Robin Crew's free time was found murdered this past Monday, September 27th. Although details are still sketchy, apparently its killer pulled its arms off and threw them over there before pulling its legs off and throwing them over that way. The head is still unaccounted for. The brutal nature of the crime has really shaken up the small town in which he lives.
"His free time was always so quiet and friendly, you know?" said a neighbor who wishes to remain anonymous. "I just never saw this coming."
At the time of writing, police have no leads
Today's quick tip- if an agent or editor tells you something could be good and they'd be interested in seeing it again after you've adressed A, B and C, they don't mean next week. What they mean is six months. Maybe more, maybe less. Either way, don't do a couple of tweaks and send it again three days later. Not unless you're already under contract and working on a strict deadline. If you're just pitching a book the first time, give it a serious bout of editing. When you're ready to re-submit, just mention in one sentence that we'd seen it before, that way if it goes through someone different, it'll make its way back to the reader who expressed interest. Besides, you might've been turned down not just to polish your manuscript a bit more, you may have been turned down because we can't handle more of your kind of book at the moment. Plus, it's a busy industry. We're going to slowly lose interest in your project if you just keep popping out new versions every week. There simply isn't the time to deal with authors like that.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Saturday, September 25, 2010
How I take my heroines
Oh man. Look at this. Zero followers to six in a matter of days. Nyes. Everything is falling into place. Today the Internet, tomorrow the world! MUAHAHAHAHA. Well, maybe that's a stretch. I'll pencil world domination in for next week and we'll see how it goes.
Anyway, back in high school, I had an English teacher that used to get mad at me for referring to female protagonists, or female leads as "the heroine." He claimed it was antiquated and sexist. I countered that it was in the interest of preventing confusion since I couldn't refer to two separate characters by the same term and really, is it sexist to call a female monarch a queen? His response was to kick me out of class. What an open minded fellow. In any event, while I stood in the hall I thought about female characters in stories and coined a new term for my own usage...that use being to annoy my pompous teacher. The term was "a man with breasts." I use the term to refer to a female character who never sounds or acts, well, like a woman. A character whose woman-ness doesn't effect the plot in the slightest.
Please note that by this I don't mean that a woman should cry or be helpless or whatever. But men and women do act in different ways. Yet it's really not uncommon to see women acting in an either masculine or neutral fashion in many stories. It leads inexorably to the conclusion that the only reason the character is a woman at all is for the sake of titillation. Allow me to elucidate, and for the sake of making this easy, I'm going to use movies which are more obvious about it, and of which far fewer are produced per year so there will be a greater chance that you'll be familiar with the source material.
Take on the one hand Charlize Theron in Aeon Flux. So, okay, attractive woman wearing skin tight outfits beating the hell out of people. A fine start. Unfortunately, that's about all there is. Gunfire and explosions and stealth and crazy future gadgets. There really isn't a plot for the first half of the movie. When one is introduced, it's dumb. Really dumb. Held together by a thread. Generic dystopian sci-fi world. Last human city. Recycled DNA. Evil dictator. Blah, blah, blah. Not an original thought involved. Information is dropped on you from nowhere, then disappears. And even Charlize, the lead, and her leading man have characters with virtually no personality. Inscrutable. Their actions and their words frequently don't line up and we don't see a reason for either. They attempt to justify everything with "the power of love!" but it never really goes anywhere, hardly effects what they do, and isn't introduced until most of the way through the movie, much of which is spent having Charlize Theron duel other attractive women of various ethnic minorities. I mean, of course she's got the attractive black friend/rival. Some people like chocolate, you know?
On the other hand, consider Lt. Ripley of the original Aliens trilogy. Don't mention Resurrection or I will hurt you. Badly. Those movies make perfectly clear that Ripley is a woman. There's no mystery there. And it actually matters. People who don't want to take her orders because they don't take her seriously. In the third movie, she crash lands on a prison colony, making her the only woman for who knows how many millions of miles. She's not the virtually silent, totally inscrutable super human Charlize was. She has an actual personality. Which is why it's even cooler when she kicks ass. Because when the shit hits the fan, who takes on the aliens? Ripley! Never is this more obvious than in the second movie. There is a male lead of sorts, but he's very much in the background and it's Ripley who saves him, not the other way around. There's a "man with breasts" as a supporting character. I have to believe that was an intentional move to show you just how much more remarkable Ripley is. Then, there's a human child who survives an alien attack who Ripley feels a motherly relation towards. So she charges straight into the alien den like a madwoman and starts ripping up the joint. And in one of the coolest climactic scenes ever filmed in an action movie, Ripley wrestles the queen alien out of an airlock using only her mundane skill at piloting these big exoskeletons they use to move cargo and her determination to protect her leading man and foster daughter.
See, now that's a woman. And one who kicks ass, too. So much the better. If all I wanted was a man with breasts...well, I'm a chubby boy. I can look in the mirror any time. On a related note, coworker and blog followe Linda Epstein specifically requested I talk about wrestling in my next post because she knows I hate it. Well, I'm eager to please, but I'm more Monkey's Paw than Genie of the lamp. Ripley Vs. the Queen Alien is the closest I'm going to get.
Anyway, back in high school, I had an English teacher that used to get mad at me for referring to female protagonists, or female leads as "the heroine." He claimed it was antiquated and sexist. I countered that it was in the interest of preventing confusion since I couldn't refer to two separate characters by the same term and really, is it sexist to call a female monarch a queen? His response was to kick me out of class. What an open minded fellow. In any event, while I stood in the hall I thought about female characters in stories and coined a new term for my own usage...that use being to annoy my pompous teacher. The term was "a man with breasts." I use the term to refer to a female character who never sounds or acts, well, like a woman. A character whose woman-ness doesn't effect the plot in the slightest.
Please note that by this I don't mean that a woman should cry or be helpless or whatever. But men and women do act in different ways. Yet it's really not uncommon to see women acting in an either masculine or neutral fashion in many stories. It leads inexorably to the conclusion that the only reason the character is a woman at all is for the sake of titillation. Allow me to elucidate, and for the sake of making this easy, I'm going to use movies which are more obvious about it, and of which far fewer are produced per year so there will be a greater chance that you'll be familiar with the source material.
Take on the one hand Charlize Theron in Aeon Flux. So, okay, attractive woman wearing skin tight outfits beating the hell out of people. A fine start. Unfortunately, that's about all there is. Gunfire and explosions and stealth and crazy future gadgets. There really isn't a plot for the first half of the movie. When one is introduced, it's dumb. Really dumb. Held together by a thread. Generic dystopian sci-fi world. Last human city. Recycled DNA. Evil dictator. Blah, blah, blah. Not an original thought involved. Information is dropped on you from nowhere, then disappears. And even Charlize, the lead, and her leading man have characters with virtually no personality. Inscrutable. Their actions and their words frequently don't line up and we don't see a reason for either. They attempt to justify everything with "the power of love!" but it never really goes anywhere, hardly effects what they do, and isn't introduced until most of the way through the movie, much of which is spent having Charlize Theron duel other attractive women of various ethnic minorities. I mean, of course she's got the attractive black friend/rival. Some people like chocolate, you know?
On the other hand, consider Lt. Ripley of the original Aliens trilogy. Don't mention Resurrection or I will hurt you. Badly. Those movies make perfectly clear that Ripley is a woman. There's no mystery there. And it actually matters. People who don't want to take her orders because they don't take her seriously. In the third movie, she crash lands on a prison colony, making her the only woman for who knows how many millions of miles. She's not the virtually silent, totally inscrutable super human Charlize was. She has an actual personality. Which is why it's even cooler when she kicks ass. Because when the shit hits the fan, who takes on the aliens? Ripley! Never is this more obvious than in the second movie. There is a male lead of sorts, but he's very much in the background and it's Ripley who saves him, not the other way around. There's a "man with breasts" as a supporting character. I have to believe that was an intentional move to show you just how much more remarkable Ripley is. Then, there's a human child who survives an alien attack who Ripley feels a motherly relation towards. So she charges straight into the alien den like a madwoman and starts ripping up the joint. And in one of the coolest climactic scenes ever filmed in an action movie, Ripley wrestles the queen alien out of an airlock using only her mundane skill at piloting these big exoskeletons they use to move cargo and her determination to protect her leading man and foster daughter.
See, now that's a woman. And one who kicks ass, too. So much the better. If all I wanted was a man with breasts...well, I'm a chubby boy. I can look in the mirror any time. On a related note, coworker and blog followe Linda Epstein specifically requested I talk about wrestling in my next post because she knows I hate it. Well, I'm eager to please, but I'm more Monkey's Paw than Genie of the lamp. Ripley Vs. the Queen Alien is the closest I'm going to get.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Followers?
So. It's finally happened. The boss put me on the company website and consequently, this blog I've kept so well hidden has a follower. Welcome, one and all. Or just the one, at the time of this writing. Eh. Welcome anyway. Maybe one day you can proudly say you were the first. Somehow I doubt it. It does make me feel like I've got to step up the level of discourse though.
An important note: My first cousin once removed was baptized this past Sunday, September 19th. Notably, that was International Talk Like a Pirate Day. I was sorely tempted to go wearing a patch and pirate hat. As it turns out, maybe I could've gotten away with it. If nothing else, the minister's sermon was all about the confrontation between Princess Leia (disguised as a bounty hunter) and Jabba the Hutt. Complete with a Jabba laugh and imaginary thermal detonator. What that had to do with baptism I'm not sure. Definitely the highlight of the ceremony.
Well, let's get back to business, huh? For a laugh, try using Google Maps or something and just type in "literary agency" and a city near you. Even for New York a pretty small number of businesses actually come up. I've got a two part theory.
1) Most agencies start so small that one or two agents probably run them out of apartments. Over time, if they're successful enough to expand they buy the place next door, and expand outward. The result is that many agencies, even very large ones like the Writer's House in NYC (Agents to, as examples, Neil Gaiman and Stephen Hawking) looks just like any other building. The only sign is small. You wouldn't see it unless you looked. And yet, they have the entire building. I've been in it. It's a converted apartment building. And although they're big and established, they're only about forty years old. Which actually isn't very surprising, but the history of agencies is a story for another day.
2) Agencies wish to discourage authors from hunting them down to pitch books in person. I have no physical proof of this one, but it makes sense. They'll list their number on their websites, but not in phone books. They'll have a sign, but you'll never see them if you don't look. Many don't even identify it as a business. Since agencies start small, they often take the agent's name. Take, as an example, the Jean V. Naggar agency here in NY. If you were to go there, the businesss appears simply as "Naggar" on the sign by the buzzer along with a dozen other surnames.
If there are lessons to be learned from this, it's that Agencies are not large, faceless corporations but usually a small, dedicated group. Also, a little bit of time in the business probably makes you neurotic enough to fear the consequences of being anything other than a faceless corporation to authors you choose not to represent. I'm a writer myself, so I know how attached we can get to our books. And in my capacity assisting at an agency, I can safely say there have been authors I've rejected I would not want to meet in a dark alley if you know what I mean. Somehow, anonymity never felt like anything special until I lost it by being posted on the company website.
An important note: My first cousin once removed was baptized this past Sunday, September 19th. Notably, that was International Talk Like a Pirate Day. I was sorely tempted to go wearing a patch and pirate hat. As it turns out, maybe I could've gotten away with it. If nothing else, the minister's sermon was all about the confrontation between Princess Leia (disguised as a bounty hunter) and Jabba the Hutt. Complete with a Jabba laugh and imaginary thermal detonator. What that had to do with baptism I'm not sure. Definitely the highlight of the ceremony.
Well, let's get back to business, huh? For a laugh, try using Google Maps or something and just type in "literary agency" and a city near you. Even for New York a pretty small number of businesses actually come up. I've got a two part theory.
1) Most agencies start so small that one or two agents probably run them out of apartments. Over time, if they're successful enough to expand they buy the place next door, and expand outward. The result is that many agencies, even very large ones like the Writer's House in NYC (Agents to, as examples, Neil Gaiman and Stephen Hawking) looks just like any other building. The only sign is small. You wouldn't see it unless you looked. And yet, they have the entire building. I've been in it. It's a converted apartment building. And although they're big and established, they're only about forty years old. Which actually isn't very surprising, but the history of agencies is a story for another day.
2) Agencies wish to discourage authors from hunting them down to pitch books in person. I have no physical proof of this one, but it makes sense. They'll list their number on their websites, but not in phone books. They'll have a sign, but you'll never see them if you don't look. Many don't even identify it as a business. Since agencies start small, they often take the agent's name. Take, as an example, the Jean V. Naggar agency here in NY. If you were to go there, the businesss appears simply as "Naggar" on the sign by the buzzer along with a dozen other surnames.
If there are lessons to be learned from this, it's that Agencies are not large, faceless corporations but usually a small, dedicated group. Also, a little bit of time in the business probably makes you neurotic enough to fear the consequences of being anything other than a faceless corporation to authors you choose not to represent. I'm a writer myself, so I know how attached we can get to our books. And in my capacity assisting at an agency, I can safely say there have been authors I've rejected I would not want to meet in a dark alley if you know what I mean. Somehow, anonymity never felt like anything special until I lost it by being posted on the company website.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
A nickel's worth
The other day, I reviewed a query whose story opened with the line "It was Saturday morning when I climbed out of the shower." Can anyone tell me what's wrong with this opening?
As a self assessment, compare your answer to my (by no means definitive) list of reasons below.
1) That's mundane. Like waking up. What have I said about such a mundane action starting a story? That it's boring and doesn't distinguish you from the dozens of other manuscripts I look over every single day.
2) It's awkwardly phrased.
3) It's confusing.
4) Combining parts 3 and 4, it leads to various questions such as "When did you get in the shower?" and unless the answer is sometime other than Saturday morning, then yeah. This opening is mundane. The answer was, in fact, Saturday morning. "Well, perhaps taking a shower is an unusual phenomenon?" you might ask next. The story might take place in another time or place with a scarcity of water, or following a character's first exposure to indoor plumbing. Such was not the case here.
Remember, every word counts. And your opening line counts about ten times more. So give it some serious thought before you say something that's either boring or awkward. And if it's both? Consider yourself officially rejected. I will wash my hands of you after just the one sentence.
As a self assessment, compare your answer to my (by no means definitive) list of reasons below.
1) That's mundane. Like waking up. What have I said about such a mundane action starting a story? That it's boring and doesn't distinguish you from the dozens of other manuscripts I look over every single day.
2) It's awkwardly phrased.
3) It's confusing.
4) Combining parts 3 and 4, it leads to various questions such as "When did you get in the shower?" and unless the answer is sometime other than Saturday morning, then yeah. This opening is mundane. The answer was, in fact, Saturday morning. "Well, perhaps taking a shower is an unusual phenomenon?" you might ask next. The story might take place in another time or place with a scarcity of water, or following a character's first exposure to indoor plumbing. Such was not the case here.
Remember, every word counts. And your opening line counts about ten times more. So give it some serious thought before you say something that's either boring or awkward. And if it's both? Consider yourself officially rejected. I will wash my hands of you after just the one sentence.
Friday, September 17, 2010
Ludicrous speed, go!
Some people call me crazy. Some call me insane. And some people call me Maurice, but I'm not sure why. Regardless, they think I'm mad to have a schedule like I do which includes a 3 day a week remote internship, a full five master's level classes, and newly added to the lineup, a 3 day a week internship requiring my physical presence.
Truth is, I think I might want to be a literary agent when I gets all growed up, and I've never seen a good one that isn't ludicrously busy all the time. Figured I'd better get used to it.
Truth is, I think I might want to be a literary agent when I gets all growed up, and I've never seen a good one that isn't ludicrously busy all the time. Figured I'd better get used to it.
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Knowing when to quit
Today's quick tip- if an agency has some interest, although it may be tempting to pressure them, don't. If they're undecided about your work and you start acting pushing or desperate, they aren't going to want to work with you. It wouldn't be surprising if it took months, even years to sell. Or maybe that book never will. Maybe it will be your second or third that first gets printed and your fifth or sixth that establishes you as a solid mid-list. Who knows? Point is, agents are in it for the long haul. If you get pushy so early on, they might decide you're more distruptive of their work than your work is worth, even if it's good material. So do yourself a favor and have a little faith that the agency is really considering you. And if an agency does sign you, keep it in mind. Have a little faith that we're really trying to help you. Never forget that in both reputation and money, the author's success is sucess for the agency as well. So even if we were mean spirited, awful people, we still want you to succeed. Please don't make it harder for us to help you.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Oh, the humanity
You might be thinking to yourself, Robin you bastard! Why are you always so damn negative about everything? Why is every piece of advice what shouldn't be said or done? What people do wrong?
Honestly it's because I can fix more with less intrusion by highlighting what needs reevaluation rather than either A) being nice and sweet and thereby failing to convey what needs to be done or B) trying to hold your hand and walk you step by step through whatever it is with constant encouragement. I ain't a kindergarten teacher, and the chances are that regardless of what yours may have told you that you aren't special. Seriously. Go look at a dictionary. See what it has to say on the subject.
But that's no excuse for being a huge jerk! You act like you're not human, like you don't make mistakes. Don't you have emotions? A heart? Don't you realize what an ass you sound like?
Sigh. Both my hobbies and my job revolve around helping people make things better, so it's sort of a given. That said, of course I make mistakes. Of course I have a heart and of course I have emotions. Jury's still out regarding my essential humanity, but point is, sure. I fuck up. And I feel bad when I do. Yes, my life is about helping people make their books better. Does this mean I'm an expert writer? No, it means I've got an analytical personality and an interest in literature.
Thus, critically acclaimed writer Michael C. White, author of A Dream of Wolves and Marked Men, amongst other titles once said this of my work:
"I can see how someone might think this is funny. I don't. Frankly, I think it's idiotic."
And he was my professor. AND HE LIKED ME. Mostly because I brought a lot to the conversation and was useful for other students. Now, why would he say that? We're talking about a very talented guy with years of experience as a professional writer, editor, and professor. The story in question was a prototype chapter for my collection of shorts "The Metromorphoses" a parody of Ovid's classical Metamorphoses updated to modern settings. Specifically, it followed a man named Frank who tried to solve the problems in his life by undergoing plastic surgery to resemble an Oscar Meyer Weiner (because everyone loves an Oscar Meyer Weiner) but the surgery is botched and he comes out of it as an Armour hot dog (the dog kids love to bite) and is summarily devoured by a hungry mob. I guess the moral is that plastic surgery is bad? I dunno. I laughed, but even I knew the actual writing was terrible. What's a serious, proffesional editor to do when confronted with something intentionally stupid and then poorly written? Well, he might've sugar coated for someone else. Me he knew and pretty much said "this is awful. What's your problem? You're smarter than this. Moron."
God I miss that man's classes. And college in general. Now, I'm just a bitter old man. *sigh*
See? I have feelings. They're just all negative feelings.
Honestly it's because I can fix more with less intrusion by highlighting what needs reevaluation rather than either A) being nice and sweet and thereby failing to convey what needs to be done or B) trying to hold your hand and walk you step by step through whatever it is with constant encouragement. I ain't a kindergarten teacher, and the chances are that regardless of what yours may have told you that you aren't special. Seriously. Go look at a dictionary. See what it has to say on the subject.
But that's no excuse for being a huge jerk! You act like you're not human, like you don't make mistakes. Don't you have emotions? A heart? Don't you realize what an ass you sound like?
Sigh. Both my hobbies and my job revolve around helping people make things better, so it's sort of a given. That said, of course I make mistakes. Of course I have a heart and of course I have emotions. Jury's still out regarding my essential humanity, but point is, sure. I fuck up. And I feel bad when I do. Yes, my life is about helping people make their books better. Does this mean I'm an expert writer? No, it means I've got an analytical personality and an interest in literature.
Thus, critically acclaimed writer Michael C. White, author of A Dream of Wolves and Marked Men, amongst other titles once said this of my work:
"I can see how someone might think this is funny. I don't. Frankly, I think it's idiotic."
And he was my professor. AND HE LIKED ME. Mostly because I brought a lot to the conversation and was useful for other students. Now, why would he say that? We're talking about a very talented guy with years of experience as a professional writer, editor, and professor. The story in question was a prototype chapter for my collection of shorts "The Metromorphoses" a parody of Ovid's classical Metamorphoses updated to modern settings. Specifically, it followed a man named Frank who tried to solve the problems in his life by undergoing plastic surgery to resemble an Oscar Meyer Weiner (because everyone loves an Oscar Meyer Weiner) but the surgery is botched and he comes out of it as an Armour hot dog (the dog kids love to bite) and is summarily devoured by a hungry mob. I guess the moral is that plastic surgery is bad? I dunno. I laughed, but even I knew the actual writing was terrible. What's a serious, proffesional editor to do when confronted with something intentionally stupid and then poorly written? Well, he might've sugar coated for someone else. Me he knew and pretty much said "this is awful. What's your problem? You're smarter than this. Moron."
God I miss that man's classes. And college in general. Now, I'm just a bitter old man. *sigh*
See? I have feelings. They're just all negative feelings.
Monday, September 13, 2010
Update
Oh man, oh man, oh man. It's been so long since I've said anything, but I don't wanna say anything.
Errr, here, emjoy this shiny diversion while I go rustle up some discourse.
Errr, here, emjoy this shiny diversion while I go rustle up some discourse.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
The Right Way
On September 6th, bestselling novelist and all around cool-guy Peter David (Sir Apropos of Nothing, Tiger Heart, and much more) posted an article to his blog that everyone should read, whether or not you like genre fiction. Technically, he first wrote the article nearly twenty years ago for his But I Digress section in the Comic Book Buyer's Guide. But don't avoid it just because you don't read comics. It says something of supreme importance that everyone in America today needs to hear. It says, paraphrased "Political Correctness does more harm than good." My reasoning is somewhat different, but I have to agree with David for two reasons.
First, "politically correct" labels still serve to reinforce a mentality of "us and them." Or worse, ocassionally "us vs. them." Example, a black man whose family has lived in this country for three hundred years is African American. I'm Italian, my familiy has lived here for about 75. Nobody has ever once referred to me as Italian American. I'd have to go out of my way to get that. Wear a cross, slick back my hair. Wear a T-Shirt that says Italian Stallion on it. It would be a concious choice rather than something I was all but forced into based purely on race. And let's be clear, while there is a distinct sub-culture which can be broadly reffered to as being "African American" it is unquestionably an AMERICAN sub-culture. American as apple pie. Unless you're going to try and convince me that rap and soul music, basketball and fried chicken were all born on the plains of the serengeti or something. Note, if you do make that argument, know that the only reason I won't be hunting you down is because I'm opposed to systematic violence. Even when the target was totally asking for it. Why is it that white America is just America and everyone else is African American, Asian American, Latino American, or whatever else? Think for a moment about how that fragments our culture. It makes a pocket society which is considered wholly distinct from "real" America, which, to me at least, means the end product of politically correct thought is the opposite of its intention.
This leads to problem number two, a refusal to acknowledge or attempt to understand the differences between people. Give you an example- "Chinese people eat dog." My goodness. How many people would shush me for saying it? Get angry or indignant? Even say it's a vicious lie and no one does it anymore? Well, here's the thing, kiddies. I was an Asian Studies major as an undergrad. I studied in China for more than four months. I ate dog while there. It's true. Why should it be taboo? It can only be because we make the generalization that eating dog is inherently bad. That it is simply the wrong thing to do. Disgusting. Savage. But it isn't. Heck, check this out . The gist of it is that pigs are smarter than dogs, cleaner than dogs, friendly, and actually make excellent pets. I see only a handful of people protesting the idea of eating pork, though a fair number who claim the way they're raised and/or slaughtered is a problem. By and large, America has no problem eating bacon. Or ham and cheese sandwhiches. Pork is my favorite meat. Why is it okay to eat pigs but not dogs? Especially given China's agriculture which is generally either too wet or too dry to raise grazing animals (such as sheep and cow) or animals which must be feed enormous quantities of grain (such as pig). They eat what they have. And being politically correct often amounts to covering that up. Giving everyone the benefit of the doubt that they are- or are trying to be- just like you. Maybe they aren't just like you. And maybe they're okay with that. Thinking otherwise is ego-centric, ignorant, and ultimately, counterproductive.
As they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Being honest is tough, but I'm a lot more comfortable with honesty than a house made of cards. If "politically correct thought" is what passes for diversity and understanding in America, I think we may have forgotten who we are.
First, "politically correct" labels still serve to reinforce a mentality of "us and them." Or worse, ocassionally "us vs. them." Example, a black man whose family has lived in this country for three hundred years is African American. I'm Italian, my familiy has lived here for about 75. Nobody has ever once referred to me as Italian American. I'd have to go out of my way to get that. Wear a cross, slick back my hair. Wear a T-Shirt that says Italian Stallion on it. It would be a concious choice rather than something I was all but forced into based purely on race. And let's be clear, while there is a distinct sub-culture which can be broadly reffered to as being "African American" it is unquestionably an AMERICAN sub-culture. American as apple pie. Unless you're going to try and convince me that rap and soul music, basketball and fried chicken were all born on the plains of the serengeti or something. Note, if you do make that argument, know that the only reason I won't be hunting you down is because I'm opposed to systematic violence. Even when the target was totally asking for it. Why is it that white America is just America and everyone else is African American, Asian American, Latino American, or whatever else? Think for a moment about how that fragments our culture. It makes a pocket society which is considered wholly distinct from "real" America, which, to me at least, means the end product of politically correct thought is the opposite of its intention.
This leads to problem number two, a refusal to acknowledge or attempt to understand the differences between people. Give you an example- "Chinese people eat dog." My goodness. How many people would shush me for saying it? Get angry or indignant? Even say it's a vicious lie and no one does it anymore? Well, here's the thing, kiddies. I was an Asian Studies major as an undergrad. I studied in China for more than four months. I ate dog while there. It's true. Why should it be taboo? It can only be because we make the generalization that eating dog is inherently bad. That it is simply the wrong thing to do. Disgusting. Savage. But it isn't. Heck, check this out . The gist of it is that pigs are smarter than dogs, cleaner than dogs, friendly, and actually make excellent pets. I see only a handful of people protesting the idea of eating pork, though a fair number who claim the way they're raised and/or slaughtered is a problem. By and large, America has no problem eating bacon. Or ham and cheese sandwhiches. Pork is my favorite meat. Why is it okay to eat pigs but not dogs? Especially given China's agriculture which is generally either too wet or too dry to raise grazing animals (such as sheep and cow) or animals which must be feed enormous quantities of grain (such as pig). They eat what they have. And being politically correct often amounts to covering that up. Giving everyone the benefit of the doubt that they are- or are trying to be- just like you. Maybe they aren't just like you. And maybe they're okay with that. Thinking otherwise is ego-centric, ignorant, and ultimately, counterproductive.
As they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Being honest is tough, but I'm a lot more comfortable with honesty than a house made of cards. If "politically correct thought" is what passes for diversity and understanding in America, I think we may have forgotten who we are.
Monday, September 6, 2010
An appeal to my readers
You can laugh all you want at video games for being low brow or hindering the development of one's creativity. I always thought there was plenty to think about. For instance, if that's a particularly horrible night to have a curse, does that mean that there are good nights to have a curse? Can I get a consulation on that? I really need...I mean, it's for a friend. So, is there a witch doctor in the house?
Saturday, September 4, 2010
Sake Battered Chicken Fried Sushi
I direct your attention to this lovely little comic or LLC for short. I'm pretty sure no one's using that acronym yet. Well, other than limited liability corporations or whatever. They can't be that common.
The comic first came to my attention by way of the Japandamonium segment of www.rpgamer.com, a video game news site. I bring it to yours because apparently its creator was blown away that someone reviewed the comic and in the on-site "rant" more or less told his readers to feel free and do more of that.
Sure. I'm game. Here's your review, from the one website less read than yours-
"It's pretty good, I guess."
Seriously though, it's about an African American who goes to Japan to teach English and his various misadventures trying to figure things out on the other side of the Pacific. The art is fine, the humor is slightly less bland than a syndicated newspaper comic, but nothing special. The real reason to read it if you have, are considering, or know well someone who is or has taught English as a foreign language in another country. That's why I read it. I too taught English in Japan and my experience were largely similar to the character in the story, so I can vouch for their relative authenticity. I guess I got fewer stares, being a white man in Osaka than the Main character of Fried Chicken and Sushi gets as an African American in the countryside, but this was more than made up for by the fact that my company was awful. And he can complain all he wants about Cicadas. I dealt with 'em too. And on weekends, they got into shouting matches with the little leaguers or whatever or had a field behind my apartment building who shouted mantras and chants and slogans ten hours a day. And then behind that was something even worse. Well technically behind that was a fire department, which wasn't so bad. But behind THAT was the landing strip for Itami international airport. I swear I thought sometimes those planes were gonna hit my building. And I lived on the top floor. Hooray.
Oh well, if you're the kind of person who might like to give teaching abroad a whirl, it's worth checking Fried Chicken and Sushi out, although from experience, nothing can prepare you for the true horror of the job.
The comic first came to my attention by way of the Japandamonium segment of www.rpgamer.com, a video game news site. I bring it to yours because apparently its creator was blown away that someone reviewed the comic and in the on-site "rant" more or less told his readers to feel free and do more of that.
Sure. I'm game. Here's your review, from the one website less read than yours-
"It's pretty good, I guess."
Seriously though, it's about an African American who goes to Japan to teach English and his various misadventures trying to figure things out on the other side of the Pacific. The art is fine, the humor is slightly less bland than a syndicated newspaper comic, but nothing special. The real reason to read it if you have, are considering, or know well someone who is or has taught English as a foreign language in another country. That's why I read it. I too taught English in Japan and my experience were largely similar to the character in the story, so I can vouch for their relative authenticity. I guess I got fewer stares, being a white man in Osaka than the Main character of Fried Chicken and Sushi gets as an African American in the countryside, but this was more than made up for by the fact that my company was awful. And he can complain all he wants about Cicadas. I dealt with 'em too. And on weekends, they got into shouting matches with the little leaguers or whatever or had a field behind my apartment building who shouted mantras and chants and slogans ten hours a day. And then behind that was something even worse. Well technically behind that was a fire department, which wasn't so bad. But behind THAT was the landing strip for Itami international airport. I swear I thought sometimes those planes were gonna hit my building. And I lived on the top floor. Hooray.
Oh well, if you're the kind of person who might like to give teaching abroad a whirl, it's worth checking Fried Chicken and Sushi out, although from experience, nothing can prepare you for the true horror of the job.
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