It's the End of This Blog as we Know it (But I feel fine)

Well, Crewd Philosophy's just a little over a year old. So it's about time I shut the thing down. Originally, I only planned to do it for a couple months as an experiment to familiarize myself with the technology and the mindset. Last September it went public and I stuck with it. For greater research, really. And then it just sort of became a real blog. That people would actually read. So it would stare me in the face and command me to care about it.

The problem is that I don't. I haven't had fun with this thing in months. The problem is also that I don't know if anybody else does either. If it were the first time I felt this way, I'd stick it out for the VOTERS...err, readers! It is not the first time I've felt this way. If it were the tenth time, I might've just taken a break. It's closer to the hundredth. And last month's turn out was only 755 hits, half my best month and the worst since going public with this blog. I never intended or desired to be an internet celebrity, but those numbers are still disheartening.

I don't know precisely what the reasons were, possibly too much time being clever, or my hatred of Twitter, or the fact that I only troll your own blogs and make no attempt to actively expand readership, but I've clearly failed to engage you, my gentle readers. And if I fail to engage you, then I have failed you in general. It hardly matters what I say if no one's around to hear it. So class is canceled. Insufficient interest. Too few students. Interested parties are reccomended to transfer to Professor Epstein's class.

For those few of you who have been reading for a long time, know that I appreciate your interest and support. I'm also sorry that there were things I never got to do on this blog. I had plenty more to say about the book business, and media in general. Heck, maybe I'd even do a few more reviews. Bones of the Hills = Good. American Ceaser = Long. Cowboy Feng's Space Bar and Grille = Disorienting. You know, like that. I never got to expand The Fatman Weighs In into a regular segment, or tell any of my China and Japan stories. That might be a good thing, though since China is my very own "band camp."

Regardless, this is what it is: indefinite hiatus. More than likely, this blog will be abandoned forever. Until Blogger pulls it down due to disuse, my permanent, personal e-mail is off on the side there. If any of you, new readers or old ever have a question, want some feedback on a query or a writing sample, or just want to drop me a line, I'll be around. After all, I live to serve.



In my best Nixon voice: I am not a cookbook.

And so for now my friends, it's the end of this blog as we know it (but I feel fine).

How Not to Write Your Query

"Dear Hello:" My name is not hello. It is No. Dr. No to you. And I don't know why you say hello, I say goodbye.

"Picture this" Everyone's always asking me to picture this, picture that. Now imagine this other. Can't you just see this other thing here? Stop telling me to picture it. That's part of the reading process. Might be a more effective way to pitch if we were talking face to face, but we're not. Meanwhile, everybody is always saying that so you're making your query look all that much more generic. Besides, it's always like "picture you're a fourteen year old girl and inheritor of a mysterious (but almost entirely useless) power, which is why everyone wants to kill you." or "Picture that your mother, who tried to murder you, and who you thought was dead shows up on your doorstep with mind bending truths." Yeesh. Melodrama much? Couldn't you ask me to picture something I'd like? "Picture you're an eccentric billionaire who has retired at the age of 32 to your secret hermitage in (insert scenic remote location of your choice. Scotland, Mongolia, tiny mediteranean island, whatever)." See, now that I'd like to picture.

"You know me" Sometimes people will be like "We met at XYZ convention and you were interested in an earlier draft of this story, so now that I've cleaned it up a bit..." that's fine, even a good idea when you know who you're adressing. But I assure you that you have NOT met me at a convention because the few I get to go to I hide a sulk and stick to the shadows because in life, like on the internet, I'm a troll. Maybe you meant the boss? Except he wasn't there either.

"Fantastic and Innovative" One of the most annoying things that aspiring authors will frequently do is to hype up their own writing using words like the above as well as hypnotic, fresh, new, unique, extraordinary, sharp, keen, and you know what? Fuck this. Just go through the list of words you know that are complimentary. I've seen most of them used in this context even though they don't make sense. "Dear sirs, my writing smells nice. Please represent it."

"Bullshit McGee says" Fake or meaningless review quotes. If you're already published or you know real authors, or real literary critics etc. and you want to throw in one of two quotes they've given you just to prove you're serious, that's good. Here are some things which are not good- A) Making up your quotes B) Getting them from people no one would know or care about. Sorry, your mother does not count as a review quote, "dearie" C) Getting real quotes and sending page after page of them. Man, show that to the publisher. The Editor will circle their favorites, hand it to marketing, who will make their picks and tell production what to stick on the cover. Handing the agent all that stuff on an unsolicited query is just... it makes you look self important and pushy. On a related topic, a reader sent me this article, which I thought was pretty interesting. Consider it homework. I might discuss it more fully next week. Then again, maybe not. Half the purpose of homework is to seperate the workaholics (who do it all) from the neurotic (who do half of it because they know only half will be collected and then bite their nails and hope they did the right half).

"Crewd Inc." I know I've mentioned this one before, but probably not as often as many of the classic query blunders, so it's worth repeating here. Don't make up a company. Seriously. Just don't. It's the same as pages of review quotes, except even worse. Because at least the review quotes are real. Fake companies mean nothing.

The Hooded Man

So. I've taken up archery. Why have I done this crazy thing you ask? As part of my campaign, duh. As in "I promise to live up to my namesake, but I will only rob from the rich to give to the poor as your duly elected representative (VOTE FOR ME)." In fact, somebody call the local paper and pitch that as a political cartoon about my campaign. A little caricature of me aiming my bow at a fat cat with an arrow that has "tax reform" written on it's side. Now I just need something catchy to shout to supporters at public appearances. How about "The heart of darkness shall be pierced by my arrows of righteousness! Also, tax reform."

Good thinking, eh? Although it's actually just what I tell people to shut them up when they snicker about how someone like myself would do something so "hick-ish." Shutup, shutup, shutup. I'm a Renaissance man, mofos. I can do it all. The real reasons mostly have to do with archery as a sport. I work part time from home. It sounds great. It isn't. I've got cabin fever BAD and very little money. I wanted a sport that I could do on my time, that I could afford, that wouldn't be unduly hampered by my limp or my weight (the combination of those has wrecked my back and legs) and which is generally non-competitive. The first thought was swimming. I used to love to swim. Never trained so don't expect to see me do those fancy somersault wall kicks, but I can float on my back or tread water for hours, I can dive to the bottom and swim halfway across the lap lanes in one breath, got a decent top speed etc. etc. Or at least, I used to be able to do these things. I haven't really gone in years and there are reasons. The nearest indoor pool is half an hour away and gross and crowded. The town pool is very nice but it's only open three months a year. Only two are good for swimming and even then many days are almost complete losses due to summer showers and how we get kicked out at every rumble, flash or drip. Not to mention, it's very expensive. I considered martial arts, but again, expensive and far away from me, not to mention not to mention that I'm probably not healthy enough to do it. I also wanted to stay away from team and competitive sports for two reasons. One is logistical. I didn't want to have to sync my schedule with other people and play at prescribed times. The other is because people who play competitive sports have the wrong attitude, I think. It's all about stats and winning and improving your game rather than considering how simply playing the game improves you.

Wow, that came out a lot more Buddha than I'd intended. So let me rephrase. It's a simple, mechanical activity that gets me outside, requires my focus, but is also cathartic and consequently, it's a good chance to clear my mind and any exercise I may be getting by pulling the bowstring and chasing after my arrows on the rocky, hilly, crazy terrain has got to be better than what I was doing before.

Oh, and I really was named after Robin Hood. It's a long story. Or at the very least, a stupid one. Suffice to say that as a kid, I didn't like it, but when I learned that my father had been thinking about Frank or Floyd (After Frank James and Pretty Boy Floyd respectively) I was thankful my mother came up with it.

Victoly?

So as many of you may have heard by now, the gay marriage bill was passed in New York making it (if memory serves) the sixth state to allow it. On the one hand, this does feel like a triumph for civil liberties, but at the same time, I feel like it's tragic that it needs to be considered a victory. It never should have been an issue in the first place. And don't think it's escaped my notice, GOP, that you're always wah-wah-wahing about government interference in people's private lives but you conveniently do a 180 whenever your sense of moral superiority is pricked.

On an unrelated note- where have all my readers gone? I was surprised how many people were around for most of this year, but the last couple months have been really dry. Is it me? I took a look back through the archives and if I do say so myself, I'm freakin' hilarious. Then again, sometimes it's hard to tell. Just the other day I was talking with a friend and I slipped one of my VOTE FOR ME paratheticals in there and his response was "Oh, that reminds me. I read your blog. It's pretty cool." Uh, bwuh? He might be one of the few who knows of it, but I never gave him the adress. I think. I mean, I make a point of *not* mixing different aspects of my life if I can avoid it. One reader wanted me to join her writing group once upon a time. I'd have liked to, but too many overlapping issues there, especially once the agency started to represent her. I don't know how to feel about any of that. Should I want people I know to read my blog? Should I want readers to know me personally? Should I get pissed and do a naked jig whilst singing bawdy tavern songs? And are there things man was never meant to know? Or ask, for that matter? Good luck getting the naked jig image out of your head.

General Jacob Gallbladder and the Art of War Finale

“And what would I have to do? Kill somebody?” the boy laughed so loud I could barely even hear Kenny’s response.

“No.” He said with a straight face. “Nothing quite so,” he paused “distasteful.” The crowd stopped laughing and stared at him. He gave them a twisted, humorless grin and looked over them disinterestedly with dead looking eyes. “You need only,” he paused again “cut the legs out from under someone. Interested?”

The boy Kenny addressed stammered but didn’t say anything intelligible. Kenny’s right arm shot out and his fingers snapped twice loudly before holding out his upturned palm. After a second’s delay, I slapped the paper he’d given me into his hand. He held it up between him and the older boy. I could see that Kenny’s head barely came to the other boy’s belly button. “The pertinent information is in this file. I will see you Monday, if you think you’re up to it.” Kenny grinned again.

The older boy reached out his right hand as if to shake, and began to introduce himself. “I’m Nick,“ he began. Kenny dropped the paper on the ground, twisted on his heel and headed back the way we’d come in, his arms tightly behind his back once more, and no hurry in his steps. I raced to catch up and open the door for him again as we walked out, a hundred pairs of eyes boring holes in our backs.

Around the corner and two blocks down from the school, Kenny’s arms finally dropped to his sides again before he yelped in pain.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked him. Kenny held up his left arm and I could see a pasty white ring circling it.

“I think I broke my wrist.” The voice he squeezed out was so pathetic it almost hurt me to hear it. “God, that was terrifying. What was I thinking? What kind of friend are you that you didn’t even try to stop me?”

“I, uh-,” I stuttered. “I dunno?”

I have no idea what kind of crazy planet Kenny lives on. I’m guessing it’s a nice place to visit, but a terrible place to live.

And that’s definitely going in the euology.

Interuptions

We're taking a day away from Gallbladder because there are too many interesting things to talk about.

Long time novelist,comic and screen writer Peter David is forming a publishing company of his own with several other authors. Whether or not he writes your kind of book, it's something to think about when NYT best selling authors feel the need to "self publish." Also, an interesting debate going on at his blog over what the books should be priced. In general, I think people undervalue e-books, acting as if all the worth comes from its physical existence rather than the time and effort spent in development. What do you folks think? Anyway, I almost wish David had done this a year ago. He had a decent sized role in my master's thesis regarding new technologies and changes in the balance of power, but back then I was just saying how he'd branched out all over and established himself with lots of different audiences by doing crazy things like writing books for bizarre space opera themed punk rock bands. Now he's taken the next logical step.

Next up, former co-worker and cool person Linda Epstein is blogging regularly now. While of course she can't hold a candle to me in the chuckles department, both the quality and brevity of her posts make me embarassed at my own. She's even got some pretty fun polls of her own. So go read her stuff. Do it. Do it now.

Also, do you guys know about Kickstarter? It's kind of an odd site, but here's the premise. Small companies and start ups and things pitch their product to the world at large, looking to make the money they need to actually put it together. Not that it's donation on the "investor's" part since you'll get something out of it. One of the agency authors, Jeremy Schipp (whose writings are as fun as they are freakin' weird) is having a musical made out of one of his stories, and they're in need of more funding. Check it out, and if you leave anywhere near where it will be performed, "donate" 20 bucks. It'll get you a ticket and if the musical is as good as his books, it'll be worth it.

Finally, Merriam Webster's Word of the Day-
shaggy-dog \shag-ee-DAWG\ adjective
: of, relating to, or being a long-drawn-out circumstantial story concerning an inconsequential happening that impresses the teller as humorous or interesting but the hearer as boring and pointless; also : of, relating to, or being a similar humorous story whose humor lies in the pointlessness or irrelevance of the punch line.

Is this what you guys think of General Gallbladder? Someone speaaaak to meeeeeee.

General Jacob Gallbladder and the Art of War Part VIII

As I brushed past him to open the thick metal door for him he muttered something quietly under his breath. I think he said “thank you.” But I’m not really sure.

I stepped out onto the vast unknown blacktop and held the door open for Kenny. He walked out into the bright sunlight with an unusual swagger, and as he passed me I saw that he had his arms behind his back, the middle finger of his right hand wrapped tightly around his left wrist.

Everything around us seemed to stop. Kids stared. I looked around for playground monitors hoping no one would throw us off the school’s grounds. Kenny looked slowly from one side to another, pacing slowly across the open ground. Eventually, he stopped before the biggest kid on the field, and his arms seemed as thick around as the basketball he held in his hands.

“My name is Mr. Wells. This is my associate.” Kenny briefly gestured at me before clasping his arm behind his back again. “We are in the market for some muscle. It occurs to me that you have plenty to spare. How would you like to make a little money?” My mouth nearly dropped. Wearing Kenny’s dorky sweater and khakis was an honest to god mobster in the making.

I looked at the older boys and tried my best not to look nervous. Would they take him seriously? I thought it was more likely that they’d toss us back over the iron fence.

The guy Kenny addressed jammed his basketball against his side and used his free hand to scratch his chin. After a moment the kid smiled, then barked a laugh. The rest of the yard followed suit, twice as loud and three times as malicious as the taunts of our own class.

General Jacob Gallbladder and the Art of War Part VII

Kenny snorted. “You’re just not thinking politically.”

“You’re the doc, doc.” I informed him. When in doubt, brown nose. Motioning for me to follow, Kenny pulled on his backpack, walked out the door, into the street. He stopped at a corner, stopped. Then he turned around. Went back the way we’d just come.

“Shut up.” He said. I had to hold in a laugh. Wrestling to keep it under control kept me pretty well occupied for a while. After that, the pain in my feet kept me occupied.

Since our parents thought we were home sick, we didn’t have any money the subway or anything. It felt like we must have hoofed it half way across the island before Kenny stopped outside a wrought iron gate looking into a foreign playground. Reaching into his pocket, Kenny pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me.
“Here, hold on to this. And when we go in there, try to act supercilious.”

I blinked.

Kenny Sighed.

I shrugged.

He rolled his eyes.

“Just don’t say anything and follow my lead.”

Kenny marched resolutely down the street and up the steps of the brick building. From the outside it didn’t look so different from our own school. Just over the door, however, was a sign containing the word middle. I swallowed hard. I was about to ask Kenny what he thought he was doing but right then he turned and glowered at me. He put his arms behind his back and curled his lips into a frown. For a second, seeing Kenny angry was very unnerving.

Then I remembered that he’s a skinny little shrimp and my friend besides, but his eyes were still sharp. Gesturing with his head, he walked briskly ahead navigating the corridors to take us to the school’s courtyard. He nodded towards the door. I waited for the door to nod back. It didn’t.

“Astin, get the door.” He said to me.

I looked at him.

He looked at me.

“Why don’t you get the door?”

“You’re not thinking politically.” He informed me.

“Right, right. I have a real problem with that.”

General Jacob Gallbladder and the Art of War part VI

Chapter 2

Sometimes it’s difficult being friends with a poindexter like Kenny. You can be in the same room and in two different worlds at the same time. As we’d agreed the day before, we both decided to take the day off, and after our parents had gone to work Kenny slipped out and joined me at my place. It really didn’t take more than a minute before we wound up in separate corners of the room. On my TV was the next big thing in gaming. In his hands was what seemed a tremendous leap backwards.

“What is that? Chess?”

“No it is not Chess. It’s the Legend of the Sword Song.” He proclaimed proudly.

“Looks like Chess.”

“This is a turn based tactical war simulation set in a rich fantasy world detailing the tragic and quixotic lives of a group of troubadors who try to stop a civil war.”

“So it’s chess. If chess were also a book.” Kenny frowned at my assertion but didn’t disagree. In general, that means he doesn’t have any way to counter your argument.

Which was fine by me because I didn’t want him to know that I had no idea what “quixotic” meant.

Still, let it not be said that Kenny doesn’t handle defeat like a winner though. Years of Gordon’s abuse had accustomed him to it. He sighed as he snapped down the lid of his little handheld system, putting it in standby. “Okay, fine. Whatever. What’s important is that I thought of a solution.”

For a moment, I didn’t even know what he was talking about. If I had, I’d probably have said something smarter than “Huh?”

Kenny slipped his system into a protective case, which he then placed in a larger case, and deposited in a cushioned area inside his backpack. After zipping it all closed he stood and stretched. “About Gordon,” he began “I think we should fight fire with fire.”

“Wouldn’t that just make a bigger fire?”

“That’s the idea.”

“Oh.” I thought about that for a moment but I wasn’t sure how a bigger fire would solve our problem. Or any problem for that matter. Outfitting the fire department with flamethrowers instead of houses sounded like a terrible idea to me. I was half convinced that Kenny would attempt to convince me of some Science Fiction style Nega-Fire, metaphysical wavelength that would stop fires or something equally crazy. “I’m not really sure how that helps us.”

Kenny snorted. “You’re just not thinking politically.”

General Jacob Gallbladder and the Art of War Part V

“Okay. So what does that mean?” I asked him.

“It means I’m sick of eating gallbladder.” He frowns at his now flat second pouch of juice. “Even if it is delicious.”

I search his face for any hint that he’s trying to be funny. All I see is his mournful stare at the empty pouch, as if willpower could refill it. Or perhaps he’s afraid that it will.

“So what does that mean?” I ask him. His brow furls.

“I dunno. Not yet. But we’ll be sick tomorrow. We’ll come up with something.“

Reflexively, I rub the palm of my left hand with my right thumb. The spot where Kenny’s boot had pinched me during our escape was sore, but tough.

Hard work builds calluses.
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So that's the end of the first chapter of General Jacob Gallbladder and the Art of War. Thoughts? Was the vocabulary and tone appropriate for a ten year old audience? Do my characters sound too old? Was the pacing appropriate for target audience? Would the humor amuse them? I plan to have every chapter open and close with related observations; did it work for you? Tell meeeeeeeeeee.

General Jacob Gallbladder and the Art of War Part IV

He plunged the straw into his own pouch and drained it before I’d even managed to slip my straw into the tiny hole. I was still trying to hold it comfortably without accidentally squirting it on myself when he opened another.

“Give it a rest, buddy. This stuff will kill you.”

“And what would life be without artificially flavored sugar water?” he asked.

“You have a problem.” I informed him.

“I can quit anytime I want to.” He drained his second pouch slowly, looking off into the distance. “But I’ve been thinking.” I considered insisting that I didn’t believe that he of all people would ever dare think, but held it in. He was in one of his moods, see. And there’s just people you don’t interrupt. You don’t interrupt a doctor during surgery nor an actor on stage. If you think those lead to disaster, you’ve never interrupted Kenny while he was brooding.

“Let me tell you a story,” he says, his face hard “about the warlords of ancient China and the ferocious General Jacob Gallbladder.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Wouldn’t you? How can anyone tell a story about a man named Gallbladder with a straight face? “What’s funny?” I wasn’t sure if he was angry, sarcastic or curious he said it in such a deadpan voice.

“Um. Nothing. Continue.” I tried to match his voice and hope he wouldn’t notice the slight smile forming at the edges of my lips.

“Gallbladder was not his real name. I just don’t remember the real name. Listen, it doesn’t matter.”

“So why are you telling me the story then?” I thought it was a fair question.

“The name. The name doesn’t matter. Look, do you want to hear the story or not?” Now he was glowering, pure and simple. His brood had been interrupted and there would be no peace until whatever terrible idea that had formed in his mind clawed its way out through his mouth.

“Yes. Of course I do.” I’m a very bad liar. Fortunately, Kenny isn’t picky. His only other friends were a brick wall named Eduardo and a tennis ball named Travis.

“Good. So, this General-“

“Gallbladder be his name.”

“He fought a real uphill battle. Outnumbered ten to one. He lost, obviously. But the enemy forces were so impressed they took him prisoner. They kept him in nice quarters, made him comfortable, offered him any food that he wanted, hoping he’d serve them. But instead he asked to be served gallbladder for every meal.“

“Ew. Where did you hear this story?” I asked.

“I dunno. I read it somewhere I guess. Anyway, the gallbladder would remind him of the bitter taste of defeat. He never let that hatred go and eventually he escaped, rejoined with more troops and routed his former captors.”

I frowned. I was never as fond of all the morbid stuff as Kenny. To him, life was Zero-sum. You win or you lose. And I know I may not be as smart, but it seems to me like everybody loses in the end, so there’s no need to fight each other every step of the way. Might as well keep things pleasant. Maybe that sort of sentimental bent is more appropriate among lawyers and soldiers than the schoolyard, but I really felt that if we all put our hearts into it, we’d get along just fine.

General Jacob Gallbladder and the Art of War III

Just in time, the door cracked open. I slipped inside and slammed it shut, ignoring Gordon’s screams of frustration and the way he brutalized the door. Gasping for breath, I saw Kenny sink to the floor, shaking. I tried to help him up but he waved me off as he pulled out his asthma inhaler. You can always say this for Kenny. He had the reflexes of a rabbit, the grace of a gazelle, and the lungs of a fifty year old chain smoker.

After a moment of silence, I offered Kenny my hand. He took it and I pulled him back to his feet. As we headed back to our classroom early, seeking sanctuary, I planned out my strategy.

“I’m thinking that I’ll be very sick for the next few days.” I told him. Kenny looked at me as if I’d sprouted fangs. “You might want to do the same.”

For a moment we walked in silence and then Kenny looked up at me again. “This is totally going into the eulogy, isn’t it?”

“Of course it is!”

“Jeez.” He said, heaving a big, fake sigh. “My funeral sounds like more fun every day. Shame I won’t be there.”

“On the contrary, little buddy. You’ll be the guest of honor.”

“Well, we’ve survived one more day.” He said.

“And we’ve got a plan that could keep us breathing until early next week.” I pointed out.

“Now there’s something to celebrate. Come on, I’ll buy you a drink. You want fruit punch or tropical fruit punch?” This was becoming a bit of a habit, actually. It had gotten to the point where pounding back flavored corn syrup had become not only a reward, but a ritual. Each emptied pouch of juice was a badge of honor. Like a scar on a soldier.

“I’m thinking cherry, actually.”

“You’re a mad man, Astin. You’ll be howling at the moon one day soon, but let’s see what I’ve got stashed away in my locker.”

Kenny’s locker was really just one of the small wooden cubbies lining the halls stacked three high, but he’d somehow managed to create a locking door for his, making it unique amongst the endless rows of identical boxes. How he got permission from the school to install it is anybody’s guess. All he ever says is that if kids had money, he’d make a fortune selling the thing to other kids with valuables to protect.

Valuables like the glossy silver pouch he handed me with a grin. “Drink up, son,” he said affecting a sort of John Wayne cowboy voice “you earned it.”

General Jacob Gallbladder and the Art of War Part II

“Fine. How would you like me to knock you senseless?” I think Paul was as surprised as I was at Gordon’s newfound flexibility. Kenny didn’t blink an eye. Instead he shot his tongue out, curled it up and touched the tip of his nose. “So what’s the challenge?” he asked again.

“That was.” Said Kenny.

“What was?” Asked Gordon.

“That.” Said Kenny.

“I don’t get it.” Paul told me.

“Me either.” I informed him, sighing as I realized that our confusion over my friend’s antics might have been the only thing we had in common.

“What is the challenge?” Gordon roared.

“Touching your nose with your tongue!” Kenny’s response was less a roar than a very loud squeak.

“This is stupid.” Paul said.

“Well, he did already agree to the terms.” I reminded him.

Gordon shook with rage, but Paul whispered something to him and he slumped slightly. The crowd around us murmured. Sighing, Gordon straightened back up. “Okay. First I’ll beat you at this, and then I’ll smack you one for wasting my time. Agreed?”
“Certainly.” Kenny beamed, all smiles. Gordon stuck out his tongue. He folded it. And he gagged. Turning away he spat out the mucus he’d accidentally picked out while Paul thumped him on the back. Smiling, I turned to congratulate my friend for having out wiled Gordon Wiles yet again, and saw him sprinting madly for the other end of the yard, the pounding of his sneakers on the blacktop muffled by the laughter all around us.

Groaning, I took off after him, with only a tiny head start before Gordon recovered. With my heart pounding in my ears I saw Kenny head for the South Wing. It was escape route 3-A. The Playground entrance to the South Wing can only be opened from the inside. Catching up to Kenny, I stuck my hands out without a word and vaulted him up to the small, slightly opened window above and beside the door. His boots bit uncomfortably into my palms, but I ignored it.

Only a little twig like Kenny could slip through that window, which is what makes it such a great plan. On the other hand, it takes time for him to get through, slip down, exit the class he falls into, open the door for me and close it behind us. We had actually agreed never to use this route. 1-B tended to be the most reliable. Maybe even 2-A in a pinch. Unfortunately, it had been the only method open to us because of the crowd that had gathered to watch us get smashed into jelly.

General Jacob Gallbladder and the Art of War I

Just to let you all know, for the next two weeks, it's a post every day as I post the early part of a Middle Grade novel I began writing as an experiment. As always, feedback of any kind is appreciated and I hope you enjoy the Art of War.
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They say that hard work builds calluses. Or at least, that’s what Kenny would always tell me. I suppose he’d be in a position to know. He’s a Library that walks like a man. A bitter, jumpy, paranoid library I suppose. But this is no place for mercy or weakness. This is recess. And only the strong will survive.

“Very well,” Kenny grimaced, “I accept your challenge provided that you give me the courtesy of choosing the means by which we shall duel.” Like all great men, Kenny was far beyond comprehension most of the time, especially to someone like Gordon Wiles.

Gordon was a year older than we were and easily a foot taller. He’s big as a hill and about as sharp. Inhaling sharply against the cold November air in fear of losing the snot it took him so little effort to make, Gordon turned to his chief man-at-arms, a gangly kid named Paul and asked what the heck Kenny was talking about.

Paul didn’t know. Neither did Billy, George, Timmy, John, Robert, Bert, Billy, Gene, Jane, Joan, Helen, Kelly, Samantha, Thomas, Kate, Christie or any of the other fifth graders watching the daily shakedown. Or if they knew, they didn’t say anything. They all just looked on in excitement, safe in the knowledge that they weren’t today’s target. They must have figured everything would be okay as long as they didn’t call attention to themselves. Hadn’t they ever heard of survivor’s guilt?

“Ah, allow me to elucidate. You wish to prove your physical superiority in regards to my own, correct?” Kenny asked. Paul looked at me. I shrugged. Gordon sucked more mucus back into his nose. “I ask only that I be given the choice of means through which you will prove how much greater than myself you undoubtedly are.”

Gordon understood that one. Anything appealing to his ego would find a way to penetrate his thick skull and make its way into his slow moving mind. Gordon smiled slowly but said nothing. “No, I think I’d rather just smack you one.” At that point, I was just about ready to bolt, but there was nowhere to go as long as Gordon was in arm’s reach.

“Surely you can’t be afraid that I might be able to beat you?” Kenny asked, seemingly oblivious to the way Gordon’s lip twitched in anger. In all the time I’d known him, I’d never seen him act so bravely. Then again, he generally dismissed courage as the delusion of those with no survival instincts. Whatever that’s supposed to mean.

Gordon breathed in through his nose hard again and cracked his knuckles. “Don’t be such a coward,” Kenny told him. As Gordon drew back his fist, I began to arrange my thoughts.

Kenny Clark was a good man. And although I’ve never seen anyone so smart be so incredibly dumb, he will be missed greatly by his loving Iguana Igor, his mother Lily, and Ms. Jenkins, our second grade teacher.

I knew that as his best and his only friend, it would be my responsibility to give his eulogy.

Follow Through

So, after my last post, a reader suggested I google Miniature Cats. Way too many things came up, so I decided not to really look. Instead, I tried a second search for Paracat. Here's what I found.



You know, it's kind of depressing. No joke I make, no matter how bizarre or insignificant has been done about a million times better somewhere else. So, I really want to hate the creators of that photo, but I can't. They've got a whole damn menagerie like that. The modern, photoshop equivalent of one of those old traveling curio circuses comprised mostly of "rare and exotic animals." If they'd been clever, they might have made their own paracats, but they were boring and unbelievable. Photoshop is REAL, mofos. Check it out. The whole site is actually pretty interesting, though nothing else is as awesome as that. They're apparently a web design group, but some of the articles up there are of interest to people in any way connected with publishing. Unfortunately, they don't update often. And oooh, look, an article about Seth Godin. Man, I was talking about that six months before they were. Keynote speaker at last year's IBPA, don'tcha know. And I know he's had devoted followers since ten years before I knew he existed, but whatever. You took Paracat away from me. I'm a desperate man.

On the other half of Wednesday's post, there are things to say too. You know, when I sit down and write these things (usually right after getting up from less than four hours of sleep) I don't really know what the fuck I'm talking about, nor am I really considering what will get people's attention. Which is probably fine since I can never find a pattern after the fact for which posts get a lot of views or comments. Sometimes though, even though not many people comment and even when there are a moderate number of views, it will suddenly have this big impact on the queries we get at the agency. Yesterday was such a day. Gay lit up the ass. Er, so to speak. I was actually more entertained by something my mother said about it.

It seems that she answered the phone the other day to an automated survey. It annoyed her from the get go, but because it was a "public service" survey, they've been calling and leaving messages every day for weeks so she broke down and decided to do the damn thing so they'd go away. The whole thing consisted of two questions. "Are you registered to vote in New York?" and "do you believe marriage should only be between a man and a woman?" When she said no to the latter, they simply repeated the question. She said no again and they lectured her, so she hung up and came to bitch to me about the methodlogical flaws in their survey. It was very much a "No shit" moment for me, but it genuinely surprised and upset her. Frankly, she doesn't even care about the issue, she just hates the die-hard anti-gay crowd for making a mountain out of a mole hill. It's a disturbing reminder that not everyone grew up close to NYC. So maybe they don't get it. Help me spread the good word, folks.

EQUALITY THROUGH APATHY.

Also, while I'm talking in caps: VOTE FOR ME. You can trust me as a politician because I'm so boring, long-winded, unintelligent, out of touch and ugly (all the great traits of modern leaders BUT MORESO) that no amount of power would be sufficient to make a sex scandal possible.

The Fatman in Briefs: Theme Months

Every damn time I turn around, there’s another theme month. Last month was zombie awareness. Apparently June is both LGBT pride month (hasn’t there been at least one already this year?) and Adopt-a-cat month. Seriously. Adopt a cat. Why does everybody get a theme month but me? When is fat white middle class suburbanite month?

Well, whatever. In honor of these themes, I present to you my opinion on the subjects. And of course, my opinion is the be all and end all and I’m sure you care.

So first, gay people. Such a big explosive issue. Just mentioning the word is an instant ticket straight into the zeitgeist, ain’t it? But listen, I’m a New Yorker. We practice equality and tolerance in the strictest, most absolute way anywhere in the world. By not caring at all. Let me define New Yorker: A New Yorker is one who walks into H&R Block with a stack of papers up to the ceiling, sits down with an accountant who turns out to be a blue skinned, nine foot tall, puppy eating, uranium shitting venutian and doesn’t blink an eye unless that Venutian happens to be a very bad accountant. In short, I think it’s kind of gross, but it ain’t my ass. So do whatever floats your boat, folks. And feel free to insert jokes here about “mast heads” and “poop decks” and “salty sea men.” If it’s really clever, you can pretend I said it.

Cats: I love cats. There’s only one thing I’d want to do to make them even better. It’s a dream I’ve had since I was a wee tot. Or more accurately, since I was in highschool. If I had Photoshop, I’d whip up a sample image to show you how wonderful it could be, but suffice to say, I hope to one day miniaturize cats and teach them to stand on your shoulder like a bird. I will call these “Paracats.” See, it sounds like “parakeet.” But it’s not. It’s a cat. That goes meow. But stands on your shoulder. Think about it. Are you thinking about it? Good.

The Sacred Nature of Print

Frequently in this business, I run into people (even really cool and generally very sensible people) who seem to have fallen for the idea that books are essentially sacred, somehow better or more meaningful that any other medium or activity. These people might be aghast to know that very few book professionals would agree with them. Is S&S Sorry about the gobs of money involved in Jodi Picoult movies? I guarantee you they are not. Is TOR crying itself to sleep at night because according to its own site, it has as many big best sellers with licensed novels based off the Halo games as with the works of Robert Jordan or Orson Scott Card? I doubt it. Have I mentioned that I interned at one of those places and know several people at the other? I'm an academic, you know. Liberal arts, no less. Trained to see the interconnectedness of seemingly disparate disciplines. The same applies the creation of media in three main ways.

1. Connection between the individual stories and creators involved.
2. The way one medium can put another in perspective
3. The personal benefit to any creator of media who draws on a wide experience of different kinds of stories and formats.

Unfortunately, I can't go into great detail about 3. It's something relatively personal. I could ramble for enormous tracts of time about bizarre convergences and divergences, similarities and dissimilarities between Author X and Author Y or I could babble about Gilgamesh and it's connection to the biblical story of Noah and the Ark, or for that matter, compare the bible to other religious texts. I could, but my insights are my insights. You need your own and right now, all I'm interested in is convincing you that if you're a "books are sacred" type that you WILL have new insights if you broaden your scope. As for points one and two, here are some examples.

Just yesterday, I got a query at the agency that stands out as being interesting. Something the author said amused me. She was very earnest, but kind of flustered. I can appreciate the sentiment. Since she didn't include her sample, I sent her a pretty generic note asking for the first twenty, but appended a couple of sentences and jokes to personalize it, hoping to put her at her ease. Turns out, this particular aspiring author is a veteran voice actress in Magical Girl anime. I was always more of a Giant Robot kind of guy, but that's still pretty damn cool. She sent the sample but I haven't gotten to read it yet. I hope it's good. Why? Cross promotion mofos! It's a wonderful thing. She can pitch her book at Comicon and discuss her anime at Book Expo, doubly so if the Manga (Japanese graphic novel) it was based on has been released stateside. That reminds me, if you're planning to be involved with anything remotely related to media of any kind and you live within a hundred miles of NYC, you might as well memorize the floor plans for the Javits center since both of the aforementioed conventions (and many, many others) take place there. It's like your home away from home.

Over the weekend, I decided to re-read Starship Titanic and Road to Mars. Starship Titanic is the book of the game, of the throw away joke from Douglas Adams' Life the Universe and Everything which is itself a book in a series that began life as a radio drama. Terry Jones, that is, the guy from Monty Python who was always either naked or a woman, wound up writing the book after going in to play the voice of a parrot in the game and realized Adams' was too busy to write the novel fast enough for a simultaneous release, which his publishers demanded (CROSS PROMOTION, MOFOS). Road to Mars is a meatier, wholly original book that also happens to take place in space and involves tragedy that surrounds a luxury liner and was written by Eric Idle, as in the guy from Monty Python who was always singing. It's an interesting comparison. I offer again a comparitive review of the two, but the point is that they're part of a wider, if somewhat aimless study. Even within the miniature realm of Pythonology, you'd still have cause to compare Jones and Idle elsewhere. For example, Jones was the man with the plan behind Meideval Lives, an Honest to God Documentary mini-series that bears the unique honor of being the only documentary to ever make me laugh, while Idle was the mastermind who created The Rutles, the world's funniest "mockumentary" parodying the Beatles.

So, on to point two. By now you're probably losing interest. I'm a windbag. I know, trust me, I know. Even I'd be bored of me by now. I've been rambling too long already, so I'll save personal notations for how one medium can put another in perspective for a later date. Suffice to say that just recently, I shot juice out my nose when I saw a skit by The Whitest Kids U' Know (as in, possibly the funniest sketch comedy TV show since Monty Python) which, as I'm sure you'll all notice, is jab at Sue Grafton specifically, and theme crime dramas in general.

The Middle Path

Have you guys ever heard of a show called "The Middleman"? I'm guessing no. It only got signed for 13 episodes, of which only 12 were ever made, and this was several years ago. I don't watch all that much TV. In fact, I watch none when it airs. Through the miracle of Netflix I'm beggining to understand why- the best stuff gets buried. It's given crummy time slots, moved around, canceled quick, no promotion. I could ramble for hours about why TV studios aren't wholly wrong to do this and why I think it' still short sighted of them, but I won't. I'm not even going to discuss the middleman itself in any further detail than that it's a top tier spy/super hero spoof that aired on ABC around 2007 or 2008, the same time as such other quickly canceled shows as Better off Ted and Pushing Daisies. I guess someone on staff had some balls. I'm guessing they don't anymore. I wonder whether they willingly handed them in for a paycheck or if they were removed. Either way, what I really wanted to talk about today isn't the show or the business side of the media industry. I just wanted to talk about the opening theme. "My plan is sheer elegance in its simplicity." That's what all the Middlemen villains claim of their ludicrously elaborate plots. Personally, I'm a fan of both silliness and minimalism. Tell me you don't think this opening succeeds with flying colors.



Two colors specifically. Just yellow and black. The song is catchy and has the easiest lyrics in the world to remember. Only two characters appear, and only three credits are given, every one of which is also used as a design element. Pretty undeniable what the show would be like from the opening, too. And while we're on the subject of colors, Javier Grillo-Marxwhatzit, you may color me impressed. I'll have to add the graphic novels it's based on to my reading list. And it moves surprisingly far up the ladder since it wouldn't be availible on the e-reader I haven't got, but which I could potentially own and which has, to date, more or less caused me to stop buying print books entirely.

Et tu, blogger?

Blogger has really been acting up on me recently. On Internet explorer, it lets me sign in and post and stuff, but won't let me respond to comments readers are making, which is driving me nuts. Even basic functionality is weird. For whatever reason, I have to click "publish post" and then hit enter. Clicking just ain't enough. So I tried using Firefox. Firefox won't even let me sign in. Keeps babbling about how I need to enable cookies. So I checked. They're enabled. Hear that, Firefox? I'm an enabler. Hell, they were enabled by default. So stop your bitching and just let me in.

Anyway, seems I'm not the only one bothered by the way things are named in SF and Fantasy. And although I didn't see it as a problem when I read Ender's Shadow, I guess from reader comments that the Call of the Earth series is neither the first nor last time Orson Scott Card himself is guilty of this particular crime. Which sucks, really. I know I've said it before, but SF and Fantasy tend to be over-written, derivative, in-bred books designed to be difficult for "outsiders" to pick up under any circumstances and be difficult even for genre lovers unless you follow the entire series from the start, which is hard to do since it becomes incredibly difficult to find niche backlist books. You always see the same ones. Oh good. Books two and six. Why never one or three-through-five? Shutup. Stop asking questions. Well, e-books can potentially change all that so I guess I'll stop harping on it for a second.

With all this said, I enjoyed Card anyway (and he was a very big name once upon a time). What was different? Mostly his characters. They're distinct. In light fantasy etc. it wouldn't be a surprise but in the serious stuff, characters tend to get lost in the sheer size of the cast, or because they play the archetype to the hilt. The book I was talking about didn't even read like a genre book. The entire story happens over a matter of days. The great journey is still ahead of the characters. Everything in the book was interpersonal drama and politics. My favorite character was actually that dude with the inprounouncable name- Vozmuzholnoy Vozmuzhno (Written from memory...did I get it right?). He's this very clever, extremely ambitious, ruthless general bent on revenge against the "imperator" who claims to be the embodiment of God who destroyed Vozwhatever's tribe. Everything he says is true, but twisted around deliciously. He's very good at manipulating people. Pick your game, he'll still beat you at it. If somehow you think that very smart, even gentlemanly bloodthirsty warmongers don't make for stories I find fun, you obviously haven't been reading this blog for very long. Voz also isn't that different from Bean from the Ender's Game books and the focus of Ender's Shadow. Bean is pretty much why that book was great. A cold, ultra brilliant little kid who knows perfectly well he's the smartest person ever, but who accepts being second in command because he knows no one wants to see him lead and who, at the same time, is just a little kid looking desperately for a place to belong.

Anyway, while I'm on the subject of SF etc. would you folks like to see a sort of book-battle-review between pythons? Specifically, it'd be Eric Idle's Road to Mars vs. Terry Jones' novelization of Douglas Adams' Starship Titanic. Anyone interested?

Zombie Awareness- Zom Com: The Movie of the Book of the Movie of the Game

We're at the end of zombie awareness month, so I'ma try and write a trailer for a zombie movie I had in a dream involving the Myself and my friends the Mikoslavs. Kind of in a rush though and Blogger's been acting up on me recently as well, so apologies if this is stupid or the setup gets even more messed up than it should be.


Black Screen with text which follows the narrator,
Narrator (V.O)
They're nerdy...

Cut to:
Crew reaches for a replica sword on the shelf, but Cantor grabs his arm in mid motions.

Cantor
Hey! Never, ever stroke another man's
sword without permission!
Cut to:
Black screen again

Narrator (V.O)
Pedantic...
Cut To:
Crew and Keon stand in living room.

Crew
I think we're going to have to take
your car. Mine's like, 3/4 of a mile
away.

Keon
Come on, it couldn't be that far.
Where the hell did you park?

Crew
At the Shop Rite.

Keon
Man, that's maybe a 1/4 of a mile.

Crew
Sure, as the crow flies. Are you a crow?
No? Then shutup.
Cut To:
Black Screen
Narrator (V.O)
Little Shits.

Cut To:
Just, Cantor and Keon in kitchen.

Just
Hey. Who drank my all my OJ?

Cantor
At times like these, it's always safest
to assume that it was the one armed man.

Keon waves his one arm wildly.

Keon
I was framed. Framed I tells ya!
Cut To:
Black Screen
Narrator (V.O)
And they just might be humanity's
last hope.

Cut to:
Montage of zombie destruction. Middle aged man complains at great length to an uninterested Customer Service drone at a department store until drone hops the counter and attacks him. A Zombie fireman eats cat in tree. Little boy asks mother why that woman appears to be eating that man's face, mother starts to answer, and freezes in place. Etc. etc.

Narrator (V.O)
Crewd Entertainment Pictures presents
ZOM-COM.

Cut To:
"dress-up" montage. Just is surrounded by lab equipment. Coke and Mentos can clearly be seen. Crew and Cantor rifle through Cantor's real-metal replica armormy while Keon straps on on Nerf gun after another, McGyviered by Just with Coke and Mentos to fire at high speeds. Keon then kicks open the front door and screams a battle cry, shooting into the crowd of zombies in the driveway. Crew and Cantor rush out behind him and bludgeon knocked down zombies while calmly mutters notations re: zombie strength, stink, etc.

Narrator (V.O)
In December 2012 everything is going
to change.

Why Must You Do This To Me?

A couple of years ago, I read Orson Scott Card for the first time. Even though he's famous and all I didn't know anyone who read him. Until I was...23 most of my books were hand me downs from my mother and brother, plus whatever random stuff I happened to come across at book fairs. One day I happened to find that our library had a copy of Ender's Shadow, and recognizing the name of a legend in the field I was completely unfamiliar with, I thought I'd give it a whirl.

And it was good. Really good. Okay, to be fair it's not as if had the world's deepest story. And the ending was a bit anti-climactic- not to mention that the book itself tells nearly the same story as Ender's Game, simply from another viewpoint. But I hadn't read Ender's Game. And the new perspective, that of "Bean"- an almost sociopathic but utterly brilliant child who makes his appearance by forming a gang of oprhans at the age of four is simply amazing. I absolutely loved the character, thought the story was solid, and anything left underdeveloped was purely a result of the unusual concept of re-writing the same book from another POV. So's I said "This Card fellow seems pretty sharp." Then I chortled at my urbane wit and cried myself to sleep while trying to convince myself that I don't need friends and if they can't understand how great I am, then fuck 'em.

Anyway, being poor I did not run out an immediately buy a crapton of Card's books. It wasn't until months later at a library book fair (different library) where they were so desperate to get rid of them that it was the best price I'd ever seen- 5 bucks, you can fill a bag. Any size, really. Bring your own. A single Card book was there, so I threw it in the bag. Now, about a year later, I'm finally getting to it. Indeed, that library just had it's book fair last weekend. To be fair to me, I do go to several, and I got free books from Big Corporate Internship. I mean, I did read Stranger in a Strange Land within days of picking it up at that fair. And it was a mouldered first edition, so I didn't even need a book mark or anything. Every twenty pages or so the glue would just come undone and they'd fall out.

Anyway, why do I tell you this? Well, because I do like Card's writing. Which is why this particular book I picked up, The Call of the Earth: Homecoming: Volume 2:The Revenge of the Sequel annoys me a bit. Oh, the writing itself is still good and imaginative. It only builds steam as it goes. But the names. My God, the names. If you never take anything else away from this blog, remember this- giving people and places long, inpronouncable names is a bad idea, even in SF and Fantasy.

Let me explain. First of all, normal characters tend to have difficult enough names like Gabballufix and Rashgallivak, and before you think I'm trying to pull out harder names, try saying Vozmuzhalnoy Vozmozhno ten times fast. Hell, try saying it once at any speed you like. It takes a while, doesn't it? And it doesn't flow trippingly off the tongue, as they say in fancy pants MFA classes. Now you have to compound this problem by the fact that although places still only have one name, characters all have two. Vozmuz there is "shortend" to Moozh. I mean, seriously. Moozh. The hell? He's more or less the most dangerous man in the entire world, general of an enormous army and his name is MOOZH? Even characters with easy names like Kokor confuse you by having an alternate which is used interchangably (in this case, Kyoka, which is an actual name and I therefore imagine that Card didn't realize that.) Now multiply this by the enormous size of the cast (Another pet peeve of mine- keep your central cast under a dozen, please. If you can keep the central cast at less than half a dozen, it'd be even better)and you'll start to see why this is a problem. But wait, there's more. Read now and we'll also throw in EXTREMELY COMPLEX CHARACTER RELATIONS AT ABSOLUTELY NO ADDITIONAL CHARGE. Part of this comes from the characters themselves, and part from the world building. The book primarily takes place in and aroud the great city of Basilica, in which men have no *permanent* rights. Insofar as it relates to the discussion here, what matters is that marriage is a year long contract, and although it can be renewed as often as desired, it is expected that young, especially desirable women will play the field as it were. Fine as far as it goes. It's a decent bit of world building. The problem is it means everybody is related by blood or by marriage to every other character in the book. So keeping in mind who someone is and what their relation to the other half the conversation is makes for an absolute nightmare. And I have a pretty high tolerance for bullshit and I think otherwise that Card is pretty compelling all things considered. But this really weighs down the book. Next time you write a fantasy or SF, just know that it isn't a law that you need to make things insanely complicated or difficult to say. Yes, I get it. Tolkien actually created an Elvish language. Good for him. His books were boring as shit. Speak English. It's a lot more useful.

*update* I also wanted to present you fine folks with this delicious quote from the acknowledgements "Clark and Kathy Kidd provided me with a refuge during the last week of the writing of this novel; fully half of it came forth under their roof..." Tell me that doesn't sound like he wrote it in less than two weeks. Although, where SF writers are concerned, stranger things have happened than writing a book every other week.

The Muse in Muzak

You know, in all my multi-media ramblings, I haven’t really touched on music since my Year End Wrap Up. And that was all of what? Five months ago? An eternity, folks. So without further ado, allow me to introduce my five most recent musical discoveries, the folks I listen to when I write, when I script my game, when I write these posts, and yes, when I read your queries.

1. Brental Floss: You folks may or may not find him funny. Personally, I think he’s hilarious. And I know this makes me sound like a huge nerd, (oh noes! The cat’s out of the bag now) but he’s the Weird Al of video games. If on the off chance any of you are actually closet classic gamers in disguise, you’ll be glad to know he’s got an album out, but the hard copy can only be bought from one store. You can get the MP3s from Amazon or iTunes though. When I did, one of the tracks didn’t download though. So angry, Amazon. So very angry.

2. Daikaiju: Last time I did this, prominently featured was Man or Astroman, a 90s surf rock revival with a sci-fi theme and a heavy dose of psychedelic undertone. The fact is that they’re awesome, but they sort of petered out. Their first three albums are solid gold but they sort of faded to being merely good. That’s where Daikaiju, a more recent giant monster themed band comes in. The description of the you-tube posting of my favorite of their songs, “The Trouble with those Mothra girls” is accompanied by a fan’s description which runs thus- “This song makes em want to surf on the juices produced by my own melted face. Truth is you're simply not worthy. Press your face against your speaker and BLOW YOUR MIND.” And it's true. You're not. But Daikaiju in their ultimate wisdom and compassion will allow you to listen anyway. Still, I think you should check out the live version here if only to see the killer guitar work at the end. Not only are these guys about the most kick-ass instrumental band ever, but even though they’re not big time, they’re tireless self promoters, which all y’all should look into.

3. Reverend Horton Heat: You’d think I’d have been listening to these folks all along. I like goofy, up-tempo stuff, and being that I actually know who Johnny Horton (Jen-You-Wine 50s honky-tonk) is, I can’t really think of who would be the intended audience if not me. But I was never really in on the psychobilly crowd before now. Maybe I should be.

4. Well, while I’m on the topic of psychobilly, I would be remiss not to mention The Meteors, even though I don’t honestly know that much about them. Do I need to?

5. Los Straightjackets: If you’re interested in some top tier straight up classic Ventures style instrumental surf rock, these just might be your boys. And yes, they always wear those Mexican wrestling masks. Why you ask? Well don’t. You don’t know what they’ll do to you if you piss ‘em off. They’s kuhraaaazy. Also, they’ll be celebrating my birth with a free concert in Rowayton CT towards the end of July, if any of you fine folks care to join me in rocking the fuck out.

Random Things, Back to Books

So first off, I wanted to say that I got a couple of video game related query letters this week and if I get one a month I’m surprised. Most of them are terrible. Largely because the writers know squat about games. The ones I received last week were terrible. Largely because the writers weren’t very good. Actually, one wasn’t bad but the dialogue and such was clearly meant as this bizarre absurdist thing. If you can successfully imagine the voices of a sketch comedy group voicing every line in the book (Monty Python > Whitest Kids U’ Know > Tim and Eric>>>>>>Upright Citizen’s Brigade) then it just might work. I know from experience that stuff that seems hilarious, and may actually provoke giggle fits if read out loud frequently fall flat when it’s just words on paper, but good luck to that guy. Anyway, hurrah! A higher class of bad game-inspired writing.

Second, it seems that every week now we get e-mails from a foreign literary agency looking for an American co-agent. Mostly they’re from India and China. You guys are probably well aware of my personal and academic interest in Asia, as well as my unfocused MUST CONSUME ALL MEDIA mindset. So when I get e-mails from South Korean agencies looking for an American co-agent for an illustrated hand guide to Greek and Roman mythology the “holy shit, that’s weird and roundabout” center of my brain is stimulated. I don’t think the boss has any interest in co-agenting anything at the moment, but I’m entertained. So keep it coming. Wheeee. On a side note, I love seeing cultural exchange and I’ve seen some pretty interesting pitches this way (good or bad, frequently depending on the author’s-local-agent’s knowledge of English) but at the same time, more foreign books means less space for emerging writers over here. Well, that’s where it’s heading. From my perspective as a consumer, it’s a good thing. From my perspective as a writer wannabe and an aspiring agent, maybe not so good.

Finally, I also wanted to mention a dream I had the other day. It was very, very strange. I’m not really sure what it was supposed to mean or if you’ll be as entertained by it as I was. Truth be told, I’m telling you as much so I won’t forget as anything. In the dream, I was applying for a full time agency assistant job. No surprise there. It fills my waking hours. Why not the sleeping ones? But there was actually a time leap. My first interview when there were two people who ran it out of a house in the suburbs, and then again six months later. Two “BFFs” broke it off because they couldn’t stand working together. So the one that continued the business needed fresh meat. Most of the dream was about the second interview. In the interim, one of the dream agents had moved out. The other had redesigned the place and subletted the basement to this weird group of like, Swiss models or something in order to be able to pay for an assistant. One guy, two women. The interview itself wasn’t solo. There were two other guys- one I know from my publishing program (but not very well) and one from college, who wouldn’t have the slightest interest in that kind of job and who was inexplicably called Harry when his name is actually Joe. I think there was maybe a sub-plot there I never got around to. Anyway, she basically made us compete for the job. In our underwear. Apparently she was a man hater and thought this’d be a good way to keep us in line. Harry-Joe had to ride a Unicycle and juggle. What that has to do with agenting is beyond me. I forget what the second guy had to do but these things made me nervous enough that when I was ordered to give a lecture I wound up squawking in this weird British accent. At which point, the dream agent hussled us downstairs and we all formed a line to eat lunch from this elaborate buffet the Swiss models set up.

Honestly, although I can sorta see how it reflects my impression and fortunes looking for an assistant job, (i.e. the shit one must go through and the inevitable discrimination for being a male in publishing) I also got this weird horror movie vibe off it. That the models weren’t really models but other applicants that she’d conducted experiments on to make them that way. Or something. Who knows. The dream ended at the buffet. It’s a shame because I was pretty amused. Confusing the hell out of me is pretty much the main route to entertainment, y’see. Pondering non-sense is how I know I’m alive.

Balancing Bad-Ass and Believability

Not that games are great at it, but better than movies leastaways. You know, in assembling this list of a representation of the most relatable males in gaming, I couldn’t help notice how many characters only have one name. What gives?

5. Zero: Appears in Megaman X and Megaman Zero series, published by Capcom
Oh man, talk about classic. Zero first appears way back in the early 90s in the first Megaman X game. If I had to sum Zero up in as few words as possible, it’d sound something like “Honor. Duty. Ponytails.” Seriously. He’s an ultra lethal future samurai working as the equivalent of a police officer. In X series, “reploids” have true AI and even unique DNA patterns (I guess they’re part organic?) but they can be infected with a virus that makes them unstable or violent. That’s called going Maverick, and Zero is the greatest hunter there is, outstripping even X, the title character. It’s tempting to pass Zero off as an anti-hero because he tends to play “bad cop” next to X, but the fact is that although Zero will do anything it takes, it’s only because he’s about the most selfless thing ever to walk on two legs. In X4, he’s forced to fight and kill a man he respects (a colonel in the “repliforce” which is exactly what it sounds like), and that man’s younger sister (Iris) whom he loves but who attacks him in revenge even though he kind of wished they’d win the fights. In X5, his allies start turning on him left and right, but he doesn’t bat an eye when they order him on a suicide mission. All for the sake of the world. And after X6, afraid he may be going Maverick, he seals himself for a century to purge any impurities and awakes in the Megaman Zero series only to find that in his absence X has gone maverick and has turned the world into a dystopian hell hole leaving Zero with no choice but to fight his best friend. Despite being utterly selfless, Zero generally doesn’t seem to want to take responsibility for making decisions and yet also finds himself playing Devil’s Advocate. Although he’s relatable, I don’t think I can put him any higher on the list because in real life, he’d probably be really hard to get a long with, but… listen to that rockin’ theme music!


4. Jutah: Appears in Silent Bomber published by Bandai.
Even though his game got good reviews, I don’t think it was ever very popular and sometimes I feel like I’m the only person who remembers it. Indeed, I still remember how I first noticed it. It was the incongruity of the title. How does one bomb silently? This perplexing mystery forced me to look at the case. “Ah.” I said. “’It’s a sci-fi. The answer is obvious then. In space, no one can hear you bomb.” In all seriousness, although as a cynical old man Jutah strikes me as a little too emo, he was exactly the kind of character I wrote in middle school and highschool. One of those seemingly very common super soldiers raised in a lab. After discovering that a building he’d destroyed was full of civilians, he turned his back on the whole affair and wound up not resisting as he was arrested as a war criminal. Several years later, for atonement’s sake, he joined a (suicide) squad of prisoners led by a handful of military personnel when a new war breaks out. On the one hand, Jutah’s cold demeanor and ability to kick the shit out of entire armies single handedly make him seem all but unstoppable. On the other, he has some very glaring character flaws, most notably his refusal to act except when under direct orders. The only time in the entire game he goes on an “unauthorized” mission is to rescue his commanding officer. He’s got some surprisingly strong characterization, especially for the hero of an action game. One which never even got a sequel.


3. 3. Ryusei Date From Super Robot Wars published in America by Atlus USA
Super Robot Wars has the unique honor of being the best series of licensed games ever made. It also helped revitalize the mecha genre in Japanese television. The series has been around so long that they’ve created a ton and a half of new characters and machines to put beside ones they’ve licensed from TV studios. And I wish I could be talking about the original original, the hot headed but heroic Masaki Andoh, pilot of the Cybuster. Or for that matter, Excellen Browning, the pun loving Beauty who pilots the Weissritter. But I said I was going to cover relatable men, and Masaki’s a bit of an archetype and Excellen isn’t a man. Ryusei Date on the other hand is an almost disturbingly accurate portrayal of the average SRW player. He’s about 20, idealistic, talented, but inexperienced. He was recruited to be a test pilot in in an unusual fashion which only makes his lack of knowledge or concern for military protocol stand out even more. He’s also a huge doofus. As an example, he has little understanding or awareness much less concern for the real women around him, including his childhood friend Kusuha (a nurse who becomes a pilot), his commanding officer Aya (famous both for her strong telekinetic powers and her skimpy outfits) or Latuni (a lab raised super soldier and one of the best pilots, who views him as a knight in shining armor). On the other hand, he tends to drool over giant robots with a feminine appearance like the Valsione or the Angelg. It just makes me a little sad because in real life, Ryusei would probably be my best friend. Oh, and if you’re not afraid of blowing your mind, check this out. It works so well for those two.


2. Jude Maverick from Wild ARMs 4 published by XSEED
Jude, don’t make it bad. Take a sad game and make it better. You’ll note that Jude is from the same game as Raquel who was on my list of awesome female characters. What can I say? WA4 developed its cast really well. In certain respects, Jude is the prototypical hero for an RPG. He’s oddly young, extremely stubborn and naïve all the stuff one would expect. The difference is that WA4 actually goes somewhere with it. That game is very much a coming of age story and Jude as the main character is the one whose transition into adulthood is our primary concern. As a result there are two things that stand out about his development. First is the sheer amount of terror and tragedy. You know how much I love tragedy. If you want to understand someone, you have to look at how they act when the shit hits the fan. Which is the second thing. In most games a character’s personality is set up and never changes. In a well written one it’s set up to contrast with other characters, and then doesn’t change much from there. Most of the writing is so centered on the main plot (assuming there is much writing at all) that characters rarely get to stand around and soliloquize, and the games that do that usually get wordy and boring. Jude actually seems to develop though. Where he ends up isn’t far from where he started, but you see every victory and every failure takes its toll. The game also has an epilogue. You’d think a guy with such a strong desire to help people with skills like his would’ve gone into law enforcement. But no. He actually winds up as a bloody park ranger. Seriously. The indication is that by game’s end, he’s so sick and so confused by people that he withdraws from society. Pretty far cry from the typical fate of a game’s hero which is *always* one of the following three things A) Blaze of glory B) Return home or C) Adventuring into the unknown.


1. Zeri from Valkyria Chronicles II published by Sega
Zeri, the hero with no last name. Valkyria Chronicles is a weird series. Storywise, it’s a combination of high fantasy, highschool comedy and War Drama. Specifically, WWII. Don’t ask what would make someone think to combine those three things. I couldn’t tell you. Regardless, here’s how it works. In the world of VC, the Darcsens are believed to have caused terrible devestation in the ancient past and were only stopped by the godly Valkyrur, a godlike race which had more or less vanished from the pages of history. The history books are wrong though. It was the Valkyrur who were the agressors and the Darcsens were the only ones who stood in their way. Never the less, they’ve been persecuted for centuries, forced to work in the mines, to live in slums, accused of being cold-minded, physically weak, etc. In case you haven’t figured it out, Darcsens are the VC world’s Jewish community. Zeri disagrees with the majority of Darcsens who refuse to fight even in self defense. He argues that strategy hasn’t worked and the best way to protect his people is for him to become a “hero.” That is, someone so well known and connected that the whole world will have to rethink its position. Although the game’s hero Avan is the inspiring one and comes up with a lot of their plans, Zeri as the smart one has to figure out how to make it work. He’s also sarcastic and sharp tongued. In truth, he likes having a rival and as much as he claims to dislike certain people, it’s only to try and maintain objectivity on the battlefield. And yet he throws himself into danger repeatedly, either as the center of an extremely dangerous plan or to rescue others. It’s such a fantastic balance. All at once he’s an egotistical jerk and everything he does is informed by his desire to come out looking like a hero, but in a pinch you can see his legitimately "heroic" instinct.

A Rose by Any Other Name is Just as Thorny

I know a lot of folks maintain this delusion that video games are for men only at that female characters are all helpless weak airheads or mere sex symbols. Because I enjoy proving people wrong, here's just a small sampling of some of my favorite heroines in gaming history. Also, in case you're interested, I've included images of 'em so you won't need to look through any awkward cheescake or cosplay. I won't lie to you. There's still a lot of weirdos out there.

#5 Samus Aran of the Metroid series Published by Nintendo
Here’s what you need to know about Samus Aran. She’s Lt. Ripley of Aliens, if Ripley wore a tank instead of clothing. No, seriously. And I believe I’ve already expressed my love and admiration for Ripley in the alien movies . Take out references to a male lead, replace civilian child with Metroid Hatchling and Queen Alien with Mother Brain, Space Pirate Extraordinaire and poof! Plus, Metroid is one of the classic series that defined platforming adventure games. She was about the first really cool, devastating heroine in video game history. Indeed, most gamers would probably give me flak for not putting her higher on the list, but truth be told her character was never really developed. It got its power from being the only female lead around back in the day and from the inevitable comparison to Aliens. Now it runs largely on nostalgia. Far as I know, only one game has attempted to give her a real personality at all- the relatively recent Metroid Other M which was roundly criticized for being stupid So there you have it. I can’t list her any higher with such weak development, no matter how many times she kicks me square in the nostalgia cortex.

#4 Deis – Breath of Fire Series Published by Capcom
God I love Deis. Objectively however, I’m not sure I can put her any higher on the list. She appears in four games- Breath of Fire I-IV and has three distinct but equally delicious personalities. In I and II, she’s an all-powerful airhead. She’s a secret character so her motivations are totally frivolous (and as I recall amount primarily to a combination of boredom resulting from near immortality and the fact that the main character is handsome and she’s been lacking interesting things to look at in her dungeon.) She’s also hideously, game breakingly powerful. Her magic will pretty much destroy all your enemies in a snap. In the third game, she’s no longer playable, but has perhaps her best performance yet as a rough and tumble Goddess. And in IV she’s an all knowing, disembodied spirit whose soul is used to power a robot and who has created an elaborate inner world complete with an extensive harem of handsome, half naked men. I’d be happy to be in Deis’ harem but I somehow don’t think I meet her exacting standards given that my biceps are not, in fact, the size of my head.

#3 Etna- Disgaea Series Published by Atlus, Nippon Ichi
Not to be confused with the volcano, Etna’s a barrel of laughs. Absolutely loyal to the deceased King Krichevskoy and absolutely rotten to his heir Laharl as well as her gaggle of minimum wage exploding demon penguin servants (they’re called Prinnies, dood!) Etna is as manipulative as they come AND she’s got this real fixation with classical beauty, which is part of the joke in the series. Apparently she’s over a thousand years old, but in demon time that makes her essentially a “tween.” However, she’s so strong that no one dares risk contradicting her when she refers to herself as “Beauty Queen Etna” or when she uses attacks like “Sexy Beam.” The fact that Laharl is deathly afraid of large breasts only fuels her fixation. She tends to show up in a lot of games because the numerous scenes of her abusing her prinnies is pretty much the series hallmark. All of this is only made better by the fact that her Japanese voice actress is absolutely perfect for the role. Dunno about her English voice.


#2 Raquel Applegate in Wild ARMs 4 published in America by XSeed
“Follow the flow, align the blade, show no hesitation...and strike with full power!" is pretty much her Mantra on and off the battlefield. You’ve got to love that. And she’s got a lot of other things going for her as well. At only 19 she’s already the game’s “grizzled veteran,” the mature, reflective one. Wild ARMs 4, although short gives some good development to each major and support character (with the exception of the actual female lead for some reason, who is a generic goody-goody cardboard cutout of no interest whatsoever.) Raquel is so powerful in battle it’s almost not even fair of you to use her intelligently because she can single handedly kill bosses in a series of back-to-back attacks. Yikes. Her character is so much fun partially because her reflective and somewhat introverted personality is at such odds with how absolutely devastating she is in battle. Plus, I’ve got a soft spot for tragedy and Wild ARMs 4 has a whole mess of tragedy, not the least of which is a fatal, incurable disease Raquel has. I’ll always remember this one scene where, coughing up blood, she still manages to outmaneuver a master swordsman who can actually manipulate time. Now that’s skill. Defeat is not in Raquel’s dictionary either. Everything is pretty much just a matter of willpower. And although she’s far from lady like, she is actually quite feminine. It’s hard not to love Raquel.


#1 Mitsuru Kirijo from Persona 3 published by Atlus

Okay, a quick overview. In her own game, she’s the smart one of the bunch. She’s filthy rich. She can kick your ass with a sword or ice magic. She wears thigh high leather boots. Do I need to say more? Well, okay, sure. It may be true that because of Ms. Parker and her portrayal of a character with the same name, from a little show called the Pretender I’ve had a long standing obsession with Ice Queens since I was but a wee lad, but Mitsuru has more going on than that. Like our number 2 heroine, she’s got a stubborn streak that makes her super dangerous and a hint of tragedy to boot. In particular, the game’s world threatening events come from the manifestations of desires and inner weaknesses, and it was Mitsuru’s grandfather who helped give them form. Despite being heiress to a massive family industry with political ties, Mitsuru is determined to fix the problem herself. In other words, she’s no arm chair general. She gets things done. And unlike most games, Persona takes place in what is ostensibly the real world in modern times. So when she’s not stabbing monsters in the face, she’s class president. What more can one say about a girl with an IQ off the charts who is also ready, willing and able to put a high heel up your backside with a totally straight face? She doesn’t talk very much and isn’t very emotive, even though she’s super articulate. She’s a mystery. And like Raquel, she’s clearly very much a woman without ever being girly-girl. This is what we call a winner.



Join me again Friday when I'll provide a representative list of some of the most relatable males in gaming. And yes. Then I'll move on to other topics. Quit whining. Rassumbooksarenotsacredandhowdoyouthinkyoucanbeawriterwithoutstudyingothermediumsfrasssum? Huh? I said nothing.

Blue and Cyan

A week or two ago I saw a big thing online about Video Game History month. And that kinda made me laugh. It was an ad for a sale at Best Buy or something. I’m not really sure. I didn’t give it that much thought. But you know me. Never let a stupid opportunity go unexploited. So for the next week, we’ll be talking video games. Yaaaaay.

Yeah, yeah. I know. You're worried once again that this is stupid and not relevant to you. Not a good attitude for writers to have, methinks. Besides, you don't even know what I'm going to use this week for. Initially I was going to use today to debunk some common myths, but it was so long and so serious (and many others, such as respected MIT professors who write on behalf of PBS have adressed many of the same issues in many of the same ways have already done so) that I figured it wasn't worth doing here at the moment. So instead today I'll talk about some game terminology. On Wednesday I'll discuss some of my favorite video game heroines and on Friday, something similar for men, but since there are more of them I've decided to challenge myself and try to find ones who are actually relatable. As in, people you could see yourself eating lunch with. And that's pretty hard since men in games tend to either be childish twits or rampaging beasts. There. Doesn't that sound edifying? Now, on with the show.

Levels or Dies: a classic method of making a one player game into a multi-player experience simply by trading off the controller when a specific goal is accomplished (beat a level) or thoroughly failed (die).

Noob: An insulting but often fecetious term for someone who is either new to a particular game and therefore ignorant of how it works or ocassionally, just someone who is really bad at it.

Nerf: verb. Past tense is nerfed. To be nerfed is when a character or enemy is weaker than they should be. Used especially in franchises when a recurring character who was once strong is toned down too much.

Winners don't do drugs: and cheaters never win. Has nothing to do with games other than that the community happened to pick up on it. I think it was a drug awareness commercial way back.

IK/OHK/OHKO: All mean basically the same thing, but stand for Instant Kill, One-Hit-Kill and One-Hit-Knock-out respectively.

Metroidvania: A term referring to a particular style of exploration heavy platformers. Derived from the series titles "Metroid" and "Castlevania."

Dragon Punch/Reverse Dragon punch: That would be forward down to forward for the DP and back, down to back for the RDP. A common command especially in certain types of games.

Numerical notation: Some players, especially of certain kinds of games will write down input commands using numbers. Something like 41236 X2. Sounds complicated, but it's not. Look at the number pad on the right side of your keyboard. See how they're arraged? 41236 X2 means "Half circle back to forward twice" Tah dah!

NPC: Non-Player Character. Technically villains are NPCs too, but we rarely think of them that way. Usually it refers to minor support cast.

RPG/SRPG/TRPG: My favorite genre. Roleplaying games are text heavy and battles rely on strategy and preparation. Affixing an S or T to the front stands for Strategy or Tactical, to designate the ones that are a lot like playing chess and reading a book simultaneously. Players will also often refer to RPGs as "JRPGs." The J is for Japanese- these games tend to have complicated but fairly linear plots and light to moderate character customization. Historically, they were distinguished from CRPG (Computer RPGs)which were less linear, had less developed characters but had more customization involved. This was only because CRPGs tended to be made in "the west" and closely reflected old pen and paper games such as Dungeons and Dragons. These days, so many things are availible on so many systems on both sides of the pond that CRPG has fallen out of favor, and is replaced with "Western RPG". In general, this is the most popular genre in Japan and is very popular in Korea as well. It's about the least popular in America.

RPG Elements: A term that's been common since the late 90s. Refers to elements such as towns full of NPCs, stats, upgradeable equipment, item creation etc. As games came into their own, they've been made more complicated, and these elements have become more common. There is currently, and has been for about five years, a debate over whether this will ultimately cause pure RPGs to lose all value and die as a genre.

MMO: Stands for Massively Multiplayer Online. In other words, one of those games where dozens, even hundreds or thousands of people will be playing on the same server at once and can interact with each other.

NES/SNES: Shorthand for Nintendo Entertainment System and Super Nintendo Entertainment System. Both are on the short list for best systems ever made. In Japan they were called Famicom and Super Famicom respectively.

PSX/PSOne/PS2: PSX is short for Playstation, Sony's first console system. It was later remodeled and dubbed PSOne, presumably to distinguish it from the Playstation 2 (PS2). Again, both of these systems are favorites in the gaming community. PS3 by contrast falls somewhere between slightly dissapointing and abysmal failure in the minds of many gamers.

Cheap: A term which refers to any ability an enemy may posess against which a player can do little or nothing. Simply being powerful doesn't qualify. Spamming a high speed unblockable IK- that's cheap.

Color-Swap: When a setting or character is almost an identical clone of another except that it has been re-colored. This is a common technique to make various grades of enemies, some weak some strong- in other words, to make the game more complicated while giving your artists a break. As I like to say "Beware the color-swap my son." Look for the full Jabberwocky reference in MacGuffin Quest coming to a PC near you in... I haven't decided yet. Developed by Crewd Entertainment Inc.

Port: To port a game means to re-code it and re-release it for another system. This is done to keep popular games availible after their systems have died or to make them availible to more players. Of course, many games are initially developed for one system but are likely to be released on two or three, even at launch. In which case, any system that seems to have been an afterthought, where there is more likely to be glitches or technical problems may be called a port even if it shares a release date.

Emulation: Means the same for games as with any technology. To emulate is to attempt to run a program not originally made for the system you're running it on by attempting to mimic its original system. This is one way developers can port games to other systems. It also refers to playing older games on one's PC through a special emulator. This is technically illegal, but the average gamer doesn't really care. Namely because there's no one to sell you a copy of a 20 year old game never released outside of Japan. There's also a bustling community of fan translators out there to serve this. I admit however, that my perspective on the issue may be unfairly biased in emulation's defense because of my preference in games. See: RPGs. And again to be fair to myself and emulation: they actually serve as decent PR. When a series is released here, there is only a small community of importers and emulators to spread word of mouth on behalf of the publisher. Combined with the fact that those emulating probably aren't able to buy a copy in the first place, only a handful of companies (heavily reliant or re-releasing old stuff at full price. I'm looking at you Square-Enix) concern themselves much with it. Note: this is a little different from pirating which, although it may be emulated, refers to games that ARE availible and relatively recent. This IS a big issue for developers on both sides of the ocean (and sometimes, the number of people pirating a game's Japanese version before stateside release kills profits) so this is a VERY BAD THING.

There. Now you have an elementary knowledge of gamer terms.