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Sword and Laser and Danger and Women
UPDATE: Because I can’t actually count, it turns out that my appearance on Sword and Laser will be this Tuesday, not Thursday. Sorry for the inconvenience.
So, hey there.
It’s been awhile since we talked, hasn’t it? How have you been? How’s school going? Are you making new friends? Doing your homework? Getting enough to eat?
Me? Oh, well, I haven’t been up to much…
Except, of course, agreeing to appear on Sword and Laser this TUESDAY at 4 PM, PDT. Holy crap! Big leagues!
For those of you not in the know, S&L is a sci-fi and fantasy literature-themed podcast featuring Veronica Belmont and Tom Merritt, both of whom are super cool people, I am assured, either one capable of lifting a fully-grown goat above their head. Incredible!
It is a podcast in which questions are offered and answered by me, the author, Sam Sykes. As such, it would mean an awful lot to me if you, as readers and lovers of my books, were to go to this Goodreads link here and submit your questions.
To put things in perspective: it would mean as much to me to get your questions as it would mean to you to keep me from arriving at your doorstep and beating you with an oar for not asking questions!
Anyway, that’s mostly what I’ve been up to…
…well, that and this.
Yes, indeed, the anthology Dangerous Women, edited by George R.R. Martin and Gardner Dozois has just hit shelves.
And, holy shit, it debuted at #18 on the New York Times bestseller list! That’s as close as I’ve ever been to a list that didn’t involve the words “government watch” on it!
Inside, you will find my story: Name the Beast, which goes into detail on the origins of Kataria and her relationship with her mother, Kalindris. If you’re a fan of mine (and I can’t imagine why you’d be reading this if you weren’t, unless I owe you money), I would highly recommend buying it.
Now, then, I hope to hear from you on Thursday. Until then…
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Bonnie Tyler is Forever Waiting
The problem with people who use terms like “nihilist fantasy” is that there tends to be a fairly good point frequently buried under a mountain of shit that inevitably turns into the most bizarre paranoia ever spewed about fantasy. That point tends to get lost, because who wants to wade through shit to get it?
Me.
I do.
And I did.
Beneath all the buzzwords, the namedropping and the contempt for youth, there is an actual point to the idea that fantasy should not be a vehicle for negativity. It’s an idea that’s been tossed around a bit on a few Facebook posts (that eventually became kind of looney, and I’m lazy, so I won’t go hunting them down to link) that fantasy needs…well, to be fantastic.
A hero, a monster and a quest, the theory goes, is what’s needed. There’s something about these traits that makes fantasy what it is, something that protagonist, antagonist and conflict lack. Something loftier, perhaps: the kind of qualities a hero has that we can aspire to, the kind of villainies that a monster has that can make us fear, the kind of weight a quest has that makes it so much more than the tension of a guy and a girl staring at each other, thinking.
There are obvious issues with this, of course. Heroic qualities can remove the protagonist too far from reality, denying us the chance to relate to him. Villainous properties can make a monster a shallow and boring and, if we can’t relate to the monster, then we don’t know why he’s a threat aside from the fact that the author told us so, in which case we’re removed from the story and it feels hollow. And dropping the One Ring into Mount Doom is not something someone experiences as much as a guy and a girl staring at each other, thinking, thus making the stakes for the latter frequently higher.
But then there’s the other end of the spectrum: the idea that fantasy is just like reality and that it’s a good vehicle for exploring how utterly shitty humanity can be. In the name of relatability and reality, we have grit, and in the name of grit we have a lot of really depressing instances where people never rise above their shit and frequently sink down further into it. War is everywhere and everyone is dying, there are no goodly kings and fair princesses since all the politicians use people like pawns to murder each other, the sex is loveless and the romance is completely gone and at the end, you don’t so much not feel the warm fuzzies as you feel pretty crappy.
There’s obvious issues with this, too. Portraying something as unrelentingly bleak and despairing where there simply are no good people, and if there are, they’re too stupid or just fated to get fucked over time and again is as unrealistic and shallow a conflict as one where all the Good People are always happy and beautiful and all the Bad People live underground because that’s where they belong. A conflict in which no one wins and everyone ends up shittier than where they begin can often feel like a talk with Lie Bot: meaningless, empty, designed just to make you feel bad.
So, which is right? Well, as impotent an answer as it is: no one is.
In my opinion, conflict is up and down, give and take. We need to see the protagonist succeed and the antagonist succeed from time to time to keep things interesting. And we need to be able to relate to both of them so that we’re invested in their successes and failures, hence why I tend to lean away from the idea of traditional “good must always win and evil must always wear black armor” fantasy, since it tends to discourage relatability in the name of escapism/tradition.
And yet, at the same time, I believe in magic words and I believe in love. I want the hero to succeed in some way. I want the villain to be taken down, after a huge fight. I want my talking magical creatures and ancient worlds and my heroes and my monsters. I want fantastic stuff and I don’t read to feel like shit.
Tome of the Undergates is gritty, sure, but it has love, it has inspiration, it has wonder and poetry and tropes alongside the grittiness and the stomping in of groins and the despair and sorrow. I wanted that. I can’t see how you can have one without the other. The real thing I don’t want to do is have it all clear-cut and easy to figure out. I don’t want love at first sight and I don’t want villains to wring their hands and cackle. But I don’t want Lenk drinking himself to death in a pile of his own filth as he gently strokes a blood-soaked picture of Kataria, wondering how it all came to this.
I guess, at the end, the best answer I can give is that the ideal end to this is conflict.
See, all art, by its very nature, makes a statement about humanity. How loud and how convincing a statement it makes, of course, is up to the author. If the hero ends in a puddle of his own shit, the statement is still loud. If the hero gets the girl/boy and becomes king, the statement is still there. This is why, in general, we don’t like stories where there is no struggle, no conflict and the hero ends up exactly where he was. The statement is something akin to shuffling your feet, clearing your throat and going “uh…I don’t think manatees are completely worthless, no.”
But here’s the thing: which of them makes the bigger statement?
So, as ashamed as I am to take such a weak stance, I’m really not sure what the right answer is. Maybe there is none. Maybe that’s the statement. Either way, that’s why I wrote this and that’s why I’m opening it up to you.
Shit-holes or cloud-nines, people?
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Sam Sykes Hates You
I think, if I have a least favorite word of 2011, it’s “genre.” Or specifically, “the genre.”
Set down your pitchforks, I don’t mean it like that. “That” being the sense of a hooty-tooty fresh-and-fruity critic of mainstream fiction, all clad in his wire-frame glasses and turtleneck sweater in his professional shot against a white background next to his bio that involves the words “degree in literature” and “in the pants,” vomiting a little in his mouth when he says the word “genre.” No. I don’t think “genre” is a dirty word.
Rather, I think it’s getting slightly too revered. It’s becoming my least favorite phrase in the sense that we can’t seem to have a conversation about a book without involving “the genre.” Is steampunk good or is it not part of “the genre”? Is “the genre” being destroyed by the nihilism of today? What is the work of today doing for “the genre”? Is my author more “the genre” than your author? How can I best feed “the genre”?
I write genre fiction. Specifically, I write fantasy fiction. I write fantasy fiction because I like to write fantasy fiction. I like exploring new worlds, meeting new peoples, finding out how things work on a world not my own. I wrote a book in which a dragonman beat the tar out of a wizard and fought the urge to urinate him. I wrote a character that uses the phrase “round-ear.” I don’t say I’m writing objectivist morality. I don’t scoff at the notion that I write fantasy. I don’t mind being called a nerd. Some of my favorite authors write fantasy. Some don’t. I am a fantasy writer.
And I don’t really care about “the genre.”
It’s a pair of words. It’s not a pillar. A book is art. A book is not not art if it is or it isn’t part of “the genre.” A book does not have to exist for the good of “the genre.” A book exists on its own merits. An author probably did not write a story for what it contributes to “the genre.” An author probably wrote it because he or she wanted to tell that story. A reader probably does not read a book because it’s essential reading for “the genre.” A reader probably read it because they wanted to.
“Because I wanted to” is a good phrase. It’s what drives the writing and the speculation. It’s what makes you want to read it. Not dedication, not loyalty, not for essential reading. You either want to do it, or you do not. What other authors did, what other readers are saying, what bloggers are blogging or what reviews say does not really factor into it. It all comes down to “because I wanted to.”
It’s a good phrase.
But it’s not my favorite of 2011.
I think “fearless” might be. Or maybe “fuck.” The two are pretty intertwined.
Rejection is a part of art. It’s not part of the creation, as creation based on rejection tends to be (but isn’t always) flimsy and unfounded. But rejection is important in that it sets us apart and makes our work unique. Most of that comes after the book is published, of course, but it can factor in prior and during the creation, as well. And that’s where “fuck” comes in.
Fuck the influences, fuck the traditions, fuck the hallmarks. Fuck the way things are done. Fuck the things that tell you what to write. Fuck the definition of what is and isn’t genre, true genre or the genre. Fuck the cries for more of the same. Fuck the laments that there isn’t another Established Author Name Here. Fuck not reading something because it’s outside your comfort zone. Fuck not writing something because it’s never been done. Fuck everything.
And, as I said “fearless” and “fuck are intertwined…
Don’t be afraid of the influences, don’t be afraid of the traditions, don’t be afraid of the hallmarks; they aren’t yours. Don’t be afraid of protocol; you don’t have to follow it. Don’t be afraid of things that tell you what to write; they aren’t writing it. Don’t be afraid of the definition of the genre; your work will occupy its own space. Don’t be afraid of people crying for the same thing they’ve always read; you aren’t writing for them. Don’t be afraid of reading and writing outside of your comfort zone; you’re never at a loss for having experimented. Don’t be afraid of anything.
If you choose to fuck this blog, that’s great, too. If you choose to honor the traditions or fly in their face, do that, too. If you choose to write an epic Tolkienist fantasy with vivid hill descriptions and great feasting, do so. If you choose to write a story about steampunk romance that goes in the face of everything, do that. If you choose to to write something that we haven’t even thought of and you’re sure no one will like but you, then do it.
Just make sure you chose to do it.
Because no one can write it but you.
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Retrospective
I had originally intended to publish this before New Year’s, but there were a few obstacles that arose to be overcome. Half of those obstacles were mentally dealt with and annihilated while the other half was safely consumed and converted into urine. Thus, I am free to discuss the relative milestone of my first year as a published author.
Summary: It wasn’t what I expected. I know that’s a cliche, but cliches aren’t necessarily used out of a desire for laziness so much as the fact that they make a rather distressing amount of sense. All that I was prepared for left me totally open to what I wasn’t.
Admittedly, my family background gave me a bit of an edge in knowing what to expect from being a writer. I knew the demands of being a professional, how to interact with agents, editors and people who wanted a part of me (in a non-sexual and non-cannibal way) and I knew, generally, how the publishing world worked.
What I wasn’t prepared for, and what I think a lot of people aren’t prepared for, is the notion that not everyone in the world would love me immediately.
I’m not talking about critics or haters, either. In general, I think that people writing a book (unless they’re specifically aiming for a demographic) don’t consider how it will be accepted beyond “I love it, so everyone else will.” While that’s not exactly true, it’s not exactly false, either. But that’s not the point. Being less concerned with who will love the book or hate it or won’t think it’s anything special or will just find it okay is a good thing. I’ve theorized that it’s sort of a mental self-defense for writers, that the brain instinctively shuts the notion of the public out to keep from being overwhelmed by the already vast undertaking of writing the damn thing.
That said, it tends to leave one open to the overwhelmingness of being involved in the public eye.
I’ve found most writers to be rather functionally retarded when it comes to mechanical things like numbers and statistics and where you can and cannot put your fingers in machinery. We’re much better at handling words and ideas and other things that make me sound like I drive a Prius. That said, it’s amazing how easy it is to get caught up in the numbers and all: Twitter followers, Facebook views, webpage hits, Amazon sales rankings, most wanted lists and so forth.
While we’re not instinctively good with numbers, we are instinctively good with getting stressed out about things. And these two sort of go hand in hand. If you pay attention to the numbers, you’ll start wrecking yourself mentally. Start paying attention to other authors and comparing yourselves to their success and you’ll make it worse.
I’m not suggesting that you avoid social media or other authors at all. I am suggesting that you don’t treat them like work. I am suggesting that you treat them as a lovely little benefit to being a writer, that you enjoy the new followers for what they bring beyond numbers, that you enjoy the reviews for what they say rather than if they’re good or bad, that you enjoy the fellowship of other authors because they’re genuinely nice people (assuming they are not Joe Abercrombie) that you want to be around rather than competition (protip: there is no competition because there is no such thing as a reader that only reads one book).
Because focusing on those things is a race you can’t win. If you have 100 followers, you’ll lament that you don’t have 200. If you have a positive review, you’ll feel spiteful that Patrick Rothfuss has eighty million more than you. If your webpage is going well, you’ll feel angry that it’s not as popular as older, more-established webpages.
But beyond that, they do not matter. The amount of followers you have, the number of critics you get, the number of hits you experience do not change what’s on the page. That’s all you, baby. You write what you want to write. If people don’t like it, oh well.
Some might interpret that advice as shrugging off critics and attention and input and saying “oh, they just didn’t get it” (which, I’m sorry to say, often comes off as the literary equivalent of putting your fingers in your ears and going “LA LA LA LA LA”). That’s definitely not what I’m advising. I am advising you to consider what it is you want when it comes to those things. The reviews of Tome of the Undergates by the Wertzone, The Book Smugglers and Little Red Reviewer (sorry I don’t have a link, Andrea, but you’re a little difficult to find in google!) aren’t what you’d call rave reviews, as they all had issues with the book. Some of their issues I can’t do much for. Some of them are things that I want to look at more closely.
Self-centered? Yes. Because it’s a question of who you write for. If it’s for the numbers, then disregard everything I’ve said above. If it’s for yourself, and indeed most books are for the author and that’s why people like to read them, then consider less about what the numbers tell you and more about what you want to say.
Happy New Year.
Fuck you.
Building Societies, Taking Names
Did you tune into Twitter last Wednesday to see my discussion with SF/F Writer Chat? I’m sure there’s a transcript of it somewhere around the internet and I’ll get it to you as soon as I can, but I’d genuinely like to know if you were around to see it.
If you choose to answer Sam Sykes with the affirmative, turn to page 8.
If you choose to answer Sam Sykes with the negative, turn to page 43.
Page 8:
A topic came up with our discussion on real life historical cultures and how they factor into fantasy writing. Specifically, the question was how much research goes into creating a fictional society?
My personal answer? Very little.
Keep in mind that I can only answer personally, as I’ve no idea how other writers do it, but that’s about the size of it for myself. I don’t like having real world analogues with which to compare to. It feels less fantastical to me if someone can go “oh, so they’re basically just like Muslims/ancient China/gold rush diseased miners.” That’s not to say I don’t borrow from existing or historical cultures and use them as a jumping-off point. Far from it; history books are some of the greatest troves of material for using as inspiration. And no one from that historical society can complain about it…because they’re dead.
It can’t be overstated how much reader reaction is out of the writer’s control, though. No matter what you write, people will see what they see. But you can certainly make it harder for them to justify their conclusions.
The kind of research that goes into the cultures I write, though, comes less from architecture, rules of decorum, etiquette and more from national character. I think less about what the society does and more about why they do it. My general opinion of putting things into fantasy is that you can put as many assblasting dragons and sexy plants and religious fanatics as you want, but you have to have a reason, biological or cultural, as to why they do that. That reason doesn’t always have to come up. That reason could never come up. But you, as the author, have to know why they do that. And writing from that position of knowledge means the character of that society is so much more defined, because you’re writing with confidence.
I occasionally get asked about the shicts and they’re as good an example as any. What are they? Native American? Elves with copies of Mein Kampf?
Shicts, for the most part, are defined by their paranoia. They don’t so much hate humans as fear them terribly (for reasons that you can read more about in Black Halo–oh so much shicty goodness in those pages), and their actions are driven by this fear. Their society is built around protection from the disease, their methods of warfare revolve around a genuine belief that they cannot coexist with humanity.
Of course, this doesn’t really come up in Tome of the Undergates as our only glimpse into shictish life is Kataria. And, based on our experiences with Kataria, we have a hard time understanding shicts as anything but murderous racists. Kataria certainly seems to think it works that way, thus begging the question if she really understands her own society.
Pow. Characterization. Look at that. My God.
But it can’t be overstated that this style works for me and me alone…and maybe someone else. The fact is, you certainly can get away with borrowing more heavily from a historical culture and you can tell an amazingly excellent story out of it, as Jim Butcher and George R.R. Martin’s success can attest. It’s all about finding your own thing and what works for you.
And just like that, I’ve rendered all the above advice completely useless. It’s a burnt earth policy, baby. I’m Moscow and you’re Napoleon and you ain’t gettin’ none of my fine goods.
But let’s hear from you, as readers and writers alike, what do you look for in a fantastic culture? Are you more comfortable with cultures that are more familiar or do you prefer something totally out there? How much research goes into writing your worlds? What do you do with them?
Tell me. Tell me everything.
Page 43
You are eaten by a grue.
Building Societies, Taking Names Read More »
D-D-DragonCon!
Admittedly, I could have told you this earlier, but I will be gone all weekend because I am at DRAGONCON 2010!
It’s a star-studded event attended by a bunch of cool authors, both Pyr and otherwise, and I WILL BE DOING SOME PANELS RIGHT THEN AND THERE.
…why am I not telling you what panels I will be doing?
Because nobody actually told me! It’s as big a surprise to me as it is to you, much like a handsome stranger crawling through your window at night. But in that case which you might call the police, this surprise encounter is actually not likely to end in tears!
I will also be signing from dawn to death…er…dusk. So, please, do swing by the Pyr Booth and buy a book to be signed! If I’m not there, just tell the jerks running it that you DEMAND that Sam Sykes sign this book and they will see to it!
So, do come see me. If you don’t, I will shave Cherie Priest bald.
This Blog Is Destined to End Well
My good friend Harry Markov shot me this link awhile ago. All right, technically he shot the link to twitter in general and thus to everyone who cared to read it, but scientific fact has proven that I am at least as important as everyone on twitter, so it might as well have been to me. Anyway, it pretty much summarizes what I feel is the best way to approach characters: let their motives shape their actions, let their actions drive the story.
If you’re at all interested in writing, you should take a look at it (as you should take a look at everything writing related ever). If you’re at all interested in writing fantasy, you might want to consider reading on, as today’s post is chiefly about that very subject (imagine that!)
Today we discuss…motive. Specifically, motives in fantasy settings. And more specific than that, the bad ones. Ladies…gentlemen…today we talk about…
Sam Sykes’ Top Five Worst Motives in Fantasy Settings EVER
5. The Gods Will It or “Thou Shalt Kick Ass”
A lot of fantasy (mine included) are rife with the divine. Nearly every fantasy setting has a godly presence: singular or multiple, benevolent or destructive, and just about each and every one of them wants their followers to do something. If you’re fortunate enough to be a peasant, they might ask you to live well and occasionally donate to the local temple. If you’ve got the rotten luck to be the hero, your mission tends to be less of the “say your prayers” persuasion and more of the “kill this evil son of a bitch and all his minions.” More than a little often, this particular message is delivered straight from the godly horse’s mouth, with the god frequently coming down from on high to tell the hero, in no unclear terms, that this is his duty and he better get it done or the world will explode or something like that.
Why is this bad, then? The world, as we know it, is rife with divine conflict and religious warfare has been the conflict du jour for millions of jours running now. And, in those terms, it becomes a more relatable, more ambiguous conflict because no one can really say who’s right: all sides have done some pretty shady stuff and most of our requests to heaven don’t warrant someone coming down and giving a very clear, certain answer.
The problem arises when the Gods are clearly defined as good or evil deities and their missions are defined as just. After that, there’s no room for argument. You either do the will of the gods or you’re against them. And if you’re against the gods, you’re against creation. And if you’re against creation, you’re basically the villain so you’re probably going to die. When gods are enigmatic and ill-defined, with their own agendas, their “will” becomes more complex via the nature of their interaction. If their commands are open to interpretation via vague visions or potentially corrupt priests, then the conflict gains another dimension and it’s another thing for the reader to worry about and thus gain a stake in.
If you sort of explain away events as “Gods will it,” the depth of the reaction usually boils down to: “oh, okay, then.”
4. Ancestral Revenge or “Hello, my name is ____. You killed my ____.”
This one might be hard to swallow. Revenge is one of the classic motivators, along with money and love. Some of the greatest stories ever told have revenge at their core. It’s one of those lengthy, broad emotions that we’ll probably never have too much to say about. So why is it on this list?
Revenge is at its best when its personal. When the character has a stake in their vengeance, so do we. A personal vengeance also means a clouded vengeance, one that might be affected by the characters’ emotions, and thus becomes less clear. The ambiguity adds tension, which adds reader involvement. The problem arises when revenge becomes impersonal, spanning centuries, generations and people. At this point, the reader no longer has any stake in the conflict because it’s hard to see how the character does.
If a man watches his wife die and he wants her killer dead, that’s personal. If a man knows his father died by another man and he wants that man dead, that’s still pretty fresh. If a man’s great grandfather was knifed in an alleyway and buried in a shallow grave by a nameless person, that’s stretching it. If a man’s best friend’s cousin’s bike was stolen by a shadowy man in black once a long time ago, the reader has probably already checked out mentally.
3. The Immutable Laws of Evil or “Four-Legs Good, Two-Legs Bad”
You might notice a common theme with these issues, that being that each one decreases ambiguity and thus decreases tension. The more certain a conflict is, the more certain its outcome and the less we have to invest in it. This particular motive is a prime example.
Orcs have been a staple of fantasy villains for awhile. They’re big, they’re ugly, they’re brutish, they’re clumsy, they’re stupid. They’re everything we’re not supposed to be. And, above all else, they’re evil. They are always evil. They will always do the worst thing imaginable. They will always be the villain. They can never change, ever. Thusly, when a horde of orcs shows up at the doorstep of the hero, you probably know what’s going to happen already.
This is the problem with immutable morality: there’s nothing to guess at. There’s no reason that orc might be sympathetic, because he’s always evil. We have no stake in what the orc does because we know what he’s made of. Likewise, we have no stake in what the hero does (assuming he acknowledges that his goal in life is to kill orcs without regret) because we know what his motives are right off the bat. And since we know the orcs are evil, we probably know that the hero is going to end up wiping them off his boots at the end of the story. We won’t feel bad for them because they’re evil, but we won’t feel good for the hero because…well, he was going to do that anyway, wasn’t he?
The old adage about the scorpion and the swan is apt here. If “evil” is the nature of something, it becomes harder to understand why they’re doing it and thus, harder to relate to and, thus, harder to care about.
2. The Chosen One or “Because I’m Too Awesome Not To”
There are all kinds of heroes out there: flawed ones, simple ones, tall ones, short ones, ones who are bad at their job and then there are the ones that can’t help being spectacular. These are the heroes that do nothing adequately, they excel. They don’t fight the dragon, they make shoes out of him and start a footwear empire. They don’t save the kingdom, they kill the corrupt adviser and the impotent monarch immediately yields his throne over. They don’t save the princess, they bring down the tower she was being held in, claw through the rubble with their bare hands and impregnate her with a glance and a charming smile. They are perfect. They are excellent. They are boring.
You might think I have a grudge against the kind of hero who is selfless, encouraging and genuinely wants to do right by himself, his companions and the world. Not at all; I love that kind of guy, sometimes more than I love the practical, sometimes heartless protagonist who takes the easiest way out. We naturally sympathize with the good guy because we know he’s got an uphill struggle ahead of him. Someone cold and practical could probably pump the dragon’s lair full of gas, killing the beast and the princess both, but the good guy has to do it the hard way because he’s the good guy.
Where the problem comes in is when everything goes the good guy’s way. It’s a lot like number three on the list, but in the sense that the flaw is on the hero, not the villain. This is the sort of motive that breeds very little stake because the hero doesn’t even have to try. There’s a challenge ahead? He overcomes it easily. There’s a rare honor at the end? He’s always the first to obtain it. Someone doesn’t like him? They’re obviously evil and stupid and ugly, so who gives a crap?
And why does he do it all? Because he knows he can. And so do we. So…what’s the point?
And my favorite terrible motive of all time is…
1. Prophecy or “Destined to Do What Now?”
This is a pretty big cliche in fantasy because it’s very, very easy. In one prophecy, you have an entire story! There’s a setting (“in the twelfth age of the lands of men,”) there’s an antagonist (“the people shall dwell in darkness and in despair,”) and there’s a protagonist (“yea, until the boy who wears the trousers of spun gold descends from heaven and smites the wicked man who drank the orange juice that I had specifically written my name on.”) And hey, there’s the resolution! Sweet! Add a few fight scenes and you’ve got a fantasy novel!
This particular motivation provides everything and negates everything. There’s the setting, which we don’t get to explore. There’s the antagonist, which we know is evil because the prophecy says so. There’s the protagonist, which we know is in the right for the same reason. And now we know how it ends, too. True, the journey is going to be fun, but the experience rings a little hollow. Prophecies are basically ancient spoilers, they tell you how it’s all going to end before you even start. Even if the hero has to overcome great odds, the trip seems a little more meaningless, because wasn’t he just going to wind up there, anyway?
There’s a reason people enjoy spouting Nostradamus’ weird predictions: prophecy forsakes personal responsibility and allows you to gloat, saying “I told you so” when the world ends. Granted, this might be desirable in real life, but in books? It’s hardly entertaining to know that anything the hero does is justified because, hey, prophecy.
And that’s my list.
You might be more than a little irritated at this point. I’m sure if you tore through my book, you could probably find a few instances of these in my own writing. Before you do that, though, I urge you to consider the number one rule of all writing.
So you’ve got Chosen Ones following Prophecies handed down by the Gods because the Orcs killed their Father.
WRITE IT ANYWAY.
A man who does the will of the Gods is still interesting if the Gods are interesting themselves. Just look at Greek mythology!
Even if a guy’s quest for revenge has spanned a hundred generations, the fact that he’s clinging to it says something about him that’s very interesting.
The orcs might all be evil in reality, but what happens if the hero isn’t convinced of that?
When the Chosen One fails, it’s all the more cataclysmic.
And anyone can write a prophecy…especially liars.
There are no rules when it comes to writing, save that you need to be aware of them when you finally break them. These motives are cliched for a reason: they’re popular and they’re fun. But the fun is what you do with them yourself. By the end of the book, no one’s going to give a shit whether you used one or one hundred cliches. They’re just going to like what you did there.
The only limitation is your imagination.
And with a line that cheesy, you’d expect me to fly away on a rainbow into a sparkling sunset. I’m going to do just that, too, but not because you wanted me to.
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Clash of the Titans
Last night I was bored.
Not one of those: “Aw, jeez, there’s nothing to do” boredoms, either. This was a soul-deep, bone-crushing “the longer I sit here the more I wonder what my life is worth” boredoms. Thankfully, for those kinds of boredoms, movies were invented. Clash of the Titans was one such movie invented long ago to appeal to people who were both bored and loved the hell out of owls. That was years ago.
Naturally, Hollywood being what it is, eventually someone had to go and exhume this movie’s rotting corpse and prop it up, putting some makeup and a pretty dress on it in order to convince us that it was a pretty woman and never mind the rotting, fetid stench…or the worms crawling out between her painted lips…or her hand which just fell off.
As you can guess, I went into this movie expecting crap.
What I got was…weird.
Let me say up-front, this is a pretty okay movie. It doesn’t claim to be anything more than it is: an action-packed romp full o’ dudes in skirts and with some freaky shit happening. The plot, as you may or may not remember: in ancient Greece, mankind begins to hate the Gods for their cruelty and mistreatment (which we never see for ourselves) and so REBEL against them by setting fire to temples and shit. Liam Neesen, ruler of the ancient Greek pantheon and God of Neck-chops and Manly Jawlines, asks his brother Hades to intervene. Hades does so, demanding that the city of Argos sacrifice its princess, Andromeda, or face the wrath of the KRAKEN (pronounced Kraa-ken, rather than Kray-ken. This pronunciation really caught on after Pirates of the Caribbean, I note).
So it falls to Perseus, demigod and brood of Zeus, to find a way to defeat the Kraken. Whirlwind adventure follows in what can be best described as…alright.
The monsters are cool, but not awe-inspiring. The fights are good, but not tense. The settings are okay. The mythology is…uh…well, does anyone recall Djinn being made of charwood and being able to explode themselves in blue fire? The Gods appear mostly as they did in the original movie: shiny and brimming with Liam Neesen. It’s all kind of…eh. Even as action movies go, it’s eh. The gore is restrained, there’s not a hint of overt sexuality, which are two hallmarks we usually rely on to make a mindless action movie fun.
This is kind of the problem: the movie lacks flair. There is nothing that sets it apart.
Hades appears in a cloud of fire and brimstone…and why wouldn’t he? The Kraken emerges with fury out of the deeps…because that’s what Krakens do. The hero is possessed of a prophecy…because heroes need prophecies to do anything.
Maybe I’m too picky here. Maybe I ask too much of my action movies. But I give a lot, too. I’ll accept nearly any stupid cliche or grab at the audience’s attention, so long as it’s done in an interesting way. I’ll even swallow a prophecy if something cool happens with it. This particular prophecy is mentioned once and never again. And the rest of the movie pretty much follows suit. Everything has been done before by…basically everyone, I guess. It relies a lot on mythology but does nothing fun with it. The audience is handed the story, the motive, the plot and asked to swallow it whole.
Still, the visuals are fine and the acting is only slightly worse than the average action movie (though a lot of that is because the script is kind of silly). It’s a solid movie, but it’s like watching a Jehova’s Witness come up to your door, ask you if you have a moment to talk about the Lord, then quietly thanking you for your time and turning away if you say “no.”
Something you don’t see every day, but not something you go out of your way to remember.
See it if you’re bored.
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Crap crap crap crap crap crap
Some of you may have gotten an email from me on behalf of goodreads, imploring you to come check out my shelves.
Rest assured, this was not an act of malice, but rather me willfully and stupidly clicking a link that wasn’t an idea to add everyone I saw on the list to my goodreads list, but rather one that sent a spam forward to everyone. I assure you my shelves are not at all worth checking out and you should disregard that email and possibly not curse my name.
Also, blame Mark Chitty, because I was signing up to see his review. He’s the one at fault!
Crap crap crap crap crap crap Read More »