nearly as much for a shared universe as the editors and producers do.  Let’s face it. Artists have their own visions, their own styles, and those styles won’t always mesh well with one another. I still think that Man of Steel and BvS don’t work because they are too much of Snyder and Nolan’s viewpoint. They bring a very specific aesthetic to the screen, and while it might be pretty or spectacular or “deep”, it isn’t one that can work across multiple characters and long-term stories. True, many of the golden age characters were created when the line between editor and artist was blurry, but much of what made that era great was a happy accident. People didn’t plan out these immense universe. They just sort of unfolded on their own. That’s often why attempts to recreate these grand shared universes fall apart. It’s hard to play out in advance. It just sort of happens. You create a handful of characters and settings that slowly expand outward. The original Marvel Comics Universe and the Cinematic Universe both did this. Iron Man was a great jumping off point because if they’d gone right for Ant-Man or Thor or even Black Panther, they’d have most probably failed. But Iron Man is familiar enough and fantastic enough that he is a great introductory character. And all along the way, the people behind the scenes have been keeping things on track. They’re not perfect. In much the same way I’m disgusted by BvS sacrificing Jimmy Olsen for no good reason, I’m annoyed that so far, the MCU has thrown away Crossbones, Baron Zola, and Von Strucker, all great characters that deserved to be treated better. But overall, a conscious effort is being made to create a shared continuity that holds together. And while the artists, writers, actors, etc, are a huge part of that, it’s the people behind the scenes that hold it together across multiple movie franchises. Of course, there are already signs of fraying around the edges. Just as in the original comic book medium, stories are slowly being written that are there to advance other stories. Characters are being set up to have arcs further down the road. There’s always the risk that you’ll be looking so far down the road you won’t concentrate on making the current story satisfying. Civil War risks crossing that line, and I think (just barely) avoids it. The producers might be the thing keeping this all together, but they’re also just as likely to be the thing that tears it apart. Seriously, I don’t read any mainstream Marvel comics because it’s impossible to invest in any storyline before it’s interrupted by a crossover event. So far, the movies have avoided that, and I’ll stick with them as long as they do. But it’s a balancing act. Will the MCU eventually become too bloated, too continuity heavy, too difficult to make work? Yes. It’s happened in comics. It will happen here. But until then, I’m willing to ride this coaster wherever it goes. And, hey Marvel folks behind the scenes, I’m ready and able to write that Devil Dinosaur movie when you need it. You know where to find me.Keelah Se’laiFighting the good fight, Writing the good write, LEE

Time to answer some writer-related questions because you have questions and I have answers. Usually.

@Ronsparks on Twitter asks:

When writing a novel do you plan the entire novel, scene-by-scene, before you write?

There’s this common wisdom that fiction writers come in two varieties: Plotters (those who plan everything out in advance) and Pantsers (those who write by the seat of their pants). Like most truths about creating art, it’s more of a general observation, but I don’t usually plot far in advance when writing my stories. I prefer to start at the beginning and explore. Sometimes, I have a greater idea of what’s coming and sometimes I don’t. But it’s rare that I have even half of it plotted out in my head before starting, and even rarer that I’ll stick to that plot if I do.

That’s where editing comes in. Even the best plotter probably does plenty of editing in the end, and, really, that’s where the story finally comes together, where the little bits are tied up, others are discarded, and things just generally are rearranged to fit together.

 

@KarpenkoJen asks:

How essential is a “just stating the facts character” when surrounded by more emotionally driven characters?

The essential nature of any story elements depends entirely on the story being written. There’s no quota of how many or what type of characters a story needs. This also falls into the fallacy that characters are either Intellectual or Emotional, which I’ve never really believed. I don’t think of emotion and intellect as opposites, and so I don’t tend to view them as occupying a contrary spectrum.

Most of my stories don’t have excessively emotional characters. Most of my characters tend to be level-headed and capable. Even the characters in over their heads tend to deal with the situation as best they can. When we speak of emotional characters, we tend to mean characters who can’t process their emotions well or who are flighty or prone to whimsy. I think intellectual characters can have those very same problems.

But is it essential to have a Joe Friday hanging around just to balance things out? I don’t usually think so.

 

@FatCoyote2 asks:

Has your hometown ever provided fodder for your stories?

Hard to say. I don’t tend to write stories set in the real world, and when I do, I tend not to worry much about the specifics of that. I lot of my stories are set in vaguely-defined locations. Sure, Rockwood is somewhere in the American Southwest, but exactly where is never stated. (People usually assume Texas, but that’s only because I live here.) Monster takes place in a city, but that city is never named. And Empire City from The Automatic Detective could be just about anywhere.

About the biggest influence I’d say would be that I grew up in the desert, which is probably why Rockwood is in a desert.

 

Robert Bjork on Facebook asks:

Is anything happening with a film version of Gil’s All Fright Diner?

Maybe.

It’s not dead in the water yet though I can’t say much of anything else beyond that. Not because I’m being coy, but because Gil’s has been floating around Hollywood as a movie possibility for about nine years. So your guess is as good as mine. But it’s still out there.

 

Derek Lang asks:

Can we expect a sequel to The Automatic Detective or Too Many Curses?

Nothing in the works.

 

Sean Forbes asks:

How do you get to the end in writing a book? It’s just so hard!

It is. I’d love to give you some secret advice that makes it easier, but you just have to do it.

I know it’s not great advice or especially insightful, but that’s the trick. It’s not about figuring out a secret technique. It’s about sitting down and writing your damned book, even when it seems pointless or overwhelming. Nearly every book I write (even to this day) can sometimes feel like an endeavor in futility. There’s almost always that point when you’d rather do something else or when it looks like this’ll take forever. I’m genuinely surprised every time a book is finished, and I’ve finished plenty of books by this point.

So sit your ass in that chair and write. Write, even when you’re not sure what you should be writing. Write, knowing you might not be able to even use it. But write.

Also, it’s nice to take a moment to just reflect on what you’ve written so far. Even if it’s only ten or twenty pages, that’s proof that you can do it. Every novel is just ten or twenty pages stacked atop each other.

Then editing.

But you have to finish the book first. So finish.

 

Erika Vannerson asks:

Have you ever suffered from writer’s block and what do you do when this happens?

I haven’t ever suffered from writer’s block. I’ve suffered from I’d Rather Be Doing Something Else block, which I think most writers have. This is made even more difficult by this age of marvels when so many distractions are at hand.

The best way to get past it for me is to just set a modest goal. Don’t feel like writing? Then set a timer for thirty minutes and see what happens? Often, once that thirty minutes is up, I’m ready to write more. If not, at least I wrote for thirty minutes, which is better than zero minutes.

Sometimes, I have trouble writing because I can’t process the next scene (for whatever reason). I find a walk works best for that. Even a short one, with nothing else to distract me, can unclog the creative pipes. I find that I need it to be as distraction free as possible. No music. Nothing but me and the walk.

If necessary, I also talk about my story with someone who can at least feign interest. Usually my wife. Just talking aloud can help get the story moving again, and while it’s not always in a direction I want to go, it at least gets me thinking about it.

Above all, don’t be afraid to write badly. If I write twenty pages that end up going nowhere, then at least I know not to go that way. Sometimes, the stuff you don’t use is as important as the stuff you do.

But write. Write when you don’t feel like it if necessary. If you take writing seriously, then you have to treat it at least a little bit like a job. And we all have to do our jobs when we just aren’t that into it sometimes. That’s what separates the aspiring artist from the actual artist. It isn’t whether you’re published or how adored you are. It’s whether or not you can make yourself do it even when you’d rather be doing something else.

 

Ismael Jiminez aks:

Is it difficult to not include your personal life in your stories?

No, it actually isn’t. Because I am a boring person, and there’s really not much interesting about my life. But that’s not what you’re really asking.

You’re asking about the “Write what you know” rule, which says you should write from your own experiences, even if you aren’t necessarily that interested in doing that. While it’s a nice rule, it isn’t one I’m enamored of. If writers only write what they know, if artists only created what they were familiar with, would science fiction or fantasy as a genre even exist?

There’s no doubt our own experiences and outlooks color our fiction. I didn’t have a lot of friends as a kid, so my heroes tend to be loners. I tend to make jokes, so my heroes tend to have senses of humor. And I love robots and monsters, which tend to show up in my work. But these elements are style choices rather than me reliving particular moments or themes.

What’s important isn’t that you write what you know, but that you tap into those universal experiences we all share. We all get happy, sad, angry. We all have moments of triumph and tragedy. We all struggle with our bad habits while making our way through this thing called life. Once you see how universal it can be, it’s simply a matter of applying some imagination and time. I’ve never been a robot fighting for the fate of millions or an awkward vampire or a kobold housekeeper. But the underlying motivations and experiences of those characters (and most others) aren’t as alien as we tend to think so long as you take the time to put yourself in their position. Empathy helps a hell of a lot, and I’ve become a more empathic person simply through writing and reading stories about people that weren’t like me.

The other bit of pressure with the Write What You Know maxim is the assumption that writing something “you don’t know” is somehow dishonest or empty. And that’s bull. I wrote my first sex scene before ever having kissed anyone, and it’s a great scene, full of heart and emotion and tenderness. I’ve written riveting action scenes when I’ve only been in one fistfight my whole life, and it was a pathetic non-event.

You don’t need to “Know” something to know something. You just need to extrapolate, imagine, and care. And write it well, but that goes without saying.

So don’t feel pressure either way to include or exclude your own experiences. Write what you feel, what you want your audience to feel, and you’ll find it works a hell of a lot better than trying to shoehorn (or completely avoid) your own limited experiences into your stories.

 

Thanks for the questions, Action Force. Until next time…

Keelah Se’lai

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

LEE

I know it’s been a while, Action Force. I’ve been busy, and it’s not as if this site gets a ton of traffic. Still, I know for some of you, my wit and wisdom is a highlight of your day (or so I assume), so I’m back.

By the way, this weekend I’ll be at OASIS in Orlando, Florida as Author Guest of Honor. I probably should’ve mentioned that earlier, but I’m very bad at this promotional stuff. So, hey, if you happen to be in the area, drop on in. You’ll be glad you did.

Meanwhile, I’m back to talk about a subject that literally no one demanded!

The Netflix Original animated series, Kong, King of the Apes.

FUN FACT: The first thing I ever wrote on the internet was an in-depth comparison of the various King Kong films. It was back in the ancient days of MySpace, but it might be out there still. This is the internet. So it feels like coming home.

Kong, King of the Apes is a show loosely built on King Kong. And I do mean loosely. The story takes place in the future. Kong doesn’t come from Skull Island but is rather the last wild gorilla who is captured by poachers as a baby, rescued by a kid, and eventually grows into a giant for no clear reason.

This is the first weird element. While I’m perfectly willing to accept a giant gorilla in a story called Kong, it’s weird that he starts out normal and grows huge. It feels especially weird when this is a science fiction setting and all that would be required was Kong eating a sci fi growth hormone or getting blasted by gamma rays to justify it. It’s not a deal breaker, but it is a bit of a missed opportunity.

Kong becomes part of a family with a scientist father and his twin sons. Right off the bat, we’re given broad characterization. Good Twin is all enthusiasm and positivity while Evil Twin is nothing but complaints and snark. None of it’s subtle, but this is a show aimed at children, so I cut it some slack.

On a side note, the animation, while decent, is a bit flat at times. It’s often lacks weight. Kong, despite his immense size, never feels heavy or titanic. But as animation goes, it’s better than a lot of stuff for TV. The biggest strike for me is probably Kong himself, who looks a little too friendly. I get that he’s not supposed to be a monster, but he comes across as a big ol’ teddy bear rather than a powerful beast.

A turning point in the story comes when Evil Twin and Professor Dad team up to create a cyborg dinosaur. It’s a way for Professor Dad to bond with his (clearly Evil-in-Training) son. Evil Twin isn’t interested in building a friendly dinosaur. No, he makes a T-Rex and even talks about modifying it to crush those who stand in their way. Professor Dad lauds Evil Twin for his efforts.

Look, Professor Dad, I’m not a father myself, so I don’t want to backseat parent, but when your son is building deadly robots to destroy his enemies, it might be time to have a talk.

Instead, Professor Dad and Good Twin remain oblivious to Evil Twin’s rising megalomania (as well as his unrelenting hatred of Kong), so they’re utterly surprised when Evil Twin tricks them into leaving so that he can polish his deadly robot dinosaur with equally deadly lasers!

Did I mention that Prof Dad’s laboratory has deadly lasers? And that Evil Twin is expressly forbidden from using those lasers? Because, again, I’m not trying to tell you how to parent, Prof Dad, but these seems like questionable choices.

Much to no one’s surprise, not even the children watching this, the deadly lasers go amuck. Evil Twin is nearly killed, but saved by Kong. Evil Twin, being Evil, blames Kong for the accident instead of taking responsibility for his actions. He is Classically Evil, right? He gets a cybernetic eye. A big red one that is in no way something an Evil Genius would have.

Flash forward to adulthood. Kong saves some people and comes to public attention. When it’s shown that he’s not dangerous, it’s agreed to transform Alcatraz into a sanctuary for Kong as well as other endangered animals because . . . it’s a TV show. Don’t think too much about it. Evil Twin is brought in to design a control collar that can inflict pain on Kong (for public safety, of course).

Speaking of Evil Twin, he’s clearly embraced his Evil side by now. He sneers and smirks and otherwise acts like an untrustworthy jerk. Nobody seems to notice or care. I get that Prof Dad isn’t the best parent, but this isn’t deep psychology here. When Evil Twin shows up with his Robotic Girlfriend and plans to build even bigger cyborg dinosaurs, I think some suspicion is in order.

Robotic Girlfriend became my favorite character by the end of the pilot movie. Her animation is very interesting. She deliberately moves more mechanically than the other characters, yet usually in a subtle way. Her expressions are a little more vacant (though she still does have expressions), and her voice is more monotone while still conveying some personality. Rather than being a mere servant for Evil Twin, she exhibits her own personality and thoughts. I guess Evil Twin’s love of science is such that he built a Robotic Girlfriend who can call him on his crap now and then.

Fast forward again. Kong Island is built and a tourist attraction. Evil Twin has built an army of cyborg monsters to playfully “menace” the visitors. Except that no one seems to mind that these are actually cyborg monsters. It’d be a bit like visiting the Haunted House at Disneyland and finding out that they’re real ghosts who want to devour your soul, but don’t worry, the Imagineers are on top of it. Evil Twin is bothered that people seem to like Kong and the real animals over his To-The-Death Dinosaur Fights, and here’s where I kind of agree with him. Sure, Kong’s unique, but I don’t care how rare a giraffe is in the future. We’re talking about Cyborg Dinosaur Battles!

Evil Twin’s next move is to make Kong look evil by screwing with his control collar. This leads to a rather strange scene where Kong is clearly wrestling with the collar while crying out in anger, and our heroes simultaneously realize that something is wrong with the big guy while never once questioning the pain device wrapped around his neck. The one he keeps clawing at. The one controlled by Evil Twin who has NEVER hid his resentment of Kong, whom he blames for both his cyborg eye and for taking the spotlight away from his dinosaurs.

I’m just suggesting that much of this could’ve been avoided if someone, anyone, had taken the time to notice Evil Twin was Evil.

Oh, and at some point, Prof Dad dies. I don’t remember when. It’s off camera and between transitions. So much for him.

Evil Twin’s scheme to make Kong rampage works. He unleashes his dinosaurs, and there’s a fight. It’s a decent scrap and surprisingly violent. I know that the dinosaurs are robots, but when Kong decapitates one, it’s only the wires and lack of blood that make that clear. Kong destroys the dinosaurs and flees.

He and Good Twin and the Housekeeper and the other heroes retreat to their secret base in the nearby forest because, yes, Good Twin built a secret base that can turn invisible in the nearby forest because this is a cartoon and stuff like that isn’t that weird in a cartoon. Evil Twin threatens an endangered liger and her cub, and our heroes spring into action. There’s another fight in the city, and Evil Twin has upgraded his dinosaurs with lasers now. I only question why he didn’t do this sooner, but maybe the lasers were being shipped. Kong fights off the laser dinosaur, and the ligers are rescued. Except they’re not. Mama liger dies (off screen), and the first episode / movie ends with the promise of more Kong / robot fights in the future as our heroes struggle to clear their names.

Did I not mention the Housekeeper? She’s not really important, but she’s a decent character. She has a cyborg parrot too who DOESN’T shoot lasers, which I feel is a missed opportunity.

Overall, Kong, King of the Apes is decent if unspectacular. It doesn’t do anything terribly memorable, but as kids shows, I’ve seen worse. I like aspects of the animation, particularly the character designs. The story itself is simple, and though it’s aimed at a younger audience, a little subtext would be nice now and then. Evil Twin is so obviously Evil that it’s hard to imagine anyone not noticing it.

I do hope in future episodes that Kong fights more than just dinosaurs. At one point, he wrestles a giant robot squid, and I would like to think that Evil Twin has enough imagination to build some cool monsters to challenge Kong, but that would require building and animating different models, which may be out of the budget of the show.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and do my actual job, which involves writing stories where robots fight slime monsters for the fate of the universe.

Truly, we live in an age of wonders.

Keelah Se’lai

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

LEE

 

There’s a practical reason, from a storytelling perspective, why neither Batman nor Superman kill people. What’s important here is that this is not a REALISTIC reason. Realistically, Batman and Superman would probably have to kill people if they were going to fight crime. It’s just going to happen now and then, even if they went out of their way to avoid it. But realism is always a sticky wicket when telling stories about invulnerable flying aliens and bat-themed vigilantes. Also, though it’s usually a weak excuse to site story necessity as why something happens, every story has those elements that exist simply because they help the story be more interesting. From its most basic perspective, story necessity is why Batman doesn’t have a heart attack while sitting on the toilet or the Joker isn’t shot in the back by a no-name police officer. It is certainly realistic, but it isn’t satisfying. There are some solid in-story justifications for why Batman and Superman don’t kill people, but there’s also a very strong pragmatic storytelling reason. For Superman, his desire to limit the damage to the world and to protect as much life as possible places an extra obstacle toward his success. A Superman who is willing to kill, who views casualties as a necessary evil, is basically unstoppable. He might feel bad about killing his enemies or that innocent people are hurt, but he still wins. He’ll always win. A Superman who sees even the loss of a single life as a failure might be able to beat the bad guy, but he’ll have failed in his goals. And given his incredible powers, it would indeed be a failure. For Batman, it’s even simpler. A Batman who kills would have no rogue’s gallery. People love Batman’s villains, but in order to justify the continued existence of those characters, you can’t have a Batman who is willing to kill criminals. This is a pretty central problem I have with BvS. A Batman willing to kill Superman on the off chance Superman might one day turn evil has no reason not to kill the Joker, who is undeniably evil. Note that the Tim Burton version of Batman is fine with killing people, and he’s more than content to kill his villains, which he does. If the new DC movieverse includes the new Suicide Squad movie, there’s absolutely no reason the Joker should still exist. Most people won’t care about this, of course, but these characters all live in the same universe. A Batman willing to employ lethal force would make short work of his famous rogue’s gallery. There are problems with either depiction of Batman or Superman. Some people argue, convincingly, that by refusing to kill the Joker, Batman has enabled him to terrorize Gotham over and over again. In the amazing Justice League: The Animated Series, an alternate reality where Lex Luthor confronted Superman with this possibility created a universe where Superman went too far in his quest to protect the world. But there are also scary connotations toward heroes that casually take life.  The answer isn’t black and white, which is why I tend to like the Marvel movies more. There’s no question that Iron Man, Captain America, and some others do kill during their adventures. Yet they tend to employ deadly force with reluctance, tend to seek to minimize damage, which is probably about as realistic as you can be in a cinematic media translation. None of this will actually matter to most anyone. People who love the idea of a violent Batman will, ironically, be a fan of ultraviolent Joker. The contradiction this creates won’t matter. And it probably shouldn’t.  I think about this stuff from a writer’s perspective. And that perspective says you can’t have angry, violent Batman and angry, violent Joker sharing the same space.  And a Superman who is so carelessly destructive that he causes cities to crumble isn’t one who will be loved. Which would be fine if BvS didn’t seem to want him to be both feared and loved simultaneously. Yeah, none of this matters, but it matters to me. It’s why I don’t mind a violent Batman or Superman, but I do mind a universe where the true aspects of those characters are not explored beyond the most shallow manner.

So far, everything had gone as Hilda planned. She drove out to the woods, to an out of the way place that nobody ever went, where she’d already dug the hole. It was dusk, but she turned off her headlights. Better safe than sorry. She zipped up her jacket and put on her gloves. It was cold tonight. She hated the cold, but she sucked in a deep breath and jumped out of the warm car. An icy wind cut through her, and she swore as she opened the trunk. Irving’s corpse lay wrapped in plastic. It’d been a devil of a time getting him in there, but she’d had time to rest on the drive up here, so she wrestled with the body. The cold spurred her onward. The sooner this was done, the sooner she could be back home with a warm cocoa and Bob sitting on her lap. The orange cat would purr like a motorboat, and Hilda would get back to reading. She’d read all night, listening to Patsy Cline and Hank Williams as loud as she wanted, which honestly wasn’t that loud. But Irving was always complaining about her music. He was always complaining about something. She laughed, thinking about how she’d never have to hear him whine again. Not a peep about his bad back. Not a word about politics. Not a passing negative thought about kids these days or how all her TV shows were stupid or how the world was going to hell. “You first, Irving,” she said with a giddy chuckle. She was bothered that this didn’t bother her more. She wondered if she was a psychopath. Or a sociopath. She wasn’t certain of the difference. She should Google that when she got home. She probably had mental health issues. Then again, Irving had been asking for it for a while. Maybe killing him had been the only logical course of action. Divorce was out of the question. Irving had been a devout Catholic, and it wouldn’t have been fair to him to have to live with the stigma. It was better this way. Maybe she’d go see a doctor. Was she allowed to tell the doctor about what she did tonight? Was that part of doctor / patient confidentiality? If it wasn’t, there wouldn’t be much point in going. Therapy required the patient be open, and if she couldn’t trust the doctor, she’d be wasting her time and the doctor’s. So she wouldn’t Google it. It wasn’t like this was going to become a habit. She couldn’t kill everyone who annoyed her. People would start figuring it out. It was hard enough to kill your own husband and get away with it. But she would. She’d deal with the police and the suspicions, and she’d act the part of the mournful wife. She’d say her life would never be the same, and she wouldn’t be lying. She dragged Irving to the hole and rolled him into it. She grabbed her shovel and started burying him. She’d been at it for a few minutes when a bright light poured down from the sky. Her first thought was a police helicopter. She’d been found out. Too bad. She dropped the shovel and sighed. The helicopter didn’t make a sound, and instead, a figure floated down from the light. It landed before her. The light snapped off, and she rubbed her eyes. A tall, thin creature stood before her. The alien blinked, and its huge hypnotic blue eyes appraised her. “Greetings, human,” said the alien. “I am an emissary of the Greater Galactic Civilization, dispatched via teleporter ray across uncountable light years to bring you much joyful news.” Hilda said nothing. She had always believed in aliens. Irving had always made fun of her for it. “It is my honor to deliver to your world science and technological innovation that will revolutionize how you view your universe and your place in it. I offer an end to war, to hate, to petty squabbles. You shall learn wonders you can scarcely imagine and–” The creature noticed Irving in the hole. “–is this human dead?” Hilda pulled out her gun and shot the alien twice in the head. He twitched a little. Irving hadn’t twitched at all, but this was an alien. It probably had strange biology. She shot it several more times in the chest in various places until it stopped moving. Then she shot it a few more times. Just to be safe. She threw the light gray body into the hole and hurriedly buried them on the off chance someone might have heard the shots. As she patted the dirt flat, she smiled at the notion of Irving sharing his grave with a man from outer space. It would offend his sensibilities, but it served him right. It was only after she’d driven half-an-hour from the grave that she wondered if she should’ve searched the alien. Maybe all that cool galactic harmony stuff had been stored somewhere in his suit, a pocket with some super advanced thumb drive. Maybe flying cars and cold fusion were buried there now. It was probably the responsible thing to go back and check. She wasn’t doing that. Only idiots returned to the scene of the crime. She wondered if a doctor would believe her when she told him about the alien. Probably not. Too bad. Just another reason not to visit one, but she really didn’t need one. She’d only killed one person. Aliens didn’t count as people. And Irving barely qualified. She turned on the radio, and Loretta Lynn belted out the soulful ballad of Coal Miner’s Daughter. Hilda sang along as all her problems melted away with each passing mile.

When one first embarks on a career as a professional novelologist, there’s plenty of advice to wade through. Most of it’s basic stuff and worth listening to, but even when barely starting out, a writer must consider what so many of these ideas really mean. One of the most oft-repeated is the DREADED P.O.V.!

If you aren’t familiar with point of view, it’s a simple idea that most scenes should be written from the perspective of one character. This isn’t a hard and fast rule, but it’s a good way to approach a scene when you’re first starting out. And it is one that most people don’t really understand.

I blame the phrase Point of View. It has View right in there. As such, many beginning (and even seasoned) writers make the mistake of assuming this is as simple as bolting a virtual camera behind the eyes of one character and only describing what they can directly see, hear, think, or feel. At its most extreme, some writers won’t even describe their P.O.V. character smiling because “How could the character see themselves smiling?” This hyper-rigorous version of P.O.V. is wrong. Worse, it’s completely missing the point, often turning our P.O.V. character into a recording device, removing much of their interaction with the scene and story.

So if P.O.V. isn’t about that, what is it about?

P.O.V. is a reminder that nearly every scene has an emotional intent, and that emotional intent should relate to your P.O.V. character. This assumes there is one P.O.V. character, which need not be true, but is a good rule to stick to when writing at first. One character will be the audience avatar and that character’s interpretation should shape how the audience experiences the scene. And people, believe it or not, don’t record experiences as a series of events, but as emotional highs and lows, of interesting moments and dilemmas. Heck, even aliens and robots and vampires should probably do that if you’re presenting a scene from their P.O.V.

By framing a story, a scene, a moment, even simply a sentence as an experience, writing becomes more vivid and interesting. And by knowing the emotional investment and particular perceptions of whatever P.O.V character you’re using, you can instill a scene with personality and vividness. A fly caught in a web is an entirely different scene depending on whether it’s the fly’s perspective or the spider’s.

It often comes down to emotional intention, a phrase I find myself employing more and more often. What is this scene meant to make me feel, and which is the best character to instill that feeling? That’s P.O.V. in a nutshell. It’s emotional manipulation via the best tool (i.e. character) for the job. This is also why it’s often best to limit yourself to one P.O.V when you start writing. It’s not impossible to write the struggle of a fly in a web from both the spider and the fly’s perspective, but it isn’t easy to juggle the different moods, especially the further they are from each other.

This is why characters are so important to nearly all fiction. The characters are there to give us perspective, and without it, a reader can often feel adrift. A piece of advice I’ll often give in a scene that doesn’t work is to ask, “What am I supposed to be feeling here?” Often, the writer isn’t sure, perhaps never asking the question themselves. Nearly any scene can be written from any perspective (though some combos are definitely more challenging than others), but the perspective is what makes the scene come to life.

That’s the power of P.O.V., and it isn’t found by firmly looking out from your P.O.V. character’s eyeballs. It’s found by asking yourself what they feel, how they would react, and how they would interpret what is happening. When a dragon soars over their village, an ordinary peasant and a brave knight are likely to view it in entirely different ways, and that’s why it’s so important to know who is our P.O.V. character and why you’ve chosen them to have such an important point of view.

None of this means anything if you don’t understand your character, which is the real source of P.O.V. When John McClain finds himself trapped in a building full of terrorists, his reaction is different than Linda from Accounts Receivable. You need to know why. And it’s not just extreme examples either. How would Character X respond to flirtation versus Character Y? Does Character A roll with the punches while Character B is constantly worked up by the smallest things? And so on.

Which brings me to my final point. Quirks are not necessarily character. Giving your P.O.V. an obsession with Power Rangers isn’t always instilling them with personality or internal life. Having a character be fastidious doesn’t automatically make them interesting enough to hang around with. That’s the second aspect of P.O.V. It’s not about quirks, but about the basic relatable emotions we all have. We all love, hate, laugh, annoy, and get annoyed. I don’t need to have Barry’s love of model ship building to feel his frustration when his favorite ship in a bottle is smashed to pieces. I don’t need to be a young girl on the verge of puberty to relate to her struggles. Or an alien warrior. Or a fly squirming in a web. I just need the emotional experience presented in such a way that I get what they’re going through. It’s hard, but it’s not that hard.

So the next time you hear P.O.V. bandied about as if it is a mechanical ruleset that worries whether a character an see the back of their head or not, remember that it’s both simpler and more complicated than that. At the basic level, give me a character who is experiencing something and allow your audience to experience that.

It isn’t always easy, but it makes all the difference in the world.

Keelah Se’lai

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

LEE

Deapool is a legitimately great movie.

And I don’t mean “Great for what it is”, though what the heck does that even mean? Things should be judged for what they are.

And I don’t mean “Great Brain Candy”, a phrase I hate. I really, really, really hate it. Seriously, if you say that, stop saying that. About anything. Brain Candy is a way for apologizing for having fun, but you don’t need to do that. Fun is good. Fun is worthy of praise. Fun is not nutritionally empty.

No, when I say Deadpool is a great movie, I mean it. Wholeheartedly and without reservation.

Deadpool the comic book character is hit or miss for me. Like any character in a shared universe, there will always be different interpretations of the character, and we all have our favorite. I like Deadpool when he’s basically a more violent version of Spider-Man. He’s down on his luck. He likes to make jokes. But he still has things to deal with. He’s still a person with problems.

Unfortunately, a lot of times Deadpool is just reduced to a sadistic wise cracker or a one-dimensional goon who doesn’t shut up. And so many writers abuse the “Fourth Wall” schtick that I’ve long believed it should be put on pause for a while. And so when Deadpool: the movie was announced, I wasn’t terribly excited about it. I was mostly neutral.

Well, I saw it, and I loved it. And here is why:

DEADPOOL IS FUNNY IN THE RIGHT WAY:

Deadpool is a funny movie, a comedy through and through. It never goes too long without making a joke, and it is rife with visual gags, one-liners, and comedic subversion. In the wrong hands, this could easily devolve into a series of unrelated jokes and generic humor, but Deadpool does the unimaginable. It actually bases nearly all its humor off its characters and their interactions.

Few scenes in the film exist to supply a cheap joke. Instead, scenes exist to further the plot and jokes appear throughout. The jokes don’t get in the way of the story, and the story doesn’t get in the way of the jokes. Even better, the humor and plot often go arm-in-arm, complimenting each other in a delicate symbiotic relationship that is much harder than it looks.

Perhaps this is best summarized by the relationship between Wade Wilson and Vanessa, two funny characters who orbit each other in such a way that their relationship is probably one of the most developed love stories I’ve seen in film in recent memory. An extended sex scene between the two is played for laughs but also highlights just how compatible they are.

The fourth wall breaks are simple and subtle, often fulfilling some deeper purpose. The first one is a moment when Deadpool himself acknowledges to the audience how strange it is that he got a movie at all. Another, where the film pauses in the middle of a car accident and Deadpool muses whether he left the oven on, highlights his own indifference to bodily harm, given his virtual invulnerability.

It’s easy to see humor as this simple thing, especially crude humor, but when executed properly, it’s a great topping to a great moment. Deadpool uses humor like whipped cream and candy sprinkles. It makes the dessert all the more delicious without overwhelming it.

DEADPOOL IS THRILLING:

This is a superhero action adventure film, and when it comes to superheroes, I’m on record that saying nothing displeases me more than boring action. A lot of people seem to think action-adventure is just people punching or shooting other people, but great action is like a creative ballet, where every hit matters and the unexpected happens.

So far, Fox has produced a string of adequate superhero films. None of the X-Men movies have been particularly outstanding. The first film was solid for its time, but since then, the X-Men films are mostly forgettable. (Yeah, I know. Opinions vary.)

In Deadpool, action is thoughtful and creative. Funny, yes, but also unique and interesting. A running gag about Deadpool being low an ammo is used to justify some funny, eye-catching action sequences. Deadpool’s showdown with the final bad guy is more than just a couple of thrown punches. Most surprising, we finally get a Colossus battle worth watching as he throws down with a superpowered foe. The fight is more engaging than just about anything in any of the X-Men films up to this point.

NEGASONIC TEENAGE WARHEAD:

A character that nobody really cares about (who I believe is dead in the comics), Negasonic Teenage Warhead shines as a foil for Deadpool’s antics. Her interplay with Deadpool is so natural, I’d pay good money for the two of them on a road trip buddy comedy movie.

VANESSA:

It’s easy for the love interest to become a prop in these movies, but Vanessa has great personality. She’s funny when she needs to be, thoughtful when required, and comes across as a real person. Her chemistry with Deadpool is wonderful and enticing.

Even the “damsel in distress” aspect is subverted. She’s kidnapped by the bad guys, but it is only her intervention after Deadpool saves her that allows Deadpool to win. This fits entirely within the nature of their relationship. Vanessa and Wade help each other through their screwed up lives, and it’s nice to see a couple that we want to be together for more reasons than they happen to be the designated love story.

IT HAS A STORY:

Some people, wrongly, have suggested that Deadpool doesn’t have a story. Nonsense. It just doesn’t have a very complicated story. All the elements of a satisfying story are here. A protagonist to root for, an obstacle to his goals, and even a satisfying story and character arc.

This is why I often chafe at the “funny” writer label. There’s this misconception that humor deflates story. Deadpool has a very real story with very real stakes. When the film is serious, it is serious. Wade’s choices when confronted with cancer and what it will do to him and (more importantly) the woman he loves are not played for laughs. There’s a sequence in the middle where jokes are mostly put aside, and we experience the horror and tragedy of what Wade Wilson goes through. It’s a daring move in a film that will mostly be remembered for jokes, but it elevates the experience from a one-dimensional deconstruction of superheroes to a genuinely character driven story.

IT TELLS A CONVENTIONAL STORY WITH A TON OF PERSONALITY:

The word “deconstruction” gets thrown around a lot, but Deadpool isn’t a deconstruction of superheroes. Its hero might be a little rougher around the edges. His world might be more obviously violent and absurd, but it’s just a matter of degrees. At heart, this is a love story and action adventure flick that elevates itself by virtue of having its own sense of style. Whether you like it or not, Deadpool has a unique voice and tone. It stands out.

And, really, personality is something we need more of. The trailers for both Civil War and Age of Apocalypse came on before, and neither struck me as particularly distinct from each other. Age of Apocalypse is more typically melodramatic X-Men fodder from Fox, who has consistently failed to give any of its cast truly engaging personalities. I mean, the big ending reveal of the Apocalypse trailer is that Xavier is going to be bald! Baldness is NOT an exciting character trait.

Everything in Deadpool is brimming with personality. This is the first time, for instance, that we’ve seen a Colossus worth spending time with. Even as he plays the straight man to Deadpool’s antihero antics, Colossus still feels like a genuine character. And Negasonic Teenage Warhead was awesome. (Seriously, road trip movie, Fox. Don’t make me resort to fanfiction.)

Deadpool is a movie that shouldn’t be great, but it is great. It will mostly be remembered as a goofy comedy, but I’ll say it’s a smart, creative, clever film. Deadpool as a character might be hit or miss, but Deadpool the movie is brilliant, butt jokes and all.

Keelah Se’lai

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

LEE