Where's my soapbox?

I commented to a friend today that I had gotten a chance to pick up a book again! (Finally, I could feel my IQ slipping.) I've been reading the Wheel of Time series by Robert Jordan on and off for a few years. It's a great series! Unless you can't handle massive amounts of detail -- which I love -- then don't read it in that case. Anyhow, there are too many things about it I like to list, but it brought me to that fact that I hadn't written anything in a while.

I love to write, I always have. I've been working on a book of my own, again for years. And as I've grown a lot has changed. The more I've read, especially in the fantasy genre, the more I've been able to identify cliches, etc. in my own writing. However, I got off on a tangent today about the female fantasy characters.

Let me clarify because "fantasy" is an awfully broad genre. I'm talking about Dungeons & Dragons, swords and magic type of fantasy. Questing stuff. Barbarians, ogres. You get the picture. So where are my strong, female leads swinging a sword? Now I've been reading this same WoT series for a while, so I'm assuming they're out there somewhere. But I haven't found them.

And I'm not talking barbarian chicks. I've encountered tons of female characters who are a deadshot with a bow and arrow, Birgitte from WoT and Catti-Brie from The Forgotten Realms just to name two. Now there are also plenty of sword-wielding females, but can't I have one who opts out of the dagger or the 2 lb. rapier to pick up something more substantial? If a dude can swing an 8 lb. great sword, so can a chick. I'm just sayin'.

Earwen (Arwen) came close in LoTR, but settled down with Finarfin...a dude.

I don't know if this is a stereotypical "the author's a man" case, or if some sort of "historical authenticity" is lost or what, but can I also please get a strong female lead who also loves women? Where's my gay medieval fantasy shit? We seem to have all of our other bases covered, why not this one too? Aaaannd, I don't want smut. Sorry, not interested. I just want characters like me in the books I read. I don't want my female characters running around with their boobs popping out. That doesn't make sense. I don't want them hiding behind their male counterparts or waiting to be saved. I want them in the middle of the battlefield, not waiting at the castle while the husband is getting all bloody.

And as much as I loved loved loved Moiraine in WoT (I refuse to believe she's dead), and loved loved loved Briza in Forgotten Realms, I'm tired of magic wielding women. How convenient that the bulk of the women are doing battle from the background. They're weapons are projectiles; they're not mixing it up with the bad guys, not face-to-face. My favorite moment with Moiraine was in the end of The Fires of Heaven when she actually, finally puts hands on Lanfear and drags her through the ter'angreal doorframe. Hands on. Finally. Balefire is really cool, don't get me wrong, but it added another dimension to Moiraine. It illustrated a different kind of strength of her character.

Moiraine Damodred, dwarfed by her Warder, Lan.

And as mentally strong as the Aes Sedai and Wise Ones (and others) are in WoT, as manipulative and scheming as they can be, as vast as their powers are, it still gets stale to read about them wielding the One Power and tying weaves...essentially just playing with magic. On a large scale, definitely, and to great devestation and death in some cases (especially the Forsaken), but still. We know Rand (the main male character) can use a sword AND the One Power.

Now I'm not quite halfway through the series, so who knows who else I'll encounter? There are so many characters that anything could happen. But with a core audience of straight men, I'm doubtful I'll find a character that makes me say, "Hey, that's me! I can relate to this person!"

At any rate, this is what I write. Strong, flawed, female characters who can pick up a sword or an axe, hone their inherent stamina and resistance to pain (Childbirth anyone? No really, they've done studies.), and get down and dirty with the men. And then go home, and get down and dirty with their women.

#9...#9...#9...

Sometimes, we have to change to simply avoid becoming stagnant. I like to learn new things, and I need a change in my life if I'm going to stay sane & keep my wife sane.

I hate school.

Can't I just go, learn some cool stuff, and get a diploma? I like too many things to concentrate on one program. I like art (illustration), woodworking & carving, writing, the english language, grammar, poetry, food, firefighting, fighting, nature (!).

I took Soils & Vegetation at CCSU my freshman year. It was a great class, if a little dry. I did my final paper on Black Walnut Blight.

If I have to take another Freshman Composition class I'll stab myself in the eye with my #2 pencil.

If I could stick with Creative Writing past the Intro classes I think I'd be fine. The Intro classes are always 90% kids who don't even have a concept of comma usage & think it's going to be an easy "A". Then there's you and one other who are actually trying. It sucks a whole lot.

I got a new tattoo Monday. It's my ninth. It was fairly spontaneous for a tattoo. And for me. But it was a change, and it felt great.

And Share Alike

You must know that I watch you.
I think you're afraid to watch me too.
There's a secret behind your smirk.
Something hidden, something dark.
Let's share secrets, let's find out.
Let's plant the seed and watch it sprout.
And dance beneath it's tangled limbs,
chanting ancient burial hymns.

Draw me a map. I'll decipher it.
Sketch me a maze and I'll delight in it.
I'll creep the alleys of your brain,
to find the treasure you contain.
I'll split that secret open wide.
There's no shame here, and no more pride.
I'll find your most delicious sins
and revel in them, drink them in.

I'm curious. You've struck a nerve.
I have to touch what I observe.
Something's lurking deep beneath.
That sarcastic mouth is just a sheath.
A shroud, a mask I'll rip away.
We're hand in hand. Come out and play.
Come frolic in our devilry.
Myself, our demons, and you makes three.

You can't fight a fighter or shock a freak.
Let me inside, give me a peek.
Let me taste your pain tonight.
I don't hit much, but I do bite.
Reveal your inner horror show.
Gasoline on the fire? How apropos.
I'll push your senses past taboo.
Don't worry. I show you mine, too.


(c) 2011 Adrienne Shonio

Everyone Hates the Boss

"That's right, my dear. I'd love to embrace you, but first, I have to satisfy my sense of moral outrage." (Roger Rabbit, Who Framed Roger Rabbit? 1988)

Without a chain of responsibility and accountability, things fall into chaos. If you are the boss, you are accountable to your boss. Everything falls on your shoulders. You can't hold onto all that accountability by yourself, or else you'll go crazy. You'll crack. And mostly, it's not fair. If there are people under you, staff you can delegate responsibility to, then that needs to happen. If they don't do their jobs, they need to be held accountable.


An employee (left) and me.

You can't do everything by yourself; that's what the people below you are for. You can't shoulder every task alone, shouldn't have to. You can't cover everyone else's mistakes all the time. You can't not point out other's mistakes or else they'll never learn from those mistakes.

But where to start? I always feel like I'm playing catch-up. I am constantly back-tracking to make sure that the little things, the easy things -- the "free throws" -- are getting done. This is how I lose sight of the big picture, and the big problems. Once upon a time, I was one of those staff below, and I did what needed to be done. I was responsible for my own actions. I led by example. But in doing so, I did more than my share. I did others' work, too. No one else needed to be held accountable, because no one else did anything. I took care of it all.

Now, I can't take care of everything. I don't have the time. I have too many other responsibilities. And those who took my place, don't have the understanding of how things work the way I did.

Did I fail? Did I not teach them right? Not well enough? Or do they really require the micro-managing that they claim to hate so much? Do they need someone constantly checking up on them in areas that I never did?

You can make as many lists and post as many memos as you want. If there is no follow-up, no one will ever take that list or that memo seriously. You may as well write "do whatever the hell you want," because that's what will happen.

I'm not the only one guilty of doing others' jobs for them. I've passed that trait on to my second-in-command under the mistaken guise of "work ethic." But they're easy to mix up. Sometimes your own to-do list needs to simply read, "make sure everyone else did theirs."

SMD

I watched Interview with the Vampire recently, again, because it is one of my favorite movies. I'm also reminded when I watch it of how much more richly detailed the book is. But isn't that usually the way? At any rate, at the end of Louis' tale he sets fire to the Paris vampires' catacombs and hacks away at them with a scythe. When he finally kills Santiago (played to infuriating annoyance by a wonderful Stephen Rea) in what I refer to as the Slo-Mo Deathstroke, I realized I've seen far too much of this great death technique in recent years.

Simply put, the SMD is when a character takes a hack (usually with a sword, but always something sharp) at the bad guy and misses. Until the bad guy stops and you see his body slowly slide apart, cut in two by the blow that did indeed land.

Now Interview... (1994) was the first movie I could remember using this move and at the time it seemed bad-ass. I mean, it still does because Louis is twirling the scythe around, eyes in full vampire mode, the place going up in flames behind him. This was unfortunately, not nearly the last place I saw this used. At this point, I'm on overload. There has to be another cool way to kill someone off.

Louis takes a scythe to Santiago in Interview with the Vampire.

I saw this for the second time in Cube (1997). A high school friend recommended the movie to me, as I will to you. It is a unique concept, which is why I can't bring myself to watch Cube 2: Hypercube or Cube Zero. In the first movie, though, Alderson gets sliced into little cubes by a large razor-wire grate or trellis. The trellis swoops down from the ceiling so quickly that -- again -- you don't realize what's happened until Alderson's body starts to bleed and falls into a pile of flesh blocks. It isn't until you see the trellis slowly folding back up that you realize how he was killed. You can watch the YouTube clip of this death here. It's sort of graphic, but very well done, and the expression on his face is priceless.

I witnessed my 3rd SMD in Resident Evil (2002) and was immediately reminded of Cube. I remember thinking how blatently this killing style was copied. Resident Evil does up the ante by creating an SMD threesome. It's also done by a laser trap, not a sword or the like, which was new. But it also copied Cube's multiple piece body-split. In other words, it would have been a cool death scene if it hadn't already been done. Here's the YouTube video. Forward to :45 for the actual deaths.


Ok Milla, just put the guns down. On second thought, don't.

I've previously mentioned my feelings about Kate Beckinsale. Despite all her leathery hotness in Underworld (2003), I was still immensely disappointed when the movie ends with (Spoiler Alert!) an SMD. That's right, Selene takes Viktor's sword to him in true SMD fashion. And in true Interview with the Vampire fashion, you really don't think she's killed him. Until he gets that puzzled look on his face...and it slowly slides into two pieces.

Ouch.

I'm sure there are other movies that have used/overused the SMD approach to killing. This was probably used prior to Interview... in movies I simply haven't seen. Not to mention there are other ways to die that have been overused. This one is my own pet peeve because it was new and brilliant to me the first time I saw it. I enjoyed all the above-mentioned movies (I own them all, and I just don't buy movies willy-nilly), so it's disheartening to see the same technique recycled so often. As realistic as they make the body parts, and as graphic as the bloody, squishy noises are, the first time is always the best.

Why Write When You Can Type & Hit Delete?

I've been in hot water in the past for things I've written. We can go back to high school (10+ years) when I ruined a friend's day by writing a nasty note all because we'd had a hormone-fueled misunderstanding. Or more recently, by things I've written about other people girls I knew when I had a girlfriend at the time.

The thing of it is, that I like to write. I love to write. I love to read. I love to look up the meanings to words I don't know, even if I'll forget it all the next day. A lot of Most of my writing is morbid and/or darkly romantic. A lot of my romanticism has been called twisted/dirty/violent.

I think there's a lot to be said for romance with a drop of violence.

It may not help that my imagination will take me very far down a path once a seed is planted. I only need that one little idea, or a hint, one sentence spoken by another to create an entire dialogue, a whole scene. If you've said one thing in real life that stuck out to me, then I'm writing about you. My brain is probably already running with it in a direction you never intended. I'm not saying everything is about sex, or blood & guts, or death. But that's the stuff I like. I'm a fan of clenched teeth, fists, bruises and scrapes. I believe there is nothing more sexual than a well-timed slap across the face. I don't mind a little blood under the fingernails, sharp blades, human anatomy, and the good ole adrenaline rush. But those are the parts that get me looked at sideways. Those are the things that people don't think of me as being capable of considering. And the things I write about are not always things I want to happen in real life. Two guys who enjoy a mutual masturbation session because they're too homophobic to go all the way--OK. A single, passionate kiss ignites a lust which goes unrequited--fine. A girl is haunted by something to the point of suicide/relief/release--great.  It's called fiction for a reason.

Writing is the place to get all I've ever wanted and not wanted, wish I'd said and wish I could take back, out. It's the only way to drink, steal, lie, cheat, get high, fight, and fuck and still come out on top. Or burn out. It's where you live to your every potential, fly under the radar, or take a life--even if it's your own--without judgement. You can be the sarcastic asshole you've always wanted to be. Have a classic, one-liner for everyone. Get rid of the people and things you despise. Slough off the materialistic world or surround yourself with opulence. Marry the person you never had a chance with. Save someone no one else can. Be the best at anything. Or be the lowest, the vilest, and love it.

Write something so fucked up, so surprisingly tangled and dark that others scratch their heads trying to figure out where you came up with it.

I've taken to writing something, when the inspiration strikes, on a computer. I've abandoned my notepads and journals for the sake of the Delete key. The Delete key saves me from more trouble. Is it a waste? Maybe. I'm sure there are some writers out there who'd tell me I was nuts not to save all my work. Could these vignettes be transformed into a larger work? Become part of a longer story or novella or poem? Be one amongst many in a published book of shorts? Perhaps.

But if your audience can't separate author from character, is it worth offending or upsetting them because your character (not you!)  commits a crime, cheats, or commits murder/suicide? Probably. I put a lot of myself into my writing. A lot of my characters are a lot like me, or have a trait or two that smacks of "me." But that doesn't make them me.

Or, maybe it does. Me in an alternate world, in another life. The main character would react this way because that's how I would and it's my writing, my character.

I don't like happy endings. They're fine sometimes, but I don't need my endings tied up neatly. Most of life isn't that way. Most of what I write isn't that way either. There's always a loose end or two. People don't always say what they really want to aloud. They don't make rational decision or good choices. They get caught up in emotions. They let adrenaline, euphoria, lust, and rage make them do things they shouldn't. People steal, lie, curse, take bad advice, and fuck around when they know they oughtn't do it.

But it's life. It's real, it's tangible. It's outrageous, colorful, and richly detailed if you can pay enough attention to it. And that what's I aspire to write, even if it all sees the Delete key in the end.

By the by, I contemplated deleting this.

English Accents & Then Some

I love them. English accents. Sometimes they're incomprehensible, and often take getting used to. But overall, they are my weakness in women, much like redheads and green eyes.

Who didn't love Beverly Crusher on TNG? Especially since I've recently noticed a striking similarity between her and Bryce Dallas Howard. There's also a similarity, if only in my childhood memories, between BDH and a girl, Hilary, I used to know. (I won't post her picture though, because that would require stalking that I am not comfortable with -- and she probably wouldn't be, either.)

But let's go back to the accent. That's the end-all undoing. Kate Beckinsale, check. Thank you for coming back to the Underworld franchise. I understand why it didn't need to be Kate in the 2009 movie. It was a prequel. And for the record, Rhona Mitra had me fooled for a moment. I thought she was Kate when I saw the Doomsday trailer. The accent, the hair, the cheekbones...the leather. But it wasn't Kate, and it wasn't Kate in Underworld: Rise of the Lycans either. I bought both Underworld 3 & Doomsday nonetheless.

The Spice Girls? Yup, and I can't even call myself a closet fan. I still love them today. Saw their reunion tour a few years back. Geri Halliwell's red hair still gets me, though she's toned it down quite a bit.

Emma Watson...what red-blooded American (lesbian) can say they're not in love there? Blasphemers, that's who. She's my modern Julia Ormond. And anyone who knows me knows no one can replace Mrs. Ormond. And Emma doesn't, but wow is she a close second.

Throw in, just as a bonus, a girl who knows how to smirk, or raise an eyebrow just right:  Sold.

We have a mutual dislike, technology and I.

For 3 years I've had a Casio Boulder cell phone. That's an extra year past my "new every 2" free upgrade because the phone I upgraded to (made to "military specifications") wasn't as durable as the Boulder. Plus, my phone was orange, which is pretty much the greatest color ever.

The thing that kills me is that it wasn't the construction of the phone that did it in. For three years I'd thrown it across rooms, stepped on it, dropped it, gotten it wet, used it to prop open doors, and even a couple of times as a hammer. The body of the thing was basically indestructible -- the Jeep of cell phones, if you will. And much like my old '96 Cherokee it was the internal things that kept breaking. It had been giving me some issues like occasionally dropping calls for no reason, a phenomenally short battery life, stalling when I was composing a text. Little things. Things I chalked up to being a 3-year old piece of technology which I estimate to be around 55 in human years. That point in time where some things just don't work they way they used to.And all the while some paint may have chipped off the outside but the chassis of my beloved Boulder was basically intact.
Today, the phone finally broke. I woke up on my own this morning at with that panicked feeling. I was at work until 2am that morning, so there was no way I was waking up on my own before my alarm clock. My alarm clock being on my phone. I picked the phone off the nightstand. Dead, even though it was plugged into the charger. It had, in fact, been charging before I fell asleep. I turned over, glance quickly at my wife's alarm clock.
9:36am
I was supposed to be at work at 9:00am. Shouting obscenities I flew from the bed, pulled on a clean uniform, grabbed my cell phone and keys, knowing I had an extra charger at work, and left.
A few hours later I was settled and drinking an extra-large coffee when I thought about my phone. I flipped open the plastic cover to the charging port and stared, baffled, at the empty hole there. Where was the connecting piece? The pins, or holes, or whatever they are that connects the charger and the phone?
Then I vaguely remembered awaking for no reason in the early morning light and fiddling with my phone. I thought it had been a dream, pulling the charger out and seeing through foggy vision that something was not ok. And being too exhausted to comprehend what it was or to force myself to wake up enough to figure it out.
It was the charging port, the piece that should be inside the phone, now outside but still attached to the end of the charger. Like extracting a technological tooth.

"He hates for me to write a word."

I just bought a copy of The Yellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman on Amazon.com for $2.50 and so should you. This was one of my favorite school-assigned short stories, so much so that I'm not sure why I didn't already own a copy. (I have, for example, three copies of John Knowles's A Separate Peace. But that's very Conspiracy Theory of me....)

The Yellow Wallpaper is a giant. It addresses multiple themes, including a women's "domestic" place in a marriage, the "resting cure" for despression, self-expression, and the whole deal with the woman trapped behind the wallpaper. Interestingly enough, it was viewed as a dramatic work with some horror elements upon its first publishing. It wasn't til years later that the text was viewed in terms of the aforementioned themes.

Most interesting to me though, are the picture Gilman's actual words paint:

The faint figure behind seemed to shake the pattern, just as if she wanted to get out. (5.6)

I really enjoy the "faint figure" in its shadowy vagueness lunging into our real vision with the word "shake." And then of course Gilman throws in "seemed" giving you the head's up that it's all imaginary and she knows it, but can't stop it. She's aware that she's describing someone imaginary doing something very real.

Outlet?

I suppose this will be an outlet for me, somewhere to express creativity, shed negativity, culminate individuality. No way I'll write here everyday, but I'll say what I've got to say, starting today.

Bad pic, but I did this shit. "Grand Theft Auto: Dirty Colchest" 2011 for Dan the Man for being a great "bridesman."