Your P.O.V. is Bad, and You Should Feel Bad

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

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

Posted in Blog, Writing | 2 Comments

Deadpool: The Review

Deapool is a legitimately great movie.

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

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

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

Posted in Blog, Movies, Writing | 2 Comments

Certified Organic

The thing about the most popular shared universes is they often happen by accident. Nowhere is that more true than in the shared continuity of the Marvel and DC superhero universes.
 
It all started out simple enough, with each company putting out superhero comics with a range of characters. People got the bright idea that fans liked Batman and fans liked Superman and it wasn’t that hard to put the two of them together. Then Wonder Woman shows up. Then Aquaman. Then a Justice League, and so on.
 
It’s a hodgepodge, messy system, and there’s a reason most superhero universes are a crazy collection of characters, themes, and ideas. In the Marvel Universe, there is everything from street level vigilantes to magical gods to alien empires to government conspiracies to alien horrors to talking duck people and on and on and on. It is a world of limitless possibilities, and mostly it was because the creators threw everything against the wall and then retroactively tried to make it into something coherent. The weird thing is that it worked.
 
The MCU movies actually did the same sort of thing. They were more organized about it, but still, the fact that Iron Man grew from a simple movie about an obscure superhero into a worldwide phenomenon is not something anyone could’ve expected. Nick Fury’s cameo in the first Iron Man is cute, a little Easter Egg for the fans, but there was no way to tell it would evolve into this juggernaut of a media empire with films ranging from space opera to heist film to spy thriller and with more yet to come.
 
To be sure, the films at this point are very orchestrated, very controlled, and I think we’re starting to see a little fraying at the edges. Age of Ultron, while a good movie, is not a great one because it seemed a lot of editorial mandate was in play. Also, just as in the original comics, there is a point of too much continuity, of losing your emotional story in pursuit of plot points that are meant to pay off sometime in the future. Still, the MCU has managed to hold together mostly, even as it opens vistas.
 
Doctor Strange will be the next big leap. If it manages to introduce out and out magic to the Marvel Universe (and not the relatively safe “Superscience as Magic” version of the Thor films), then the MCU will have succeeded in creating probably the first ANYTHING GOES cinematic superhero universe. How long it will be able to maintain that is anyone’s guess, but so far, so good, right?
 
Meanwhile, Warner Bros. attempt to rush their shared cinematic universe is mostly floundering. There are a lot of reasons for this, but probably most of all, I’d say it’s because no one at WB seems to genuinely respect the material. Man of Steel was devoted to “fixing” Superman by making him sad and ineffective, and it looks like BvS: Let’s Forget that Batman Doesn’t Believe in Killing People Because It’s Convenient for the Plot is trying to cram everything into it in a mad dash to get on that gravy train.
 
It also doesn’t help I believe that Zack Snyder is at the helm. Whether you like him or not, his style is simply too distinct, and it’s not all that great for superheroes. Especially lousy for Superman, I think. One of the thing the MCU has in common is a certain shared style that is easy to adapt and work with. The films have their own sensibilities, but those sensibilities work well enough together that it’s not hard to imagine Ant-Man, Captain America, and Star-Lord all living in the same world. Simply put, I don’t believe Zack Snyder has the versatility to be the architect that builds the foundation of the DCCU. Or perhaps he is just too strong a director to suppress his style, which could very well end up hobbling the entire series. So far, we’ve had two films in this series. Both are dark and dreary and maudlin. How does something like Aquaman or Plastic Man fit into that? Captain Marvel?
 
To be fair, it’s more of DC’s inferiority complex at work. They’ve been trying to prove themselves as “sophisticated” as Marvel for decades now, and all they’ve managed to do is make a bunch of gruesome and depressing comics about an invincible alien and a rich guy dressed in a bat suit. Marvel has the luxury of being light without having to be considered light. Captain America is about as corny and old-fashioned in his sensibilities as you can get, and it works because he’s allowed to be.
 
I can’t predict where any of this will go. I imagine BvS: Scowly Scowl Scowl will be a success, and I imagine the people at WB will immediately begin fixing whatever it perceived as wrong with it regardless. Like mad scientists, they’ll keep focus grouping and rewriting and editing and planning and focus grouping some more until they stumble their way toward the success they want or they finally give up.
 
Either way, it’s a strange process to watch from the outside.
 
And, yet, I cannot look away.
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The Day the Line Stood Still

Super Janine
The government didn’t approve of superheroes. Most superheroes, aside from the occasional sentient robot or alien visitor, were only human. Nobody with any sense would be excited about giving the Average Joe the power to shoot lasers from his eyes or teleport across the universe. Given their druthers, the government would’ve probably depowered ever superhuman they came across and lock up those they couldn’t. For the greater good, or so they’d say.
 
The idea was still floated now and then by some senator or city council member looking to make a name for themselves. Some were probably sincerely worried. Most were out to score votes off of public fear. And they could get far on the anti-superhero ticket until some evil genius with a phantom legion or conqueror aliens appeared and made short work of the army and whatever conventional defenses were available. Then it was up to us, the superheroes, to save the day.
 
Most people with superpowers didn’t take up heroing, and for those people, life went on as normal. Maybe Fran’s ability to generate fire from her hands made family barbecues a little easier, and I’d heard there was a guy who could control animals with his mind who was a heck of a dog catcher. But as long as they minded their own business, they were allowed to live their lives like any regular citizen.
 
But for us superheroes, the government wanted at least the appearance of some control, and that was why we had to get licenses. Considering how many times I’d saved the city and even the world on occasion, you would think they’d speed up the process. Give us a special “Superheroes Only” express line. But they made us wait in line at the DMV like everyone else, and it wasn’t by accident. Even the most invulnerable superhuman was powerless against government bureaucracy, a little reminder of our limitations.
 
Dementra, Warrior Queen of Galadron, sat beside me in the hard plastic chairs. She glanced at the lighted sign that showed the current number being served. “Are you up soon?”
 
I held up my slip of paper for her to read, but she’d yet to master earth numbers. She still got her fives and sevens confused. “Soon,” I lied.
 
I didn’t know for certain it was a lie. The sign wasn’t predictable. Numbers would scroll by quickly, only to freeze so long one had to assume the sign had broken, and we were all stuck here until the proper paperwork for a replacement went through or the universe succumbed to heat death. Whichever came first.
 
Dementra fidgeted. She hated stuff like this. On Galadron, government was a streamlined series of fights. Want a driver’s license? Punch a space bear. Registering to vote? Wrestle a six-armed gladiator. Have a complaint about your senator? Battle to the death. It was a harsh world, but it had its upsides.
 
“You didn’t have to come,” I said.
 
“As your boon compatriot, it is my duty to aid you in all warrior obligations.” She slouched in her chair. “Also, I had nothing better to do today.”
 
The number sign clicked backwards. I thought I caught some of the clerks giving me the eye. A lot of clerks didn’t like processing hero licenses. More paperwork than normal. I got the feeling they were putting me off. Normally they couldn’t tell I was a superhero, but the bubble gum pink space Amazon beside me, even wearing a Mickey Mouse tank top and some torn jeans, wasn’t great for blending in.
 
Eventually, my number was up. I gave the clerk my name and handed him my license. He scanned it.
 
“Class A Superhuman Emergency Involvement,” he said, more to himself than me. “We don’t get many of these.” He typed a few things into his computer. “Powers?”
 
“Isn’t that already in the system?” I asked.
 
He didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “We need to ask. For confirmation.”
 
“Super strength, Category One,” I said. “Limited invulnerability.”
 
He adjusted his glasses. “Limited how?”
 
“It’s not in the system?”
 
He frowned, annoyed by the situation as much as I was. “Confirmation.”
 
I leaned closer and whispered. It wasn’t as if the information was secret, but what superhero liked announcing her weakness to the world? “Solar radiation.”
 
“You’re vulnerable to sunlight?”
 
“Not vulnerable,” I said. “It’s not like it can kill me. I mean, I guess it could if I spent my days tanning. I’m not weak to it. I’m just not unusually resistant to it.”
 
He nodded. “Are you, or have you ever been to the best of your knowledge, radioactive?”
 
“No.”
 
“Do you emanate any sort of psychic energy field that could pose a public health risk?”
 
“No.”
 
“Have you accidentally or intentionally caused undue damage to public or private property through use of your unique abilities?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Have all these incidents been reported to the appropriate parties?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“Do you ever feel an overwhelming desire to destroy all those who oppose you and if so, have you sought appropriate psychological counseling for these urges?”
 
“No.”
 
“No, you haven’t felt these urges. Or no, you haven’t sought counseling?”
 
Stuff like this was why people became supervillains. “No urges,” I lied, and he didn’t call me out on it.
 
“Have you been to outer space, the center of the Earth, any unknowable dimensions, or temporally displaced in the last year? And if so, were your vaccinations up to date at the time?”
 
“Yes and yes.”
 
“It says here your archenemy is Strongobot, the strongest robot in the world. Is this all?”
 
He said it with judgment. Like I’d screwed up somewhere by not being important enough to have more bad guys dedicated to my destruction.
 
“Yes.”
 
“Do you have any reason to believe your archvillain will pose an undue threat to the city by your residency here?”
 
“No.”
 
And so on it went. Question after question. I’d glance to Dementra now and then. She amused herself by playing with several children stuck here. Kids loved her. She might have been a savage alien warrior, but she had a way with kids. She caused a teddy bear and doll to telekinetically dance for the amusement of the children and grateful parents were happy for the distraction.
 
“Eye color?” asked the clerk.
 
“Brown,” I said, relieved. It was always the last question.
 
“All right then. I’ll need you to step to the right so that we can take your photo.”
 
When getting my first license, I did my best to look heroic. Steely eyed, determined, serious. Now I’d just settle for one where I wasn’t blinking.
 
He snapped the photo. The machine spit out a laminated piece of plastic that he handed to me. “Thank you. Have a pleasant day.”
 
“You too.”
 
But he was already done with me and didn’t offer so much as a parting glance.
 
Dementra gave the children some hugs, and we were out the door.
I handed her the license. I hadn’t the courage to look at it myself yet. “How’s it look?”
 
“Good.” She squinted. “Though I think there’s a bit of broccoli in your teeth.”
 
“Ah, damn it.” I picked the speck from my teeth and sighed. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
 
“Didn’t notice.”
 
“Some boon compatriot you are.”
 
I tucked the license in my pocket and breathed deep the fresh air of freedom. Free for another year, and there was always the possibility that I’d be killed by a mutant dinosaur or a solar death ray before renewal came around again. It wasn’t likely, but optimism was all part of the superhero game.
Posted in Short Fiction | 3 Comments
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