Here’s an excerpt:

A San Francisco cable car holds 60 people. This blog was viewed about 1,700 times in 2011. If it were a cable car, it would take about 28 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.

http://www.ferretbrain.com/articles/article-295

Dan says it pretty much exactly how I wish I could.

Update:

There may be spoilers?

I think the best way to respond to this book is by naming as many ways that I thought it could have been improved while reading it.

Firstly, this book is, in essence, structured through a frame narrative: We are introduced to an innkeeper, Kote, and several local villagers. They aren’t important (although two show up at the very, very end so you need to keep track anyway). Mysterious bad things show up that the incredulous locals do not believe in, but Kote goes out and slaughters the not-demons anyway, because he knows better. Unfortunately for Kote, a famed storyteller (or something) shows up and announces he knows of Kote’s secret past as Kvothe, the Hero who is so Heroic most people don’t believe he really existed, despite the fact that his heroics took place not even five years ago.

Don’t ask me.

So Kvothe gives in to the storyteller and agrees to tell his story. For some reason this skinny guy with no particular prowess or even equivalent intellectual power still outmaneuvers the hero. Well, the reason is otherwise we wouldn’t have the story, short of it being written entirely in first person. Turns out Kvothe was born a genius–a proper genius, not just smart, but literally brilliant–into some kind of travelling entertainment troupe. His parents loved him and he ended up with a tutor in magic who is put on a bus and as yet not heard from again. He gets a lot of page time for such an abrupt dismissal, but there you are. Then the parents and the rest of the troupe are murdered by the Chandrian, which is ostensibly Kvothe’s driving motive. Except the 11-year-old Kvothe instead runs away to the forest for a year, then to the city for three more.

At which point we reach a major theme of the novel which is, if you aren’t poor like Kvothe, you can never have any idea what it means to be poor like Kvothe. Though since this is a fiction book, I rather expect it to teach me what it means to be that poor, rather than simply insisting I don’t know what it’s like. Especially since Kvothe doesn’t particularly seem to suffer from being poor. Seriously, he’s an urchin in an urban medieval-type city, that should be awful.

Anyway, Kvothe finally decides not be be desperately poor anymore and goes to the magic school, where he is just so brilliant they let him, even though they have absolutely no reason too: no money, no recommendation. He’s just That Good. And he makes friends with a few other guys who are kinda at the bottom rung as well (maybe: they all get names and a bit of page-space, but not much and I kept forgetting who they were). And then he antagonizes the queen (king?) bee of the school, Ambrose, whose father is uber-rich and powerful and crushes anyone who doesn’t like his son because he has nothing better to do? Kvothe is supposed to be astute and good with people and a super genius–I have no idea why he couldn’t not be stupid about this or stand up to him in any other way: suffice to stay it’s a stupid conflict that really doesn’t match anything else and comes up too fast and lasts too long.

At this point the novel goes on: Kvothe is an incredible, transformative musician, great at magic of both types (I’m not sure what the difference is), builds perfect devices that even when illegal or ill-advised are still allowed, meets girls whole love him for no good reason and goes places and does things none of which made much impression. Go read Dan’s article again, he does a much better job overall. I’m just bored remembering it.

So how could this have worked?

1) It would have been awesome if Kote the badass innkeeper was 50-60 years old rather than his mid-twenties. For one thing, it would have been a lot more impressive, and make his world-weary ennui far more understandable and even heartbreaking. (Rothfuss handles his prose skillfully, if not his subject matter).

2) What if young Kvothe hadn’t been born a genius? A good third of his problematic characterization would have been solved right there!

2.5) Young Kvothe’s storyline would be far more effective it had taken place over, say, a minimum of twenty years. Again, because he’s not a genius, his school takes longer and he has to undergo actual struggle to learn proper magic–he could have still had a unusual flair for creative spellcasting or something that makes his work Better Than Yours, but he wouldn’t be infuriatingly precocious and get away with all that he does. He might have actually learned and grown while on the streets of the city, rather than unaccountably simply deciding he doesn’t want to be a street rat anymore. His school years (because it would have taken years) would mean he’d have to actually figure out how the system worked and how the master’s related to each other and what the back stories of the school and characters are before he could a) figure out how to manipulate it all to his advantage and b) without simply being told just because. Also, again: he’d have to expend actual effort.

3) There wouldn’t be the slightly skeevy romantic relationships. Kvothe isn’t supposed to know how to deal with women (although after living such a distrustful life on the streets during such a crucial point in his development, how does he know how to deal with people at all?), and yet, he’s got at least three who ‘admire’ him. There’s Denna, who’s his One True Love, which we know because he meets her first, at which point there’s nothing at all to indicate that they have chemistry, and they never do, but he finds her sexually exciting: very Nice Guy syndrome, no one else could treat her as well, they have conversations! etc. There’s the blonde (?) girl who’s a money-lender, who breaks her own lending rules for him just ’cause. And then there’s the psychologically damaged girl who lives under the school and for some reason will only trust Kvothe, because he plays the best music. But I can’t forget the one Ambrose is lusting after, but who has to look to Kvothe for protection because, despite being presented as perfectly competent (other than later setting herself on fire) won’t stand up to Ambrose’s father. She’s the damsel in distress. It’s exceedingly depressing.

Conclusion: If Kvothe wasn’t a genius the story would have had to take much longer and time-wise wouldn’t be so compressed. Old Kote would be old and a lot more impressive. And he wouldn’t be such a Stu that while reading I wouldn’t be twitching right out of my chair, which is so terribly undignified.

I have NO IDEA why I liked this book. None. But the prose was pretty. So the pacing must have been pretty good too, since never got so much of Kvothe that I couldn’t finish, which by any normal laws of the universe, shouldn’t have happened.

View all my reviews

I simply want to clarify all those headlines about the measures the USPS headquarters takes to ‘save money’. It’s not because the post office is obsolete. It’s not even because the post office is losing money.

FYI: It’s Congress’s fault.

Now, Congress is at fault for a great many things, but when it comes to the Post Office, it’s almost entirely due to that august body’s shear idiocy. For one thing, it owes the Post Office some $50 billion.  Because the USPS was required to provide some 75 years of pensions. Or something. You know what? It doesn’t even matter, because nothing will be done about this.

I simply find it profoundly disappointing that the one success even tangentially related to the government has been destroyed. Nationalistic pride may be a national flaw (or something), but once upon a time, the USPS handled 40 percent of the world’s mail, and I think that was pretty cool.

Maybe Congress got jealous?

Whatever the reason, please just consider that the next time you make fun of the local post office. Remember: not too long ago, it was a very successful business, and even now you take how much it does for granted. And remember, it’s Congress’s fault. Next time, please vote.

Rouge: red, cosmetics

Rogue: a swashbuckling thief-type, much less exiting when it’s just a painted guy.

Breathe: the verb

Breath: the noun (If you’re trying for an angsty, moving scene where a character cries out to the unconscious friend, “Breath! Breath!” I’m just going to laugh very hard).

Quite/Quiet: Hopefully this is mostly a typo issue, one I’ve often had myself. Nevertheless, it’s quite a difference.

literary/literally: Actually, I’ve only seen this one place, but it’s still a funny one: “He’s literary a rouge.”

Chagrin: a word that’s impossible to take seriously anymore, and you can probably safely, if somewhat unfairly, blame Stephenie Meyer. It’s a verb, and the past tense is not spelled ‘chagrinned’.

Okay/OK:  best advice is to avoid entirely, or find a style manual wherever you might be publishing. Both seem acceptable, but since there’s no clear written provenance for the word, someone is always going to complain. A few theories are ‘okeh’ from an Amerindian word, IIRC, or Oll Korrect. Mostly because it’s primarily a spoken work (as most neologisms tend to be*) and few people go around clarifying the spelling of the words they say. For one thing, that’d take a long time. But I like “okay”, if only because it draws less attention to itself on the page.

A lot: not alot. which is something completely different, all right? Alot is a part of something, where a lot is a great deal of that something.

Speaking of: Alright & All right. Technically “all right” is always going to be acceptable, but alright is gaining traction, especially in casual usage. Similarly “a while” and “awhile”.  ”A while” is going to be correct, and if you can’t use that, “awhile” won’t be correct either.

*insert sarcasm emoticon

Re: Internet wishlists

(The point comes at the end)

I just add everything that vaguely interests me.  This causes a problem on  amazon, especially, but in knitting, there’s much less of a threshold.

I WANT IT ALL!

http://www.knitpicks.com/cfCart/viewWishlist.cfm?wishlistid=B047DD48-A9F2-C6EC-E4FE27DA2E100698&media=WLBL

So I’ll share it, because they’re doing some kind of sweepstakes. Crossed fingers and happy thoughts until tomorrow.

Be warned. This book has no literary merit whatsoever.

These first words, both on the front flap and front page, are the reason I picked up The Somnambulist and raised my hopes.

Unfortunately, those hopes were dashed.

What with such a promising voice and the subject matter–Victoriana, such possibilities!–I expected a lot more…exuberance, I think is the word. Instead, despite the promise of “no literary merit”, it’s written in a literary style. Which, quite frankly, isn’t very Victorian or pulp.

The title is misleading too. Yes, there is “the Somnambulist” but he was more a Chekhov’s gun than a character. He was introduced early, and brought back in the last few pages, but for the most part entirely forgotten in the middle.

Actually, the middle was just about a turning point. Barnes had a fairly interesting story set up in the beginning, and then the book just seemed to lose focus. Large casts can be interesting, but this book should have been Moon’s story, and the somnambulist should have had a reason for being there other than the deus ex machina. So character after character just kept being introduced, far too late for a reader to truly care, and only in time to confuse the plot and weaken the sense of suspense.

What’s almost worse is that Barnes kept lampshading these weaknesses:

They were in a bubble there, the giant thought, far removed from the world outside, and on hearing Gillman speak, he felt as though someone’s else’s story, some other narrative, were impinging itself, suddenly and without warning, upon their own.

Well, I for one, couldn’t keep track of which story was actually being told. I often enjoy metafictional devices, but here it felt they were only used to highlight the story’s weaknesses, those I wanted to ignore.

The narrative structure also distracted from the story. Complicated narrative voices can work, but this has a first person narrator telling a story in third person; not, ostensibly, about Moon, the first character (who’s not a corpse-in-waiting) we meet, or the Somnambulist, who only occasionally gets a POV, or even the narrator–though I think at the end we’re supposed to think so. Given the early set up–the narrator, Moon, and the Somnambulist, suddenly around chapter 10 and to the end, another half dozen characters all get POV time.

And while I found the narrator occasionally amusing–after the first chapter, I did laugh once or twice, the big reveal of his identity left me cold. At that point, I knew it wasn’t any POV character so far, nor any of the previous ‘big three’, so I knew it was going to be just another character.

And after the reveal, the story lost most of it’s momentum and immediacy, which is a shame because that’s when most of the action actually happened, not to mentioned the horror. A child is found beaten to death, and it was dull. And the narrator was just obnoxious, rather than amusing.

There were plenty of well-placed elements of the grotesque that added to the atmosphere. Ms. Puggsley’s, was a fantastic invention. Barnes did a good job with the female character, letting them be characters, and none of them were just what they should be as females. Unfortunately, none of them were particularly significant characters, though Charlotte should have been.

“Curious, is it not, how it is often the worst sceptics and bitterest cynics who become the most zealous of us all” And that character’s story mostly works, though we don’t see it.

<spoiler>Speight’s sign though…if you don’t see that coming…but his character and heel face turn was actually well done–like the canary in the coal mine. He’s well done in that it’s subtly done</spoiler>

Now, The Somnambulist is well written, but somehow I felt that it held the work back. Earlier, I said it should have been exuberant. The Somnambulist can’t be human! Moon is past his prime, but London is going to be destroyed! Why all the literary sophistication, when 1) the narrator is “without any ability to enthral the reader, to beguile with narrative tricks“; and 2) it’s too slow for the subject. It’s supposed to play with the ideas of Doyle (which is explicitly pointed out in the text), Poe, Wilkie Collins and even Mary Shelley–at least according to one of the blurbs. By rights, it ought to be a little fun.

This is undoubtedly because it was a stylistic choice–fair warning, at the end the narrator tells the story behind the story:

I feel sure that my skill has grown with the tale’s telling and I am concerned that the opening sections must seem amateurish and crude in comparison with later chapters. I have repeatedly asked if I might not be allowed the complete manuscript, if only for an hour or two, so that I might make some revisions and clarifications from which the work can only benefit. To date, they have denied my every request

But I can’t enjoy literary posturing just for the sake of literary posturing. Metafiction can be fun, but only when there’s enough of a story to rest on.

View all my reviews

The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie by Alan Bradley
My rating: 3 of 5 stars

When I was reading, this book didn’t earn more than two stars, and barely that, but after I set it down, I felt I should give it three. Why?

Well, first, this book is shelved under “Mystery” at the local library, and not YA. And I don’t think it’s meant to be young adult, despite the 11-year-old heroine. Yes, she’s young, but the story construction follows adult mystery series tropes pretty much by rote, and it simply doesn’t *feel* like a YA read. (Sorry, it’s been a few days since I read it, so I don’t know what I mean by that.)

The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie is your straightforward mystery series start with a *twist*! Flavia, the main character, is 11 years old. And she loves chemistry.

That conceit convinced me to check it out. But the execution lost my suspension of disbelief. I wanted to believe: when Flavia’s sisters tell her that she was adopted and claim their mother brought baby pictures to the orphanage for reference, it was a genuine sibling prank. We told my youngest brother he was dropped off by aliens, but the orphanage story is good. However, that’s all we get in the sibling relationship department for more than 300 pages. While Flavia has exactly one instance of sisterly affection, it’s over in just a few pages. For a first person novel, Flavia has remarkably limited reflection or concern.

Which brings me to the main problem I had with this novel. Flavia sounds less like a girl fascinated by chemistry, and more like a sociopath. See, when I read “eleven-year-old Flavia, an aspiring chemist with a passion for poison,” I thought she just liked the sciences. Instead, Bradley seems to have meant a child genius. Except, even for a genius, Flavia has few emotional reactions to anything. And as for a mystery-type story about a child sociopath? I Am Not A Serial Killer did it better. And yes, I think she’s a sociopath. She literally terrorizes her sister Daphne by shoving her around on the library ladder; when Daphne says “‘Sometimes you scare me,’” Flavia considers replying that she sometimes scares herself, but “then [she] remembered that silence can sometimes do more damage than words.” p 129. That she truly frightened her sister doesn’t bother her at all, especially since she can use it to her advantage. If she’d had even a momentary regret, ever…

Flavia does not read like a real child. Not because she’s too cynical (that could be done well), but because Bradley finds it necessary to keep reminding the reader at least every other page. If, after Flavia blew off her sister near the end, she still felt some vestige of affection, I might not have been so bother. This is a a series; maybe Bradley just doesn’t want to bother with actual character development.

It’s not just Flavia. Overall, the characters are weak. The supporting characters:

• Father: distant, likes stamps
• Harriet: dead mother (hopefully sequel bait, otherwise her presence in Flavia’s narration is far too intrusive)
• Ophelia: oldest sister, attractive, plays piano
• Daphne: middle sister, reads melodrama (therefore wants to be a writer & melodramatic), irrelevant
• Various villagers: quirky and deliver plot points
• Inspector Hewitt: required skeptical detective
• Dogger: the faithful dog (only he’s supposed to be a person; his character really bothered me by the end)

To switch it up, let’s talk about the mystery. As I said, this fits perfectly well into the traditional model of the cozy mystery, or is at least a subset of that genre. I don’t read a lot of any particular genres, and it’s been a while since I read a lot of the mystery genre particularly. However, I’d say The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie is fairly good mystery read. There isn’t really a lot of suspense, and the guilty party was pretty obvious as soon as he popped up, but Flavia does lots of nosing and poking around, as befits any amateur detective.

I’ve been complaining a lot, but that’s probably where this book earned the third star. If you are willing to accept Flavia’s character, you’ll probably find it an enjoyable read. I don’t want to sound like your undiscerning reader if you accept her, I’m just even more cynical than she is.

But Flavia does have it too easy. No one objects to Flavia, whether they ought to or not, even whether they have reason or not. Any difficulty she might have with a witness is resolved with in a few paragraphs. Mary Stoker works at the inn where the victim stayed, and Flavia needs her help. Apparently someone “crept up behind her” at the inn, and it reads like an assault of some kind, and at any rate, Mary is uncomfortable with it, and Flavia tries to use it against her. Maryalso resents Flavia for class differences and her sister Ophelia. And there’s this passage:

I detected instantly that she didn’t like me. It’s a fact of life that a girl can tell in a flash if another girl likes her. …Between girls there is a silent and unending flow of invisible signals, like the high-frequency wireless messages between the shore and the ships at sea, and this secret flow of dots and dashes was signaling that Mary detested me (p 85).

But because Flavia is the main character, Mary just rolls over and offers the information she needs, risking her job to do so. Because Flavia is spunky.

(Also, because I am female, and Bradley is a middle-aged man, that block quote bothers me for other reasons.)

Back to Flavia’s lack of opposition. She’s allowed in the jail to see her father because she bullies Inspector Hewitt (who is by the way, otherwise the most convincing character, mostly because he tries to oppose Flavia). Her father gives in, and gives her a full account of his back story, because she can’t find it any other way (which is to say, Bradley can’t write around it, but I found the set up unconvincing). Dr. Kissing has that last piece of the puzzle Flavia needs to solve the mystery, but doesn’t approve of woman. He’s also in a nursing home. However, he knows all the circumstances (so Flavia doesn’t have to recap for him) and forgives her for being female because she insults her sister? I’m not sure why Bradley felt it necessary to make getting information so easy for Flavia, but I would much rather have read about her struggle to be a detective in an adult world, while actually being a child, not getting an automatic pass.

</spoiler>

Also, Flavia is something of a brat. Should you know her in real life, she’d be terribly unlikable, perhaps why I never warmed up to her, since I probably would have been her victim.

Which reminds me: Flavia considers herself a chemist. She’s such an awesome chemist that she never has any problems with her chemistry, such as blowing things up, or poisoning herself (at least, not by the time this novel takes place). But I thought I remembered something about how she didn’t like general reading. And she wasn’t supposed to know much about the village. Yet throughout the novel, Flavia constantly makes literary references of all sorts, and knows all kinds of village history, at least until she interacts with another character, and needs another clue for the scavenger hunt of a mystery.

The Sweetness at the Bottom of the Pie supposedly takes place 1950 at “Buckshaw, the decaying English mansion that Flavia’s family calls home.” Despite that setting, Bradley included remarkably little atmosphere. His descriptions are serviceable, but failed to make me feel like I was there. Half the time, I forgot this wasn’t supposed to take place today.

One last note. First person can be an artificial point-of-view choice, especially in the past tense. Because the reader is in the head of the narrator, but the narrator has obviously already been through the experiences they’re narrating. So where’s the suspense? Usually, I’m willing enough to accept the premise, though I tend not to like first person in general. This novel has something of an odd first person premise: at times Flavia seems to be reflecting as her older self, but it’s also presented with immediacy (she doesn’t have the benefit of future knowledge).

This:

Was I jealous of Ophelia’s memories? Did I resent them? I don’t believe I did; it ran far deeper than that. In rather an odd way, I despised Ophelia’s memories of our mother (p 4).

versus this:

Ten o’clock had come and gone, and still I couldn’t sleep. Mostly, when the light’s out I’m a lump of lead, but tonight was different. I lay on my back, hands clasped behind my head, reviewing the day (p 22)

unless talking about her characterization. Bradley tends to use the discrepancy to characterize Flavia’s quirkiness, but it tends to stop the plot and it simply isn’t very vivid.

Overall, despite the difference in age, Flavia really is a fairly typical heroine of the series mystery. The mystery is traditional, and I think works well enough for its genre. If you like series mysteries on the more “cozy” side, you might like this. And I confess, it does have a nice title.

View all my reviews

Will that actually make a difference? I hope so. Instead of the every-other-day post, I might drop it to maybe twice a week, at least until I build up some material. Towards the end, even before November (when I actually had an excuse) many of my posts were unfocused and unedited—usually self-focused rather than for an audience.

And they call that navel-gazing—no wonder no one wants to read it!

Fiction-wise at least, I’m doing well. Thanks to 750words.com, I about 15,000 words during the last half of December, mostly fiction. Of course, that site is all about writing spontaneously and without restraint (ideally the opposite of here), so is great for getting down first drafts.

Starting this month, I’m rewriting my NaNo draft, which is even worse than I remember in terms of characterizations, pacing, and plot. However, it’s a draft, and at least I have something to work with, so I’m still positive.

As for last year, WordPress sent me an email on how they feel my blog did last year:

2010 in review

The stats helper monkeys at WordPress.com mulled over how this blog did in 2010, and here’s a high level summary of its overall blog health:

The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads Wow.

Crunchy numbers

A Boeing 747-400 passenger jet can hold 416 passengers. This blog was viewed about 3,400 times in 2010. That’s about 8 full 747s.

In 2010, there were 48 new posts, growing the total archive of this blog to 85 posts. There were 7 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 8mb.

The busiest day of the year was August 19th with 2,059 views. The most popular post that day was My Parents are Trekkies.

Where did they come from?

The top referring sites in 2010 were wordpress.com, en.wordpress.com, facebook.com, homemortgage.hvox.info, and google.com.

Some visitors came searching, mostly for modoc, captain jack modoc, star trek christmas, modoc war, and modoc tribe.

Attractions in 2010

These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.

My Parents are Trekkies August 2010
61 comments and 36 Likes on WordPress.com

The Lava Beds: Site of the (Forgotten) Modoc War July 2010

About September 2008
2 comments

Umm Kulthum June 2009
1 Like on WordPress.com,

Lightning Strikes August 2010

Happiness Is Only Real When Shared If there’s a single idea that I simply can’t stand in fiction…by which, I can’t or can only just bear to read it’s the concept of The Chosen One.

And I find it difficult to articulate exactly why.

I think in part because it’s so easy. Once you know that this story has a Chosen One, you know the Chosen One wins. Even in Star Wars, when the Chosen One goes evil, he still gets what he wants. Well, okay, that’s not the best example, because I’ve never been a very big fan and I’ve only seen the original trilogy (the ‘good’ one) in bits and pieces, though I think I’ve seen more of it. And that’s the story after the Chosen One’s story is over.

So the Chosen One always wins. That removes a significant layer of tension right there. Not that you don’t know most protagonists are going to win, or at least survive, in genre fiction. It’s conventional storytelling, and I don’t mind that. But Chosen Ones are born through prophecy, which by definition is true. And with some (even if vague) detail. Which is more information than I really want to know.

And worse, what the Chosen One does is right. I think that’s my biggest issue. Because it’s the Chosen One. He or She is going to save the world, has to be the one to save the world, and so no one else can tell them no. Generally, they can’t be wrong. Even if they make bad choices, the absolute worse consequence is a slap on the wrist.

Okay, so I confess I haven’t actually read many Chosen One stories. I tend not to be a big fan of genres that use that trope, and I avoid those stories that use it.

But I realized recently that I stopped reading Harry Potter when the Harry Potter as *the* Chosen One showed up. Not that he wasn’t all along, but in some ways that could be justified by chance, accident. Lord Voldemort can’t kill him by the Power Of Love (which I also find a more than a little aggravating, because it’s so passive in that instance) and Harry has to deal with it. Instead, it turns out that all along Harry has been the Chosen One, and is the only one who can destroy Lord Voldemort. Yeah, there was some ‘confusion’ if it could be Neville, but since Harry Potter main character and what it says on the tin, even the other (good) characters don’t consider it.

I haven’t read even the fifth book and after all the commercialization, really have no interest in the series anymore. It makes me sad, but that’s the way it goes. I have read both defenses and attacks on the later books, and I have to say the attackers have stronger arguments.

Maybe it’s not as bad as that. But I’ve been burned enough, and unless it’s the most awesomest of awesome books ever—and feel free to leave recommendations—the concept of the Chosen One is the idea that up with which I will not put.

Image via Wikipedia

It’s in the final week of practice now, so at least we’re all most completely off book! Actually, I think next practice, the director isn’t even going to use hers, and today I forgot mine, so I guess we’re already off book!

My lines are still pretty rough, but I only really had trouble in one section. My character is reacting to a shocking story, and therefore not actually replying to the doctor’s comments, just making fairly random exclamations of amazement. So not telling me much in terms of cues.

I think I want to call my youngest brother E.T. here, because his middle name was almost Thomas, and he would have had those initials. Since he feels the missed opportunity keenly, I will offer it to him here.

Anyway, E.T. told me that I’ve been louder on stage lately which is good, but on Thursday’s practice, the others told me that I wasn’t actually acting outside of this one scene. But in said scene, my character is actually angry and furiously protective, and for once has directed movement and sensible blocking. As opposed to just standing there, which is what I usually do. And in the background. And no one tells me what I am supposed to be doing there!

It’s not like I’ve done this before. Because I haven’t.

That reminds me. I keep intending to watch the play on YouTube if I can find it, see if I can get any ideas. Because I don’t even like this play very much and I have no idea on what I am doing.

At least it’s almost over. I just hope that I don’t humiliate myself.

Image via Wikipedia

As in, the decade last century, not the period of life of which I have no experience.

It didn’t really occur to me but recently that I hadn’t read much literature from the 50s. Not like my literature classes covered modern works at all—or at least not those written after the thirties (because those are technically modern). And I haven’t exactly gone out of my way to look for novels or other works written in the 50s, mostly because I rarely go out of my way to look for any reading material, I just happen to be exceptionally good at picking anything/everything up.

Specifically I read a lot, and unlike many more disciplined readers, I don’t even have a favorite genre or subject. That’s a different issue.

Anyway, recently I’ve been introduced to two different works produced in the decade of the 1950s. The first is the play in which I ended up with a fairly significant role by some mysterious twist of face (re: they didn’t have enough people audition), and the second is the novel Thirty Days Hath September, by an author who may have lacked some longevity in history because her last name is Disney, and I’m pretty sure she’s not related to The Disney. But that’s the conspiracy theory; the truth may just be that there are lots and lots and lots of authors out there who produce a great many more books, and most have not had any kind of staying power—particularly those from the 50s. Now I’m just getting factitious.

And as soon as I typed Disney, the recommendations filter went “yay! a word used as tags!” or something, and showed me The Disney.

To find Thirty Days Hath September on amazon.com I actually had to use both author names, who I don’t feel like looking up right now, because it’s just a 50s genre novel. Much like asking how easy it will be to find one of those random paperbacks in a dime store in fifty years. Yeah, not so much, even with the internet.

But back to The Curious Savage. In it, an old woman who is committed to an asylum by her three stepchildren, who are evil and crazy. And then we find out that she essentially stole all their inheritance, which was her money anyway. But she only kept the money to start a fund that would support “people with a desperate need to be foolish.” So that she could commemorate her husband. In the end, evil husbands lock their wives away after driving them crazy in the first place, but husbands who don’t (or are crazy themselves) earn the undying love of said helpmeets. As happens to Mrs. Savage, devoting your entire self, including desires and dreams, is completely fine until the husband dies, after which you devote everything to make sure he is remembered.

At least she did go out and act, since she couldn’t dye her hair blue when he was alive. (What can I say, the play is a little odd. As is the playwrite, but that’s another subject.)

Thirty Days Hath September has a great title and a moderately interesting and reasonably well-told plot. Genre-wise, it’s a mystery, and isn’t too bad—it’s full of gun shots in the night and fainting, screaming women and twins and dumping butter in the garden. Not to mention the crazy people (yes, more of them: were there just more crazy people in the 50s?) and the body under the seashells. But the narrator is a man who consistently refers to his wife as a girl (which you’d think would be disturbing) and though she has her own agency for the most part, she is still the good little woman. However, as part of this is from the narrator (who really is rather stupid) and both he and his wife come across as rather child-like, especially in comparison to the sheriff, who is very competent. They’re the summer people on a vacation island/resort area.

So both were rather problematic on several levels: you should have seen Tom’s (in Thirty Days) description of Jenny the murder victim and former career woman. But like I said, Disney’s work had a first-person narrator who wasn’t particularly clever in the first place, and for the most part all characters were given a chance to be developed. Yes, most of the women ended up weak or crazy (again) but Sally (Tom’s wife) ended up not too bad and had her own resolve, and the men weren’t any better off.

Sort of all rich people are stupid theme, come to think of it.

The Curious Savage is a little more problematic to me, mostly because of the beyond death devotion, and expectation of complete sublimation to the man. Of course, this is only what the characters say, and I really haven’t gone through and analyzed the text. In fact, I actually feel much better about my role when talking to two of the other actors who in real life serve counselor-type functions work-wise. But from all the notes left by the author, John Patrick just sounds rather pretentious anyway, so I’m probably right.

Isn’t that sound reasoning?

While following a discussion of NaNo on a forum, I read a few people who posted what they used as rewards for finishing, say 500 words, or 1,000. Like ten minutes online, or a candy bar. Well, just as I was writing, my dad came in with the half-bag of leftover Halloween Reese’s. Surely that’s not coincidence.

And maybe I’ll eat less candy too.

But it’s hard enough keeping up with this blog without having to worry about writing a novel too. And while it’s a different kind of writing, I do blog faster than I novel. If I may be excused for turning it into a verb. But I can write more than a thousand words on a subject I’m only vaguely interested in, but making up fiction takes longer.

So I think I’ll try to keep up with this here, but now I have to go write some fiction.

Image by Steve Rhodes via Flickr

Getting things done on a deadline is much easier than just generally deciding to ‘do’ something.

Something always comes with the time frame Sometime. Sometime usually comes right around never. Mostly because sometime, when you’re trying to plan for it, falls right around tomorrow. And as Hannibal says in The Curious Savage, “Today is safe, tomorrow may be filled with disaster.” Therefore, if you don’t sleep, tomorrow never comes. Anyway, only live todays and never tomorrows. Which makes Sometime awfully hard to plan for.

I’m trying NaNo again this year. National Novel Writing Month=NaNoWriMo=NaNo if you’ve spent time around certain websites lately and have maybe seen many of these permeations. Or possibly in earlier articles—it’s getting to the point that I can’t remember what I’ve written about.

For the past three years or so, I’ve intended to try NaNo. The first year I got all of three thousand words, or maybe a page and a half, and then I got busy. Then I scribbled in a notebook while hanging out in the laundry room—earning me several sideways looks from all the cool people who just abandoned their clothes. However, because of the notebook, it never got typed up and I didn’t get my participation badge on the official page. And last year was my last year of college and I missed November 1st entirely, so I just didn’t bother.

Image by owlbookdreams via Flickr

This year, I only (currently) have a part-time job, a play, several volunteer positions, and a few editing commitments, but still have lots of unstructured free time. As I think I might have said a few days and/or weeks ago in the post “Calendar Days” I need to have plans for my unstructured days or I don’t get anything done. Perhaps that is why I can’t even remember exactly what I wrote about.

I just had to stop writing to post some of the ‘recommended’ pictures, as they are very nice ones and already about NaNo! I very much like that leaf.

This year, I have an idea for a novel. Is it a good idea? That’s hard to say, especially since I can’t actually start writing about it yet. But it’s an idea. I have a little notebook called “cliffhangers” with a picture of a monkey on the cover. Inspiring, right?

My little notebook only has a few character sketches and the germ of an outline, but that’s already more than I’ve had any other year. Before, I just tried sitting at my computer (or notebook) and start writing. Maybe if I’d tried writing for more than a few pages, I might have gotten further —but without pushing past that first scene, nothing happened. And also, 2008′s “notebook” wasn’t a single book, but borrowed pages from class notes and from a sketchbook. In fact, rather than ‘noveling’ I ended up doing a nice little sketch of the folds in the black plastic trash bag.

This year, I’ll try again. And get somewhere, this time.

Let’s be honest: For readers to connect to a story, they have to identify it as a story—something has to be recognizable to the audience. A completely “original” story, if it isn’t built with the constraints of fiction and the human brain in mind, may well be incomprehensible. Which you might say is what happened in the modern era of Literature and is why no one reads anymore. But that’s a different issue.

Ultimately, it’s the execution that counts, that makes the difference that turns a cliché into an imaginative world. Because they may often have two similar plots, ideas, or even scenes.

Compare, for example, the Harry Potter series and the Inheritance Cycle.

A skilled author will convince her readers that they don’t need to question this world; while it doesn’t conform to ours, it has it’s own set of internal laws and limits of ability. I admit I couldn’t finish the later books of Harry Potter and have little interest in doing so, but couldn’t start Eragon with any integrity because so many readers lashed back against the only given law of “it works because I said so”.  And I accept their opinions because they coherently argue this conclusion with textual evidence, I’ve seen their other articles on works I do have familiarity with, and I can understand how their opinions skew—whereas many defenders of cheap, popcorn novels nearly always respond with “U cant say anything bcuz u dont publish” and I am being generous.

Now occasionally perfectly literate fans will confess that they enjoy those works, almost always with the caveat

I know that it isn’t very good objectively, but sometimes I just want to read pulp.

Since that spork, I think of the preview chapters of Bran Hambric: the Farscape Curse, I’ve been thinking about the “tropes” of fantasy fiction, and trying to come up with an argument to prove they aren’t necessarily bad—go back to the difference between idea and execution. Then I watched the newest fantasy-movie-based-on-a-book-so-it-will-be-a-blockbuster-and-make-lots-of-money, Legend of the Guardians: The Owls of Ga’Hoole—the owl movie.

Whether it’s an issue with the film or it started in the books, I certainly can’t use this movie as an example of what works. First, because Godwin’s Law should not be invoked so easily, which I want to avoid so as not to completely invalidate the rest of my argument, but there’s no denying that the antagonists call themselves the “Pure Ones”.

Then again, even the king and queen of the guardians are snowy owls and the whitest in the movie, much like the queen of the evil empire—who *spoiler* flies off in the end so as to return for the sequels.

But, especially to emphasis this fight is against GOOD and EVIL, the movie relies entirely on tropes (in this case, we can validly call them cliché) to move the plot forward, shoehorning the characters into their roles with effectively no development whatsoever—the mystical blue-tipped Hedgehog even names them: Soren “the leader”, Twilight “the warrior”, the small female who first is spunky-damsel-in-distress but ends up contributing nothing including getting kidnapped “the token girl who isn’t a mother figure”. The nursemaid snake gets to be “the heart”. Also a snake as a nursemaid to owl kids? And they are to be the Nine Walkers—wait, “Five Flyers” to save the world.

And then poor Clyde (at least that’s what it sounded like and I missed the credits). He is the designated EVIL because he is OMG!JELUZ!1!!111! of his super-talented GOOD brother, Soren. Not that Soren ever seemed particularly concerned about what his brother was actually feeling or thinking—he’s completely oblivious. Clyde evilly tells him *spoilers* at the end “Then you don’t know me at all” (paraphrased). That’s never been said before, right? But he’s right…from this movie, Soren has never had the faintest interest in getting to know his brother.

Just as Clyde’s “you don’t know me” speech might ring just slightly familiar, so does much of the dialogue. There were a few gems; inauspiciously, none of which I can remember—and even more revealing is that I can write this review in the theater while actually watching the movie, I can follow so easily the characters and story because they are so familiar. Like a fill in the blank.

I will grant most of these issues are probably the medium. Not having read the books, I don’t know how much ground is being covered (too much). It’s more a summary than a story on its own terms—critical failure for a standalone movie.

Since the movie is never as good as the book, the creators should think of it as such.

It is a beautiful movie. If you don’t have a brain that automatically analyses everything to death, more power to you. Most everything is well-rendered (if the snake looked a bit odd) and the owls are gorgeously and generously detailed. They paid full price for every feather, and it works. Even I have to admit the fight scenes were actually cool, and fun to watch—and unlike the rest of the movie, how owls might fight (even with armor), because like Alpha & Omega, it was mostly a story about humans who happen to superficially look like animals. The fighting however was in “3D” and not just in terms of having to wear special glasses because I watched it in 2D and it still worked (movie-wise instead of story-wise). But the owls used right and left and up and down when fighting and not limiting themselves to one plane. That was fun to watch.

Also, I the soundtrack was generally strong, if at times it got a little generic. They also had the odd idea of using Owl City music for a scene and for credits. Beyond the word, one of these things is not like the other. This is a dark movie, with very dark themes and the sudden intrusion of Owl City’s cheerful optimism jarred. Keep your theme in mind next time.

Image via Wikipedia

Not all my favorite characters, television show or otherwise, are attractive.

Sam Vimes up there, of course, is not supposed to be attractive. Terry Pratchett builds incredible ensemble casts of the most awesome characters ever, but Vimes steals the show even when it isn’t his book. Particularly in Monstrous Regiment.

Old Stoneface Vimes happens to be the main character of the Guards series, which is something that is a little unusual for me. Most of my favorite anythings feature an ensemble casts, but especially those one television. NCIS: Los Angeles, Criminal Minds, Warehouse 13, even Supernatural counts, though especially for the first season or so Dean and Sam were practically one character.

Now, my favorite characters in those shows are often the geeky and/or goofy one. Spencer Reid (CM), Pete (Warehouse), sort of Sam (S). Now, Castiel from Supernatural, like Sam Vimes transcends his genre into something of a pinnacle of, of…well, coolness, at the very least.

“The Voice says I’m almost out of minutes”

or

“Hooray, hooray, it’s a wonderful day, for I have found my cow!“

Image via Wikipedia

You know who fits this personal trope? Sherlock Holmes, from Sherlock. That has to be clarified to the BBC show, because in the 2009 movie, Watson definitely came out ahead. But, well, at least so far this season, I completely love Sherlock. While the dark curly hair definitely helps, it’s got to be his sheer obliviousness to, well, humanity; the intensity of his quirks, how they echo the original character; and his snark. I come from a sarcastic family, and all these British television shows make me want to live there.

So Benedict Cumberbatch has the best name I’ve ever heard, but is a little odd looking. His face is definitely dramatic—or maybe it’s just emphasized by the cinematography, which throws him into dramatic shadows at every possible opportunity.

And, rewatching the first episode (the only one I’ve seen) I must also say he (the actor) reminds me of Spock. Nimoy’s Spock. Who, considering that even in the original show, I would probably consider old—well, it is all relative! He’s definitely old now. But watching the original series of Star Trek, I confess I developed a bit of a crush. Only a little one, because he was old. Or seemed old.

Also, I’m just vulnerable to the smart types.

Going back to dear Sam Vimes, who does not consider himself intelligent at all, and really isn’t so much in the conventional IQ hierarchy of intelligence, but knows his city and its people. And has the best development of  any fictional character I’ve ever read—especially from a series character! Usually in long-lasting series, characters have to stay somewhat static so that the later books don’t leave the readers behind, so they know what to expect. Being that Pratchett writes satiric fantasy, I suppose the world has to develop

But I shouldn’t go on. Because I can. I love Terry Pratchett. If I had the stamina, I would totally have gone on to get my master’s and Ph.D. just to write a thesis and dissertation on his work. Because he is awesome.

(Castiel is played by Misha Collins, who is also awesome. In Supernatural‘s “The Rapture” he played two different Castiel’s. And overall, the character of Castiel (who is always an angel, but gets into different manifestations and alternate universes) and they are all so different, it’s amazing. Apparently his Twitter followers are called Misha’s minions. I am one. He is hilarious. And before I’d ever heard of him, I’d named my car Mesha…it’s fate! or I’m up too late.)