No, really. All I want is to give a guy rapey thoughts about me in a Thor costume.

So today, Marvel entertainment is having a big sale on Amazon. Awesome, right? They’ve got toys and action figures and clothes for all.

Except when you click on women’s clothing, this is what you get.

Two suitcases, a pair of heels (for some reason I still don’t get) and five sexy superheros costumes. Five. And only one of them is for a female character (that’d be the last one: sexy lab girl, Gwen).

And the girls section? All costumes. For Black Widow, Spider Girl, and some of the male heroes (which are just boys’ costumes put in the girls’ category). Yeah, skin tight faux-leather catsuits for your five year old. Try sending her to school in that.

When sexism and misogyny in marketing and consumerism are discussed, this is exactly the kind of bullshit which exemplifies targeted anti-woman marketing. I don’t usually get on a gender podium, but this bothers the shit out of me. In an age where Marvel, a multi-billion dollar company who could hire whoever they want, market themselves however they want, who has fostered the development of amazing female characters in its films and comics, chooses to have the only available products on the number one online marketplace be tight-bodiced, short-skirted (likely poorly constructed) costumes of its male superheroes, it is literally screaming: WE DON’T WANT WOMEN IN OUR CLUB UNLESS THEY’RE SEX OBJECTS.

It may seem petty on a surface level, but what companies make commercially available to consumers has a direct effect on how that demographic is perceived. If you don’t make it, if you won’t sell it, we can’t buy it. So you use the excuse that girls don’t buy superhero merchandise unless its this incredibly sexist bullshit. That, in itself, is incredibly sexist bullshit.

Don’t tell me a Gamora or Nebula tee won’t sell when you won’t make one to test that theory.

Don’t tell people a Black Widow movie won’t make money when you won’t try making any female-led superhero film (since Elektra *weeps*), and when your Black Widow actress had a hit film this summer that basically involved her running around and being badass to a terrible hole-filled plot. People still came and it was pretty bad. Imagine if it were really good.

Don’t hide behind suits and corporate hullabaloo when it comes to shilling out merchandise. You want to know what consumers want? Try ASKING THEM. Try LISTENING TO THEM. Try NOT PURPOSELY ALIENATING AT LEAST 50% OF YOUR POTENTIAL BUYERS BECAUSE THEY DON’T HAVE PENISES.

What Do You Mean No One Cares About My Problems?

Seriously. I'm awesome. At least I try to be. I work hard, especially doing the things I love. I even work hard doing things I don't love if they're necessary and/or I'm getting something useful from it. I may not work as hard, but my "getting by" with work is most people's excelling. That's not hyperbole, it's fact. If you look at my employment history, it's a clear cut distinction -- I work for you, I excel.
Except I can't seem to parlay that excellence into the fields that actually drive me. I keep excelling at doing stuff to just get by instead of excelling at what I know I'm meant to pursue.
But I forgot. No one cares. I'm one tiny speck of human dust among billions of other specks on this planet. Throwing pity parties for myself doesn't help me any more than it helps anyone else.
The issue is, as little as anyone else cares about my problems, they care the exact same amount about my abilities, talents, experience, knowledge, drive, passion, etc. How do you make your voice louder than others when no one cares what's being said? How do you stand out from the crowd when your number in the queue prevents you from being seen even when squinting into the distance? How do you go from excelling in a career that makes you hate yourself to excelling in a life calling?
Seriously, how?

Haunted by the Signs

One of these days I'll stop harping on about life's little (or not so little) signs and get on to more exciting things like anti-hero worship, purple shirts of sex, hand porn, netflixing your time away and more (really, I have a list). However, the reason for my day skip in posting schedule happened because I was a bit taken aback by something that occurred yesterday.
Understatement -- I came thiiiiiiis close to having a mini breakdown.
See, it's all well and good when you're on the lookout for signs during life, and when you're getting encouraging nudges to certain things. It's kind of empowering to feel like your current situation of being trapped in a soul-sucking job that barely pays your bills is not the right choice for you, because YOU say it isn't, and life is encouraging you in fits and starts to seek out other possibilities.
It's not so refreshing when the universe slaps you in the face with just how out of place you are.
Imagine you're living in a home and the home is, potentially, haunted. You feel uneasy there. Just being in that environment drains you. It's kind of a nebulous feeling and you're constantly uncomfortable and stressed. Occasionally the furniture rearranges itself and you're deeply unsettled, but you take the oddly stacked chairs off the table and move on with your day. You can't afford to move, but you're looking at other places nonetheless. You're trying to make a plan of escape, but it might take awhile. Then, one morning, out of the blue, you hear a voice. You don't just hear it, there's an apparition with it. A spectral presence with only slight transparency comes right up to you, inches from your face, looks you right in the eye, and says, "GET OUT."
That, in essence is what happened to me yesterday. At my job.
Needless to say I didn't need any coffee after that encounter -- I was shocked into alertness. And then I panicked. And then I got angry. And then I tried to once again look at the wreckage this poltergeist has made of my life and tried to put some logical reasoning in place. There was a fair amount of denial and bargaining internally with what I saw and heard. So by the end of the day I wasn't good for much beyond going home, facebooking, twittering, and Netflixing.
Today is a new day, however. The presence has made itself known loud and clear and I don't intend to ignore it. I'm getting out. Soon.
But I'm still going to do it on my terms -- no matter how many times you rearrange my furniture or drag me towards the abyss of the TV.

Please don't kill me giant demon, I wanna be in the sequel!

The Blog Has Risen

Whenever I return to a blog after a long absence, I feel the need for two things:
1) To exclaim, "I'm not dead yet," like that plucky old man in Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

2) To offer up explanations for my absence, even if no one cares because I feel obligated to give reasons for what really comes down to either: I've been busy and told myself doing this blog wasn't productive (which is a lie), or I've been caught up in my own mind in a manner that kept me from doing what I want and need to do in favor of engaging that monster of Depression and letting it win for a while (which is very true, and not an excuse, but a reason -- sadly).

What really matters is that I'm back, and to anyone still paying attention to my little corner of the internet, thanks for sticking around. I've got a plan and a schedule to resume posts shortly (as in this week), so tell your friends (internet or IRL ones, or both) to watch this space for updates soon.

Put a Stake In It, PLEASE

It’s over! It’s finally over! It’s over for good!
Wait, maybe not? Oh, Renfield save me…

Previously, I talked a bit about what prevented me from doing weekly recaps of Dracula, and it basically came down to how appalling the series became, and so quickly, both in terms of predictable tropes and character assassination.
Here’s the thing, though. I can move past the predictability and utter nonsense that was the plot of this series -- and only because I’ve become so jaded and cynical in my belief that no one cares about even trying to be original anymore; it’s all a facade, this trend of doing a ‘new twist’ on classics in an attempt to make something seem more 'original' than 'adaptation.' Except it’s not original when you simply borrow from other sources and mash things together. It’s like trying to fit puzzle pieces of different puzzles together and expecting a full picture. But I digress. I’ve become accustomed to this approach, so that part I can get over...ish.
What really astounds me (and confuses me on the part of people who actually seem to like the show) is how the creators of the show gave the audience a swath of characters who are all narcissistic, immature, bitchfacey douchewads with no ability to act like mature, responsible, compassionate adults for more than an episode. By the end of the series every single main character, with the possible exception of Renfield, is deplorable. There’s no one to root for, unless you enjoy rooting for self-involved sycophants and whiner babies.
(Granted, Dracula isn’t the only show with characters like this, but it is the most heavily populated…)

It's difficult to find vampires more narcissistic than The Originals family, but Dracula made ALL its characters as bad as they are...

These characters are taken from a novel wherein there is one wretched, narcissistic jerkface. Just one. And despite the fact that said novel is named for him, he’s not actually in the book a whole lot. This is where my righteous indignation over character assassination shades into outright fury. Not only did you do a mash-up of other stories to craft your plot for the season, rather than maintain any semblance of paying homage to the source material, you also managed to completely mangle every single main character. Not just mangle by giving them attributes and/or flaws and/or character arcs that have nothing to do with how they’re actually written, but turn them into genuinely dislikable people. All of them.
I’m just glad Qunicey was nowhere to be found in this show.
If the series does get renewed, it’ll be interesting to see how they move forward with these characters. And by ‘interesting’ I mean ‘good luck getting any of your audience to give a crap about anyone,’ because there’s a difference between having characters that are flawed and make bad choices, and just having a group of blundering assholes.

Dracu-zzzz

So back in October, I intended to chronicle my MST3K-esque journey watching Dracula.
Unfortunately life (and NaNoWriMo) intervened for a little while, and while I do have recaps of episodes 2 and 3, by the time I got to episode 4, a disturbing trend emerged (and no, I'm not talking about the continued character assassination of every canonical individual, which is still happening). The trend became this:
Character A does something to or for Character B.
Character B turns into a whiny bitch about it.
Character A apologizes, makes amends, or turns into a whiny little bitch, too.
Lather, rinse, repeat.

Just sit and mope with me, Renfield. I'm too emo to do anything productive.

We're now just past episode 8, and this is still happening. More than global energy subplots involving mysterious sociopolitical/religious orders and tragic pasts, more than the hunt for Dracula (Vlad Tepes, Vlad the Impaler, who we have to repeat all three titles every time we mention his name in case someone didn't know who he was) by a clandestine society of rich white guys who get a woman to do all their heavy duty fighting, more than the potentially emotionally engrossing story of young people exploring their feelings, desires, and sexuality in a healthy, honest way, the show has pretty much turned into a (really bad) soap opera with a vampire. And Dracula is pretty much the king of whiny, bitchy, tantrum-throwing moments.
It's really difficult to even feign interest in a series when every character is horrendously unlikable -- and not because they're wicked or evil or devious, but because they're selfish, whiny, assholes incapable of behaving like rational adults for more than a single episode arc. If I wanted to watch crappy daytime TV I'd watch crappy daytime TV. Don't try and feed me that swill on primetime network television and act like I'm supposed to think it's engaging.

Once you have sex with Mina, will you get rid of the ascot and ridiculous facial hair?

Aaaaaand that is why my next post is going to be dedicated to the complete opposite of Dracula: the utter magnificence that is Sherlock (whose main character is frequently a selfish, whiny, asshole... and yet you love him).

Dracula Bingo!

Or: Why I’m going to need gallons of alcohol in order to make it through this show. 

 (And yes, I've read the book. Repeatedly. So several gripes will be of a strictly canonical nature.)

 

Unchecked dramatic pauses such as: “Ladies and gentlemen, I give to you tonight… POWER!”

Dramatic pauses of such nature are only allowed from one person.
 

Dracula as sexy-romantic (anti)hero.
"Sometimes, the people we are meant for take us by surprise."
 

Lengthy tracking and/or close up shots of Dracula watching people
 

Overt attempts at inserting modern feminism ideals into female characters (who will still probably fall in love with the mass murderer known as Sexy-Drac)
 

Dracula licking/wiping his lips

Non-canonical romances

Dracula as over-protective stalker douche (but I’m sexy and ily so it’s OK, right bby?
 

References to immortal love of any kind (including the ‘immortality is a curse I would never bestow upon you’ spiel -- usually followed by making said beloved immortal)
 

References to Dracula not eating or drinking

Bosoms heaving for no other reason than boobs look awesome when stuffed inside corsets

Anytime a character comments on a new invention of the ‘modern age’

Dracula is talked about/portrayed as the ‘mysterious American’ (and if they don’t keep that facade for long, then being the ‘mysterious foreigner’)

Random shots of predatory/ominous animals (yes, including bats and wolves -- if they don’t actually interact with people ever and serve a real purpose but are just there for ‘mood’)
 

Dracula described as ‘unlike anyone I’ve ever met’ or any variation thereupon

Heavy fog orgy

Van Helsing being crazier/more manic than Renfield
 

Complete annihilation of canonical character traits (Lucy as a sex pot)

Insertion of contemporary music (this includes original score that features synthesizers and/or electric guitar)
 

Anyone seductively consumes food or drink

FLASHBACK

Bad vampire makeup

Recreational drug use

Use of creative ‘swearing’ or ‘cursing’

Ridiculous rationalizations/explanations for people dying

So, in order to cope with this insanity, I did what any rational modern viewer would do: I made a BINGO game! Copy it. Print it. Share and drink to it with friends

(Working Through) Discouragement

This marks my 150th post... wowsers. I feel like I should have written so much more.
One of the perils of the internet age: oversaturation.
I have a facebook, a twitter, two tumblrs, no less than three emails, google +, livejournal, linked in, this... it becomes difficult to digest all the incoming social data, much less find a way to maintain your own presence across multiple platforms for multiple purposes.
Yet I made a goal this year to write more often here, at least once every three weeks, and I would like to hold to that.

So it's a new year. January already gone. I find myself with goals, but little focus. Hopes, but little direction. Even typing this up feels off -- as though there's a switch that's been disconnected which usually forms the pathway from thought to word, deed, or action.
It's not an unfamiliar feeling, and occurs both with reason and without, but it is one that gives me cause for concern.

Therefore, here's brief list of things i have accomplished so far this year and/or am grateful for:

Updating resumes
Making segmented lists of goals
Talking with people about said goals
Unabashedly working on writings which may not net me anything besides experience, but give me pleasure to create
Finding more free / uber-cheap activities to attend in Los Angeles
Getting more creative with food
Ripper Street
Figure skating
Good friends, both near and far
Tea

In the coming weeks, I am determined to make more progressive strides and already have some very specific appointments made with the express purpose of doing so. Yet still, I am realistic in my thoughts that these feelings of discouragement and confusion will not easily be pushed aside. They need to be worked through, dealt with, and nurtured with better emotions and experiences.\

Hopefully everyone else's year is getting off to a better start than mine, but if not we can take solace in not being alone, and perhaps promise each other to work through the poorer times toward the better ones.

One of the few times I get snobbish and truly rant...

I thought I had included this entry in the early days of this blog, but upon review I found that I merely found another tangent to follow on the topic. However, with the advent of my first interview on vampire lore, I find myself tasked with amping up my rant quotient. Thus, my rant (to date) to end all rants. Even though it was written over two years ago, my feelings have not changed -- though I will say that Nolan's 'Batman' trilogy has advanced some of the cinematic ideas regarding baddies and those who just want to watch the world burn.


Writer's Block Query: Is there a book you really loved that was subsequently turned into a movie? Did it live up to your expectations? Why or why not?

Hoo boy... settle in, readers. You just opened the door for me to talk about 'the abomination' that is the film industry's attempt to ruin my favorite book. Over. And over. And OVER.(andaoveandoverandoverandover about 3,000 times -- number of times only slightly exaggerated).
For the newer peeps, random visitors, or those who just may not have been paying attention, my favorite book is Dracula. I blame my father. He told me at sixteen that this was 'the great unfilmed novel.' This is the last thing you want to say to a gothic-horror-loving teen who is a voracious reader, writer, film buff and has a passion for creative endeavors including film-making -- unless, that is, you want to create an obsessive monster.
Now, as movie adaptations of books go, I'm not a complete purist. I understand the need to clip some things, adjust others, creatively interpret descriptions and thoughts and situations. I get it. The execution doesn't always work for me, but I understand the need for it. So I want to make that clear before I start in on my rant. I also want to make it known there are some adaptations of books to film I think are great, one of which I'll close on after my scathing commentary. I love the 'Lord of the Rings' trilogy. I love (most of) the 'Harry Potter' movies (Seriously, what happened between OotP and HBP? How did the director go retarded in that short span of time? Different rant...). I adore the 2005 'Pride & Prejudice' film, as well as the miniseries with Colin Firth. There are also a lot of adaptations that make me twitch (*cough*Kubrick's 'The Shining'*cough*), but we'll avoid those this time since I'm about to go full-force snark on one of the 'greatest living directors' of American cinema.

Francis Ford Coppola, you raped my book.

What disturbs and angers me foremost about 'Bram Stoker's Dracula' is that it's the only film to carry the author's name in the title and is so obviously not the book. This is made worse by the fact that when you watch interviews or read literature on the film, Coppola actually thinks he DID film the book. Now tell me, scholarly director, where in that book does Mina go on a date to the movies with Dracula? WHERE? And when precisely does she profess her undying love for him and shaft her husband in favor of Drac's scary bouffant hair and red dress? You want to know what this movie is? It's the Karloff version of 'The Mummy' adapted with vampires along with the characters and some scenes from Stoker's novel. Granted it is, so far, the only version of 'Dracula' to include all three of Lucy's suitors. Unfortunately, as is the case with most of the characters, they aren't really the type of men they are meant to be (or, in the case of Billy Campbell's quite wonderful portrayal of Quincey, he's so 'actually the character' that he seems out of place next to everyone else's wackiness). Barring their titular inclusion, the characters are written and portrayed basically nothing like they are in the book. Mina's a blushing bride turned wanton love slave of Dracula. Lucy's a man-chasing whore. Van Helsing's a complete crack pot. Seward, a brilliant young doctor, can't possibly run an asylum on his own without being unbalanced himself (oh, and a morphine addict because everyone in Victorian society was addicted to sex, morphine, absynthe and/or opium). Jonathan Harker is a giant pussy (and Keanu? Seriously? WTF, casting directors?). Arthur is probably the only one besides Quincey who is somewhat true to character (and a complete waste of Cary Elwes who, in an ideal situation, would have been the PERFECT Arthur). Dracula himself is a whiny, manipulative, cuckolding bat-man who just wants to find love.
Excuse me? Dracula travels all the way from Transylvania to England to seduce and romance a girl who looks like his suicidal wife from 400 years ago? HE JUST WANTS TO BE LOVED?!? F that S! What the man wants is to settle in to a quiet life in England where he can blend in and kill people at his leisure in a society that, unlike those superstitious gypsies, embraces modern science and reason and therefore will dismiss his crimes as something rational and explainable. When this is threatened by the men in this book, he turns on the vengeance and wreaks havoc on their lives. Why? BECAUSE HE'S EVIL.
This is a huge problem I have with this movie (and a lot of movies, adaptations or not) -- the resistance to the concept of evil. It's not necessarily that bad people are glorified, or mistreated and misunderstood (though that happens), it's that there is a lack of ability in film-making, and in society as a whole: to believe that some things, some people, some entities simply desire nothing more than to kill, to hate, to destroy and ravage and wreak havoc. The reverse, sadly, is also true (though to a lesser extent) -- that no one can be good for the sake of just being good. No one is pure of heart. No one will fight for goodness simply because they are good and believe in the goodness of others. (Anyone understanding now one of the reasons I love Doctor Who?) Everyone has to have dark motives, want something selfish, be an addict, covet their neighbor's ass and go for it. I'm not saying people should be portrayed without flaws or dark deeds and always taking the moral and ethical high road. What I'm saying is there aren't enough Aragorn's and Samwise's in our media.
Those being the major issues -- and they are MAJOR -- there are lesser problems I have with the movie. For instance, the Dracu-babes making time with Harker in the castle, biting on him and nearly giving him a BJ... yeah. Never happens. Not even close. There are also so many minor-seeming adjustments to situations, and how characters react to them, that when you know the story simply point to the creative minds not knowing how to portray a moment and so masking it with over-the-top constructs (Dracula as the giant talking bat, anyone?).
I could keep going. For hours. Some people have seen/heard me do this. However, I'll spare you the minutiae of everything that's wrong with this movie. As a film, it's not terrible (it's not particularly good either). As an adaptation of Bram Stoker's novel, it's an abomination.
This is however, par for the course with Dracula interpretations. There is no film in existence, of the hundreds that have been made which are somehow connected to the source, which even remotely begins to resemble the actual novel. I attack this one the most because it's the highest profile, the most recent 'straight interpretation' of the novel made for wide release, and because its title should be stripped from the record and replaced with "Francis Ford Coppola's The Mummy with Vampires and Characters Loosely Based on Bram Stoker's Dracula."

Life's Road Signs...

True dat!

Much to my constant chagrin, on this journey of life there are no signs along the road which say truly helpful things like:
Buckets of money over here!
Turn this way for ultimate success in your professional endeavors!
Three miles straight ahead to your perfect human companion!
Satisfaction with the state of your life and acceptance of who you are just through this thicket of brambles on the other side of the mountain!
Free puppies (already wormed, neutered, chipped, and with free food for a year)!

Wait... that last one actually does exist sometimes and is for me, in a brief moment of extreme optimism, always a sign which leads to happiness both for the recipient and the puppies.

You get the point, though. And if any of those other signs has shown up in your life and led to what is indicated, please give me directions to your road... unless that road involves joining Scientology, becoming a total slut, or sacrificing all my ethics in order to achieve my desires (gee, and I wonder why I haven't found success in Los Angeles yet...).

There are, however, signs which alert us to events, situations, traps, pitfalls, and such to avoid -- sometimes the signs are even multiple and give us a way out, if not to a better road, at least a different one with better potential. These signs aren't always obvious, but often they are, and in either instance there are times when we are either too distracted looking for the signs we want to see, or too stubborn to pay heed to the warnings, or too distracted by a drifting plastic bag across the road to notice the signs.
Then, one day, we look around and realize we're on a road we never intended to be with (seemingly) no idea how we got there, nor how to get away. Whatever triggers our realization, we ultimately have few options: stay where we are, accepting that this is where we took ourselves and just deal with it -- or find a way out.
Option one is safe. We may not be in the place we intended, or even want, but we're here now. Why not make the best of it? Accept, deal, and hang out here. Maybe we'll adjust to this place and find some type of satisfaction in it... eventually. Maybe.
Option two is terrifying. Exhilarating. It has the potential to alienate us from those we've been heading down the same road with and formed bonds with along the way. We could crash our proverbial cars or drive them off a cliff trying to get out of this place. We could also find our own road, build it if necessary, that leads to what we really want -- what is good for us.

I'm finding myself currently looking back and seeing the signs reflected on the road where an oppressive heat beats down and causes the signs to gleam in reverse off the pavement. I look at where I am and see how lost I truly am. I'm standing in the center of what looks like an oasis village, and yet I know what it really is. I've known for a while, I just haven't admitted it to myself.
It's a mirage.
That promise of security and balance is an illusion, and as much as I crave those two stabilizers I know I was made for more. I'm not one to run back out into the desert down unknown roads without drawing myself a map first, but I'll be damned if I settle in this little pocket of life and accept it as my one and only inevitable future. The water was soothing at first; now it's growing stagnant and wretched. I'm tired of trying to boil it and tossing in a few additives to make it more palatable.
I don't want palatable. I want savory, sweet, exotic, surprising, and I want it assaulting all my senses.

I'm going to start my own map, watch for the important signs, and build my own road out of this mirage. Anyone who wants out of theirs, let's build that road and head down it together.

If It's Been Done Well, Leave It Alone

*deep breaths before diving into a hot button issue with me*

Articles and speculation about adapting classic literature (and literature in general) always draw my attention and, sometimes, my ire. I am not one of those Every Book Is A Holy Canon Which Should Not Be Altered For Screen people. I'm a writer, and I have flaws. I've written for the screen, and have flaws. No writer is perfect and no medium of expression is perfect in conveying what one medium already covered. My issues with adaptations are not rooted in that base problem, they are rooted in this: when one creator crafts a story and characters, it is the responsibility of someone later coming along to adapt that work to at least stay true to the overall tone and message of the source, as well as its characterization -- or change the g-d name! You change plot points? As long as we get to the same eventual conclusion, fine. You combine or omit characters? As long as it makes a stronger narrative and doesn't mess up essential moments in the story, fine. You alter a major character motivation, changing who they are on a fundamental level? NOW I have an issue, and my outrage will be rantalicious unless you give damn good support for your change or, you know, CHANGE THE G-D NAME. (Noticing a trend?)

My only other gripe with adaptation (and why I pretty much never take issue with Shakespeare films because he's the one writer out there whose work we never quite get right), is that once a well done, faithful adaptation is accomplished it's time to close the book, so to speak, and remove it from the realm of stories up for grabs. In my hasty youth, I didn't even extend this to previous film works. I thought, hey, if you can update a classic film well, then go for it! I've wizened and grown curmudgeonly in recent yeas, however, and now see the error of my ways. And if ever I need a reminder, I think of High Society (yeah, Hollywood was pulling that even during its Golden Age, so we can't heap all the blame on ourselves for the current state of stagnant original ideas). It's fine to have a vision of someone else's story in your head. If you're lucky enough to be allowed the chance to craft that story in another medium, then kudos to you -- you're already achieving one of my biggest dreams. Just... don't eff it up. And if you do and then someone else comes along later and hits the marks where you missed them, then at least you had that chance. However, if someone beats you to your dream (and I swear I will probably resort to every known tactic of undermining human success if this happens to me -- yeah, I can get competitive when I need to be), accept their success and find a new dream for yourself. The idea that once a good, faithful adaptation has been crafted someone else can come along with a new interpretation that will make the successful one shudder in shame is ridiculous. Improving a work from one medium to another is one huge accomplishment. Don't tempt fate by trying to improve the adaptation -- find something different or original to make, or CHANGE.THE.G-D.NAME.

What spurred my current eruption of emotion about adaptations? Well, it's been sort of a slow burn recently between varying reports of remaking IT, a clustermess of issues in season two of Game of Thrones (many of which end up as just sloppy storytelling -- and making strong characters into idiots), and culminating in the top news of this article about directors who were born for certain adaptations. The article itself is intriguing and has some interesting (and some, really, very safe) choices in the roster. What made my head do a Linda Blair was the news which sparked this article: that Guy Ritchie is doing an adaptation of Treasure Island.
Now, I don't necessarily doubt that the movie will be a fun romp with cool action sequences, quippy dialogue, and a sassy Long John Silver. There's just two issues with this equation. First, that concept is not going to end up being Treasure Island. Second, there already exists a near perfect adaptation of the book -- we don't need another.
Addressing issue the first: Guy Ritchie's already proven this is his MO with the Sherlock Holmes movies. Those guys bashing around the world solving mysteries are not Holmes and Watson. What Ritchie crafted is a set of cool Victorian buddy movies, with two men who happen to share names with and few characteristics of two of the most compelling characters in literature. You want to really see Holmes and Watson on screen? Watch the BBC series Sherlock. It's a modern setting, yes, but it IS Sherlock Holmes. I enjoy the movies, but I told myself about fifteen minutes into the first one that this was a Victorian buddy movie, not a Sherlock Holmes movie. In my head, I CHANGED THE G-D NAME, and then it was fine.
Now on to issue the second: already a near perfect adaptation of Treasure Island? Yep. I've never seen that... you think. No, you probably haven't. Yet it exists. It's a very good film, and it is one of the best examples in existence of how to adapt literature for screen. It's faithful to the tone, style, feel and majority of the plot. The characterization is spot on with a stellar cast. It's not a perfect movie, but Treasure Island is not a perfect book. It is however proof that when you maintain the core of a novel as your guiding star you can make not only a good film but a truly faithful adaptation of a work which deserves that treatment. Yet, people are still making Treasure Island... except no other adaptation I've seen really is remotely close to actually being Treasure Island, thus the crux of this whole entry: if you're going to keep remaking something and yet deviate drastically from the source -- CHANGE.THE.G-D.NAME.

What is this place?

How did I get back here?

Well, I'm glad you (the interwebs) asked. Though the more appropriate query might be: why did I leave?
It's not you, it's me. There. I clichéd.
However, that is pretty much the reality. Just like I'm one of those folks with a tendency to not respond to someone about anything and then the guilt complex enters in for not responding, and then I just get so guilt ridden and ashamed I ignore the issue entirely unless it comes back to bite me in the ass... well, yeah, that's basically it.

Then, eventually, you have to pry yourself away from the Self-hate Spiral of Suck and start functioning again.
This lovely blog post was an enormous help in getting me back to the blogsphere. I am this person. Number fifteen, about the books... it's like the guy has lived with me my entire life.

So yeah, I'm a crazy writer. Nutters. Off my rocker. Gone 'round the bend. Koo-Koo for Cocoa Puffs. I'm not alone, though -- much as the isolating voices in my head and natural introverted personality try to convince me otherwise.
I can't blog the crazy away, but I can invite others to jump in the crazy pool and drown with me.*


*I can't swim. So by my logic, we're all drowning.
See. Crazy.

NaNoWriMo Year Five: The NSFPureMinds Version

Or: What in the name of all that is sacred or profane am I doing?

There's something participating in National Novel Writing Month does to you, year after year: makes you fear for your own sanity.
Much as I love it, and proudly wear my writing geekdom with pride, and encourage (faithfully and truly) other people to participate, I acknowledge the mind-shattering marathon that is attempting to write a novel in a month. It is a crazy idea.
It's also a fantastic one.
It's magical.

(Yeah, I got caught up in the leprechaun nonsense of GLEE last night. I'm a sucker for blue eyes, a cute brogue, and a stunning voice. No apologies for it.)

Every year within the first few days I experience the trauma of the OMGWTFs. It can paralyze a writer to start contemplating the 'what ifs' and the 'why the hell am I doing this-es' and the 'everything I write is crap so why bothers' of it all. It can paralyze you at any time. The added pressure of thinking you have to complete something as massive as an entire novel in one month can daunt you into a fear spiral so dark it causes the worst possible black hole: the 'I can't do it so why even bother' hole.

You know what?
Fuck that hole.
Take a giant phallus of words and plug that hole up good. Show that hole the plot it's been missing. Use that hole up with great big sentences inspired by writing prompt, plot bunnies, song lyrics, and everyday objects like carrots and long glass tubes and staplers.
Screw that hole good by showing it you know best.
Then walk away from that hole, satisfied in the knowledge that you fucked it so well it exploded into the brilliant light of inspiration.
Then keep writing. All month long.

And THAT is your pornographic NaNoWriMo analogy of the week.

It's also about 300 words. That's a powerful amount of foreplay for starting work on your novel today.

Just to complete the inspirational mental screwing, here's a picture of Arthur Pendragon, wet, in front of a waterfall.

Yeah, you KNOW you can write something about that.

It's a new dawn...

It's a new day... it's a new mother-effing-August.

I could rattle off a litany of reasons why this month and I get along about as well as Severus Snape and Harry Potter in books one through six, but I'll just stick to the basics: August hates me, and in its (so far) ten year history of making my life hell, I have come to hate it.
It sucks a bit because two of my best friends were born in August, as were several members of my family. Still, this month more than any other (even March, which I have grudge matches with almost every year as well) seems to save up all the crap that could be hurled at me during the course of a year and dump it on me all at once. Like the manure truck that Biff drives into in Back to the Future. Only on a daily basis -- or at least that's how it typically feels.

Thus, like several other years, I look at the date on the calendar today and whilst pondering what horrible events might await me in the next thirty one days, I also start to ponder what I can do to cope with a life destined to be made of fail over that period of time. Unfortunately, due to recent spinal issues and a raging migraine, my mental capacity is sorely reduced right now.
I am open to any and all suggestions.

"Weakness is tiring, but strength is exhausting."

"I am tired of being strong."

My life, it seems right now, is a series of snippets mashed together. There is no linear progression from task to task or day to day. I go through the same procedures yet the feeling is one of constant interruption and chaos. Long, novel experiences and thoughts are suppressed beneath layer upon layer of brief interludes. Some thoughts and feelings and experiences are pleasant; some are reflective or inspiring; many are stressful and exhausting. All seem fleeting and inconstant. This does not sit well for someone who, though adaptable and capable of eternal juggling, requires a certain level of consistency and stability. Not a lot, really, just a bit to keep me tethered to a plane that resembles reality.
There’s too much shifting, too much uncertainty. Too many good ideas without a home and too many depressing and/or stagnant thoughts which arise and fester.

To put it succinctly:
I’m in a major funk with no semblance of how to rise out of it. I’m outwardly trying to hold on to the calm while inwardly feeling like a ship being ripped apart by a storm with no break in the weather or rescue boat on the way.

I have brief periods where something inspires me, and then am bombarded with an avalanche of negativity from varied directions and those fleeting moments of possibilities are quashed by the heavy burden of reality. I know it cannot remain like this forever. I know, even now, there is hope left… but I cannot see it. (Yeah, been retreading a little LotR).

I can’t even watch films properly right now as everything only settles in increments of a few minutes. The greater picture is lost while the few moments of true emotion I try to cling to are soon overcome by more confusing and aggravating ‘real life’ occurrences. Not being able to escape blows.

To use a current, popular yet crude, analogy being tossed around my office: I need to get the cock out of my mouth, but I can’t find it right now. I need someone to help find the cock and possibly help get it out.

And this is my life right now…