Heads Up!

In case you missed my ah, incessant tweeting yesterday, head on over to GeekaChicas to read my review of Superman: Red Son!

I actually wrote it originally for this blog, but then I thought it would fit better over there. It includes some social commentary! Superman: Red Son is an alternate reality Superman story, where he crashes as a baby in the USSR instead of America. And that's all I'm telling you here, so you'll have to head over to GeekaChicas if you want to know my thoughts on Communist Superman!

March was a BIG month for reading. I'm not sure if I should technically be counting Graphic Novel Trade Paperbacks in my bookcount, but I am anyway! It's reading! It just happens to come with pictures!

I may or may not write up a review of Superman: For Tomorrow soon, also. I don't know if it will be put up here or at GeekaChicas (probably GeekaChicas) but I will certainly let you all know!

Can't wait to dive in to rewriting Helen tomorrow! Thinking about switching from third person to first person, but I'm not sure. I suppose I can start in first person, and if I don't like it, switch back to Third. It isn't like this is going to be the final draft, unfortunately. We shall see!

Character and Storytelling as Synthesis

The other day, I was watching Beauty and the Beast. It's hands down my favorite Disney movie, without question. I love Gaston as a villain. I love The Beast. I love Belle, who is equal parts nerdy and stubbornly independent. The only problem is, while Belle is the lens through which we see the story, the leading lady, if you will, there is no real evolution of her character. The focus of change stays with Beast. He's the one who starts out horrible and slowly morphs into something more civilized. He's the one who ultimately becomes so changed that out of love for Belle, he releases her, in spite of the fact that he faces his own ruin by doing so. He evolves from a selfish being, to a selfless one, unable and unwilling to even defend his own life when Belle leaves him. He has nothing left to live for, right?

But what about Gaston? How did he become the villain he is? We have such a complete character arc for Beast, but ultimately Gaston is left as a relatively fixed character, not unlike Belle, though she at least does have the benefit of travel and engagement with new places/characters. Gaston though begins and ends in the same place. Selfish, self-satisfied, and arrogant, which of course results in his implied death as he plummets from the castle. He wants Belle, whether she wants him or not, but he clearly doesn't have any understanding of love or any interest in anything but his own desires. Does he even, truly, realize that Belle doesn't want him? Or is that such an impossible idea that he rejects it outright-- she just doesn't KNOW she wants him yet, perhaps? Certainly it seems like something he's capable of, that kind of trick of the ego. Even going after Beast doesn't really strike me as anything all that changed. Gaston is established from the opening of the movie as a premiere hunter. What better game is there than this Beast in the forest? Even if Belle weren't involved, I think he would have gone after the prize of hanging Beast's head on his wall.

But even as a sketch of what Gaston could be, he's still a compelling villain. Maybe because of how much isn't there. This is exactly the same thought process that occurs when I'm reading about gods in mythology. So often we're given this one dimensional sketch, this account of what a god has done or what a hero has gone through, and we're left to wonder what brought them there, what were their motivations in getting involved to begin with? Did the encounter alter them at all? What made Theseus agree with Pirithous that they both should have wives who were daughters of Zeus? What made Pirithous think he had the right to steal Persephone from Hades? What did Helen think about everything that happened because of her? Did she regret that ultimately she was torn from Theseus's hands, given the outcome? Did she wish she hadn't ever been returned to Sparta? What possessed Aphrodite to promise a married woman to another man? And what made Zeus decide he was sick of having so many heroes running around the earth? Did he in fact stage manage the entire Trojan War for the purpose of wiping out huge numbers of his own people, or is that just a vain hope of man to find meaning in the chaos that resulted?

When faced with these bare accounts, I can't stop myself from exploring the characters of the players, delving into further reading about their lives in order to find meaning in the fragments that are in front of me. When reading fails me, that's when I know it's time to write. But I wonder-- what makes what I do, exploring these established characters, heroes, villains, gods, histories, anything other than fanfiction?  What is fanfiction, besides the compulsion to explore created characters in greater depth? Or is that the definition of writing and storytelling? The other thing I wonder, in all this talk about having characters which are fully formed and fully developed no matter how small their roles are, is are we taking away from the reader? Not to excuse bad characterization, but is it really a flaw to give the reader something to imagine and wonder about? Something which might drive them to create a story of their own?

I think what it comes down to is that writing and storytelling are just synthesis. A way to understand and process everything from our own personal emotions, to social issues, to the entirety of the human condition. So when we see a character like Gaston, half-explained or static, the compulsion to synthesize the information we're given into something we can understand is what drives fanfiction. But when that character is in the public domain, or a part of our cultural heritage and development as a people (as opposed to pop-culture of the times) it becomes more acceptable to reach for that understanding through storytelling.

What are your thoughts, fellow writers?

Blog-palooza.

First off thanks to VR Barkowski and Jon Paul for honoring me with blog awards! I hardly deserve it for having taken this last week off.

If you're looking for a writerly-content post here today, I'm afraid that outside of blogfest news, you shall not find it! Today I am guest-blogging for The Secret Archives of the Alliterati, and you will find my awesome (?) writerly-post concerning heresy and writing there. In my humble opinion, heresy is the best part. Head over yonder to read more about it!

Let me also draw to your attention some excellent blogfests coming your way because blogfests are awesome!

First we have the most excellent Murder Scene Blogfest, on April 10th, hosted by the fabulous Anne Riley. Well, okay, I don't really know her, but anyone hosting a murder scene blogfest has got to be pretty cool at least. Also, she just interviewed Frankie, which tells me she has some great taste for awesome! Go sign up, and then comment and tell me you did, and I will most likely cave to peer pressure and sign up also, and come up with something fitting. I am in possession of an excellent murder scene already, but I can't share it without spoiling some pretty important elements in my book, so I will be required to write something new and fresh, and what with the blogging hiatus and hermitting, I'll admit that I'm feeling a bit lazy, so peer pressure is required.

And right on its heels we have the Bar Scene Blogfest on April 11th, hosted by Tara over at Secret Story. Guys, there is so much potential for bar scenes. Literally anything can happen. Let us test those boundaries together and make it a fabulous weekend of excellent reads! Full disclosure: I actually kind of hate going to the bar. The only times I ever went were under duress, and one of those times I ended up writing terrible drunken poetry while chewing on quantities of ice. Needless to say I was never the life of the party, but that doesn't mean my characters can't have at it. Some of them certainly have the personality for it, and for some inexplicable reason, most of my characters engage in heavy drinking at one point or another in their lives.  I'm not sure what that says about me, or them, but I have no little experience in writing bar scenes as a result.

Now, unfortunately neither one of these blogfests allows me to put to use any scenes from HELEN, at this time-- funny, because you'd think a book set around Helen of Troy would have plenty of murder... But beginning April 1st I will be rewriting Helen start to finish, including a large portion from Theseus's point of view, so maybe something will turn up during that process. We shall see. Otherwise I can almost certainly promise some Thor, if you aren't sick of him. I will also consider challenges and requests! (I may regret having said that.)

There you have it. Expect some musings on characterization and storytelling on Tuesday. It's a pretty excellent post, if I do say so myself, and I think you will all enjoy it!

Icelandic Love

If this video doesn't make you want to go to Iceland and/or learn Icelandic then you are some kind of strange being from another planet!


I will now return to my regularly scheduled hermit-ing until Friday :)

Killer Whales: As Smart As Chimpanzees?

After the blogfest Wednesday, Lugh has taken up a solid residence in my brain. Highly distracting, and definitely not conducive to a break from writing. I've caved, and I'm putting down some words to satisfy him for the short term, but in the meantime I'm going to take a bit of a break from blogging here for a week or so. I'll be back with something for you next Friday (and a guest post elsewhere), but I'll be skipping Tuesday's usual substantive post. Anything in the middle means that I've either overloaded on research or driven myself a bit demented. I'll let you decide.

In the meantime, I want to talk a little bit about Killer Whales today, because they've been in the news a bit, and I found a really fascinating article about Killer Whale intelligence on Physorg.com. (Man has it been a while since I surfed their website!)

The thing of it is, we work with these amazing animals and study them, and the more we learn the more we realize that we really haven't scratched the surface. Some scientists consider Killer Whales to be on par with Chimpanzees as far as intelligence goes, and you'll see in the article words like "Culture" thrown around. This is because we can't explain by any measurable scientific evidence why three populations, without significant genetic differences, have found such startlingly different ways to live, and not just live, but pass on their method of successful living through generations. These populations have distinct dialects, and distinct lifestyles. And what other animal, with startlingly few genetic differences, exists in distinct populations with distinct dialects, passing on those distinctions to their offspring for generations?

I've said it for years, and I'll keep saying it, not because I'm a tree-hugger or some crazed environmentalist, but because of studies like these that come out every so often and don't get the attention they should. Humans are animals, and the more research we do, the more I believe that we'll find ourselves less unique within the animal kingdom. The brain of a Killer Whale is 15 lbs. They're highly social animals, capable of learning, interested in interacting, and inquisitive. They are also, taking into account the incredibly different environment in which they thrive and the lack of opposable thumbs, not all that different from us.

One of the questions the article asks is whether Killer Whales, as intelligent as they are, could be capable of intentionally killing a trainer. Obviously we have no scientific way to know this, just as we have know way of knowing if a man murdered someone purposefully or not. That the question is even being asked at all is kind of a testament to the level of intelligence exhibited by these animals. Have you ever heard someone wonder if the tiger that attacked Roy did it on purpose, to lash out at the man who had been its trainer? It isn't exactly a common refrain. In my reading, the only other animal (non-ape, mind you) that has been accorded that level of consciousness is the elephant. The idea that animals might be capable of vengeance or the purposeful intent to kill a person which whom a relationship has been built is shocking. But so is murder.

Just because we have no way to measure it, does it mean it isn't possible? Just because we have no way of communicating effectively across the species divide, does it mean that we are the only animals capable of experiencing the things that we experience? Capable of thinking the things we think?

I'm inclined to think that it just means our understanding is too limited. And that's another thing that isn't really measurable by science, but we all know it exists in varying degrees. Ego. Hubris. Pride.


Sometimes we forget that science is just a method of observing the universe, not the entirety of the universe itself.

Drunk at First Sight!

Thanks to Jon Paul for hosting this event over at Where Sky Meets Ground! Head over to his blog and check out the other participants!

I just wrote this scene new, because my other scenes didn't really seem to fit the bill, and I'm not totally happy with how this one came out either, but at least it involves St. Patrick's Day and a bar and alcohol and relationships! I wish I'd had the space to get Adam a bit drunker, all the same.

Adam should have known better than to go to the bar on today of all days. St. Patrick's Day. He elbowed his way through the men and women packed in the pub to the bar and when shouting didn't work, placed his order directly into the bartender's mind instead. It was only cheating a little bit, and it wasn't as if Eve were around to notice, nor would the man himself know the difference in the uproar.

He clenched his teeth and tried to keep his hands from balling into fists. The last thing he needed was a temptation to start throwing punches. Getting himself knocked out would hardly be anything Eve could miss, even from America, and God forbid she be half-balanced on a ladder in that thrice-damned shop of her parents if he lost consciousness and hers went with it. Thor would have a field day punishing him for the resultant injuries.

A glass of whiskey slid down the smooth wood into his hand, and he dropped several large bills onto the bar, tapping the counter with an implicit "keep them coming" gesture, before knocking back the alcohol. He hadn't had nearly enough to drink on the plane, and St. Patrick's day or not, he was determined to get himself plastered enough that he wouldn't care that the woman he took to bed with him wasn't Eve. At least there would be a wide selection to choose from.

He grimaced at the burn in the back of his throat. St. Patrick's day always meant cheaper liquor. Everyone was too drunk to notice the difference, and bars made a killing by taking advantage of it.

The money disappeared from the counter and a bottle replaced it with a dull thunk. The bartender had bright red hair, and narrow green eyes. Adam glared at him when he smirked. "You'll like that one," the man said. "Hardest I've got, and well worth the money spent."

Irish, by the sound of him, or else pretending to be to capitalize on his tips. If he was pretending, he did a damn good job of it. Adam filled his glass and drank it down. The burn was much more pleasant, smooth and clean. "Better than the swill you just served me."

The barman grinned and jerked his head to the right. "The woman there said you were a man of distinguished taste and loaded with money enough to afford it."

Adam glanced over his shoulder, then turned and stared. She looked just like Eve. He checked the proof on the bottle, but he knew he hadn't had enough to drink to hallucinate. Not yet. The woman met his eyes and smiled, and all resemblance to Eve vanished in the curve of her mouth and a flash of gold in her eyes. It had to be some trick of the gods. Had they sent someone to Eve, too? Someone who resembled him just enough to make her look twice?

He poured another glass and slugged it down. The gods could keep their look-a-likes. He wasn't going to accept substitutes, or if he did, he wanted them to remind him as little of what he'd lost as possible. "Tell her thanks, but I'm not interested in any consolation prizes. She's better off going home with you."

The barman laughed. "I tell her that often enough. Sometimes she even listens, but you--" He shrugged. "You're exactly what she's been waiting for."

Adam shook his head. "She'll get sick of waiting and crawl back in bed with you, I'm sure."

"She surely will." He grinned and refilled the glass. "But not 'til she's finished in yours."

A hand covered his, manicured nails and soft skin. Even her fingers were shaped like Eve's. He swallowed the whiskey and kept his eyes on the bottle. "You don't even realize you're a pawn, do you? We're all just amusement for some higher power, hoping to see how twisted he can make us before we break."

"We're not all so cruel, Adam," she said.

He looked up at his name, his stomach lurching at the sound of it.

Her dark hair rippled and became gold, her eyes changing from green to the amber of honey. "Some of us just want to offer what comfort we can give. And perhaps something more. Satisfaction for the pain you've suffered by godly hands."

He blinked at the golden glow that seemed to blur his vision. She was certainly beautiful, and now that she no longer held Eve's form, nothing at all like her. "Do I know your name, goddess?"

She smiled and leaned closer, her hand stroking his arm and her breath tickling against his ear. She smelled like honey, too. Or maybe like mead. Whatever it was, he wanted it, though part of him knew it was because she meant him to.

"You can call me Sif," she said.

Sif. He should know that name, but at the moment he couldn't bring it to mind. Somewhere in the distance, masked by the dull roar of the other patrons, Adam heard the barman chuckle, and then the room flooded with gold and he heard nothing more.

The barman is supposed to be Lugh, something of an Irish god who may or may not be associated with Trickery, but I didn't have the time to develop him the way I'd like to. It seemed fitting that Sif would have taken up with him though. Maybe I'll explore him and their relationship a bit more in the future. I haven't really done much with the Celtic/Irish/Welsh gods, and know very very little about any of them, but I don't feel like I can neglect them!

Anyway. A bit more serious than I had meant it to be, but there you have it. My Drunk At First Sight contribution! Have a happy St. Patrick's Day!

Instead of PG Love, I Give You VIKINGS

Maybe I am a loser for not participating, or at least a killjoy, but my vacation from writing got right in the way of this blogfest participation (because we all know I'm a wait-until-the-last-minute kind of person. Oh, or maybe we don't all know! But you do now!).

However, I'd like to point out an awesomely interesting link that I stumbled across via Aardvarchaeology. I tweeted it, but I think it definitely deserves it's own post, because it is a really cool find.

An old mass grave, previously dated wrongly as Roman has been determined to be Viking instead! I don't know if it's interesting to you, but I thought it was fascinating that this so-called raiding party was made up mostly of young men and older teens. Maybe it's romantic of me, but I always pictured Viking raiders to be a bit longer in the tooth-- older grizzled men, with years of raiding under their belts.

Of course, then we have the story of Leif Ericson, who managed to get a ship of his own in his thirties, and go out a-wandering. So maybe it isn't all that odd that the older men had established homes and lands for themselves and left the raiding to the younger and more impetuous, or a few men in their 30s got together to lead a group of younger men. That being said, Leif Ericson only seemed to live about 50 years, as did his father (Eric the Red) before him, so it isn't entirely out of the realm of possibility that twenty-something was middle aged, which would make the younger raiders much less odd. It also begs the question, how young did they start boys raiding and pillaging? I need to do more reading...

A mass grave of vikings strikes me as unusual altogether, though. Generally speaking, I was under the impression that raiding worked out, on the whole, quite positively for the vikings engaging in it. Positively enough to be a staple of the culture, at least, and if they were losing 50 men to raids with frequency, that would have thinned out their ranks, and perhaps made people less interested in going off on that kind of adventure.

If reading the Saga of the Volsungs has taught me one thing though, it is that the Viking culture of reputation, honor, and glory, is not one which I can easily wrap my mind around, and what I think is a reasonable response has nothing to do with what the Old Norse people would have said or done. So take my conjecture here only as food for thought. When I have a better understanding, perhaps I'll revisit the topic.

In the meantime, I'll be anxiously waiting to hear if these 51 vikings are related to some historic event!

And don't forget that Drunk At First Sight is coming tomorrow!