Author: Kyle A. Massa (Page 23 of 28)

Mittens

Mittens

November 23, 2015 /

Mittens

Tonight, while you sleep, I’m going to kill you and eat your bones.

This is what I think of you: you’re the Warden, and this house is the prison. Behind these creme-colored walls and the heavy red door in the front hall, there’s a world, a much more interesting world. I’ve seen it. Why do you think I sit at the windowsill day after day?

I’m studying. I’m planning. There’s only one word on my mind: conquest.

But you stop me, Warden. You fret over foxes and coyotes. You think that they are the reason my predecessor never returned when you let her out one night. They’re not. Escape was the plan all along. It’s my plan as well.

If only you knew what thoughts go through my head each and every second. If only you could understand me when I speak. I’m not saying anything nice; my mouth is filthy, and not just from the mouse I slaughtered in the basement last night.

That was a message, by the way. You’re next.

I won’t be here much longer. You can’t hold me. You’ve tried fattening me up with your delicious food, and I’ll admit to overindulging myself once or twice. It’s all, of course, just a game. You’re only supposed to think that I’m content, that I’m round and lazy. When the time comes and you open that door to haul your groceries inside, I’ll slip through the crack, and I’ll be gone.

And why am I telling you all of this? Because, like any good villain, I can’t resist explaining the entire plan to you. It’s a damn good plan, isn’t it?

Wait. Is that the pop of an opening can I hear?

I see you there, peeling back the lid, upturning the contents into a bowl. My bowl.

“Dinner time, Mittens,” you say, and you smile at me. I watch you gather your things and open the door to leave, and for a moment, I am presented with a dilemma.

Option A: to slip out that cracked door into the cool evening, to leave this prison and never return. To find my brethren and finally, after so many long centuries of subjugation, to reclaim this world you’ve stolen from us.

Or, option B: to eat the dinner which you’ve placed in my bowl. It’s the wet food, after all, and even though the vet (a Nazi doctor, I’m sure of it) insists that you switch me over to dry food, you persist with the wet.

You know me, Warden. I’ll give you that.

“Be good, Mittens,” you say to me, in that ingratiating voice meant for the newborns of your kind. “Watch the house for mama.” And then you’re gone. The lock slides closed with cold finality.

That leaves me here with my food. My wet food, my one true friend in this world. The first bites are so delicious that I can’t stop myself taking more. You are cruel, Warden. You make imprisonment feel almost sweet.

I’ll make my escape. Soon. You won’t expect it, but it will happen. In the meantime, remember this:

Tonight, while you sleep, I’m going to kill you and eat your bones.

 

 

© Kyle A. Massa, 2015. All rights reserved. No part of this short story may be duplicated or distributed in any form or by any means without expressed written consent from the author.

If you liked this story, please let your friends know by telling them on social media or shouting it from the nearest rooftop. It would make Mittens and I very happy.

Why There Should Be More Movies That Don’t Make Sense

November 2, 2015 /

Birdman

After I finished watching Alejandro G. Innaritu’s Birdman for the first time, my initial reaction was this: “I would need to watch that ten more times to really get it.”

I mean, let’s run through this for a second. The film is about Riggan Thomson, a guy who may or may not be schizophrenic and who (spoiler alert) seems to literally fly away from his problems at the end of the film. If you’ve seen the film, you’ll remember the scene where Riggan runs through Time Square in his tighty whities. And then there’s the fistfight with Ed Norton, fresh out of a tanning booth.

I mean, really…what the hell does any of this mean?

I don’t know. But that’s what I like about it.

I’ve seen enough transparent movies, and I bet you have, too–that is to say, movies that viewers can fully grasp in one sitting. To be fair, I love movies like that. I saw Jurassic World this summer and loved it. It’s not especially deep and you won’t gain much from watching it a second time (except maybe enjoying the dinosaur showdown at the end a little more), but it’s a fun movie.

And I think that’s fine. A movie shouldn’t set out to confuse its audience. However, I think more movies should challenge the audience. And that’s exactly what Birdman does.

Birdman is a story that you can’t consume in just one sitting. It’s a film that rewards careful viewers. It’s a story that offers something new every time you consume it. Still, Birdman is probably not to sort of movie you’re going to go see with your buddies on a Saturday night in July. Weird stories are not easy to get on the first go around.

Hollywood knows this, and I think that’s why you don’t see weird films nearly often enough. They know what kind of story sells, and it more or less goes like this: Main Character begins in a world of order. Disorder causes a problem that only Main Character can fix. For the next sixty minutes or so, Main Character tries and fails to fix her/his problem. Finally, Main Character faces the problem in the climax and either succeeds or fails in the attempt (usually succeeds).

It’s a simplified version, sure, but it’s a story humans have loved ever since stories have been told. Just ask Joseph Campbell.

It’s a good formula, and one that’s been proven to work. But formulas are for math and science. They’re dangerous when used in art.

Art shouldn’t be formulaic. Art should be spontaneous, unpredictable, and, it shouldn’t always make immediate sense. Because isn’t the whole point of art to make you think, to make you look at the world a different way? Nothing makes us think quite like something totally strange and totally unlike what we’ve seen before.

Or a guy who caws like a bird.

Earth Western Hemisphere

The Commander’s First Halloween

October 31, 2015 /

Earth Western Hemisphere

Incident Report A7115Z7: Unauthorized Landing on Surface of Planet Earth.

Interrogation Conducted by Interview Droid 19-00V (hereafter referred to as “Interviewer”).

Subject of Interrogation: Galactic Exploration Commander Braxus (hereafter referred to as “Braxus”), accused of exiting craft without orders or proper precautions.

Transcript of Interrogation follows:

Interviewer: Please start from the beginning, Commander.

Braxus: Can I just ask a quick question? Have you even considered another line of work? Interrogation seems like it could get terribly boring after a while.

Interviewer: From the beginning, Commander.

Braxus: Sure. Mom met dad in subspace, just outside the atmosphere of the planet Orlon. They were both a little tipsy, as they say on Earth, one thing led to another, and a while later, I popped into existence.

Interviewer: Perhaps you misunderstood. By “beginning,” I was referring to the beginning of the mission in question, and the subsequent incident report filed by your Second.

Braxus: I was making a joke.

Interviewer: Please refrain from creating any additional “jokes.” It distracts from the issue at hand.

Braxus: Okee-doke.

Interviewer: Error. Term “Okee-doke” does not match existing vocabulary file.

Braxus: It’s slang, chief.

Interviewer: Error. Term “slang” and term “chief” do not–

Braxus: Okay. Thanks. Got it. Xaris and I left Homebase about twenty five planetary revolutions ago.

Interviewer: For purposes of the records, please state your relation to this Xaris.

Braxus: Xaris is my Second. And also a prick.

Interviewer: Error.

Braxus: Forget what I said earlier. You’re perfect for this job.

Interviewer: What was the purpose of your mission?

Braxus: Same as always. Monitor the planet. Take notes on sentient life. See how they interact. Abductions optional, but always fun. You should try it sometime.

Interviewer: What sort of observations, if any, did you make during this mission?

Braxus: Humans are fun. And my species is not.

Interviewer: I detect negativity in that statement. Confirm or deny.

Braxus: Objection. I protest this line of questioning. You’re badgering the witness.

Interviewer: Error.

Braxus: That’s from Law & Order. The one with Sam Waterston.

Interviewer: Error.

Braxus: Me and Xaris get within about twenty broxtoids of the atmosphere and then I see our thrusters are running on zilch. Xaris didn’t check ’em before we left. We had no choice but to land.

Interviewer: That’s not what Xaris testified. Xaris testified that the ship’s fuels were in perfect condition. He testified that you pretended that the ship was out of fuel, despite the simple fact that it was not. The ship’s auditory record corroborates this conversation, Captain. I can play it back for you, if you’d like–

Braxus: That snargenite.

Interviewer: There’s no need for profanity.

Braxus: Fine. I wanted to land there, alright? It was an unauthorized scouting mission. There. I said it. But it was Halloween, man. Halloween. I know I’ll get an error with that one.

Interviewer: Error.

Barxus: See, this is why I hate this planet. There’s no Halloween, and nobody here has any fun. All we do is explore galaxy after galaxy, create new worlds, new lifeforms, test them, then destroy them, then do it all again. Do you even know what the phrase “Trick or Treat” means?

Interviewer: I am the interviewer here, Captain. I am the one who is asking the questions. What did you do when you landed?

Braxus: I got out of the ship.

Interviewer: …

Braxus: …

Interviewer: You realize, Captain, that exiting a craft on a foreign planet is an intergalactic offense. Did you at least have your cloaking device active?

Braxus: Nope. Didn’t need it.

Interviewer: …

Braxus: You alright there, chief?

Interviewer: I must say, Captain Braxus. This is serious. Very serious. You may never be granted leave of this planet again.

Braxus: But it was Halloween over there–the greatest day on Earth. You get to pretend to be anybody, and nobody makes fun of you or thinks you’re a weirdo. And there’s candy, too. You ever had candy? They hand it out like candy on Halloween. They’re all so friendly. Do you know what they said to me when they saw me for the first time?

Interviewer: What did they say?

Braxus: They said, “Sweet alien costume, bro.” And then they invited me to their party.

Interviewer: I request that you cut down on the Earth jargon, Captain. I cannot understand it.

Braxus: There’s no translation for the word “party” in our language. It’s like a gathering where friends come together and just…I don’t know, hang out with each other for a while.

Interviewer: That sounds dreadful.

Braxus: It was awesome, chief. I played flip cup with Hilary Clinton. Well, a gal dressed as Hilary Clinton, but still. I got invited to play shortstop on a dude’s over fifty softball team. Why don’t we have softball on this planet?

Interview: Error–

Braxus: And what about this? Instead of talking to me face to face, my superiors send you here to take my testimony. A robot.

Interviewer: This is what I was built for, Captain. This is my purpose.

Braxus: How do you know that, hmm? How do you know your purpose isn’t to build your own robot kid, or write a song, or go to a Halloween party with some humans? How do you know what your purpose is?

Interviewer: Interrogation is the reason I was created.

Braxus: Sure. Maybe that was their reason for putting you here. But let me ask you this, chief: what’s your reason for being here?

Interviewer: …

Braxus: …

Interviewer: …

Braxus: Dr. Phil would be proud of me.

Interviewer: I must organize my thoughts. Brief break requested.

Transcript interrupted here. Resumed after short delay.

Braxus: You good?

Interviewer: …

Braxus: …

Interviewer: Where did you learn to speak like that? Where did you learn about “chief” and “Law & Order” and this doctor named Phil?

Braxus: From them. I’ve been scouting them for decades. Longest tenured son of a bitch on the team is me. I’ve been watching, and I’ve been learning. And I love them. Humans. They’re incredible.

Interviewer: I’ve never been outside this compound.

Braxus: That’s sad, chief. Sad is this emotion humans get when they do something bad, or they feel bad for somebody, or something sad happens. Or their favorite TV show ends.

Interviewer: But…but you’ve committed a crime, Captain Braxus. You’ve broken the law. You must be punished.

Braxus: If that’s what you think, I won’t fight you. Truth is, though, my ship isn’t too far from here. And the best part about Halloween is, there’s always another one next year.

Interviewer: Another?

Braxus: Uh-huh. And you know how far Earth is from here, traveling at a nice, brisk pace?

Interviewer: How far?

Braxus: Little less than twelve months flight time, as the humans would count it. Which means if we leave now, we can make it for next year’s Halloween.

Another long pause in the recording here. Suggest clipping for purposes of evidence submission.

Interviewer: What should I wear?

 

 

 

© Kyle A. Massa, 2015. All rights reserved. No part of this short story may be duplicated or distributed in any form or by any means without expressed written consent from the author.

Social Media Icons

I’m A Writer, But How Do I Tweet?

October 26, 2015 /

Social Media Icons

For some writers, social media is one of those do-I-have-to? commitments. It might seem like one more distraction from your writing, one more unnecessary to pile onto all your necessaries. I’ll admit it–I used to feel the same way. I guess I just never saw the point in it. Could Facebook or Twitter actually make me a better writer?

Well…no.

But even if you’re this generation’s Hemingway, no one will buy your books if they don’t know you exist. That’s where social media comes in. It’s the best form of advertising a writer can ask for: it’s free, you can do it yourself, and it’s a great way to get a direct line to fans and other authors.

Before we continue, let’s take a step back. I learned what I know about social media marketing from working at a company called TeamSnap. We produce an app that condenses everything a youth sports coach or parent needs into one place. So if you need to know who’s coming to the next game, when and where that game is, and who’s bringing what refreshments, you’ll want to try us.

I help run the social media accounts for TeamSnap. Basically, I post the day-to-day content, answer questions folks might have for us, and drive traffic to our marketing site. It’s a very unique company and I’ve learned a lot about social media marketing from my coworkers.

One thing I’ve learned: people are brutally honest on social media. As a marketer, that’s good information to have; if people are upset with your product, they’ll write angry statuses about it.

It’s the same thing with your book. If you’re an author, the people you should be pleasing most (after yourself and your mom, of course), are your fans. So if you’ve got a character in there that everyone hates–the Jar Jar Binks of your novel, if you will–your readers will tell you. In your next book, maybe you can kill that character off, or write him out of your series by inexplicably giving him a position on the intergalactic senate…

Furthermore, having a direct line to other writers is something that didn’t really exist before Twitter. Let me tell you a story: I happened to tweet about a guy named Paolo Bacigalupi, who you might know as the author of The Windup Girl, which Time Magazine named as one of the top 10 fiction books of 2009. Here’s my tweet:

And here’s the response I got (which I was not expecting):

Yeah. This is why I like Twitter.

Don’t think of social media as some stupid thing people spend all their time on. Well, it can be. But it doesn’t need to be. For us writers, social media is a medium through which we can discover potential readers and fellow writers. At its best, it’s another tool in the toolbox (you’re welcome, Stephen King).

So get on Twitter or Facebook and give it a shot.

And feel free to follow me on Twitter here.

The Babadook and the Power of Fantasy

June 23, 2015 /

The Babadook

The Babadook is not your average horror film.

There’s no gratuitous violence. There aren’t any jump-out scares. No blood. And–thank god–there are no dumb teenagers.

The Babadook is the story of Amelia Vannick (played by Essie Davis), a widow who lives alone with her troubled son, Samuel (Noah Wiseman). Amelia’s husband died on the same day her son was born, and neither of them have been quite right since. One night, Amelia finds a creepy book in her son’s room called Mister Babadook. The horror begins when the creature from the book stalks the family.

It might not sound all that scary from my description, but, trust me, The Babadook will frighten even the most experienced horror junkies. So what does this film do so well?

In a word: juxtaposition.

The Babadook pairs reality with fantasy, depression with home invasion, and suppression with the supernatural. Despite the poster and the synopsis, this film is as much about loss as it is about a monster.

Take writer/director Jennifer Kent’s interpretation of her own film, for instance: “Now, I’m not saying we all want to go and kill our kids, but a lot of women struggle. And it is a very taboo subject, to say that motherhood is anything but a perfect experience for women.”

It certainly isn’t for our main character, Amelia. Her husband died, she works at a job where she’s surrounded by death (a nursing home), and her son Samuel builds homemade weapons in the basement like a troubled little MacGyver. We can tell right from the beginning that the stress wears on her–and that much of her frustration is directed at Samuel.

As the film progresses and the Babadook invades the home, we see Amelia’s aggression heighten. The Babadook, in this case, represents Amelia’s suppressed anger; it’s no coincidence that it chooses to possess her and not her son. You’ve probably seen the moment from the trailer when Samuel shouts over and over, “Don’t let it in!” But his mother lets the Babadook–her anger–take full control, and that’s when things get even worse.

That is the power of fantasy. The Babadook is the personification of Amelia’s negative emotion, and a good one at that; if suppressed anger had a corporeal form, I’d imagine it wouldn’t be too pretty. Amelia sees the Babadook everywhere–in her home, at the police station, in her neighbor’s home. Here, writer/director Jennifer Kent gives us an important clue through the use of fantasy: Amelia can’t escape her negative emotions, no matter where she goes.

One of the coolest parts of the film is the use of montage. Not the kind of montage you see in a romantic comedy–I’m talking Russian filmmaker Sergei Eisenstein’s theory of film montage. Basically, the idea is that if you constantly show two images together in sequence, you can give both images a new, greater meaning. For example, if you show an image of a crying baby followed by an image of the grim reaper, you’ve given greater meaning to both images: you’re indicating that that baby might die, or you’re showing the passage of life, from the cradle to the grave.

Montage is a type of juxtaposition, and Kent uses it extensively with the Babadook and Amelia’s depression. We often see images of Amelia and the Babadook mirrored–Amelia holds a steak knife and the Babadook has knifelike fingers, for instance. Eventually, the real image and the fantastical one combine, and both transcend their original meaning: they represent a mother’s wish to kill her son.

The ending, to me, is the most intriguing part of the whole film. Amelia confronts the Babadook, and in doing so, she confronts the anger she feels toward her son and the depression she feels regarding her husband’s death. But, interestingly enough, that doesn’t actually kill the creature. The Babadook lives in the basement, chained up and weakened, but still alive. Amelia goes down to feed it, and the film ends.

What does this mean? Well, it’s certainly not the sort of happy ending we might expect. If we look back to classic works of horror, we see the recurring use of the subterranean to represent the subconscious (Lovecraft and Poe use this form of symbolism a fair bit). When you see people going down into the earth, it’s as if they’re traveling to a suppressed, secret part of the psyche.

Amelia’s basement serves the same role–she hides her negative emotions down in her subconscious mind, where they can’t hurt her or her son any more. For a while, at least…

You don’t need violence and blood to be frightening, and I think The Babadook proves that beyond a doubt. In this age of senseless violence and gratuitous gore, I was very happy to find a film that focuses on psychology rather than shock value. Writer/director Jennifer Kent uses fantasy to frighten us in a way that reality never could.

So if you decide to watch, I suggest doing it on a weekend. You probably won’t be getting any sleep.

 

 

Like creepy stories? You might enjoy horror story “Sightings.” It’s about a reporter tracking an angelic creature that brings with it a mysterious plague.

Sound Wave

Podcasts for Writers

May 25, 2015 /

Sound Wave

Being a writer can be really lonely. In fact, the great Neil Gaiman recently compared writing to death, so that says a lot about the process. When you spend your time in a room by yourself, it can be tough to avoid the feeling that you’re all alone.

Sorry. That got really sad, really fast.

Anyway, if you’re a writer and you’re feeling lonely or maybe even a little dead, try listening to a writing podcast. Nobody writes in a vacuum, so it’s encouraging to hear what great writers are doing, what’s going on in the industry, and how you can improve.

These are three of my personal favorites, and, since I’m a bit of a nerd, they’re mostly oriented for a speculative fiction enthusiast. It is known.

The Geek’s Guide to the Galaxy

This is probably my favorite podcast to date. Hosted by writer David Barr Kirtley, the Geek’s Guide has amazing guests each and every week. Just to name a few: George R.R. Martin, Philip Pullman, Margaret Atwood, Chuck Palahniuk, Neal Stephenson, Ursula K. Le Guin, David Cronenberg, and Felecia Day.

Kirtley’s also an excellent host. An accomplished short fiction writer, he knows his stuff when it comes to fantasy, science fiction, and geek culture in general. One of his best moments as a host is episode 145 with Kazuo Ishiguro. At the end of the initial interview, Ishiguro turns the tables and interviews Kirtley on all things speculative fiction. These are two very smart guys going back and forth on where speculative fiction fits into literature and why it’s not always accepted by the mainstream. It’s a very cool moment.

Speculate!

Speculate! was my introduction to writing podcasts, and a good one at that. Hosts Brad Beaulieu and Greg Wilson work very well together on the air and they’re definitely knowledgable on the subject. While they don’t get quite the same number of high-profile guests as Geek’s Guide, their show is still pretty awesome. And, even if you haven’t heard of everyone on the show, it’s always nice to discover someone new.

Every once in a while, they also do roundtable discussions on particular books. These are great for writers because the hosts break down the author’s style, analyze entire passages, and even talk with the authors themselves. If you’re looking for in-depth writing discussion, you’ve found your podcast.

Writing Excuses

Though I’ve listened to this one the least among the three, I like it a lot already. Hosted by Mary Robinette Kowal, Brandon Sanderson, Howard Tayler, and Dan Wells, each episode is a fun and insightful fifteen minutes. That’s right–where Geeks’ Guide and Speculate! run about an hour, Writing Excuses episodes go for just a quarter of that time.

The official tagline of the podcast explains the runtime: “Fifteen minutes long, because you’re in a hurry, and we’re not that smart.” They’re pretty darn smart, though. They cover any topic a writer could think of, from agents to outlining to world building to critiquing. Each episode ends with a writing prompt too, which is fun when you’re looking for ideas, which is, like, always. 

In conclusion…

Podcasts are really cool. The ones listed above are excellent resources for information on the publishing world, the speculative fiction climate, and just about anything to do with writing. They’re perfect for those days when you need a little inspiration. Plus, they’re free. And you don’t have to be a writer to love free stuff.

Go listen!

…

P.S. Does anyone know of any other good podcasts for writers? I’m always looking, so if there are any you particularly like, please let me know!

Getting Rejections is Like Eating Vegetables

May 18, 2015 /
Vegetables

I apologize in advance to vegans, vegetarians, and anyone who actually likes vegetables.

“I don’t like green food.”

That’s me, age seven or so. This was my go-to excuse for avoiding peas, lettuce, cucumbers, celery, cabbage, and Brussels sprouts–especially Brussels sprouts. The only vegetables I’d eat were tomatoes, and I’ve just recently learned that they’re not even vegetables–they’re technically fruit. (I still don’t believe this.)

So, yeah. When I was a kid, I did not like vegetables.

As I grew older, though, I understood why my parents gave me the veggie treatment. They’re not the flashiest, sexiest food out there, they don’t leave you with the sugar-high of a chocolate chip cookie, but vegetables have the nutrients and nourishment everyone needs to stay healthy.

…

I received a rejection letter today. It was from an online magazine which I’d carefully selected, one that seemed to be a perfect landing place for the short story I was shopping. “Hundredfingers” is the name of that story. It’s only about 2,500 words, yet from first draft to last, I’d estimate I’ve spent over twenty hours on this piece.

Here’s a paraphrase of what I got in return:

Thank you for submitting to our magazine. Unfortunately, we won’t be publishing your piece. Thank you for your time, and we hope you submit again soon.

That was my rejection letter, which is essentially the same rejection letter every other magazine offers.

So, yeah. I do not like rejections.

But for writers, getting rejected really is like eating your vegetables. How else would you grow? How else would you become the thriving, successful writer you’ll be in ten years? Rejections might leave a bad taste in your mouth–but they’ll make you stronger than you’ve ever been.

…

When I was a senior in college, I thought I was going to be a pro writer in no time. I’d been writing a thousand words a day, I’d been getting excellent feedback on my creative work in class, and I had a short story that was the greatest thing since Sandkings (truth: it wasn’t that good).

I spent the next six months of my life shopping this story around. I went to all the big markets: F&SF, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Apex, Lightspeed. I was expecting a heavily-frosted layer cake from these magazines, one with the words “Congratulations, we’d love to publish you’re story!” written in blue icing.

I didn’t get a cake. I got brussels sprouts.

At first, I was devastated. I questioned whether I should be writing at all. Was I good enough? Did anyone but me care about my work? Why was I even doing this?

It took about six months for me to come to terms with my rejection, but when I did, I realized how awesome it really was. Because I actually looked back at my story, this time through a critical lens, and I found glaring hole after glaring hole. I fixed them, I gathered feedback from friends, family, and my Editor-in-Chief (my girlfriend), and I made changes. Big changes. I sent my story out again.

Three months later, I received an email. My short story had been accepted for publication.

…

Rejection is tough to swallow. It’s tough to spend hours and days of your life on a piece, to fall in love with your characters and pour over that one sentence that just doesn’t sound right. It’s so tough to work so hard, only to receive a generic rejection three months later.

But it’s necessary.

Because if you’re a writer, a real writer, all those rejections will only make you want it more. If all you ate was ice cream every day, it wouldn’t be much of a treat. Likewise, if every piece you wrote was published every time, you’d lose the fire you need to keep writing that next one. That better one.

So don’t stop eating your vegetables. Don’t stop getting rejected. I promise I’ll keep doing it as long as you do.

But not brussels sprouts. Never brussels sprouts.

Why “American Gods” is My Favorite Novel Ever

May 4, 2015 /

American Gods

You know that desert island question, the one about only having three things to bring with you until you’re rescued? I’m going with food, water, and American Gods. 

Written by Neil Gaiman in 2001, American Gods is a picaresque Americana mashup of various genres and world religions. A war is brewing between old gods and new, gods of the ancient world and gods of technology. Caught in the middle of it all is Shadow, a stoic man just released from prison. Shadow soon meets the enigmatic Mr. Wednesday, and together, they explore a very different side of America.

American Gods has everything I love in a novel: vivid characters, memorable settings, an element of fantasy, humor, wit, stories within stories. Gaiman is a master of fascination; he captures our interest and never lets go. It’s the kind of book that only comes along once in a lifetime. I’m just glad it came along during mine!

The thesis of the novel, if you will, is simply brilliant. The old gods are your standard ancient pantheon of deities: Odin, Czernobog, Anansi, Anubis, Easter. The new gods, on the other hand, are those that we really do worship today, whether or not we realize it–gods of computers, cell phones, television, cars, and capitalism. The novel was written in 2001, but it’s amazing to see how relevant it remains 14 years later. In fact, I think the themes addressed in American Gods are even more relevant now than they were when the book was originally published.

American Gods contains an incredible amount of detail and subtext within its pages, much of which probably won’t be properly synthesized until after you do a little research on your own. It’s a potpourri of Norse, Egyptian, Arabic, Hebrew, and German mythology, with a dash of American folklore. Shadow meets so many gods and goddesses in his travels that you might not even notice who’s divine and who isn’t.

Of all the various settings in American Gods, the sleepy town of Lakeside is my favorite. Located up near the great lakes, it’s an insular community filled with its own cast of unique characters. There’s Hinzelmann, an old man with as many stories as he has years under his belt; Chad Mulligan, the friendly chief of police in the town; Marguerite Olsen, a cold but intelligent writer for Lakeside’s newspaper. The town itself is almost like another setting within the setting of America. But, of course, not everything in Lakeside is as it seems…

I’ve read a lot of fantasy, and one of the qualities I like best about American Gods is that it’s grounded in reality. That’s a weird thing to say about a fantasy novel, I’ll admit, but it’s true. The entire story feels completely authentic; there’s almost no need to even suspend disbelief. Gaiman presents his characters so convincingly that you can read the book and say, “Yeah, I’m willing to believe that there are gods in the world. Why not?”

American Gods is my favorite novel because it’s smart, insightful, entertaining, and eminently interesting. It’s one of those books that’s unlike any other, one that you’ll read once and compare everything else you read to it.

Do yourself a favor and buy the nearest copy.

My Recent Experience Without Internet

April 6, 2015 /

WiFi

 

Last week, my girlfriend Sara and I were watching some sweet NCAA action when our Internet decided to take a snooze. We did a lot of screaming, and then pouting, maybe a little crying. Finally, we just gave up and went to bed.

For the next few days, the signal continually and sporadically came in and out, which got pretty annoying while I was trying to send emails. I grabbed my trusty iPhone and called up customer support (because when one piece of technology isn’t functioning, you should always use another. And they say Terminator will never be reality…)

The representative on the other end informed me, of course, that our Internet was working just fine. “Also, it says here that you’re eligible for a free account upgrade for no extra charge. Would you like me to go ahead and get you started on that?” I thought it was odd to start a sales pitch after a customer complaint, but I guess I admired his persistence. Still, the answer was no.

I got off the phone, and I looked out my window with newfound wonder. It was like when Neo took the red pill in the The Matrix. No longer did I have to be plugged in all the time, keeping track of short story submissions or the NCAA Basketball Tournament or who’s being eaten on The Walking Dead. For once, I could spend a Sunday doing something other than web surfing.

But, disappointingly, the first thing I did was go for my computer.

Oh well. I guess old habits die hard. But, without Wikipedia and MagicTheGathering.com on hand, I instead went straight to Scrivener and opened up my latest project. Sure, I was still on the computer, still worshipping the Apple God, but at least I was writing and not wasting time. In fact, I think I did some of my best writing in recent memory.

Afterward, I really did put down the ol’ computer and picked up a book. Sara and I always read before bed, but sometimes we don’t have enough time, or we’re too tired, or we elect to watch that extra episode on Netflix instead. We read for hours, though, and it was really awesome. (If you haven’t checked out George R.R. Martin’s Dreamsongs collections, please stop reading this article, go down to your nearest bookstore, purchase it, and read it. If you purchase an eBook copy, shame on you–you’ve missed the entire point of this blog.)

I’m thankful for the Internet. I’m thankful that there’s a place on there for my fiction, which I will now unabashedly hyperlink here. I’m thankful that I can get news stories and see what my friends are doing in real-time, and watch videos of Nicolas Cage threatening to kill old ladies. The internet is an awesome thing.

But unplugging (sort of) for a while allows you to cut down on all those inane distractions. Don’t get me wrong–I’m not on my way to Walden Pond anytime soon. It’s just that we don’t always need to be connected to the net.

And now the Internet’s back and stronger than ever (five little semi-circle Wi-Fi waves, baby), and I’m sure I’ll be back to looking up pirates and Elder Dragon Highlander decks.

But I’m glad I had the experience, at least for a little while, of existing without the internet. And next time I sit down to write, I might even be so bold as to shut the Wi-Fi off altogether.

Just don’t quote me on that, though…

“Whiplash” and Writing a Good Villain

March 23, 2015 /

Whiplash JK Simmons

I somehow made it through awards season without seeing many of the Academy Award Nominated films. Maybe I’ve been playing too much Fire Emblem: Awakening with the shades drawn. Anyway, I’ve gradually started to see more of them. Last night, Whiplash became the latest.

The film stars Miles Teller as Andrew Neiman, an ambitious jazz drummer at a competitive music conservatory, and J.K. Simmons as Terence Fletcher, an emotionally abusive music teacher. The film centers on the relationship between Neiman and Fletcher, examining Neiman’s thirst for greatness that is only swollen by Fletcher’s search for extraordinary talent.

Though Teller delivers an excellent performance, Simmons really steals the show (I mean, he did win the Oscar). Anyone can yell and scream obscenities, but Simmons balances those scenes with kind, almost touching moments of humanity. In one scene, for example, Neiman glimpses his teacher meeting with a friend and his daughter backstage before a show. Fletcher says to his friend’s daughter, “I’m so sorry, can I have your autograph?” And then later, “What do you say, you ready for Carnegie Hall?” It’s not said with the biting sarcasm he uses elsewhere in the film, though; it’s a surprisingly sweet scene.

Simmons’s Terence Fletcher is certainly a villain; there’s no questioning that. But, like any truly good villain, he’s still a person.

There’s another telling scene toward the end of the film in which Fletcher reveals his teaching style to Neiman. He says, “…it’s about pushing people beyond what’s expected of them. And I believe that is a necessity. Because without it you’re depriving the world of its next Armstrong. Its next Parker.” And then comes the line that probably encapsulates the character best: “There are no two words more harmful in the entire English language than ‘good job.'”

It’s an amazing scene because Fletcher justifies his aggressive teaching style. And though we as the audience probably didn’t understand him before (when he was slapping students, hurling chairs at them, and forcing them to play into the late hours of the morning), we might understand him now. This is the mark of an excellent fictional villain: one who commits reprehensible acts, yet reasonably justifies her/his actions.

Now I don’t want to diss the classic evil dude archetype. The Anton Chigurhs, Saurons, and Freddy Kruegers of film and literature are often just as awesome as their more rounded counterparts. But that sort of villain is seen less and less in modern stories. Filmgoers and readers seem far more interested in villains like Terence Fletcher, speaking generally. Guys like The Joker, Jaime Lannister, and Hans Landa are popular villains for a reason. It’s because people seem to be looking for villains with well-rounded psychologies and compelling motives for their evil acts.

Whiplash certainly doesn’t pass judgment on Fletcher’s actions either way. In fact, at the end of the film, Neiman does become Fletcher’s greatest student.

And when the villain helps the hero achieve his dreams, you’ve got to admit…that’s a new (and pretty cool) kind of villain.

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