Well, far be it from me to allow lameness to gain a foothold in the universe, but I’ve been busy.  Doin’ stuff and junk.  It’s a hectic life, the adventures of a world-renowned novelologist, and really, sometimes I forget how wonderful it is to hear from me, how I enrich the lives of the little people, and how, just by being me, I spread sunshine and rainbows like leprechauns spread marshmallow cereal.

All kidding aside, I missed ya, gang.

I went to Armadillocon last weekend, and it was a great time.  I plan on writing up the event in more detail, but for now, I’ll just say it was swell and an honor and a pleasure to be invited.

Okay, so the simple question I got recently was this:  Do I ever focus on more than one book at a time?  Or do I just focus on one and get it done?

It varies.

When I first started writing seriously, it was usually a focus thing, working on just one thing, getting it done.  I might start a project and not finish it, but for the most part, it was straightforward.  Especially when first writing, I didn’t go in with any expectations other than to prove I could write a book.  So I focused less on writing a perfect book as just writing something.  It’s a common mistake for new aspiring writers to feel as if their first book must be good.

I’ll admit that never made much sense to me.  It’d be like picking up a baseball and expecting to be able to throw a no-hitter your first time on the mound.  You don’t get better without practice.  And even if you have all the natural talent in the world, you’re always better with training.

It’s also easier to focus on your first few efforts because everything is new and wonderful.  Every word, even the uninteresting, clumsy ones, are special.  Every page is a triumph of effort, even if not of talent.  It’s an adventure.

At this stage though, I’ll admit I don’t focus like I used to.  I think it’s because, the more you write, the harder it is to write something original.  Maybe that doesn’t matter to everyone, but I try to do different things, try not to just recycle the same stories.  Whether or not I succeed is a matter of debate, but I’d like to think that I’ve managed to create a variety of stories and characters, that I’m not just treading artistic water.

So I can skip around a bit more when I begin a new book, usually until I get along to a certain point and then there’s really no turning back.  It’s just not practical.  Evenutally, you have to commit.  And that’s the difference between being an amateur or a professional.  It’s not the paycheck.  (Okay, the paycheck is nice.)  It’s the commitment to getting the thing done.

I’d like to break it down more than that, but it’s late.  I’m tired.  I’m not sure I understand it enough to explain beyond that anyway.  So there you go.  A small blog entry to keep you warm at night.  Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Why the hell does every action movie need to shake the camera like it’s being filmed on the back of an old pickup truck being driven over a rocky dirt road?  And all the damn jump cuts.  Makes the action a chore to follow.  Call me crazy, but good direction doesn’t put an obstacle between the audience and the medium.  It’d be like if I invented a whole new language and just started goorb clud vooper duge.

See?  Isn’t that annoying?

That’s just one of many of the things I loved about Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World.  You could actually follow the action.  Maybe it’s because Scott Pilgrim is not technically an action movie, maybe it’s because Edgar Wright has managed to avoid being seduced by the dark side, but for whatever the reason, Scott Pilgrim, despite all its graphics and FX, knows that these elements serve the plot and action.  Not the other way around.

James Cameron’s Avatar is another great example.  While it’s not a great film because it could really use some editing, it is directed beautifully.  Especially at the end, where multiple battles are taking place on multiple levels and yet, it’s never hard to follow.  Cameron might be a simple storyteller (and there’s nothing wrong with that), but he is an excellent director who knows, if you’re going to puta space jaguar versus an giant robot on film, you should probably try to make it something the audience can see.  The same thing goes with having Dolph Lundgren versus Jet Li, Stallone versus Austin, or Gary Daniels versus Jet Li.

Stop shaking the camera.  Center the shot.  And just film the damn movie.

Speaking of Gary Daniels, I was really glad to see him in this film.  Daniels is an excellent martial artists, and he’s made a string of direct-to-DVD films, most of which are pretty good.  It’s always cool to see less famous film stars in action.  Maybe it’s just my love of B movies, of smaller artists who are doing the best they can with what they have, but I can’t help but feel that Daniels is the heart of the film.  Because, for Stallone, Li, and the rest, The Expendables is a step down, a bit of nostalgia as their careers wane.  But for Daniels, this is his chance at a major motion picture.  And he does a great job.

So hats off, Gary.

Which brings me to my topic: Movies and how I am so glad I am not making them.

Oh, yes, I have a few books optioned for film, and I am excited about that.  It’s a great opportunity, and I’m hopeful, with a little luck, that they might become good films.  I like movies, probably even a little more than books (if I’m honest), and I have tremendous respect for good movies.  Heck, I even respect bad movies because, when you get down to it, even a bad movie is a lot of work by a lot of people.  And when a great movie is made . . . that’s nothing short of a minor miracle.

I’ve dipped my feet in the Hollywood pool, and I’m only too happy to be invited to the party.  But, at the end of the day, I’m glad to be a novelologist, and Scott Pilgrim is a perfect illustration why.

Moviemaking is rough.  Scott Pilgrim is the #5 movie in the USA.  This qualifies it as “a bomb”.  That still astounds me.  If I had the 100th most popular book in the country, I’d be a success.  If I had the 5th most popular movie in America, I’d be a disappointment.

In addition, this is Scott Pilgrim’s one shot at being a successful film.  It doesn’t get a do over.  It might end up being popular on DVD, Blue Ray.  It might even make a modest profit, most likely will be deemed a “cult favorite”.  But to Hollywood, it will always be a failure, and there’s just no way around that.

I can’t imagine that pressure.  I can’t imagine working in an industry where that kind of pressure is commonplace.  Dabbling in Hollywood is fun.  It’s a great opportunity, great money, great chance to gain gobs of exposure.  But make no mistake.  It is brutal.

When people ask me if I’m “excited” about the prospect of one of my books becoming a movie, my reply is “Of course, I am.”  I would love to have a movie come out.  I’d be a fool not to.  But I also know what that entails, that a movie can sink like a stone through no fault of its own, and that in the space of one weekend, 3 days, a film’s ultimate fate is decided.

I’m sure everyone will have a reason for why Scott Pilgrim didn’t do as well as it should’ve.  I’m sure right now people are saying it’s “too smart”, “too niche”, “too silly”, “lacks starpower”, etc., etc.  But these are just guesses.  It seems to me that where a movie ends up has less to do with its quality and more to do with its competition and fickle moments of fate.  And anyone who thinks they understand how it works, how to beat or control the system, is just fooling themselves.  Otherwise, Hollywood would produce nothing but hit films, and that just ain’t happening.

Scott Pilgrim’s fate is sealed.  A wonderful film destined to be mocked for its box office failings, perhaps loved by a few but otherwise cast aside to the cruel gods of film.  You probably didn’t see it (or maybe you did because if you come to this site, you just might have the imagination and proper attitude to enjoy a strange story with a great deal of heart), but you definitely should while you can.  I don’t say this often, but this is a movie that deserves to be seen on the big screen.  It has some lively set pieces that are really cool.  (My favorite might be The Battle of the Band’s sequence, where music is personified as an ape fighting dragons.)

Check it out.  You’ll be glad you did.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

So what makes a likable character?  What makes an interesting character?  I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately because, more and more, I keep coming across reviews on my work that mention I have a tendency toward unlikable characters.  This is a bit of a surprise to me since I tend to like my characters.

I get why some of my characters might be deemed rough around the edges.  Earl the vampire of Gil’s All Fright Diner is a grumpy dude who swears like mad, qualities many might find unpalatable.  Although he does get happier as the story progresses, and by the end, he’s not nearly as foul-mouthed or obnoxious.  Monster from Monster is indeed a jerk with a poor attitude and without an ounce of personal growth throughout his adventure.  But that was deliberate, and I expected some negative reaction to him.

But what about the rest?

I like them.  Duke of Gil’s is a great guy.  I mean that.  He’s just a great guy, all the way around.  He might not be the most charismatic character, but he’s quiet, thoughtful, powerful, a reliable friend.  Never Dead Ned (In the Company of Ogres) is a bit of a sadsack, but he isn’t obnoxious or rude.  He’s just adrift.  Miriam, Regina, Frank, Ace, and the rest of the cast are all decent sorts.  And on and on.

I like to think that my characters are normal people (in the most charitable definition of the word) who are just doing what they can to get by.  They might not be the nicest people, although I think they are often unfairly maligned for being frightened and reluctant at times, but at the end of the day, they’re people you can count on.

Nessy (Too Many Curses) and Mack Megaton (The Automatic Detective) are genuinely heroic.  Even noble.

So why are they deemed unlikable?  Why do they carry the label as uninteresting, more often than I really feel they deserve?  I’m not sure, but I have a theory.  It’s ludicrous, I’ll admit.  Even a bit stupid.  But if I was afraid of doing stupid things, I’d have never written a hard-boiled retro-sci-fi detective novel or a story about gods sitting around on the couch.  And I think we all agree how awesome those things turned out.

I think it’s because they’re not good-looking.

Is that fair?  Is that sensible?  No and no.  It doesn’t really make sense.  It’s ridiculous, I admit.  But it’s something that’s worth considering because, at the end of the day, there’s not a lot of stories with unattractive protagonists.  There aren’t even that many with average-looking protagonists.  And if a story is about an unnattractive person, then it’s the defining element of the story.

When was the last time you saw an overweight protagonist where it wasn’t important to the story that they be so?  Why do all the vampire hunting ladies of the urban fantasy genre wear thongs, pose in painted on pants, sporting tramp stamps, looking more like models than monster hunters?  There are no chubby monster hunters, no scrawny heroes, no gawky heroines.  Not many.  Even less if you go by the cover art.

(Kim Harrison describes the protagonist of her The Hollows novels as attractive, but thin and not especially gorgeous.  The covers make her look like a bombshell.)

It’s just so damn stupid that I hesitate to even bring it up.  I get why people enjoy watching attractive people in visual mediums like movies, TV, comic books.  But this notion, if we’ll pretend like it’s true for just a moment, is simply bizarre.

Yet when I look at my characters, I notice that, regardless of personality, they tend not to be traditionally attractive.  Most aren’t even human.  They’re kobolds, robots, bats, fat guys, fat women, scrawny bald vampires, bodiless voices, serpent gods, trolls, paper gnomes, and (coming soon) moon-devouring tentacle gods.  While I like to think of them as a diverse and interesting cast of characters, I wouldn’t call many of them beautiful.

I don’t think their unconventional looks are the only reason they get dismissed as unsympathetic.  I’m sure there’s more to it.  But I can’t help but think this is part of the problem.  It could all be in my head.  I could simply be trying to find justification for an inability to connect with a certain section of the audience.  So chalk it up to an observation that might have merit or might not.

 Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to do some quick editing on my super-intelligent space squid from Neptune story.  Because, apparently, that’s how I roll.

And, yes, the space squid is the hero.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Enough of that.  Let’s move onto something more fun.

Hey, hey, I’m on a new podcast for SF Signal.  You should really check it out because I’m witty and urbane and I think you’re life will be enriched for it.  Check it out at: www.sfsignal.com/archives/2010/08/the-sf-signal-podcast-episode-002-inteview-with-a-lee-martinez/  

I was having some mouth trouble at the time, and so you’ll excuse me if I mumble here and there (especially near the end when my anesthetic was wearing off), but never mind that.  You’ll still enjoy it and realize just how cool I am.

Death’s Excellent Vacation came out last Tuesday, and boy, howdy, am I amped to be part of that.  This is a great chance to reach out to a new audience, and I just hope, even though most people will be buying the anthology for other writers, that they’ll find something worthwhile about my own contribution.

The story is an original ode to Lovecraft called The Innsmouth Nook.  As usual, it doesn’t have anything to do with anything else I’ve written (other than my love of monsters).  I wondered, after I submitted it, if perhaps it might have been better to write something related to what I’d already written.  Maybe a short story with Monster or Lucky.  Probably would’ve been a smarter idea.  But it really isn’t in my nature apparently to revisit old characters and ideas.  Not yet anyway.

I’m sure that will change sooner or later.  Eventually, an idea will be so much like an idea I’ve already written that there will be no point in doing everything from scratch.  Even the pulpy story I’m working on now bears some passing resemblance to The Automatic Detective, but it doesn’t quite fit in the same framework.  Still, I’m not an endless pool of ideas and unless I start writing horror or romantic comedies, there’s only so many permutations of the sci fi / fantasy genre before I might as well just go back to the well.

Saw The Other Guys.  Funny movie.  I don’t know why exactly.  It’s completely ridiculous.  There’s no effort to have the story make sense.  The characters are absurd, the situations bizarre, and a big part of the humor is that you just don’t know what to expect other than weirdness.  It works though, and hats off to a cast of talented actors who manage to make the stupid brilliant.

Pimps Don’t Cry will play at my wedding, even if it’s a ridiculous and inappropriate song.  I just hope that Will Ferrell and his talented friends appreciate that.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

But, like any addiction, I can’t always stop myself, even though I really could probably go my whole life without buying another game and still have more than enough games to keep from getting bored.  So I recently purchased two games, and here’s my thoughts.

First up, INCURSION by Grindhouse Games.  (www.incursiongame.com)

Incursion is of the alternate history genre.  Of course those wacky Nazis are at it again, employing the standard fantasy-horror elements of S&M themed villainess, mutants, zombies, and werewolves.  On the side of the Allies are (unsurprisingly) American G.I.s in power armor because . . . well, why the hell not?

This is, sad to say, pretty standard stuff.  It’s strange to say that occult Nazis and techno-Americans is familiar territory at this point.  I’m waiting for someone to mix that trope up.  How about an alternate WW2 where the Axis powers are the techno guys and the Allies are the ones using zombies?  I know that Nazis are the classic bad guys, and only bad guys use the walking dead, but still, it’s just getting silly at this point, isn’t it?

Okay, so who cares?  The theme of the game is less important than the game itself.  And Incursion, despite its worn formula, is actually a pretty fun little game.  It’s an extremely fast, extremely simple firefight in a maze kind of thing.  I immediately thought of Tannhauser, another game with the exact same theme.  But where Tannhauser is excessivly complicated and burdened with an extremely silly line-of-sight system (the so-called Pathfinder system.  The less said about it, the better), Incursion operates on a far more intuitive level.

The game comes with a handy reference sheet that contains all the rules.  While there’s also a rulebook, it really isn’t necessary, although it does contain the scenarios.  Still, the game works so simply and the reference sheet is so user friendly that this is a very accessible game.

There is one unique element to the game (at least to me).  It’s the Command Card rules.  Players draw command cards that can be used to give advantages or disadvantages.  Every Command Card can be “killed” by spending Command Points.  Those Command Points can also be used to give your characters extra actions per turn and also determine who goes first most rounds via blind bidding.  This is really where most the decision making is found in the game.  If your opponent plays a “Low Ammo” card on one of your soldiers, do you spend those precious Command Points to get rid of it, or do you tough it out?  You can always kill any card, just as long as you’re willing to lose the points.  The points are replenished every turn, but you never really have enough.

Incursion is a nice introduction to squad-themed combat.  There’s nothing complicated here.  You don’t have to worry about tracking ammo, and you can pick up and play within half-an-hour.  The components are nice.  Pieces are all cardboard, inculding cardboard standees for the soldiers, and reference cards for each of the units in play makes everything simple.  Heck, I’ll admit that even the worn out theme appeals to me because who doesn’t like a good ol-fashioned Nazi zombie with a landmine strapped to its chest?

The only problem I see with the game is that it only comes with one double-sided board which limits replayability.  One of the things I look for in a game like this is the ability to spice things up and switch things up.  You can’t really do that with this game.  You can throw a few doors in different places, but that’s about it.  The scenarios do a good job of offering a variety of missions with a variety of objectives, but I can see this game getting predictable eventually.  Despite this flaw, it’s a fun game with a good presentation and clear, accessible rules.

As games like this go, you could do a lot worse.  I give it a pass.  Not a must buy, but a worthwhile one if you decide to give it a shot.

Next up, THOSE PESKY HUMANS by Minion Games. (www.miniongames.com)  In many ways, this game is a lot like Incursion.  It’s by a company I’ve never heard of, and it’s about a battle in an underground lair.  The presentation is even similar because all the figures are represented by surprisingly colorful cardboard stand ups.

Those Pesky Humans is a dungeon crawl-themed game.  Yes, I already have several of these type games.  Most notably, Decent by Fantasy Flight Games, which is an excellent game but complex and time consuming and not without its flaws.  I initially bought Those Pesky Humans hoping it would be a lighter version of Decent, like Munchkin but without being so damned annoying.

Unfortunately, despite a nice presentation and some cool ideas, Those Pesky Humans feels like a game that should’ve spent more time in the development.  It’s not a bad game, but it just seems . . . unfinished. 

The object for the humans is to raid the dungeon, grab the three legendary gems, and escape.  The object for the monster player is to stop them.  Some unusual choices seem to get in the way of the making the game truly enjoyable.  In most games like this, you can’t walk through enemy figures, but the monsters don’t get in the humans’ way.  So there’s no real reason for the humans to try and fight them.  The adventurers are just better off dashing and grabbing.

The problem is that the monster player has a virtual unlimited supply of monsters.  All he’s required to do is play cards to summon them onto the board.  Every minion requires at least 2 hits to kill, and since in most circumstances, 1 hit is all an attack can do, the players will end up wasting a lot of time killing monsters that just respawn almost immediately.  It’s a losing fight, which might be the intention, but it’s such an obvious losing proposition that most human players will immediately see the pointlessness in it.

The monster player also gets to place the chests that contain the gems.  Only three of the ten chests containt he gems.  The rest contain traps, and I admit I find it annoying that the humans are discouraged from opening chests.  The various rooms of the lair all contain different treasures and some have special rules that can effect the humans or the monsters.  Yet even these rules seem tacked on and rather insignificant.

Every human and the ogre master fo the dungeon each get three special ability cards that can be used once per game.  The problem is that these abilities just aren’t that useful for the most part.  Furthermore, aside from a small customization, none of the human characters feel all that different.  It seems strange to me that the wizard character must be adjacent to attack monsters just like the paladin.  Or that the thief can bypass doors but not trapped chests.  Ultimately, the only thing that really distinguishes the different human characters are their three basic stats, but those are just numbers and lack personality.

And that’s where I think Those Pesky Humans comes up short.  It’s well-presented.  Especially fun is the art, which is cartoony and colorful in a Sergio Argones style.  But the game itself isn’t quite equal to it.  It’s a good idea but a deeply flawed execution.

Also, one final problem I have is that the Ogre who runs the dungeon is pretty tough, and if the humans manage to kill him, they get one turn where he can’t play cards on them . . . and that’s it.  Any monsters in the dungeon still get to attack.  And he comes back on the next turn.  It hardly seems a pressing penalty to the monster player, and once again makes me ask why the humans would bother fighting the ogre when they can just outrun him?

Oh, and while I’m not usually the kind of guy to nitpick on this stuff, I have to say the card quality is a little bit iffy.  The cardstock is thin and some of my cards were already a bit worn right out of the box.

Is it a terrible game?  No.  Is it worth purchasing?  I’d probably say not, although if you’re a light gamer looking for something simple and don’t mind a few ambigious rules here and there, it could probably entertain you for a while.  So in the final verdict, I have to give Those Pesky Humans a rating of Pass On It. 

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

If you read reviews online (and, really, there’s no reason you should), I’m usually classified as a funny writer, a humor writer, wacky, zany, kooky.  It used to bother me, but I’m getting over that.  Still, the thing that comes up a lot is that I am not a terribly poetic writer.

I don’t know how to respond to that.  I’m certainly not the kind of writer to pour over ever sentence and milk it for maximum writerly effect.  I think I have my poetic moments.  I think I can write some truly crackerjack passages here and there, have terrific moments of subtle characterization, and the occasional clever turn of phrase.  But I also don’t mind a sentence that just gets the job done or a paragraph that bridges the action without impressing.

It feels weird admitting that.  I know writers are supposed to obsess over ever word, every detail.  And I do obsess over those moments in the story that really matter.  I care about the characters.  I care about the action.  I don’t even mind a little fantasy world-building as long as it doesn’t become an exercise in itself.  But I’m not like a lot of writers.  I don’t usually bother building a cosmology.  I don’t generally bother creating deeply detailed profiles of my characters’ childhoods.  And I am not devoted to impressing the reader with my ability to describe every leaf on every tree with literary beauty.

I feel guilty when I admit this.  There are so many people who are writers.  So many people who take this so much more seriously than I do.  So many who treat it as a calling.  And maybe they’re lying about it.  Maybe they’re just towing the line to help create the illusion that what we writers do is magical and inspired and a gift from the Mighty Robot King himself.  Something that elevates us beyond mere mortals.  And maybe they believe it themselves because, when you get right down to it, making up stories is a strange way to make a living.

I’m not saying it doesn’t take talent.  It does.  I tell a story better than most people, and I do take my job seriously.  I know that people are paying good money to have me tell them those stories, and I want those stories to be satisfying, fun, and, with a little luck, something they can take away with them that stays with them a long, long time.

And it’s not as if I’m in this entirely for the money.  If I was, I’m sure I’d be on my sixth sequel to Gil’s All Fright Diner by now, and doubtlessly have a much stronger publishing career than I do.  (Not that I’m complaining about my career, which has so far been more rewarding and fruitful than I had any right to expect.)  While I think there are some definite rewards from breaking The Series Rule of modern publishing, there have also been some wonderful rewards from breaking that rule.  So it’s not as if I’m taking a stand even to the detriment of my career.

So how do I define myself?  I guess I don’t.  Definitions only serve to box things in, and if you ask me, we’re already too boxed in as it is.  Maybe that’s the real trap.  Perhaps we don’t have to define ourselves.  Perhaps it’s a waste of time and energy to try to.  People will slap labels on us just fine without us helping them.  I’m only really comfortable with the Fantasy Novelist label at this point, and even that I approach in the broadest of strokes.

That’s what annoys me about the Comic Fantasy label.  It comes with too many expectations and eliminates too many others.  If I wasn’t a comic fantasy writer, I’d be allowed to have somber moments in my stories.  It might not be assumed that I can’t have deeper thoughts or that I’m a merely another competitor to the thrones of Adams, Pratchett, or Moore.  As if there is only room in this world for so many Comic Fantasy Writers.  As if we are all writing in the same mold rather than I our own distinctive styles.

So forget the labels.  We’d all be a lot better off without them, I think.  What do boxes like Republican and Democrat, Comedy and Tragedy, Trekkies and Brown Coats do but help keep us apart, put walls between us?  They’re tools, but only tools.  We should feel free to throw them aside when they get in the way.

So what kind of writer am I?  A good one.

What kind of writer do I want to be?  A better one.  Always.

And that’s just fine by me.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

The anti-intellectual thread runs all through American culture.  For example, Mr. Fantastic, the smartest guy in the Marvel Comics universe is usually portrayed as an inattentive husband and neglectful father.  This is just a given.  Hank Pym AKA the original Ant-Man is most famous for smacking his wife.  And Tony Stark might be a superhero, but he’s also a bit of an egotistical jackass at times.  Smart Bruce Banner is the embodiment of weakness to the Incredible Hulk’s brutish power.  Dr. Doom is smarter than you and that’s part of what makes him so dangerous.

There’s nothing specific to Marvel about this though.  It’s an age old tradition.  It’s the nature of the villain to scheme, to build warbots and deathrays, to plot the overthrow of governments or the heist of the century.  And it’s the duty of tough guys, men and women of action, to punch their way through those plans.

Yet there is something deeper at work here.  We don’t really like smart people.  We certainly don’t like people smarter than us.  We don’t mind people tougher than us for some reason.  If they can kick us in the head, we’re enamored of them.  If they can build a time machine, we dislike them.

Why?  I don’t know.  One might argue that intellectuals are oftened saddled with overwhelming egotism as a character flaw, but how many professional athletes get away with bluster and “attitude”?  For all his “aw, shucks” way of presenting himself, President George W. Bush thought he was chosen by God to be President of the U.S.A.  That’s a hefty slice of self-confidence.  Admittedly, Bush is a fairly divisive figure, but he was rarely accused of being “too distant, too dispassionate” by anyone.  Meanwhile, President Obama must deal with the burden of being a smart guy.  Even his supporters admit that he can come across as “aloof, uninvolved”.

Dr. House is brilliant AND a jerkass.  Monk is highly intelligent AND highly compulsive.  I could really go on, but do I need to?  All too often, the intelligent character is the hippocritical character, the insecure character, the neurotic, the downright evil and cruel.

The reasoning behind this isn’t entirely built on anti-intellectualism.  It has at least something to do with how we classify satisfying conflict in a story.  A story where Flash Gordon fistfights his way through hordes of goons to stop Ming the Merciless from enslaving the universe is fun, exciting.  Because Flash is the fighter and not the schemer.  He’s the underdog.  And because he’s just a guy who excels at punching out bad guys, he isn’t the agent of conflict but rather the solver of conflict.

To be fair, smart characters, the schemers, the thinkers, the masterminds, are usually not the kind of character to react to a plot.  They are usually the instigators.  It’s the hero who steps in and saves the day, and it’s not unusual for that hero to have some smarts on his backup team, but these are the supporting characters, not the protagonist.

But underneath it all, there’s a cultural hostility toward intelligence.  We want a President we can “drink a beer with.”  We want action heroes who punch away their problems, and we assume that intelligent people must be deeply flawed, either psychological or physiological wakenesses.  Even Batman I think suffers from this rule because Batman is smart, hence Batman must be psychologically flawed whereas Green Arrow is just an excellent archer, hence he can be fine.  Even Superman is allowed to be “boring” i.e. “well-adjusted” because, even though he’s smart, he’s perceived as more of a trouble-puncher.

My ultimate point is that I like smart characters.  I like them a lot.  I like them as villains, sure, but I’d like to see them more as heroes too.  That’s all I’m putting out there.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

The story is about a town where special people live.  (Sanctuary meets Eureka).  The people aren’t bad, but there was a time of “troubles” when the special people were persecuted for their specialness.  (X-Men).  And a pair of investigtors do their best to puzzle out the mysteries that pop up ever week.  (X-Files or just about any cop show out there.)

But everything is a cliche if you take it in broad strokes.  What really hurts Haven is the execution.  With only three episodes, I’ve seen three stories I’ve seen elsewhere already.  The first was about a woman whose emotional state controlled the weather.  Saw that on the X-Files.  The second was about a kid who had the unconcsious ability to manipulate reality with his dreams.  Saw that in a Buffy episode and felt an awful lot like a replay of the first episode of Haven in terms of story beats.  The third episode is about inexplicable rage seizing people.  This was the same plot that was just on the episode of Eureka the very same night, in the hour before Haven came on. 

If I’d never seen or read any urban fantasy story then maybe Haven would have something new to offer me.  As it is, it’s just thoroughly unremarkable.  While I don’t hate it, I can’t imagine going out of my way to see it.  And in the 80′s, when viewing choices were a lot more limited, I might have even watched it.  But this is the future, and I can watch pretty much anything I want when I want. 

I think the problem isn’t with Haven itself, but with the entire genre.  I think urban fantasy on television is a dead end.  It’s hard to do anything new.  All of Syfy’s original programming just seems like a variation of something I’ve seen too many times before.

I feel like the guy watching the end of the Western.  It’s not that Westerns are completely dead, but there’s almost nothing new to be done.  The beats have been so thoroughly explored that anyone familiar with the genre can predict nearly everything that’s going to happen.

I think urban fantasy is experiencing the same problem. It’s great that the genre is flourishing to some degree, but what was once special, seems commonplace, predictable. I love fantasy / sci fi for the unexpected and new, but the limitations of television and the tapped out nature of the genre makes this more difficult than ever.  There are still interesting shows out there.  True Blood comes to mind.  Although I don’t know if the show really does anything that different as much as get that extra edge that comes from being on HBO and being very well produced.

(But even HBO’s brand of boobs, swearing, and gratuitious sex has become cliched to some degree.)

I’m not suggesting that the genre is dead.  Not yet.  It can go on a long, long time the way it is.  People like predictable things.  Predictable things allow people to feel smart.  And we don’t necessarily watch TV shows for the stories.  We watch for the characters we like, the payoff of seeing a recurring story play out, even if those stories are by-the-numbers.

(If you don’t believe me, ask yourself when was the last time you saw a show with a pair of mixed gender, unattached protagonists that you didn’t automatically assume they were going to hook up at some point?  Heck, Scully and Mulder never made a damn bit of sense as a couple, but that didn’t matter because, who gives a damn about their personalities?  They’re the leads.  They fall in love.  End of story.)

And I don’t want to act as if I have any answers, even if I turn out to be right.  Because if you were to ask me how to save the genre, I’d say honestly that I don’t have a clue.  And I’m not even sure the genre needs saving.  I am not the audience obviously.  I don’t even read much fiction, fantasy or otherwise, and I don’t watch much TV.  So maybe I’m the wrong guy to bring this up.

I could be wrong.  I’ve been wrong once or twice before.  People do seem to enjoy their generic Twilight vampires and by the book Towns with a secret!  And given the limitations of TV production, the urban fantasy genre probably isn’t going anywhere.  It’s a great way to bring fantasy to the small screen on a reasonable budget.  Something like John Carter of Mars might make an awesome TV show, but it’d be impossible to produce without robbing it of all the wonderful fantasy elements.

But I’ll admit that I might just be the odd man out on this one.  Perhaps I’m just a crank.  Or maybe I’m a prophet, a seer into the strange, inevitable future.  Ignore me at your peril.  Or not.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Isn’t it weird that we’ll push our television and movie technology to absurd levels of “improvement” while we’re still debating whether or not we should burn oil and coal to power our world?  We’ll rush out to buy the new I-phone 4, which is only a marginal improvement on an already perfectly good product, but we refuse to buy more efficient cars.  What’s the deal with that?  Seriously, if we pushed our energy technology with the same mad zeal we did electronics, we’d probably all have flying cars that ran on toxic waste and produced clouds of anti-aging mutagens.

I don’t begrudge people their love of technology, but I do find it annoying that we’ll claw each other’s eyes out for the latest gizmo but are still perfectly content with 19th century energy technology.  Damn it.  This is the 21st century.  We should have dilithium crystals by now.  Or, if not that, at least be using mroe effective technology.  There’s a car now that runs for 40 miles on electricity before requiring a gas motor to kick in.  And we don’t want it.  We’re too damn busy with our Ipads and 3D movies and non-flying cars.

It just cheeses me off.

Off my soap box now.

Saw Despicable Me this weekend, and I loved it.  I know that it’s standard to say at this point that Pixar is the greatest thing to happen to animation since Steamboat Willie.  And it’s true.  But Pixar might have opened the door, but plenty of studios have walked through it at this point.  Despicable Me is great fun with an original story, fun characters, and enough good humor and originality to make it a worthy entrant in modern animated films.  I was surprised at how much I cared about the characters, but I did.

The only negative is the standard Everybody Dances ending.  I don’t know why people keep doing this uninspired bit, but it really needs to go.  Fortunately, I enjoyed the movie enough to overlook it, especially since it’s not too long.

But, really, Hollywood, if you happen to be reading this, KNOCK IT OFF!  It’s just so . . . generic, and a truly uninteresting way to end a movie.

So I was perusing Amazon, and I think I’d really like more reviews for all my books.  I can’t make you do it, of course, and I appreciate all your support, my lovely, intelligent, and sweet smelling fans.  But if you happen to have a few minutes to kill, I wouldn’t mind if you dropped by Amazon and mentioned how brilliant I am.

Oh, and if you happen to hate the books (possible though unlikely if you’re taking the time to check me out) I understand if you want to write a negative review.  I’m a grown up.  I can take it.  But can we break 100 reviews on Gil’s?  Because that would be awesome.

Or not.  I know you’re busy.  I’ve only given you hours of amazing entertainment, and, sure, I got paid surprisingly well for it, but let’s just ignore that for a second.  Pretend like I’m an insecure guy sitting on his couch, typing this out right now, begging for validation other than a sweet paycheck.  Maybe it’s a bit mercennary, but the more reviews the better I look.  And I think we can all agree making me look good is a wonderful thing.

Meanwhile, what else is there to say?  I still love Monsterpocalypse.  I still love robots of all sizes.  I’m still playing World of Warcraft.  I’m thinking about checking out the DC Universe Online game when it comes out, but I remain undecided right now.

Oh, and speaking of DC Comics, I’ve had it with the Superman VS. Batman debate.  They’re both great characters.  We are allowed to like both.  On the same note, can we put aside the console wars?  Wii, PS3, and Xbox are fine game systems with their own strengths and weaknesses.  And I’m going to say that, on the subject of Batman, I’m on record as saying I like Batman: The Animated Series, The Batman, and Batman: The Brave and the Bold.  Each showcases a different, wonderful aspect of the character and if you can’t appreciate that, you have only my pity and / or contempt.  (Well, not really.  They are just TV shows.)

Oh, and just to be controversial, let’s end on this.  I’m not so sure that Harry Potter will be as timeless as people want it to be.  I’m not criticizing the writing, plot, or characters.  I’m just suggesting that it lacks the visual punch that science fiction needs to be timeless.

One of the things that makes the original Star Wars trilogy so great is the look of it.  The Star Wars universe isn’t our universe.  It doesn’t even really look like our universe.  It’s filled with colorful characters and cool visuals.  Harry Potter has some of this, but for the most part, it’s just humans walking around in frumpy robes.

To me, everything wonderful about Star Wars can be shown with that most wonderful character: ADMIRAL ACKBAR.  Ackbar doesn’t have much of a part, not much screen time.  But he does make every moment count.  Not only does he look instantly distinctive, he has one of the most quoted lines of the film series.

“IT’S A TRAP!”

Granted, I really don’t know much about Harry Potter.  I’m not as immersed in the fandom as many, but I’m hard pressed to know a Potter catch phrase or to know a character instantly by sight.  The Potter characters are defined by their actors.  If I see Daniel Radcliffe, I see Harry.  But there’s little about Harry himself that is distinctive.  He has his glasses and his scar, so that’s not too bad.  But Ron, Hermoine, Snape, and Dumbledore are more identified with their actors than anything uniquely obvious about them.

In comparison to a character like Batman, who can be played by a wide range of actors because the cape, the cowl, the logo all say THIS IS BATMAN!  Same goes for Superman’s red and blue underwear.  And Admiral Ackbar’s white jumpsuit and giant red squid face.

These characters transcend the actors who play them.  Everyone knows Harrison Ford is Han Solo, but if you put on black pants, a white shirt, and a black vest, everyone will know who you are, even if you look nothing like Ford.  But if you’re wearing generic Potter wizard robes, they might know what you’re emulating, but they won’t necessarily know who you are.

There’s a reason people tend to think of Luke as in his pajamas or Princess Leia’s cinnamon roll hair.  And Darth Vader is an icon for a reason.

Potter has elements of this.  Hagrid is fairly distinctive, as is Dumbledore.  Although both require copious amounts of facial hair to pull off, which makes it a bit tricky to cosplay unless you happen to already be hirstute.

Don’t mistake me here.  I’m not saying I know Harry Potter‘s eventual place in pop culture.  Who does?  One of the things I’ve learned is that guessing at pop culture in the future is a sure way to be wrong.  And I’ll say Potter’s cast is more interesting and varied than Twilight’s generic pale, non-smiling vampire teens and dark, non-smiling werewolf teens.  (ASIDE: Have you been to Burger King lately?  If you can tell one blandly attractive sallow teen from another, you have a better eye than I do.)

So relax, Potter fans.  I’m not bashing your passion.  Different strokes for different folks, and I certainly can’t argue with success.  And, yes, Twilight fans, I am sort of basthing your passion because I really don’t like Twilight for all the standard sociological reasons that have been discussed elsewhere.  But that’s just my opinion.  I don’t fault yours, even though I am famous and thus, my opinion is more important and valid than yours.

It’s a burden I bear with distinction and grace because somebody has to.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee