It even gave me some ideas for some good blog posts.

Today, I’d like to write about a conversation I had with a fan.  He approached me after a panel and remarked that he had seen me on a panel from last year on the subject of copyright.  He was struck immediately by my lax view of copyright, and how I didn’t think it should last nearly as long as it does.  It intrigued him enough that he went ahead and bought one of my books.

First, that’s always wonderful to hear.  While I do enjoy sci fi cons, I don’t do them for my own pleasure.  I do them for the exposure, to get people excited about my books.  If I can get one or two people to take a chance on something I’ve written, then I consider things a rousing success.  One step at a time, right?

Even better, he read the first book, liked it, and bought another.  Don’t remember which books he mentioned, but he said that he enjoyed the second book too and had recently bought a third.  All great news.

Then he mentioned that he could see why I didn’t fear shorter copyright laws because I was constantly creating new characters and settings, so while another writer might have a vested interest in preserving their primary creation / universe, I was clearly a guy who’d just go make another.

For the record, I don’t think of myself as more creative as other writers.  Well, some other writers, sure.  But there are plenty of creative writers who are primarily series writers.  And it’s worked out well for them.  It’s just not my thing.

While it’s not my intention to free myself from copyright concerns by writing varied characters and universes, perhaps that’s an accidental byproduct.  Whereas many writers are looking for that golden goose to pin their career on, I’m more interested in writing fun, cool, varied fantasy stories.  While it has probably stifled my career’s growth, bucking a common trend, it’s also helped me in other ways.  And maybe one of those ways is giving me the confidence to believe that I don’t need to hold onto a story forever.

I like coypright.  I certainly like getting paid to create stories, but I do think there’s a danger of creative stagnation that comes with current copyright law.  It’s most visible in comic book superheroes, where so many older characters refuse to step aside for the next generation.  (Although this is trademark law, which is slightly different, but close enough for our purposes.)  Would Marvel continue to publish Spider-Man comics if the character was in the public domain?  Maybe.  But they’d also have the impetus to create new characters that could be more reliable revenue producers.

It’s true.  If I only had one money-making character / universe at my disposal, I’d want to hold onto as long as possible.  But I don’t.  Or at least, I choose not to.  Maybe it’s because I’m dumb.  Given current copyright law, one really strong, popular idea is worth a dozen less popular ones.  As I’ve said before, if I was writing my ninth Gil’s All Fright Diner novel, I’d probably be in a stronger place as a novelologist.  I don’t begrudge any writer who takes that path.

I just decided not to.  Rather, I just ended up going another way, mostly by habit and accident.

There are bonuses.  My fans tend to enjoy that I don’t write sequels.  They almost always have a favorite character / setting they’d love to read more of, but they also appreciate the variety.  And at least one guy respects me for it, which is always nice.

And then there’s Hollywood.  I’ve been fortunate enough to dip my toe in that pool, and it’s been a lucrative, fun experience.  I’ve earned a small reputation as a creative guy who can come up with cool ideas.  I’ve had several books optioned for films.  I can’t say whether they’ll go anywhere, but there still out there, still working for me, earning me a check now and then.  And getting me work that I never imagined I’d do.  Yes, I’ve written quite a few treatments and worked as a consultant.  I don’t think that would’ve happened if I’d just written a long-standing series, though if I were lucky enough to have a popular long-standing series, I’d have no reason to complain.

But I don’t have one of those.

What I do have is eight (make that nine, next year) fantasy / sci fi novels that have done respectably well, and a reputation as a creative guy who isn’t afraid to experiment a little bit.  That’s just fine by me.

Though selling more books is always something to strive for.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

One of the reasons I don’t like being considered a silly writer is that it lowers the bar.  Silly is fine, but it’s just a trifling thing.  It will always be considered unimportant.  And to some degree that’s to my advantage.  If someone reads a story of mine with no other expectation than to be entertained by some strange humor or weird situations, then it’s a standard I can usually meet.  If I was purely out to make a buck, then I’d be perfectly happy with that standard.  It’s not especially challenging, and others have built a career out of this kind of escapist fiction.  Writers I even admire.

But I have to admit, it bugs me to be thought of as slight and hollow.  I’m not writing the most meaningful fiction in the universe, and I’m certainly not out to change the world with my stories.  But they aren’t just stupid stories.  Not to me, at least.

What’s often frustrating to me isn’t my own writing and its reception, but the reception and excuse-making of other writings.  It annoys me to no end when someone excuses bad writing because a story is dumb and I shouldn’t expect it to be good.  It bugs me even more when a writer makes the same excuse.  In my last post, I mentioned my disappointment that DC Comics took the previously established short and stout Amanda Waller and turned her into another supermodel.  I’ve heard more than one comment on other sites that people are making too big deal about this, that comic book superheroes are “escapism” and who really cares if every single character is traditionally thin and good-looking?

I care.  And so do other people.

The notion that comic books are a lesser form of media and as such, are given free reign to avoid diversity is a false one.  I’m not saying I want comic book superheroes to go out of their way to be relevant and important, but just because they’re stories about people in funny costumes fighting aliens and evil clowns, that doesn’t excuse an outright hostility toward non-traditional character types.

The thing about escapism, about silliness, is that it actually matters a whole hell of a lot.  Because as much as we want to believe there’s a separation between meaningful media and silly media, there isn’t.  Both have tremendous influence on us as a culture and how we perceive things.  In fact, I sometimes think silly, escapist media is even more influential.  Because meaningful media is stuff we’re supposed to like, but escapist media is stuff we seek out.

This is why I’ve never bought in the idea that something like Jersey Shore or The Real Housewives as being meaningless candy.  More people have probably watched these shows than the latest academy award winning movie.  And regardless of how much we might pretend to laugh at the people who star in those shows, there’s no denying their influence.  You can bet there are plenty of folks who model their personalities after the morons of Jersey Shore.  And why should that be surprising?  People lined up in droves to get “The Rachel” haircut while Friends was popular.  And Marlon Brando made leather jackets cool.  We are influenced by our media, whether we admit it or not, and escapist, entertaining media is what we most often seek out and imitate.

All artists have a responsibility, even if they deny it.  When I wrote Gil’s All Fright Diner it wasn’t my intention to insult anyone with the fat jokes at Loretta’s expense.  I still stand by the book and think she’s a great character.  But it doesn’t change the fact that some people were put off by it, and I can certainly see why.  More importantly, if my response to their anger was a dismissive “Well, it’s just a silly story so get over it” I’d be guilty of ducking the responsibility.  After all, Gil’s is probably still my most popular novel.  It won several prominent bits of recognition.  So it’s hypocritical to say that it’s “silly, inconsequential” when it suits me, and “smart, clever” at other times.

It’s a paradox of sorts.  Shows like Jersey Shore, Real Housewives, etc. are popular and make a lot of money.  And they make a lot of money because people watch them.  But if confronted with their influence, producers and stars will often say they’re just TV shows and they don’t matter.  So apparently they matter enough that they earn millions of dollars but not enough that they actually have any influence on our culture.

In Bruce Campbell’s great autobiography, If Chins Could Kill, he observed that he once got a letter from someone who said his television show, The Adventures of Brisco County Jr., had saved their life.  Campbell was deeply flattered, but also reluctant to accept this.  He understood that if you take credit for saving someone’s life, you have to also be ready to take credit for the opposite,  Yet media is quick to do exactly that.

Even if I am just a silly writer, I refuse to embrace the label because it would mean that my work, my art, would be ultimately meaningless.  But I don’t write meaningless stories.  I write from a certain point of view, and I have influence, whether I want it or not.  Even the stupidest story means something to someone.  Even the most mindless piece of art can affect someone in profound ways.  And the artist can’t deny that responsibility when it suits him.

But this isn’t just about art and media.  This is about all of us.  We are all tremendously influential, whether we realize it or not.  Our kind words can make all the difference in the world.  Our bad moods can spread like wildfire.  Our fears, our loves, our compassion, our disgust, these things aren’t self-contained.  They reach out and touch everyone around us.

Sure, as a novelologist, I have a larger reach than most people.  And if my career continues to grow, that influence will grow with it.  The more money I make, the more fame I gather, the less comfortable I am with the idea that I’m merely a silly writer of insubstantial stories.  And as I ponder the nature of media in this day and age, too many people try to avoid their obvious affect on our society even as they cash the huge checks that come with that influence.

There are no silly stories, no meaningless cotton candy entertainment.  It all goes into the cultural mix, and while that doesn’t mean every story has to be conscientious, uplifting, or insightful, it does mean that we can’t dismiss any of it as unimportant just because it’s about superheroes, robots, or egotistical chumps from New Jersey.  Because it all matters.

There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a little light entertainment, a little frivolity and silly escapism.  But escapist does not equal meaningless.  And while not every story can (or even should) be culturally enlightening, every story that reaches the world shapes it somehow.

We are who we admire, who we pretend to be.  We model ourselves and our world after our art.  Art imitates life, but life imitates art.  And if you’re confident on which has more influence on which, congratulations on that.  I’m not so sure.

All I know is that if being taken seriously as a writer means taking lumps for intended and unintended influence, it’s a burden I bear gladly compared to the alternative.  Although really, I don’t have any other choice.

None of us do.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

Maybe it’s the zen in me, but I see a world in constant transition.  You’d think people would understand this more often, but too often, it seems as if they believe the universe was born the second they were and that it will end the moment they die.  Or, even if it doesn’t end, it will become something different and unrecocnizeable and, by extension, horrific or terrifying.

The horror is usually less about any specific change and more about change in general.  The very concept disturbs us.  Whether it’s little changes like slang and fashion OR big stuff like death and morality, we are constantly trying to find something to hold onto.  I think concepts like the divine exist to give us something to anchor ourselves.  Because without an anchor, the universe can seem a huge and impossible place, indifferent to everything we are.

This is why I think people fear death, for example.  I’m not sure people actually do fear it.  I think they just don’t know what to do with it.  Removing the supernatural from the equation, just for a moment’s indulgence, the notion that you can be and then NOT be isn’t so much terrifying as unimaginable.  And if you really start thinking about it, the idea that in a thousand years, no one is likely to remember you existed is just bizarre.  After all, you exist.  And since you are, for better or worse, at the center of your own viewpoint, this doesn’t make any sense.  So we believe in a universe where that isn’t true, a world where divine forces care about you.

Yet even this raises uncomfortable questions.  If I were to exist forever, what version of me would be allowed to?  I am not the person I was when I was one year old.  I am not the person I was when I was 10.  Or 23.  Heck, there are moments when I realize how different I am from only a few months ago.  Which one of these people is the real me?  Are any of them?  Is there some special reality, some cosmic waiting room where all of me, in all forms, exist?  Even the concept of ME requires me to suggest an immutability I just don’t see.

In the 60′s the Civli Rights movement changed so many sacred values, usually for the better.  Although there are those who would disagree with that, but we’ll just ignore them.  But for decades, segregation was the law of the land, unquestionable, and so obviously logical that most people didn’t question it.  And then, several turbulent decades later, here we are.

Even in little things, I find well-meaning people decrying changes that have come.  How many people despise technology for it’s alienating effects.  I read how internet and cell phones are making it hard for families to relate to each other, and I ask, hasn’t that always been true?  Were families in the 50s close and friendly?  Or is that just an illusion of time and Leave it to Beaver reruns?

And maybe there are constants after all.  Maybe the only change is the boxes where we put those constants.  Families have always had a hard time relating to each other because people have a hard time relating to each other.  It isn’t the internet, TV, or comic books that make that so.  It’s human nature.

People have always been violent.  We are not more violent than we were.  We’ve just gotten more efficient.  It isn’t guns that make people kill (though, honestly, they do make killing a whole hell of a lot easier).  And it isn’t fear of guns that keeps people from killing.  Most people don’t want to kill.  Some people do.  Why they do it usually is irrelevant.  Which is a genuinely frightening proposition.

The rich will always hoard.  The poor will always be neglected.  The older generation will always gripe at the younger generation.  People will fight.  People will be charitable.  Atrocities will be committed without justification.  Our best laid plans will fall apart.  We will live.  And we will die.  And all of these things will happen, in one form or another, until an asteroid hits the planet or Jesus comes back or The Mighty Robot King returns from Planet R or we all just fade away with nothing but a couple of pyramids to remember us by.

Change is something we seek to avoid.  We shun it.  We pretend it doesn’t exist.  We wish the world would just settle into a reality we like and freeze.  And when it doesn’t, we get irritated, even angered.  We label the agents of change as evil or misguided, as if we can beat back the chaos around us through sheer willpower.  And we always end up looking stupid when we do.

All I know is it’s late, and I’m tired.  So I’ll catch you later, gang.

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

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

All kidding aside, I missed ya, gang.

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

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

It varies.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

I mean, really.

Just wanted to be clear on that.

Also, my CREATE A TITLE FOR A SYFY ORIGINAL MOVIE contest is over.  I had a ton of great entries.  So many that I think I’ll end up having a winner and two or three runner ups.  I’ll be posting a list of all the titles as well as my choice for the lucky winners in a day or two.  So stay tuned.

But enough of that.  While striving to come up with an interesting topic for my latest blog post, I was fortunate enough to have a recent comment provide that topic for me.

Do you read books written by other writers who write in the same kind of themes and tone that you write? Examples above being Michael Rubens sci-fi novel The Sheriff of Yrnameer, and John Connoly’s The Gates.

Do you feel like there is competition or animosity between writers who have similar styles of writing in terms of theme, tone, and character?

Have you ever one a single game of Heroscape using Brunak? He never seems to work well for me, despite the fact he looks super awesome.

Bradley

Well, Bradley.  Thanks for the questions first of all. 

To answer your first question, No, I don’t really read “similar” writers with “similar” styles.  I put the “similar” in quotes because, as I’ve mentioned more than once, I don’t really consider myself a comedic fantasy writer despite the fact that nearly every other sentient being in this universe does.  Heck, even my dog thinks I’m funny.

Frankly, I’m not just a fan of most “comedic” fantasy.  Most of it just doesn’t do much for me.  I don’t think that’s a flaw in those books as just a personal thing.  There’s plenty of great comedic fantasy out there.  I just don’t read much of it.  But, and here’s the truth, I just don’t read much fiction anymore.  Somehow, I slowly transitioned into a non-fiction reader.  I don’t know why fiction stopped holding my interest, but I think it just has to do with the fact that I don’t read a lot. 

(I know, I know.  I’m a writer.  I’m not supposed to admit that.  But I’m a busy guy.  I have games to play and world domination to plot.  I do actually read quite a bit, but very little of it is fiction of any genre, much less my own.)

To your second question, I can’t speak for other writers, but I don’t bear any animosity toward other successful writers, whether they’re “similar” to my style or not.  (Sorry. But I gotta throw in the quotation marks because perceptions of style are so individual that I find them hard to take seriously.)   When my first book, Gil’s All Fright Diner, came out I was compared to Christopher Moore.  An Amazon review even criticized me for aping Moore’s style too closely.  Yet, up to that point, I’d never even heard of Moore.  Since then, I’ve read some of Moore’s work, and I don’t think we write very much alike at all.  But that’s just one guy’s opinion.

And that’s something I realized a long time ago.  People are going to draw comparisons.  If the comparisons are meant as a compliment, then I take them as such, regardless of if I agree with them.

The flip side is that it’s quite possible to end up in a losing battle with comparisons.  The Christopher Moore comparisons are perhaps the most common ones I come across, and not all of them are positive.  Just because someone is a fan of a “similar” writer, doesn’t mean they’ll like my work.  But, again, that’s not Moore’s doing.  And, if it wasn’t Moore (or Douglas Adams or Terry Pratchett) it’d just be someone else.  Nothing exists in a vacuum.  You just can’t get around it.  So you just deal with it, good and bad.

Finally, have I used Brunak?  Yes, I have.  Not many times, but I have about a billion Heroscape units (give or take), and I always like to try new combinations.  The units I use most reliably are probably The Venoc Warlord and Major Q10.  And I do love a good ol’ fashioned HORDE OF ORCS!  Mwahahahaha!  Suicidal, bloodthirsty, raging orcs charging fearlessly into the jaws of death!  Truly, that is a beautiful thing.

Thanks again for the questions, Bradley.

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

It’s not as if I don’t believe their is any such animal.  There are liberals and conservatives, individuals and organizations that embody those philosophies nearly perfectly.  Yet most of us are more nuanced, more interesting than that.  Only when we admit that we ourselves or those with whom we disagree are more than labels can we ever hope to achieve genuine discourse.

The problem with these labels (indeed all labels) is that they are merely tools to understanding our universe.  They aren’t truths.  In the cosmic scheme of things, there is no liberal and conservative.  No one could reasonably suggest that a bear or a tree or the galaxy is liberal or conservative.  While it’s true there are, by our own definitions, liberal and conservative views, even most of these are up for debate and not even everyone agrees on them.

But let’s pretend, for the sake of argument, that every idea in the universe could be labeled liberal / conservative.  And let’s pretend that each of these is a grain of sand in the heap of sand that makes up our own personal political philosophies.  If we remove a grain of sand, does it stop being a heap?  If someone defines themselves as conservative but they happen to be pro-choice, are they wrong?  If they held every other conservative idea in the universe as sacred but this, would it negate their conservative status?

And that’s the problem.  When we label, we make broad sweeping assumptions.  Assumptions that really don’t hold up under this kind of analysis.  I would be more willing to believe liberal / conservative labels except for the idea that they must be applied at all times.  Everyone in America is either of these, yet some people should be logically considered neither if only for the fact that they carry a close mix of both arbitrary types of opinions.

It’s not difficult to argue that Sarah Palin is Conservative or that Jeanine Garafalo is Liberal.  But when it comes to folks like Jon Stewart, is he really a liberal?  I don’t think so.  Stewart might have liberal leanings, but his commentary and thoughts are some of the most nuanced and intelligent you will find anywhere (even if surrounded by jokes).  Yet our perceptions do not allow Stewart to be neutral.  He MUST be one or the other.  There is no choice.  It’s not that we want Stewart to be liberal.  We NEED him to be liberal.  Because if we don’t know where he fits in our much cherished tidy little universe then how do we know how to relate to him?  We become our labels because it’s expected of us and then we demand others wear theirs because that’s how the game is played.  We don’t know how to play it any other way.

Doesn’t it bug anyone else that we live in a world where this sort of broad labeling is applied to everything as if it’s truth?  It’s as if everything, not just politics, can be summarized in a one or two word description and everything else about it is irrelevant.  Man.  Woman.  Patriotic.  Socialism.  Pro-Life.  Pro-Choice.  Funny.  Heartfelt.  Literature.  Genre.  Silly.  Zany.  Wacky.  Liberal.  Conservative.

The list goes on and on, and all it does is imprison us in a cage of pre-conceived notions and inherited sacred cows.  It’s time we grew up and realized that the world is not so simple, and, honestly, it never was.

Fighting the good fight, Writing the good write,

Lee

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