Okay, probably not.  Because that’s not something I do.  It’s not something that interests me.  I’ve got a pretty light touch when it comes to killing characters.  I’ll admit that.  I’ll usually kill or destroy or otherwise get rid of the bad guy, but it’s not my thing to introduce a colorful supporting cast and then pick them off to establish the credibility of the threat they face.  It’s probably yet another thing that keeps me from being taken as seriously as I’d sometimes like.  Nothing like a little blood on the page to remind everyone that you’re not screwing around.

I think this is probably because of my love of comic books.  Comic book superheroes are some of my earliest influences.  But I have a bad habit of liking the strange and obscure characters.  The very same characters that tend to die whenever a writer needs extra drama.  It puts me in a strange position.  If you’re favorite hero is Batman, Superman, or Spider-Man, you can rest assured that they aren’t going anywhere.  They might die for a gimmick, but no one with any sense believes they’ll stay dead.  Same with all the popular villains.  But if you, like me, enjoy Quasar, Diamond Lil, or Arnold Wesker, you are stuck walking a very difficult line.

Quasar, for example, is a character who was never popular but nonetheless had his own comic book series that lasted 60 issues before fading into complete obscurity.  I had the whole series and really loved it.  It also had the unfortunate side effect of making me a fan of several other even more obscure characters in his supporting cast.  Seriously, does anyone else out there like Makkari the Eternal?  If so, love to hear from you.

But then Quasar disappeared into comic book obscurity.  He did eventually reappear.  Only to be killed by an evil alien.

Story of my life, a comic book fan of the little guy, the obscure, the forgotten.

I think Quasar is back because death is rarely permanent in comic books if someone likes you, so clearly someone out there has a soft spot for Quasar.  Good luck, buddy.  I’m rooting for you.

Danger is often an important aspect of adventure fiction, but it shouldn’t be the only aspect.  Or even the most important one.  The conflict from adventure fiction should rarely be about the protagonists’ continued survival, but on their ability to achieve their goals.  Danger is only one of the obstacles that can get in their way, and it is, more often than not, an artificial one.

I call it The Invulnerable Protagonist Rule.  The rule says that if making your hero explicitly invulnerable to physical harm removes all the tension from your story, then you’re doing something wrong.

Almost all adventure protagonists are invulnerable.  Not explicitly.  But they’re invulnerable just the same.  Batman is not going to get shot and die, no matter how many times he leaps from the shadows into a mob of thugs.  Indiana Jones is not going to be killed, execution style, by the Nazis.  And no matter how many times James Bond is facing incredible odds, he won’t die.  This is necessary for most adventure fiction.  Without it, most protagonists would probably perish in very short order.

We might thrill to the adventures of action heroes, but for the most part, we know they are in no real danger because who wants to watch an superhero movie where the heroes spend all their time in traction?  Or watch Conan the barbarian get eaten by a giant spider?

The tension in adventure is found in whether our heroes can triumph.  Can Superman save Earth from an alien invasion?  Will Indiana Jones keep the Nazis from finding that magic superweapon?  Can James Bond keep Goldfinger from nuking Fort Knox?  Being invulnerable helps an action hero, but they usually have to work at it still.  Just because no one is going to shoot Batman in the back, it doesn’t mean he automatically wins.

I’m often surprised that this source of tension is lost among both writers and readers.  It’s one of the arguments most often used for why someone prefers Batman to Superman, for instance.  As if a Batman story is going to end with Bats getting mortally wounded.  The only difference between Batman and Superman is that Batman conveniently jumps out of the way of bullets while Superman doesn’t usually have to.  At the end of the day, they are both functionally invulnerable as their stories demand.

Yet there seems to be no greater joys for most writers than to get to write the story where ANYONE CAN DIE!  And the audience tends to dig it too.  And that’s their choice.

But I always get a little angry with it.  I don’t like stories where a character I’ve invested in is killed.  I don’t like them even as imaginary stories, as alternate universe adventures.  I find it annoying, manipulative.  Sometimes, it even seems a little abusive of the artist / audience relationship to trick the audience into caring for a character only to kill them off to supply drama.

I’m not suggesting that it shouldn’t be done.  I’m all for a diversity of stories, and if some stories make life cheap and the fans like it, well, good for them.   But in my fiction, if I’m going to invest in a character (or ask my readers to invest), I’m not going to yank the rug out from under their feet just because I can.  Frankly, I’ve lost too many important people in my life and in my fiction already.

This one goes out to you, Thunderstrike.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Yes, I am a brand.  Of a sort.  With eight published books, a ninth due out next year, and hopefully a long career ahead of me, it’s not an unreasonable observation.  Though I’ll admit it’s weird to say that aloud.  Or type it out loud in this particular case.  Nevertheless, it’s become increasingly obvious that for my career to continue to grow, that branding isn’t something I can dismiss as unimportant or someone else’s concern.

Since I’ve so far written a collection of unconnected, standalone novels, I don’t have the option of branding a world or a character.  I have to somehow figure a way to sell myself, to capture the idea of an A. Lee Martinez novel in some pithy, easily sold way.  I don’t honestly know how to do that right now.

One of the biggest obstacles is that the writer I perceive myself to be is not usually the writer I’m perceived to be.  There’s no reason to bang that same old drum again, but it does raise an interesting questions.  Am I doing myself any favors by fighting my “funny fantasist” rep?

I don’t exactly rail at being called “funny”, but I do tend to avoid playing it up.  Yet it’s clear that “funny” is the adjective that most often comes up when talking about my books.  So often and reliably in fact that I can’t really think of anytime someone approached me and said a book of mine was thrilling or original.  No, it’s always “funny” or “zany” or “silly” or some other adjective.

It’s no secret I don’t consider myself a funny writer, but maybe I should just accept it.  Maybe it’d be easier it I dove headfirst into the category.  Not by writing “funny” books.  That’s not the problem.  But instead, by being funnier.  By writing blogs that are funny.  By accepting that I will always be funny and that there’s nothing terribly wrong with that.  This blog entry itself is a perfect example.  Would it be more beneficial to write something about chupacabras than my thoughts on my career?  If someone hears about “that funny writer” A. Lee Martinez and comes to this blog hoping to discover how goofy and zany I am, only to read a long, self-indulgent post of an artist struggling to define himself, is that a plus or a minus?

In a story, the best characters are the simplest.  The characters that can be easily defined with one or two qualities are the ones that stand the test of time, the people can relate to.  If I am a brand, if I am a character, then I’m not doing myself any favors by confusing things.

Granted, many writers in my category can have reputations for being both funny and smart.  But they almost always start with “funny” and work their way backwards.  They embrace humor in a way that I’ll admit I just haven’t done.  Even when my publisher emphasizes the humor in my work, I cringe.  Almost instinctively.  Because it’s just not how I see myself.

But in the court of public opinion, how one wants to be perceived always takes a backseat to how one is perceived.  If most people think of me as “funny”, it really doesn’t make any difference if I disagree.  Because I don’t determine my brand.  Or rather, I’m just one determining factors of many.

My publisher is another of those factors, and they will continue to sell me as funny.  And I can’t say they’re wrong to do so.

My audience is another factor, and they will continue to most likely categorize me with other funny writers.  That hasn’t come close to changing in eight books.  My ninth about a supervillain squid probably isn’t going to change that either.

And there are the critics.  Again, funny is the name of the game.

So the A. Lee Martinez brand stands for “funny fantasy”.  And maybe I should just accept it.  But if I do, what does that mean?  Should I take extra efforts to ensure that my books are funny?  Should I emphasize my humorous side when doing interviews?  Should this blog be a steady stream of zaniness?  And when I talk about my books, should I be sure to push the humor above all else?

My reflex is to say NO, but as is often the case, reflex just might be wrong.  Maybe I should stop sending mixed signals and just accept the brand I carry.  It doesn’t actually mean I have to change what I write.  It just means selling it in a more user friendly fashion.  And that’s not a bad thing.

Chasing the Moon doesn’t have to be a strange exploration of an incomprehensible universe.  It can just as easily be about a plucky heroine who finds herself in over her head while trying to keep her monstrous roommates from getting into trouble.  Emperor Mollusk Versus The Sinister Brain could be my homage to pulp adventure.  Or it could be a madcap story of an evil genius without a spine.

It’s all in how you spin it.  And maybe it wouldn’t hurt to put a different spin on my brand.  It’s all about finding my audience, selling books.  I gotta make a living here.  And if I should happen to trick a few people into buying books with more than just “wacky” at their heart, then that’s all the better.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Here’s just a general tip from a semi-famous novelologist.  You don’t hook your audience by telling them they are going to be hooked.  You don’t keep people interested by telling them something interesting is happening (or will happen possibly at some point in the future).  You don’t tell people that, if they just stick with you long enough, they’ll be rewarded at some point with a few measly plot points and maybe some character development.  Because nobody cares.  If you don’t keep them interested with an interesting story told in interesting ways than you’re just a gimmick, and people don’t generally like gimmicks.  Especially uninspired gimmicks.

I was not a fan of Lost.  It’s just not my thing to sit and ponder mysteries that I’ll never get the answer to or that will inevitably lead to endings I probably won’t find worthwhile.  But if you put that aside, Lost was a well-executed show.  While I might have considered it gimmicky, it wasn’t written nor promoted like that.  The show was built on mysteries, on a cult-like devotion to unfolding questions leading to more questions leading to more questions.  But the show knew better than to lean on that to keep the viewer interested.  Instead, Lost was an adventure into the unknown, a thrilling fight for survival with characters that intrigued the audience.

The Event falls spectacularly short on this front.  Even as a mystery, it fails.  Though a mystery, Lost could be summarized easily.  Some people are stranded on an island.  Weird stuff happens.  It’s an intriguing premise or at least an easily explained one.

But I defy someone to tell me what The Event is.  Heck, even the promos don’t want to tell us.  This is not The Event.  That is not The Event.  Have you ever tried to explain a story to someone by telling them what it’s not about?  Good luck on that.  The Event is about . . . something mysterious.  Terribly mysterious, in fact.  But a mystery is not a story.  Not by itself.

And then, even more annoying, the show continues to tell us how it will hook us.  “If you watch this episode, by the end, you’ll be hooked!”

One of the things I’ve learned at my writer’s group is that bad writers expect the audience to sit through a bunch of boring crap.  At the DFWWW, we read our work aloud.  We’re allowed 15 minutes, but I find 10 works well.  If you read something aloud for 10 minutes and your audience is bored, then you’re doing something wrong.  Good writers realize this.  Bad writers always wish they had another 5 minutes to get to the good parts.

Every part should be the good part.  Every scene should help the audience want to move forward.  Telling a story isn’t complicated or tricky.  What I do, on the surface, is easy.  Make some interesting characters.  Have something interesting happen to them.  Give them a problem to solve.  Then have them work on solving that problem.  The end.  That’s it.  And maybe if you’re writing “literature” (i.e. pretentious stuff that is intentionally written awkwardly to make it seem intelligent) then you can get away with breaking that rule.  But if you’re writing “genre” (i.e. good stories with a plot that makes sense and offers a satisfying resolution) then you need to just build on the basics.

Who is going to tune into a show, week after week, with absolutely no idea what it’s about?  Lost might have been confusing, intentionally so, but they were still given problems to solve and for the most part, they solved them.

Yet The Event is a show so vague, so mysterious that I don’t know why I should give a damn.  It’s intentionally confusing, but not in the “How Mysterious” way, but in the “I’m going to make this really hard to follow” way.  That’s not good storytelling.  That’s clumsy at best, cheating at worst.  And it seems to me there’s no better way to annoy and / or anger your audience than to continually taunt them and telling them that they really, really need to watch your show for a long time before they’ll be able to understand any of it.

Maybe that crap flew with Twin Peaks, but even that didn’t last long.  Plus, Twin Peaks was at least unique for its time.  What’s unique about The Event except that it’s just another overlong mystery told in overlong fashion that takes forever to get anywhere and will inevitably implode from all the plot threads its trying to keep dangling.

I could be wrong.  Maybe The Event will be huge.  Maybe people will be willing to give it five or eight or eleven episodes to catch their attention.  But that seems awfully optimistic in a world with increasing choices of entertainment media.

I would like to plug No Ordinary Family.  The first episode showed promise, and unlike The Event a lot actually happened in it.  The family gets superpowers.  Characters are given moments to shine and develop personal relationships.  And they even managed to throw in a brief superfight between a superstrong character and a teleporting villain.  It was creative, fun, and everything Heroes should have been if it hadn’t been so jaw-droppingly full of itself.  It’s nice to see a show where superpowers aren’t automatically assumed to be negative and where a family can have problems without getting absurdly angsty about it.  Thumbs up from this lowly novelologist.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Sin & Punishment is a third person rail shooter from Treasure games.  Treasure will always hold a special place in my heart for making one of the most awesome, woefully underrated, games for Sega Genesis: Gunstar Heroes.  Gunstar Heroes was a classic of straight up, shoot-em-up console gaming with amazing originality and non-stop chaos.  In many ways, Sin & Punishment is a spiritual successor to Gunstar Heroes, and that’s a great thing indeed.

First though, I have to get the most negative part of the game out of the way.  While S&P is a surreal experience, its most bizarre aspect is found in its character design.  Specifically, its two lead characters are just plain weird.

We have Isa, the boy.  He looks all of thirteen with an atrocious fashion sense.  If he didn’t excell at kicking butt, I just don’t know if I could take him seriously with his shorts, thigh-high boots, and light blue jacket.  Add to this an effeminate haircut, a slight frame, and a general androgeny and you end up with one of the strangest action heroes in gaming history.  I mentioned I would have trouble taking him seriously if he wasn’t so skilled at shooting the crap out of everything, but that’s a lie.  I really can’t take him seriously at all.

Kachi is the girl of the duo, and she isn’t much better.  With a jean skirt, a fluffy shirt, and a tendency to stand pigeon-toed, we’re not exactly talking about an intimidating presence.  While she looks like a refugee from the 80′s, she actually comes across as the less ridiculous of the two, so that’s something.

While I don’t know what inspired these designs and they are unintentionally goofy in America, part of me likes the change from the traditional grizzled space marine that dominates most action games these days so I’m willing to overlook it.  Some “manly” men will take one look at our heroes and turn up their noses.  Too bad.  Their loss.  Because S&P is a hardcore action adventure the likes of which we rarely see this day and age.

The plot of the game . . . eludes me.  There’s something about two worlds, demons, super soldiers, genetically modified guardian monsters, and I don’t know what else.  It’s confusing as hell, but who cares?  Playing a video game for the story is like reading a book to admire the font.   It should get the job done, but not get in the way.

S&P’s gameplay is straightforward.  It’s a rail shooter, meaning the camera carries you through the level as you do your damn best to keep from getting killed while blasting everything in sight.  That’s it.  There’s nothing terribly complex about it.  It’s pure reflexes.  You shoot.  You dodge.  You shoot some more.  Dodge some more.  Then you shoot while dodging and dodge while shooting.  Stand still, you die.  Don’t shoot, you die.

Treasure hasn’t tried to reinvent the rail shooter, but instead has elected to take full advantage of what a home console shooter can do.  The levels are huge.  The bosses complex and rewarding to defeat.  And there’s enough variety of enemies and levels to keep gamers looking for a hardcore shooter interested.

The game supports two players.  The first player controls a character and shoots.  The second player just shoots.  I haven’t tried this yet, but I can see why.  There just wouldn’t be much point to having two characters on screen at the same time because usually the screen is so filled with enemies and enemy bullets that there will only be one safe spot to be standing at any time.  Two characters would just confuse each other, get in each other’s way.

And here comes S&P’s second biggest weakness.  It is tough.  Tough as hell.  Even playing on easy, you’ll find yourself facing defeat at later levels.  Fortunately, the game makes liberal use of checkpoints.  Don’t you hate games where you die and have to walk all the way back from point A to point B, only to die again and go right back to point A?  Well, this is rarely a problem in S&P, which has checkpoints like mad.  In fact, this is one of the only games I’ve ever played where even the boss fights have checkpoints.  Sometimes, they even have multiple checkpoints.  And you’re going to need them.

S&P has some nice gameplay options.  After you beat a level, you can always jump right to it and practice.  It keeps track of high scores, and you can even compare your high scores to other players across the world via the Wii’s internet connection.  There’s something charming about this to me.  S&P is a flashback to a time when scores meant something.  Whether it’s topping your personal best or striving to make your mark, watching your score rise can be an old school  joy.  One of the things I love about the gameplay is that you have a score multiplier that rises the more bad guys you destroy, but falls whenever you get hit.  Even if you’re nowhere near dying, you’ll still wince as you take a hit and watch that multiplier fall.

Let’s just get down to this.  The Wii takes a lot of heat (some of it justified) for being a system that plays it safe with countless Mario games and silly little casual game trifles.  But there are some genuinely hardcore games for it, and this is one of them.  Granted, it doesn’t have the hardcore game look.  It stars strangely garbed children and involves a storyline that is both mystical and absurd.  Nobody is grizzled.  The bad guys all look nearly as weird as our heroes, and most people will probably take one look and label it “gay” or “kid’s stuff” and move on.

But S&P is great and unique.  It’s flaws are forgivable.  This is a game that dares to break the mold, that is both retro and next gen.  So check it out.  You might just be surprised.

So The Punisher is now a Frankenstein-style monster in the mainstream Marvel Comics.  It’s pretty weird, but considering it’s one of the few mainstream Marvel Comics I’m enjoying, I can live with it.  It helps that I am a big monster fan, and that anything with Man-Thing, Werewolf by Night, and The Living Mummy is A-OK in my universe.  The first story arc was a bit bloodier than I would’ve liked, but that’s a ridiculous complaint when we’re talking about a vigilante who is defined by his merciless talent for killing people.

The only downside is that in a few months, The Punisher will be confronting Wolverine Jr., the guy who sliced him to pieces.  I just don’t like Wolvie Jr.  He’s a dumb idea.  And one of his claws comes directly out of his wrists.  Wouldn’t that be awkward as hell?  Of course, he’s also got tribal tattoos, which make him look way too 90′s.  And wouldn’t Wolverine Jr.’s healing ability make tattoos impossible?

I’m not a fan of spinoff characters that are basically identical to the original.  Never liked War Machine for this reason.  Or Venom.  Or Wolverine Jr.  Or Girl Wolverine.  After a while, it just succeeds in making the original character seem less special.  But Wolverine Jr. is especially dumb because he’s the “dark” version.  Isn’t Original Flavor Wolverine supposed to be the dark version of superheroes to begin with?  Or have we become so jaded now that the brutal berserker with the power to stab people isn’t dark enough?  Don’t answer that.  Either answer would just make me sad.

Oh, right.  This was supposed to be a pithier, more positive post.  Sorry about that.

Beta Ray Bill is a spinoff character I can get behind.  For those not in the know, Beta Ray Bill is an alien horseman with the power of Thor.  He’s pretty much Thor, but in space.  Not only does he get his own cool magic hammer, but he also gets a spaceship.  So, yeah, he’s awesome.

Bought a new book today.  Last Call by Daniel Okrent.  It’s about Prohibition.  Haven’t read much yet, but what I’ve read, I’ve liked.

Okay, well, guess it’s time to get back to work.  Catch you later, gang.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

The paychecks.

Yes, getting paid to write is just fantastic.  I highly recommend it.

This is not to imply that I don’t love lots of other great things about writing.  I do love making up stories and characters and getting to be creative.  I love it when fans tell me they’ve enjoyed something I’ve written, that it’s enlightened their souls or merely made their day just a little brighter.  I like going to conventions, meeting fellow writers, and hanging out.  I love all these things and more.

But, above all, I love the paycheck.

This isn’t quite as mercennary as it might sound.  I love being an artist, being creative.  But getting paid to write . . . well . . .  there’s nothing quite like it.  This is probably my biggest strike against self-publishing.  Self-publishing can be a rich, rewarding experience.  It has a lot to offer.  But there’s no sense of satisfaction like depositing a check with your name on it that says, “You are a writer, and here’s a few bucks to say thanks.”

You just can’t beat it.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Bottom Line:  I wasted way too much time writing this to just let it go.  So maybe if you’re really bored, you can read it.  Or not.  It’s your call.

I should be writing.  I’m behind in my latest manuscript, and I’d like to get it done soon.  But it’s late.  I’m tired.  And so in an effort to fool my brain into thinking I’m productive, I’m going to write a blog entry instead and then go to bed.

As any regular reader of these posts knows, I’m a skeptic.  In particular, I think ghosts and the paranormal are complete bunk.  Nonsense.  Balderdash.  Foofurall.  You get the idea.

Still, I find myself watching “reality” ghost hunting shows in whatever form they appear.  There’s the pseudoscientific approach of shows like Ghost Hunters & Ghost Lab.  There’s the supernatural evil approach of shows like Paranormal State & Extreme Paranormal.  There’s the scaredy cat, run from spooky noises style of Most Haunted & Ghost Adventures.  The style may differ a bit, but the message is always the same.  Ghosts are real, and these folks have proof.

Sort of.  It all depends on what you consider “proof”.  If a weird sound caught on garbled audio recordings or a shadow you can’t readily identify qualify as “proof”, then they’ve got you covered.  If you want bleeding walls, geniune apparitions, or even a single levitation or bent spoon, then you’re outta luck.

So let’s just assume for a second that there are no such things as ghosts and that the paranormal is just a figment of our collective imagination.  I know.  It’s a stretch, a leap of faith.  So many people believe in ghosts, have had unexplained encounters, have experienced the paranormal on a personal basis.  They can’t all be fooling themselves.  They can’t all be mistaken, can they?

But what if they are?  What if the spooky feeling we get in a darkened room is just a trick of our paranoid, reptillian brain?  What if cold spots are just cold spots?  What if EVP is just our fevered intellect trying to make sense of confusing sensory experience?  And what if every scary “true life” ghost story you’ve ever heard, seen, or read is either a lie or a mistake?

That, to me, is scarier than any ghost or goblin.

My theory on human behavior (which I assume is hardly original and has probably been thought up ages ago by people far smarter than me) is that most of us are incapable of accepting the possibilty of self-deception.  Not just in ourselves, but in everyone.  Especially anyone we trust or who seems trustworthy.  We believe people can lie.  We know people can lie.  Because we lie.  All of us.  All the time.  Most of these are harmless, and that’s no big deal.  But we do know that people can lie and do so regularly.

But the idea that someone might think they’re telling the truth and just be wrong is different.  It’s not something we like to think about.  On a primal level, I think it’s because we have to trust our senses because, for the most part, they keep us on track.  It’s my sense of sight that lets me see the words I write right now, and my fingers feel the keys as I type.  I don’t usually walk into walls.  I know if my milk has gone bad after a taste.  And while I have a lousy sense of smell, if something catches on fire, I’ll usually smell the smoke.  Without our senses, we’re just a lump of fat squished in a stumbling, bumbling cage of meat.

But let’s talk about something deeper than just a trust of our senses.  What we’re really worried about is trusting our judgment.  Because without judgment, how can we really trust anything.  A failing of judgment is what separates fears from phobias.  If you get put off by spiders, you’re normal.  If you huddle in the corner and shriek at the mere sight of one, then you’re not.  If you believe that Jesus loves you and going to church is good for you, you’re normal.  If you think Jesus loves you and wants you to kill French Canadians, you’re not.

We do understand crazy people because there are enough examples.  Extreme, bizarre, and unconventional behavior distinguishes itself in the looney category.  It’s weird, sometimes unsettling, but since it’s clearly looney, it’s no big deal.  If you’re best friend came to you and said he was King of Atlantis and was preparing to wage war on the USA with his magic spatula, you’d probably back away slowly.

But what if your friend told you they saw a ghost?  Not so easy, is it?  Because even if your friend is mistaken, they’re not really acting crazy.  Until they start blowing themselves up or drinking poison or wrestling bears for kicks.  Then they cross a clear line.  It says, “This person is unstable, confused, and dangerous”.  And it’s easy to identify.

But when I watch the ghost hunting shows, I find myself thinking more and more that these people are just a little looney.  They have convinced themselves of something that isn’t there.  Perhaps it’s because they place too much faith in their senses and the senses of others.

Rarely in these shows does the possibilty of self-deception ever come up.  The usual course of investigation is to ask yourself if someone or something you know caused the phenomena (I use the term loosely).  Then you ask if someone is faking it.  But hardly ever is the question asked, “Are we misinterpreting this data?”

Watch a ghost hunting show.  Really.  Do it.  Just once.  Even if you don’t believe in ghosts (and even if you do).  And notice how rarely the participants ever suggest this possibility.

Because to believe that is against our natures.  More importantly, to believe that is to question our judgment at its core.  If ghosts are not real and merely a shared self-deception of most of the terran species, even otherwise perfectly sane and functional human beings, then all bets are off when you think about it.

Most everyone on these ghost hunting shows seems normal.  They are normal.  In most everyday situations, they function fine.  The Ghost Hunters are plumbers with families and homes and ordinary lives outside of their ghost hunting activities.  The demon fighters of Paranormal State seem like nice, congenial kids.  The Ghost Adventures dudes are goofballs, but they aren’t dangerous goofballs.  And if they weren’t lucky enough to get paid to run around empty buildings, jumping at shadows, I’m sure they could be productive members of society.  Well, not willing to bet on it, but let’s just assume they could hold a job and manage not to walk into traffic.  The people who believe in ghosts, tarot, astrology, psychic powers, and holistic medicine are a varied lot, and in most situations, they are indistinguishable from people such as myself (aka The Skeptics).

But what if they’re wrong?  What if in this one area, they’re mistaken?

And just to play my own devil’s advocate, what if I’m wrong?  What if astrology works?  What if germ theory is incorrect?  What if evolution is just a big wrong track?

I don’t believe this to be true, but this belief is only as sound as my judgment.  And the one thing my judgment can never really judge is itself.  Whoa.  I think I just went zen there.

My point (and I do have one finally if you stuck with this long enough) is that a healthy questioning of our own perceptions is important, even necessary to be a functional person.  We must never take our assumptions for granted, always be ready to discard old ideas, no matter how sacred.

If you think about it, this is a constant process throughout our history.  The religions of today are not the religions of yesterday.  The science of old has been replaced with more up to date knowledge.  Theories of government, biology, human behavior, astronomy, etc., etc., etc. have all evolved.  This is undeniable, even if you don’t believe in evolution.  And this is a good thing, and the world is a better place (overall) for it.

Skepticism is important.  Skepticism works.  But it works best when we’re willing to admit that we have to even be skeptical of ourselves.  Unless you take it too far, I suppose and refuse to take anything for granted.  In which case, you’re a looney.  Or living in the matrix, although for that to make any sense your body would have to produce enough energy to power a giant robot and that would violate the laws of thermodynamics.  Personally, I find that harder to believe than ghosts.

But that’s just me.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee