Author: terribleminds (page 66 of 457)

WORDMONKEY

January 13, 2020

Why Am I Voting For Elizabeth Warren?

In the Democratic primary, and ideally in the general, I’m voting for Elizabeth Warren for president. And I thought it a good idea to articulate why.

Now, before I start, let’s be clear about something — we’d be lucky to have any of the current Democratic nominees break ahead and trounce the current sack-o-crap that occupies the White House, okay? I don’t hate any of the candidates. This go-around we were blessed with a slate of frontrunners who honestly formed the dream-team of the people you wished would run. And we had a number of candidates that were unexpected, too, like Castro or Buttigieg.

(Then we also have Gabbard, Marianne, and the gaggle of billionaires, but the less said about all of them, the better.)

So, let’s just say it up-front, we are lucky that we have honestly strong contenders out there. Further, let it be said that my thesis on an election in this case is: vote your heart in the primary, your conscience in the general. Put more plainly, vote for whoever you wanna vote for in the primary, because now is not a time for “unity” — it’s a time for candidates to challenge each other and for those challenging and challenged ideas to percolate to the top, or sink to the bottom. And then when the general election comes, you line up behind whoever gets that nomination. Because the alternative is considerably worse. No third parties. No abstained votes. Cheerlead the candidate, whoever they may be, whether with bright enthusiasm, or gritted teeth.

Let’s also articulate that none of these people are celebrities, either. I don’t find it useful to form a cult around them, to think they’re somehow impervious to criticism or Perfect Golden Beings and how dare you commit heresy against them. They’re people, and further, they’re people who are seeking the highest office in the land. They are each, at this stage, relatively savvy political operators, not heroes. We are best when we treat them as they are, not as some choose to idealize them.

That said —

Why Elizabeth Warren?

Well, first, I gotta admit, a portion of this is emotional. For the last four years, maybe longer, I’ve wished she would run. I like her. I think she dances on that line, demonstrating both a kind of folksy charisma and an intellectual prowess. I listen to her and I find her inspirational. Which, much as I’m loathe to admit it, is really damn useful — possessing some of that Obama vision and narrative vigor is going to be useful because we’re better off aiming for someone who is themselves aiming big, not someone who is content to maintain a status quo. Status quo is how we got here. Being unwilling to challenge the big problems of our age with big solutions is how we got here. Which leads me to —

She has vision, but she also has plans. They’re not simply big promises handwaved away with vague gesticulations — she’s got details, she’s got receipts, and a lot of them hold up to scrutiny. It’s a bit nerdy, but have you been to her website? Under the plans section (not issues, but plans) you’ll find you can search for any keyword or issue, and you’ll see what comes up. And you click into any of those issues, you’ll find a comprehensive discussion of the problem, the broad strokes, and the plan. (I grabbed several of these and they generally ran about 5000-8000 words long.) She’s strong on women’s issues, on disability rights, and despite her missteps in this arena, actually has a plan regarding sovereignty of tribal nations. (Note that it’s not my job or my place to absolve her of those mis-steps.) She has strong endorsements: Katie Porter, Julian Castro, Ayanna Pressley.

And at the end of the day, Warren is a teacher. Both literally and metaphorically. And she’s fought for the rights of the consumer, the citizen, and has billionaires scared of her. Further, I think it’s time for a woman president.

Also… I like her? That seems foolishly simplistic, but I do. I like her. As a metric, I can’t speak to how much that matters, but for me, there’s just a vibe; I truly think she’d be a great president. I enjoy listening to her. I feel inspired by her. With big ideas and a commitment to working with others to get it done, because at the end of the day, you can’t do this alone. A president is just a part. They’re not royalty or even kingmakers, they’re part of a fabric —

A big square in the quilt, but part of the quilt just the same.

The Inevitable Versus

Sanders vs. Warren. That conversation is hard to avoid.

And it’s hard to avoid because… they’re really, really similar. I think out of all their votes, they only diverged 7% of the time. They’re friends. They both take aim at the same systems. And if we get either one of them as president, we’re going to be a lucky country.

So, why (for me) Warren over Sanders?

It comes down to mostly a handful of things. Some of them, splitting hairs.

If you compare them at GovTrack for 2018 (Warren here, Sanders here), you’ll find that Warren does better at passing legislation and finding support (or providing that support). And in 2018, Sanders has a low “leadership” score in the Senate. Of course, that’s just for 2018 — and leadership is not so easily codified. Certainly Sanders’ took the lead on something like Medicare 4 All, and honestly, the only reason we’re really even talking about it is because of Sanders. In a broader sense, his leadership is off-the-charts and not to be so easily discounted. He is, in a sense both figuratively and literally, a revolutionary. (So, I’d argue, is Trump.)

At the same time, we currently exist in a country whose systems are relatively intact, and I feel like Warren has more the ability to pull together a coalition — not least of all because she actually belongs to the political party in question. She’s a Democrat in more than name and convenience. Which is either a feature or a bug depending on your perspective here — certainly some will view Sanders’ dismissiveness toward the party to be both earned and just, and I can’t argue with that. I get it. For me, though, Warren is working in a framework, and assuming that this framework will still exist, I want someone who knows how to do that work and who can operate deftly within it. (I don’t mean purely legislative — Sanders obviously is capable. I mean specifically the framework of the Democratic party, for its good and ill.)

Warren supports reparations. She supports ending the filibuster. (I am surprised that Sanders does not; given his revolutionary vigor, it feels like an easy bet, and the only bet, to help enact his considerable vision.) I feel she’s better (meaning, either stronger and/or more detailed) with social issues — meaning racial, LGBT, indigenous, disability. I have in the past not been a fan of Sanders’ approach to guns — and the NRA’s occasional support of him is worth raising your eyebrows.

I think Sanders has made some questionable endorsements and hiring decisions. Campaigning for anti-abortion candidates is not ideal. He’s made some enngghhh statements about identity politics and Trump voters and racism. He’s evolved on those points, to be clear, though is it enough?

He’s older, and has recently suffered a heart attack. He’s 78, would be 79 upon entering the White House — and the average lifespan of the American male is 78. (It’s fair to note Sanders would have access to the best healthcare, thus extending that theoretical lifespan.) Just the same, were he re-elected to a second term, he’d be 83. Though also just the same, someone like RBG keeps defying the odds and kicking ass for justice, so who knows?

The “Bernie Bros” thing is… well, it’s a thing. It doesn’t take much to get mobbed on Twitter by people with Bernie avatars and headers who freely use alt-right memes and insults — cuck and simp and NPC and all that. At the same time, I never know how much blame to put on the candidate for that. It’d be great if he repudiated it, but every candidate has its cult, I suppose. And though some of these people appear to be very real, certainly some must be bots or sock-puppets. Still, there is a suggestion of a pattern where toxic things happen in support of Sanders but Sanders never seems to claim control over it, but also never really disavows it?

There’s the argument that Sanders is stronger on healthcare, being the primary proponent for M4A. But I’ve family who works in or who has worked in the healthcare industry, and it is not an industry ready for an immediate leap for M4A — even if the politics lined up to get that done (and it doesn’t), I feel like Warren’s measured, detail-driven walk to M4A is smarter, savvier, and more realistic. As a nation, we are not a jet-ski — we’re a luxury yacht, and big boats like us do not turn easily or swiftly.

For me, Warren is a better, more nuanced candidate. There’s a careful balance between having vision and being able to execute it. I think Warren meets that the most.

As said, the billionaires seem scared of her. And I like that, too. I like that a lot of her proposals are to regulate the hell out of companies that are actively harming us. I like her green policies — climate change is a force multiplier and will theoretically dismantle civilization, so it kinda fuckin’ matters. I think she can speak to all strata of our country.

So she has my vote. But again: we’re not talking apple and oranges. We’re talking two kinds of apples. And I really like apples, even if I prefer one over another.

Biden Your Time, Etc.

I hope you don’t vote for Joe Biden.

I like Joe Biden.

He’s less Uncle Joe now, and more Grampy Joe, but I think he’s a good man who means well.

I also think his time has come and gone and he should’ve kept to his place in history as being fondly remembered as America’s No-Malarky-Havin’ VP.

I think that he’s very good at tripping up at the finish line, as has been evidenced by his other attempts at becoming president. I think he’s got a wagon train of baggage behind him, and I think it will be used against him at every step. As much as I dinged Sanders for his age above, I think Biden is really showing it. I think he’s not counterprogramming to Trump but rather, just a diet version, and at the end of the day, Trump is a meaner predator. Trump will shiv him in the prison yard. Biden will demand an old-timey pugilist contest even as he’s being shanked. I don’t think he has much vision, or much to contribute to the current climate. I think he’s from an older world, and it’s time to adapt.

If he gets the nomination, I hope I’m wrong. And I will certainly, certainly vote for him. Enthusiastically, with bells on, with a donation ready to go. But I fear he doesn’t quite have it.

And as for Buttigieg — I liked him a lot more when he started than where he’s gone. I’m sad about that. Of course he has my vote if he wins the nomination. But he decided to position himself in the wrong place, and has shown a proclivity to compromise in all the wrong ways to get it done.

Booker, I like a lot, wish he’d be doing better. He should be doing better. Not sure why he isn’t. Klobuchar has some strong points, but little vision for me. I miss Harris and Castro already. I hope Castro ends up as Warren’s VP. I hope Tulsi Gabbard walks into the sea. I hope the two billionaires quit, but keep throwing their money behind getting rid of Trump.

The end.

As With All Things, YMMV

Your Mileage May Vary when coming to these candidates. Warren is not a perfect candidate — she is, however, the candidate for me. Who you vote for is on you, and that’s how this is supposed to work. Obviously, I want you to vote for Warren. I believe Warren is the one who gets this done, and I hope you’ll agree with me. But this isn’t math. I’m not an oracle. We all have to make the same strategic and emotional calculus. Whoever wins, I hope you’ll vote for them in the general election of 2020. And this isn’t just about beating Trump. It is about pushing back against the whole GOP party, and about shoring up our system so that it can defend against the kind of corruption that is multiplying right now like hungry termites chewing at the tree of our democracy. Trump is not the disease — he’s just the ugliest symptom of it.

Fingers crossed we figure out a vigorous immune response before it’s too late.

Check your voter registration, and vote like hell in 2020.

Comments closed, because ahahaha c’mon.

January 9, 2020 / 49 Comments

Old Man Blogs At Cloud

*clears throat, steps up to the podium, taps microphone*

We should all get back to blogging. Listen, I know. I know. It’s blogging. It’s old. It’s telegrams and buggy whips. I get it, I feel you, you’re probably not wrong, but here is a counterpoint:

Our choices for social media are occasionally hellish, and are arguably helping to hasten our collective destruction. Don’t get it twisted, social media also helps us become more informed and entertained — mis/disinformation spreads like norovirus, but good information moves fast, too. I just don’t know which one moves faster, and that’s a grim race I can hardly bear to consider. Point is, though, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, they’re a place you go — like a bar, it’s frequently fun, occasionally interesting, often loud and deranged and usually full of one corner of belligerent drunken assholes who won’t leave you alone. (Unlike a bar, it’s also full of sock puppets and bots. So I guess it’s like a weird sci-fi muppet bar staffed by droids? Fuck, I don’t know, I think I’m losing the thread of the conversation here.)

What I mean is —

Those social media sites are external.

They aren’t yours.

Maybe collectively they can be ours, if we claim them, but just the same: we lack actual ownership. But you need a place to call your own. A place to which you can escape. A place to call home.

And so I present to you —

*wheels out rickety-ass cart with squeaky wheels*

*whips off the blanket covering it*

*inside is a janky old pile of blog*

BLOGS

ta-da

*does a clumsy pirouette*

Remember those? Remember this place, right here, the one you’re reading? Holy shit, it’s a blog*! Did you even realize you were witnessing such rara avis as a gods-danged blog? That’s right, it’s a “weblog” or “web journal” — not quite as antiquated as a dial-up BBS (and you bet your sweet ass I’d go back to SysOpping one of those if I could), yet still feels like a relic of a bygone era. Most hot takes are done on Twitter. Most cold takes are done on Facebook. Instagram is where you see the pretty pictures. Mastodon is where you go for 10 minutes when you’re fed up with Twitter, then you go back to Twitter because now you remember why you don’t go to Mastodon. Livejournal is where you to go buy Russian dick pills, I think? I dunno. Point is, blogs feel like raggedy junk piles — crashed star destroyers and X-Wings in the Jakku graveyard. Even the name sound awful. BLOOOOG. BLAAAAAHG. BLOOORRRRG. It’s onomatopoeiac: a regurgitative sound, the sound of a dog horking up whatever weird yard garbage it ate.

Here is why we should all get back to writing and reading blogs again:

a) Because Fuck Twitter And Facebook

I mean, c’mon.

b) Because We Need Our Attention Spans Back

Remember being able to read something that took you more than two, three minutes to consume? Not just one glib tweet, not just an article you reshare because you peeped the headline and that’s probably good enough, not some SASSY MEME or ANIMATORTED GIF FILE. Wasn’t that fun? Not having the attention span of a high-anxiety, cocaine-sniffing chipmunk?

c) Because Nuance Is Good, Actually

You can’t build complex flavors on Twitter. It’s social Doritos, man. Delicious. Tasty crunch. Fast to consume. You can’t layer in complexity, though — it’s pretty much just a nacho cheese salt bomb in terms of content. You want nuance, you need more than 240 characters. Yes, Twitter has threading, and I like threads, but it’s still a string of popcorn more than it is a proper meal.

d) Because You Own It

It’s nice to own your stuff. You don’t really own your content on other sites. Okay, yes, technically you kinda do — but trust me when I tell you, the government has ruled that those sites own your shit. Why? So they can petition those places for your info. Twitter doesn’t claim to, or want to, own your shit, but the government says they do anyway, which creates a somewhat sticky situation, legally-speaking. As a person who has literally had tweets turned into a movie, lemme just say: this complicates things. So, as a writer, I note to other writers especially: owning your space, having an Online Place to call your own, is actually pretty great.

e) Because You Control It

I moderate this space. It is not a troll bridge. I control what I say here and who can say what in return. Now, true, Twitter looks to be instituting more robust controls for content posters, which is actually a positive by my metric. So, yay. Just the same, I can institute control over how the information is seen, dispensed, and commented upon without being at the mercy of any kind of giant company, especially one that seems to care very little about the presence of Nazis and a whole lot about the hurt feelings of Nazis. Also, one mis-step on Twitter or one mob campaign can get you suspended or banned outright, losing access to your entire bank of content and access to all your earned friends/followers.

f) Because People Quit Other Social Media Platforms Like They’re Bad Habits

It’s a constant refrain of people saying, “I gotta get off of [insert social media platform here] because it’s bad for me, bad for the world,” whatever. But nobody ever quits blogs. It’s like quitting vegetables. They’re just good for you. Probably. Maybe. Shut up and eat your WORD CABBAGE, jerks.

g) Because It Is Good Writing Practice

This one is for writers expressly, but it’s actually a really good place to churn words and develop a voice, a habit, a feel for language. Twitter is good for jokes, but not long-form content, and most of what writers will actually get paid for is longform content. Not a bad place to cut your teeth. And what the fuck does that mean, anyway? “Cut your teeth.” How would you even cut a tooth, anyway? Scroll saw? Laser torch? Don’t cut teeth, you barbarian. Your teeth are fine the way they are.

h) Because Blogs Can Also Be Newsletters

Newsletters are a new niche hotness, but you can have it both ways: this blog, if you subscribe, becomes a newsletter. Comes right to your email. Oooh. Fancy. High-tech. Mmm.

Of course, blogs have some downsides, too.

You don’t get an instantaneous response, for one. I tweet something and it’s chum in the water — it’s snappy, responsive, lickety-quick. Sometimes you write a blog and… maybe it sits a while. You’ve gone fishing and best put on your PATIENCE PANTS. It’s also not as sexy as Twitter — it’s still the hottest club in town, which means all the COOL PEOPLE are there, even though also all the AWFUL PEOPLE are there, too. For writers, this can feel like there’s less influence in blogs, but it’s also worth noting that publishers, agents and freelance clients might actually want to see some of your work on display. And though I’ve certainly gotten a lot of work over Twitter (Star Wars, the movie, theoretically a portion of my publishing career in general), the blog has long-formed the foundation of my so-called “platform.” (Hate that term, but when I say it, you know what I mean.)

It’s also, if done right, costly — compared to, say, free social media. Which means what I’m suggesting is a privileged option for many. There are of course free ways to go bloggy or do newsletters, just make sure you own what you put up, and be aware what happens if the service shits the bed on you. I own this blog, its domain, and I pay for the hosting (which is not cheap, regrettably), but I know what goes here is mine. I back it all up, and keep it going, and it’s all mine, miiiine, MIIIIIINE MOO HOO HA HA HA ahem. But I’m also trying to justify that by now convincing you all that blogs are a really good idea, and not at all antiquated, but please ignore the selfishness of my request and hie thee hence to the blog factory.

Blogs: they’re not just for breakfast anymore.

Or something.

Anyway, let’s blog. Let’s blog together! Or at least come read my stupid blog, which will continue on being what it will be in the year 2020 — I’m gonna try to get back here and write more longform content. Hope you’ll join me. Feel free to subscribe. And if you want to help pay for it, then buy my books, like Wanderers, which I hear is maybe good? Books: they’re like blogs, but older and longer!

(If you want a good example lately of blogging working for an author, look no further than this very hilarious blog post about designer dogs by author Janel Comeau. I don’t think it’d work in Twitter format, honestly. But now I know who she is! Yay, blogs.)

* for an additional “holy shit,” recognize that I started this very blog in October of the YEAR TWO THOUSAND, which is to say, in nine months this fucker will damn near be old enough to drink, which really does mean I’m old, doesn’t it? fuuuuuuuuck

* * *

WANDERERS: A Novel, out now.

A decadent rock star. A deeply religious radio host. A disgraced scientist. And a teenage girl who may be the world’s last hope. An astonishing tapestry of humanity that Harlan Coben calls “a suspenseful, twisty, satisfying, surprising, thought-provoking epic.”

A sleepwalking phenomenon awakens terror and violence in America. The real danger may not be the epidemic, but the fear of it. With society collapsing—and an ultraviolent militia threatening to exterminate them—the fate of the sleepwalkers and the shepherds who guide them depends on unraveling the mystery behind the epidemic. The terrifying secret will either tear the nation apart—or bring the survivors together to remake a shattered world.

Audio: Audible | Libro.FM

January 8, 2020 / 26 Comments

If I Were Making The Sequel Trilogy (Part One: The Force Awakens)

As both a licensed Star Wars nerd and an unlicensed Story Doctor, I am somewhat fascinated with the question of, “What would I have done differently?” Now that the sequel trilogy (heretofore referred to as “the ST”) is over, I’m driven specifically to that span of films — what would I do if I magically got control of making these three movies from the beginning?

Let’s first and foremost note that I don’t mean, “What would I do to fix them?” because I don’t consider them broken. I like the ST movies a whole damn bunch, and do not consider the trilogy broken. But as a person who writes books for a living, I also recognize that we as storytellers put our own heart stamp on the tales we tell (at least, if we’re telling them right and true), and so I wonder then what would my version of the ST look like?

Why me? Well, I’m a jabroni with a blog, and I am allowed to just say stuff here. But I’m also a jabroni who has — and here you’ll need to excuse the not-so-humble flex — written a whole damn Star Wars trilogy himself, and there aren’t a lot of people who have done that. And I wrote the Marvel adaptation of the film, so I mean, I’m uniquely qualified.*

*not actually qualified, just a nerd

So, fuck it, let’s do this.

Mission Statement, and Caveats

Let’s start off with a massive lack of bravery (and work) on my part and say, I like the ST in its current iteration enough that, honestly, I’d keep most of it. Rey, Finn and Poe are my godsdamn favorites, and I wouldn’t ever want to lose them. They are a darling basket of warm cinnamon buns and don’t you dare touch them. Same with Kylo! And Rose! So, the goal is to keep the relative framework of these films, but see where I’d diverge. If we’re talking about creating a whole new sequel trilogy out of thin air — well, I’d need to get a paycheck for that kind of intellectual heavy lifting. *clears throat*

Final caveat here is that, and I hate I have to say this, but *turns on megaphone* THIS IS ALL JUST ONE JABRONI’S OPINION, I HAVE NO CONTROL OVER RETCONNING THIS FILM, YOU DON’T HAVE TO BE MAD AT ME.

I’m not trying to rile anybody up, ease off the throttle.

So, let’s take this film by film, see what I’d keep, tweak, and where we diverge.

We begin with:

The Force Awakens

I totally love this movie. Unironically, unabashedly, I love it. It’s both a love letter to Star Wars and also an endeavor to use a familiar formula in a new way (that also helps re-center characters who are not, for instance, handsome white boys, Kylo excepted). It’s great. Like Return of the Jedi, I can re-watch this movie endlessly, and just not care about whatever is wrong with it. But, just the same, I have changes, because I am a Star Wars fan, and Star Wars fans have Star Wars opinions.

Here’s what I’d change:

It’s too fast, so I’d expand the timeline out a little.

I’ll write a longer, larger post at some point about how modern blockbusters have forsaken breathing room in their narrative for breathless plotting — and TFA falls right into that trap. Outside of Rey’s one instance of getting some sleep, the movie feels like it takes place in the span of its own running time, like an episode of 24, but in space. It feels hasty as shit. (A problem that tROS accelerates, especially in the first half of its running time.)

Why is this? I dunno. I think filmmakers feel like this will create urgency, but all it does it become a rhythmless din of noise and event. It used to be that, because resources were limited and CGI didn’t exist, you had to do a lot with a little. Which meant every scene couldn’t be WHIZ BANG BOOM, you had to… you know, actually have characters just sit around somewhere and talk. Like in Jaws, sometimes the shark breaks, and you learn that less is definitely more.

It offers the added value of letting us get to know the characters. And they’re why we come to the movies. We want to know who they are. We want to see them play off one another. We want to deepen our relationship with them as they deepen their relationships with one another. Just throwing automatons into danger again and again isn’t exciting, because we don’t give one cold fuck about a bunch of automatons. I’m not suggesting this film has that exact problem — it gives us reason to care enough. But it also shortcuts that journey a little.

So, here’s what we (read: I) do.

Halfway through the film. Finn has “rescued” Rey by which I mean, Rey has mostly rescued Finn. First Order attack. “The garbage will do!”

Finn and Rey steal the Falcon. They blast their way free, through the Ravager —

But from there they don’t go right into space. They hunker down somewhere on Jakku — somewhere Rey thinks is safe. Hiding from First Order patrols whizzing overhead, etc. The hunters are closing in. They know their time is dwindling. They’ll get found. But they can’t just escape, either. Remember: there’s supposed to be a goddamn blockade, but somehow in the film it gets relegated to like, one star destroyer? And despite them being in a known ship when they leave Jakku — literally nobody from the First Order is there in space waiting for them.

So, they stay on Jakku.

And that’s when Solo and Chewie track them there.

This is gonna cut the Rathtar business — it’s a fun scene, and I’m loathe to cut a franchise-appropriate creature scene (see: trash compactor, space worm, rancor), but it just doesn’t feel essential. Yes, the Rathtar bullshit gives us the sense that Solo is still a smuggler, back to his old ways, but there’s another way we can earn that.

Solo and Chewie show up and say, hey, yeah, we’re stealing the Falcon back. Finn and Rey decide to go with (because they gotta escape the First Order and also, c’mon, it’s Han Motherfucking Solo), but that still means escaping a First Order blockade. One of Solo’s great skills is blockade running, so let’s see it — a return to form. And then let’s complicate it further — as the Falcon blasts into space, Ren senses the ship. And also jumping into frame are the Guavian Death Gang and Kanjiklub, both attracted by seeing a Falcon ping on their Plot-Convenient Space Radars. So, you get a crazy space battle as they have to stunt-fly the Falcon through the chaos, playing the three separate forces off one another so they shoot each other instead. Meanwhile, Hyperdrive isn’t working, so Rey has to help fix that, still showing off her mechanical skills. (If we want her pilot skills shown off, maybe Chewie mans guns as she helps get the hyperdrive compressor working, showing off skills in two directions — co-piloting the ship and keeping it running.) Shit, maybe Unkar Plutt comes after them here instead of later (per deleted scenes), gets blasted out of the sky.

Just as Kylo Ren is about to descend upon the Falcon, they leap to hyperspace.

And then — we let that play out.

They don’t just leap to the next system.

The talk that Han gives her — “Hey, you’re good in a fight, join my crew?”

In this version, she takes him up on that offer. She says yes. See, TFA wants to set up this dichotomy where both Kylo and her consider Solo a father figure, but it lends the story no time to believably achieve that. (This isn’t new to Star Wars. Ben Kenobi is super-important to Luke, but their time in training consists of one scene with that little dickhead laser-bauble.) We need Rey to have a real relationship with Han Solo — so he becomes a proxy father figure. This is, in a sense, part of her journey, right? Realizing she doesn’t need whoever abandoned her on Jakku first, and relying on Found Family — and then also eventually coming to terms she doesn’t necessarily “need” them either, she needs herself. (Not in a way that diminishes her friends, but in a way that empowers herself as a singular being in the galaxy. With family by choice, not by reliance.)

So. Rey and Finn join his crew. BB-8 has important information, sure, and it needs to get to the Resistance — but remember, Finn is pretending to be a Resistance agent. And he likes Rey. (It’s unclear in TFA how much of this is that he like-likes her, but in this, we’d make that more explicit. More on this at the end of the post.) Further, Rey just wants to go back to Jakku soon as she has the chance. Either choice — they go find the Resistance base, they go back to Jakku — likely ends Finn’s journey, and it takes him away from Rey. So, he convinces her to stay with the crew. Go on a few adventures. And it’s not like Han wants to go to the Resistance, either. (More on that in a few.) That way, Finn gets to not be a stormtrooper and continue the illusion that he’s… somebody, a Resistance agent, a smuggler, anybody at all but the unnamed soldier.

(Here we get to the heart of a lot of this trilogy: people trying to figure out who they are, and where they belong. It’s a beautiful thing. And as true a story as any, in terms of a story we all understand.)

Now, we don’t need to see them go on a bunch of missions with Han Solo. (Though a montage would be doable, I guess.) We just need to move the needle forward in time. We need to see them come out of hyperspace, going to Maz Kanata’s castle, with the sense that they’ve had some adventures. Weeks. Months. Whatever. New outfits, a new rapport, some mild drama and conflict between the “crew,” and so on. Stretch out the narrative. Just make it a little more lived in. And we also know that Han’s onto Finn (“Big Deal”). Maybe BB-8 is getting antsy, and someone gets the droid to spill what he’s carrying (leading to the “It’s true, all of it,” scene with Han talking about Luke).

Point is, they still get to go to Maz’s place, and with minimal narrative rejiggering, you’ve created a whole different impact while keeping structure relatively the same. We can have a moment of quiet contemplation still where Rey regards so much green in the galaxy (play it out like the opposite of Luke regarding the twin suns of Tatooine, because there he’s regarding a galaxy he yearns yet to see, and here she’s regarding a galaxy she didn’t know existed). Then it… roughly works out the same. The one obvious difference is that I don’t think you can have Finn bailing for the same reason of theoretical cowardice — I think it’s more that he knows the adventure is about at its end, Rey and BB-8 will go on without him, and he doesn’t know what to do.

Poe’s Return

I’m torn on this, but fuck it, this is all theoretical — I think I’d like to see Poe’s return to the world play out on screen. His escape from Jakku could even coincide with the Falcon leaving the planet, seeing it fly overhead. I don’t think it needs to be like, 20 minutes of screentime — but a short bit of him crawling his way into Niima Outpost or some shit.

I say this because the reveal he’s alive in TFA feels less plotted as a “reveal” and more accidental, like we weren’t ever supposed to think he was dead in the first place.

(Which is likely accurate, since Poe was supposed to die, initially.)

That Dipshit Map

I don’t know why, but JJ Abrams loves himself a fetch quest. Find the droid, the map, the girl, find the Sith wayfinder, the saber, the Cosmic Porg, the whatever. It’s less mythic and more video game? Less Campbell and more Kojima.

It’s MacGuffins all the way down.

So: let’s talk about the “map” to find Luke.

Now, it’s not all video-gamey — there is something to a “treasure map” that’s intriguing here, but it just doesn’t make a lick of sense. That’s not a huge knock against Star Wars, because a lot of Star Wars… enh, doesn’t make a huge lick of sense. But this feels really unsound, especially since we’ve never really cared much before about “maps” in this galaxy. We care about planets and coordinates, and that’s easy enough, isn’t it? In Star Wars-ian terms, we know the galaxy is home to hundreds, maybe thousands of planets, and Luke Skywalker has gone to one of them, and we don’t know which one. Thassit. Easy. But he’s left behind the coordinates with one man, Max Von Sydow (shut up, I prefer to believe Max Von Sydow is the actual character, because honestly that’s a pretty Star Warsy name). So, when they finally get to the Resistance Base on D’Qar, they think, “We can go get Luke!”

But, turns out, the data is encoded. It’s gibberish. Locked behind a cipher.

And who has the key to that cipher? Artoo.

This also prevents us from having Artoo be nebulously “dormant,” which further prevents Threepio’s weird “As you know, BB-8” scene. (Sidenote: I petition all writing advice to refer to expository dialogue infodumps not as “As You Know, Bob” scenes, but rather, “As You Know, BB-8” scenes, please and thank you.)

Also, Why Don’t They Evacuate D’Qar?

Why don’t the Resistance fighters on D’Qar evacuate the base? They know they’re being targeted by BOMBAD DESTRUCTION from Starkiller Base, right? And yet they’re all like, “Gosh, I hope it doesn’t happen” instead of like, just running to spaceships and being like, “welp, fuck this shit, we out.” In Empire Strikes Back, the Hoth base isn’t in the sights of the Empire and they… evacuate. I guess there’s an argument here as to why they don’t evacuate Yavin IV in A New Hope, but I’d argue there it’s because the GIANT DEATH MOON is coming at you like a big laser-faced Pac-Man. Where you gonna go? Anyway. In my TFA, they simultaneously mount an evacuation while sending the rest of their forces to attack Starkiller.

(And yes, we keep Starkiller. Is it stupid that there’s DEATH STAR TRIPLE XXXTREME? Sure. But the First Order are Empire fanboys, and even in real life, mankind seems ever more interested in huge, nation-killing weapons.)

Clarity of Opposition

I’d also do a little work to establish what the First Order and the Resistance actually are — it’s never made super clear, and I’d clarify that the First Order is basically a rogue nation. Fascist Imperial fanboys who have glommed onto old Imperial tech and forbidden brainwashing techniques to bolster their forces (and this presages a bit of the Palpatine stuff, because, how’d they get all this shit?). Use the Crawl maybe and a few worldbuilding lines remind us that the New Republic has locked down the galaxy’s core, but its edges are wild fuckin’ space, man, full of rogue nations and criminal enterprises and they’re all jockeying for power. First Order has that power. They’re not the old Soviet Union or Nazi Germany or even the Roman Empire — they’re somewhere between North Korea and an American militia, politically speaking. Been trying to get a superweapon, now they have one.

The Resistance operates in the shadow of the New Republic — an “unauthorized” A-Team of problem solvers who push back these rogue nations in an effort to protect worlds the New Republic can’t get support for in the Senate. They lead literal resistance movements around the galaxy — a seed planting as far back as The Clone Wars cartoon, and carried on in Aftermath. It would explain why they’re such a small fighting force — because they explicitly aren’t a rebellion. They train rebellions, something Leia is, and has been, good at. It’s also why they don’t have tons of support in the galaxy — they have some allies, but they’re not some massive galaxy-wide presence. They’re small, nimble, and leave few fingerprints. Get these pole positions right and it clarifies the “geopolitical” landscape of the films a bit more, I think.

The Lightsaber Dream

What if…? (That’s what this post is, in a lot of ways — a big bag of what ifs.) What if, when Rey was having her lightsaber dream, and she sees Kylo out there — he sees her, too? It establishes the first Force link between them. Just a touch. Maybe that’s what brings the First Order to Maz’s castle…

Han & Leia

The story needs to commit to their fracture. As it plays out, it feels dramatically weak — they seem to love each other, they’re just off doing shit away from one another. Commit to it, and actually have their son’s radicalization by Snoke be a breaking point. They had some blow-up, blow-out, and it broke them apart. Haven’t seen each other for some amount of time. It makes sense — the two of them run hot. They’re Hulk and Thor, two fires that fire together. We don’t want to infer Ben Solo came from a dysfunctional family (though perhaps a really busy one), but rather, that his fall to the dark side made them dysfunctional. Because it should.

The value-add here is that it gives us a chance to get Han and Leia back together — and in a way that’s a bit more romantic than the weird fatherly hug he gives her at the end? A call back to the I Love You / I Know scene, maybe, or just, like, they figure it out. They fall back in love, or realize they were never out of it. They crash back together like two celestial bodies. (Not inferring they make sexy-times in the Falcon refresher, to be clear.) But we definitely want that sense of two of our series’ epic heroes finding each other again. More than a gee-shucks nostalgia reunion.

Love Is Love Is Love

Here is the big one. One that has ramifications beyond this movie.

So. These films seem to stridently try to avoid most romantic entanglements. Right? Even Han and Leia’s romance now just seems soft, like old fruit. Part of me thinks this is because romance in these genres can be awfully tropey — ahh, of course there is a WOMAN and a MAN and they are gonna ROMANCE EACH OTHER. Something something destiny, just make out already, you hornballs.

Except… the tropey part of it is also a part I like. Though the romance in the prequel trilogy feels awfully strained, it’s still essential to the core of that story. And it should be essential to the core of this one, too. These films are space operas. Operas are… about drama, and conflict, and not just about BIG DAMN SPACE CONFLICTS but more about the relationships between characters. Love and hate and jealousy and friendship. The ST does well with friendship, and… not much else.

In TFA, then, the biggest change is yet a subtle one, and one that is already almost there — you gotta start planting seeds that these characters are gonna fall in love with each other. And I say “these characters” because I mean, all of them. The scope of the changes I’d make would be to put in play a love-triangle that becomes a love rhombus that becomes a love pentagram that becomes, I dunno, some kind of midichlorian fuck-pile. Or cuddle-kissy-pile. It is PG-13, after all.

This one sets up Finn being in love with Rey. (Suggested above, this romantic interesting beind why he doesn’t want to go back to Jakku or to D’Qar.)

It also sets him and Poe being a thing. They have chemistry. They flirt. It’s there already.

Rey needs to meet Poe, too, at the end of all this. Not at the end of TLJ. But here and now. (It doesn’t really add up that she never meets him, so put that shit on screen.)

Eventually, it factors in Rose and Kylo — AND PALPATINE HIMSELF okay lol no, not that one. Ew. *hurrk* Sorry. I went too far. But seriously: friendships are nice, and yay friendships, but these are young adults in a rough, raw galaxy, and sometimes the spark isn’t just about the rebellion, y’know? SOMETIMES IT’S ABOUT A SPARK IN YOUR SPACE PANTS. Also, your space heart. *audience awwws collectively*

And That’s It

Not much else to change here, I don’t think. Han still dies. Phasma still gives up Starkiller Base. It’s a good movie, it holds together, it’s a lot of fun. Again, were I doing a *total rewrite* I might do some stuff really different — it’d be all new characters, Snap Wexley and Mister Bones would be major protagonists, there’d probably be a sexy robot? I’d make changes. But again, going with the raw material of the film as-is, these are the changes I’d make. Probably. Ask me tomorrow, I’d probably change my mind. This shit ain’t math. It’s space math, and space math is some flyboy stuntwork.

Remember, too: Star Wars is junk.

Soon: my re-do of The Last Jedi.

RELEASE THE WENDIG CUT**

** there is no Wendig Cut***

*** there also isn’t likely a JJ Cut, or a Snyder Cut, or whatever, shut up

January 1, 2020 / 38 Comments

Writer Resolution, 2020: Write With A Knife To Your Back, The Cliff’s Edge At Your Feet

Every year, for those who don’t know, I like to do a kind of writerly resolution — a mission statement to guide you, and us, meaning mostly me, into the new year and out the other side. It’s not marching orders. It’s not even meant to be good advice. It’s a springboard, an idea, a notion, and one that will work for some and not for others.

You know the thing you do where you try to figure out, “If I had six months to live, what would I do in that time?” Learn basejumping? Fight a bear? Fuck a robot? I dunno. There is of course the authorial version of this, which is, what book would I write? What book would I write if i didn’t know if anyone would read it, if I’d even get to finish it before The End gets me, if it would even matter at all? What weird-ass, particular-as-hell, little-or-big book lives in the deep of my heart and would emerge ululating its mad goat song upon hearing a potential death sentence? What curious narrative creature would crawl out and hiss, giddily: “It’s my time, now, penmonkey!” — ?

Well, you’re dying.

Here it is: your terminal diagnosis.

You’re gonna die.

Whole world, too. Gonna die.

Kaput. Kathunk. Dead. Doornail. *fart noise* *flush sound*

No, I’m not saying it’s soon — I’m not standing behind you with, as the title suggests, a knife to your back. I don’t have ESP. But I needn’t be an oracle to confirm for you that it is, in fact, eventual. Assuming of course that you’re not Mumm-Ra the Ever-Living —

— you and me and everybody else are gonna eventually meet our makers. (Spoiler alert: your maker is a rogue 3-D printer in Schenectady.) And, I dunno if you’ve looked around recently but, uhhhh.

*clears throat*

Shit is weird.

Shit is weird.

SHIT

W E I R D.

It’s not even that it’s bad —

I mean, ha ha, it is. It definitely is. But it’s also just fucking goofy. Our world is theater, and it’s currently being staged by a gaggle of goony dipshits. Political upheaval and social chaos and huge leaps forward in technology and regressive tumblebacks of justice and progress — it’s weed and fireworks and drones, it’s Twitter President and hellscape wildfires and flat-earthers, it’s coins to witchers and yoda-babbies and for some reason people are watching Friends? It’s way the fuck off the map. It’s not really dystopian — it’s dyspeptic, it’s twist-topian, it’s what-the-fuck-a-lyptic.

We know that. We can see it.

And we can then couple that with the recognition that, yep, we’re all dead. Not today, probably. Ideally not tomorrow. But tock’s ticking. Fuse is hissing.

Pair those facts together, and from that you get what is for me — and maybe also for you! — a writing resolution for 2020.

And that resolution is this:

The world has gone weird.

So meet it on equal footing.

Get weird in return. In revenge. In recompense.

Write whatever the fuck you want. Because, honestly, why not? This year, I’ve had the privilege of continuing to know and meet writers of great repute and wonder, who are telling stories that are brave and bold and uncompromising — and I don’t mean “unflinching” in the sense of wow that was brutal, I mean uncompromising in the sense that these writers did not compromise against anybody else’s vision. Sure, they have publishers, and yes they have editors, but the book that exists — be it Starless Sea, or Steel Crow Saga, or Cabin at the End of the World, or Book of M, or Calculating Stars, or The Warehouse, or Nobody People — are books that came not merely from these authors but rather, out of them. Like a spirit, summoned. Books that are emblems of these writers, that are (or at least feel like) the culminations of who they are and what they think and what gives them both fear and hope. These books are summations, the end of an authorial equation, and I really love that. In a less dire, more consumerist age, I think the advice would be (or used to be): you need to write to a market. Examine what sells. Blah blah blah.

But, as noted, shit’s weird.

Nobody knows what sells.

Nobody knows what the audience wants, or needs.

It’s all gone cuckoo. The old rules are broken. The expectations of what is ABC ends up being XYZ — the compass is spinning wildly and we cannot figure out what the alethiometer is trying to tell us.

So? Fuck it.

Not “fuck it” as in, don’t write anything.

“Fuck it” as in, write the thing you wanna write because there are no guarantees anyway. There’s no certainty it’ll get published. Or you won’t be dead before you finish. Or the world won’t die under the fist of a meteor we somehow didn’t notice. There’s no way to know if there will be an editor for it, or an audience to read it, or anything. But we hope. We write. We pull something out of us and then we pull another half-dozen things out, and we mash them together and see what monstrous thing we have made. We meet weird with weird. We tell the tale that our heart must tell.

I’m not saying to tell it poorly. Or not to think about an audience — that first draft is for us, but all the subsequent drafts are for them, for the audience, for you more than for me. This isn’t saying your narrative vision is impervious to criticism, that no editorial oversight is needed to course correct. You still want to tell the best version of that story, whatever it may be. But don’t pre-reject your weird-ass idea before it’s out there. Give it legs, let it run.

I’m often noting that writing is a song sung into the void — a song of hope, where we hope our words will reach someone else’s ears, and that the act of telling a story is a plea with the universe that begs, please tell me I’m not alone. If even one reader out there likes the curious peccadilloes you popped onto the page, that’s not nothing. It’s something. It’s a huge something, because it means there are others like you out there. That you’re not alone. Storytelling is that act: setting down in front of the firelight with the hope others will come to join you and hear whatever tale you gotta tell.

So, do that.

Tell the tale. The one that’s yours. The one that’s weird. The one that feels off-kilter, that other people aren’t sure about. This is not a safe era, and so we are not beholden to safe storytelling. Go as big and bold or as small and strange as you see fit. The world’s gone wacky and we gonna die (someday!), so step into the firelight, and we’ll join you by the fire to hear what you have to say.

And together we’ll push back the dark.

Cheers.

Onward into 2020.

Go write.

December 30, 2019 / 21 Comments

The Oughts Are Dead, Long Live The Twenties

I don’t think time works well anymore.

Obviously, it seems to exist — there is a flow of time, stuff happens. It’s not like I’m getting younger or people around me are suddenly babies (*stares suspiciously at Yoda*), but there is definitely the feeling of being out of sync with time’s movement. Any watch-tuned precision I might have felt — where a unit of time felt like a unit of time — has gone out the window. It’s just chaos, now. A heady broth of temporal muck. If you asked me how long ten years ago was, I’d say, “2016,” because of course it feels like that was a decade ago. Maybe a lifetime. But how long ago was the 1990s? Also a decade? Shit. And if you told me 2009 was ten years ago, I’m not sure I’d agree — I’d also look back and see who I was ten years ago and swear that was 20, even 30 years past.

Christ, I don’t even know what day it is.

I had to look at a calendar. “Oh, it’s Monday? What the fuck?” That interstitial period between Christmas and New Years is a bewildering wasteland. A dark forest. An Ikea store.

So, having to do one of those year-end wrap-ups, much less a decade-level summary, is fucking hard. It’s a mountain to climb, dizzying in its vertiginous ascent.

Let’s try the year, first.

2019, you raggedy scamp. You were good for me and bad for the world.

(As seems to increasingly be the case.)

In 2019, right at the cusp of the year, I released the last book in my Miriam Black series, Vultures. It landed with little fanfare, woefully — real-talk, the publisher turned out to be not an ideal fit for these books, and was a fairly fraught relationship with lots of red, red flags. Which means some of my most favoritest work, the Miriam Black books, were in the hands of someone who didn’t seem to care about them very much. Or know what to do with them. Or want to do anything at all. So — that book came out, and it exists, and I’m very proud of how it wrapped up, and I hope that over time, we will see that series find its readership. I so far can’t technically say that it’s been optioned for a couple years now, and it’s in fact optioned by a team of all-women creators, so pretend I didn’t say anything at all.

(But I did find out the Miriam Black books are big in China, apparently?)

Then, in July: Wanderers. Arguably an entirely opposite publishing experience — the book found an editor, an imprint, and a parent publisher who appeared to care very much about the book, and who had a plan, and who executed well on that plan. And as such, it’s a book that’s done very well. Hit a bunch of bestseller lists, and then at year’s end hit a bunch of those. I’m very proud of it, and glad that Tricia is my editor there, because her editorial hand is deft — it’s like having a doctor who cares about your health and isn’t just there to make a buck. Yeah, they’re gonna wanna cut parts off and stitch pieces up, but it’s in service of your health, not just a butcher’s desire to see you bleed.

I got to go on tour. I met wonderful readers and fans. (And I met Lin-Manuel Miranda, one of the loveliest people.) I got to hang with so many great writer pals, like Erin Morgenstern, Delilah Dawson, Kevin Hearne, Paul Krueger, Adam Christopher. And hey, I had no idea I could turn out a crowd — I knew, okay, I could turn out 20-30 people, probably. But in Portland, I was coming up on a hundred people showing up. Most events were packed rooms. And it was fascinating to see how people came to me not just from one book, but at different points — people hopping on the Wendig Train (okay I immediately regret writing “the Wendig Train” but here we all are, deal with it) from Blackbirds, or Star Wars, or the blog, or the writing books, or even as far back as my RPG work. I compared this to forming geological strata — not just one cataclysmic event forming lava rock, but rather, years and years of bedrock and granite and schist and fossil. It’s nice to see that slow and steady build.

Wanderers was optioned by QC Entertainment, which has been great — obviously, anytime anything is optioned you have to reckon with the reality that the likelihood of that thing getting made is a lot closer to zero than any other number, but just the same, I’m hopeful. I at least know that the right people have it, which is as good a chance as you can give it.

I’ve also done some other things which I can’t even talk about. Which is always weird to have like, ohh, let’s say hypothetically three book deals — three separate book deals! — you can’t even talk about, yet. Not that I have three book deals, of course. *looks shiftily left and right* It’s pure conjecture on your part. You weirdo. Quit making things up.

I went to Hawaii with my wonderful family.

I ate a lot of apples.

My mother died.

That last one is hard. Now, especially — the holidays have a big piece removed, an essential organ. They live and go on, but not without pain, not without feeling that blank space where something essential once existed. My father died around this time twelve years ago. My mother, this year. It’s weird thinking of yourself as an orphan, but here we are. It’s not that I was necessarily looking to my parents for any kind of help anymore — but without them, you really start to feel like, you’re it. I’m the terminus of this line, now. I was already a functional adult (shocking, I know!) but now, I really have to be. Because people are counting on me to be that. And then you look down the line too and you see, well, one day this is what my son will endure. I’ll go. My wife will go. And he’ll be looking back as I am now — hopefully with love and fondness and a true sorrow. Hopefully not like, with a HAHA MY FUCKIN DAD IS DEAD LET’S GET LIT party.

So, here we are.

A year gone, nearly.

And a decade almost in the rear-view.

It’s strange to think my career as a novelist (which sounds less haughty than “author” but more self-important than “bookmonkey”) has been made in this last decade. It feels like I’ve been doing this forever. And Christ, I’ve written a lot of books. I’ve written and published (*does a hasty, clumsy count*) 25 books in the last decade. Actually, since around 2011. That fails to include some self-pubbed writing books, or comics, or film/TV work, or, or, or.

I had a writing career before that — as noted, RPG books, having contributed to like, 70-80 of the damn things. But the goal was always books, and somehow, I did it. Mostly by luck and privilege and sheer bloody-mindedness. I put the bucket on my head and I headbutted the wall until the wall fell down and I was only mildly brain-disordered.

It’s also strange to think I have a kid now, and didn’t ten years ago. That’s weird. He’s wonderful and hilarious and gifted and artistic. I’m a lucky guy. We’re lucky parents.

Amazing how much can happen in ten years. It’s tempting to see myself, at the low-end of my 40s, as being somehow nearer to the end than the beginning. And one supposes that’s true, but that’s not to say a lot won’t change or happen still. Because ten years is a long time. And every decade can be transformative, in its way. You’re never too old. Even a year can see wild swings and shifts.

What comes next? I’ve little idea. As a writer I’m oft to espouse writers should try to plan for the year-ahead, but also for five years, and ten — though the further out you go, the hazier that plan gets. The more it becomes less a “straight line” and more a “sinister glowing cloud.” In the next year I have a book coming out — The Book of Accidents. Not sure of a date yet, I think around October. (Was originally in the summer, but I don’t think it’s a summer book.) And then 2021 I think I’ll have… two books? Maybe three. But again, I can’t talk about those, and they’re not even real yet, I’m definitely not talking about real books. *clears throat, looks around nervously, sweats*

The decade ahead is, well.

I don’t know.

I’m hoping we’ll come through 2020 with a new president — I’ll speak more on in a different post, but we gotta get rid of this fucking asshole by burying him under a tide of votes. I’m an Elizabeth Warren voter, because I think she’s got big ideas and plans to bolster them. But I like a lot of the candidates running, and I’ll vote for any one of them before I vote for the oleaginous sack-of-baby-diarrhea currently in the White House. I’m hoping we fix that error and can course correct, maybe start addressing some of the existential threats ahead of us — climate change being the biggest. Because if we fail to do that, we’re going to get a front-row seat to a coming apocalypse. Maybe we already have that seat, I don’t know.

But I like to be optimistic. Optimism is rebellion, in its way, just as art is resistance. Margaret Atwood is fond of saying that writing is an act of optimism, because you’re envisioning someone out there to read it. So, I will continue to engage in that act of optimism, because I’m going to place a bet that we’ll all be around to read it — in one year, in ten, in a hundred. So, let’s all pinky-swear that we’re gonna get our shit together, okay? Okay.

Onward, we go. Into 2020, and the years beyond.

Thanks for reading, and see you on the other side of the (time) war.

p.s. it’s weird we’re gonna be in The Twenties, because historically that evokes a very specific thing to me, which means if we’re not all wearing Mad Max flapper dresses and tattooing ourselves in apocalyptic art deco I will seriously be disappointed

December 27, 2019 / 10 Comments

Psst. Psst! Hey, Kid. Hey. You Want Some Wanderers?

I drop in briefly to wangjangle some small and potentially useful news before you: hey, Wanderers on Kindle is a mere $2.99 for today, December 27th. Only today. So, if you were thinking of getting it but were like, harrumph, that e-book is too damn pricey, well, here’s your chance to scoop it up at a low, low price. I mean, it’s 800 pages, so that’s like, a third of a cent per page. C’mon. That’s narrative value. (I kid, of course, as value of story and art cannot neatly be contained by or derived from monetary price. I’m just saying, three bucks ain’t a lot and we all gotta save coin where we can.)

Link here, if you want it.

IT’LL MAKE YOU FEEL GOOD.

I mean, maybe — it is about the end of the world, after all. But it’s twisty and turny and I like to think full of hope and humor even as it, uhhh, ends the world.

Enjoy!

Here is a photo of an apple, in recompense. Now if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go watch the final episode of this season of The Baby Yoda Power Hour.