I've said it before and I'll say it again: I fucking love the Rocky series. It's as close to a guilty pleasure franchise as I can get, and it's stood the test of time for a reason. I will be the first to admit that I suck at sports. Well, not necessarily suck . . . I definitely have an athletic build and I love to exercise, and I imagine if I put in the proper time and effort I wouldn't be half bad. No, I really hate the competitive nature of team sports. Maybe it stems from my lack of trust in group projects during high school - being exploited because I was usually the only one who actually cared about making sure things got done - or maybe it has to do with being an introvert, or maybe because I don't like feeling the pressure of anyone's expectations outweighing my own.
I do, however, appreciate sports that serve as competitions between two people, which in most cases translates to two athletes beating the fuck out of each other, like in boxing or martial arts. It's less the actual beating that I appreciate though, and more the personal discipline required to train oneself to being in peak condition, relying on nothing but your own skill and being 100% accountable for your actions. If you slack off during training, you're going to lose. Your success is all about how much you're willing to put in.
And that's what I like most about the Rocky franchise.
It centers around the sport of boxing, but the actual story is about a man trying to be the best version of himself, overcoming odds, facing adversity, and all that other heartwarming stuff. You could switch out the boxing for any other sport and it would still work just fine. And Rocky is also one of the very few franchises where another entry a decade or two later didn't feel unnecessary (Stallone seems to have tapped into some miraculous secret, given that he pulled off the same feat with Rambo). In fact, my first foray into the series was Rocky Balboa, the final installment, and I was so impressed with it that I watched the rest and found merit and charm in each one. The series has been quoted and parodied more than any other over the years, and it has earned its place in pop culture history.
If you'll indulge me, I'd like to get my fan-boy on and jerk off this beloved franchise in chronological order.
Rocky (1976) - Written by Sylvester Stallone and directed by John G. Avildsen, you don't need me to tell you why it's great. The underdog boxer Rocky (Stallone) gets a once-in-a-lifetime chance to fight the heavyweight champion of the world, Apollo Creed (Carl Weathers) under the tutelage of his cranky old coach/manager, Mickey (Burgess Meredith). He ultimately loses the fight, but wins the love of his life, Adrian (Talia Shire), and proves you don't need fame and fortune if you have heart. And who could forget his cranky best friend Paulie (Burt Young), Adrian's brother.
This film is just such a good drama, and it holds up remarkably well today. It's a true love story, and although there are certain parts that would definitely come off a bit rapey today (such as when Rocky is trying to convince Adrian to come up to his apartment) I can't help but get the deep feels at the end when Rocky loses the fight but keeps screaming Adrian's name in the ring, and she finally says "I love you."
Rocky II (1979) - Stallone stepped into the director's chair on this one, and it plays directly off the first, with the opening scene literally being the same final fight from the first film. Rocky has lost, but still becomes an overnight celebrity. He and Adrian are getting married and have a baby on the way, but they soon find that Rocky's qualifications for work don't extend much beyond the sport of boxing. Apollo Creed, meanwhile, is bombarded by accusations that he lost the fight with Rocky to the point that he demands a rematch. Rocky reluctantly accepts, but Adrian doesn't want him to, and the two grow distant. Rocky's training suffers, and all seems lost when Adrian slips into a coma due to complications during childbirth.
But wait! All hope is not lost! Adrian recovers and encourages Rocky to fight. Following a second spectacular training montage, Rocky goes on to narrowly win against Creed! Not only has he achieved his dream of a family, but now he's the heavyweight champion of the world! What could possibly go wrong for Rocky now?
Rocky III (1982) - Quite a lot, it turns out. Whereas Rocky II came off as a direct followup to the first film (you could literally watch them back-to-back as one feature if you felt so inclined) the third installment is more of a character study on how a person re-discovers who they are. Rocky has become complacent with his title as heavyweight champion and ends up losing to a young and brutal upstart, Clubber Lang (Mr. T). Mickey dies of a heart attack, and Rocky is lost until his old rival, Apollo Creed, steps forward to train him. Going back to his roots and with a stern motivational talk from Adrian, Rocky regains his confidence and beats the shit out of Clubber to regain his title.
Stallone returned as both writer and director, and this is when the series started to emerge as pop culture jail bait. There's a lot of absurd stuff that you can't help but love; Mr. T. as the rival, the extremely flamboyant aspects of the training montage, the unapologetic use of Survivor's "Eye of the Tiger," and the final fade away to the painting of Rocky and Apollo having a friendly fight are all the makings of pop culture gold. As a side note, the film's plot syncs up perfectly with Christopher Nolan's The Dark Knight Rises. Some might say that's a knock against Nolan, but I call it unbridled awesome.
Rocky IV (1985) - If the third installment was flirting with the absurd, the fourth was French kissing it with gusto. Much like the third, however, the more it dips into the outrageous, the more memorable it becomes. We're in full on eighties mode here, with all the clothes, music, and political baggage that entails (there's a freakin' robot for Christ's sake). Rocky is the retired champ, content with hanging up his gloves. Apollo Creed, meanwhile, isn't ready to get out of the game just yet. Word reaches him that Russian man-hulk Ivan Drago (Dolph Lundgren) is on his way to America to challenge the reigning champ. Apollo convinces Rocky to let him take on the superhuman Russian instead, and in a tragic turn of events, Apollo is killed in the ring. Against the wishes of his wife and common sense, Rocky travels to Russia with Paulie to avenge his fallen friend. Following what is hands-down THE SINGLE GREATEST TRAINING MONTAGE OF ALL TIME, Adrian finally comes to her husband's side, Rocky wins over the Russian people, beats Drago, and practically ends the Cold War.
This is the first film that definitely had some political messaging behind it (although the third dipped its feet into issues of race). The Cold War era tension seeps out of every inch of the film's reel, with Rocky's training juxtaposed with Drago's; the Russian is trained in a high-tech facility and given steroids, whereas Rocky goes at it all grit and heart, jogging in the frigid snow, chopping wood, and hauling rocks. I'm sure there was someone in the original audience who was shaking their head and thinking "What the fuck happened to the underdog from Philly?" but as most things that came out of the eighties, time and public opinion has been kind to this film in context.
Rocky V (1990) - Original director Avildsen returned for this one (again penned by Stallone) to ground the series back to its roots. The plane of the absurd is slapped by the almighty hand of God and falls into a tailspin in the first few minutes; the beginning is actually rather poignant. Seconds after defeating Drago, Rocky is in his change room, panicking with Adrian after having suffered severe brain damage from all the repeated hits from the super Russian. They return to America only to find that Paulie had unknowingly provided power of attorney to an unscrupulous lawyer, thereby losing all their money. Humbled and defeated, the Balboa clan return to Philadelphia where Rocky takes up training a new upstart, Tommy Gun (Tommy Morrison) while avoiding the taunts of boxing marketer George Duke (Richard Gant) all the while contending with his rebellious son (played by Stallone's real life son, Sage) who doesn't care for the relationship between Rocky and Tommy.
Tommy rises to the top and is co-opted by Duke, however, abandoning Rocky and everything he was taught about fighting with heart. Tired of living in his former mentor's shadow after winning the heavyweight title, Tommy challenges Rocky at Duke's behest, only to be savagely brutalized in an epic street brawl with the aging champ. It was less about following your dreams and more about rolling with the punches life throws at you, but I particularly liked this entry because it really brought Adrian's character full circle. She was timid and fragile at the beginning of the series, but ends up being the foundation of the Balboa family by the end, replacing Mickey as the one encouraging Rocky and telling him his greatest asset has always been his courage and his heart. It's actually quite touching to see her evolution as a character.
Also, the flashbacks of Mickey during the final street fight screaming "Get up, ya son-of-a-bitch! I didn't hear no bell!" are classic.
Rocky Balboa (2006) - The final entry in the series, over a decade after the fifth. This film achieved the impossible by not ruining the franchise in the eyes of the public. It stands on par with the original, in fact, and it helped that Stallone returned as both writer/director along with as much of the old cast/crew as he could find. It worked because the reason for making this final entry syncs up with the theme of all the other films; it's about having heart and doing what you were born to do.
Rocky is feeling the sting of old age. Adrian has passed away and his son (played by Milo Ventimiglia) has grown even more distant. Rocky spends his days recounting old boxing stories for the customers at his restaurant, visiting Adrian's grave, and chatting with an even more bitter Paulie. A computerized match-up between him and current heavyweight champ Mason "The Line" Dixon (played by real life boxer Antonio Tarver) encourages Rocky to get a license to box again, which is immediately followed by an invitation from Dixon's managers to fight the reigning champ himself in a full-blown exhibition match. Another training montage follows, Rocky reunites with his son, and he gives one more good fight before finally hanging up his gloves, content and satisfied.
All of the different elements of this film sync up just right in a very feel-good way. It's all about life changing as time goes on, yet retaining the same heart in spite of that. Early in the film, Rocky is visiting places where he and Adrian spent time together (all locations from the original) and Paulie accuses him of living in the past. Whereas Paulie would rather forget the past (admitting he was never very nice to his sister) Rocky isn't content to just move on. Being old doesn't mean being useless, which is exemplified in a scene where he decides to adopt an elderly dog as opposed to a younger one. He tells the son of Marie (Geraldine Hughes) - whom he met as a child in the first film and still affectionately calls "Little Marie" - that just because something's worn out doesn't mean its time is over yet.
This film is also instantly quotable, with such exemplary lines such as when Rocky tells his son "It ain't about how hard you hit, but about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forward" or my personal favorite, when Marie asks Rocky why he's being so nice to her and her son, to which he replies "Why do you have to give something to get something?" It's truly touching, and after having absorbed the rest of the series, it stands as a fitting end to the franchise, perfectly book-ending the tale of one man's life. As Marie tells Rocky before his final fight, "You're going to show them that the last thing to age in this world is the heart."
And that's ultimately what I think I find so appealing about the series as a whole. I don't look at it as six separate films, but as one single story broken into six chapters. Rocky is a character that's curiously like Forrest Gump; he doesn't undergo a very radical transformation over the course of his life, but instead remains stalwart as the world and friends/family change around him. Each film essentially follows the same formula, but there are enough subtle tweaks to make each appealing and different in their own way. Even a character such as Paulie, who remains gruff and bitter until the end, is given enough material over six films that you feel for him and the life he's lived alongside our favorite underdog; he was downright abusive towards his sister in the early films, but by the end you can see what toll his life has taken on him, living alone without accomplishing anything significant on his own and blaming everyone but himself, but you also finally see the love and respect he has for Rocky, his best friend.
The Rocky franchise snuck up on me, with one entry after another fueling my appreciation for the series. Some parts are fun, some downright absurd, but it always remains touching and inspiring - the tale of one man's extraordinary life. I'll admit I probably have a different appreciation for it having watched the final entry first and then playing catch-up over the course of a weekend with the help of a Spike TV marathon (sorta like my relationship with the Harry Potter books, without the Spike TV, obviously) but it holds a special place in my heart, more so than most other franchises. Despite some entries feeling out of place, taken as a whole they all work, flowing seamlessly from one chapter of Rocky's life into the next, from a down-on-his-luck young underdog to a content old man at the end of his rather amazing journey. It's ultimately a story about following your passion and apologizing to no one for it. As Marie tells Rocky when he's questioning whether he should step back into the ring, "Fighters fight."
You gotta do what you love.
Anyone who's had the privilege of hearing me rant about my interests and hobbies for more than five minutes will no doubt know that I'm a pretty big fan of science fiction. But how has the genre most commonly associated with nerds in their parents' basement arguing in chat forums captured my imagination for so many years? I recently watched Christopher Nolan's Interstellar and loved in it ways that are entirely inappropriate between man and film, so I figured now was a good time to reflect on my love for this particular genre.
And just a head's up, there will be spoilers for Interstellar, but I'll try and stick them near the latter part of this article and give you a warning beforehand.
"Science fiction" seems to be a thing that people don't like admitting interest in, probably due to certain negative associates that don't have anything to do with the actual definition itself. It's sorta like how some people don't like saying they're feminists because they think it means something very different than it actually does. When most people hear "science fiction" they think of Star Wars and Star Trek, and while those are certainly famous examples of the genre, not all examples of science fiction are limited to stories of intrepid space adventurers. The actual definition of science fiction - according to the dictionary app on my phone - is "literary fantasy involving the imagined impact of science on society." That's a pretty big goddamn spectrum, and a lot of movies and books which you probably never considered sci-fi certainly fall into that category.
My personal love of science fiction comes from one word in that definition: impact. What I love isn't necessarily the science, but the moral/philosophical/existential implications that come up as a result. I couldn't give a rat's ass about the technical aspects of creating a true artificial intelligence, but you bet your balls I'm interested in thinking about how such an advancement would make us evaluate what it means to be human.
There seems to be a bit of a resurgence in quality science fiction lately, or at least a resurgence of a particularly introspective form of the genre which I refer to as "classic" science fiction because it epitomizes that whole "impact on society" part of the definition I quoted above. Franchises like Star Wars and Aliens may be popular, but they're more of an entertainment spectacle than an introspective journey plunging the depths of the human condition. When I talk about classic science fiction, I'm talking about stories that make you think about yourself as a person and society at large. Such notable recent examples include Alfonso Cuarón's Children of Men, Neill Blomkamp's District 9 and Elysium, Darren Aronofsky's The Fountain, and Ridley Scott's Prometheus (a prequel to the Alien saga which most people seemed to dislike, which I would argue is because it dared to be introspective instead of an action/gore fest). These movies pose the audience with a lot of personal questions that aren't always that comfortable to contemplate, and won't you watch how the fanboys start throwing around the word "plothole" to dismiss such films as garbage instead of meditating on them and maybe admitting that the world extends beyond their fragile little psyches.
While I love those movies with a passion that borders on the erotic, I have a particular soft spot for stories that take their speculations a bit further (as some of the above do). I love stories that flirt with the spiritual and that seek to offer explanations for the origins of life and the universe beyond the typical religious explanation of intelligent design. These types of stories seek to circumvent standard notions of why we are who we are and how life on earth came to be, and trying to comprehend such an overwhelming concept on such a magnificent scale strikes me as the epitome of true science fiction because it challenges all notions of the human condition by speculating on the very nature of existence itself.
My favourite book is Arthur C. Clarke's 2001: A Space Odyssey, which many will no doubt know as the Stanley Kubrick film of the same name. The novel is not some cheap tie-in either; it was written concurrently by Clarke while he simultaneously worked on the film script with Kubrick. I particularly like the book because it provides a narrative perspective that you don't get in the film, although the film is more a visual spectacle than anything else. The book also makes a lot more sense; the film takes the prize for "most confusing movie that can be easily explained with one sentence" award in the annals of film history. In short, a hyper-evolved race of aliens plant black monoliths on Earth and the surrounding solar system to push human development forward (from prehistory to space travel), ultimately ushering in a new stage of human evolution.
The book had three sequels (the first of which was also competently adapted into film and the last of which is soon to get the TV mini-series treatment). The sequels explore the further development of mankind, as well as hint at the intentions of the hyper-advanced race of aliens. What I particularly like about the sequels is that there is never a full degree of disclosure regarding the designs of the aliens and their ultimate agenda with mankind. It leaves a giant question mark revolving around the purpose of human existence, which coincides nicely with a little rant I'm about to take about religion.
The main issue I have with religious institutions is that they presume far too much about the nature of life and the universe. The idea that the will and intentions of a supremely powerful being responsible for the whole of creation can be summed up in a single book is preposterous to me. We barely understand the science of our own world and the infinite depths and complexities it presents us on a daily basis, and yet there are millions of individuals the world over who believe they have a concrete understanding of the origins of life based on excerpts from a book written during a time when wiping your ass with your hand was considered hygienic. Don't get me wrong; most religious texts serve as a great moral compass that get the whole ethics thing (mostly) right, but they should only ever be taken with a grain of salt. I always get stuck in a tight spot when trying to describe my personal affiliation with religion, because I am utterly fascinated with the idea that out in the infinite wonders of a universe that is quite literally beyond our human comprehension there might possibly be a definitive explanation for life and all existence, but I can't bring myself to label such a notion as "intelligent design" in the popular sense of the term.
Instead, I love to speculate. I hold the same opinion regarding ghosts/spirits and all other matters of the supernatural. While I'm not willing to totally dismiss the possibility that some form of existence awaits us once we shake off this mortal coil, I am not willing to believe such a state of being exists in the traditional sense that modern day psychics and shitty horror films would have us believe. There is a simple fact that I constantly feel the need to reiterate during debates on such subject matter: the universe is literally incomprehensible to us. It is beyond our capabilities to fathom the physical scale of our galaxy, let alone the universe at large and the forces that exist beyond. Speculations regarding the existence of dimensions beyond our mental ability to process abound in science, which is why I can't bring myself to accept the simple explanations given by individuals who wouldn't know science if it ran up and bit them on the ass.
Clarke speculates a lot in his novels (especially Childhood's End and the Rendezvous with Rama series) about the origin and purpose of life, but like the best science fiction, it's grounded in concrete notions of science that lend it an air of plausibility instead of putting it in the realm of far flung fantasy. Clarke was too steeped in science to write compelling characters (they are often far too rational and lack emotional depth) but I always find his existential ideas remarkably profound. Like the best science fiction authors and directors, he speculates without offering concrete explanation, leaving it up to the reader/audience to carry the speculation further. I get the sense that modern audiences are uncomfortable being left to contemplate such things for themselves instead of being handed an answer, which is why I hypothesize there was an overall lukewarm reception to Prometheus and the ending to the TV series Lost, both of which left a significant amount of details to the audience's imagination. If anything though, I think that's reflective of how complacent we have become as a species, preferring to have the answers handed to us rather than spend any significant time meditating on such mysteries of life for ourselves (which kinda forms the whole basis of organized religion).
SPOILER ALERT! I'm about to dig into Interstellar and its ending, so avert your eyes if you don't want to know what happens.
Interstellar stars Matthew McConaughey as Cooper, a former engineer and pilot turned farmer on a near-future earth that is ravaged by dust clouds and blight. He is asked to pilot a ship into space through a wormhole near Saturn to investigate potentially habitable worlds in a distant galaxy. In doing so, he is forced to leave his family (in particular, his young daughter) as he faces the wonders of uncharted space. What the film does beautifully is meld the scientific and the emotional, grounding concepts such as relativity so that we as an audience are able to comprehend in a rather overwhelming fashion the absolute awe that exists in celestial phenomena like nothing else in cinema before.
There is a particularly guttural scene in the middle of the film where Cooper and a few scientists take a small shuttle to investigate a potential planet that is orbiting a black hole. It is established that the physical nature of the black hole warps gravity and time the closer they get to the planet, and thus exploring the surface has potential consequences; in a nutshell, time passes more slowly on the planet's surface, so for every minute they explore, several months will pass in real time. Shit goes wrong naturally and their mission is delayed forty minutes on the planet's surface. Upon returning to their main ship, they learn that twenty-three years have passed as a result. An entire film could have been made about the isolation suffered by the single crew member left behind while they were exploring the planet's surface, but the biggest emotional gut punch comes when Cooper rushes to check the messages from Earth that have been piling up over two decades, and essentially witnesses his children age twenty-three years in front of his eyes over the course of a few minutes. McConaughey delivers in this scene, as do Jessica Chastain and Casey Affleck (who play his middle-aged children, respectively). This scene makes you feel the consequences of this force of nature. It's like standing before a hurricane - you can't help but be filled with awe and terror.
Throughout the film, it is hypothesized that the wormhole has been placed near Saturn by a race of fifth-dimensional beings that have mastered manipulation of the previous four dimensions (time being the fourth, for those unfamiliar). At the end of the film, Cooper is thrown into the center of a black hole, which in the realm of real science remains completely unexplored, and thus is where Christopher Nolan takes the greatest liberties with his speculation. In the film, Cooper is stuck in a three dimensional representation of the fourth dimension; he is able to manipulate events through the past and present, and uses this to communicate essential information to his daughter back on Earth that ultimately allows her to save the human race.
While in this strange space between dimensions, Cooper theorizes that these mysterious "fifth-dimensional beings" are actually a hyper-evolved form of humanity that has developed past the point of being able to manipulate space and time, and thus deposited the wormhole in the past so that humanity could survive to thrive into whatever they ultimately become. It's a mind-bending paradox, but what's great about is that - like the best stories of science fiction - it never comes right out and establishes his hypothesis as the concrete state of things. Cooper is only saying what he believes to be true, but the entire film reaffirms that the mysteries of the universe are ultimately beyond human comprehension, so the real answers aren't within humanity's grasp or understanding. These beings could be an evolved form of humanity, or they could be any number of other things so fantastical that they exist beyond the realm of our imagination. Whatever they are, they simply have an investment in humanity's survival.
It is left entirely up to the audience to deliberate and reflect on the nature of such beings as well as their intentions. I particularly enjoyed this because to me it is the closest idea I can come up with when I think about what sort of "intelligent design" or "God" might exist - grounded in science, but utterly incomprehensible to us. Interstellar does what the best science fiction stories do - it proposes without insisting, encouraging introspective meditation while ultimately leaving its audience humbled.
We will never, ever have all the answers, and we should never pretend like we do. The fun is in the speculation, and in considering the scale and unfathomable mysteries and wonders that exist in an overwhelmingly massive universe that we will never fully comprehend.
I doubt anyone will remember the title of this article, but it's a line from The Simpsons that always makes me laugh to think about because of the way it's delivered. The episode is entitled "D'oh-in' in the Wind" and follows Homer as he tries to reconnect with the spirit his mother stood for by befriending two of her aging hippy friends (played by Martin Mull and George Carlin). At the end of the episode, Homer messes something up as per usual, and as the police or whomever bear down on the poor older gents, Homer grabs the two hippies in headlocks and says something to the effect that they'll never back down even if they have their skulls beaten in. And then George Carlin, in one of the best deliveries ever, says: "This man does not represent us."
I don't know if there's a sound bite of that already, but there damn well should be.
I was reminded of that line after watching and reflecting on the Internet's latest orgasm - a verbal tussle between Ben Affleck and Bill Maher. For those unaware, Affleck was on Maher's show and provided what amounted to a verbal slap to the TV host by calling him out as racist for his comments regarding Islam. Maher and another of his guests were trying to argue that as liberals they should be campaigning for rights of equality and such, and that according to polls 90% of Islamic people hold beliefs that are counter to those ideals. Maher argued that this was a serious issue and essentially called for some sort of action against it. Affleck, in response (or the best he could do because barely anyone would let that hunk of man-meat speak) pulled a Batman and swooped in to defend those without a voice in the debate and said it was racist of Maher and his other guest to paint all Islamic people with a broad stroke and make claims regarding their beliefs.
I had just watched Gone Girl the night I saw the video so I was already on a magnificent Affleck high, and God bless 'em. I normally enjoy Maher's rants and opinions, but he always felt a bit too much like a liberal extremist to me (if there is such a thing). I enjoyed his movie Religulous and thought it did a good job of demonstrating just how absurd the institution of religion can be. What I didn't enjoy, however, was that his call to action at the end of the film was for the eradication of all religion because it's essentially an atom bomb waiting to annihilate the planet.
Bit of a stretch there, Maher. Religion was only ever an excuse for war - people will still find reasons to destroy one another without that calling card. Not to mention that he completely ignores the benefits that religion has had for many, many individuals, and the positive nature of spirituality as a whole.
And he pretty much did it again on his show, and thankfully there was a giant, beautiful man with rippling biceps and a chiseled chin of the gods to oppose him. After reflecting on the incident, I came away with two points:
1) Bill Maher is a rich, white, liberal male. As such, he only has authority to make claims on the beliefs of other rich, white, men. He's at his best when he's criticizing congress because he's attacking people in his own demographic, but he in no way has any authority to comment on the beliefs and practices of the world's second largest religion and the people who follow its ideologies when he is so ridiculously far removed from them economically and culturally. I felt a little disgusted listening to the audience applaud his rants because it felt akin to an evangelist declaring a moral war on (insert conservative phobia here) and his followers with no minds of their own clapping in agreement.
2) Maher is essentially declaring himself the thought police. His main point (let's just ignore how ridiculous it was for the sake of argument) was that 90% of Islamic people hold counter ideologies to the liberal west, and we should therefore develop some sort of strategy to contend with that. My big takeaway from this was that he was declaring war on their beliefs. You can criticize actions (violent or otherwise) all you want, but the moment you start declaring a moral war because of the way people think, then you've become a villain of Orwellian proportions. Islam is a religion with close to a billion followers. It doesn't matter what they believe - having a late-night talk show doesn't give you moral authority to break into their clubhouse and tell them how they should be running things.
Which brings me around to The Simpsons quote. As a white liberal male myself, I just kept thinking that someone should throw that line out there somewhere in the debate, both because Maher doesn't represent me or my beliefs even though we technically fall into the same political spectrum, and also on behalf of Islamic people everywhere to say "It doesn't matter what polls or studies this white guy has his hands on, he doesn't represent us."
As Batfleck tried to point out, you can't associate the actions of a small percentage of violent extremists with the culture as a whole. He also tried to remind Maher that historically Christians have killed a hell of a lot more of their people than they us, and also we kinda invaded two of their nations with less than probable cause and they sorta have a right to be a bit pissed about that.
Many years ago I was at a family dinner and one of my relatives remarked something that didn't quite sit well with me. One of my cousins is in the military, as was her boyfriend. My relative thanked him for his service but then added "Better we go over there and get them before they come over here and get us." Maher's position strikes me as very similar; we divide the world into us and them, which therefore makes it easier to declare moral war because we are right and they therefore must be wrong. Justifying our own acts of violence because someone somewhere might be harboring ill thoughts against us is like slaughtering deer with the excuse that without thinning out their numbers they'll all just starve. That sort of mentality has caused more damage to the human race than any single religion or set of beliefs; I would go so far as to say that mentality is at the heart of every conflict - big and small - in the history of the human race: you are different and I don't like that.
You're a funny guy Maher, but you should probably limit yourself to just being a late-night entertainer and stop calling for action in your personal war against things that oppose your personal values.
And Affleck . . . please, don't ever change.
Being an artist and being frustrated seem to go hand in hand. In my experience, you can't have one without the other; it's a mutually exclusive relationship, like a roller coaster that constantly goes up and down with a depressing ebb and flow; you stroll down the street holding your lover's hand, and then as a joke they push you in front of a bus.
All of this is to say that I've been plagued with self-doubt lately regarding my creative projects and the direction I should be taking with them. It probably doesn't help that I'm also facing a professional quandary as well. There was a long stretch of time when I first started my current job where my work life left me feeling creatively fulfilled (I work in the television industry) and so my personal projects took a back seat. I always knew that if I were to work in a field that didn't allow me to express my creativity in some way, I'd probably be working much more feverishly in my downtime.
My current contract expires in a few months, however, and right now there's a big fat question mark sitting at the end of that road. I can't expect to stay on at my current place of business, and the desire to formulate a plan of action that would see me build a career on my writing and other talents has been on the rise. I don't expect to suddenly become a best-selling author in a few short months, but it's certainly a shit-or-get-off-the-pot moment for me, where I've realized that if I want to make a living as an artist creating their own work then I gotta get this gravy train rolling and on its way out of the station.
There's just one nagging question: where the hell do I start?
Where the hell does any artist start? There isn't a handbook for this sort of thing, and this is where the relationship with frustration starts to pick away at your confidence and withhold sex. You can train to be an artist, go to school to perfect and practice your skills, but making your way in the world? That's a different story entirely. Almost all of the artists I admire (which includes those who work in film, literature, and other mediums) all had a different recipe for success that seem one part talent and three parts pure damn luck. There were those who went to school and made connections which led to subsequent employment, and they simply climbed the ladder from there; there were those who simply created with no better intention than to make their work available for free until people finally noticed; and then there are those who fell somewhere in the middle, who created the right thing at the right time with the right people watching.
But where does that leave the rest of us?
I currently have multiple projects on the go, and I don't know what to do with any of them. I feel like I'm one of those people who should just create without worrying about the business side of things, because I swear the business aspect of the artist-driven industry sucks every last morsel of fun from the creative side. I love to sit down and write a story, but I dread thinking about submitting it to publishers, which is why everything I've done is almost available exclusively through this blog.
As it stands, I'm currently writing a new novel, which I'm releasing episodically. Writing novels is my bread and butter; I wish I could do that and nothing else and just be allowed to survive comfortably doing it. I'd love to only write and think nothing of what needed to be done afterward, but there's this niggling doubt in the back of my head. It says things like, "what's the point of writing something if you can't market it so people will actually read it?" and "maybe you're just not good enough to make a living as an artist, and that's why nothing's happened yet."
Those are paralyzing thoughts, and they're strangling the creative spark in me. I just want to create, but I (like every artist before and all of those still to be born) realize that unless I have a means to support myself, I won't have the freedom to create the things I want. And because the world doesn't owe me a damn thing, the only outlet I have to vent is this blog.
I've spent the last few days researching literary agents, and I think I just need to come to terms with the fact that I absolutely suck with the business side of things. For all the creative spark in me, there's that voice in my mind that likes to rear its ugly head to cut down the enthusiasm.
For every blog article posted, there's: "Only the same four people will end up reading it."
For every book written, there's: "You've already written a bunch and they weren't good enough."
For every song played, there's: "Now you just have to compete with everyone on YouTube."
For every film idea, there's: "You don't have the resources to do it properly."
For every screenplay, there's: "You don't have the right connections, and the Canadian industry sucks anyway."
I'm starting to think my mind is my own worst enemy (a hypothesis I've been contemplating for awhile now) but I get the sense that every artist - or at least everyone who considers themselves an artist - experiences the same crippling self-doubt at one point or another. It's the line between wanting to create and wanting recognition, or at the very least wanting the means to continue creating comfortably without wondering how you'll afford food next month. Perhaps it's fueled by ego and greed. Perhaps it's an aspect of human nature.
Perhaps it's my mind indicating it might be best to take a break and clear my head for a bit.
Or perhaps it's time I stop complaining and just keep creating without giving a fuck about the rest.
In an attempt to branch out and try new and creative ways to get my writing out into the world, I'm trying a new tactic with my next novel. Instead of publishing it straight to Kindle and demanding your money (thanks, by the way) I've decided to publish it FOR FREE on this blog episodically, as I write it.
Sanctum Rising is a science fiction fantasy epic that I'm having a hell of a lot of fun with. It will be divided into five parts, and Part 1 is already available for download in PDF format. Once all parts have been published I will compile it into a single volume AND THEN post it on Amazon and demand your money. Check it out under my 'Novels' sidebar to the right along with my other works.
There are many movies that spur controversy, and some rightfully deserve it, but if you'll allow me, I'd like to have a little fun playing devil's advocate.
Zack Snyder's 2011 film Sucker Punch was easily dismissed as a teenage boy's wet dream of flashy special effects and young girls running around doing impossibly awesome things. The film was not popular with, well . . . anyone (despite a cameo by Jon freakin' Hamm). It was attacked by critics, moviegoers, and feminist circles who didn't take too kindly to it because of said young girls being put on display. It came across as an orgy of everything wrong with pop culture.
While I'm not willing to argue and say such disgust isn't well founded (because it's not my right to tell you what you should and shouldn't be offended by) I've always thought the film was misunderstood. In fact, I would go as far as to say most people who dismissed it as chauvinistic schlock sorta missed the entire point.
I always thought the film could be the subject of a rather interesting essay, and since no one else has really done so, I've decided to take a deeper look at it myself. I don't want to give the impression that I'm staunchly defending it, however, or that I'm directly calling out people who took issue with it. Much like accusations of racism circling white-boy Tarantino's black-slave driven murder fest Django Unchained, I think it's worth discussing, so imagine me sitting humbly in a rocking chair, stroking my chin as you present your viewpoint, and then in a very civil and polite manner saying: "You raise a very interesting argument, but have you considered this . . ."
For those unfamiliar, Sucker Punch follows a young girl, Babydoll (Emily Browning) who is wrongfully sent to a mental institution thanks to her douchebag step-father over an inheritance dispute. While incarcerated, she befriends a number of other patients including Rocket (Jena Malone), Sweet Pea (Abbie Cornish), Amber (Jamie Chung) and Blondie (Vanessa Hudgens). As part of her step-father's dastardly plan, Babydoll is scheduled to be subjected to a visit from the "High Roller" (played by the aforementioned Jon "Massive Cock" Hamm) who will silence her for good. The poor girl plans an escape with her fellow patients under the nose of the equally awful warden, Blue Jones (Oscar Isaac).
The hook of the film is that the majority of the story takes place in Babydoll's imagination, or at least in her re-imagining of reality. It gets a bit Inception-y in it's fantasy-within-a-fantasy setting. It's hinted that the girls in the asylum are bought out by the warden as sex workers for whomever is willing to pay, and in order to make this reality not so horribly fucking bleak, Babydoll imagines everything around her happening in a nostalgic prohibition-era brothel. She imagines her and her fellow patients as dancers (hence their nicknames) who must perform for Blue Jones' clientele. Blue Jones wants them to dance because it is based on their performances that his clients "purchase" the girls, and Babydoll seems to have a natural affinity for it.
Furthermore, when Babydoll actually "dances," she's transported even further away from reality deeper into her imagination. As part of the girls' escape plan, they must collect a series of items such as a map, lighter, and knife, and Babydoll's dancing is used as a distraction to collect these items. When she dances, the viewer is treated to stylized action sequences where the girls fight killer samurai, dragons, Nazi-zombies, and robots.
That's quite a bit of context for the film, but it's important to set up just how inextricably detailed the plot is as it's presented to the viewer, at least for the purpose of this article.
The majority of criticisms hurled against the film are at face-value, claiming it's nothing but glorified violence with scantily-clad female protagonists designed to appeal to misogynistic teenage boys. The teenage boys (or whomever actually liked the film) meanwhile - many of whom have never been in possession of a vagina and thus have no fucking clue what they're talking about - defend it by saying it's "empowering" to women.
I would argue both parties are wrong.
Zack Snyder has said countless times that he doesn't frame any of the girls in a sexual way, and if you watch the film, he actually doesn't. Their outfits while in murder-porn fantasy mode aren't actually very revealing at all (refer to the movie poster for details) and there aren't any camera shots designed to present them as sexualized objects, except while the film is in brothel-mode, but more on that in a minute. Snyder quite cleverly claims that if you're viewing the girls in a sexualized way, you're doing it because that's what you personally - as a sick, sex-driven misogynist - are doing. He just presented you with some attractive girls performing a bunch of kick-ass stunts. If you get a boner because of it, then it's your own damn fault.
The film quite literally claims very early that there is nothing at all sexy about the girls' predicament. As the story transitions from reality to semi-reality (i.e. the brothel) Sweet Pea is on a stage initially partaking in a form of psychological therapy with Dr. Vera Gorski (Carla Gugino) which transitions into the practice of a new dance routine where she pretends to be a helpless mental patient. Halfway through the performance she stands up, practically mortified, and proclaims that there's absolutely nothing sexy about framing a sex show around someone in such a vulnerable position.
It couldn't get more obvious if it came out and slapped you in the face.
This is where the biggest chunk of criticisms against the film can be undermined, because everyone focused on the crazy stylized action-violence portions of the film, but no one seemed to pay attention to the context surrounding those bits. The fanboys who tried to defend it by claiming it was "empowering" also missed the fact that in the reality of Babydoll's world, no matter how much she tries to rebel and fight, she ultimately fails. Of the five girls partaking in the escape plan, only one escapes. Three are killed and our protagonist is left lobotomized. It didn't matter how goddamn hard they all fought, the odds were always stacked against them. They fought for a mile and only gained an inch. The girl's struggle against their male oppressors is actually really fucking bleak and depressing.
It almost reads like a metaphor for rebellion against patriarchy.
Babydoll lives in a man's world, under the constant objectification and abuse of men. Her step-father imprisons her, Blue Jones abuses and tries to sell her, she's constantly ogled and demeaned by the audience and workers at the brothel, and the High Roller - although very regretful in the role he must play - ultimately does the most physical damage to her. Babydoll's only male ally is in the form of the Wise Man (Scott Glenn) who appears in her fighting fantasies and briefly at the end of the film during Sweet Pea's escape, which is arguably still a fantasy in Babydoll's mind, so of all the men in the film the only one who actually helps her is a figment of her imagination. Even Dr. Gorski, who is shown to be a woman of some authority in the hospital, is ultimately powerless to help the girls in their struggle against the oppression of Blue Jones and his entourage.
The big "meta" moment for me came when I was lamenting that we as an audience aren't privileged to watching Babydoll "dance," which is presented as some transcendental experience within the context of the film. Everyone she performs for is left hypnotized, and it is the main tool with which the girls distract their captors to steal the items needed for their escape. And then it hit me, and it was so goddamn obvious that it makes me mad that I didn't realize it when I first watched the film.
We as the audience do get to see her dance, we're just presented with it in a different fashion. We play right into Zack Snyder's hand to prove his point that the only sexualization that happens is that which we imprint ourselves. In the film, Babydoll "dances" for Blue Jones and his clientele on a stage. Then the transition happens to the stylized action sequences, and we as the film audience become the clientele, watching her on the stage of the movie screen. We are hypnotized and distracted from the horrible reality these girls are living in, just as much as the men Babydoll is performing for within the film's plot. Snyder turns the table on us, essentially equating the people in the audience with the horrible people watching the girls in the film's world. The girls don't enjoy dancing/fighting; they're doing it as a means to escape from abuse, but those sequences are exactly what we as an audience are paying to see.
The film may seem like porn to teenage boys who are obsessed with young girls and who overdose regularly on violence and carnage, but it's not condoning that sort of entertainment, it's actively condemning it. Snyder is the real Blue Jones, parading these girls in front of us as an audience and saying, "This is what you sick fucks wanted, right? Well, here you go!" The problem the film faced upon release is that people only saw the first half of that equation and not the second half. They saw the smorgasbord of young women and immediately labelled it as misogynistic without taking into context the rest of the plot or the overall message of the film.
You could easily argue that it was a fault on Snyder's part for not making his point more obvious. After all, it's the responsibility of the filmmaker to make sure whatever message they're trying to convey is communicated properly. And there's so much being said about the nature of reality, fantasy, and escapism in the movie that it can all seem overwhelmingly complicated. As I said before, I'm not necessarily trying to defend the film, but just trying to present all the evidence so that you can make a more informed decision about whether you truly hate it or not.
And that's my two-cents. I thought the film was entertaining enough when I first saw it, but it wasn't until I had a long hard think about it that I started to understand the tapestry Snyder was trying to weave, and which failed to connect with an audience. At this point in cinema history, the film seems to have been dismissed into the abyss, to be forgotten and ignored. I haven't read too many other analysis of it that break it down the way I just tried, but I definitely think it's worth a second viewing if you were quick to label it as shlock on your first go.
But that's just my opinion. I won't stop you if you want to call me something horrible.
There was a wonderful little video making the rounds awhile back depicting a young man meeting a young woman, how they fell in love, and the beautiful life they shared together. Then it snaps back to the young man walking down the street, eyes glued to his phone, as the young woman walks past, thus missing out on the life that could have been.
The moral was that you should stop and smell the roses once in awhile, because you never know what might pass you by.
I've always had mixed feelings about social media, and that video certainly displays the argument against it, or at least against the obsession of it. I honestly believe that used responsibly, social media can be a wonderful networking tool and a great way to keep in touch with friends and family that you otherwise might not be in contact with. Rarely do I witness it being used "responsibly" though, and so despite the wonderful opportunities it provides, I have come to one ultimate conclusion: we just aren't ready for it.
Granted, each new generation sucks up technology like it's the antidote to some lethal plague, but I'm not referring to technical prowess or know-how. I'm referring to emotional maturity, and our ability to separate the world on our screens from reality.
There's a fascinating article on Cracked.com by author David Wong (which I highly suggest you read by clicking here and ignore the fact that it's coming from a comedy website) that basically outlines the way our social programming works from an evolutionary perspective. The gist is that back when we were all monkeys, we lived in groups of only a couple dozen individuals. We therefore evolved the capacity to recognize and sympathize with only that many individuals at once, which is arguably how modern cliques and gangs operate. We only recognize the faces of people we interact with everyday on a regular basis: our family and friends, the people we work with, and the people we share common experiences with. There's a cap on the number of people we can actually care about, essentially. It's why a perfectly wonderful human being who is kind, loving, and compassionate can be deeply sympathetic when their friend undergoes a breakup, but who only has a passing remorse for a horrible tragedy they read about taking place on the other side of the world. It's why people can stand in a grocery store at a slow checkout line and automatically assume the cashier is purposefully not doing their job properly, despite not knowing a single thing about them, unless of course they've also had a similar job - shared experience, and thus shared empathy.
Social media, likewise, gives us access to too much all at once. We're bombarded with more social interaction than we can properly or healthily process. I'm definitely not the first person to comment on the irony of someone who has thousands of friends on Facebook but almost no friends in real life, but the fact that such scenarios exist should be something of a red flag in our current culture. Most of us have not developed the social maturity to differentiate between the relationships that are formed online and the relationships formed in reality.
Online is easy. Typing things to someone takes no effort at all. A perfect example is Facebook when someone's birthday rolls around. Their wall is bombarded by birthday wishes, and it may make them feel loved and appreciated, but at the end of the day each of those birthday wishes took all of five seconds to type, and almost all of them are because of reminders that Facebook itself puts out, requiring almost no effort on the part of the sender. The same goes for "liking" something. A picture with a thousand likes might seem popular, but keep in mind that a single "like" requires only a single mouse click and a mere second of someone's time and interest to acquire.
I've seen people in relationships get upset when an ex-boyfriend or ex-girlfriend of their spouse "likes" something on their partner's page, resulting in fights and accusations of adultery and other misdeeds, all because of a single mouse click. We often mistake the importance and weight of online interaction, giving it far more gravitas than it rightfully deserves.
Online dating is another facet of this discussion that deserves special mention. Curtailing back to the beginning of this article, online dating sites present an interesting dilemma of further complicated social interaction. Websites like Plenty of Fish and Tinder present members with potential matches the way one is presented items on a food menu, to discern and disregard with the single swipe of a finger. People on these sites are often trying to establish meaningful and significant relationships (I should know, as I've been trying them out for a couple months now) and yet the approach taken in establishing those relationships are often shallow and distant. We look at a profile picture, give a thumbs up or thumbs down (often without even reading the accompanying profile) and then move onto the next person without a second's hesitation. I often wonder how many potential "matches" I've passed over just because of the nature of the beast.
And again, it is almost bizarre the weight we sometimes put into the relationships of people we barely know. I've seen people who are jealous or concerned (and I'm not exactly one to talk, as I've also been guilty of this) because they notice someone they've gone on a few dates with is still interacting with other people on dating sites. It makes sense that one might be worried that someone they find interesting might be exploring other potential matches, but as I mentioned, doing so puts far more weight and gravitas into online interaction than need be. It's easy to message someone and exchange a few lines of pleasantries, but that's often where the majority of "relationships" of this manner end. And why? Because real relationships (romantic or not) are more difficult than just typing a few quick words on a message board. They take time and effort, and they require more than a passing interest to maintain. Online interaction is easy to engage in, but an actual relationship/friendship requires time and effort.
And this is why I feel we haven't quite gotten to the point where we can handle this massive influx of online and social media interaction. Within a single generation, the majority of our communications have gone online or into text messages, eliminating the need to meet or even talk to someone; these changes literally took place within the last decade, and I don't think our social capabilities are quite ready for it.
We are a highly adaptive species, but even we can't outrun evolution or human nature, which is becoming increasingly evident in our modern culture. For proof in another area, simply look at the way we consume food. Obesity is now a nationwide epidemic because our bodies have not had the time to adapt to the way we now produce and consume food, nor can we exactly be trusted to monitor and police ourselves to make the best lifestyle decisions to combat the resulting ailments. We will crusade to end gang violence and cancer, but we aren't willing to do much to halt the leading cause of death on this continent (heart disease as a result of lifestyle choices) because it requires too much hard work and individual discipline.
My mom made an interesting comment during a discussion I had with her regarding online dating. She said that in her day, you rarely dated more than one person at a time, and the only interaction you had with them was when you physically saw them in person, or maybe if you called them on the phone. There was no adding on Facebook after the first date, no nights spent wondering why they didn't reply to your text even though you know they read it . . . and that really got me thinking. Much like the food industry has altered the way we approach nutrition before our bodies were able to adapt and catch up, social media has altered the way we approach relationships, friendships, and romance before we've been able to adapt and process these new conventions in a healthy way.
Another great video making the rounds encapsulates this idea perfectly. Two people, a man and woman, talk in voice overs about how all they want is someone to laugh with and love, to hold hands and to just experience life with. Their demands seem so simple and universal, but when they pass each other in person they dismiss one another based on height and bra size. A generation ago you went on several dates before deciding how you truly felt about someone. Nowadays you can dismiss someone entirely based off their profile picture, without them even knowing it. We get bombarded by images and profiles of so many people that there's no way our primitive monkey brains can establish meaningful connections with all of them, and so they remain nothing more than the sum of their pictures - not an actual human being with thoughts, feelings, and emotions, but a representation of one that we can swipe yes-or-no with on our phone.
Are we responsible enough to mature and adapt and to use these new social tools in a healthy and responsible way? I certainly hope so, because it looks like they're here to stay, and already so much of our lives are invested in them.
My life has undergone a number of significant changes lately, and I lamented when I realized I hadn't indulged in any writing for a number of weeks (both creatively and for this blog). Life is a funny thing, however, and I began reflecting on how our priorities can change depending on where we are and the people we surround ourselves with. I've noticed a number of patterns in my own life; self-analysis can be a sobering and eye-opening experience.
I've come to the conclusion that I go through phases where I give myself projects that, once I master (at least to a degree I deem acceptable) I take a satisfied step back before incorporating them into my usual routine and move onto something else.
The pursuit of self-actualization is something that I've always romanticized - to be the best version of yourself. As I've stated before, I'm fascinated by the ability of certain individuals to take the knowledge and resources they currently possess, and teach themselves how to be more - to reach new potential, to evolve psychologically in ways beyond the basic maturation that comes (or doesn't, in some cases) with age.
I've always been driven to succeed. I'm an incredibly goal oriented individual, and when I set myself to a project, I pursue it until I consider it fulfilled. Normally I would have only applied this to simple tasks, but lately as I look over my life, I realize that this applies to my hobbies and passions as well. When you've lived long enough to be able to recognize patterns and habits in your own behavior, you get an uncompromising perspective on yourself. As I stated in the first paragraph, I've lamented lately that I haven't written anything in quite some time (something I'm obviously remedying right this very second) because I consider writing both a passion and a hobby - a crucial aspect of my identification. Looking at it from a more self-aware perspective, however, I realize it is actually simply another pursuit that has lacked priority in recent years.
I accomplished what I deemed my most successful writing pursuits while I was in university and college. I wrote four full-length novels in the span of about two years. It is now almost two years since I completed my fourth novel, and I've only produced snippets and half-finished volumes since then. I still have many projects I wish to work on and many more stories to tell, but the motivation and drive to flesh them out has been somewhat lacking. For a long time I thought I simply lacked the spark, but then I realized (while considering the patterns and behaviors I've etched for myself) that isn't the case.
This is where I tie it all into life priorities.
Another major hobby/passion of mine is music. I picked up the guitar as a personal challenge when I was seventeen, taught myself to play, performed in a band for several years, recorded a few songs/CD's, and now I only practice on occasion. Like my writing, I'm a bit frustrated I haven't made it more of a priority lately, but now I know why I haven't; I'm simply not in a position to prioritize it.
When I first picked up the guitar, I was living at home surrounded by friends who also played music. I got the chance to practice with several groups of individuals on a weekly basis. My band practiced and started performing gigs regularly. I was in an environment that was conducive to playing. As the years moved on that same environment vanished. I moved away from my hometown, the venues where our band could perform started drying up, we all had different priorities . . . and yet my best friend/singer and I still sat around wondering where the "magic" had gone. It's rather obvious now that the magic never left, but like classic rock itself, it was tied to a particular place in history. The same holds true for my writing.
When I was in university and then college, I was in an environment that bolstered creative thought and encouraged artistic expression. It would have been impossible not to want to write. I was inspired and motivated; the world felt full of possibilities and I was still coasting on the dream that I could some day become a successful, best-selling author. Then that environment disappeared. I finished and self-published several novels, and my world didn't change. I tried to market myself as a writer with little success. I got a full-time job in the entertainment industry that left me creatively fulfilled. As with my music, I still have the desire to practice and (in the case of writing) tell stories, but the urgency has eased a bit.
And the list goes on. After school I became passionately involved in advocacy work, and although I still maintain an interest, that faded too as the people I spent time with changed. There was a brief spike in music and writing as I spent time with more art-oriented individuals after that, but that too passed. And now I've settled on my latest endeavor: health and fitness. I've spent the last several months throwing myself into proper nutrition and exercise because I'm surrounded by friends and an environment that is conducive to such a thing. I have no doubt that over time the same urgency will fade, but like everything else it will still remain an important facet of my life; I'll just learn to balance it more equally with everything else.
And who knows what the next project will be? I've always wanted to learn French, and I've been pushing myself to try and learn, but I'm not in a position that necessarily fosters it. Were I to be thrown into a French-speaking town, I have no doubt I would pick it up almost immediately. As it stands currently, I have only a handful of French-speaking friends (all of whom speak perfect English) a couple of "how-to" manuals, and no urgent need to be bilingual. Perhaps I shouldn't push myself as hard since the circumstances aren't right yet.
Or perhaps I should just stop being so goddamn lazy.
But this whole thing just makes me think about how easily our individual priorities shift and change, like the ebb and flow of rushing water taking us to different places at different times, into new environments that alter and shape us.
Five months ago I began my foray into online dating. For many years I was determined that I wanted to be in a long-term relationship and thought it was high-time I settle down. I thought I would be the sort of person who would throw themselves into a relationship with gusto, making it my number one priority and altering my entire lifestyle to accommodate it. For years that's how I felt, and now, five months later, my entire perspective has changed. After dipping my feet into the online scene I realize I don't want the hopelessly romantic, doe-eyed love that I thought I wanted for many years. Now that I'm living on my own, embracing my independence, if I were to be in a relationship now, it would have to be one that values and respects individual space without the need to constantly hang onto one another. It would have to be completely opposite from what I thought I'd wanted for years, but that's simply how I've evolved and adapted in the last few months. My life, and my priorities, have changed.
Life is a funny thing. I don't know whether to think of it as something that changes us continually into the "version" of ourselves that we must ultimately become, or if instead each "version" of ourselves is less like a staircase leading towards one inevitable outcome and more like a hopscotch chalk outline, with each square just as equally important as all the others. I can't say I'm a better person now than I was a few months ago, although I'd like to believe I am, but for all I know a few months from now I could be in a completely different place, valuing completely different things than I do currently.
Life is a very funny thing indeed . . .
I've been tagged to participate in an online tour where writers explain their process, what they're working on, and then link to other writers' blogs in an ever expanding web. Rachael Simpson posted her portion last week, and you can check out her website, Seed and Pearl, here.
1) What am I working on?
I have a variety of half-finished projects on my plate at the moment. Writing articles for this blog was originally a way to get my writing out there and market myself, but I took to it more than I anticipated. I have a handful of novels which I'm currently reworking and editing, and I also have a few screenplays I'm working on (which will lead precisely . . . nowhere). I also have a few side projects which I don't want to discuss in case they never come to fruition.
2) How does my work differ from others of its genre?
It doesn't, as far as I'm concerned. I write fiction novels and blog articles in the vein of what I enjoy reading, so aside from my own personal writing style, it mimics the sort of tone and structure that I enjoy consuming. What I'm saying is, I'm not very original.
Sue me.
3) Why do I write what I do?
My writing consists mainly of two aspects: my blog articles and my novels. With my blog articles, I'm usually trying to make a point or express an idea, whether it be something serious and philosophical, or something stupid and mundane (probably regarding movies). With my novels, I'm simply trying to tell an entertaining story. Often there are themes, messages, and ideologies crammed in, but for the most part I try to entertain as well as convey some sort of cathartic emotion through storytelling.
4) How does your writing process work?
First, I have to have something I feel compelled enough to write about (I'm a busy guy) to the point that I'll be dedicated enough to spend a month or two sitting down for an hour or so a night to work on it (in the case of my novels). Those sorts of ideas are few and far between, which is why I enjoy writing for this blog, because I only have to dedicate a single night to an article, so I can produce something quick and dirty whenever an idea pops into my head.
As for my actually process, I enjoy listening to music in seclusion - no sitting at coffee shops or outside. I don't like having any outside influences when I'm in my "zone." If I'm writing a novel, I'll often watch movies or trailers that are along the same lines as what I'm writing to put myself in the right mindset.
Next week the following bloggers will be participating in the blog tour.
Max Gorokhovski - Max originally wanted to be a painter, comic
artist or something more directly visual, but over time developed a fond love
for painting pictures with words and letting the reader visualize the image.
This led him to become an aspiring screenwriter and amateur film and TV Critic. Check out his site here.
Jeremiah Shaw - Jeremiah writes short stories. Sometimes he
writes charming ones. Occasionally he writes morbid ones. People seem to
think he’s pretty clever, people also seem to think he’s a bit unusual. Check out his site here.
Melina Stanko - Melina is an accomplished
professional 2D Digital Animator who, in her spare time, updates her
blog A Canuck's Guide to Toxic Free Living. Having been raised by
conscientious objectors from the movements formed in the 1960's and
1970's (who emphasized social responsibility through consumerism) Melina
researches and informs her readers on a wide variety of environmentally friendly products, information which she hopes will make a positive impact not
only on human health, but also aid environmental awareness and
habitat preservation for future generations. Check out her site here.
