http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dgt4xzkpmI4

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

This is why I’m working on my mind-control top hat.  If it gets people to like me, I’m not above a little superscience.  And if it’s good enough for The Ringmaster & the Circus of Crime, it’s good enough for me.

But until I get that hat to work, I’m stuck trying to get people to like me the old fashioned way.  By writing good novels and being generally delightful.  It’s not easy.  I may not always feel like being delightful, but I still persevere.  Because that’s me.  That’s how I roll.

But this isn’t about me, delightful as I may be.  This is about my books.  If you think they’re just goofy little stories that bring you a few hours of joy, I’m not going to complain about it.  But I will say that I think I have more to offer than that.

Maybe it’s just the way I look at the world, but I think we all share the same joys, the same pains, the same fears, and the same questions about the universe.  I believe that, when you peel away all the layers of crap the world and society throws on us, underneath it all, we aren’t very different at all.  

I’ll admit I don’t write novels steeped in symbolism and metaphor.  I’m not terribly poetic (though I do have my moments), but it doesn’t take poetry to speak about the Terran condition.  Most of my stories involve tentacle monsters or slime beasts or things of that nature with a dash of armchair metaphysics that help to keep the plot moving.

It doesn’t mean I have nothing to say.

One of the reasons I tend to dislike “literary” fiction is that it tends to throw itself in your face.  It grabs you by the shoulders and says, “This is important!”  It might very well be, but I find the lessons in life aren’t only to be found in stories about the Holocaust or meandering tales where an author composes detailed treatises of how the ocean is like hope.  A story with humor, told well, with maybe a raccoon god or zombie cow, can say something about Terran nature.  Plus, it can be awesome.

I harp on this every so often, so I’m sorry if I sound like a broken record.  But just because I don’t feel the need to sacrifice characters to the gods of literary seriousness or create extraordinarily complicated plots that doesn’t mean I don’t care about what I’m writing.  Or that I don’t believe it has some social value.  I’m not just talking about a few hours of distraction from this muddled confusion we call life either.  (Although I can’t really complain if that was all I managed to do since that’s a worthy goal in itself in this world.)  No, I think you can find something relatable in my novels.  Something that just might help you think of the world in a different way.

Maybe that’s just the way I think.  I believe enlightenment can be found in just about anything.  Wisdom is discovered in the strangest places, and I’m not suggesting there’s something special about my books.  I think when we’re in the right mindset, anything can help us on our personal journeys.

I learned a lot about love from Wall-E.  I love zen, and Kung Fu Panda helped me to love it even more.  And I don’t know if anyone but me even remembers the animated The American Rabbit movie, but there’s a moment at the end, too complex to get into, that shaped my personal philosophy since I first saw it.  (So if anyone out there happened to work on that obscure little film, know that it touched my life in a very real and personal way.)

That’s me.  I’ll admit my personal philosophy has been shaped as much by cartoons and comic books as anything else, and while some might find that absurd, they’re confusing the medium with the message.  And they’re not even really giving the medium a fair shake.

At the end of the day, all our media, our stories, our movies, our books, our politics, our religions, our philosophies are by Terrans, for Terrans.  We’re all wrestling with the same questions, and it’s impossible not to write those questions into most stories.  It just can’t be done.  Everything speaks to somebody, somewhere.  And I’d like to think…no scratch that.  I know that somewhere out there, someone has found something worthwhile in something I’ve written.  Something profound that I can only hope has made their life more interesting, thoughtful, and, hopefully, beautiful.

It’s not because of some amazing confidence in my own writing.  It’s just logical.  I’m human.  My readers are human (most probably).  And that gives us a lot in common.  So from one befuddled human to another, I wish you the best of luck.  And if you happen to find something worthwhile in my books, let’s not act as if it’s surprising.  Because it happens.  Sometimes even in stories about giant monster gods who want to eat the moon.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

LEGION

The premise to Legion was promising.  If you’ve read the Bible (or have even a passing knowledge of it) then you know God (in the Old Testament & quite a bit in the New Testament as well) could be a capricious and vengeful sort.  And, despite what Michael Landon or Dela Reese might want you to believe, angels could be brutally effective killing machines.  Everyone already knows this, and that’s just fine.  It means that Legion doesn’t really have to do much work to justify its premise.

But somehow, it still feels it has to do all that work anyone.  Strike One.

Secondly, despite its promise to unleash a legion of vengeful angels upon the world, this is just another zombie movie.  The movie only has two actual angels in it, and one of those loses his wings within seconds of the start of the film.  Strike Two.

Finally, the zombies . . . er, angels of this movie are that most unforgivable of zombie types.  No, I’m not talking about fast VS. slow.  I’m talking about dumb VS. smart.  Zombies HAVE to be stupid.  Otherwise, a zombie apocalypse isn’t very interesting because nobody is going to survive.  Zombies that can think, plan, and strategize destroy any sense of conflict in the story.  The zombies in Legion are smart.  Except they’re not.  They’re stupid because they have to be, and that’s just stupid.  Strike Three.

The whole time I was watching Legion I kept wondering why, if the zombies have been appointed by God to kill this one woman and her baby, why didn’t they just drive a semi-truck into that rinky dink diner?  Or, if they would prefer to be more subtle, they could just charge headlong into the diner until everyone ran out of bullets.  Even stupid zombies understand that strategy.

The problem with Legion is that it’s just so damned generic.  Even the possessed in this film (possessed by angels, I remind you) are as generically villainous as they can be.  Why would angels use Satanic imagery?  Why would angels, who are basically just doing their job, resort to grade Z Freddy Kruegar taunts?  Because . . . well, because . . . well, it beats the hell out of me.

Michael and Gabriel are the most interesting characters in the film, and if there was more of their conflict, it could’ve been interesting.  Perhaps it was giving the film too much credit, but I imagined our two angels representing different sides of God himself.  Michael represents his introspective, hopeful side.  Gabriel is his vengeful, singularly focused side.  Their battle represents a metaphysical internal struggle in the Creatror’s psyche, manifest in a kick ass fight.

That’s probably giving the film too much credit though.  Still, I did like when Michael and Gabriel fought because it was nice to see some actual angels in a movie about angels.  Aside from that though, there’s nothing exceptional about Legion, either good or bad.  Just middle of the road.

ALICE IN WONDERLAND

Have you seen a Tim Burton film before?  Then you’ve seen Alice in Wonderland.  If you’re up for more of the same gothic wackiness then go for it.  Otherwise, there’s nothing new being brought to the table here.

One point I do have to voice a gripe with is the idea that this is in any way a female empowerment film when it’s just not.  I’m not going to say it’s anti-feminist because it’s not either, but when it comes to empowerment in general, I put it in neutral.

The idea that Alice is a chosen warrior seems anti-empowering to me.  That’s why I’ve never liked the idea of destiny as a plot device.  It just removes anything interesting about a character.  It says, “You’ve been chosen” and that’s the end of it.  You can’t blow it.  You don’t have any choice in the matter.  And without choice, how can one have empowerment?

It’s the old free will VS. predestination debate, I know, and I’m not sure at all where I stand on the issue in real life.  In fiction though, I hate it.

The movie tells Alice right at the beginning that she has to fight the Jabberwocky and that she has no choice in the matter.  It then has her run around for most of the movie saying she’s not going to do it when we already know she is.  Even that is forgivable, except the movie reminds us a couple of times of how insignificant Alice.

The vorpal sword is the Jabberwocky’s archenemy.  Not Alice.  Her only role is to hold onto the sword.  She’s a tool for the weapon.  The weapon is not a tool for her.  That’s not empowerment.  It’s just being a cog in a cosmic machine, which is almost the opposite of empowerment.  Maybe that’s just my perspective though.

Also, I’m not usually one to invoke phallic imagery because when you get right down to it, nearly everything long, straight, and hard can be phallic, but Alice’s moment of “empowerment” arrives when she grasps a sword (traditionally phallic) that she doesn’t even control.  I’m not Freudian (in fact, I think Freud has been proven to be mostly full of crap), but even I have to pause at that one.

DELGO

Odds are good, you have not seen Delgo.  I’ll save you some time and just say, it’s not very good.

Delgo is an animated feature that manages to be off putting and uninteresting at the same time.  I could point out that the plot is too complicated while still managed to be incredibly generic, but I’d like to talk about the art of animation instead because this is where the movie fails most spectacularly.

Let’s begin with the character design.  Everybody looks alike.  If it wasn’t for their clothes, you couldn’t tell them apart.  Some have wings.  Some don’t.  Other than that, it’s a crapshoot.  I’m assuming that the character design team did this on purpose.  Rather than have extreme designs, they weren’t for something more realistic in terms of proportion and design.  And they ended up right in the middle of the uncanny valley.

Animation is, above all, about action.  It’s about movement and life and energy.  Even understated animated features will have some moments of life to them.  Delgo has more scenes where characters are sitting around and talking than any other animated feature I’ve seen in a while.  Pixar and Dreamworks can make a talking scene work, but it’s always with the understanding of how important the smallest bits of animation can become in these scenes.

Ultimately, Delgo fails because it’s a series of well-meaning mistakes.  I don’t doubt that many people worked very, very hard to make this film.  They just didn’t end up with anything worth watching aside from a how-to-not-make-an-animated feature instructional video.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

This is my primary complaint with Syfy channel.  Do we really need another Stargate spinoff?  And, all things considered, does Caprica serve any useful purpose?  Short answer: No.  I’m not criticizing these shows (well, yes, I am, but I’m just one guy with one opinion) but it just bugs me that we keep repackaging the same ideas.  We always have, but at least we used to hide it, slap on a nice coat of paint, invent new names for old concepts.  Now that’s just not commercial enough.

Of course, the television networks, movie executives, and publishing houses will reply, “But we’re just giving the audience what they want.”  And it’s hard to argue with that.  But this is my blog and I like to throw out unusual points of view, so I’ll give it a shot.

Art and entertainment is not a one-way street.  Most artists don’t sit around in the dark, waiting to be told what to create by the audience.  I know that when I write a book I do so based on what idea seizes me, what strikes me as worth writing about.  I’ll admit I’m a brave soul.  Heck, I’m one of a handful of modern fantasy writers that has yet to write a series or even stick with a specific fantasy sub-genre.  Am I unique?  Hardly.  But it is an unusual enough position that it is worth noting.

And, let’s be straight about this, I get requests for sequels.  At one point, I have gotten these requests for all of my books.  These are always complimentary, and I’m always glad to hear them.  But sequels and series just don’t interest me.  So, yes, while I love every single fan, I’m also perfectly willing to ignore them to a certain degree.  Even when they’re offering encouraging words.

This is part of my job as a creator.  I can’t always give the audience what it wants.  Or I could, but I choose not to.  Why?  Is it arrogance?  Is it stupidity?  Is it artistic integrity?  Or is it none of the above?  I don’t know.  Honestly, at times I find it all of these things.  Couldn’t it be perceived as arrogant to dismiss the requests of people that are paying you good money to make up stories?  Isn’t it a bit stupid to deny fans the right to pay you for a product their clamoring for?  And couldn’t it be thought of as having integrity to refuse to write something I’m just not excited about because if I’m not excited, how can I expect the audience to be?

Beats the hell out of me.

My point though is that my career has had its ups and downs and my lack of a defining series makes me something of an anomaly.  Yet I’m doing pretty good.  People are still paying me to write.  Fans might like a Gil’s sequel or an Automatic Detective sequel or another adventure of Monster.  But they also seem to like the other things I write too.

In short, I’m denying the audience something, but I’m giving them something else in return.  Something that I definitely think is worth giving.  And I have fans.  (Forgive me for repeating myself on that point, but it still kind of surprises me.)  And those fans might have a favorite book, but they do still like what I write because there are people out there who like awesome things.  And I love writing about awesome things, so it all works out just super for everyone.

The problem with giving the audience what it wants is that there is no faster way to stagnation.  I’m not critizing the audience for loving familiar characters and worlds and wanting to see more of them.  But, well, that’s something that is worth mentioning.  While it might be good for an artist’s living to give the audience exactly what they request, it isn’t necessarily good for either the audience or the artist in the long run.

As a long time comic book fan, I see the cost of stagnation in a medium I used to love.  If you love Wolverine, Spider-Man, Superman, Batman, you can buy these guys out the yin yang.  If you’re a fan of the new Blue Beetle, Booster Gold, or Gravity, you’re out of luck.  And it’s true that Blue Beetle is not going to sell as many comic books as Wolverine will.  But Wolverine wasn’t a sales phenomenon out of the gate.  It took time to develop the character, his place in the world, his personality.  It took time for him to build an audience.  It’s easy to forget that the X-Men weren’t a commercial juggernaut for many years.  In today’s give the audience what it wants world, the original X-men comic would’ve been canceled unceremoniously.

The audience doesn’t always know what it wants.

Let’s just assume that many people reading this right now are fans of mine.  (Have I mentioned I have fans?)  And let’s assume that many of these fans enjoyed The Automatic Detective.  Before reading that book, did these fans wake up thinking, “I really wish there were more retro-sci fi pulp, crime noir robot detective pastiche stories being written.”  I seriously doubt it.  And was anyone asking for a story of modern gods sitting on the sofa, watching Spanish soap operas?

Whenever someone tells me, even with the best of intentions, that they wish I would write a sequel to X, I always wonder if they disliked all my other novels.  If they only enjoyed one book, then I can see where they’re coming from.  But if they liked two or three of my novels, then don’t they realize that if I wrote a series, then one of their favorite books (hey, it’s my blog. allow me to fantasize.)  would never have existed.

But, just to show that I’m not using this as an excuse to simply write about myself, I’d like to offer a more culturally relevant example.

A movie like Iron Man 2 is supported by a massive advertising campaign.  The movie makes millions at the box office.  Meanwhile, a smaller film flounders in obscurity.  Is the success or failure of either due entirely to giving the audience what they want?  Or can we see a cycle unfolding where a constant stream of media exposure and well executed marketing campaign succeeds in creating demand?  Add to this the good will and eagerness of an audience that enjoyed the original Iron Man film, and it’s not hard to see that the audience isn’t necessarily the sole force deciding what it gets.

This isn’t a criticism of Iron Man.  I rather enjoyed the original movie, and I’m cautiously optimistic that the sequel will be good.  Though I’ll admit I’m a touch worried that it’s already strayed into the superhero movie trap of having way too many characters and plot points for its own good.  But that’s another blog entry.

I suppose my point here is that, even if one believes that all the audience wants is sequels, spinoffs, and series, that’s not necessarily a good reason to give that to them.  Because the audience is smarter, more imaginative, and more eager to enjoy an original story than they themselves realize.  And why shouldn’t that be true?  It’s not the audience’s job to be creative.  That’s the creator’s job.  If you could write your own cannibal witch love story, you wouldn’t need me now, would you?

Of course, it’s easy for me to say that because I’m fortunate enough to be successful following that philosophy.  Trust me, I know how damned lucky I am too.  Still, I don’t think I’m so fabulously talented that more people couldn’t be doing what I do.  There are plenty of talented artists out there.  Tons of them.  And I in no way want to suggest that they’re selling out or less talented for writing series, but I don’t think it’s a tremendous leap to also suggest that perhaps some writers find themselves trapped in a trap of audience expectations.

Giving the audience what it wants isn’t a bad thing, but it isn’t always a good thing either.  How many Saw movies do we really need at this point?  Sure, they make money, and people line up every Halloween to see them, almost like it’s become more of a tradition than anything else.  And do we really need a re-imagining of Star Trek?  Yes, it was a fun film that I enjoyed immensely, but can’t we do more than slick repackaging of old ideas that the audience will eagerly devour.

I suppose my complaint here is not that these films and books exist, but that they continue to dominate because the powers that be throw all their support behind them and then use this endless cycle of audience conditioning and expectations to justify stagnation and unimaginative offerings.  Perhaps the best thing about Cameron’s Avatar was that it proved you could make an original film that made a billion dollars that didn’t have to be based on anything else.  I didn’t love the film, but, for all those who criticized its originality, I can only say it isn’t another sequel or spinoff.  And that’s something I can respect.

OK-Go has managed to build a solid fanbase by eschewing conventional marketing, and instead, trusting that creative, low-budget music videos and songs that they like writing and performing will be commercially viable.  They chose to discard the traditional music label route because they found it too restrictive.  It seems to be working.

The cycle can be broken, but it’s not the sole responsibility of either the artist or the audience to break it.  Because neither is fully responsible for it, but as long as they continue to foist the responsibility on the other, they’ll always have an excuse for playing it safe. 

The creators have to trust the audience will enjoy an original idea.  The audience has to expect more than the same old idea.  Creators have to be willing to sacrifice some short term succes for long term gains.  And audiences have to be willing to take a risk on something that doesn’t come with pre-approved characters and concepts.  Otherwise, we’re just stuck in an endless loop of empty nostalgia and going through the motions, all in the name of giving the audience what it wants.

We can do better.  We just have to be willing to take chances.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Things get cancelled.  Great things.  We all know this.  So why is it that some things evoke a fan-based delirium and some don’t?  Beats the hell out of me.

I know, Whedon fans, how you adore him.  How Firefly was apparently the greatest show ever created (although it really wasn’t on long enough to prove it), but really, I wish you’d just get over it.

Maybe this is just my perspective, but I’m used to things I like getting cancelled.  I regret it, but I move on with my life.  But, hey, if I gotta hear about Dollhouse & Firefly, then at least do me a favor and listen to theis list of awesome things that never got their fair shot.

KOLCHACK THE NIGHTSTALKER:  Yes, this show was on and off the air before I was even watching television, but it’s a damned fun show.  I love Kolchack.  He didn’t disappear entirely.  Moonstone Comics occasionally tells a Kolchack story.  They had a solid mini series a few years ago.  And they tried to revive the series a few years ago, but they completely missed the point of the original.  They ditched the monsters and went X-Files, which robbed the idea of all its charm and just turned it generic.

MANIMAL:  Our hero can turn into any animal.  Although for budget reasons, he tends to just transform into the same two.  But Manimal was still awesome.

AUTOMAN:  A police detective discovers a way to bring a video game character to life.  Together, they fight crime.  Every bit as beautiful as it sounds.

ELEVENTH HOUR:  Imagine this.  A show about a science guy who solves crimes that is damn good.  Nobody really noticed Eleventh Hour when it was on, but it was a good show.

CENTURY CITY:  Lawyers in the future!  This one was doomed from the start.  I knew that.  It didn’t last long, but I enjoyed ever episode I saw.  It was an original concept and a unique take on lawyer & sci fi shows.  Of course, it never had a chance, and I don’t know if it would’ve kept entertaining me.  But it was at least original enough that it deserved a shot in my humble opinion.

THE THING:  This isn’t a TV show, but a comic book.  A few years ago, the Ever-Lovin’ Blue-Eyed Thing got his own solo series.  It was terrific.  Great writing.  Great fun.  Great art.  It lasted all of 9 issues before Marvel realized they were producing a comic that didn’t have Wolverine or Spider-Man in it.  Couldn’t let that last, could they?

This one really bugs me because I didn’t expect the Thing’s series to last, but it would’ve been nice to at least make it to issue 12.  Would one year have been too much to ask, Marvel?  Guess so.

WAR OF THE MONSTERS:  A video game.  The best monster-based fighting game ever, bar none.  While the game is great, it didn’t do well enough to warrent a sequel.  Which stinks because if the developers had gotten a chance to develop it further, I think they would’ve ditched its flaws and improved it considerably.

If Halo fans can act like their generic space marine FPS obsession is a gift direct from The Mighty Robot King himself, then I think I’m entitled to at least one decent kaiju-fightin’ video game.

So today, I’m going to review Ad Astra (“To the Stars” in Latin) from Fantasy Flight Games.  ( http://www.fantasyflightgames.com/edge_minisite.asp?eidm=81&enmi=Ad%20Astra )  Yes, it’s another FFG game.  And I do love these folks.  Almost every game they’ve published since the late, great Discwars has been fantastic.  Although I’m not a fan of Cosmic Encounters, a game I find thoroughly unremarkable.  But even that is technically a classic and most every other game player seems to really love it, so I’ll try not to hold it against FFG.

The theme of Ad Astra is that far in the future, humanity has evolved into 5 different species.  These species, with their common background, are still basically in harmony.  This is not a game of cosmic war, and that’s one of the things I find refreshing.  Your goal is to spread throughout the universe and create the most vibrant, successful civilization.  But you can do this best by cooperating with your fellow players.  And, while it’s true your competing for resources and status, aggressive action like attacking your opponents just isn’t possible.  (I really love the idea that in the future, humanity will be civilized enough that blowing each other up isn’t our first response to problem solving.)

Ad Astra has some truly unique ideas.  For one thing, the game doesn’t take place on a traditional board.  Instead, the universe is spread out as groups of larger discs (the systems) surrounded by smaller discs (representing the planets in that system).  This not only allows the universe to be different every game, but allows a nifty cusomizability for how the universe is laid out.

Another nifty aspect is that players don’t take turns like in a traditional board game.  Instead, they start by taking turns playing down cards on a track.  When the track is filled, the action round begins.  The cards are resolved in order, from first to last.  It’s entirely possible for one player to take several turns in a row, although with every card revealed, everyone gets to do something.

Sound complicated?  Trust me, it’s much simpler than it sounds.  And here’s an example:

Production Cards produce resources.  Every Production Card lists two resources on it.  When the card is revealed, whoever played the Production Card picks one of those resources.  All players who can gain that resource do so.  So while the player who owns the card determines what is produced, other players can benefit from it.  In fact, if there’s a shortage of a certain resource, it’s not impractical to use one of your own Production choices to produce a resource you don’t even have, just to get more of it in the game.

Trade is another interesting action.  A player who has played a Trade Card can trade with any other player or the bank.  The bank is sort of a default trader, able to transform two of any of the same resource into a single resource of any type.  But it’s often more cost effective to trade with your opponents, giving them something you have too much of for something you really need.

Your Build Card allows you to build as many colonies / spaceships / terraforming stations as you can afford on your turn.  Your opponents can build too, but only one thing, regardless of their resources.

This dynamic means that an effective player who guesses what his opponents plan on doing can really make the most of his turn.  However, there’s also a gamble there because if you assume that your opponents have laid a build order somewhere down the line, so you’ve used your actions to place Production Cards only to discover no Build is coming can lead to a delay in what you’re planning to do.  (Although you still get the resources, so it’s not like you’re completely screwed.)

And this is what makes Ad Astra such a fascinating game experience.  There’s no “bad” moves, no “game over” decisions.  Every decisions comes with its own risks and rewards, and even if you aren’t playing as effectively as you can, you aren’t going to sink like a stone while your opponents’ soar into universal glory.

This is, however, one of Ad Astra’s weaknesses if you’re playing with the wrong group.  Since every decision, every action, has negative and positive consequences, players who want clear and obvious decisions might have a hard time deciding what to do sometimes.  You might try to monopolize the food supply in the galaxy, but it will be at the cost of resource variety.  You might decide to explore the remnants of a long lost alien civilization, gaining powerful artifacts but relying much more on other players for your resources.  You might decide to build the biggest fleet in the universe in order to get your feet wet in every system on the board, but it’ll be at the cost of establishing a strong colonial presence elsewhere.  Simply put, each of these strategies (and more) are possible winning strategies.  And for many players who are used to straightforward victory conditions (kill all your opponents, get the most cash, stomp your opponent’s monster into dust), this could be a bit overwhelming.

Nevertheless, Ad Astra is a unique and interesting game, thoroughly engaging, and fast-paced.  If you’re reluctant to buy a civilization building game as too cerebral or dull, you might find Ad Astra changing your mind.  But at an asking price of $60, it might be a bit too big an investment for a non-gamer looking for an entryway game.  Or maybe not.

For this game at least, it’s a great addition to my library.  And seeing how I own too many games already, that’s saying something.

FOOTNOTE:  The game is listed as a 3-5 player game.  When I first played, I played with only 2, and it didn’t seem imbalanced.  However, a 3rd player joined us after only a few rounds, so I can’t tell for sure.  However, I do think some simple house rules would allow for a successful 2 player game.  The only change I made for my 2 player version was to keep the total actions in a round down to 8 instead of 12, and it seemed to work.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good Write,

Lee