Clark Kent. Duh. ==== Hey, friends. I have been releasing essays on my website for a couple of years now at a pretty steady rate. I'm happy to do so, as it benefits me as a writer and (I hope) you as a reader. I also think that, as a writer, it's okay if I believe that my work has some value monetarily as well as emotionally. To that end, I've created a Ko-Fi account, which is basically a way to give an online tip to a creator whose work you appreciate. The idea is, you can buy them a cup of coffee. (That's what the of the website sounds like, if you're curious.) I'm not charging for any of the content on my website; instead, if you'd like to toss me a cup-le (see what I did there?) of bucks to show your gratitude, that would be cool. I'd totally appreciate that appreciation. If you don't? No problem. We can still be friends. As always, thanks for reading! *** Okay, but this is actually something that's been floating at the edges of my mind for the last year or so--no, scratch that: I think it's been there since I started squaring my feelings with Batman v. Superman, which I cautiously liked when it came out, but have been less impressed with as I rewatched the thing and thought more about it. Lots of people--most of whom are quite a bit better versed in Superman lore and current continuity than I am, and also who are quite a bit smarter than I, too--have sounded off on the topic of the Man of Tomorrow, and while I don't want to recapitulate what they said, I feel like undermining my own position of authority by pointing out that I haven't done a serious study of Superman in a long time. There are plenty of examples about the Last Son of Krypton which will probably undermine (or maybe strengthen) my impressions. I'm ignorant of those, so…sorry. First off, I should say that I used to really love Superman stories. There's something to be said about the old-school, Golden and Silver Age versions of comic book heroes. Continuity was more simple, each issue was (for the most part) a single entry into the lives of the fictional characters, and the complexities of decades of dozens of different writers and artists weren't bogging down the storytelling. Formulaic, sure, but there was still a lot of play within the formula's guidelines. I know this because I've read a lot of early Spider-Man comics and, when I was in elementary school, I was shocked and surprised to find that the nearby public library carried bound comic books. I read every Peanuts collection I could find, then stumbled upon black and white copies of early days Superman comics. They were--according to my time-hazed memory--from the late forties, maybe early fifties. By this point, the character was pretty solidly himself, but hijinks would ensue every few pages regardless, relying on the idea that the stories were light, fun, kid-oriented, and of little consequence. I remember one comic specifically: It was a "What if?" kind of comic, written entirely for fun--what we'd call a one-off nowadays--where Clark Kent and Lois Lane go on a date to see a Superman movie. In it, the movie makers (somehow) knew of Superman's alter ego (Clark Kent, just like in real life, making it almost a documentary) and showed Superman turning into Clark and vice versa throughout the film. However, since Clark and Lois were on a date, and the "real" (I guess?) Lois didn't know the truth about Superman's true identity, Clark had to come up with all of these different ways of preventing her from seeing his on-screen self spill the beans about his secret. I don't remember what he does, necessarily, to distract Lois, but it was all in good fun and harmless. Many other adventures of the Man of Steel came my way through this unexpected, librarian find: The one where Superman and Lex Luthor travel to a distant planet that has a red star so that the two of them can beat the crap out of each other and see who the better man is. (Ends up as a stalemate.) Another: Jonathan Kent comes back from the dead (how, I can't remember; I think it was magic) and freaks Clark out by doing all of the familiar tricks they used to use when Superboy was needed (like asking Clark to run to the pharmacist to pick up some "heart pills", thus allowing Clark a cover story for why he'd need to leave), and basically being the missing father-figure that Clark had always needed and wanted. I mention this more to show that, though I may not be cutting edge with DC Rebirth event, I'm not speaking from a "I've seen a couple episodes of the Justice League cartoon and the recent DCEU movies" position. Okay, enough introduction: Who is Superman? For a long time, I've been dismissive of the Man of Tomorrow. After all, those early comics I'd read hadn't really done a lot to explore the character and see what makes him tick. They were goofy stories that were meant to entertain and disappear, like cotton candy--sweet and ephemeral. The Richard Donner films were stronger influences on me as to what Superman was like, and I used the really dumb idea that Superman could reverse time by flying around the world really fast to reverse its spin as proof that Superman, as a character, was pointless because he could essentially invent his powers on a whim. While I still stand by that criticism, I'd be remiss if I didn't admit that there are those who can handle Superman's powers and still make for thought-provoking and interesting comics. Grant Morrison's All Star Superman is a great example of that, in part because Morrison is a really talented writer that demonstrates an inherent goodness to the character that is worthwhile. In fact, there's a moment in All Star Superman that really stands out to me. It's a quick page--not even crucial to the plot--where a desperate girl stands on the edge of a ledge because she's suicidal. Superman appears behind her, telling her that her therapist had been held up and that she is "much stronger" than she thinks she is. They hug. That, to me, is what a Superman story really ought to be about. Yes, he's one of the best building punchers this side of the Incredible Hulk, but those knock-down, drag out fights--as fun as they can be--isn't really what makes Superman a great character. It's that idea of using his power for good.
One of the things that Superman could do better--and, were his universe not so overrun with costumed crazies and interdimensional threats, he could do more often--is care about others. To borrow a phrase, Superman has almost unlimited power: Therefore, there must also come almost unlimited responsibility. I'm not saying that Superman should have to dedicate every waking moment to improving people's lives. There's no institution or entity saying that his duty to mankind demands this responsibility. Instead, it's part of his willingness to become--in important if intangible ways--human. By participating in the world, he accepts the benefits that have come with the system and an obligation to do his best to help those harmed by the system. He has, in other words, the same obligation that we all have. Superman could do a lot for people besides punch monsters really hard. In many ways, Superman is the best suicide prevention person that the world could ask for. He can move so fast that he can be an emblem of hope to many. He is intelligent enough to help solve many of the problems that we suffer from--too much pollution, nuclear proliferation, violent crimes, war--and improve our society. Many people like to compare Kal-El to God, a being of comparative omniscience, omnipotence, and (almost) omnibenevolence. "We wouldn't want God to take away our agency by fixing all of our problems," is a common argument I hear. Maybe for God, but Superman isn't Him. He's a "man"--why not expect him to do all in his power to improve the world constantly? I try, through the small and simple means of my position in life, to make the world a better place. Had I more power, would I do more? I think that's really what is interesting about Superman: Not his powers, his rogues gallery, or his costume (though those are all pretty cool). No, I think it's the idea of contemplating what a person ought to do with power. That's the theme of every superhero story in one way or another. Indeed, that's part of the purpose of mythological stories. Heracles had great power and was forced to use it as penance for a crime--but that penance gave benefit to many people. As we, as a species, gain more and more power, I think we could learn a lot from our mythologies--whether they're religious, historical, or comic books--about how to be responsible with the powers we've developed. The more I think on it, the most important part of Kal-El's name isn't the super, but the man. We humans have a lot that we can do. Superman helps*, in his own way, to remind us of what we can do with it. --- * Maybe this is what the recent movies have failed to grasp about Superman: Is that he helps us be more human. There hasn't been the necessary focus on that as the filmmakers thought they were putting into it (in part because David Goyer's star has waned and Warner Brothers needs to stop thinking that it hasn't). While Clark Kent might be able to doubt his position in the world, Superman doesn't. Having him be as fixed in his goodness as Batman is in his brooding would give us a cinematic Superman that we could better understand. I've done three NaNoWriMo novels in my life so far. The first one was a retelling of Dante's Inferno, the idea being that, if I enjoyed that story, I'd use Purgatorio and Paradiso in subsequent years to write a trilogy of The Divine Comedy. Of course, I wasn't simply telling Dante's story with a modern twist: I put the whole thing in space. If you think about it, most of the old mythologies and religious stories have a fantastical element to them already. Shifting from fantasy to science fiction is a relatively small step. (Part of this is inspired by a book, one I haven't read yet, on my shelf called Ilium which is a space-version retelling of The Iliad, though it refers to Homer's poem, so it's not a straightforward approach.)
In my retelling, I have Dante (who started out with a different name, but it was so obvious to me who it was that I switched his name partway through) waking up in a spaceship, headed to a mining colony. He'd fallen asleep at the wheel and, though he tries to land safely, he ends up coming down roughly enough that he wouldn't be able to get off the planet. Besides, he figures out pretty quickly that something dark has been released from the mines beneath the planet: Violent creatures have abducted most of the colony, dragging them far underground. He meets a guy named Vick (the stand-in for Virgil) and together they try to get the colonists back. On the way, he comes across a bunch of alien monstrosities that are loosely based upon some of the punishments of hell that Dante describes in his poem. I also used some of my memories playing the Visceral Games video game, Dante's Inferno, as another way of manipulating the source text. The intrepid duo work their way through my revisualized version of hell, including finding a cadre of safe colonists who are in a surprisingly nice section of the underground (my shout out to the Virtuous Pagans who populate the first circle of hell in Dante's poem) and creatures whose feet look like they're boulders--an allusion to the Prodigal and Miserly in circle four--and so on and so forth. By the end of the retelling, they've blown up a lot of alien bodies, saved some "souls", and accidentally loosed the hive-mind's controller from the bowels of the planet to attack whoever may still be on the surface. I even ended the book with the word "stars", just the way Dante did. In terms of ideas, that's fun. I don't know if I'd call it clever or even interesting, but it was fun for me to focus my energies into twisting a story that was already told. It's also my way of acknowledging one of the greatest writers in the Western Canon in my own, nerdy way. When I finished--as is always the case with NaNoWriMo--I was exhausted from all of the writing I'd done. I decided to coast for a while as a writer and I definitely didn't have any interest in pursuing a sequel at that point. The next year, I wrote a steampunk-style novel for my wife (which, so far as I can tell, she still hasn't finished…oh, well. It's the thought that counts). That one you can read here. The year after that--last year, as a matter of fact--I wrote a novel that takes place in my "PRISM universe", for lack of a better title, where the science fiction elements were already established in a book I'd written the year prior. It was easy for me to adapt what I already knew about the world and put it into a story where people were eaten by creatures that were almost like dinosaurs. It's as close as I've come to a dinosaur story. This one was also enjoyable because I used the Four Corner Opposition style of writing to make the story have a stronger sense of philosophical continuity. If you want to read more, it's right here. This year, I'm thinking--but haven't decided, since it's still a month away--that I should write a retelling of John Milton's Paradise Lost. Not only do I know that story better than I know The Divine Comedy, it's also a better story. For all of Dante's abilities, he wasn't interested in showing a lot of character growth. His poem goes from set piece to set piece--not a bad way to write a poem, honestly--but it meant that there isn't a lot of plot to go around. Not so with Paradise Lost. The structure is enjoyable, with an en medias res beginning and a lot of intrigue between what Satan tries to do to Adam and Eve and how high the stakes are. It's a great way of telling a timeless tale, so I'm thinking of adapting that for myself this year. I went ahead and sketched out an outline of about 800 words already, again shifting the setting to outer space. There are parallels to Inferno, if only because Satan's fall at the beginning of Paradise Lost and Dante walking off of the path in the Dark Wood have strong similarities. Also, malevolent aliens who like eating people is another piece that's the same between the two. Nevertheless, I'm thinking that it would be fun to walk Milton's path, seeing things through twenty-first century eyes. Besides, Milton couldn't get mad at me for making Paradise Lost fanfic: He wrote Bible fanfic and it turned into the greatest poem written in the English language. Surely he wouldn't begrudge me for having some fun with his story, right? Right? ==== Hey, friends. I have been releasing essays on my website for a couple of years now at a pretty steady rate. I'm happy to do so, as it benefits me as a writer and (I hope) you as a reader. I also think that, as a writer, it's okay if I believe that my work has some value monetarily as well as emotionally. To that end, I've created a Ko-Fi account, which is basically a way to give an online tip to a creator whose work you appreciate. The idea is, you can buy them a cup of coffee. (That's what the of the website sounds like, if you're curious.) I'm not charging for any of the content on my website; instead, if you'd like to toss me a cup-le (see what I did there?) of bucks to show your gratitude, that would be cool. I'd totally appreciate that appreciation. If you don't? No problem. We can still be friends. As always, thanks for reading! I've missed the steady output that these daily essays afford me, but I found that my bandwidth has decreased (unsurprisingly) since the summer ended. My days are long during the first couple of months of the school year, since I stay after school to coach my students for the Shakespeare Competition that will happen this weekend in Cedar City. (Which reminds me…I still have to talk about my experience at the Wooden O a month and a half ago….hmmmmm.) I also am more tired because I'm teaching and my kids require attention sometimes. Also, video games.
The point is, I don't have as much strength of will and stamina to sit down and bang out a thousand words--of whatever worth they may be--on top of everything else. Not, at least, if I want to get any editing done. It's one of those "I can only do so many things before I snap" deals: I want to improve my writing, but I also need to improve my editing. I can't do the latter if I don't do the former, but if I do too much of the former, I'll never get to the latter. It's the Ouroboros of being an author. In this case, I finished up my work on War Golem, the first in a (currently) duology, yesternight. It was a bit of a surprise that I got that done, since there was an entire scene I had to inject into the last chapter, so it wasn't just a matter of typing up the edits I'd made in my manuscript. It took some emotional momentum, and that was hard to muster after the craziness of everything I had to do. Nevertheless, I soldiered (pun…it's a book with soldiers) on and finished up the thing. It sits at a pretty 95,369 words. Fewer than the 100,000 I didn't want to reach, but about 5,000 more than I was expecting. When it comes to my editing process, I tend not to extract too much. I think it's an arrogance on my part--an unjustified belief that what I push out is already in pretty good shape and I just need to tweak it here or there for the book to work. The fact that I haven't been picked up by an agent may put paid to that idea. Still, I tend to finish an edit having plucked and picked at the sentences and paragraphs, rather than striking out a large swath of work. I tend to write subtly--things that don't seem to matter in earlier chapters have a large bearing in the later ones--which makes it hard to cut out anything. Sure, there may be a paragraph--or as much as a page--that needs to be trimmed, but I don't find myself thinking, This whole thing has to be rewritten. If a book has that many problems, I abandon it for a different project. No one is paying me to perfect a book, and if I'm not passionate enough to fix something I broke, I don't want to spend time fixing it. Now, I realize that isn't how it works if I want to be a real-life author. I know that staying focused, writing a lot, editing more, and keeping the broader vision in mind is what I need to do. But, let's be honest: There are relatively few perks to being an amateur (used in its original sense as well as its common one) author, and being able to abandon a project without feeling guilt is definitely one of them. Am I capable of changing myself so that I'll be able to work through broken books later? I don't know. I have no compelling reason to find out. Anyway, the point is that I'm only editing these superficial things. Maybe the stories don't need to be rewritten in substantial ways. Maybe I can tell a story well enough that a handful of continuity errors, spelling problems, or smatterings of solecisms can be red-lined out and the story will be fine on its own. Or maybe not. Who knows? It's true that I've had a couple of people read my book--my brother is heading toward the end of his read-through of the first draft of War Golem, and another one of the writers in my group has knocked out the entire novel--so there are people who can point to large-scale issues. So far, however, they've been mum. They've pointed out some issues which I've tried to address, but on the whole, the story seems to work for them. Maybe I have too-generous of alpha readers. So all of this is a long-winded way of saying that I haven't written a lot because I have spent a major chunk of time editing. The con is that I'm out of practice for the daily essays. The pro is that I'm less irritated by editing my own stuff. This is a new development for me. Maybe it's because it feels like I'm making progress. Maybe it's because I no longer write back-breaking novels that are over 300,000 words, so editing is less daunting. Maybe it's because I'm maturing as a writer. But whatever the case, I didn't find myself hating/dreading the time I had to spend in the manuscript. Finding a sentence and tightening it up was, in particular, an enjoyable experience. I wonder if I should try to apply that to War Golem again, giving the book another pass… …nah. I'm not going to worry about that. Instead, I need to focus on the sequel, War Golems*. Hoo-boy. It never ends. --- * I originally titled the first novel War Golems. Then, when I realized there was a sequel in there, I decided to change the first book to War Golem and the second to War Golems (a la the movies Alien and Aliens) because I liked the subtlety (see above) and because I wanted to make a conscious choice in the way the books were titled. As an additional tweak, I made sure that War Golem, being the first book, has only one word titles for each of its thirty-one chapters. War Golems, as the sequel, has two word titles. I don't know if this sort of nuance would be something I'd get to keep were I to be published, but I thought it was clever. Now I've told you about a book that you've never read. I hope you feel edified. ==== Hey, friends. I have been releasing essays on my website for a couple of years now at a pretty steady rate. I'm happy to do so, as it benefits me as a writer and (I hope) you as a reader. I also think that, as a writer, it's okay if I believe that my work has some value monetarily as well as emotionally. To that end, I've created a Ko-Fi account, which is basically a way to give an online tip to a creator whose work you appreciate. The idea is, you can buy them a cup of coffee. (That's what the of the website sounds like, if you're curious.) I'm not charging for any of the content on my website; instead, if you'd like to toss me a cup-le (see what I did there?) of bucks to show your gratitude, that would be cool. I'd totally appreciate that appreciation. If you don't? No problem. We can still be friends. As always, thanks for reading! Ever since about the sixth grade, when the Spider-Man: The Animated Series debuted, I've been a web-head. Yeah, my involvement with reading Spider-Man stories has waxed and waned over the years. I have a couple dozen Spider-Man novels, countless comics, as well as trades featuring the web-slinger. I put a lot of money into the action figures-- --and I played the video games. Back in 2000, Activision released Spider-Man for the PlayStation. I remember being so excited to play the game that a couple of times I drove myself down to Media Play exclusively to try the demo that they had on display (I didn't bother tracking down my own copy of the demo disc to play the first level at home). I counted down the days and bought Spider-Man the day it released from a Babbages in the nearby mall. I didn't lollygag after my purchase: I got right back into my car and drove home so that I could spend the day playing the game. I loved it. For the first time, I really felt like I was web-swinging through the fog-drenched cities. I became proficient at all aspects of the game, eventually getting good enough to unlock every costume. I bought the guide (it was worthless, honestly) just to be sure I got everything the game had to offer. I even used the music and some of the Stan Lee voiceover parts in one of my school assignments. In short, I was one happy customer. Sequels were released, new consoles came about, and Spider-Man kept showing up in different types of games. Gone were the days where I would play Marvel vs. Capcom for the only video game connection I could get with Spidey. Shortly before I left for my mission, I picked up the Spider-Man game that was the official movie tie-in. I played through that whole thing a couple of different times before I had to leave for Florida. By the time I returned, two years later, Spider-Man had a new movie on the horizon…and a new game. Most gamers--Spider-Man fans or not--will say that one of the best action games on the PlayStation 2/Xbox generation of consoles was Spider-Man 2. It hit the plot points (and character design) of the movie and had some additional content to spread it into a video game-length endeavor. By this time in my life (we're talking mid-2004) I had moved over to the Xbox for my video gaming needs, so I was able to play Spider-Man 2 on the then-superior system. I was entranced. Web-slinging through the city was a natural and thrilling experience. The first game I played only needed Spider-Man to ever swing on two webs at a time before arriving at the right place. This game, though? Its main purpose was to give players a chance to use New York city as a playground for a guy who can bench press a pickup truck. Fun moves, upgradable powers, and constant challenges made the game a delight. There were some bugs, of course: The quantity of missions to accomplish became repetitive after too long, the voice acting was tinny and poor, and the NPCs were horrible to look at. The studio had obviously put all of its effort into the web-slinging mechanics and Spider-Man's move-set--a logical choice that I don't fault. But it did leave the game feeling, in retrospect, somewhat incomplete. Those flaws aside, Spider-Man 2 remained my favorite Spider-Man game for years. I bought the third installment for the PlayStation 2 when the third movie came out, but that was an inferior product to the one on the PlayStation 3. I picked up the Ultimate Spider-Man game for Xbox (I think?) and was confused why Spider-Man only had one web-shooter. Once I switched back to Sony products, I picked up some Marvel: Ultimate Alliance 2 which allowed me to play a team-based Spider-Man in a fairly enjoyable hack-and-slash game. I almost earned every trophy in the Spider-Man: Web of Shadows game, Spider-Man: Edge of Time, and I even played Spider-Man: Shattered Dimensions thoroughly. I even threw down some cash for The Amazing Spider-Man 2 movie tie-in. (This game had my favorite inclusion to a Spider-Man game--the no-brainer concept of having a web-shooter assigned to each trigger, thus allowing a natural rhythm to swinging around New York--a feature that, lamentably, has not been emulated in the newest game.) In short, I've played a lot of Spider-Man games over the years. Marvel's Spider-Man, the recently released, incredibly hyped, PlayStation 4 exclusive title, is--by far--the best one that I've ever played. If you're one of those who's planning on playing the game and you'd like to stop reading now, that's fine. I'm going to talk about why I liked the game so much, but a huge part of it is that the story really worked for me. As a result, I'm throwing down a spoiler warning. If you're not reading on, let me just say, the game is A+ and you should play it. Spoilers after the picture. Okay, so here's part of what makes Marvel's Spider-Man so enjoyable from a story perspective: They're highly allusive.
The Peter Parker we meet in MSM is a university graduate who has been Spider-Man for quite some time. Early on in the game, one of the many, many things to do in the city is find his old backpacks from when he was a teenager and college student. There are over fifty of them to discover, and each one has a single item in it that Peter contextualizes. The items vary, from leftover pieces of enemies' suits to fanart to vestiges of Peter's life with Mary Jane. And that's what's so cool about finding these pieces: It gives me an understanding about their relationship through internal thoughts and fragments, rather than laying it all out. This allows me to feel like a relationship detective and put the puzzle together as the game plays out. Later, Peter--after fumbling a lot in trying to get things to work out--goes to dinner with MJ. We learn that they broke up six months before, but the reason remains out of reach. One good storytelling trick is to dole out important tidbits, like Hansel and Gretel's breadcrumbs, letting the audience experience each piece and consider it before handing out another one. MSM does that masterfully, showing the audience the results of an action that we have yet to see. Additionally, there are a handful of sequences where I stop playing as Spider-Man. Sometimes it's to play as Peter Parker, helping a mentor and friend, Otto Octavius, to improve his prosthetic experimentations. This is excellent characterization, because Peter Parker's genius is one of the highest in the Marvel canon--not on the same level as Reed Richards or Tony Stark, but he's no slouch, either--and the video games have only ever paid lip-service to Parker's abilities. In the game, I got to do a couple of mini-games that involved increasingly complex puzzles that were "used" to help Octavius. Sometimes these mini-games were ways of advancing the plot, sometimes not. But the point is, Peter's intelligence was highlighted and I got to interact with that aspect of the character's, well, character. Another time where I relinquished Spider-Man's wall-crawling in favor of something of a different stripe was during the Mary Jane episodes. There are only three or four of them, but they're a nice break from the normal formula the game had set up. Because she doesn't have super powers, Mary Jane goes Solid Snake on the levels, sneaking past obstacles, throwing out distractions, and--by the end--even tazing bad guys in her way. The entire time, Mary Jane's character is established, not as a dazzling supermodel, but instead an intelligent, resolute, and brave reporter for The Daily Bugle--the old newspaper that Peter has, at this point, left behind in order to pursue his science career. Having Mary Jane be her own character, capable of solving her own problems, makes it feel--during the Grand Central Station mission especially--like her partnership with Spider-Man is a natural outgrowth of their relationship and burgeoning respect, rather than an escort-mission style of gameplay. In other words, because of the way that I got to interact with Mary Jane--not simply as a character in cutscenes, but as a playable character whose skillset was quite different than the main character's--I was able to better appreciate the way their storylines interacted with each other. Mary Jane flat out says, at one point, that she was glad she could save Peter once, considering how many times he has to save her--which he does, though it's less a damsel in distress and more of a friend in trouble (and there's a difference in those tropes, I should add)--which meant so much more to me as a player because Mary Jane really did feel like she was contributing to the conflict that was consuming the city. The last character I got to play through the course of the game was Miles Morales. His skillset is essentially the same as Mary Jane's, and though his character arc isn't as well developed, its placement in the game really does open up the video game franchise to make future, bolder, more risky decisions. I think they should kill off Peter Parker in the next Spider-Man game. See, they show Peter being forced to choose between saving the countless sick in the city or selfishly using up a cure to save Aunt May. This sort of dilemma shows up in a lot of Spider-Man comics, but the video game format lets this version of Spider-Man stand independent of continuity and to devise its own alternative history--and future. And though the moment of May Parker's death is quite similar to the Amazing Spider-Man #400 "A Death in the Family", the emotional power of the moment of seeing Peter having to do something for "the greater good"--of choosing to save the city, rather than his beloved aunt--was genuinely gratifying. Sad, of course--in fact, I think my wife might have been getting a little misty eyed at that part--but powerful. And that's the thing about this game: It's emotionally satisfying in more than just the "I can't believe I'm web-slinging through New York!" kind of feeling. The gameplay is immaculate--the ability to change costumes with a couple of clicks, the customization of your suit to fit the kind of play style you're interested in, the ease of going from web-swinging to fighting and back again--but that's only one of the components that makes this game good. The story is solid--despite some weird comic book/video game concessions that one learns to simply take in stride--and it's nuanced. I honestly could continue to rave about this game, but I'm running low on time and I have to explain my earlier comment about thinking they should kill off Peter. One of the hardest things about superhero comics and movies is that the stakes never feel real because the hero always wins. (Hence the emotional trauma of Infinity War.) Video games are fortunate in that they can circumvent the laborious process of getting to love a character because the interaction of the gamer to the game forges that affinity faster. In comics, it takes tons of issues for a character to form in a reader's mind. In the case of the Marvel Cinematic Universe, they've dedicated dozens of hours to the characters that are in Infinity War. But video games put the gamer into the character's boots and a natural possession--on many levels--occurs. The advantage of this is that characters can die and it can feel like it means something: Batman: Arkham City is an excellent example of this. Why did they kill Joker at the end of the game? Because they could. And not just because they could, but because it was powerful--it was the right ending to the story. The same could happen in the next Spider-Man game, except they could kill off Peter Parker, making room for Miles Morales to assume the role and accept the responsibility. Done correctly, that could be the "Aerith moment" of a whole new generation of gamers. Especially in a medium where death is a minor setback for the majority of the time a player is involved with the game, killing off Peter Parker could really make for a powerful experience. And, since they so carefully set up Miles' character in this game, there's a lot that they can exploit. Or…since there are two Spider-Men, they could just have the next game be two player! That would be awesome. Anyway, the game is incredible. It's gorgeous to look at, and the digital actors and animations are so well rendered that, though I always know I'm looking at a video game, I'm convinced of their emotions in the same way I am when I watch a Pixar film. The gameplay is almost perfect (not having two buttons for the web-shooters was a sad decision, if you ask me, and I wish I could've fought the Sinister Six the first time they showed up, even if it was only so that I could get the crap kicked out of me), and the characterization and world they've cooked up are immensely satisfying and memorable. It's a sensational, spectacular, amazing Spider-Man game. ==== Hey, friends. I have been releasing essays on my website for a couple of years now at a pretty steady rate. I'm happy to do so, as it benefits me as a writer and (I hope) you as a reader. I also think that, as a writer, it's okay if I believe that my work has some value monetarily as well as emotionally. To that end, I've created a Ko-Fi account, which is basically a way to give an online tip to a creator whose work you appreciate. The idea is, you can buy them a cup of coffee. (That's what the of the website sounds like, if you're curious.) I'm not charging for any of the content on my website; instead, if you'd like to toss me a cup-le (see what I did there?) of bucks to show your gratitude, that would be cool. I'd totally appreciate that appreciation. If you don't? No problem. We can still be friends. As always, thanks for reading! One of the things that artists do is a study: They'll find a painting or sculpture that they love and then they make a copy of it, trying to learn the techniques that were so effective in evoking an emotion in them. My wife, in fact, has done a couple of paid studies--a chance for the patrons (as it were) to get an original painting that looked like one they appreciated and for Gayle to improve her artistic abilities. In the case of a writer, making a study is a bit different. First of all, I've no patrons to request that I type up a book that they love. On almost every level, that makes no sense. Not only would it be stupidly expensive for the product (I can type pretty fast--as much as 90 words a minute and upper 90s in accuracy when I'm really going well; if someone were to pay me by the hour to type up a 100,000 word book, it would take me probably close to 20 hours, making the book a bare minimum of $400), it would also be rather pointless. What good is a study of writing? So when a writer does this sort of emulative study, it's a personal exercise, designed to help the writer become more intimate with the prose of the preferred book. I've honestly only seen this sort of recommendation a couple of times online. That leads me to believe few people ever try this. I did. It's hard. As I've mentioned before, I'm fascinated by Stephen King's It. Despite the uninspired title and some exceptionally weird stuff (if you've read it, you know what I'm talking about), It is one of the best novels that I have ever read. I don't have a solid Top Ten list of my favorite novels (plays and poems don't count), but World War Z, Moby-Dick, and It are all on there somewhere. Maybe I'll do a listicle about my favorite novels one day. The point is, I've read the book twice in the past year, and though I don't know if I'll dedicate three weeks of next summer to reading it (It) again, I find my mind returning to Derry, Maine often enough to know that I will reread the book sometime in my future. When it came time for me to try the study of copying down another writer's book in order to better understand how s/he put the story together, the logical one for me was to start It again. Only the first chapter (I'm on page 10 out of 20 for that), because the point isn't just to go through the whole book, but to figure out what really works for the story. And there's nothing more iconic in the whole of It than the opening chapter, which dumps the reader in the aftermath of one heckuva storm in Derry, letting you see what happens to little Georgie in his yellow slicker and newspaper boat. Why is this the logical thing to do? Well, I'm still picking at the idea of writing a horror novel. I read It hoping to read a book that actually scared me (not revolted me or made me uncomfortable), as most everyone agrees that It is as scary as King has ever gone. I got something far more significant as a result of reading it, but I can't deny that there's some creepy stuff in the book. And what better thing to study than a masterpiece in the genre you want to work in? So I'm "writing" It. While I haven't even gotten to the clown yet, I do have some things that I noticed King doing. 1) King starts off establishing one of the pillars of the theme of the book, which is the passage of time and the unknowability of the future, in the very first sentence, which doesn't end until he's zoomed down into the "swollen" gutter: "The terror, which would not end for another twenty-eight years--if it ever did end--began, so far as I know or can tell, with a boat made from a sheet of newspaper floating down a gutter swollen with rain." The second word of the book, terror, puts the theme into its context, and though the reader (rightly) assumes that terror is referring to Pennywise, there's a thematic undertone that's quite important, that of the fear of growing old, of being part of the changing world, of the powerlessness of youth. My takeaway? The first sentence really does matter. Though King's narrator here is, presumably, Mike Hanlon, though we never get a straight answer on that front. And though I'm not normally a fan of a fully omniscient narrator (I prefer the limited, myself), this one really works. 2) King takes his time in this book, making sure that the details all line up and that we get to know little Georgie before we lose him. We learn that he's six, we learn about the importance of his brother, and a great deal of other things that all combine so that we like the kid before he gets his arm bitten off. Takeaway: Time is the best way to make a reader care about a character. The time passed with Georgie is pleasant--until it isn't--and we, as readers, are given an enjoyable time with him, brief though it is (in comparison to the rest of the book). So writing about characters that you'd want to interact with is a way of making the book engaging, and thus allowing the reduction of time on the page before the reader starts liking the characters. 3) There's something lurking on almost every page. While there are crucial world-building details--especially about the sewers--and sometime rambling tangents that a six-year-old would likely follow (their thoughts are rabbit-like, to say the least), the buildup to Georgie's death is marked with a kind of inevitable dread. King does this with phrases like "In that autumn of 1957, eight months before the real horrors began and twenty-eight years before the final showdown, Stuttering Bill was ten years old" and other drops about the impending terror. But it isn't just that he tells us it's going to be horrifying. He shows it by having Georgie, before he goes out in the rain, go down into the cellar to get some paraffin for his newspaper boat. This is an experience almost every kid has had (except those in Florida, who don't have basements): Having to go into the dark, unfinished basement to get something from the cellar. The fears that play in your mind--of being grabbed by the ankles as you walk down each step; of stretching to reach the light switch because you can't possible go down until the light is on; of the certainty that your only way to survive is to get up the stairs quickly, so fast that you're likely to stumble--are expertly crafted here. Though Georgie has some big words for a six year old (the "apotheosis of all monsters", while fitting to describe Pennywise, is a strange choice), his feelings and actions are familiar. The powerlessness of being so young returns to the reader as the section unfolds. This sort of perpetual dread haunts this opening chapter, which also serves to set the tone of the rest of the book. 4) Final takeaway: Time is elastic. This is another theme of It, but it's shown here by having the story "start" in 1957 (it will stretch backwards much further than that, as well as move forward into a timelessness by the end) with Georgie running in the rainwater. At the beginning of the second section of the chapter (King tends to number his page breaks, for some reason, at least in this book), we're watching Bill and Georgie make the boat that we saw in the first section. King will continue doing this sort of yo-yoing throughout the rest of the book, letting the parallel stories of the Losers' Club go from '58 to '85 and back again. This technique is part of how King can show what's happening to Georgie while at the same time help us care more about Georgie as we see him overcome his first grade-style fears--fears that end up being real and deadly. Okay, so this stuff may be interesting, but how does typing it help me to get it? Well, the first way I see is that it forces me to slow down. I may be able to type at almost 90 words per minute, but I can read at somewhere between four- and five hundred if I care to. By going slowly, I'm seeing how he constructs his sentences, why he makes such page-bending paragraphs, and where he throttles up and down on the details. Another way it helps is it shows me some of the tweaks that I would have done to fit my own personal style. I've learned that I use the phrase "a little" a lot, so I've excised it from almost every instance in my current project. King, who notoriously despises adverbs, is fine with "a little" and even adverbs, despite his advice to the contrary. Seeing these facets of his writing comes by going through the same motions. It may not be the only way to study a text, but it is a way. You should try it (It). ==== Hey, friends. I have been releasing essays on my website for a couple of years now at a pretty steady rate. I'm happy to do so, as it benefits me as a writer and (I hope) you as a reader. I also think that, as a writer, it's okay if I believe that my work has some value monetarily as well as emotionally. To that end, I've created a Ko-Fi account, which is basically a way to give an online tip to a creator whose work you appreciate. The idea is, you can buy them a cup of coffee. (That's what the of the website sounds like, if you're curious.) I'm not charging for any of the content on my website; instead, if you'd like to toss me a cup-le (see what I did there?) of bucks to show your gratitude, that would be cool. I'd totally appreciate that appreciation. If you don't? No problem. We can still be friends. As always, thanks for reading! One of the things that I talk about in my classes is ethics. Morals and values make up a big portion of my work, as we not only deal with heavy classics like The Divine Comedy, Paradise Lost, and Hamlet, but because grappling with what one feels is the best way to grow.
As I mentioned before, my students this year seem to struggle with Machiavelli's works more than usual. This isn't to say that they don't have opinions--oh, do they have opinions. Instead, there's a drift towards grayness and an unmoored sense of rightness. I don't know where it's coming from, but it's becoming more and more apparent as the year goes on. In fact, I'm looking forward to our heaviest philosophical days this November, when we get to really struggle to understand what we value, because the class of 2021 has a fragility there that's worth exposing. That being said, today's conversation had me wondering where, exactly, they're coming from. In Machiavelli's view, the reason why you can exploit people and rationalize "the ends justify the means" philosophy is that "people are bad". They will lie, cheat, steal, and be horrible. I don't disagree that people do those things: We humans are quite good at being immensely inhuman (and inhumane). But I disagree that we are bad, as if our inherent nature is one of badness. Aside from the kids who thought themselves wise because they wanted a middle option, the students stratified in similar movements as they have in the past: One class was heavily on the side of "people are good" and the other was more evenly split, with the slimmer majority erring on the side of "people are bad". I specifically didn't discuss the way the students voted, instead asking them to write their thoughts down in their reading journals and coming to a conclusion on their own--though, if they were thinking very hard about this at all, they probably didn't come to a new understanding or they had no conclusion to land upon. Here's what gets me: While not all of my students are members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, a hefty chunk of them is. And since I'm a member, too, I know that there are certain standards of behavior and even doctrinal declarations that inform the way in which Mormonism considers human beings--and though there's room (as always) for hermeneutics, that's usually a positive feeling toward people. Yet LDS students will so often be the ones to declare that people are inherently bad, to find excuses to rationalize murder (in hypothetical situations, of course), and refuse to empathize with other peoples and places. Quick example: One student commented in a paper that she couldn't agree with Dante because his idea of hell contained no repentance, and so she couldn't enjoy the poem. Not only is this a fundamental misreading of the poem--which I'm surprised at, as I certainly explained the way Dante thought, contextualizing his point of view (which wasn't hers, obviously, so why was she so bothered that she had to read something that didn't conform to her opinions?)--but it also misunderstands the whole historical (and, perhaps, theological) purpose of hell. Hell isn't for repentance. Why would it be? Not just within Dante's purview, but within the entirety of the Abrahamic traditions, much of which she learned about in ninth grade as she explored ancient world history. Anyway, when I confronted the students about whether they thought that people were born good or bad, if they inherently are one way or the other, one of the students asked what I thought on the matter. I brushed aside the question--as I always do, preferring to instead shame them with the implications of their decision rather than bludgeoning them with my opinion (and, yes, I think there's a difference)--and moved on with my lesson. But the fact that students ask me that so often has left me wondering if perhaps I'm doing a disservice to them. Earlier last week, one of the students came up to me and confidently asserted that he knew how I felt about a particular topic. "Do you really?" I asked. He immediately backtracked, admitting that I could be manipulating him and so maybe he wasn't sure after all. For some reason, I feel like this sort of mystery is beneficial to students. I mean, I do it for a reason: I think that if I were to be more overt in my position on certain topics, it would shade the way in which students viewed the decision ("Well, of course Dowdle thinks that way: He's a liberal.") rather than having the flexibility of asking questions or defending positions that I don't truly hold. Still, the question haunts me: What do I think? I really don't know. I'm going to take a few minutes and brag about my wife, Lady Gayle. A few years ago, a comic convention arrived in Salt Lake. I had heard about ComiCon in San Diego. I didn't know much about it, save it looked like fun and kind of overwhelming. When information about the FantasyCon (I think that's what it was called) percolated out and news about Sean Astin (the actor who played Samwise Gamgee in The Lord of the Rings) was released, Gayle--a major LotR fan--was insistent that we go. In order to prepare for this opportunity to meet an actor from her favorite film franchise, Gayle decided to make a version of Arwen's green dress from the end of The Return of the King. She put it together over the course of a week or so, sewing the dress from a pattern on her mother's sewing machine. Eventually, the day arrived and we waited in line for our photo op with Sean. I was wearing some Ravenclaw robes, since I had had to teach school that day and I didn't want to go to class in costume. (Harry Potter robes are a quick way for a teacher like me to go from profession to hobby with minimal fuss.) As we entered the booth, Sean gave us a fixed, professional smile, said, "Nice dress!" to Gayle, and grinned at the camera. Click. Then we were on the other side of the partition, our five seconds with one of the actors that fundamentally changed my wife's life over, and we stood next to the printer, waiting for our photograph to be printed and put into a plastic bag. That was it. Gayle was all smiles, and though we saw a lot of other cool things at the con, that was basically the highlight. That year, for Halloween, Gayle wanted to make me a Shakespeare costume, something that I could wear when I taught Hamlet or just as a go-to Halloween costume. She had so much fun making it that she decided to make an elaborate version of Queen Elizabeth I that she could wear with me--that way, we were thematic. She spent hundreds of hours sewing the thing, adding beads and decorations all over the place. Even though Queen Elizabeth isn't really in line with the comic books/videogames/geek culture that FanX and ComiCons are all about, people with exciting and unique costumes is a part of the DNA of these conventions. So, the next year, when FanX (that's its official name now) began its annual resurgence, Gayle wanted to wear her Queen Elizabeth costume--after all, having put that much time into it, she wanted to share it as often as possible with the greatest number of people. As we prowled around the con that Saturday, we found ourselves close to where they did the cosplay competition. Curious, we decided to go in and ask them what we had to do so that Gayle could enter the competition the next year. Chatting with the person at the desk, we were about to leave when the guy who runs the cosplay contest, Ro Malaga, wandered past. He spotted our costumes and immediately began to gush and exult (the guy has enough energy to power a city, I have to say) at the quality of her work. "The contest is technically over this year," he said as he eyed the beadwork on Gayle's dress. "Oh, we were only wondering what to do for next year," Gayle said, doing the hand wave she does when she's kind of nervous. "Hold on a sec," said Ro. He slipped behind a curtain, then came back a moment later. "They want to see you. We'll put you in." "Wait, what?" Gayle looked shocked and somewhat terrified. "Now?" "Yeah, the judges are done with everyone else, but they'll check your costume out now." "Uh…okay." Gayle gave me a nervous smile. I just grinned. Together, we went to the judging panel, who immediately started to gush and exult (the standard responses to Gayle's work) about what they saw. They came around the judging table and looked closely at everything, asking all sorts of questions. They decided to place her in the "Master Category", which is the highest level of the competition. This made Gayle more than a touch anxious, since she'd never been in a costume contest before. Anyway, the end result was that Gayle and I ended up on the stage in front of a couple thousand people, showing off her costumes. We didn't win anything (which isn't a surprise, considering what we were up against and our overall lack of preparation), but Gayle's fire for competing in the costume contest had been lit. The next year, Gayle approached it with all of the correct steps this time, putting in online applications and photographing the entire process. She entered two categories: Group (which is two or more participants) and Intermediate (done because the way the categories shook out fit in with Gayle's level of experience better than the Master Category). That night, she and I took the stage together in Group, then she went solo in Intermediate. Because of the quality of her work--this time, Elizabethan-era style vampires--she won first place in Intermediate and second place in Group with me. She was a very happy lady. This year, she decided to try something even further out of her comfort zone by making a steampunk (though, admittedly, it's more crystalpunk, but that's neither here nor there) Batgirl costume. (You can check it out on her Facebook page.) She spent a good ten months on it whilst working on a steampunk Spider-Man for me and a half dozen other projects. The overall process was laborious but enjoyable for her--though, admittedly, the past couple of weeks were really stressful. Yesterday was the cosplay competition. Gayle was nervous. We spent a good forty minutes or so rehearsing her action on stage--she has a minute in which to showcase the costume--before she felt ready to step into the spotlight. My friend, Chris, was there to film us in our costumes, so we had some extra emotional support, too. The biggest concern I had was Gayle's wings. Throughout the day, she'd been occasionally popping them open for photographs and to show more of the details she'd put into her costume. I noticed one of the wires was looking frayed, so I encouraged her not to open the wings anymore, to save them for the performance. When she got on stage and the big moment arrived, she popped open the wings--which worked perfectly. I felt a huge amount of relief, as that had been one of the trickiest parts of the entire sequence. Not only that, but the crowd erupted into massive cheers upon seeing the wings extend. The judges' scores were tallied and, at the end of the night, Gayle came in second place in the Master Category. I was thrilled for her and all of the success that had come because of her hard work. As a husband, there's an implicit expectation that I approve of what she does and I think it's quality work. As far as an unbiased source, I'm pretty far from that. Nevertheless, I have just enough self-awareness that I can take that bias into account and look at something as a piece of work, separate from the artist. In the case of Gayle, I know she does incredible work. It's a given--so much so that I almost take it for granted. The cool and impressive stuff she does is, for me, familiar and common. I see it all of the time as I watch her creates these things that make her happy. So I often don't have a million superlatives to throw at Gayle, despite being impressed at her work. Because of course it's amazing: Gayle made it. So I thought I would take some 1,300 words and write up a brief history of Gayle's cosplaying victories. She's a remarkable woman whose contributions to the happiness of other people's lives is only one of a bevy of incredible attributes of which she is a master. ====
Hey, friends. I have been releasing essays on my website for a couple of years now at a pretty steady rate. I'm happy to do so, as it benefits me as a writer and (I hope) you as a reader. I also think that, as a writer, it's okay if I believe that my work has some value monetarily as well as emotionally. To that end, I've created a Ko-Fi account, which is basically a way to give an online tip to a creator whose work you appreciate. The idea is, you can buy them a cup of coffee. (That's what the of the website sounds like, if you're curious.) I'm not charging for any of the content on my website; instead, if you'd like to toss me a cup-le (see what I did there?) of bucks to show your gratitude, that would be cool. I'd totally appreciate that appreciation. If you don't? No problem. We can still be friends. As always, thanks for reading! I like to think that I have a narrow alley of eclectic tastes. I like world history--mostly British, to be honest--and Shakespearean drama. I like Milton's poetry. I like comic books, with Spider-Man being my bae. I understand the World Wars better than most (well, that may be debatable). I play the guitar--mostly nineties alternative stuff. I used to play quidditch. I really enjoy deconstructivism, postmodernism, and new technology, though I'm unimpressed by modern architecture or the potential nihilism inside of current social trends. I like philosophy and I also like dinosaurs.
It's that last little bit that made me think. Today, I'm not at school. Instead, I'm spending the morning/early afternoon at Barnes and Noble, editing my manuscript and enjoying the ambiance. Before I sat down at my computer, I flitted through the store, checking out the different titles that caught my eye. As I do whenever I have the time, I worked my way to the back part of the store, where they keep their selections on philosophy. A couple of things I noticed: One is that they've recently (in that I just noticed it) created a subset of philosophy that's called "Agnosticism and Atheism", putting Dawkins and Hitchens and men of their ilk all in the same spot. While a great many other philosophers were also atheists, the idea is to put books that fully deny the reality of God all in one place. It takes up about two and a half shelves. The LDS (not even counting the religion and Christian sections) are entire rows. So it's not what I would call a particularly popular section. Anyway, so it seems like there's a binary at work here. The movie franchise God is Not Dead has just released its third film. Then there are titles like God is Not Good and The God Delusion. It made me wonder: Is there a center to this Venn diagram? Is there a book out there that's called, God is Okay or something like that? Maybe Schrodinger's God: Neither Dead nor Alive Until You Pray To Her/Him? If so, it perhaps shows that though people often want to have a middle path in choices, sometimes centrism is kind of stupid. Thought number two: There are lots of ways that philosophers have tried to get people to know more about the great thoughts of the (usually) Western tradition. I am a fan of the Philosophy and Pop Culture series, which has done a lot for helping me to understand some basic principles about philosophy. Stuff about Batman, the Terminator, zombies, and more are considered with a philosophical bent. So where's my Dinosaurs and Philosophy? To be fair, that's a tricky prospect. Not only is there no canon to discuss, but where do you start with that? The easiest way is to consider a franchise that also explores dinosaurs. They have one: In fact, Puck, my eleven year old, tried to read some of Jurassic Park and Philosophy a year or two ago. But Jurassic Park is a different creature (pun intended) than real dinosaurs. Though I don't have a lot of training in this, I think it would be a fun reason to dive back into philosophy. Looking for a system of ethics for Dromaeosaurus, for example, could be pretty fun. The thing is, I don't know what that would look like. I mean, philosophy is part of what makes humans unique (so far as we know). And when you're arguing about the morality of a Allosaurus and whether or not it ought to eat the baby Stegosaurus, well…that just sounds silly. Obviously, I need this book because I'm not smart enough to write this book. If any of you out there would like to make this happen, I would be happy to give you some of my money so that I can read it. Thanks in advance. ==== Hey, friends. I have been releasing essays on my website for a couple of years now at a pretty steady rate. I'm happy to do so, as it benefits me as a writer and (I hope) you as a reader. I also think that, as a writer, it's okay if I believe that my work has some value monetarily as well as emotionally. To that end, I've created a Ko-Fi account, which is basically a way to give an online tip to a creator whose work you appreciate. The idea is, you can buy them a cup of coffee. (That's what the of the website sounds like, if you're curious.) I'm not charging for any of the content on my website; instead, if you'd like to toss me a cup-le (see what I did there?) of bucks to show your gratitude, that would be cool. I'd totally appreciate that appreciation. If you don't? No problem. We can still be friends. As always, thanks for reading! Today's class was all about leaders and Machiavelli. I've been teaching the same literature for over a decade (one of the perks of teaching the classics is that my curriculum doesn't have to change too much if I don't want it to), so I usually see pretty similar ideas between classes. This year, however, was a surprise. For the first time that I can remember, no one in either of my sections (a total of almost sixty kids) said that a leader ought to be honest or keep his or her promises.
Since we were talking about leaders, I brought in the current president. It was interesting to see what pieces of advice the students thought a leader should abide by--and, as I said before, I typically expect them to add keeping a promise or being truthful to that list. This year, though, I got students saying that leaders shouldn't be too truthful/honest. "I don't want a president who's sharing classified information," they said (in essence; I don't remember exact quotes). "So you want a person who lies, but not too often? Is it okay to lie if it means that you keep power?" I asked. They didn't have a ready answer to that. I then showed them how both President Obama and our current leader stack up with telling the truth and keeping promises, as recorded on PolitiFact.com. While 45 isn't even halfway through his term, he has made progress on some of his promises, broken others, and compromised on some, too. His record of truth-telling is about what one might expect. It got me wondering if I'm simply expecting too much of my students. Is it too much to want an honest leader? We say we want one, but this generation didn't even think to make honesty a criterion. Perhaps Machiavelli is right. Maybe what we need is someone who can strongarm and game the system entirely. Perhaps the recent presidents were insufficient to the demands of their times completely, not being confrontational enough (as one student exulted about the president's personality, essentially arguing that America ought to bully (he said throw our weight around) the international community) and what we need is a brash, opposite-of-diplomatic voice to ensure American interests. For some reason, though, that doesn't sit well with me. But I've been wrong before. Indeed, I'm usually wrong. That, unsurprisingly, doesn't mollify me very much. Normally, essays like these help me to sort my thoughts out, but instead, I'm feeling tired thinking about it. Having spoken of the topic all day long, it seems, I don't know if I really want to put any more time or effort into it. So I think I'll put a pin in this and see if we'll ever return to the idea that maybe morality has become a minority--most ironically, in the very party that once espoused the idea that they were in the majority. Then again, maybe I shouldn't write an essay that will only leave me depressed. ==== Hey, friends. I have been releasing essays on my website for a couple of years now at a pretty steady rate. I'm happy to do so, as it benefits me as a writer and (I hope) you as a reader. I also think that, as a writer, it's okay if I believe that my work has some value monetarily as well as emotionally. To that end, I've created a Ko-Fi account, which is basically a way to give an online tip to a creator whose work you appreciate. The idea is, you can buy them a cup of coffee. (That's what the of the website sounds like, if you're curious.) I'm not charging for any of the content on my website; instead, if you'd like to toss me a cup-le (see what I did there?) of bucks to show your gratitude, that would be cool. I'd totally appreciate that appreciation. If you don't? No problem. We can still be friends. As always, thanks for reading! When it comes to the Sorting Hat, I self-identify pretty heavily with Ravenclaw. I like learning for learning's sake, analyses, and a more scholarly/intellectual approach to living. That's who I am, which makes me blue and bronze (or blue and silver if you're only into the movies) pretty much through and through.
If, however, I had to take in the other three Houses, I would land in Hufflepuff next, then Gryffindor, and lastly Slytherin (I don't like snakes, but that's not why I'd go to the dungeon last). And those last two would be pretty low on my list. Hufflepuff, however, has that whole "Let's be nice to people" vibe going for it, which I'm attracted to. But more than that, the 'Puffs are loyal, and that is something that I have in spades. Okay, that sounds really arrogant. Hear me out: I will keep myself in a poor situation for far too long simply out of a desire to remain true to a promise--real or implied. How bad is it? Well, I feel pangs of having betrayed a hair cut salon if I don't go there every time I need a trim. In all of my years of schooling, both primary and secondary education, I transferred out of a class after the school year started exactly twice: One to get out of a history class I didn't want, and the other to get out of a Civil War course I couldn't afford. That's it. I've had exactly one girlfriend--the woman I married is my first hand-holder, first kiss, and only girlfriend. This, of course, is a good trait now that we're married, and though we both went on dates with other people throughout that time of our lives, neither one of us was interested in pursuing anything substantial with anyone else. We found what we liked and we've stuck with it. I have this issue with food. I'll order the same thing every time I go to a restaurant. Expanding my palate--not even in types of cuisine, but in terms of brand--is a frightening thing for me. I know what I like and I go for it. When it comes to my career, it's even more noticeable. While I did stay at a couple of jobs longer than was good for my mental health, my loyalty to my employer runs deeply. I just started my eleventh year at the same school, and I'm just as excited to be there as I was on my first day. (Okay, I was probably more excited back then, if only because it meant that I had finally found a job and I could help support my family.) Because I started off wanting to impress, I sort of set up my own work ethic's baseline of behavior as what I strove to do in the first year or two. There's nothing wrong with that, but it does mean that there are some aspects of my job that I do because I always do them, not because I have any strong reason for continuing the practice. Not taking any time off is one of those instances. I have, so far as I can remember, never had an emergency substitute day--or perhaps one, but I seem to recall it was a half day. I get sick on long weekends and over holidays (like this past December) rather than waking up and deciding to call in sick. I know a lot of teachers behave this way, in part because it's a lot of effort to prep a substitute plan and, more than that, there's all of that lost time where the kids aren't progressing in the curriculum. For me, because of how I teach, giving up my classes to a substitute is a really daunting thing. So, rather than use any of the accumulated days off (in my school it's actually hours that we're given and accrue as the years tick by), I just rough my way through it. So it's kind of a big deal that I have taken some actual personal days off from teaching both last year and, now, this week. I'll be leaving my classes to the substitute plan on Thursday so that I can relax before getting into the FanX Comic Convention that's happening this weekend. Since I won't get Saturday to recuperate, I felt it was a chance for me to find some personal time. Despite the fact that this should be a guilt-free experience for me--after all, it's not like I won't get paid for my time off, and the students' education isn't going to be stunted by me not being there--I still fret, worry, and feel remorse for not being at school. I will feel like I'm playing hooky until 3:30pm on Thursday, not because I am, but because I know that I'm supposed to be in school. I know this because, on the rare occasions where I have to miss school for school training purposes, I am always thinking about my classes instead of focusing on what I'm doing at the moment. Maybe this is part of why I like summer so much? I don't have to feel guilty about missing class, since there aren't any classes to miss. Nevertheless, Hufflepuff or no, I'm glad that I have this Thursday off. It'll be good for me to get away, if only for a day. ==== Hey, friends. I have been releasing essays on my website for a couple of years now at a pretty steady rate. I'm happy to do so, as it benefits me as a writer and (I hope) you as a reader. I also think that, as a writer, it's okay if I believe that my work has some value monetarily as well as emotionally. To that end, I've created a Ko-Fi account, which is basically a way to give an online tip to a creator whose work you appreciate. The idea is, you can buy them a cup of coffee. (That's what the of the website sounds like, if you're curious.) I'm not charging for any of the content on my website; instead, if you'd like to toss me a cup-le (see what I did there?) of bucks to show your gratitude, that would be cool. I'd totally appreciate that appreciation. If you don't? No problem. We can still be friends. As always, thanks for reading! |
AuthorWould you like to support my writings? Feel free to buy me a coffee (which I don't drink, but I do drink hot chocolate) at my Ko-Fi page. Thanks! Archives
July 2022
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