I just read the latest post on Charlie Huston's site, (pulpnoir.com) a place I don't visit as often as I should because as he's someone I'd like to emulate, I feel like so far I'm doing a really horrible job. But anyway, you can check it out here. This time I'll actually try to draw inspiration instead of simply feeling defeated. It really shouldn't be too difficult - come on, Cole, you want to be a bartender till you're forty and only sometime after that become a writer? Get off your ass.
Because so far I really haven't. I mean, this blog is pretty good proof of that.
So I will be trying to make a fresh start right here, right now. I have ideas in my head and stories in my heart - that's never been the problem. The problem has been initiative and discipline. There's no magic way to develop those things, you just have to bear down. So this is me, bearing down. And you get to see some of it. Lucky you.
Sunday, May 3, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
The Dark Staircase
This is just a little excerpt from a recent short story of mine. I realized I haven't posted any kind of excerpt on here in forever and the last few offerings I gave were actually poetry which is really strange for me.
For personal reasons, this story was very difficult to write despite the fact that I'd actually had nearly the entire thing plotted before even starting it (a rare thing for me). The main idea is similar to that of an old English folktale I read god knows where god knows how long ago. I guess if you did a search for The Dark Staircase, you would most likely find at least a couple things but I really did think of the title on my own. Titles have never been a forte of mine (my editors even would often change the working titles I used for newspaper articles) but I am somewhat proud of this one. So sorry if it's not actually original.
Let's go to a hilltop in Ireland:
She shook her head and silently admonished herself. She'd been so desperate to discover something fantastic out here that she was letting her imagination run wild, that was all. Looking closer at the stones, Annie couldn't see how they could ever have looked like gravestones anyway. But then again, depending on how old they were, there was no reason to assume these gravestones had ever looked like the kind she was used to. Not really. If this had been a graveyard and it was really old, then the markers might have been more simple and not as angular as the ones she was accustomed to. If they were that old, then maybe this was no Christian graveyard but a pagan one. Like, for druids or something. Annie didn't really know anything about druids or paganism except that they were old things from Europe. Maybe she could ask Janet about it. It was possible she even knew about this place and had just forgotten about it.
But almost as soon as this thought came to her, Annie got the very distinct feeling that it would be best not to mention it to Janet at all. There had been something in her expression and voice when Annie had first told her of her plans to go for a walk. She'd looked uncomfortable. Maybe even worried. Annie couldn't figure out why. As much as she wanted to believe in things like haunted graveyards, even she couldn't really imagine this place having ghosts and restless spirits milling about it. And surely Janet didn't believe in such things. She couldn't. In addition to being an adult, she'd always struck Annie as the level-headed type. Not a dreamer like her.
Annie bent down next to one of the stones that was more above ground than the others, reached out with one hand and slowly ran her fingers over its rough surface. It felt like a rock. Annie was no geologist or...rock enthusiast. And she was obviously no archaeologist. She knew that for such people, things like stones could sort of speak to them. Tell them about the past. But not her. She was just a bored girl hoping to find wonders within the ordinary. She tried to bring her thoughts back to the realm of rationality. Ok, she allowed, maybe her guesses had all been right. Maybe this had been some ancient, pagan graveyard. And that was definitely interesting. More interesting than anything else she'd found during her time here. It was a little creepy too. But the answers she wanted to the questions this place had raised weren't coming. The spot wasn't that isolated. If there were some, like, artifacts lying around the area, then someone would have found them long before her. Now there were only strange (but maybe not that strange) stones sitting in two rows (that may not be deliberate rows). They couldn't speak to her.
She was about to stand up again but then without even consciously meaning to, she brought her other hand to feel the surface of the stone. Now she could feel something. An impression of...depth. The idea that there was more underneath. Well, sure, she thought. If this is a graveyard then there are bones underneath. No. Something was telling her no. She gazed at the stone, running her hands over it intently. Speak to me, she willed to it. What is underneath?
A long space of time seemed to pass. Annie was starting to believe she'd only imagined that...whatever it was. It hadn't been a voice. Just a feeling. But a powerful feeling. And then the word, no, as distinct as it had been, that wasn't in a voice either. But it had come through as clearly as any voice.
Frustrated, she stood up. Her boredom was getting to her, that was all. She was letting her imagination take over. It was time to go back anyway. All that stuff may have been in her head but either way, it was freaking her out. She looked back to the house. She'd felt so far away for awhile but she could still see it over the rolling hills. Then suddenly, the not-voice imparted another word to her.
Come.
She had no doubts this time. There was some force calling to her, possibly through the stones or up through the ground. She didn't like it. She backed away and nearly stumbled.
Annie did not run back to the house but she walked very quickly. She didn't look back once.
***************
I'm also really terrible at picking out parts that make for good excerpts from longer works but hopefully that part reads somewhat well on its own. See you next time.
For personal reasons, this story was very difficult to write despite the fact that I'd actually had nearly the entire thing plotted before even starting it (a rare thing for me). The main idea is similar to that of an old English folktale I read god knows where god knows how long ago. I guess if you did a search for The Dark Staircase, you would most likely find at least a couple things but I really did think of the title on my own. Titles have never been a forte of mine (my editors even would often change the working titles I used for newspaper articles) but I am somewhat proud of this one. So sorry if it's not actually original.
Let's go to a hilltop in Ireland:
She shook her head and silently admonished herself. She'd been so desperate to discover something fantastic out here that she was letting her imagination run wild, that was all. Looking closer at the stones, Annie couldn't see how they could ever have looked like gravestones anyway. But then again, depending on how old they were, there was no reason to assume these gravestones had ever looked like the kind she was used to. Not really. If this had been a graveyard and it was really old, then the markers might have been more simple and not as angular as the ones she was accustomed to. If they were that old, then maybe this was no Christian graveyard but a pagan one. Like, for druids or something. Annie didn't really know anything about druids or paganism except that they were old things from Europe. Maybe she could ask Janet about it. It was possible she even knew about this place and had just forgotten about it.
But almost as soon as this thought came to her, Annie got the very distinct feeling that it would be best not to mention it to Janet at all. There had been something in her expression and voice when Annie had first told her of her plans to go for a walk. She'd looked uncomfortable. Maybe even worried. Annie couldn't figure out why. As much as she wanted to believe in things like haunted graveyards, even she couldn't really imagine this place having ghosts and restless spirits milling about it. And surely Janet didn't believe in such things. She couldn't. In addition to being an adult, she'd always struck Annie as the level-headed type. Not a dreamer like her.
Annie bent down next to one of the stones that was more above ground than the others, reached out with one hand and slowly ran her fingers over its rough surface. It felt like a rock. Annie was no geologist or...rock enthusiast. And she was obviously no archaeologist. She knew that for such people, things like stones could sort of speak to them. Tell them about the past. But not her. She was just a bored girl hoping to find wonders within the ordinary. She tried to bring her thoughts back to the realm of rationality. Ok, she allowed, maybe her guesses had all been right. Maybe this had been some ancient, pagan graveyard. And that was definitely interesting. More interesting than anything else she'd found during her time here. It was a little creepy too. But the answers she wanted to the questions this place had raised weren't coming. The spot wasn't that isolated. If there were some, like, artifacts lying around the area, then someone would have found them long before her. Now there were only strange (but maybe not that strange) stones sitting in two rows (that may not be deliberate rows). They couldn't speak to her.
She was about to stand up again but then without even consciously meaning to, she brought her other hand to feel the surface of the stone. Now she could feel something. An impression of...depth. The idea that there was more underneath. Well, sure, she thought. If this is a graveyard then there are bones underneath. No. Something was telling her no. She gazed at the stone, running her hands over it intently. Speak to me, she willed to it. What is underneath?
A long space of time seemed to pass. Annie was starting to believe she'd only imagined that...whatever it was. It hadn't been a voice. Just a feeling. But a powerful feeling. And then the word, no, as distinct as it had been, that wasn't in a voice either. But it had come through as clearly as any voice.
Frustrated, she stood up. Her boredom was getting to her, that was all. She was letting her imagination take over. It was time to go back anyway. All that stuff may have been in her head but either way, it was freaking her out. She looked back to the house. She'd felt so far away for awhile but she could still see it over the rolling hills. Then suddenly, the not-voice imparted another word to her.
Come.
She had no doubts this time. There was some force calling to her, possibly through the stones or up through the ground. She didn't like it. She backed away and nearly stumbled.
Annie did not run back to the house but she walked very quickly. She didn't look back once.
***************
I'm also really terrible at picking out parts that make for good excerpts from longer works but hopefully that part reads somewhat well on its own. See you next time.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
From The Page to The Screen
I went to see Zack Snyder's much-anticipated movie adaptation of celebrated graphic novel, Watchmen last weekend and was, for the most part, pleased. Almost immediately after its release in 1987, speculation ran rampant concerning if it could be put to film successfully. I consider myself to be one of the bigger Watchmen fans out there, of my generation at least. I didn't read it until 2004 but I bought it immediately (in paperback graphic novel form) and have read it six times to date. So the idea of a movie being based on such a great work both thrilled and terrified me. Now, I know that even if the movie was absolutely horrible, it can't change the fact that the novel is amazing. But still, I think most fans of any work in any medium would hate to see it reduced to something less in another form.
So I'll quit screwing around here and get to it: do I think the movie should be considered a success? Well, I guess I already gave that away by earlier stating that I was "mostly pleased" with it. Ok, yes, I think it was a success. I believe it could have been better. But I still believe it was very close to what I wanted. I won't get into what I liked and didn't like, this isn't a review. I just wanted to talk about Alan Moore's well-known complete lack of involvement in the making of the movie, right down to vowing that he'll never even WATCH it. Ever. Just like the film version of V For Vendetta (another success in my opinion, albeit on a much smaller scale as the source material was far easier to adapt), you'll find Moore's name absolutely nowhere within the credits. Only artist Dave Gibbons is credited but this is at Moore's own insistence. I don't actually know Moore's reason(s) for not being completely opposed to film versions of his works (in that he doesn't keep them from being made) but I figure it mostly comes down to these two: as a writer who always works with at least one artist, he cannot claim sole ownership of the property and...money. Moore's name may not appear in the credits of any film based on his work but you can bet he still receives some of the revenue said films generate. I think he sold the rights so they could made into movies so I don't think royalties apply but my point is their being made into films has made him money. And that's fine. I'm not here to say Moore's a douche or that he shouldn't be allowed to do or not do whatever he chooses with his own creative property. As a writer I plan to make damn sure that I maintain creative and legal control over any works I produce.
But I will say that in my own humble opinion, I believe that Moore is wrong. His original intentions regarding the film based on V For Vendetta remain mostly unclear: he's had various disputes with DC over the licensing thing and this caused him to leave the publisher behind. But various sources claim that Moore was initially supportive of efforts to make movies from V For Vendetta and Watchmen and reversed his position years later. I don't know. I have no idea what to believe. But then they made V For Vendetta, without his involvement but also without his forbiddence, and Moore had this, among other things to say: "the [book] had specifically been about things like fascism and anarchy. Those words, 'fascism' and 'anarchy', occur nowhere in the film. It's been turned into a Bush-era parable by people too timid to set a political satire in their own country." (this quote can be found on wikipedia) So he wasn't happy with it. Fine. But maybe he WOULD have been happy with it if he'd involved himself somewhat in its production.
As near as I can figure, Moore doesn't choose to do this simply because he doesn't believe in the medium of film, insofar as adaptations of comics and and graphic novels go anyway. Again, if that's his belief, that's cool. It's just that Moore decided to find fault with V For Vendetta for reasons that had nothing to do with its medium; basically he criticized the film's producers for what he perceived to be mistakes. Mistakes that could have been avoided if he'd chose to involve himself in the making of the film.
Why I think Moore is wrong is because he seems to be contradicting himself. Either he believes his works are unfilmable or he doesn't. And yet it's clear that at least some of the flaws he found in V For Vendetta were not a cause, direct or indirect, of the medium of film. It seems to me that Moore can say others can adapt his works if they wish but he doesn't care to involve himself because he believes said works won't work on film - that's fine with me - but he does this and then finds other things to bitch about.
As far as Watchmen goes, I guess Moore figured they were going to fuck it up so badly that he'd make sure to never even watch it. A few months ago, in an interview with Tripwire magazine, Snyder said this about Moore's position on the movie: "Worst case scenario - Alan puts the movie in his DVD player on a cold Sunday in London and watches and says, 'Yeah, that doesn't suck too bad." When Moore got wind of this, he replied: "That's the worst case scenario? I think he's understimated what the worst case scenario would be...that's never going to happen in my DVD player in 'London' [Moore lives in North Hampton]. I'm never going to watch this fucking thing." (I read this in Wizard #209)
As I said, he can do or not do whatever he likes. And if he doesn't want to watch the movie, that's all well and good. But I think he is wrong in his decision to distance himself from movie versions of his works. Anyone who knows me is well aware of my position of movies based on comics and novels - they never replace the source material, they never represent it as well and they are never better. People have heard me rant endlessly on this and yet...I am still a fan of movies and am not often personally against movie adaptations of comics and books I like. I guess efforts like the movie versions of Akira and Jurassic Park - quite different from their source material but still really good - give me hope.
Maybe that's the difference between Moore and myself - while I also don't really believe in the medium of film when it comes to translation of stories originally told through text and art, I still LIKE films. So I usually want them to try. I simply lower my expectations and hope for the best. Which is precisely what I did for Watchmen and I came out mostly happy. And you'd have to be an idiot to read into this that I think we should just always be ready to settle for less when it comes to movies based on comics and books, that we should accept mediocrity. I am not saying that all. What we should be willing to accept is the limitations of a medium, whatever it may be.
A staggering amount of Stephen King's works have been put to film. And a staggering amount of them are bad. And even the best efforts are easily inferior to their original forms. But King still greenlights this stuff. I wish I had the exact quote but King recently said he does this because he's a big believer in "what if" as well as different perspectives. He was actually speaking in reference to some of his stuff being turned into comics there but I know it applies to the movies as well. And what he didn't say there is something that's well-known anyway: Stephen King is a big fan of movies. And I truly think this is his main motivation behind his decision to allow so many of his books to be made into movies, even though he knows they will ultimately fall short.
As near as I can figure, Alan Moore is NOT a fan of movies. Again, that's cool. I'm not condemning him for a personal preference like that. But it seems to me Moore has two options when it comes to movies based on his stuff - he can either involve himself in their production and try his best to help the film makers to come up with something that truly represents his creations or he can flat out refuse to allow something he made to be adapted into a medium he personally doesn't care for or believe in. But what he seems to be choosing to do is sit somewhere in the middle, telling people they can adapt his stuff and he'll sell the rights and get his money one way or another but at the same time he'll make his disdain for their efforts well known.
My feeling is that if I ever write some stuff that's worth a damn and the question of will I allow it to be put on screen comes up, I'll either throw myself head-first into the production and work with people to adapt it as best as possible, according to my own feelings OR I will just say, "no thankyou, I don't believe this will work on film and don't want to see an inferior version of my story" and I'll do whatever it takes to ensure no film ever comes about. Moore is a strange man but also in many ways, a brilliant man. I can't pretend to know everything about him and I can't pretend to understand him. But I do think that in this instance, he is wrong. It's not as if anything I say could bother him. If you saw Watchmen and liked it, read the novel. If you saw Watchmen and didn't care for it, read the novel.
So I'll quit screwing around here and get to it: do I think the movie should be considered a success? Well, I guess I already gave that away by earlier stating that I was "mostly pleased" with it. Ok, yes, I think it was a success. I believe it could have been better. But I still believe it was very close to what I wanted. I won't get into what I liked and didn't like, this isn't a review. I just wanted to talk about Alan Moore's well-known complete lack of involvement in the making of the movie, right down to vowing that he'll never even WATCH it. Ever. Just like the film version of V For Vendetta (another success in my opinion, albeit on a much smaller scale as the source material was far easier to adapt), you'll find Moore's name absolutely nowhere within the credits. Only artist Dave Gibbons is credited but this is at Moore's own insistence. I don't actually know Moore's reason(s) for not being completely opposed to film versions of his works (in that he doesn't keep them from being made) but I figure it mostly comes down to these two: as a writer who always works with at least one artist, he cannot claim sole ownership of the property and...money. Moore's name may not appear in the credits of any film based on his work but you can bet he still receives some of the revenue said films generate. I think he sold the rights so they could made into movies so I don't think royalties apply but my point is their being made into films has made him money. And that's fine. I'm not here to say Moore's a douche or that he shouldn't be allowed to do or not do whatever he chooses with his own creative property. As a writer I plan to make damn sure that I maintain creative and legal control over any works I produce.
But I will say that in my own humble opinion, I believe that Moore is wrong. His original intentions regarding the film based on V For Vendetta remain mostly unclear: he's had various disputes with DC over the licensing thing and this caused him to leave the publisher behind. But various sources claim that Moore was initially supportive of efforts to make movies from V For Vendetta and Watchmen and reversed his position years later. I don't know. I have no idea what to believe. But then they made V For Vendetta, without his involvement but also without his forbiddence, and Moore had this, among other things to say: "the [book] had specifically been about things like fascism and anarchy. Those words, 'fascism' and 'anarchy', occur nowhere in the film. It's been turned into a Bush-era parable by people too timid to set a political satire in their own country." (this quote can be found on wikipedia) So he wasn't happy with it. Fine. But maybe he WOULD have been happy with it if he'd involved himself somewhat in its production.
As near as I can figure, Moore doesn't choose to do this simply because he doesn't believe in the medium of film, insofar as adaptations of comics and and graphic novels go anyway. Again, if that's his belief, that's cool. It's just that Moore decided to find fault with V For Vendetta for reasons that had nothing to do with its medium; basically he criticized the film's producers for what he perceived to be mistakes. Mistakes that could have been avoided if he'd chose to involve himself in the making of the film.
Why I think Moore is wrong is because he seems to be contradicting himself. Either he believes his works are unfilmable or he doesn't. And yet it's clear that at least some of the flaws he found in V For Vendetta were not a cause, direct or indirect, of the medium of film. It seems to me that Moore can say others can adapt his works if they wish but he doesn't care to involve himself because he believes said works won't work on film - that's fine with me - but he does this and then finds other things to bitch about.
As far as Watchmen goes, I guess Moore figured they were going to fuck it up so badly that he'd make sure to never even watch it. A few months ago, in an interview with Tripwire magazine, Snyder said this about Moore's position on the movie: "Worst case scenario - Alan puts the movie in his DVD player on a cold Sunday in London and watches and says, 'Yeah, that doesn't suck too bad." When Moore got wind of this, he replied: "That's the worst case scenario? I think he's understimated what the worst case scenario would be...that's never going to happen in my DVD player in 'London' [Moore lives in North Hampton]. I'm never going to watch this fucking thing." (I read this in Wizard #209)
As I said, he can do or not do whatever he likes. And if he doesn't want to watch the movie, that's all well and good. But I think he is wrong in his decision to distance himself from movie versions of his works. Anyone who knows me is well aware of my position of movies based on comics and novels - they never replace the source material, they never represent it as well and they are never better. People have heard me rant endlessly on this and yet...I am still a fan of movies and am not often personally against movie adaptations of comics and books I like. I guess efforts like the movie versions of Akira and Jurassic Park - quite different from their source material but still really good - give me hope.
Maybe that's the difference between Moore and myself - while I also don't really believe in the medium of film when it comes to translation of stories originally told through text and art, I still LIKE films. So I usually want them to try. I simply lower my expectations and hope for the best. Which is precisely what I did for Watchmen and I came out mostly happy. And you'd have to be an idiot to read into this that I think we should just always be ready to settle for less when it comes to movies based on comics and books, that we should accept mediocrity. I am not saying that all. What we should be willing to accept is the limitations of a medium, whatever it may be.
A staggering amount of Stephen King's works have been put to film. And a staggering amount of them are bad. And even the best efforts are easily inferior to their original forms. But King still greenlights this stuff. I wish I had the exact quote but King recently said he does this because he's a big believer in "what if" as well as different perspectives. He was actually speaking in reference to some of his stuff being turned into comics there but I know it applies to the movies as well. And what he didn't say there is something that's well-known anyway: Stephen King is a big fan of movies. And I truly think this is his main motivation behind his decision to allow so many of his books to be made into movies, even though he knows they will ultimately fall short.
As near as I can figure, Alan Moore is NOT a fan of movies. Again, that's cool. I'm not condemning him for a personal preference like that. But it seems to me Moore has two options when it comes to movies based on his stuff - he can either involve himself in their production and try his best to help the film makers to come up with something that truly represents his creations or he can flat out refuse to allow something he made to be adapted into a medium he personally doesn't care for or believe in. But what he seems to be choosing to do is sit somewhere in the middle, telling people they can adapt his stuff and he'll sell the rights and get his money one way or another but at the same time he'll make his disdain for their efforts well known.
My feeling is that if I ever write some stuff that's worth a damn and the question of will I allow it to be put on screen comes up, I'll either throw myself head-first into the production and work with people to adapt it as best as possible, according to my own feelings OR I will just say, "no thankyou, I don't believe this will work on film and don't want to see an inferior version of my story" and I'll do whatever it takes to ensure no film ever comes about. Moore is a strange man but also in many ways, a brilliant man. I can't pretend to know everything about him and I can't pretend to understand him. But I do think that in this instance, he is wrong. It's not as if anything I say could bother him. If you saw Watchmen and liked it, read the novel. If you saw Watchmen and didn't care for it, read the novel.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Fun with Rhymes
I first started writing poetry as a kid when I discovered I had a knack for putting together snappy verses that rhymed. It was more or less the foundation of every poem I wrote from about Grade 2 into junior high. But in junior high I grew up a little and was more exposed to pretentiousness and suddenly felt like all my poems were childish. Now I was reading poems by famous writers and a lot of them didn't rhyme at all. Some girls I knew were also writing the odd poem and none of them rhymed either. They were just a bunch of words about pain and isolation strung together. No rhythm, no iambic pentameter. Just words.
Impressionable youth that I was, it was time for me to get in on this. So I started writing dark poems with no rhymes. My writing was maturing and I'd venture to say that perhaps 2 percent of them weren't complete crap. Anyway, even when I came out of this phase and almost stopped writing poetry altogether for awhile, those few poems that I did write still didn't rhyme. I had just gotten used to expressing myself that way. If rhyming no longer seemed childish to me it still seemed...tacky. So for another few years I ignored my gift some more. In that time, I think I did manage to write a handful of not too bad non-rhyming poems. The best of which being one called "Afternoon" that I wrote about three weeks into my first year of university, looking out at the "quad" of King's College.
But a few years after that a friend of mine who is also a writer wrote a poem about a hurricane that we'd recently experienced and he showed it to me. I don't remember it now but I remember it was good. I also remember that it rhymed. And it wasn't childish. It wasn't tacky. It was good. This caused me to do some thinking. Could I write a rhyming poem that wouldn't suck? I didn't know. For a couple days I bounced some ideas around in my head, trying to come up with just a few lines to start with. It wasn't working. But then about a week later, I was staring at the page and a simple rhyming verse came to me. I barely had to think - I just wrote and it came. It wasn't until I was nearly finished that I read it over and realized the subject matter - it was about my breakup with my first ever girlfriend. Not a recent event in my life at the time, in fact, I'd already been through a few other disasters since then. But that's what it was.
I don't really like posting a complete work here no matter how worthless it may be but I figured it couldn't hurt. It's called Drive and here it is.
Drive
i sometimes drive alone at night and listen to my songs
my focus drifts away and i think of what went wrong
it wasn't all that long ago i made this drive with you
sighing, laughing, dreaming
now all of that is through
every signpost sparks a memory
every corner prompts a thought
i think of you in your new place while i stay here and rot
i need to get away from this
before in these thoughts i drown
so i turn the volume up and i press the pedal down
not too far past your bridge we used to go sometimes
how fitting now to use it to pay you for your crimes
the sights aren't so familiar now because now they are a blur
i think of what they might say
"he died because of her"
i give the wheel a good jerk
and now i'm in the air
soon to be another victim of a life that isn't fair
the water's cold, the water's dark
and that suits me just fine
it seems a proper punishment for believing you were mine
eventually i slip below
where everything is black
it's quiet and it's calm here
but still i want them back
the days we had, the nights we shared
i still can't let them go
i forgive you now
i'm sorry
but you will never know
Impressionable youth that I was, it was time for me to get in on this. So I started writing dark poems with no rhymes. My writing was maturing and I'd venture to say that perhaps 2 percent of them weren't complete crap. Anyway, even when I came out of this phase and almost stopped writing poetry altogether for awhile, those few poems that I did write still didn't rhyme. I had just gotten used to expressing myself that way. If rhyming no longer seemed childish to me it still seemed...tacky. So for another few years I ignored my gift some more. In that time, I think I did manage to write a handful of not too bad non-rhyming poems. The best of which being one called "Afternoon" that I wrote about three weeks into my first year of university, looking out at the "quad" of King's College.
But a few years after that a friend of mine who is also a writer wrote a poem about a hurricane that we'd recently experienced and he showed it to me. I don't remember it now but I remember it was good. I also remember that it rhymed. And it wasn't childish. It wasn't tacky. It was good. This caused me to do some thinking. Could I write a rhyming poem that wouldn't suck? I didn't know. For a couple days I bounced some ideas around in my head, trying to come up with just a few lines to start with. It wasn't working. But then about a week later, I was staring at the page and a simple rhyming verse came to me. I barely had to think - I just wrote and it came. It wasn't until I was nearly finished that I read it over and realized the subject matter - it was about my breakup with my first ever girlfriend. Not a recent event in my life at the time, in fact, I'd already been through a few other disasters since then. But that's what it was.
I don't really like posting a complete work here no matter how worthless it may be but I figured it couldn't hurt. It's called Drive and here it is.
Drive
i sometimes drive alone at night and listen to my songs
my focus drifts away and i think of what went wrong
it wasn't all that long ago i made this drive with you
sighing, laughing, dreaming
now all of that is through
every signpost sparks a memory
every corner prompts a thought
i think of you in your new place while i stay here and rot
i need to get away from this
before in these thoughts i drown
so i turn the volume up and i press the pedal down
not too far past your bridge we used to go sometimes
how fitting now to use it to pay you for your crimes
the sights aren't so familiar now because now they are a blur
i think of what they might say
"he died because of her"
i give the wheel a good jerk
and now i'm in the air
soon to be another victim of a life that isn't fair
the water's cold, the water's dark
and that suits me just fine
it seems a proper punishment for believing you were mine
eventually i slip below
where everything is black
it's quiet and it's calm here
but still i want them back
the days we had, the nights we shared
i still can't let them go
i forgive you now
i'm sorry
but you will never know
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Leia's Story
Leia came to us in the spring of 1999. I was finishing up grade ten. My sister had seen her picture in the paper and cut it out. She and my mother picked her up from the SPCA and brought her home. I found out about it on the way to UCCB (now called Cape Breton University) to play with my high school's jazz band in the lobby during an art show.
We weren't a cat family. Since my parents' marriage in 1977, we'd only had dogs, a bird and two iguanas. At the time, we'd had our current dog and second bichon frise, Vicki, for just over three years. But apparently my sister had had it in her head for some time (unbeknownst to me) that she wanted a kitten. So Leia, a tiny tortoise shell kitten with thick fur and a bottle brush tail came home to live with us.
It took Vicki four days of hyperventilating while one of us held onto her and a private discussion with Mother to get with the program that there was going to be a cat in the family. Leia, perhaps weighing a pound at the time, took no notice of Vicki and calmly explored the house, often getting lost in various corners causing us to embark on frantic searches for her. She was comfortable right away and never appeared nervous or frightened. She loved all of us as instantly as we loved her.
For the first few days, we wondered if she was mute as she hadn't uttered a sound. Soon she began purring. And purring and purring. But this didn't prove she had a voice. I think it was at least a week before she spoke, emitting what would become her signature chirp. This was a kitten that NEVER meowed or mewed. We could only theorize that she'd never learned how, although we'd never believed that was the sort of thing a feline had to learn. Whatever the case, for her entire life, Leia would rarely speak, purring often and loudly (even while eating) and occasionally chirping when something grabbed her attention or if she was pleased. But meows and mews were never her thing. Only a car trip - always a traumatic experience for her - would produce sounds of any similarity.
She was perfect from the moment she arrived. She instantly understood the purpose of her litter box and never had an accident at any point in her life. Once Vicki understood that Leia was ours, they became instant friends, sharing the water dish (Leia would always wait patiently for Vicki to finish drinking first if they ever arrived at the same time) and playing together every day. Leia remains the single kindest creature I have ever encountered in my life. She never got angry and she never expressed herself in any way other than as happy, friendly and loving. You could pick her up any way any time. You could hold her however you chose. Leia trusted all of us implicitly and was always glad to be petted and held.
My sister left for university after that first summer. So Leia began sleeping with me. Her favourite position was into my back as I lay on my side. She would wake me up by gently, always politely, tapping my face with a paw. Then she would leap off the bad, give a chirp and walk in circles until I gave her my attention so she could eat. That was the thing about Leia - in order to eat, she required an audience. At first she'd be forcing me to follow her downstairs to the kitchen at six in the morning to stand there and supervise while she ate her breakfast. I quickly learned to keep an extra food dish in my room for this. However, my being in the same room just wasn't enough - I STILL had to get out of bed and stand there, sometimes even pat her back, in order for her to settle down and eat her food.
After two years of this, I also left for university and Leia would find acceptance on my parents' bed. Vicki, ever the jealous type, was not initially pleased with this development but as always was the case when it came to Leia, she would come to accept the situation.
Leia was unique and beautiful for a million reasons. She always drank so daintily, first testing the water with a paw. She would tentatively dip a paw in then lick some water off it before finally deciding to lower her head and lap in the traditional manner. And in this she was extremely slow. While Vicki (and later, Wednesday, my cat) would simply plunge her head in and slurp and slop until she had slaked her thirst, Leia lapped very slowly. It wasn't uncommon for her to be crouched at the water dish for over five minutes to take a drink.
She loved toys and her favourites would be these plain, yellow ducks that were initially on strings. But she would chew the strings off then simply pick up the duck in her mouth, bat it around with her front paws, or, when she really got going, lie on her back grasping the duck with all four paws, sometimes kicking it with her hind feet. It was always a joy to play with Leia or just watch her but you had to be careful; if Leia ever found herself especially intense in her sport but then noticed she was being watched, she would very quickly cease this activity and walk away with her tail held high, as if trying to convince us it had never happened at all. Before this I'd never known that a cat could be embarrassed. But it was very important to Leia to appear dignified at all times in front of us.
Vicki would chase her and she would chase Vicki. They took turns. Sometimes Vicki would be lying on the floor asleep and Leia would come bounding in, sometimes hopping sideways, then leap onto Vicki and use the prone dog as a springboard, catapulting off her before running from the room or leaping onto a piece of furniture. Vicki would scramble to her feet in a fit of confusion, looking around dimly while Leia was already well out of sight. And Leia really did love Vicki. She would often jump onto the kitchen table to observe Vicki when she was put outside. It was clear she was concerned about the dog being out of the house (a place Leia never dared to venture) and I'm sure that sometimes she watched also in an effort to remind us that Vicki was out there - that she didn't trust us to remember to let Vicki back in on our own. She never in her life hissed or growled at Vicki; not even on those few occasions where the dog might have deserved it.
Leia is the only pet I know that would actually pose for photos. She must have had some understanding of her own physical beauty and it was clear she was very proud of her appearance. Unlike Wednesday, she was an almost obsessive groomer, constantly tidying her fur.
She loved her family and loved people in general. There was nothing solitary about her - she was always wherever we were and was very rarely alone in the house. She always came when called and had a very good understanding of English, better than many people I've met (and I'm speaking of Anglophones).
Her illness and eventual death are also a part of her story but it's not what I want to relate here. She was taken from us far too soon and I'll miss her for the rest of my life. Without Leia paving the way, we never would have gotten Wednesday, whom I love and adore just as much.
Leia will always be in my memory and my heart, not just as my cat and my pet but also as the most shining example of pure kindness I've observed so far in my life. She truly was an extraordinary creature and my words here could never do her proper justice. But I still wanted to try.
We weren't a cat family. Since my parents' marriage in 1977, we'd only had dogs, a bird and two iguanas. At the time, we'd had our current dog and second bichon frise, Vicki, for just over three years. But apparently my sister had had it in her head for some time (unbeknownst to me) that she wanted a kitten. So Leia, a tiny tortoise shell kitten with thick fur and a bottle brush tail came home to live with us.
It took Vicki four days of hyperventilating while one of us held onto her and a private discussion with Mother to get with the program that there was going to be a cat in the family. Leia, perhaps weighing a pound at the time, took no notice of Vicki and calmly explored the house, often getting lost in various corners causing us to embark on frantic searches for her. She was comfortable right away and never appeared nervous or frightened. She loved all of us as instantly as we loved her.
For the first few days, we wondered if she was mute as she hadn't uttered a sound. Soon she began purring. And purring and purring. But this didn't prove she had a voice. I think it was at least a week before she spoke, emitting what would become her signature chirp. This was a kitten that NEVER meowed or mewed. We could only theorize that she'd never learned how, although we'd never believed that was the sort of thing a feline had to learn. Whatever the case, for her entire life, Leia would rarely speak, purring often and loudly (even while eating) and occasionally chirping when something grabbed her attention or if she was pleased. But meows and mews were never her thing. Only a car trip - always a traumatic experience for her - would produce sounds of any similarity.
She was perfect from the moment she arrived. She instantly understood the purpose of her litter box and never had an accident at any point in her life. Once Vicki understood that Leia was ours, they became instant friends, sharing the water dish (Leia would always wait patiently for Vicki to finish drinking first if they ever arrived at the same time) and playing together every day. Leia remains the single kindest creature I have ever encountered in my life. She never got angry and she never expressed herself in any way other than as happy, friendly and loving. You could pick her up any way any time. You could hold her however you chose. Leia trusted all of us implicitly and was always glad to be petted and held.
My sister left for university after that first summer. So Leia began sleeping with me. Her favourite position was into my back as I lay on my side. She would wake me up by gently, always politely, tapping my face with a paw. Then she would leap off the bad, give a chirp and walk in circles until I gave her my attention so she could eat. That was the thing about Leia - in order to eat, she required an audience. At first she'd be forcing me to follow her downstairs to the kitchen at six in the morning to stand there and supervise while she ate her breakfast. I quickly learned to keep an extra food dish in my room for this. However, my being in the same room just wasn't enough - I STILL had to get out of bed and stand there, sometimes even pat her back, in order for her to settle down and eat her food.
After two years of this, I also left for university and Leia would find acceptance on my parents' bed. Vicki, ever the jealous type, was not initially pleased with this development but as always was the case when it came to Leia, she would come to accept the situation.
Leia was unique and beautiful for a million reasons. She always drank so daintily, first testing the water with a paw. She would tentatively dip a paw in then lick some water off it before finally deciding to lower her head and lap in the traditional manner. And in this she was extremely slow. While Vicki (and later, Wednesday, my cat) would simply plunge her head in and slurp and slop until she had slaked her thirst, Leia lapped very slowly. It wasn't uncommon for her to be crouched at the water dish for over five minutes to take a drink.
She loved toys and her favourites would be these plain, yellow ducks that were initially on strings. But she would chew the strings off then simply pick up the duck in her mouth, bat it around with her front paws, or, when she really got going, lie on her back grasping the duck with all four paws, sometimes kicking it with her hind feet. It was always a joy to play with Leia or just watch her but you had to be careful; if Leia ever found herself especially intense in her sport but then noticed she was being watched, she would very quickly cease this activity and walk away with her tail held high, as if trying to convince us it had never happened at all. Before this I'd never known that a cat could be embarrassed. But it was very important to Leia to appear dignified at all times in front of us.
Vicki would chase her and she would chase Vicki. They took turns. Sometimes Vicki would be lying on the floor asleep and Leia would come bounding in, sometimes hopping sideways, then leap onto Vicki and use the prone dog as a springboard, catapulting off her before running from the room or leaping onto a piece of furniture. Vicki would scramble to her feet in a fit of confusion, looking around dimly while Leia was already well out of sight. And Leia really did love Vicki. She would often jump onto the kitchen table to observe Vicki when she was put outside. It was clear she was concerned about the dog being out of the house (a place Leia never dared to venture) and I'm sure that sometimes she watched also in an effort to remind us that Vicki was out there - that she didn't trust us to remember to let Vicki back in on our own. She never in her life hissed or growled at Vicki; not even on those few occasions where the dog might have deserved it.
Leia is the only pet I know that would actually pose for photos. She must have had some understanding of her own physical beauty and it was clear she was very proud of her appearance. Unlike Wednesday, she was an almost obsessive groomer, constantly tidying her fur.
She loved her family and loved people in general. There was nothing solitary about her - she was always wherever we were and was very rarely alone in the house. She always came when called and had a very good understanding of English, better than many people I've met (and I'm speaking of Anglophones).
Her illness and eventual death are also a part of her story but it's not what I want to relate here. She was taken from us far too soon and I'll miss her for the rest of my life. Without Leia paving the way, we never would have gotten Wednesday, whom I love and adore just as much.
Leia will always be in my memory and my heart, not just as my cat and my pet but also as the most shining example of pure kindness I've observed so far in my life. She truly was an extraordinary creature and my words here could never do her proper justice. But I still wanted to try.
Friday, November 7, 2008
in Memory of
I'm feeling guilty because my cat (one of the two), Leia, passed away on October 10th at the much too young age of nine and I'd been meaning to write about her here because writing is how I deal with these kinds of things and she obviously made a huge impact on my life. She was a truly extraordinary creature and I will tell you her story very soon. I promise.
But I'm feeling guilty because what's moved me to FINALLY write something here is the death of someone who was not a member of my family. I'm talking about Michael Crichton, who you'll remember is one of my listed authors on this page, who passed away a few days ago after a private battle with lung cancer. As it hadn't been publicly known until....well, the end there, I was shocked when the news reached me. He was 66 but certainly didn't look it from recent photos I've seen. Anyway, you can criticize this guy and put him in the same category as someone like Tom Clancy, who sells a lot of books without ever doing any especially good writing, relying almost completely on technical knowledge to drive his stories. But I disagree. Here was a storyteller of the highest calibre who put absolutely everything he had into his craft. There are so many great authors I want to emulate and Crichton is no exception....but I also realize my own limitations and know that I could never match him for his scientific knowledge and imagination where such is concerned. I don't think I'll ever write a book or comic or even short story that requires the degree of research and know-how that Crichton poured into pretty much everything he ever did. He was a master of the "techno-thriller" and I'm not about to challenge that myself. I'll stick to simpler fiction and fantasy, thanks.
I'm pretty sure in an early post I mentioned that reading Jurassic Park was a huge event in my life. Well, it was. Firstly, intelligent as I was as a kid, I was basically too young to properly absorb and appreciate it the first time through. To be fair, I was barely ten. But like any book that I really enjoyed, I revisisted it again and again over the years. I'm twenty-five now and I'll estimate I've read Jurassic Park somewhere around seven times so far. Obviously, the biggest attraction was simply the dinosaurs but I discovered so much more between those pages.
It may well have been Crichton who first impressed upon me how useful character backstory can be if done right. What I recall best is an account of the book's Dr. Woo - an Ingen scientist chiefly responsible for developing the cloning techniques used to create real dinosaurs. There's a digression of about two pages or so that takes us back in time and tells us of Woo as he first graduates university and begins his work before being approached by John Hammond, the man who would found Jurassic Park.
Maybe this little bit of info on a character who was actually quite secondary to the novel's actual action wouldn't impress most people but I know it made a big impression on me. As technical as Crichton's novels could often be, I always found his characters to be very human. That's why I was rooting for Ian Malcolm and Alan Grant - because I genuinely liked them. They weren't just vehicles to drive the plot - they were compelling, interesting characters and Woo was interesting too.
Aside from his obvious mastery of knowing his subject matter inside out and deploying it in an intelligent and believeable manner, I really find Crichton's other main strength as a storyteller to be his sense of pacing and ability to build suspense. Timeline remains one of the most intense novels I've ever read and I always enjoy re-reading it. If you've seen the movie and not read the book, do your best to purge any memory of that "film" from your mind and pick the book up. It's awesome. Like King, almost everything Crichton has written has been made into a movie but with the exception of Jurassic Park (one of my favourite movies despite how different it actually is from the source material), these movies don't even come close to doing these stories proper justice. And if techno-thrillers about dinosaur cloning, time travel and deadly AI aren't your thing, I guess you could always give Disclosure a shot. It was the only Crichton novel I ever read (there's like three I have yet to read) that didn't really do it for me. I've also been told to avoid Airframe as it supposedly strays into Clancyesque territory in regards to technical details but I'll still give it a shot someday. Give the dude props for creating ER too - pretty much every medical drama out today (and god knows there are a TON of them) owes something to that show. Oh, and you're welcome too, Mr. Clooney.
The last novel Michael Crichton ever finished was called Next and I have yet to read it. Maybe it's fitting that something with that title was his last - up next, Mr. Crichton goes beyond this life and as for we who are left behind, what's next is up to us.
But I'm feeling guilty because what's moved me to FINALLY write something here is the death of someone who was not a member of my family. I'm talking about Michael Crichton, who you'll remember is one of my listed authors on this page, who passed away a few days ago after a private battle with lung cancer. As it hadn't been publicly known until....well, the end there, I was shocked when the news reached me. He was 66 but certainly didn't look it from recent photos I've seen. Anyway, you can criticize this guy and put him in the same category as someone like Tom Clancy, who sells a lot of books without ever doing any especially good writing, relying almost completely on technical knowledge to drive his stories. But I disagree. Here was a storyteller of the highest calibre who put absolutely everything he had into his craft. There are so many great authors I want to emulate and Crichton is no exception....but I also realize my own limitations and know that I could never match him for his scientific knowledge and imagination where such is concerned. I don't think I'll ever write a book or comic or even short story that requires the degree of research and know-how that Crichton poured into pretty much everything he ever did. He was a master of the "techno-thriller" and I'm not about to challenge that myself. I'll stick to simpler fiction and fantasy, thanks.
I'm pretty sure in an early post I mentioned that reading Jurassic Park was a huge event in my life. Well, it was. Firstly, intelligent as I was as a kid, I was basically too young to properly absorb and appreciate it the first time through. To be fair, I was barely ten. But like any book that I really enjoyed, I revisisted it again and again over the years. I'm twenty-five now and I'll estimate I've read Jurassic Park somewhere around seven times so far. Obviously, the biggest attraction was simply the dinosaurs but I discovered so much more between those pages.
It may well have been Crichton who first impressed upon me how useful character backstory can be if done right. What I recall best is an account of the book's Dr. Woo - an Ingen scientist chiefly responsible for developing the cloning techniques used to create real dinosaurs. There's a digression of about two pages or so that takes us back in time and tells us of Woo as he first graduates university and begins his work before being approached by John Hammond, the man who would found Jurassic Park.
Maybe this little bit of info on a character who was actually quite secondary to the novel's actual action wouldn't impress most people but I know it made a big impression on me. As technical as Crichton's novels could often be, I always found his characters to be very human. That's why I was rooting for Ian Malcolm and Alan Grant - because I genuinely liked them. They weren't just vehicles to drive the plot - they were compelling, interesting characters and Woo was interesting too.
Aside from his obvious mastery of knowing his subject matter inside out and deploying it in an intelligent and believeable manner, I really find Crichton's other main strength as a storyteller to be his sense of pacing and ability to build suspense. Timeline remains one of the most intense novels I've ever read and I always enjoy re-reading it. If you've seen the movie and not read the book, do your best to purge any memory of that "film" from your mind and pick the book up. It's awesome. Like King, almost everything Crichton has written has been made into a movie but with the exception of Jurassic Park (one of my favourite movies despite how different it actually is from the source material), these movies don't even come close to doing these stories proper justice. And if techno-thrillers about dinosaur cloning, time travel and deadly AI aren't your thing, I guess you could always give Disclosure a shot. It was the only Crichton novel I ever read (there's like three I have yet to read) that didn't really do it for me. I've also been told to avoid Airframe as it supposedly strays into Clancyesque territory in regards to technical details but I'll still give it a shot someday. Give the dude props for creating ER too - pretty much every medical drama out today (and god knows there are a TON of them) owes something to that show. Oh, and you're welcome too, Mr. Clooney.
The last novel Michael Crichton ever finished was called Next and I have yet to read it. Maybe it's fitting that something with that title was his last - up next, Mr. Crichton goes beyond this life and as for we who are left behind, what's next is up to us.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
PaSsIoN
I was supposed to be writing about sleep depravation and writing and my own experiences with it but something else has been bouncing around in my head.
Two weeks ago I went to see the Star Wars: Clone Wars movie. While using CGI caricatures rather than real life actors and not even having all the official actors on board for voices, it still is an official Star Wars movie, bridging the gap between Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith. although he didn't direct it (hell, he didn't direct Empire, remember?) George Lucas worked on it and obviously endorsed it and approved of it in every sense.
Besides the factors mentioned above, it's also pretty short and the music isn't done by John Williams (although some of his existing themes are worked in in places). I thought it was ok but there were things about it that bugged me. Needless to say, it's not up to the standard of the rest of the series. I think of it as just a little extra side-story so I don't really care. But the hardcore Star Wars fans, of which there are trillions, care very much. So message boards everywhere are flooded with complaints and opinions flying every which way.
I was on one such message board on imdb just to see if anyone actually liked the movie when i came across a thread in which the original poster basically said everyone should just shut up and stop complaining about this movie, and they should especially stop criticizing Lucas himself. Addressing the argument that Lucas was "selling out" and ruining the great name of Star Wars, this poster stated that Star Wars and everything encapsulated within it (and that's quite a lot) belongs to George Lucas, NOT the fans. It was his vision, his creation, his property, period. He can do as he pleases with it.
This of course lead to a response with one of those speeches saying how Star Wars is art created for its audience and it belongs as much to them as its creator. That as soon as Lucas released the first Star Wars to the public in 1977, it became in part, public property as well. Over the decades, Star Wars has spawned many, many fans who are absolutely nuts over it - they know everything about it and care very, very much about anything that is added to it. This obviously leads to a level of snobbishness - the diehards feeling they are "true" fans and much more deserving than people who only enjoy the movies and so on on a casual level. These fans become very opinionated over time and extremely protective of what they like. So it was one of these fans talking here. The basic idea being that fans like him/herself care SO MUCH about all things Star Wars, they are perfectly entitled to criticizing Lucas for any "mistakes" they feel he's making with his own creation.
And I agree. To a point. Of course, ANYONE, diehard fan or casual fan, has the right to have a freaking opinion. Call George Lucas the biggest moron of all time - it's completely legal, I assure you. But I'd like to talk about where I disagree with this poster and this argument. It's pretty simple, really. George Lucas does love Star Wars. If he didn't, it would never have even happened. He had to fight like crazy to make the first movie and completing the original trilogy the way he wanted to was a huge struggle. I think people do know that but some will argue that over time, all Lucas really loved about Star Wars was the MONEY it was making for him. This would lead him to cut corners or not try as hard when it came to making the prequels. A lot of people believe that. And now they see this latest movie as just a quick cash-grab, capitalizing on the Star Wars name. But I just don't think so. Cause, yeah, I know there are tons of fans out there that love Star Wars SO MUCH. They care SO MUCH. I know. But you know who's on an even higher level in that category? The people that worked on these newer films with Lucas. The guy who directed Clone Wars had been a fan of Star Wars his whole life. He loved it SO MUCH. He cared SO MUCH. How much? Well....he became a director. He wanted to make movies like his hero, George Lucas. So he went out and worked hard to get where he is today. Obviously, he's done a fair share of work before ever getting handed what he considered to be a dream job. And he probably didn't absolutely love everything he worked on. But it didn't matter because he was prepared to do whatever it took to get himself in the position to work on projects he really cared about. The animators, the artists - they all love Star Wars so much they're animators and artists. These people didn't sit in their basements and complain when a sequel to a movie they liked wasn't up to their standards. They said "i'm going to make movies too" and they went out and worked to make that happen. OK, so not every single one of them was inspired to what they do by Star Wars but it's the same principle - there was SOMETHING, some movie or show or comic or whatever that moved them in such a way that they wanted to be part of that world too - to create.
It's how I feel whenever I read a letters section in a comic book. Reader feedback is of course an important part of the comics industry, more than ever these days with the Internet. It's important for writers, editors and artists to listen to their fans. But Christ, you should see some of the DEMANDS some of these people are making. "I don't like this character, you should kill him off." "I think the whole whoever and whoever relationship is overdone." "Could you maybe put x character into this book? Get them on x team?" And on and on and on. Some people downright attack Marvel and DC and whoever, sometimes even vowing never to buy another one of their books because something has upset them so much.
And as I huge fan, I can of course relate. I'm not in love with every single decision that is made in, say, the Marvel universe. I don't adore every character, story arc and plot twist. Sometimes I'll read something and think something like "Mr. Fantastic would never do that. That's dumb." I live in that world. I love that world SO MUCH. I care SO MUCH. But you know what? I don't think that entitles me to much. No one's holding a gun to my head, forcing me to spend my money on these comics. How I feel about it is this: I love these characters, this world SO MUCH, that I want to be a part of it. I'm going to work my ass off so that I can be. To someday work on a title I've spent years enjoying reading. To write stories about the characters I've grown up adoring. Then they'll do what I want them to do. I'll try my best to appeal to as many people as I can, to not fuck up these things they love so much. But any idiot knows you just can't please everyone.
So if I ever get there it's cool with me if you want to talk to your friends or go on message boards and call me an idiot and go on and on about how I'm ruining this or that. Go ahead and vow to stop reading. I'd hate to lose any readers but that's how it goes and you can do as you please. But if you think you're more entitled or smart when it comes to this stuff then don't complain to me, accusing me of not trying or not caring. Step right up and do my job. And if you're not prepared to do that or you're just incapable, well, then I think we'll both know which of us is the bigger fan and who actually cares more.
Two weeks ago I went to see the Star Wars: Clone Wars movie. While using CGI caricatures rather than real life actors and not even having all the official actors on board for voices, it still is an official Star Wars movie, bridging the gap between Attack of the Clones and Revenge of the Sith. although he didn't direct it (hell, he didn't direct Empire, remember?) George Lucas worked on it and obviously endorsed it and approved of it in every sense.
Besides the factors mentioned above, it's also pretty short and the music isn't done by John Williams (although some of his existing themes are worked in in places). I thought it was ok but there were things about it that bugged me. Needless to say, it's not up to the standard of the rest of the series. I think of it as just a little extra side-story so I don't really care. But the hardcore Star Wars fans, of which there are trillions, care very much. So message boards everywhere are flooded with complaints and opinions flying every which way.
I was on one such message board on imdb just to see if anyone actually liked the movie when i came across a thread in which the original poster basically said everyone should just shut up and stop complaining about this movie, and they should especially stop criticizing Lucas himself. Addressing the argument that Lucas was "selling out" and ruining the great name of Star Wars, this poster stated that Star Wars and everything encapsulated within it (and that's quite a lot) belongs to George Lucas, NOT the fans. It was his vision, his creation, his property, period. He can do as he pleases with it.
This of course lead to a response with one of those speeches saying how Star Wars is art created for its audience and it belongs as much to them as its creator. That as soon as Lucas released the first Star Wars to the public in 1977, it became in part, public property as well. Over the decades, Star Wars has spawned many, many fans who are absolutely nuts over it - they know everything about it and care very, very much about anything that is added to it. This obviously leads to a level of snobbishness - the diehards feeling they are "true" fans and much more deserving than people who only enjoy the movies and so on on a casual level. These fans become very opinionated over time and extremely protective of what they like. So it was one of these fans talking here. The basic idea being that fans like him/herself care SO MUCH about all things Star Wars, they are perfectly entitled to criticizing Lucas for any "mistakes" they feel he's making with his own creation.
And I agree. To a point. Of course, ANYONE, diehard fan or casual fan, has the right to have a freaking opinion. Call George Lucas the biggest moron of all time - it's completely legal, I assure you. But I'd like to talk about where I disagree with this poster and this argument. It's pretty simple, really. George Lucas does love Star Wars. If he didn't, it would never have even happened. He had to fight like crazy to make the first movie and completing the original trilogy the way he wanted to was a huge struggle. I think people do know that but some will argue that over time, all Lucas really loved about Star Wars was the MONEY it was making for him. This would lead him to cut corners or not try as hard when it came to making the prequels. A lot of people believe that. And now they see this latest movie as just a quick cash-grab, capitalizing on the Star Wars name. But I just don't think so. Cause, yeah, I know there are tons of fans out there that love Star Wars SO MUCH. They care SO MUCH. I know. But you know who's on an even higher level in that category? The people that worked on these newer films with Lucas. The guy who directed Clone Wars had been a fan of Star Wars his whole life. He loved it SO MUCH. He cared SO MUCH. How much? Well....he became a director. He wanted to make movies like his hero, George Lucas. So he went out and worked hard to get where he is today. Obviously, he's done a fair share of work before ever getting handed what he considered to be a dream job. And he probably didn't absolutely love everything he worked on. But it didn't matter because he was prepared to do whatever it took to get himself in the position to work on projects he really cared about. The animators, the artists - they all love Star Wars so much they're animators and artists. These people didn't sit in their basements and complain when a sequel to a movie they liked wasn't up to their standards. They said "i'm going to make movies too" and they went out and worked to make that happen. OK, so not every single one of them was inspired to what they do by Star Wars but it's the same principle - there was SOMETHING, some movie or show or comic or whatever that moved them in such a way that they wanted to be part of that world too - to create.
It's how I feel whenever I read a letters section in a comic book. Reader feedback is of course an important part of the comics industry, more than ever these days with the Internet. It's important for writers, editors and artists to listen to their fans. But Christ, you should see some of the DEMANDS some of these people are making. "I don't like this character, you should kill him off." "I think the whole whoever and whoever relationship is overdone." "Could you maybe put x character into this book? Get them on x team?" And on and on and on. Some people downright attack Marvel and DC and whoever, sometimes even vowing never to buy another one of their books because something has upset them so much.
And as I huge fan, I can of course relate. I'm not in love with every single decision that is made in, say, the Marvel universe. I don't adore every character, story arc and plot twist. Sometimes I'll read something and think something like "Mr. Fantastic would never do that. That's dumb." I live in that world. I love that world SO MUCH. I care SO MUCH. But you know what? I don't think that entitles me to much. No one's holding a gun to my head, forcing me to spend my money on these comics. How I feel about it is this: I love these characters, this world SO MUCH, that I want to be a part of it. I'm going to work my ass off so that I can be. To someday work on a title I've spent years enjoying reading. To write stories about the characters I've grown up adoring. Then they'll do what I want them to do. I'll try my best to appeal to as many people as I can, to not fuck up these things they love so much. But any idiot knows you just can't please everyone.
So if I ever get there it's cool with me if you want to talk to your friends or go on message boards and call me an idiot and go on and on about how I'm ruining this or that. Go ahead and vow to stop reading. I'd hate to lose any readers but that's how it goes and you can do as you please. But if you think you're more entitled or smart when it comes to this stuff then don't complain to me, accusing me of not trying or not caring. Step right up and do my job. And if you're not prepared to do that or you're just incapable, well, then I think we'll both know which of us is the bigger fan and who actually cares more.
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