any sufficiently advanced blogging is indistinguishable from blather

On giving too much credit to literary fiction…

This struck me as a strange blog post. You might have to read the whole thing to understand my response. It says:

In my worlds, metaphors have to be consistent with the worldview of a character.

…

Then I wrote a story (out on submission now) where a metaphor got a little out of hand – in a cool way.

…

I suppose you could think about it like a piece of art that has the same color in multiple places across the composition. It’s almost like hiding a beautiful pattern in the story for the reader to find if they’d like – not letting it be the whole point, or letting it take away from the main conflict, but picking something that will play into the main conflict and allow the different parts of the story to link together. Even if a reader isn’t consciously aware of it, their subconscious probably will be on some level, allowing it to contribute to the “feel” of the story.

Um … yeah … um … how is that “literary” as opposed to “science fiction and fantasy”? (I don’t understand why the word “literary” is used to describe a separate genre of writing, as if all writing wasn’t “literary” but that’s a different issue. I don’t cringe at the word “literary” but I do cringe at it’s sometimes strange use.) All metaphors should add to the mood and tone of the story and the worldview of the characters. That’s the point of metaphors! That’s not a device borrowed from “literary fiction.” Similarly, using “extended metaphors” or motifs or recurring themes or irony or any other literary device does not mean that these devices come from “literary fiction” just because some writer doesn’t see them often in his pile of pulp sci-fi stories. The notion that use of this “literary stuff” should be surprising, or would be considered to be mainly from the realm of “literary fiction” just strikes me as rather silly.

In films, there are quite a few storytelling choices that can (and should) be utilized to help tell the story: for example, there’s the music (use of silence, use of rhythm, use of harmony and melodic themes), there’s the sound (what we hear and how loudly we hear it), there’s the cinematography (how characters and settings are positioned in a frame, how much space they take up, where they’re looking in relation to the camera, how the camera moves), there’s the editing (how and when cuts are made), there’s the color, lighting, costumes, acting choices, etc. It all adds to the clarity of the emotion the director is trying to communicate.

A writer doesn’t have so many elements to worry about, but it’s still all about (at least on its most basic level) communicating emotion. A good writer of any genre will use every element he knows to effectively communicate the emotions he’s after. (Though that effectiveness will still be subjective, of course.)

Secondly, the blogger writes:

And I’m realizing that while we may not intend to give things extra meaning, a lot of times those meanings sneak in anyway.

In a sense, yes. I think all artists naturally tend to work at least hints of their life philosophies and interests into all their artwork. But I’m not sure I’d go so far as to say that “meaning” can be added without intent. If you didn’t intend it, then it’s not meaning, at least not on your part. It might be a pattern, but it’s not meaning. That doesn’t mean that the audience can’t get meaning out of it. Just because I find meaning in a piece of art doesn’t mean that the artist put it there, consciously or subconsciously. This is because meaning doesn’t come from artwork. Meaning is inferred by the pattern-finding mind of an audience member. If we wish to communicate ideas to each other, such as directions to the nearest gas station, we must use a language we both have already established patterns for in our brains (that is, we both speak the language). You do not inject meaning into sentences; rather you order the words in a feedback loop, so that the meaning you intend to communicate is reflected in the words and order you choose. The listener can not know your intent; he has to guess it based on the words and order you chose using the pattern-knowledge he already has.

It’s really not that difficult of a concept, but most people don’t seem to think like that. Most people seem to think meaning is injected into artwork and then extracted by smart-enough audience members. But then what if people disagree on the meanings they extract? Either one of them is wrong (or both are), or the artist can be said to magically inject beauty and meaning without intending to. I don’t understand how anyone can honestly accept this notion.

Anyway, that’s a complete digression…

“Let’s see, new novel, new novel. What’s it about? A guy who loses everything, but finds his soul in Canada. Alright, cooking now. And the whole book is an e-mail to his daughter who’s dead. And his name will be Norm Hull, ’cause he’s just a normal guy. But not everybody will get that. That’s just for the scholars a hundred years from now.” ~Brian on Family Guy

By S P Hannifin, ago

Novel progress

My YA fantasy novel finally passed the 50K word mark yesterday. Not much of an accomplishment for professional writers, but this is only the third time I’ve ever gotten this far, and the first time I’ve gotten this far while sticking very close to my original outline.

One of my previous stories to get this far was The Game of Gynwig, in which I veered way way way off my outline and the story turned into a complete mess. It was also horribly written, but looking back on it provides a good laugh. It was about a young boy who gets wrapped up with a group of wizards and witches who fight to oppose an evil wizard’s plot to take over the kingdom. I still like the characters and original story I meant to tell, so I might revisit someday. But no time soon. It has to be completely replotted.

My next attempt that passed 50K words was The Book of Harbringer, my 2008 NaNoWriMo novel. It was about a banished prince who returns to his kingdom to oust an evil king. Very Lion King-esque, but much darker. It was completely outlined and I stuck to the outline. Unfortunately it was just too long and complex. After 50K words, the story had still barely started. I had something like nine characters, and I was spending a lot of time introducing them all. It might still work with all its complexity, but it was just too much for me to tackle as a first novel. I still really like the characters and the story I meant to tell, so I’d love to revisit this someday. But I think I’ll need more experience first.

Third time’s a charm, I hope. This time I kept my outline much simpler and have made it a point to stick to it. My current attempt is called Moonrise Ink, and it’s about a boy who learns that he is the last wizard in the world and must use his powers to defeat a group of mysterious invaders. It actually takes place in the same world as those of the last two attempts, though I’ve edited the magic system a bit. There are references to names and places and magical items in those stories.

I’m not sure how much longer it will take to write this draft. My current guess is that 20K more words will do it, but it may be more. But I think I’m definitely more than half way there.

By S P Hannifin, ago

On complete non-objectivity in art

While most people will agree that art is subjective and that it’s OK for tastes to be somewhat different, there’s often also this underlying belief that there are certain objective standards that make certain works of art objectively greater than others. For example, an English teacher might understand how his students might have different opinions on Shakespeare’s best work. But if a student considered a Batman comic to be of greater artistic value than Hamlet, the English teacher, along with his colleagues, may consider the student to be objectively wrong in his opinion, and blame his opinion on lack of education.

I would claim, however, that the teacher in the above example is wrong, as are all who judge the student’s opinions to be inferior. I think the problem stems from how people mix their honest emotional responses to pieces of artwork with what they think about a piece’s influence and apparent complexity. That is, if something is clearly popular, acclaimed by academics and critics, or seemingly more complex, people will hold their emotional responses in less regard and form opinions based on these alternative standards.

Influence is perhaps the most obvious factor in determining an artwork’s level of “objective greatness.” If a piece of art has influenced many, clearly there must be something objectively good about it. How else could it have such influence? And the more influential a piece is considered, the more influential it seems to become, as new audiences are introduced to and become influenced by the work by the mere virtue of its being considered influential.

Complexity may also be taken into account when determining the artistic value of a work of art. There may be a natural bias towards the complex. I have not thought about this strange bias enough to have any good guess as to why it may exist. My current guess is that people assume that more complex works are the results of a greater care and thought on the creator’s part, and are therefore more naturally valuable. It’s a completely illogical bias, as audiences can never truly know how much thought went into something, and what seems complex to one person may not seem so complex to another.

I don’t mean to claim that works of art can’t or shouldn’t be judged by these standards. While I don’t think there’s any objective way to do it, I’m not sure there’s any reason or method to stop ourselves from doing it naturally. What I argue against is the natural but illogical tendency of supposing that these qualities determine (or should determine) emotional responses and the validity of the emotional responses of others.

An emotional response is a natural emotional reaction to an experience of art. To simplify, an audience member will, after experiencing the artwork, love it, like it, be indifferent to it, dislike it, or hate it. It is a bit more complicated than that, of course, because we don’t judge our experiences as a whole; we judge them in pieces and sometimes in separate factors. For example, we can enjoy the music and acting of a film, but hate its storyline. We can love a singer’s voice, but hate the song they sing. Our emotions are also biased by factors outside of our experience of art, such as: our emotional state before experiencing art, peer pressure, tastes and preferences, background knowledge of the art’s production, and even our sense of self and social status. No emotional response can be evoked only by a piece of art; no emotional response bursts into existence out of a vacuum.

My argument is that, because these emotional responses are natural, they can never be invalid. There is no such thing as fake joy or sadness. Influence and complexity do not necessarily infer more pleasing emotional responses, and they certainly don’t create them. If a Batman comic fills one with more interest and inspiration than a Shakespearean play, that interest and inspiration is not somehow lower or worse. If a pop song fills one with more joy than Beethoven’s Ninth, that joy is not somehow less valid or less real because more professors hate the pop song.

“Oh, sure,” you may say. “Of course art is subjective! But the people who love Beethoven’s Ninth are of course more educated people.” If that is your response, you have clearly not understood my points at all, and I’m not sure how better to explain them.

By this line of logic, there is also no such thing as “high art” (as I’ve argued before). There is certainly “popular art” (whether that popularity is academic, professional, commercial, etc.), but to claim such art is therefore objectively better or higher than other art, or should evoke more greater or more valid emotions, is terribly pretentious and completely illogical.

It’s natural for us to not understand what it’s like to be other people or experience the same emotions that other people claim to be experiencing. But that does not mean that they’re lying or that the emotions you know you’re feeling are more real or justified than theirs. Your opinions can never be better or more justified than anyone else’s.

By S P Hannifin, ago

“I really wanted to like it, but…”

Sometimes when I read reviews, the reviewer will say something like: “I really wanted to like this, but… blah, blah, blah.”

This phrase really annoys me. Taken at face value, it seems like an attempt of the reviewer to place the ultimate blame for his disliking on the creators. After all, how can it be the reviewer’s fault if he wanted or tried to like it? What more could be asked of an audience member?

I would ask audience members to be not so self-conscious of whether or not they like something; just let the artwork affect you in whatever way it will, and you’ll find whether or not you like it by the end without even having to think about it.

You don’t get any credit for wanting to like something. Of course you wanted to like it; finding some kind of pleasure in the experience of art is the reason we put ourselves in the position to experience it in the first place. But one should always realize that the possibility of disliking something is there and beyond one’s control. You can’t predict how certain pieces of art will affect you; that’s one of the really fun things about experiencing it.

Ideally, one shouldn’t go in expecting to like something. That way, one won’t be disappointed with the occassional but inevitable disliking. Of course, this is easier said than done; there’s always some reason we’re interested in a particular piece of art; there’s always some quality about it we think we have a good possibility of liking. But we can and should still manage our expectations realistically, realizing that they won’t always be fulfilled exactly as we naturally daydream them to be. (Mentioning this reminds me of my older post about goals.)

When you dislike something, the fault is yours and the creator’s. That’s OK. You don’t have to be ashamed of that. You don’t have to make excuses about how you “tried” to like it. Everyone has different tastes and backgrounds they bring to the experiences they have, and while some would like to think of their tastes as being better or more sophisticated or more real than someone else’s, there really is no basis for thinking such things. We can claim another person’s tastes are immoral if there’s something someone else likes that we think they shouldn’t on moral grounds, but this has nothing to do with sophistication or intellect (as we tend to assume it does because of observed behavorial correlations, but that’s another matter). There’s also the possibility that you won’t like something because you’re not experienced enough with the piece’s background, or what material it references, or what historical influence it had. Some academic snobs might look down on your opinions for your “misunderstandings” of such great works of genius and claim that your low opinions of the piece are invalid because you are dumb, but they’re wrong. Yes, your ignorance (and your past experiences) will affect how you respond to a piece, but how does that make your natural emotional reaction any less valid? The validity of your liking or disliking does not get to be decided by a show of hands or a scholar’s analysis. How much your liking or disliking might predict someone else’s future emotional reaction can certainly be debated (such as: “Oh, I disagree with Roger Ebert 70% of the time, so I’m not worried that he didn’t like this film I want to see…”), but not your opinion’s validity. It’s not as if your emotional reaction is somehow faked by your ignorance.

Finally, how do you actively “try” or “want” to like something while experiencing it anyway? Do you consciously ignore stuff you don’t like in hopes you won’t notice them anymore? Do you think of pretty ponies prancing through the praries in your head? Do you eat loads of candy hoping to trick yourself into thinking that the joy of devouring sugar is actually from the art you wish to like?

My main point is this: you can’t control your emotional reactions to works of art, and should therefore not be ashamed of liking or disliking something. It may be informative for you to think about what specifically you didn’t like and what you think would’ve made something better. But you never need to try to justify your response. Such justifications will be invalid anyway; nothing justifies your response other than the fact that it was truly your response. Your desire to like something is irrelevant, and it’s silly (if not just plain stupid) to mention it.

Thanks for reading this post; I hope you liked it, or at least tried to…

By S P Hannifin, ago

Hanna review

Before the ball dropped in New York City to give light to this year of 2012, I watched the film Hanna on DVD.  My comments contain spoilers, so read no further if you plan to watch Hanna and hate spoilers.

hanna

On the filmmaking side, I thought it was great.  (Of course, after sitting through the disaster that was The Adventures of Tintin, almost any movie feels like a relief to watch.)  The cinematography and editing were continuously engaging, helping us understand Hanna’s state of mind throughout.  It even had an excellent long shot of a man being surrounded by attackers and then fighting them off.  I love long shots.  The pacing was fantastic; we go from moments of exciting fights, whether they’re with fists, knives, or guns, to calm quiet meditative moments.  The use of music was quite fun.

On the story side, I thought it was a bit weaker.  Strands of the story were drawn out so much that they became thin and boring; the progression was just too slow.  Even so, it wasn’t so bad that didn’t work at all.  But it made one really fatal flaw.

The fatal flaw of the movie was, I think (and here’s the spoiler), when Eric, who we thought was Hanna’s father, reveals that Hanna was born in a research facility.  Hanna is actually the result of genetic manipulation, genetically engineered to be a skilled and ruthless killer.  Woah!  Suddenly this is a sci-fi movie?  Suddenly we must accept the possibility of such successful biotech?  It’s just too unexpected to have any emotional value.  And since the revelation was made at the climax of the movie, our acceptance of anything at that moment is pretty vital for the rest of the movie to work.  The revelation ruins it.

How would I fix it?  (It’s a question any wannabe storyteller should ask themselves when critiquing other works of fiction.)  I would start the film with Hanna already knowing everything revealed in Eric’s revelation.  That way, we (the audience) would have to accept the farfetched sci-fi genetic engineering right from the get go; we’d know that this is the sort of story where that kind of science is possible.  The rest of the story, then, would be about Hanna coming to terms with the nature of outside world with what she knows about her own nature.  Can she mix in?  Can she be “normal”?  What is “normal” anyway?  Would she really want it?  Is Hanna’s assassination plan worth the trouble?  Was the genetic engineering morally OK?  You’d have to pick a certain theme about the conflict of her nature and a normal person’s nature and stick with it, but I think it would’ve made for a much more engaging story from start to finish.  Leaving the genetic engineering to be a “surprise” just doesn’t work.

By S P Hannifin, ago

My 2011 favorites

As I said last year, I hate to compare things I love.  But for the sake of a more interesting blog post, I’m going to anyway.  In real life, I don’t really like playing favorites, because different books and movies and stuff all have their own spirit, and are ultimately incomparable.  But let’s disregard that for a few moments.

For books, the nominees are books I finished reading for the first time this year, regardless of their release date.  Movies, TV shows, and film scores must be from 2011.  (Books I only read a few chapters from are not qualified.  Also, I actually only finished reading five books this year, and only one was fiction.)

Here we go… and Happy New Year!

Year’s best live-action film:

hugo

Year’s best animated film:

kungfupanda2

Year’s best TV show:

House

Year’s best film score:

rio

Year’s best non-fiction book:

cartoons

Year’s best fiction book:

lostgate2

Best whatever else:

Best game soundtrack:

skyrim

Best podcast:

we

By S P Hannifin, ago

Tintin was awful

Here’s my terribly negative review of the recent film The Adventures of Tintin.

The_Adventures_of_Tintin_-_Secret_of_the_Unicorn

I’ve never read the comics.  And, to be honest, from the previews, I didn’t expect it to be that great.  But it was worse than I could’ve possibly imagined.

I didn’t much like the character design.  On the technical side, they were amazing.  But on the design side, they were a bit disgusting.  Realistic enough to make their cartoon-ness quite creepy. 

The acting all seemed a bit overdone; everyone was gesturing and moving their arms about and turning their heads curiously too much like awful high school actors in a school play.

The camera kept doing this constant wobble.  I guess the director was trying to make it seem more natural, more realistic, but it was just annoying.  Yes, you can make a computer camera seem natural, you’re very smart, stop it.

The worst part, though, was the dialog.  The main character, Tintin, feels the need to say all his thoughts out loud because we’re too dumb to figure anything out for ourselves.  “Now where did I put that magnifying glass?”  I don’t know, Dora, where could it be?  This goes on and on.  Shut up already!  Let me enjoy the atmosphere of this CGI world.  No, you just have to keep on telling me how curious everything is to you.

Maybe one has to be familiar with the comics for this movie, because I just didn’t care about Tintin at all.  I guess it was because Tintin himself didn’t really care about anything.  He just wanted to solve the mystery and find the hidden treasure because… oh, just because!  Character motivation?  Pfft!  Who needs that?  He was just born to go after the treasure, save for the all-is-lost moment near the end, when he gives up for the simple reason that he’s supposed to at that part of the story.  What will get him to break into act 3?  Some of the worst scriptwriting ever, of course!  “Don’t let failure stop you!”  Wow, thanks!  How encouraging and inspiring!

The humor was atrocious.  We’re meant to laugh at people getting hit on the back of the head with a plank of wood and passing out.  Hahahaha!  How innovative!  Bumbling police men.  Hahaha!  Being drunk!  Hahaha!  I never thought I’d see humor so worse than Disney Channel’s dismal laugh-tracked offerings.

The elements that I did appreciate (for the bad elements were so bad that the most I can do for the good elements is “appreciate” them) were the over-the-top action sequences, especially that magnificent one near the end when the characters are racing through the city chasing slivers of paper, all shown in one long glorious long shot like an epic level from a video game.  I can’t help but imagine how awesome the scene might have been if the story surrounding it wasn’t complete drivel.

I also appreciated the clever scene transitions, possible only with CGI.  Again, though, not enough for the quality to be considered redeeming.

Overall, it was a horrible movie.  One of the worst movies I’ve ever seen.  Just depressing.

It’ll be interesting to see whether or not they make a sequel as planned.  If Peter Jackson directs the sequel, I may give it a chance.

By S P Hannifin, ago

Yet another new animation studio

Yet another new CG animation studio will be opening in 2012, this time in Florida. It’s Tradition Studios, owned by Digital Domain, well-known in the film industry for their special effects work. Everyone’s making millions with their animated features, why not join in? Tradition Studios say they have four animated features in various stages of development, and their first feature, The Legend of Tembo, should be released in 2014.

The more animation jobs there are in the US, the better, right? Though I do fear the industry will soon become overcrowded; surely there’s some limit to this animation fever. I just hope the growth fades away gradually rather than bubbling, so a bunch of animators and artists don’t just suddenly lose their jobs with nowhere to go.

According to the article:

From animation studio tours, an outdoor movie amphitheater and soccer fields, [Digital Domain CEO] Textor said the new building is designed to draw the public in and promote its new venture of telling children’s stories. He said the concept of inviting families is vital to the company’s new mission.

“We make movies for children and like the idea of children visiting and playing at the facility,” Textor said. “It’s not only exciting for kids in the community, but it brings artists closer to their audience. They may think they’re working for me, but I like to remind them who their audience is.”

Um… OK. I think a bunch of kids playing at the facility would be more distracting than inspiring, but who knows. I guess it’s an attempt to attract tourists and stir economic growth in that area of Florida? The article says:

In 2010, the city issued $39.9 million in bonds to build the movie studio and in return, the company must hire 500 employees by 2014. Textor said it’s well on its way to reaching the goal with more than 270 hires.

Digital Domain will pay for the building through a lease with the city.

“(The community) built this studio for us,” Textor said. “We were greeted with open arms and would like this relationship to continue.”

It will be interesting to see what happens.

By S P Hannifin, ago

Stardown Bullets review

I finally finished reading the massive 957-page sci-fi book Stardown Bullets by new writer Joseph Black (who is only a few months older than me, making my lack of success at novel writing all the more bitter — OK, not really).

Overall, I think this may very well be the best science fiction book I’ve ever read.

The book takes place in the far future in which, through a few pages of expository techno-babble, a good chunk of humanity has left Earth and colonized two planets in some other solar system, one planet more naturally habitable than the other. The planets are occasionally temporarily connected through what the characters call a “star bridge” which is this gigantic weird energetic bendy tube which can phase in and out of existence depending on the location of the planets in their orbits. Again, there was some techno-babble about how this was possible — I won’t even try to sum it up — if you’re of a more scientific mind, you might be able to understand it. I just thought “yeah, whatever” and went on with the story. Anyway, due to the planets’ orbits, the star bridge can only exist for 12 days every two Earth-years. (On a side note, how the book deals with time on these alien planets is completely confusing. They use Earth years and Earth hours, but just about everything else — days, weeks, months — are different and have a bunch of confusing names, making you wish the book had an appendix or something.) Whenever the star bridge forms, people can quickly travel between the planets and send cargo back and forth. Quick as in almost-the-speed-of-light-quick. Without the bridge, travel between the planets takes several years.

The fading in and out of the star bridge has been going on for seventy-some years when the story starts with little trouble, but mysterious holes begin to open up, and cargo and travelers are sucked out into space. A team of researchers from each planet is sent to investigate, and until they can figure out what’s going on, the star bridge is closed, causing many economic and political problems for both planets.

The story mainly follows Todd Ackerman, one of the researchers. He thinks that the holes are created by humans in some kind of elaborate conspiracy which he decides to unveil. But as he digs deeper and deeper into the many layers of the organizations that run the star bridge, he discovers that things are not so simple as evil vs non-evil. I won’t give anything away, but let’s just say that most of the clues and discoveries regarding the holes seem really sinister in the first half of the book, then do a complete 180 by the end in rather surprising fashion.

What really makes the story work for me, though, is not the complicated spy-adventure, though that itself is very enjoyable. No, it’s the characterization of Todd; the author makes him surprisingly sympathetic. Even when I didn’t agree with what he was doing, I could completely understand why he was doing it, and was always hoping he would succeed. And, actually, most of the time he did exactly what I would’ve. Also, the author makes it quite clear that when Todd is in danger, even though you know he’s not going to die, there are things worse than death, and they can and do happen. So every time it felt like danger was lurking, I was truly on the edge of my seat, hoping the author wouldn’t be too mean to any members of the cast. A lot of times in movies and such you get characters who you can tell are just there to die. In this book, anyone (well, except for Todd) is under the knife. That said, no death feels random. You know what characters are risking death, and when, so it’s just a matter of reading on and finding out.

The book changes pace a lot too. Sometimes I flew through a hundred pages at break-neck speed because danger was lurking, things were being discovered, and I just had to know what would happen next. Other times, there are long info-dumps which are sometimes interesting, sometimes too techno-babbly for me. The descriptions of the fantastical sci-fi cities and how they were built to deal with the strange alien planets’ conditions I found to be very captivating and imaginative; the author definitely put a lot of thought and care into making them staggeringly different than what we see here on Earth, yet completely plausible.

By the end of it, you see that there’s a wonderful theme flowing through the story about loving your enemies, loving yourself, and not caring what anyone thinks of you. Well, it sounds cheesy written out like that, but played out in the story it works really well. And it’s pretty subtle; I expect some readers may miss it in the heat of the action sequences, and the author never lets even Todd have any extended inner-dialogues. But the themes are still there in the collection choices that Todd and the other characters make.

Again, overall, it was a fantastic read. Unfortunately it’s not part of a series or anything, but I’ll definitely be looking out for Joseph Black’s next novel. I think he’ll be one of most popular sci-fi writers in the coming decades.

By S P Hannifin, ago

Joe Murray’s Master Class in March!

As I’ve mentioned earlier on this blog, I’ve been developing a cartoon. My intent is to create a crudely animated short myself in Flash or Toon Boom. However, a few months ago, with the help of some books on cartoon development, I’ve been exploring the possibilities of developing the cartoon as a show, putting together a pitch bible, and actually pitching the idea to networks. Wouldn’t that be awesome?

Joe Murray (creator of Rocko’s Modern Life, one of my favorite cartoon shows growing up) is offering some master classes on cartoon development in 2012. I’ll be too busy finishing Animation Mentor to attend class I or II, but class III looked like it would be a major help. Getting feedback on my pitch from a pro with real experience, along with any other professional advice about the industry — who wouldn’t want that? So I registered for class III and was accepted! Woohoo! So after I finish with Animation Mentor in March, I’ll go right on to Joe Murray’s master class, and will spend that time really making my pitch-in-progress be the best I can make it. I’m very excited!

By S P Hannifin, ago