In theory, copyright is there to protect artists and creators, to allow them to make money off their work, and to encourage creativity.  In practice, it just leads to stagnation and to corporations profiting off of characters they simply are fortunate enough to own.

As usual, I’ll go to a comic book example.  DC owns the characters of Batman and Superman.  Nobody working at DC created these characters.  They are simply inherited property, held by a giant corporate machine.  DC profits because decades ago, an employee created some cool characters and then DC claimed those characters as its own.  End of story.

The system is simply broken.

While the struggle against cultural stagnation is nothing new, the fact of the matter is that when you pass a character or an idea to an immortal corporation, real growth and change is difficult, if not impossible.  Because people create, but corporations own.  And that’s the real dilemma we face today.  Is ownership more important than work?

It could be argued that what keeps Batman, Superman, Spider-Man, etc. fresh is the creative people behind them.  Even if these people didn’t create these characters, there are still talented and capable writers and artists who keep the characters alive and kicking.  But even then, these folks are still employees, still subject to the whim of executives.  If the order comes down to kill character X or resurrect character Z, then this will happen.  And this will be decided by someone who is less interested in telling a good story than in increasing sales.

There’s nothing wrong with commercial success, nor with striving for it.  But if it’s all about sales, then there’s no reason to develop any new characters, new ideas.  And the thing about characters, about franchises, is that they don’t ever really go bad.  Not often anyway.  And hardly ever do they have an expiration date.

Certainly, not every character is timeless and a character or a concept might have a great appeal for a limited time.  But some ideas and characters are so transcendent that they can stick around for a really, really long time.  Batman is a great example.  While he’s had his ups and downs, he has never really disappeared from the public consciousness.  That’s because he’s pretty damn flexible as a concept.  You can do goofy Batman stories, dark Batman stories, sci fi Batman stories, noir Batman stories, and so on.  While he hasn’t always been a cash cow, he is certainly unlikely to be replaced anytime soon.  He’s a product without an expiration date, one that can be repackaged and sold over and over again.  This isn’t so bad if his creator and owner is mortal.  But once that owner is an immortal corporation, you end up with a real desire not to innovate.  If you doubt me, I can only point out that DC has created a new version that starts with his origin all over again.  Because we haven’t seen that enough.

This is a big reason why I can’t get behind the re-release of Star Wars in 3D.  It’s not a new product.  It’s the same old product reprocessed to appear new so that a corporation can make more money.  George Lucas too, I suppose.  Basically, it’s a foolproof moneymaking scheme because it requires minimal investment and is guaranteed to cash in.  But it, frankly, amazes me that we continue to fall for it.

Nobody who created Mickey Mouse has anything to do with him today.  He’s a corporate shill, a face to put on a T-shirt.  And while that’s always been part of why he existed, it shouldn’t be the ONLY reason he exists.

I’ll admit that I’m skeptical that self-publishing is the amazing revolution it often claims to be.  At this stage, it’s still working out the kinks.  I’m hopeful that it will figure the stuff that corporations excel at: namely distribution and marketing, two areas where self-pub rarely can compete against established corporate structures.  If that can ever work itself out, then creator owned works have a better chance.  But that’s a ways off.

As a novelologist, I’m lucky.  Though I moved publishers, I still control my characters.  I could write another GIL’S ALL FRIGHT DINER if I chose.  Or a sequel to THE AUTOMATIC DETECTIVE.  Though Tor owns the rights to publication of the original stories, I own the characters and settings.  Tor can’t publish those stories without me getting royalties.  Not that Tor has ever exhibited any hostility toward giving me my fair share.  They’ve always been accommodating and genial.

On the other hand, if they owned my characters, you probably would’ve seen a sequel by now.  That might be a good thing if you want a sequel, but it certainly wouldn’t be for me.  Not financially.  And probably not creatively either.

It all comes down to financial incentives.  Corporations are, first and foremost, about making money.  And you can make money by taking chances, but why bother when you can also make money with minimal time and investment?  If corporations were genuinely people, they’d be motivated by a desire to be better, to challenge themselves.  But they are NOT people.  They are vast, soulless financial machines that want to make a profit.  And while a desire to profit is not bad, it certainly isn’t good when it’s your soul motivation.

So what does it all add up to?  I can’t honestly say.  It’s easy to demonize corporations.  Usually, it’s justified.  An unbridled lust for profit, unconstrained by any conscience, is just about the most dangerous thing around.  Add to that the near unlimited financial power available to many a corporation (or even some individuals) and you run into a serious problem.

We can’t change copyright law, but we can demand better.  I’m not against Star Wars.  I’m against Star Wars being repackaged and resold to us without any real effort.  I’m not against Batman stories.  I’m just against Batman stories that don’t need to be told anymore.  And I’m not against Spider-Man movies.  I’m just against another lazy and heartless effort created mostly so a corporation can meet a contractual obligation to keep a second corporation from getting those rights.

We can do better.  We can demand better.  Copyright might belong to the corporations, but creativity should belong to the people.

Keelah se’lai

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

The new Batman video game, for example, has swearing and harsh language in it.  In particular, many people have raised concerns that when playing as Catwoman, you are subject to constant unpleasant language and mild threats of rape by the thugs she runs across.

The hardcore gamers dismiss these concerns as silly because having thugs and henchmen be obnoxious and threatening is “realistic”.  There might be something to that, too.  If this wasn’t a game built upon pretending to be a billionaire dressed as a bat who spends his nights fighting criminals dressed as clowns and Alice in Wonderland characters.  If the Batman’s universe was realistic, then he’d either be shot in the back one random night or be so beat up and burnt out from his double life that he’d be a broken wreck.

Superheroes have always struggled with the fantastic and the realistic.  Batman has struggled the most.  Probably because so many of his fans seem to think he’s more “realistic” than other heroes.  I’m not going to get into that fallacy here.  I’ve wasted too many precious hours on that debate.  Regardless of where you stand on that debate, few people would want to read the Batman story where he trips on his cape and plummets to his death while on patrol, realistic as that possibility might be.

Realistically, Bruce Wayne could choke to death on a piece of pie.

I’m not interested in reading the story (or playing the video game) where ensuring Bruce Wayne chews his food properly is the key plot point.  But if you’re going to pull out the “realism” argument, then you can’t just stop where it suits your needs.

Given his status as Gotham’s wealthiest citizen and the obvious fact that Batman needs to have major funding to do what he does, it seems strange that no one has ever connected Wayne and his alter ego.  Or that a man with a prominent face can hide it behind half a mask and not still be recognized.  Or that a single man could have the time and ability to master every esoteric field of study, ranging from acrobatics to chemistry to art history.

And let’s not even get into his bad guys.  A guy with white skin and a hideous grimace who dresses in purple tuxedos.  A man with half his face burnt off.  A pulp style immortal evil mastermind who wants to wipe out the human race.  A crocodile man.  A shapeshifter.  A plant woman.

Realism and Batman are not friends.

This is not to say that a writer needs to throw realism completely out the window.  But when an unnecessary element of realism is introduced for no good reason, realism is not a defense.  It’s the same sort of half-logic that causes some folks to complain that children NPCs can’t die in Skyrim and that this fact “ruins the immersion”.

Oh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize that in the game where you pretend to be a dragonslaying badass who can throw fireballs and slay giants that NOT having roasting children would break the illusion.

OR

Dopey me.  I kind of assumed that if you were going to play Catwoman in a video game, you might get tired of being called a bitch a thousand and one times.  But, no, that’s REALISM.  Thanks for clearing that up.

To be perfectly clear, I don’t care if a Batman video game has (justified or not) hostility towards women.  And I don’t care if Catwoman slinks around in a sexy costume and uses kisses to disarm her opponents.  Okay, that’s a lie.  I do care.  I’ll go on record as saying a Batman game shouldn’t have these things in it.  Certainly shouldn’t have them casually strewn about.  But that’s just one guy’s opinion, and if I don’t like the game, I don’t have to play it.

But on the other end, you can’t just say “It’s realistic” and not expect me to roll my eyes a bit.  If your best justification for something unpleasant in a Batman story or video game is that it serves realism then I feel like you’ve already lost the debate.

Did I mention he fights a guy who has a freeze ray?

Realism in this context always seems to mean something other than realism.  It means a pocket of realism in an otherwise unrealistic realm.  And more often than not, that realism is aimed at shock value and “mature” content for its own sake.  So let’s just call it what it so often is.

Pandering.

I’ll stick with Skylanders myself.  Not only is it apologetically unrealistic, it’s also a game where its female characters (though too few) are not subject to dopey fetishism or “justified” sexism.  Stealth Elf is Catwoman without the baggage (and with the ability to vanish, leaving razor scarecrows in her place).  And Hex doesn’t slink around in a catsuit with a whip and wrap her legs around her foes like some softcore pornstar.  She fires shadowbolts and rains screaming skulls from the sky.  And she does it with style.

And really, I’m just glad to have female characters who are treated with respect.  Though apparently they have to hang out with dragons and boomerang throwing dinosaurs to get it.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

I think of Superman as a perfect example.  Superman is a flawed character.  His flaw is his unflinching morality, his absolute desire to do good.  Too many people seem to miss the point of giving Superman this quality.  Without it, he becomes supremely uninteresting.  Without a limitation, Superman is nothing but a god-like being who can overcome any obstacle.  His desire not to abuse his power is his most laudable quality, but it is also his most important flaw.

Too often, people mistake the idea of a flaw as being a negative quality.  But flaws need not be bad things a character carries.  Story-wise, a flaw is something that gets in a character’s way in achieving their goals.  And a moral center can definitely be a flaw to contend with.

On the other side, having a negative quality that makes a character more effective is usually missing the point of why a flaw should exist.  If a maverick cop’s flaw is that he “doesn’t play by the rules”, but that’s exactly why he can catch the bad guy, he isn’t flawed.  He’s empowered.

A moral code is often the most basic flaw any protagonist must deal with.  It might make the character easier to root for, but it also places limits on what he’s willing to do.  Without limits, all protagonists become increasingly less interesting.

The problem I have with “dark” and “gritty” interpretations of characters like Batman and Superman is that the first step is usually to deprive them of their moral center in some attempt to make them flawed.  But all the writer usually ends up doing is making a hero who is invincible and unfettered.  A Superman willing to kill anyone who stands in his way, who isn’t distracted by a convenient hostage situation or a city about to be destroyed, is far less interesting than one who cares.

Yes, being a good person can be a serious character flaw.

My favorite interpretation of Batman is of a person pathologically dedicated to saving the world, to seeing that what happened to him never happens to anyone, to not just terrorizing criminals in some bizarre revenge fantasy, but instead, determined to strike at crime at its deepest levels.  His goal is to protect the world (or at least his city), and that extreme nobility is his most important flaw.  My Batman doesn’t need to be messed up or damaged.  He’s much more intriguing as a guy who bears the weight of the world on his shoulders because he sincerely wants to save everyone.  Even the bizarre criminals he faces on a regular basis.

It honestly bugs the crap out of me that Frank Miller said Batman is crazy, and most everyone decided to go with that.  Crazy, revenge-driven Batman makes no sense.  There are easier ways to get revenge.  And he certainly wouldn’t have a code against killing.  He d be more akin to the Punisher than the methods and style of Batman.  But heck, even the Punisher has a certain code he follows.  Without it, he’s just a guy who shoots people.

Being good is a flaw, and it’s a flaw I enjoy in most of my protagonists.

Most characters have flaws though not all have flaws that get in the way of their stories.  Tarzan is technically an uncivilized savage, but it never really gets in his way.  He’s still rich.  He still gets the girl.  He has all the skills he needs to triumph.  If he isn’t perfectly civilized, it’s not really an obstacle.

When Batman hangs out with The Justice League, he is a “normal” guy among superhumans.  But it never prevents him from contributing.

Scrooge McDuck is a greedy bastard, but he still goes on adventures and is rarely punished for it.

Conan might be a “barbarian” but it doesn’t get in the way of beheading evil wizards and slaying monsters.

Flaws are funny things.  They require context.  And they don’t always have to be crippling fears or psychotic rages.  They can be a touch too much arrogance, a dislike for the color yellow, being too tall or too short, or too “good”.  In the right circumstances, anything can be a flaw.

But it’s only a flaw if it gets in the character’s way.  Otherwise, it’s just another character trait.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Recently, I tweeted that I’d like to write a story with either Marvel’s Squirrel Girl or DC’s Killowog.  And I really, really would.  This is rare for me,  as I don’t aspire to write stories for characters I didn’t create.  I love Superman, Batman, the mighty Thor, but I have no real interest in writing anything with them.  (Although if someone at DC or Marvel thinks I’d be a good fit, I wouldn’t rule it out immediately.)

I think the appeal of Squirrel Girl and Killowog for me is that neither character has had a lot written about them.  This gives me a little more room to maneuver, to write my own story without having to worry about previous continuity and interpretations of the characters. 

For those who don’t know, Squirrel Girl is a comedic superhero in the Marvel universe with squirrel powers (of course).  The joke about Squirrel Girl is that she is the greatest superhero in the Marvel universe, despite her innocuous powers and personality.  She’s endlessly cheerful.  Her sidekick is a squirrel.  And she routinely kicks the butts of world-shattering villains.

Killowog isn’t a comedic character.  He’s just a Green Lantern.  But he’s usually portrayed as a no-nonsense guy who just kicks butt.  It’d be a chance to write a Green Lantern story without having to deal with Hal Jordan, who I’ve always felt was rather bland as a character.

Someone asked me, “How would I write a story with these characters to introduce them to the general public?”

It’s an interesting question.

Firstly, I’m not sure that’s even relevant.  Comic books are an insular medium at this point, and it’s rare for anyone to just decide to buy comics out of the blue.  Usually, they have friends who are comic book fans or have already been buying them for years.  The shrinking nature of the market is a big problem, but there seems to be no real effort to stop that at this point as comic companies continue to cater to diehard fans who are willing to catalogue decades of fake history in order to understand many stories.

But let’s just assume that I did get to write a comic book and that this would cause non-comic buying people to rush to the stores and purchase said comic.  It’s possible.  I do have fans.  I don’t know how many are eager to read a comic book I’ve helped write, but you never know.

The reason I find the question interesting is that I don’t see how writing a comic book with an established character would be any different than writing any other story I’ve written.  Since I have yet to write a sequel to anything, every story I create starts with the assumption that the reader won’t know anything going in.  That’s one of the things I love about writing original stories.  I don’t have to worry about excessive continuity or about balancing old fans with new.  Every book stands on its own.  Every book is a fresh start.

I would treat a comic book story in much the same way.  It’s true that established characters in established universes come with some baggage.  But I look at that as backstory.  It might shape and influence the character, but it shouldn’t be necessary to understand the history of everything a character has done to enjoy whatever story they are taking part in now.  As I said, neither Squirrel Girl or Killowog have much backstory to begin with because they’re minor characters.  And that’s what I find so appealing about them.

Whether or not a character has a history, I think it’s a mistake to revel in that.  Tight comic book continuity is one of the reasons the medium is dying.  It’s called continuity lockout at www.tvtropes.org and it’s a very real danger with any kind of ongoing story or universe.  Especially in comic books superheroes, where literally decades of history can be found on so many characters.

Good writing should seek to transcend continuity.  It shouldn’t rely on a fannish devotion to previous works.  There’s nothing wrong with a continuity nod here and there.  And characters with long histories can have layered and interesting stories told about them.  But the second a reader has to look up reference material to understand what you’ve written (not just to add to their enjoyment of it) is the second you’ve failed as a writer.  Usually.  These aren’t hard and fast rules, folks.  Novelology is a soft science.

Have a happy Thanksgiving, gang.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

By the by, Batman Beyond; Return of the Joker is a definitive Batman story as far as I’m concerned.  I think I prefer the edited version.  Not because of the blood in the darker version, which is slight and tasteful.  But because of the way the Joker dies.  I much prefer the accidental and stupid death by his own hand.  It just fits the character to a T.  A clueless, bumbler with delusions of grandeur, killed by his own carelessness.  The perfect end to a chronic failure who strived to embody a concept of chaos.

But let’s put these thoughts aside for now and talk about something really important:

Scooby Doo.

Are you ready to get your mind blown?  Good.  Because I am about to reveal unto you secrets that mere mortals were never meant to know.  FYI: The following secrets disregard pretty much 90 percent of Scooby Doo animated archives.  While The Thirteen Ghosts of Scooby Doo is a great cartoon, it really isn’t canon as far as yours truly is concerned.  No, for this post, we’ll be focusing on the traditional Scooby Doo mythos.  And, yes, I am aware I just used the term “mythos” for Scooby Doo.  I’m a novelologist.  I can get away with it.

Have you ever watched Scooby Doo?  I mean, really watched it?  If you have, then you’ve probably been as confused as I have been.

Usually a standard Scooby Doo episode starts with the gang driving somewhere.  And a monster appears, though not usually where anyone can see it.  Instead, it lurks in the shadows, growling and hissing and generally acting monster-iffic.

And this is the first stumbling block we have to logic in the Scooby Doo universe.  Why exactly would anyone do this?  Oh, sure, if they actually were monsters, it would make sense.  But these aren’t monsters.  These are people in monster costumes.  Yet here they are, prowling around in the dark, acting like monsters when there’s no one around to see them.  Certainly, it’s possible that one or two are method actors and really into their role, but that just can’t be true for all of them.

And speaking of staying in character, the monsters (or rather, people in monster costumes) rarely, if ever, break character.  The mystery gang never stumbles upon the monster acting remotely like the person underneath the mask.  And even when Scooby Doo and Shaggy pull their “Let’s pretend we’re barbers” schtick, the monster goes along with the act for at least a little while before realizing, “Hey, I’m supposed to be a monster!”  But, even when the monster is being tricked, he doesn’t act like a human, which he is.

But perhaps the biggest mystery to Scooby Doo is Scooby Doo himself.  Why does this dog talk?  Nobody remarks on this in the show, but clearly, talking dogs are a rarity.  In fact, as far as I can tell, the only talking dogs in the Scooby mythos are the Scooby clan themselves.  One can’t help but wonder why?  Well, okay, maybe one can help but wonder, but not me.

Finally, why do the mystery gang keep running across monsters in the first place?  Surely, this can’t be mere coincidence.  It’s as if fate itself is drawing our intrepid gang of teens into these strange adventures.  And indeed it is, as we shall soon see.

The secrets of Scooby Doo begin long before the show starts, perhaps long before the Scooby clan was even born.  My theory is that, at some point in the past, a person performed a spell that brought dark magic to the earth.  This magic manifested in the form of cursed monster costumes.

That’s right.  Cursed monster costumes.

Really, it’s the only sensible explanation.  How else can you explain costumes that are so realistic that they can simulate anything ranging from an evil bug from the future, a 10,000 volt ghost, or a tar monster?  Think about this for a moment.  How can anyone take a wetsuit and a car battery and make themselves into an electric monster?  Or a tar beast?  I don’t care how creative you are, that crap just don’t fly.  Not without some magic on your side.

These costumes were spread around the earth by sinister forces.  And every so often, a person of questionable moral fiber discovers them.  The costumes use their powers to coerce these vulnerable souls.  And, if the soul is vulnerable enough, the idea of running around in a monster costume to frighten people makes perfect sense, even though you’d have to be pretty dumb to think that acting like a monster would scare people away.  Hasn’t worked for Bigfoot or the Loch Ness Monster yet, has it?

So compelled by dark forces, the person puts on the costume and actually becomes a monster.  This is why they never break character, why they enjoy lurking in darkened woods, and why they can manifest surprising powers such as super strength.  It’s also why something as ridiculous as a projection on a fog bank could fool anyone.  It’s magic that makes it work.

Over time the costume becomes more controlling.  Its eventual goal is to transform the person from a costume into a genuine monster.  Often, by the time Scooby and the gang are involved, this is dangerously close to happening.  This is why, even when caught, the “monsters” will rarely admit defeat.  It’s only after their mask has been removed and their humanity exposed that the spell is broken and they become human once again.

But, here’s the real twist.  What does any of this have to do with Scooby Doo, you might ask.  Well, you’ve come this far, so I assume you’re interested.

The entire Doo family is cursed.  I don’t know why.  I don’t know if they had anything to do with the magic that unleashed the costumes or if they just happened to make some powerful enemies.  Either way, they were cursed into dogs until all the costumes are recovered.  On the bright side, they do become more human as the costumes are found.  This is evident with the sliding scale of humanity exhibited by the Doo family.

Scooby Dum is less bright than Scooby Doo.  This can only mean that he’s perhaps a bit older than Scooby Doo, and so, he has more dog in his nature.  While both Scooby Dum and Scooby Doo can stand upright in a pinch, both prefer all fours and have obvious speech impediments.  Meanwhile, Scrappy Doo is always bipedal and speaks perfectly.  One can assume that if the gang continues to gather more costumes that within a few more generations, the Doo clan will once again be completely human.

(And, yes, I’m aware that many people don’t like Scrappy, but for purposes of this discussion, his contribution to the Lore of Doo is essential to our understanding.  So deal with it.)

This is why Scooby and the gang are constantly running into monsters, by the way.  They are drawn to these suits by the very forces of good and evil.  It’s an epic struggle indeed.

As for Shaggy, Velma, Fred, and Daphne, I haven’t quite figured out their place in the battle.  Perhaps they are merely along for the ride, thrill seekers.  Or maybe they’re genuinely good people out to stop the forces of darkness.  Or perhaps there is a more sinister purpose at work, a truly terrifying secret that we dare not explore at this stage.

I’m looking at your Fred and Daphne.

But that’s for another time.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

The DFWWW had our annual conference this year.  This was the third year, and it was a smashing success.  A lot of people worked hard to make it happen, and things went smoothly.  I gave a presentation that seemed to go well.  At least, nobody yelled at me, and everyone seemed happy to see me.

Hardly surprising.  This was a room full of aspiring writers.  And, while the notion that I’m a role model might be a bit much, there’s no arguing that I’m doing what they want.  I’m getting paid to write.  Knowing how hard it is to be an aspiring writer, knowing the thirst for knowledge, advice, and plain acknowledgement, is it any wonder that they’re so eager to pay a few hundred dollars to attend a conference in hopes of meeting agents, learning secrets, and otherwise making connections.  The drive and desire in that convention hall was palpable.  It makes me realize how fortunate I am to be doing this.  That’s not something I forget, but it’s still nice to be reminded every so often.

I do my best to be friendly in these situations because I’ve been there.  I remember what it’s like.  I have friends that are there right now.  Although I have a feeling that some of those friends might be crossing over that line pretty soon.

I’ll admit that it’s somewhat bizarre on this side of the professional novelologist track.  I still can’t get over it.  In the span of a few years, I’ve gone from some guy who writes to a man of respect and influence.  The agents we had come down (all of them lovely, friendly people) had even heard of me.  Strange to be sort of famous.

Okay, so I guess that’s about it.  It’s been a long weekend, and I’m off to bed early.  Early for me, at least.  Later, gang.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee