Author: terribleminds (page 6 of 457)

HEY WHO HAS TWO THUMBS AND A CASE OF COVID? *shakes little plastic baggy of two severed thumbs at you* This guy. As in me. As in I have COVID, and also this little baggy containing two severed thumbs.

This is pretty much exactly what happened to me last year on my Amsterdam – Germany – Spain trip. Came back, two days later, ta-da, COVID. As we left a whole month earlier this time I thought maaaayyyyyybe we’d get ahead of any Summer Surge, but nope, not so much. So far I’m the only jabroni in the family with this jawn, but I wouldn’t be surprised if the others catch it. I’m currently in quarantine though was able to Escape Containment long enough to come out to the shed to do this post.

So far (knock on all the wood), this case is fairly mild — a high sub-fever temperature (100F) last couple nights, a cough, some congestion, nothing that wouldn’t normally come with a proper good bad cold. No idea if it’ll show sharper teeth — COVID is a sneaky creature. (And before anyone starts in, I did mask during traveling, plane and airport, and I have no idea where I got it. If it’s a full two-day incubation, I could’ve gotten it on the last full day in Sintra, where the only person I was really close to that my family wasn’t was, I believe, the actor Wilmer Valderrama. Yes, I’m serous. I’m 99.9% sure it was TV’s Wilmer Valderrama. Fez. Handy Manny. I can tell that story later if you’re interested.)

Regardless, COVID is ass and I don’t like it, but I guess I’m glad I’m catching it now and not, say, in 2020. The landscape has dramatically changed for this virus and how we deal with it just four years later, and for that I’m pretty thankful. Anyway. Portugal!

No full trip report as yet — maybe I’ll just parcel tidbits out as I post these photos — but here, amidst the beauty and the friendliness and the glorious food and the wonderful pasteis de nata, I will take one small moment to talk a little bit of shit about Portugal, and that little bit of shit is in the department of their pastries. I have noted in fact that the egg tarts are the greatest pastry in the world, and as such, any sin committed beyond that is forgivable in the light of the glory of that singular item. That being said, I was told going there that Portugal’s pastry game was unparalleled — and at a distance it would seem as such, given how they have a wealth of pastries unique to their country. One problem, though, is that most of these pastries are a variation on the form. They are, to be sure, exceptional. A delight! But I was told time and time again, “Here, try this one, this one is [insert description here],” and then at the end, it still had… a similar taste. Maybe one was more almondy. Another would be crispier, or flakier. But they were all very much like they were borrowing from the flavor off the egg tart — I found very few pastries interested in, say, using fruit or citrus, odd in a country where both the fruit and citrus are quite good! I may have gone at the wrong time? Alas. Again, this is only a tiny bit of shit-talking, and perhaps it is merely the COVID delirium, but I did feel like the pastry game in other European countries was more on point despite the seeming wealth of variety in Portugal. And again, all is forgiven in the light of the glory of the pastel de nata.

Y’know, since we’re talking pastries and also perhaps, heresies, let’s talk the egg tart. I was told that the very best of the egg tarts is the OG of egg tarts, the only egg tart that can be called the pastel de Belem, as it is the original monk’s recipe made by Pasteis de Belem in, well, Belem. Many swore these, these were the best, the original, and everything else was a mere shadow, a petty imitator, and let me tell you —

Nope! Noooooope. Nope, nope, nope.

(YMMV as with all things.)

Now, my mouth is garbage and my palate is as unrefined as that of a trash-drunk raccoon, so nothing I say should be trusted. That being said… we ate egg tarts every day but one, ranging from grocery store tarts to airport tarts to fancy ones or ones bought at random padarias, and to me, the very best is the one you can get at Manteigaria. In fact, the Belem one was, to my mind, pretty mid? It’s too hard, not delicate and crispy, and the egg custard is way too eggy — think like, an over-egged slice of French toast or something approaching sweet scrambled eggs. Whereas the custard in Manteigaria is smooth and custardy and amazing, and the crisp crackle is — well, I did a very amateur hour ASMR of it over at Instagram if you’re so inclined.

Another thing about the egg tarts that is, to me, somewhat fascinating and perplexing is… each one, from the cheapest grocery store egg tart to the fanciest of the batch, had a final taste slash aftertaste of…

Frosted Flakes.

Not just a taste on the tongue but something that lurked in the hinge of the jaw, this very specific taste memory of Frosted Fucking Flakes. A better version, obviously. Endlessly better. But still, that taste. (And it’s not a knock, to be clear. I loved Frosted Flakes before I grew up and became a banal adult who has to care about things like fiber content.)

Anyway. The food is amazing. Even the cod. Which they love. Even though it’s not from their seas and they get a ton of great seafood from off their own shores, there’s just a historical love of bacalhau there. Not a super big fan of the cod dishes, to be clear. I’m not a huge fish guy in general, but that’s potentially because I am eating fish most times in Pennsylvania, which has — *checks notes* — no ocean. But beyond the cod, the fish was great in Portugal. I have always haaaaated mackerel and I had it there and it was like, one of the best things I’ve ever eaten. I ate a whole baby sardine (our waiter said, “You must eat the tail. And the eyes“) and it was lovely. Anyway. It’s all good. I can talk more about the food later. I should probably go lay down.

In the meantime —

Twenty more photos.

With a bonus two(-ish) more at the end.

Please to enjoy.

And now, for a couple bonus shots — actually, the same shot. First, unprocessed. Second, with some processing. The story here isn’t particularly interesting — we were at Quinta da Regaleira and my son saw someone ooohing and aaahhhing over something in this little niche, and when they left we looked and found a distant duckling. I snapped some photos and what turned out really excited me, though in retrospect, I’m sort of startled by how much even the unprocessed photo looks… weirdly glossy, like it’s AI? I promise, it’s not AI, not at all, it’s raw out of the camera. (Second shot has no AI either, just some tweaks in Lightroom. Adobe kinda sucks and I’ll eventually do the full switch to Affinity, I think, but for now, that’s where my library is until I take the effort to move it.)

Duckling one (unprocessed):

Duck two (processed):

I’ll do a more proper trip report at some point, but suffice to say: Portugal is beautiful. Labyrinthine cities brushed with a soft, uninsisting decay — turn down any street and you will be met with a place you want to stand still and remain for a time, just taking it all in. And the street art? It’s everywhere. Everywhere. All the time, around every corner, and it’s glorious.

Loved every minute of it. The people are friendly, the food is astonishing, the pasteis de nata (egg custard tarts) are something my body now craves as much as it craves oxygen, justice, and touch. It’s great. I loved it. I wanna go back immediately, but in the meantime, I’m here in America where everything is definitely going fine and not at all badly hahaha aahahaha AAAHHH

Anyway! Here are a buncha photos. I took a lot. Like, a lot a lot. About 8000, half of which I marked as favorites.

This post will not contain 4000 photos.

It will, in fact, contain only 20.

If you like ’em, I may go ahead and post more as I process them slowly but surely. (And before anyone asks, these cover four places in the country: Lagos, in the Algarve; Lisbon and Sintra; and Porto, in the north.)

Please to feast with your eyeballs.

Well, hey there — guess what? Black River Orchard is now out in paperback, with a new cover, and MORE EVIL APPLES. (Okay, it contains exactly the same number of evil apples. Sorry for the false advertising.)

Hope you feel like checking it out if you haven’t — your local indie bookstore is, as always, the prime location for you to find it. Or ask your local library, because libraries are good and wonderful.

Suburban folk horror, baby! It puts the cult in agricultural.

Check it out now! If you want a signed copy (and if I still have some I’ll throw in a Natalie Metzger evil apple sticker and an evil apple variety all for you), order from Doylestown Bookshop, and they’ll ship directly to you. Otherwise, options include: Bookshop.org, B&N, Amazon, or this full-list of bookmonger sources at Penguin Random House.

And obviously, if you’re so inclined — please talk about the book. Leave reviews, chat it up on social media, wander up to random passersby and yell about it while pressing an apple into their hands. You know, the usual.

(Also out in paperback in the UK tomorrow!)

LOVE YOU BYE

One day last summer I picked up my daughter from camp. We have a rule: she can’t use swear words at school, or around other people. But if we’re alone, she can. I figure this’ll make them less taboo and give her an outlet.

That day in camp, she made a foam princess crown—pink and covered in gems and sparkles. As we were driving home, she asked, “Wouldn’t it be funny if I put on this crown and said a bad word?”

For context, my daughter is 9. She was 8 then, but regardless, she looks and sounds like a tiny little woodland elf.

Being a good dad, I said, “Of course it would be funny.”

And I watched in the rear-view mirror as he slowly put the crown on, smiled, and emphatically said: “Fuck!”

I lost my shit laughing, glad to be at a red light and not actively driving, because I might have crashed the car.

Flash forward to last January, where I teach in the MFA program at Seton Hill University. I was leading a workshop, and one of the students was reading his story to us. It was a banger. Very cool mechs-fighting-monsters business, and a solid start to a book.

I make the students read their stories out loud before we jump into the critique. They tend to hate this, but it’s important to hear the ebb and flow, and it exercises that performance muscle they’ll need to develop.

He used the word ‘fuck’ 12 times in the space of ten pages. I clocked the frequency, but so did he—shuffling a little at each subsequent f-bomb. When the story was over, I said we needed to talk about language, and he nodded before I even finished making the point.

“You’re giving too many fucks,” I told him.

I said he could keep one—one in particular—and asked him if he knew which one I meant. He flipped through the pages, a little unsure. And I told him it was the one that got the hardest laugh from the other students. It was in a dialogue exchange, and it was fun and fast and punchy and it landed.

The rest had to go.

I mean, they didn’t have to go. It was his story. But the thing about profanity is, you have to wield it like a fine-edged blade. Sharp and precise. When every other word is ‘fuck,’ it’s going to lose power and feel gratuitous.

If you hold them in reserve, you can make them land like tactical nukes.

That’s why my daughter’s ‘fuck’ hit so hard. It was unexpected, the context was perfect, and it was delivered with a forbidden glee.

That’s something I was mindful of while writing Assassins Anonymous. I do love a good swear. The Paradox Hotel has 51 uses of the word fuck, including the main character asking, “What in the Cincinnati fuck is this?” I’m proud of that one, because it’s ridiculous and means nothing, but I think the assonance of it is fantastic.

With Assassins, I made a conscious effort to de-fuck the manuscript. There were 30 when I sat down to edit, and I whittled it down to six, in part because I don’t want to rely too much on profanity.

But also, I wondered if it would do anything to placate those readers who will leave one- and two-star reviews over language (violence and sex are okay, but four-letter words are the true signifiers of moral degradation, apparently).

And you know what?

I think those six fucks land much, much harder.

That might make them stand out and offend the pearl-clutchers even more. But I’ll take that as a win, too. There’s no pleasing some people.

All that said, I’m not telling you not to swear. I’m certainly not telling Chuck Wendig not to swear, in his own goddamn house no less, because that man uses curse words like Salt Bae seasons steaks. In fact, he wrote a fantastic post in favor of swearing that’s worth reading to get the other side of this.

But it doesn’t hurt to try something new. Cause, you know, fuck it, why not?

Assassins Anonymous: Bookshop.org | Amazon | B&N

The tl;dr is I saw Furiosa, it was good! I liked it! It was also not amazing, and I think it fell way short of Fury Road (to be fair, nearly everything falls short of Fury Road) — and so I have myself asking, what about it falls short? As a storyteller, I can be pretty hyperactive with dissecting narrative even as it appears before me — my brain turns into ants picking apart the body of a struggling beetle, rendering it into its separate bits even before it’s dead, just to see what makes up this strange bug in front of me.

A really great story will lose me in it, bypassing my scrutiny — Fury Road, for instance, was like a snap to the medullah, just boom, delivery of pure delight. And Furiosa did not do that. And so I’m left asking why that is.

And in that there are some basic things I could say, right? It’s a bit long. Draggy at about the 30% mark for me. A bit overstuffed with plot in some places, and utterly hasty with plot in others. A lack of great side characters. It also suffers from what I call The Prequel Dilemma, which is not a Robert Ludlum novel, but rather, this (quoted from an earlier post) —

“Prequels represent a tricky conundrum because a story should have everything it needs to be understood in its first iteration. Right? From start to finish, the audience needs all the salient details to parse the plot and more importantly, the emotional throughline. So, to prequelize anything either means you’re going over redundant information or you’re leaving required material out of the prime narrative so that it can be told later. Neither are super-delicious choices. If you go over redundant information you run the risk of being bored, or actually changing the story (think of stepping on a narrative butterfly in the narrative past which then retroactively changes the future, like how Darth Vader’s redemption is very seriously complicated by Anakin’s choice to kill children and physically abuse the pregnant mother of his future Jedi-babbies). And if you’re leaving required information out, now you’re just doing the equivalent of offering paid DLC to complete a game someone paid full price to play in the belief it was, well, complete already. Which can be frustrating for the audience.”

Prequels are telling a story locked in fate — you have a known narrative terminus, a carved constant spoiler warning, and the best you can do is build up to that. You’re just lining up data points. Furiosa definitely falls into this: we know who she is, where she comes from, why she wants to go back, already. And the film doesn’t expand on that very much, except maybe on the notion that in Fury Road she talks about wanting redemption — though, I also don’t know that Furiosa convinced me she was in need of it? Mostly, the new film just… lines up the backstory we already knew and pads it out with PLOT STUFF and WORLDBUILDING BEATS, never challenging our understanding of the character very much.

Then there’s also some janky, I dunno, CGI? The effects are mostly solid, but do feel a bit behind Fury Road, and there are a few shots where it looks like you can tell it’ was made with… I don’t think it’s green-screen, per se, but maybe that new tech they pioneered for The Mandalorian? Which I think is both really cool and also ends up limiting your shots in a way where it’s getting overused and obvious, if that makes sense?

Anyway, these are all just… review points, and again, I really want to understand the fiddlier bits, ostensibly for my own understanding of how stories work. And ultimately what I come away with is–

I’m left thinking about stakes.

Er, not the thing you use to dispatch vampires or put up tents.

I mean, the storytelling component.

To define our terms a bit, I’d define stakes as what can be won or lost in a story. And I know ‘won or lost’ are loaded, gameified terms here, but I think they’re appropriate — there is, in a good story, a narrative wager. We know that there’s something on the table for the characters, right? They have a problem. They want something. They need something. They fear something. The story has put one or likely many obstacles in the way of them achieving their goals, often with difficult or impossible choices, and these goals, these choices, line up our stakes quite neatly. The stakes represent a question: what will be gained, and what will be lost, in dealing with this problem, in characters pursuing their goals? The story is there to play it all out.

In Fury Road, we understand the stakes, particularly for Furiosa and the women she is freeing from Immortan Joe’s citadel harem. Survival. Escape. Freedom. And the promise of a better place to go. (For Max it’s less clear, but still writ: the stakes for him are survival, at first, but eventually, redemption. I argue here in an older post that Max is the main character, but Furiosa is the protagonist of that first film of theirs.) The stakes are why the characters care, and then, by proxy, why we care, as well. In more mythic modes of storytelling, we want the heroes to get what they want and the villains to get what they deserve. In less mythic modes, we might be less emotionally settled on what we want, given moral or social complications — but we still know what’s on the table when the stakes are clear. Doubly so when they are simple — less “taxation of trade routes” and more “free the princess.” Simple works: love, hate, revenge, greed, whatever.

I think Furiosa has a problem with its stakes.

And herein, we’re going to get a little spoilerish.

So, be advised.

SPOILER SPACE

SPOILER SPACE

SPOILER SPACE

STOP NOW LEST YE FALL OFF THE WORLD AND INTO SPOILERS

I think this ‘problem with the story’s stakes’ is embodied best by the scene where the war rig is churning along, piloted by a guy who has barely been introduced. (The other Praetorian — I think his name is Jack? I am honestly not sure. I liked him! But he’s just sort of, boop, there he is, new guy, and now he’s important I guess?) And then the rig is attacked by what I think were fragments of Dementus’ biker gang (again, more unclear shit). Some of them, from the sky! In that scene, we eventually see that Furiosa is… present. Why she’s present, I’m not sure? I think she’s maybe planning on stealing the rig? Or escaping in general? Again, very unclear. Either way, the scene is exciting, well-shot, with some real clever shit going on, but I didn’t really know why it was happening, or more to the point, why we were seeing it.

Like, in Fury Road, we have scenes where… similar-ish desert randos attack the rig, but the stakes are established that the rig has to escape, and it has left the path, having gone rogue. It is vital that they make it through and that the desert motorbike randos don’t take the rig down. In Furiosa, this similar scene is just… I think the rig going back and forth from the Citadel to Gastown. Right? It’s a routine run, run by the routine praetorian, and Furiosa is present for Reasons Unclear. The stakes are muddy. Is she trying to escape? Is she trying to take the rig or get off of it? Is she looking to get revenge against Dementus? The stakes for Jack are just he’s trying to do Immortan Joe’s business, which, okay, fine, but who cares? Immortan Joe is a creepy rapist cult leader, we’re not super into supporting his motivations, and further, his motivations in this scene seem to just be “deliver food, get gas, don’t die.” It’s a day on the job, which represent low stakes for us, the viewer. Then the stakes get muddier because Furiosa… doesn’t escape, doesn’t take over the war rig, and just settles into… a job? So, a scene that should feel vital and exciting just felt kind of confusing.

(A later scene that takes place at the Bullet Farm, where Jack and Furiosa are separated, works much better, because we’ve bought into the stakes — however specious it started — of their relationship. There, the action transcends action — which is really the point of action sequences. Too many films treat them like a reward in and of themselves but they are not. The action that takes place must represent the battle over the stakes. It’s also why I’d argue that the John Wick films get weaker and weaker with every iteration — the first film, the stakes are fucking crystalline in their clarity. But then every other movie pushes the stakes further and further out in favor of longer and longer scenes of relentless, video-game-level gunplay.)

The stakes in Furiosa are unclear in the long run — the only stakes we absolutely know are on the table is that she wants to get back home, that she’ll do anything to get back to the green place, but then, she mostly doesn’t try? There are opportunities she doesn’t take, and though we might assume she chooses not to take them in order to get revenge, she also doesn’t seem driven to get revenge against Dementus until the very end of the film. (And he meets a fascinatingly brutal end, though one that only comes after quite a lot of talking.) We can guess at the stakes and interpret some things, and that’s okay, and can work — but here the more we have to guess, the weaker the stakes become, and the weaker the stakes become, the less we (meaning, me, to be clear) care about what’s happening on-screen.

If the stakes are crystalline, many narrative sins can be forgotten.

When the stakes are unclear, we are at persistent risk of… let’s call it detaching emotionally from the story in front of us. We uncouple from it, like two train cars, one speeding ahead, one drifting behind.

Even the simplest of stakes — we do not want this character to die — are fucked by the story being a prequel. We know she doesn’t die. We know she loses an arm, and so we await that data point in the narrative, but we know she lives because… she’s in the next fucking movie, bro. We don’t know Jack will bite it, but we also know he’s not around anymore, so we can make a guess. Immortan Joe? In the next film. Dementus? Not in the next film. So for us, the stakes are mostly, “okay, how do the things we already know line up and occur,” and they happen in ways that are mostly expected. And even for the side characters, we can guess at their journey’s end pretty easily.

As a storyteller, the best thing you can do is know the stakes on the table — the bigger story stakes for the world at large, yes, but most importantly, the individual stakes for each character in that world. Know them, then communicate them however you must to your reader-slash-audience. You can get away with pretty much anything if we a) enjoy hanging out with the characters and b) know what’s on the table to be won or lost for them.

(Note here when I say “enjoy hanging out with,” that’s not the same as “like.” We don’t like Tony Soprano, per se, but we kinda enjoy hanging out with him, yeah? We want to live with him to see what happens.)

So, that’s it.

Zero in on the stakes.

What matters to these characters, and how can the story put that all in peril?

And also holy shit let’s stop making prequels, can we? Imagine if this film had taken Furiosa’s story forward, instead of backward? Holy shit, at the end of Fury Road she took over the citadel. Insert Dementus into that situation — hell, you could even make it so she knows him and he is, in fact, the one who killed her mother — and now she’s got this Human Chaos Bomb Wasteland Surfer Cult Leader Fucko to contend with, trying to figure out how to counter him before he blows up the stability she only just managed to secure?

Ah well. ANYWAY THAT’S IT, THAT’S THE POST. Nothing I say here should be construed as gospel truth, and all of it should be taken with a shotgun blast of rock salt. These are merely my opinions, and they may be foolish.

Okay! Love you! Bye!

(and p.s. there is certainly a larger discussion of Why The Box Office Is Weak Tea These Days, but that’s for a whole other post)

(p.p.s. buy my books or I die, and if you like writing books, Damn Fine Story or Gentle Writing Advice might tickle your glands)