So, the wait is over. I heard back from the fine folks at Angry Robot about my submission for their Open Door. The response is that Cities of Light just isn’t ready for prime time yet.
Upon reflection, I can see why. There’s just something that’s too standard about it. Even changing the names and natures of the races that emerge in the middle of the narrative, it still boils down to a hero’s journey through a fantasy land with elves and dwarves in it. I still think the themes of xenophobia, propaganda, and the potential of the individual to overcome both can be explored quite well in this genre, but a shift in focus and setting may be required. I do have some ideas for a rewrite that could make it more interesting, less generic, and worth the time to read, but I don’t want to keep circling back to the same idea all the time.
So Cities of Light goes on the very back burner. The back back burner if you will. On the back burner ahead of it is Captain Pendragon and the Planet of Doom. I have most of my characters nailed down and the outline has taken shape. I plan on beginning to write this thing within a week, because I still think it’s been a while since a new raygun gothic story and setting have come along to offset all the gritty realism that has seeped into sci-fi. Don’t misunderstand, I love the aesthetic of Blade Runner and Firefly and the new Battlestar Galactica, but I love the look, feel, and energy of Flash Gordon and John Carter just as much. And I think it’s entirely possible to tackle big ideas and themes while having whiz-bang zapping fun.
With those back burners filled, you may be wondering, what’s on the front burner? That would be Cold Iron. I’ve retained the services of a graphic designer for the cover, and feedback on the test read continues to be positive. In the meantime, I want to look into what Amazon, B&N, and other vendors do to their offerings in terms of DRM and other shenanigans. I don’t want to saddle anybody interested in my work with stuff they don’t want. As a consumer, my experience with Amazon has been overwhelmingly positive so far, but what I don’t know could be bad for potential readers.
Endings to stories are every bit as important as their beginnings. I’ve heard, on at least one occasion, someone tell me to write the ending of a story first. I rarely do that, but I can often picture the ending in my head, or at least the climax. It should be an emotionally satisfying experience, even if it isn’t a happy one. The ending of The Dark Knight, for example, is far from happy – many important characters are dead, Batman’s on the run from the law, and the Joker did, in fact, get away, or at least lived. But it’s emotionally satisfying. Our hero did, in fact, triumph, even if it was a Pyrrhic victory, and will keep fighting the best way he knows how. Not happy, but one can set their teeth and nod in agreement with it.
I bring this up because I recently went through two ending experiences in video games. I finished Silent Hill 2 for the first time, and I downloaded the Extended Edition DLC for Mass Effect 3. Both games have multiple endings, determined by player choice, and the experience of reaching those endings says a lot about storytelling in general, and its connection to gameplay in particular.
For the record, I now understand why people love Silent Hill 2 so much. The game is steeped in a tense, foreboding atmosphere that draws you into its dark, bleak world and refuses to let go of you. The sound design is excellent and the visuals sufficiently creepifying, even if the capacities of the PlayStation 2 were somewhat limited. The HD Collection doesn’t do a whole lot with the graphics, from what I understand, but the important thing is that James Sunderland is still wonderfully neurotic, incredibly determined, and deeply sympathetic, quickly becoming one of my favorite video game protagonists. I felt invested in seeing his journey through to the end.
Silent Hill 2, like many games, has multiple endings, and the three available to the player at the conclusion of the first run all make sense, based on the choices the player makes. The game examines how you behave, how you treat the NPCs around you, and what you do with the things you find. It makes sense of the seemingly random things you may do as a player, and produces the ending you think you deserve. It’s an impressive feat for a game from the previous generation, and a great example of an ending to a story being emotionally satisfying while not necessarily being happy.
As for Mass Effect, well… I went off on a bit of a rant on the endings of the final game of the trilogy before. I won’t go into detail as to how the new endings made me feel, emotionally, especially since Susan Arendt has already done just that. Swap a couple names in the very last sequence and you have my feelings on it. In light of Silent Hill 2, though, I can tell you why the “Extended” endings work where the originals don’t.
First of all, while some of the dialog still feels a bit stretched, better explanations of the Reapers, the Crucible, and our choices are given. None of it feels too stilted, and Shepard, bless his or her heart, often asks questions in the very same way we do. There’s also the fact that we are given the option to straight-up refuse to be involved in the final decision. If you think the Starchild is a pile of bullshit, you can say so. Granted, it comes off a bit as Shepard being a petulant child, but that’s totally not a reflection on the attitude of entitled gamers, right?
On closer examination and with these better explanations, it becomes more clear to me that the endings of Mass Effect 3 are, in fact, the culmination of our choices rather than the death of them. It was difficult to realize this when the explanation was so truncated previously; now, as there is back-and-forth, there’s more time to think, to reflect, and to choose. As the Starkid explained synthesis and the evolution of life, conveniently leaving out how magically rewriting DNA was supposed to work, it occurred to me that this was what Shepard had been striving for all along. In my play-through, time and again, Shepard chose the way of peace: sparing the Rachni queen, convincing Garrus not to shoot Sidonis, trying to warn the Batarians in Arrival, getting the Geth and Quarians to lay down arms… The final sequence is now a conversation, rather than a glorified menu of choices, in which Shepard reflects on all that’s come before, and when the battered soldier starts to move, it’s for good reason rather than just to end things.
In addition to making the final choices feel like they matter, the Extended Edition also makes the endings more personal, more accessible. To quote Susan, “Saving the universe is great and all, but it’s too huge a concept to really feel particularly connected to.” My favorite moments in Mass Effect 3 were deeply personal ones, from the fates of Mordin and Thane to the back-and-forth between Shepard and Tali on Rannoch. Making the endings grand and sweeping but ambiguous and impersonal was a misstep, one which has now been corrected. From the look on Kaiden’s face when Shepard tells him “I want to be sure someone survives this,” to that last moment at the memorial wall, we feel more invested in what’s happened. We see characters we’ve come to care about dealing with the monumental decision we’ve made. And, perhaps most importantly, we get the chance to say good-bye.
A similar moment comes in Silent Hill 2, as we hear Mary read her letter to James. Be it uplifting or tragic, the end result is an understanding of the choices made and an opportunity to bid the characters farewell. As in Mass Effect, the conclusion should and does feel personal. I hesitate to use the word “logical” when we’re talking about a psychological survival horror piece and a work of space opera that works on what boils down to magic, but the choices made and the endings that result from those choices do have make logical sense, and that goes a long way in giving them weight and making them complete.
A writer should never underestimate an audience. Allowing an audience to speculate on the unknown and draw their own conclusions is all well and good. It’s one thing to leave an ending open to interpretation; it’s quite another to simply cut things short. We can imagine all sorts of endings and fill in blanks any way we like, and while there’s great freedom in that, too many blanks can give the impression that the creators simply didn’t care enough, or didn’t know themselves. Seeing how the creators end things can be interpreted as spoon-feeding information to the audience, but it also allows for permutations we may not have anticipated. While you should never underestimate your audience, you should also never be afraid to definitively end your story where it should logically end. You don’t necessarily have to tie up all your loose ends in neat little bows (I’m looking at you, Legend of Korra) and you don’t have to chop up the ending into quick cuts to make a statement of some kind (*cough* 2001 *cough*). Let the characters make their choices. Let the audience understand those choices. Make that connection between the two, and the ending of your story will be far more satisfying.
You may now deposit your hate mail telling me how horrible I am for daring to compare Mass Effect 3 to Silent Hill 2.
To me, the team at Pixar is right next to the directors Peter Jackson and Christopher Nolan. They’ve never made a bad movie. Even their ‘weakest’ titles are good movies with great composition and interesting ideas on some level. For Pixar, I’d say their weakest title is probably Cars, keeping in mind I’ve never seen the sequel. Pixar is owned by Disney, and the guys have taken a stab at adding a new princess to Walt’s long-lived pantheon of young ladies. The result is Brave, a story about the heiress of a Celtic kingdom.
The kingdom is ruled by Fergus and Elinor, and their first-born is a girl named Merida. Ever since she was little, Merida has been raised with high expectations, especially from her mother. While she craves adventure and freedom, she has traditions and obligations to uphold. When she reaches the age at which she can be married, she is to be betrothed to one of the heirs of the three smaller fiefdoms that make up the bulk of her father’s kingdom. Merida really isn’t interested in boys, though, let alone getting married. She seeks a way to change her fate, but her search for the means to do so could spell doom for her family and the entire kingdom.
Time and again, Pixar shows why they are the bar by which all other modern animated features are measured. Brave is yet another example – it’s absolutely stunning. I understand dedicated teams were assigned to Merida’s wayward crimson tresses and how her body should move in relation to them. This sort of attention to detail coupled with the breathtaking scenery and Celtic elements that ring with authenticity make the story come to life.
Best of luck, boys. You’ll need it.
As for Merida herself, I imagine Pixar is pretty pleased with how she turned out. She’s a well-balanced character with complexity, plenty of charm, and a number of flaws to make her more human and interesting. She’s capable, determined, funny, and mostly polite, but also somewhat uncouth, scornful of tradition, short-sighted, and a little insensitive and tactless at times. In the end, she’s a great protagonist and a worthy role model in spite of her flaws.
Her parents are not one-dimensional characters, either. In Disney movies with a princess as the main protagonist, fathers tend to be largely absent or at least somewhat tangential to the main story. Fergus, by contrast, takes an active hand in shaping and supporting Merida from the beginning, eager to share in his adventures and do what’s right, even if he’s a little clueless now and again. Elinor does get more screen time, as this story is about mother and daughter bonding, and while she’s focused on Merida following in her footsteps, it’s clear she’s very proud of her daughter and wants what’s best for her, though at the start she wants what she thinks is best for the girl rather than lending an ear to what Merida has to say.
They’re actually both pretty good parents.
Another thing that struck me about Brave is that there’s no malevolent antagonist. The two opposing forces in the way of the protagonists, the witchy woodcarver and the demonic bear, are not so much villains as they are other characters with their own agendas, feelings, and quirks. I think it would be very difficult to dislike the witch, and when the truth about the bear that takes Fergus’ leg early in the film is revealed, I for one was far more sympathetic towards it even as it was trying to get its claws on Merida. I was very glad to have characters with complexity on just about every level.
I’d love to say Brave is a perfect production, but it does have some flaws and doesn’t quite measure up to the very best Pixar has to offer, such as Wall-E and Up. However, most of the nitpicks I have are minor. Given that the story is set up and aimed as it is, it tends to be a little simplistic, even predictable at times. As much as our protagonists are challenged throughout, I never really felt like any of the danger had true weight to it. Sure, there were tense moments here and there, but the outcome felt fairly predictable. I’m not saying every story has to have deep complexity and unforeseen twists, though, and when it comes to this sort of straightforward storytelling, Brave is excellent. And while it may not be Pixar’s very best, it’s still head and shoulders above a lot of the other dross out there for young people, especially young women.
Stuff I Liked: The various Celtic elements, from tossing cabers to mentions of haggis. Billy Connolly’s voice never gets old and fits Fergus perfectly. The triplets are a hoot. And I could really appreciate giving the demonic bear a tragic backstory rather than letting it be a fundamental evil. Stuff I Didn’t Like: A little more time on the second act of the movie could have helped. At the same time, it takes a little while for the main plot to actually begin, and as much fun as the various clans and their leaders are, less time setting them up would have meant more time for the central story and the ladies within it. Stuff I Loved: Merida. Merida’s relationship with Elinor. Elinor & Fergus’ relationship. Elinor’s struggle to adapt to her circumstances. The witch’s workshop. And there’s a scene involving the men’s kilts that had me laughing my ass off.
Bottom Line:Brave is definitely worth your time to see, especially if you’re the parent of young girls. Minor nitpicks aside, it’s a very strong entry into Pixar’s library, introduces a Disney princess cut from a very different cloth from Snow White or Cinderella, provides plenty of humor for all ages, and manages great characterization and relationship drama while remaining light in tone. The fact that it’s gorgeous to look at is just icing on the cake.
I think I can safely say I was not the only one who went into Avatar: The Legend of Korra with high expectations. Given the rather vehement reaction in the wake of the first season’s conclusion, many people not only shared those expectations but felt the show failed to deliver.
Let me be clear about something before I get into the nitty-gritty of this: I liked The Legend of Korra. The art direction is top-notch, the voice acting is great, the music is very well done, Republic City felt well-realized, pro-bending is a neat innovation – there’s a lot to like, here. The first season was good. It isn’t fantastic. It isn’t Last Airbender, and I think that’s why so many people are upset.
I can see why. The biggest problem Legend of Korra has is in its writing. And the biggest problem the writing has is in its characters. Don’t get me wrong: some characters are flat-out great, and others show great potential. But the show seems to have trouble bringing that out, because the plot keeps getting in the way of the characters’ development. With only twelve episodes in a single season to tell a ‘legendary’ story, things are rushed or overlooked in favor of moving the plot forward.
The problem with this is similar to driving a car with engine problems. You can get from point A to point B, sure, but if your transmission slips, your cylinders are misfiring, your spark plugs are dirty, and your oil filter’s clogged, it’s going to be a bumpy ride at best. The plot of Legend of Korra is fine, on a basic level. But without well-defined motivation and growth and arcs, the characters are just cogs in the plot’s machine. They don’t define the plot by their actions, their actions are defined by the plot. As much as I admire the attention to detail in the art design of the series, some equal amount of detail in the plot and characters would have gone a long way.
For most of the season, Korra is blocked from both airbending and the spiritual side of being the Avatar, due to her stubborn, belligerent, hot-headed, and short-sighted nature. For the record, I’m perfectly okay with our girl being stubborn, belligerent, hot-headed, and short-sighted. I thought it was a great starting place for the new Avatar, a great contrast to the free-wheeling, happy-go-lucky, and friend to all living things Aang. Over the course of his story, Aang becomes more mature in his outlook on the world, more sensitive to the needs and desires of his friends, more in control of his emotions, and capable of facing conflict rather than avoiding it. Korra, on the other hand, remains stubborn, belligerent, hot-headed, and short-sighted. The biggest example of this would be in how these two come to understand and control the Avatar State.
When his story begins, Aang has access to the Avatar State, essentially a divine form in which he has access to all the knowledge, experiences, and power of the previous Avatars, only when he’s under extreme emotional duress. He must struggle to control himself in it, at first, and it takes a great deal of meditation and growth for him to master it before his final fight with Ozai. He learns a lot about himself in the process, and by extension, the audience learns more about him. Korra, on the other hand, is blocked from both airbending and the Avatar State because of her grounding in the physical world and her focus on the martial-arts aspect of bending. The events of the finale leave Korra without much of what has defined her entire life. It is at this moment that she experiences an epiphany. It was, in my opinion, how the season should have ended. The two or three minutes that follow were rushed, unnecessary, and far too pat. They undermined the truly powerful moments that came before. I mean, I was very moved by two events in the finale, but seeing what came after the second one completely defused any emotional charge I was feeling.
I don’t know why they felt this ending worked. I don’t know why some events occurred that completely contradicted what we saw the immediately previous episode. I don’t know why the Equalist movement was so demonized after establishing a very clear situation within Republic City that made the Equalist point of view make sense. It’s things like this that keep Legend of Korra from being a fantastic show, instead of just a good one.
And it is good. Don’t take any of the above criticism to mean I don’t like the show. I do, and part of the reason these things bother me is that they undercut the show’s massive potential. I think that as long as the second season actually develops its characters, doesn’t sweep the politically volatile environment under the rug, and keeps Korra from using the Avatar State to solve everybody’s problems, it will more than make up for this season’s problems.
After all, both The Next Generation and Deep Space Nine had rocky starts, but grew into fantastic shows. Legend of Korra has that same potential. I just hope Bryan and Mike, the shows creators and head writers, don’t blow it.
Devon usually liked to admire his Stratocaster. He’d hold it in his hands, watch the light play on the stainless steel frets, run his fingers along the rosewood neck, admire the deep black finish. Tonight he just stared at it. The opening band was wrapping up. He could hear the feedback from the amps and the shitty drum fills despite sitting in the green room. Time was running out.
“Dude, we’re on in, like, ten minutes. You okay?”
He looked up at his drummer, Felix. They’d known each other since junior high, a couple of abnormal kids struggling to survive. Devon had sought Felix out after he’d found his guitar.
“Yeah. I’m fine. Make sure the roadies don’t mess up my pedals, okay? I just need a minute.”
Felix nodded, closing the door behind him. Devon was alone. He took a moment to close his eyes and breathe, reminding himself that the guitar was, in fact, real.
“What troubles you?”
He didn’t open his eyes at first. He felt her presence behind him, and said nothing. It was the feeling of her hands on his shoulders that made him look. She watched him in the mirror. Her eyes were still the deepest, darkest blue he’d ever seen.
“I couldn’t play a single note at sound check until I thought of you.”
“You’re a very sweet young man.” Her hands moved down his arms.
“I thought the music came from me, not from you.”
“It does.” She helped him grip the fretboard of the guitar, his other hand guided to the cool sensation of the cream pickguard. “Not every mortal can make the journey from this world to the one in their mind on their own. Some, like you, just need the occasional guide.”
Devon shook his head. Her hands moved over him, caressing him, and it felt so good, so soothing and electrifying at the same time, as riffs and lyrics spun in his mind like the most lively and sensual of dancing girls. He swallowed, trying to find his voice.
“Why did you choose me?”
“So many songs are played and sung in this age, but few truly honor the source of all music, the cosmos, the firmament, the divine spark in all things…” She leaned down and sighed softly in his ear. “I chose you because you have passion. You have skill. And you’ve grown so handsome and strong as I knew you would.”
Devon was uncertain of that. Sure, Lasik surgery and a pretty sparse diet coupled with life on the road and playing gigs constantly gave him the Iggy Pop body he’d always wanted, but sometimes he still saw the nerdy trumpet-player staring back at him in the mirror. It was that kid who had prayed for someone, anyone, to listen to his pleas for freedom, for inspiration, for anything to get him out of his town and that life.
“Felix got a call from his parents today.”
“That must still be hard for you.”
He didn’t turn to look at her. He always feared when he did, she’d disappear. “I don’t talk about it. It doesn’t seem right to bring my best friend down when he’s happy as he is when they call.”
“You’re so good-natured, and yet such a beast on stage.”
“I play rock and roll, nothing more or less.”
“You shake the heavens when you do it.” Her full lips smiled as they brushed his ear. “You prove yourself worthy with every strum of this guitar, every call of your voice, every pulse that races at the sight of you. Did I not promise you would be a star?”
He closed his eyes and nodded. “I know you’re not a liar. I just don’t know what you want in return.”
“You sing of days long past, of my kin and their exploits, bringing them back into the imaginations of modern youth. Don’t you think that’s payment enough?”
“Everything has a price. I feel like I’ll always been indebted to you.”
“Would that be so bad?” Her voice sent shivers through his body, the way it always did. He licked his lips, finding them way too dry.
“No, I… I just want to be sure the music’s mine.”
Her fingers dug painfully into his shoulders. “It is ours, mortal, and you’d best not forget. Without me you’d still be living in that dead house with those dead parents who had no passion for your music, no desire to see you shine.”
“That’s not true. My parents loved me.”
“Not the way I do.” Her hand went down his chest towards the buckle of his belt, nails on skin. “Not the way that makes you come alive.”
Devon wanted to turn on her, to push her away, to tell her the price was too high and to take back the guitar she’d given him, the tour be damned. But just like that, her touch went from painful to soothing to something else entirely, and pleasure sang in his veins. His eyes closed as her lips touched his ear in a soft, inviting kiss.
“Devon?”
He looked up to see Felix opening the door, followed by Molly and Cherise. Molly, their bassist, grabbed her instrument and adjusted her short skirt. Cherise loosened her tie and put on the fingerless gloves she liked to wear while keyboarding for the band. Devon glanced at the mirror. She was, of course, nowhere to be found.
Am I going crazy? He stood, guitar in hand.
“Let’s do it.”
The venue erupted in cheers when they took the stage. Devon stood up to the microphone, plugged in his Strat, and looked out at the crowd. He saw a tall, curvy woman with eyes dark as the cosmos watching him from the back.
“Good evening, and welcome to the Maze of Uranus. Take it, Molly.”
Molly started up the bassline of “Calliope’s Gate,” and Devon saw the woman in the back smiling.
Answers could come later. Now, it was time to rock.
