The odds are definitely in your favor, Ms. Collins.

So Tuesday I stop by Wal-Mart on my way home to pick up a copy of The Hunger Games. I try to avoid getting books there, because even big places like Barnes and Noble's need all the help they can get these days. But the B&N closest to me isn't open before I have to be at work. So I hit Wally World, buy the book, and start reading it that night. Wednesday night I mention to my wife that it's pretty good, and that she may want to read it when I'm done.

Friday, I get to work, and not only is one tire on my car low, another is damn near flat. The tires are still under warranty, and my wife has the day off, so she grabs the car, and takes it to the tire place. While she waits, she finishes her Song of Ice and Fire book, and picks up Hunger Games, which I had left in the back seat.

She finished it that night. I haven't finished it yet, so we can't discuss it from beginning to end, but she said it was a lot better then she had expected. Both of us agreed that somehow we had each gotten the impression that the mood and style was going to be similar to Twilight. In a nutshell, it isn't.

Disclaimer: I have not read Twilight, but have seen one of the films when I took my daughter to see it. I also tried to read The Host, but couldn't slog through it. Miss Meyer has her strengths as a writer, but they don't hit any of my buttons.

I got the book to compare it to Battle Royale, because when I saw the trailer for the film (I had never heard of the book before) that's what it reminded me about. I'm not quite halfway through the book, and I can see a world of difference. Battle is about all the kids, though there is a clear hero and heroine. HG is about one girl. They're both set in the future, but BR is more current, while HG, though set seemingly farther ahead in time, feels more like a story set in Roman times. I'm also reading a bit of Biblical influence, comparing the districts to the tribes of Israel.

Right now, my opinion is that Hunger Games is well worth the time and money. Will I be buying the other books in the series? I won't have to. I'll just read the copies that my wife has already said she's going to get.

Still writing, and hoping write something this good.

Not a good week

Okay, this entry is going to depart from my normal format. All the previous postings, and hopefully all the postings that come after this one, have been me talking to you, my readers. You, the person who reads what I write and hopefully who also has an interest in the movies and other weird bits that I discuss here. You're the whole reason this blog exists.

But this one is different. This is me talking to the whole world, especially to the people who don't read my stories. This is me venting. I want this statement engraved in both cyberstone and collective consciousness, where it will remain for all ages.

With the exception of a few good moments, this last week has been the worst of my life. The exceptions shine pretty brightly, but I'm so glad this week is over.

My mom died on the 3^rd. She had been on a ventilator for a while, and my sister had been handling her bills and such. My sister had a long talk with my mom's doctor, and then she called me. A while back my mom gave my sister both a power of attorney and a document which spelled out her wish to not be left hooked up to artificial life support if there was little to no chance of a recovery. My sister decided to have the machine turned off, and I backed that decision. My mom died a half-hour before I left the house to drive out to see her.

Because of the holiday, a plane ticket would have been almost impossible to get and ridiculously expensive. The eight-hundred mile trip took me almost two days, partly because I wasn't in the best frame of mind.

When I arrived, I hugged my sister, met and shook hands with her husband, and said hello to my two nephews. I hadn't seen the oldest since he was a baby, and had never laid eyes on the younger. I signed paperwork and tried to comfort my sister. We both went to my mom's house and I picked through artifacts that I hadn't seen in decades.

On the trip back, I was in the middle of Nowhere, West Texas when I got a flat. Luckily I had a signal for my cell phone, and my fantastic wife was able to not only add me to her AAA account, but to get them to call me. I'll write about the experience later, but I got to sit out in the desert for an hour and a half while it got dark.

When the tow truck driver arrived with a flat-bed (the flat was on a rear tire) his winch malfunctioned as he was pulling my car up on it, so I had to drive it up on the bed. We talked on the way to the small town up ahead, and it took us not quite an hour to get there. I had called a couple of motels while I waited, and found one right across the street from the tow business. Somehow in the time between my call and my arrival, they had filled all their vacancies.

Now I had walked across the street to get to the motel, and the the tow driver had taken off in the meantime. This was late Friday night in a small town, and the lights were all off and the streets were deserted. I headed up the road to where I thought the tow driver had shown me another motel, but after a few blocks I arrived in the middle of town and realized either I was going in the wrong direction or it was too far away for me to even see it. Off to one side, I noticed a sign for a Holiday Inn. Still carrying my bags, I walked a few more blocks, and staggered in to ask the nice lady at the desk if she had any vacancies. She shook her head sadly at this sweaty stranger who looked like a drifter and said that they were full, but she did call the Best Western for me, which was just a few more blocks away, up the highway.

I stopped off at the gas station next door to grab a beer, only to find that they didn't carry singles of any of the kinds that I like, and they couldn't let me break a six-pack. I had to buy a forty-ounce bottle of a watered-down brand while everyone stared at the weirdo in line carrying a backpack and a duffel bag. It was probably a smart idea of mine to zip up the bag so no one could see the case for my Beretta. (It's illegal down here to carry a weapon into any place that sells alcohol)

Then I walked those three more blocks up the frontage road of the highway, in the dark and hoping I wouldn't get hit when I had to walk on the asphalt because there wasn't a sidewalk. When I got to the motel I was tired, reeking of sweat, and thirsty as hell. I put in for a seven AM wake up call, wondering how soon I would be able to fall asleep.

After less than five hours of sleep, I got up and started making phone calls to make sure that the tow company would get my car to the tire place and that the tire place would sent someone to pick me up when they were ready for me to drive my car off the flatbed. Then I watched brainless TV and tried to doze. About ten AM, I was finally back on the road.

Eight hours later, I was finally back home where I had started. Now I can try to settle into the thought that my mother has died. We had a strained relationship, but her loss still leaves an empty hole.

By the way, about the futile hunt for quality beer? Blame my wife. She's the one who has introduced me to the good stuff and tried to wean me off of what she calls 'canoe beer.' Don't tell her that I still like that stuff too, okay?

Teenage Paranormal Romance must die

So it was time for another visit to Barnes and Noble's. I've been busy as heck recently, as well as having some family issues, so I haven't been able to stop by for a while. Wednesday night, I headed over after work, and the news was not good.

In the fiction area, the shelves are three segments wide, front and back. There was still no horror section, but incredibly, there was a section solely for Twilight and assorted rip-offs. There were dramatic rip-offs, romantic rip-offs, and light-hearted rip-offs. To be fair, some of them weren't rip-offs at all, they were stories about kids falling in love and/or lust, and about all the complications that always follow. The fact that the characters were vampires, werewolves, ghosts and cheerleaders just gave added flavor to the stories. These books were on one shelf, taking up all the sections on one side and two of the three on the other side.

I'll snicker about it, but I also have to think about it. My gut reaction is to say 'back in my day, if it had monsters in it, it went in the horror section.' But that's not completely accurate, is it? People have been using and misusing monsters ever since they stopped being genuinely afraid of them. Predating my day were movies like 'The ghost in the invisible bikini,' (with Boris Karloff, no less!) 'The ghost and Mrs Muir,' and of course, the many relevant films of Bud Abbot and Lou Costello. These are movies and not books, true. But I suspect my inability to name similar books off the top of my head is due to my ignorance, not lack of material.

Rather than get into the sour grapes of how well Stephenie Meyer's little sub-genre is doing, (because I think the whole rest of the human race has already seen to that) I'm going to admit the reason. Much like why the damsel in distress is still on the market, this sub-genre is getting the royal treatment because it's selling. B&N wouldn't give up valuable shelf space if it wasn't.

What does this mean for me? For those of us who prefer hearts pounding in terror, or torn out while still beating? It means we need to realize that a good chunk of our potential audience likes that stuff, and decide whether or not to include it in our work.

I spent the day putting together an outline of Roja. I don't like doing this before I write the story, but now that I'm doing the rewrite I need it to keep all the points straight. To make the outline, I had to skim through the whole book, and I still like it. That's a good sign.

Still writing like a horror junkie.

Advocating for the dumb heroine

Yep, her. The pretty girl who can't run ten feet without falling on her face. The gutsy woman who, despite having a PhD, doesn't have the brains to stand with her back to the wall so that the hideous thing that she's hunting can't sneak up behind her. The resourceful young co-ed who, despite getting stalked multiple times (Are you there, Sidney?) has never thought about moving to a state where you can get a license to carry a concealed gun, or three. Yes, this weeks little chat will be about the women who we all curse and mock, even as they skip merrily to their doom.

Claudia has speculated that in the world where these stories take place, these poor ladies have no examples to learn from; that in the world of horror movies, they themselves have no horror movies. There were no Grimm's Fairy Tales to terrify young children into obeying their parents. No one ever told scary stories to nervous campers huddled around a hand-built fire. Nor are there any urban legends warning innocent virgins about the dangers of parking along a deserted road with their boyfriends. That, to me, sounds like a pretty scary world. ('Who? Stephen King? Oh, you mean that schoolteacher up north somewhere? The one who went crazy and chewed his own hands off in front of his class? What about him?')

But that's too easy an answer. The movies are made and watched in this world, so we have to assume the rules of this world apply to them. You can't say that the hero was able to get to the heroine in time by breaking the speed of light, when everyone knows that you can't do that. We need to empathize with the people on the screen, and we can't do that if they have superpowers or otherwise don't have the same worries that we do.

So assuming there could be an attractive young lady, (wearing only panties and a dress shirt, of course, but that's a different discussion) running from a knife-wielding maniac somewhere in a neighborhood near you, why exactly is she doomed to trip over her own feet at some point? Why didn't she notice him staring at her through the window? Why didn't she run screaming out the front door when she heard the floorboards upstairs creak?

Do a little thought experiment for me, would you? Sometime this week, pick one day, and try to notice every, single, detail that might mean something.  Do this from the time you get up in the morning until you finally fall asleep at night. Take note of all the little sounds, (My co-worker just walked by me a few minutes ago. The spare blade that's stored inside his box cutter clicked with each step. I wonder why he was still wearing his box cutter on his belt this late in the day?) sights, (Strange. I never noticed dirty fingerprints on that part of the door before. Looks like they’re from a lot of different people, too) and other minutiae that you encounter every day, and then automatically forget. Make yourself aware of every single thing that whoever writes the next 'Saw' or 'Sherlock Holmes' movie could turn into one of the secret 'Ah-ha' moments right at the end.

Good luck getting to sleep.

As for why our heroine can't walk and chew bubblegum at the same time, imagine this: What if the very next time you got a call, or page, or text, you had to run. I mean you had to go balls to the wall, full power sprint, and you couldn't stop until you encountered someone wearing a beret. I'm not asking, or even recommending that you really try this, but just think about it. You have to run, and you don't know how far or even how long. There's no nice, even track for you to use, and there WILL be lots of things lying around for you to trip over. Life is like that. Oh, and the consequences of falling, or not running fast enough? That's where that big, shiny knife comes in, and you won't get the benefit of a fade out. Your version of the scene follows all the way through.

Now you can say that individuality will play a big part here. Some people are damn good at running, and other people wouldn't run, especially if Mister Spookface shows up in our heroine's home. That fight or flight response is unpredictable at best. Just today I read where a fourteen year old boy shot a man who broke into his home. That's the kind of news story we love to read, but would it fit in a horror movie?

Which brings me to the last point. All of the above, when you really consider it, is another answer that's just too easy. Hollywood and the writers that fuel it have been churning out hapless heroines for over a century, and they show no sign of slowing. There are exceptions, but they're only remarkable because they contrast to the norm. Horror requires that certain buttons get pushed, and the archetype of a damsel in distress pushes them. Are there other things that push the buttons? Of course. I, and my colleagues/competition, are constantly working at hunting them down. That doesn't mean we're going to stop using what works, not any time soon.

Is that archetype demeaning? Does it insult not only all the women who could outrun our killer, but also the ones who would outwit him, not to mention the ones who would blow his fool head off? (Have I mentioned that my wife can shoot?) Only if they were supposed to be models to live by. But these are fables, not news stories, and they function under different rules. There's a reason our heroine has a face, and why the killer wears a mask of some sort. We have to relate to her in one way, and to the killer in another. From a guy's perspective, the heroine is that girl who got away, and who will now run eagerly into our arms, because we can protect her. The killer, partly, is all the rage and hate we felt toward her, which is why he wears a mask. We don't want to be recognized as hating her. What is it from a woman's perspective? I can speculate that it's about the fears a woman has, of men and of the parts of life that she can't control, but I'm in unfamiliar territory here. A lady's response would be welcome.

My this post has a dark tone, doesn't it? Try to think about a cardboard box full of puppies and kittens for a little bit. That should clear your mental palette.

Still writing.

Edit:  Vagina.  See?  I say it, and the world doesn't end.

Movies, books, and a maze.

I finished reading 'Battle Royale' on Friday, and I have to say I liked it. I saw the movie some years ago, and except for changing some small (but not minor) details, I now know it's pretty true to the book. There's that same dark, bleak hopelessness that hits you in the face right at the beginning, and just builds through the rest of the story.

With the Hunger Games movie out, I've been pondering the comparisons between the two, and may pick up the Hunger Games book series so I can judge for myself. (I'll probably read something unrelated first, just to start with a fresh mind) I've read conflicting accounts whether the author of the latter has said she read Battle Royale, but just a bit of browsing, being careful to avoid spoilers, seems to indicate that Games ends up having the exact same group dynamic as Battle, which would 'strain credulity,' to quote Captain Barbosa.

Claudia and I saw 'Prometheus' Saturday, and it's going to take a bit of pondering to be able to say what I thought of it. There's a lot of subtle imagery and heavy questions that it asks. Sad to say, it seemed to waste Charlize Theron.

We also went looking for a van so we can start having steady transportation for all the grid and other stuff for Pan-Gaia designs when we go to conventions. If I ever had doubts that inspiration for good horror can be found anywhere and everywhere, one place we stopped at killed them. Along the highway, there are a lot of car dealerships, and these are one of the businesses that have been hit pretty hard by the recession. A lot of them are closed and deserted, and there is something really creepy about wandering through a lot with plain white vans, (some with bars and metal grid over the windows) vans with mechanical arms mounted on top, and old ambulances all around. There were no salespeople to be found, and all the vehicles were parked in rows that seemed like they had been designed by somebody studying modern art. The word 'labyrinth' came to mind more than once.

Yesterday was Father's Day, and it wasn't as good as I had hoped it would be. My mom is in the hospital, and I didn't get to talk to my daughter.

Am I still writing?  Hell yes.

On Crap

If you read, watch, or listen to horror, you're going to discover a basic truth: There's a lot of crap out there. It's true for other genres as well, but we're talking about horror, so smear some vapor rub under your nose and put on your waders. It gets pretty deep in here.

I just watched a movie on Netflix that billed itself as horror, and it inspired the title of this piece. I debated for a while whether or not to tell the title of the film, and I've just decided to give the relevant details, and if you can figure out which one I'm talking about, well, you've earned the warning to avoid it.

Disclaimer: Have I written crap? Oh hell yes. Will you ever read it? Not if I can help it. If you've ever read anything of mine that was crap, please send me an e-mail and we can arrange to meet somewhere along a dark, deserted stretch of road. If you can bring your own duct tape, plastic bags, and hacksaw, that would be ideal.

Now just as crap is unavoidable, in producing as well as consuming, it has a function. When you write something that stinks and oozes, you better have the ability to recognize it, and either flush it and learn from the experience, or break it down to it's raw elements and start over. If you can't recognize it, rest assured someone out there can, and they will not be shy about informing you. When you read or watch crap, you can tell what it is pretty quickly. Then, if you have the itch, you start noticing specifics. In the movie, Daniel Baldwin does a good job acting, but his character is one dimensional. All he is, is a really sadistic murderer. That's it. Good villains, on the other hand, are worth watching because they're interesting. Jigsaw has a code he follows, and he's a murderous psycho because he lost his unborn child and was given a death sentence by brain cancer. Hannibal Lecter is smarter than we are, has those creepy abilities to manipulate other people and to accurately predict what they'll do in important situations, and lived through a horrific childhood. These plot points make us envy and empathize with the villains. We make up little details about them in our head that are never mentioned in the book/movie. We say to ourselves, 'If I had that ability, I know exactly what I'd do with it.' Our movie villain is a murderous bully, and he's lucky. He gives us no hint of being a genius, and he NEVER makes a mistake.

Watch your foot. I think my disbelief is going to fall there.

The two protagonists would have to have an extra hour of screentime, each, in order to work their way up to being one-dimensional. We have a jaded cop, and an optimistic shrink, and that's all that they are. The emphasis here is on the victims, and to be fair the women deliver decent performances. But when the credits rolled, I wanted my hour and a half back. There was no point. Almost nothing changed, and the only thing that did, only made matters worse. I will admit that the later 'Saw' movies have this same problem, too, so I can understand people who make a claim to them getting labeled as crap. But I dare you to stick that label on the original, and then defend that viewpoint.

That's the difference. Good writing, whether it ends up in print or on a screen, tells a story. There is progression, whether for good or ill, but it has a pace, and a plot. I can sum up this movie by saying, 'Sadistic murderer tortures and murders some pretty women.' Except for the gory details, that's the whole story, which is no story.

That's crap.

I finished 'Blood' on Wednesday, and on Friday I started 'A Room'. I'm really excited about the latter, as I've had it bouncing around in my head for a long time now.

I'm trying out a new technique for these entries, writing them on an Open Office document and copying and pasting them in. This way I'll have a record in case Google swallows my blog and refuses to spit it back up, and I can write these earlier if I get an idea. Hopefully, that will prevent me from being late again.

Still writing.

Back from Project A-kon

Once again this is a day late, but I have a better excuse this time.  Yesterday I worked Claudia's booth at A-kon, as I had for the whole weekend, then I packed up the display and stock in the van she had rented, kissed her good-bye, and then drove all the way back to Houston because I had to go to work today.  When I got home last night it was nearly one in the morning, and while due to my insomnia that's not usually late for me, at that point I could still feel the vibration of the road in my bones and whenever I closed my eyes I could still see the lane dividers whipping past me.
A-kon always is a lot of fun, and this time was no exception.  There were all kinds of costumes, including a Catwoman who meowed and batted at one of the cat toys in the booth, the same two 'mushroom people' that I've seen nearly every year, and some REALLY good Sith characters.  I got to bare my general ignorance when I failed to know who a girl was talking about when she came to the booth looking for a crown so she could complete her Princess Peach costume, and I got to use my favorite elevator line.  We stayed in the Marriot, connected to the convention center, and there was always a long wait for an elevator.  When I finally got in one, I would always wait until the doors closed, and then look around and say, "Okay, who's seen the movie, 'Devil'?"  Boy I wish I had gotten pictures of some of the looks on the other people's faces.
Now that I'm back, I'm pounding on rewriting Roja.  Because I started it so long ago, and then put it on hold, it has some major cracks in the overall framework, and those are what I need to address first.  The story I'm working on, 'Blood, is drawing down too.  I was able to get a bit of it written while in Dallas, but after being a filthy salesman all day, (No joke.  That's what I call myself to half the people I would talk to) I would usually just come back to the hotel room and read 'Battle Royale' for a while until I crashed.  It's good, and reading it makes some parts of the movie make a bit more sense.
Still writing.