Sunrise, Sunset II

Do you remember the old riddle about how to eat an elephant? “One bite at a time.”

The big picture—a movie, for instance—is made up of a bunch of little pictures, run at speed in a sequence to create a larger whole. That’s kind of what life is: a series of little pictures, or one bite of an elephant at a time.

You have everything you need to manage a twenty-four hour period. Skills and resources are at hand to get you through every day. If you can restrain the urge to dwell on days past or worry too much about tomorrow, you can make the most of that day. And, yes, much of how the day is handled depends on where you’re at, but you must also remember that all you can do at any moment is your best, even if that best is not what it would be on another day. Forget about what may or may not be; it doesn’t matter. Just focus on the now.

It’s good to have a plan for the future, but not at the expense of the present moment. Besides, the future is made up of present moments, so you may want to consider this before you beam into an imagining that may never happen. As Master Yoda says in The Empire Strikes Back (my still-favourite Star Wars film), “The future is always in motion.” This makes it difficult to predict, so why waste now anticipating what isn’t assured tomorrow?

By the same token, looking back with guilt and/or regret only hinders your progress. It can even stop you from being better than your current best when it involves berating yourself for things said or unsaid, done or undone. It’s past; let it go. Forgive everyone—including yourself—involved in whatever incident still bugs you and free yourself from the video replay of what cannot be changed. If you can’t do that, and I know, it’s easier said than done, then use the past as a starting point: “From now on, I will (insert more positive perspective here).” Or, better yet, narrow it to the present moment: “Right now, I am (insert more positive perspective here).”

And if you can’t conjure a positive perspective on your own, a good default is simply “I am loved.” This is true in the past, present and future.

Some days will seem longer and others far too short. Some will go well and some will be disasters—through no fault of your own, I might add. You’re not the only one whose best is different from day to day; the kindest thing you can do is accept others as they are in any given instant, understanding that where they are may not be as obvious.

Sunrise signals a fresh start to something I hope will be wonderful. Sunset is my time to reflect on how it went before I put it (and myself) to bed. This is Ru 2018, dedicated to releasing the past, living the present moment as best I can, and trusting the future to unfold as a result.

Try it for a day. Just for today ... and watch the elephant disappear, one bite at a time.

With love,

The Hoodie Incident

People are funny, eh? You can never tell what drives someone to offer an opinion or observation, or a plainly idiotic statement. One thing is sure: our perceptions are coloured by our individual experience. Fear and prejudice can wring the most curious responses ... though, admittedly, some folks are simply out to create a reaction.

Take the hoodie incident.

When shopping for Ter’s birthday, I bought her a pair of silly socks from Sugar & Cotton. Since then, I’ve been getting promos from their site. Cool cutlery, pretty jewellery, glittery scarves ... and an asymmetrical hoodie that I think is awesome in a Star Wars, Sithy kind of way. (The Sith, for the sadly uninitiated, are the villains in a galaxy far, far away; villains to whom I am partial for reasons that yet elude rational explanation.) Each time I log into FB—which is not all that often—an ad for this hoodie pops up and finally, unable to resist the notion of sporting a functional garment given a wicked cool twist, I ordered one. In black, of course.

Then I noticed the FB comments. I pay little attention to reviews, choosing instead to trust my own sense of whether or not something is worth my time and/or money, but sprinkled among those comments of “love it!” or “can get it cheaper here” were a couple of scathing observations that likened this trendy runway item to, of all things, a birka. A birka? Seriously? I took a second to shake off that one, then caught further comments along similar lines. A sort of religious tussle almost ensued as people took sides ... arguing about radical Islam tainting fashion design.

Okay, maybe I’m missing something. I hope I would have a bit of an issue myself with a frivolous industry building on a practice that oppresses women. If I thought for an instant that the designer of this item was less a Star Wars fan and more a radical Islamic nutball, I probably wouldn’t have bought one. But I don’t think that. The possibility never even occurred to me. That it occurred to someone—anyone—else is a show of hypersensitivity that may either be connected to past experience, or it may just be a guy with a biased intent to cause an uproar.

I don’t live under a rock. I am aware of global events and social upheaval and cultural oppression and political hot potatoes ... yet when I saw this hoodie, all I thought was “Cool!” I didn’t dig deeper because I didn’t feel the need. You can call me shallow for missing what’s apparently obvious to others. You may call the dissenters socially conscious and applaud them, but if we all relax, we might also see this for what it really is:

A hoodie.

King of Kings

It’s been years since I read a novel by Stephen King. His On Writing is a staple on my bookshelf, but despite his name perennially displayed in the New Releases section at the local bookstore, the last novel I read was Gerald’s Game in 1993, and even then, I did not finish it. Too scary.

Correct me if I’m wrong, but I still believe The Stand is his best work. Cal Leandros even gives it an honourable mention in Roadkill!

The man doesn’t need a book release to get my attention, however. I have long admired him for his honesty and, in particular, his sense of humour. The guy’s a hoot.

Little did I know that he and George R.R. Martin have been friends for decades, since before GRRM struck gold with A Game of Thrones (the book, not the TV series). So imagine my delight on finding a video of the two old pals having an onstage conversation when Steve’s recent book tour brought him to New Mexico. The bulk of the talk was stuff I already knew, but I always appreciate hearing how the professionals operate. One of King’s genre policies is this: “Aim for terror. If you can’t reach terror, aim for horror. If horror eludes you, settle for the gross-out.”

The other thing he said that had me rolling on the floor was during an elaboration of a storyline. He mentioned a villain’s recent diagnosis of pancreatic cancer as motivation for a diabolical act and the audience gasped as one. He looked at them and scolded, “It’s written on page nine, for Chrissakes! Spoilers? Spoilers? There’s no such thing as a spoiler. You can’t ‘spoil’ a book; people read books to have an experience, so who cares?”

Or words to that effect.

He’s right. If he was wrong, I’d only read a book once. How else can I explain my passion for revisiting The Night Circus or GRRM’s series, or Station Eleven or the Cal Leandros novels; or for multiple viewings of Orphan Black or The Newsroom, for that matter? Knowing what happens ahead of time is clearly no deterrent. It’s the joy of reconnecting with beloved characters that brings me back time and again.

I recognize that some folks prefer the slow reveal. I admit, I prefer it myself, but knowing before I saw The Empire Strikes Back that Luke Skywalker’s dad was Darth Vader did not prevent me from paying to see the movie. If you really care, you won’t care. Stephen King certainly doesn’t.

Long live the King.

Dark Dynasty

Of course I’ve seen the new Star Wars movie! Of course it’s a blast! J.J. Abrams directed and Lawrence Kasdan co-wrote—how can it fail?

It doesn’t … except perhaps in the most critical area of an epic battle between good and evil.

The villain is a petulant adolescent rather than a deeply disturbed and thoroughly traumatized adult.

Sigh.

The kid tries his best to be rotten, but he’s up against a legend, and even if Darth Vader became a pop icon instead of a modern-day Mephistopheles, he still packed a heavier punch in a galaxy far, far away than the reedy stripling who swears to avenge him.

Um, he doesn’t need avenging, kid. He was redeemed at the end of Episode VI.

So here’s hoping that we get some back story in the next movie, because without a darned good reason for his subversive behaviour in this one, I have a problem with a baddie who needs a timeout and a good spanking.

The Empire Strikes Back remains my favourite of the franchise. All hail Lord Vader!

"Black Friday"

Oh, Lord … Vader.

Aloud:

“Oh! Lord Vader!”

“Hoo-ha, hoo-ha.”

“When I asked to speak to the manager, I expected, ah … ahem … okay, when this cart of Christmas gifts was rung through, it only came out at 30% off.”

“Perhaps you feel you are being treated unfairly?”

“Well, no, not exactly, but, um, the deal in the Imperial flyer was that I pay 30%, not save 30%. See, it says right here - ”

“I am altering the deal. Pray I do not alter it any further.”

“Yes, my lord. Merry Christmas, my lord.”

“Hoo-ha, hoo-ha …”

This must be why it’s called Black Friday.

Auto Biography VII

"Judging a Character by His Wheels"

humble pie 2000

A horrifying development in my current short story. One of the sexiest characters I have ever written is driving a plastic Mustang. How can that be? Where did I go wrong? No one is perfect, but a plastic Mustang??? Kill me now.

I was barreling happily along, watching the story unfold as I typed. Feeling pretty good about it, too, as I attempt to apply some advice that Nicole posted over at The Paper Teapot a couple of weeks ago: “Abandon the idea that you are ever going to finish. Lose track of the 400 pages and write just one page for each day, it helps. Then when it gets finished, you are always surprised.—John Steinbeck.” She followed up with a bunch of his quotes which I will address anon, given that I loved every one of them, but at this point I was merely forging ahead with no end in sight.

I get through the first scene: the morning after with Cristal and her mystery lover. Then the second scene, still that morning. Then the third, where they must part and she realizes that he drove her home in her car the previous night. It made sense to me, so I went with it. Then the fourth and fifth scenes poured out and in the sixth scene, she spies him in the rearview mirror driving a … something. I couldn’t see what it was. I know it’s not the black Jeep; that belongs in another story. I was getting hung up on the details, though, and that directly countered Steinbeck’s advice, so I typed in “(his car)” and kept going.

Then I walked into the village, paying particular attention to the vehicles around me in hope that one would strike a chord. And, much to my chagrin, one did.

Since I am such a car fiend, I try to populate my stories with vehicles I myself would like to drive. I am also a Mustang snob. My wee sister, who drives a 2006, is constantly subjected to my scorn on the purity of the breed and how Ford totally missed when they tried to recreate the classic body style using modern technology—kind of like George Lucas continually reworking (and re-releasing) Star Wars because CDI is so much better now than what he had to work with in the 1970s. Because you can doesn’t always mean you should. (Good advice, Ru; maybe you should take it when you think of revamping some of your old writing!) So imagine my surprise when a shiny black convertible cruised along my sightline and it was no stretch to picture Cristal’s lover behind the wheel. Then I recognized the make and model, and my hair buzzed out like I’d been Tasered. Augh! A black plastic Mustang! Oh, noooooooo! Say it isn’t so! What does that say about the character? He’s supposed to be a hero, a real Joe Cool, a worthy recipient of my protagonist’s heart. Well, I’ll tell you … in truth I fear he’s a bit of a bad boy and Cristal might be in for some trouble with him, in which case the fake Pony is probably a righteous choice for him.

I want to warn Cristal that he may be bad news, but I’m just the scribe. She is trying to convince herself that she should feel something for him, given how intimate she has already been with him, so I have no idea how this is going to end. Well, I hope. I’ll have to keep writing and see …

Vanity, Thy Name is Vader

I’m a big fan of Star Wars. Okay, I’m more a Vader ho than a series fan, but hey, what can I say? I like tall men in boots, cloaks and black masks, and there’s a really hot and husky rhythm in his respirator. 

Admittedly, that may be too much information. My passion for the Dark Lord, however, is why I was particularly excited to see “Episode III: Revenge of the Sith” some years ago. Being third in the story sequence but sixth (and last) in the movie series, it promised to provide closure on the story of Anakin Skywalker’s betrayal of his Jedi training and descent into service of the evil Galactic Empire. This was the episode where we witnessed his transformation from star pilot hero to mechanized villain, or how a handsome and promising young warrior went so horribly, tragically wrong. 

Great garment-rending plot potential, yes? I thought so. But all six episodes are “leave your brain at the door” popcorn movies spinning the universal tale of good vs. evil, with the hero triumphant and the bad guy finding deathbed redemption. At its best, it’s a fun romp through space. At its worst, it’s a mindless monster that became an example of art imitating life by consuming its creator and spitting out the Emperor of Mass Marketing. No matter. I went in with my eyes wide open, caring solely for Anakin’s tipping point and Vader’s subsequent rise. 

Ter and I saw the movie before our dear friend Treena did. That we saw it first was a bit of a surprise, as Treena is a frequent cinema flyer averaging two or three movies per month. She’s also got fairly high standards when it comes to screenplays and dialogue. After I saw the film, she asked me how it was, I gushed, and she followed up with a question about the dialogue: Were there any memorable lines? 

“Treen,” I replied, exasperated, “this is Star Wars, not Shakespeare!” 

Some years later and I find this at the bookstore:

 

 

Oh, I am Fortune’s fool …