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Author Archives: Jakebe

About Jakebe

Jakebe is a cyber-rabbit who makes his burrow within the analog space of Silicon Valley, CA. He enjoys telling stories, talking about stories and exploring aspects of the human condition through stories.

(Reviews) DisneyFest: Wreck-It Ralph, Monsters University, Frozen

Entertainment 150Remember five years ago? It was 2012 back then and we all thought we were going to die in some really weird global cataclysm because the Mayans had deemed it so. Woody Harrelson would go down outside his camper van at Yellowstone, and the only people who would survive are John Cusack and his plucky family. They would sail away on secret generation ships while a lone Tibetan monk sounded the death bell for our civilization…

Or, you know, Disney would continue their revival with a surprisingly great love letter to video games (and villains) while Pixar would go back to a beloved property for the first sequel that didn’t really improve on the original. Wreck-It Ralph is a gorgeous, inventive movie that told its story with heart and flair; Monsters University was better than most remember, but it doesn’t quite capture the magic of its predecesor; and Frozen is one of those movies that would have been so much better if it hadn’t tried SO hard — or gotten quite so big.

This trio of films are super-recent history, meaning that we’re getting close to the end of our DisneyFest reviews. I’m wondering if I should finish up with a ranking of all Disney and Pixar movies from worst to best? If you’re down with the idea, let me know.

Wreck-It Ralph (2012)
Disney’s 52nd animated feature was a leap forward for the animation studio and a strange stamp of legitimacy for video games; building a cartoon world around video game characters while deconstructing the roles those characters tend to inhabit is not something that happens to a medium pop culture continues to view as juvenile or pedestrian. Most importantly, Wreck-It Ralph uses its story as a means to shine a spotlight on the effect of people’s psyches when they’re branded as a villain or an outcast. It’s interesting that this is a theme they would keep coming back to in later movies: but I think this is the first film of the Revival era that really leaned into it.

Ralph (voiced by John C. Reilly) is an eight-foot-tall, six-hundred-pound brute who goes around smashing an apartment building so the game’s hero, Fix-It Felix Jr. (Jack McBrayer), can fix it with his father’s magic golden hammer. Felix earns the adoration of the apartment’s residents while Ralph gets thrown off the roof and into the mud — at least, that’s the story of the game. When there’s not a player around, Ralph longs to be accepted by the other characters; he’s big and clumsy, but he’s not evil. After a confrontation, Ralph takes it on himself to get a medal proving that he’s a hero — leaving the game to do it. This is a problem; without Ralph, there’s no destruction for Felix to fix and the game is essentially broken. And broken games get unplugged, which is a version of death here.

Video game characters travel through their power cords to the surge protector, which serves as Grand Central Station. It’s a pretty awesome idea, and once Ralph leaves the pile of bricks that serves as his home the movie really blossoms. After a quick stop in a HALO-like game called Hero’s Duty, Ralph winds up in Sugar Rush, a candy-coated racing game that at long last provides him an opportunity to connect with someone — the glitchy outcast Vanellope Von Schweetz (Sarah Silverman). Ralph and Vanellope drive each other crazy, of course, until they bond over being the outcast in their respective games.

wreck-it ralph

I’m sorry, I can’t quite get over Clyde (front, far right) trying to look menacing.

What’s most impressive about Wreck-It Ralph is how consistent its world feels, even though most of the characters you spend the most time with are created wholecloth for the film. The background and many scenes are populated with enough recognizable characters to sell the premise, and there are so many sight gags and set pieces that provide Easter eggs to video-game fans. Games with wildly different aesthetics somehow mesh in the same universe, underscoring the idea that no matter who we are or what culture we come from, we want the same things. Both Ralph and Vanellope are scarred by their exclusion, and most of their anti-social traits are really defense mechanisms they use to protect themselves from the hurt they know is coming.

All of the characters, including Felix and hard-nosed future-Marine Sgt. Tamora Calhoun (Jane Lynch), become better people through learning to understand and respect the differences of others in their travels. One scene, where Calhoun’s trauma is triggered by an off-hand comment from Felix, is a perfect representation of an actual PTSD event, and it’s what I use to illustrate how triggers actually work. The best part is Felix’s reaction; though confused, he respects her reaction enough to give her the space she needs. And a brilliant sight gag at the end reinforces the idea that Calhoun is supported, not dismissed, through her trauma.

Besides all of the socially responsible stuff, Wreck-It Ralph is legitimately fun and funny. The cast has a great time playing off one another and the writing is inventive and sharp. King Candy is the character that (I think) gave Alan Tudyk his status as the ‘vocal mascot’ of Disney films, and he’s one of the best antagonists in a Disney film. You can be goofy and also be the perpetrator of harmful social norms at the same time; villains don’t have to be serious or dark to do real harm.

I really love Wreck-It Ralph. It takes a lesson that could have been pat and infuses it with modern shadings, then wraps the whole package in a bright, inventive, nostalgia-inducing world strong enough to sustain itself through the story. The animation is great, the voice-acting is top-notch, and the writing is nuanced and clever. You couldn’t ask for more from a classic Disney film.

Monsters University (2013)
It’s hard to get a read on what people think about Monsters University. It tends to be lumped in with the “dark ages” of Pixar Animation and given as an example of the studio’s focus on inferior sequels as of late. However, I think it gets a bad rep — while the plot of the movie is as pedestrian as it gets, the character work is surprisingly sharp, the set pieces fun and effective, and the third act is really strong, all leading to an ending that brings its themes home perfectly. First-time Pixar director Dan Scanlon doesn’t emotionally connect as well as his predecessor, Pete Docter, but Monsters University is an enjoyable movie that I keep thinking about long after the movie is over.

Monsters U

Oh, NOW I get why Mike doesn’t wear clothes…

Mike Wazowski is a little lime-green bowling ball of a monster who always wanted to be a top Scarer for Monsters, Inc., the most-profitable scaring company in all of Monsteropolis. Children’s screams serve as an energy source here, so Scarers are an essential part of monster life — and they’re also celebrities, with trading cards and legendary stories and everything. Mike works harder than anyone and gets accepted into Monsters University, where it’s his mission to enter the Scarer’s College. Sulley, another freshman, comes from a well-established family of scarers and expects he can coast on his natural talent and family name to get him where he needs to be. Mike, of course, hates Sulley because the big blue monster gets easily what he works so hard to achieve — recognition, respect, the approval of the university’s teachers. But Sulley also has a lack of respect for hard work and an entitled attitude. Their rivalry reaches a boiling point during their final exam for the semester, and they end up breaking Dean Hardscrabble’s prized Scream Can. Of course, this means they fail immediately — rendering them ineligible for the Scarer’s College and getting Sulley disinvited from the school’s premiere fraternity, Roar Omega Roar.

Mike, undeterred, enters the college’s Scare Games to prove himself; if he can find a fraternity to work with AND his fraternity wins, he’ll be allowed to join the Scarer’s College. If he fails, he has to leave the university. Desperate for numbers, the little-respected Oozma Kappa conscripts Sulley into their fold.

Mike and Sulley bond during the Scare Games, though the relationship isn’t built easily. The middle of the film goes about the way you’d expect, with their rivalry getting in the way of their success and blinding them to the unique talents of their fellow Oozma Kappa frat brothers. Slowly, painfully, lessons are learned and OK learns how to function as a team — with Mike and Sulley pushing each other towards the greatness they both had the potential to achieve.

What elevates Monsters University, though, is the wrinkle of Mike’s inherent unscariness. Dean Hardscrabble doesn’t give him a chance because he simply isn’t scary; eventually, Sulley is forced to realize it too. When Mike goes to extreme measures to prove himself, the pair get a “real-world” final exam that forces them to accept where their real talents lie. That sequence is an amazing gut-check; the lowest point for both characters fuels a desperation that forces them to drop their egos and work past their individual limitations. The lesson they learn from that experience is what actually, finally paves the way for their eventual success. Mike and Sulley eventually get what they want — but not in the way they thought they’d have to do it.

It’s such a Millennial lesson; that achieving your dreams will likely require failure after failure, a hard-earned self-awareness, and a route that doesn’t rely on going through the front gate. While each of us imagines that we either have or can develop the traits we admire, for some of us that’s simply not the case — and it would be far better to take stock of who we are and how we can develop our unique traits to become the best version of ourselves we can be. Spinning that hard truth into an inspiring message is a feat, and Monsters University manages it.

The second act is the barrier that prevents it from landing as well as it could, though. Our introductions to Mike and Sulley are quite good, and seeing this different corner of the monster world is filled with enough sight gags and innovations that we happily go along for the ride. Once the Scare Games get going, though, the narrative runs through its paces competently but perfunctorily; it’s a bit harder to get emotionally invested in the stakes because the outcome is a foregone conclusion. We know that Mike and Sulley end up being best friends, and we know they ultimately become a great team. There aren’t any unknowns attached to that in order to build suspense. For a long time, it feels like we’re waiting for the inevitable Oozma Kappa triumph at the Scare Games.

I can’t be too harsh about the middle, because the Scare Game sequences are actually pretty neat. The animation really pops, and it’s great watching Oozma Kappa gel as a team, coming up with unusual solutions to the challenges put before them. But the knowledge of their pre-ordained success robs their victories of the weight they should have; success is expected, and failure is just a stall for time.

But this is a general problem with prequels. It’s hard to find the right conflict for them, especially since so much about the outcome is set in stone. I would put the trouble with the plot down to that and that alone; Monsters University is a fine film that has a lot to recommend it. It’s better than it seems, which is an odd thing to say, and definitely better than most give it credit for.

Frozen (2013)
There’s no easy way for me to say this, so I’ll just rip off the bandage: Frozen is a good, but not great, movie and I am bewildered by the fact it caught fire as much as it did. While watching Tangled made me fall in love with that film all over again, re-watching Frozen exposed a number of things that rub me the wrong way about it. While there are a lot of pretty great things in it, and I truly don’t want to harsh anyone’s good time, Frozen feels like a movie that was engineered to swing for the fences as much and as often as possible. And like a lot of major-league home-run kings, it strikes out about as often as it knocks one out of the park. It would be a lot more consistent, though, if it recognized the value of a good double or triple.

The story is a pretty heavy reworking of the Hans Christian Anderson tale “The Snow Queen”. Elsa is the title character here, a princess ‘gifted’ with ice magic that she has difficulty controlling whenever her emotions get the better of her. After an accident with her sister, Anna, Elsa’s parents decide that the only thing to be done is hide Elsa’s magic and encourage their oldest daughter not to feel anything. Elsa, deathly afraid of hurting anyone else, grows up shut off from the outside world and her younger sister.

After the tragic death of their parents at sea, Elsa must re-open her kingdom’s castle for her coronation as Queen, kicking off a chain of events that leads to the “outing” of her magic and subsequent flight from the kingdom. Anna, who got engaged to a visiting prince she just met, runs off in search of her with the help of a dashing, goofy, anti-social ice harvester named Kristoff and his best reindeer pal, Sven.

There are twists and turns, of course, and the stakes are raised until both of the sisters are in dire peril. The resolution is a really neat twist on the idea of true love breaking a curse, and it’s nice that Disney set aside the typical romantic adventure/comedy thing it does so well to focus on the familial relationship of two sisters. But there’s so much about Frozen that has been done better first in other Disney films, largely because the moments that are telegraphed and overblown here are allowed to land organically and quietly elsewhere.

“Let It Go,” the marquee Oscar-winning song performed by Wicked superstar Idina Menzel, is clearly a fat, juicy fastball thrown right over home plate. And Menzel, as Elsa, crushes it — but it tries too hard to conjure emotion that doesn’t feel earned. As impressive as Elsa’s crystalline palace and newfound sense of self are, neither of them were built on a solid foundation so it feels like a bit of a shortcut that diminishes the accomplishment. Olaf, the animated snowman that serves as comic relief, has a great song for his introduction but leans too hard on the weirdness of his existence for punchlines. And the film’s villain, when they finally show up, undercuts the shock of their revelation by explaining their motivation and plan. For every thing that works — Anna and Kristoff’s banter, Sven’s charming, canine doofiness, and the central relationship between Anna and Elsa — there’s something else that feels off. The rules of Elsa’s magic, for example; or Kristoff’s adopted family; or the way so many big moments call attention to themselves, robbing themselves of emotional impact.

frozen

Olaf’s over-enthusiasm is a perfect metaphor for this movie, by the way

But clearly, there’s a lot that resonated with audiences — otherwise, Frozen would not have been the cultural juggernaut that it was. A lot of my reaction to it is the annoyance that movies I simply like better within the Disney canon being overshadowed by it. Lilo & Stitch also featured a strong central story about two sisters struggling with their relationship in the wake of grief. Tangled featured a female protagonist who also stepped into her own confidence after growing up shut away from the world. The Princess and the Frog, as flawed as it was, also offers a reminder that true love comes in many different forms and we shouldn’t blind ourselves to the storybook version we read about so often. Much of the cultural commentary around Frozen makes it seem like it was the very first film to deal with this stuff, when it simply wasn’t.

Still, Frozen is an achievement in and of itself — the kind of animated blockbuster that Disney hasn’t had since The Lion King. And the animation is astonishing. Wind, snow, and ice play with light and shadow in ways that feel natural but had to have been an absolute beast to render. The character design balances realistic humans with cartoonish reindeer and animated snowmen and trolls. And Arendelle has a delightful Old World aesthetic that calls back to so many other Disney classics. The studio had been trying to adapt “The Snow Queen” for decades, and it’s no small thing to finally hit upon a treatment that the world has responded to so well.

I’m not a big fan of Frozen; it’s fine, but it’s not in my top five, or even top ten. Still, its cultural, critical and commercial impact is undeniable. Just remember that one of the reasons it rises so far above the rest of the Disney animated canon is the fact that it’s standing on the shoulders of quite a few worthy movies that had come before it.

 
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Posted by on June 21, 2017 in DisneyFest, Movies, Reviews

 

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(Review) The Shame Locked Away in Giovanni’s Room

Reading 150The Paris in James Baldwin’s novel Giovanni’s Room is a kind of hell in which desperate men step on each other to climb out of the hole they’re in, never realizing it’s possible to help lift one another out of their predicament. Fear motivates everyone; they’re afraid of anyone finding out who they really are before they can, but they also need somewhere they belong. So they draw people just close enough to be used, and then cut them as soon as that need has been fulfilled. That fulfillment doesn’t last long, though, and it’s not too long before they need something else again — companionship, money, distraction. David, the protagonist, enters this scene as an unrooted American trying to find himself. What he discovers is someone whose fear overrides his capacity to love, with disastrous consequences.

David meets Giovanni, the bartender at a gay bar in Paris, as he’s asking an older acquaintance for money. Jacques hits on the mysterious Italian and strikes out; David manages to strike up a friendly if challenging conversation. Conversations leads to dinner and drinks, which leads to sex; David, with nowhere else to go, moves into the waiter’s small room where they talk and have sex all summer. Eventually, David’s girlfriend Hella announces that she’ll be coming back to Paris after their “trial separation” and he’s faced with a choice — does he fall in with the expected path to adulthood, with marriage and children? Or does he break things off with Hella to continue his relationship with Giovanni? Complicating matters is the fact that Giovanni loses his job in the gay bar where he works after the owner makes one too many passes at him.

Throughout the novel, David sees people as a means to an end; they can provide him with something that buys him more time to figure out what he wants and who he is. Jacques, the old gay man he leans on for money, is someone that David doesn’t like or respect — and he makes it clear that he thinks the feeling is mutual. However, he exploits Jacques’ sense of shame to get the money he needs to remain. His relationship to Giovanni is built on that same impulse. He feels a physical lust and confused attraction that he doesn’t know what to do with; the poor Italian is there to ease that tension, so David uses him. Later, when faced with the prospect of Hella’s return, he hooks up with a distant acquaintance just to prove to himself he’s still attracted to women. His partner, Sue, realizes she’s been used at the same time she makes a few hesitating attempts to actually connect with him. The fear of being responsible for someone else’s happiness is just as much a reason that David distances himself from Giovanni as the fear of committing to an alternative sexuality.

What’s most interesting to me about Giovanni’s Room is how sensitively it deals with David’s bisexuality as one piece of the character’s larger issue — his inability be open and honest with himself. Giovanni isn’t David’s first homosexual encounter; as a kid, he slept with a friend that he then bullied in order to hide his guilt. He also overhears an argument between his father (who is prone to drinking) and his aunt where his dad says that he just wants David to be a “real man”. Unable to work out for himself what that is, David begins drinking himself.

baldwin quoteWe see how things like abuse and neglect are internalized by the victims of it, and how that expresses in a cycle of perpetuation eventually. David was never taught how to be reflective, how to cope with hard truths, how to anticipate and manage consequences. He only knows how to run away from discomfort — into the bottle, or the arms of someone who can make him feel good, or a new city full of distractions.

The culture he falls in with is populated with people who have no idea how to rectify that, because they’re running too. Wealthy, established men run away from the pressures of having a high status in a society that would not accept them for who they really are; their shame is assuaged by one-night stands and brief, tumultuous relationships with broke younger men who need a job or a place to stay. Each partner secretly hates themselves for what they’re doing, and resents the other for taking advantage of their own vulnerabilities; it’s an environment where the basic interpersonal relationship is built on competition, not cooperation. Each partner is looking to get the most out of the relationship while putting in the least amount of work.

This underworld, full of men who want everyone to look at them admiringly but are unable to even look at themselves, encourages the worst impulses in people like David and ruins anyone attempting to be vulnerable and sincere. Even those rare moments of self-reflection are accompanied by a resignation that these men are trapped this way; any attempt to live honestly would likely end with a very long and painful fall.

The tragedy here is that so many people end up being warped and twisted in the most delicate and dangerous periods of their lives. Unable to navigate their own strange feelings, the only community they have shows them that sublimation and distraction is as good as it gets — there’s no reconciliation to be found. Society’s disrespect for their “particular tastes” becomes personal disrespect, and their behavior stems from that. Since everyone in the scene is despicable, it excuses all manner of similar actions.

So many novels about minority experiences in a particular place or time in history share this fundamental trait; the protagonist simply cannot make peace with themselves because society refuses to provide the basic respect needed to see themselves as someone worthy of that stillness. And so many novels project that this fundamental sociological rejection leads to anti-social behavior — murder, sociopathy, bitter solitude, misanthropy. This underscores the need for us to belong somewhere, to have communities that support and enrich us. But it also provides the blueprint for how institutional injustice curdles within the victims who endure it until self-hatred — and selfish, amoral behavior — oozes from our pores.

Giovanni’s Room is another cautionary tale in this vein. The closing moments of the novel find David wandering the streets of southern France all alone, imagining the miserable consequences he feels personally responsible for. We’re left to imagine what David actually does with his experience — does he sink further into despair and escape, or does he take the clarity he’s gained to make the necessary changes? Is that even possible?

I have to believe so. We can each of us unlearn the toxic ways we’ve learned to deal with each other and ourselves. But it requires claiming for ourselves the respect that society feels unable to give us, seeing each of our fellow people as individuals worthy of that same respect, and a keen, painful awareness of the consequences of demanding the things the world is not ready to provide. Living honestly is not easy by any stretch, but it is the way out of the hell people like David put themselves in.

 
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Posted by on June 19, 2017 in Better Living Through Stories, Novels, Reviews

 

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(Writing) The View From 10,000 Feet

Self Improvement 150There are a few things that are preventing me from finishing up stories on a consistent basis: a general lack of self-discipline, toxic perfectionism, time management skills, and an inability to stick through the end of a project. As I’ve gotten older and learned more about how my brain works, I’ve realized that developing a process for these things is probably the way to go. By breaking down each story into a series of actionable steps, the focus becomes about getting to the next part — not this free-floating, vague goal to eventually finish a short story some day.

Now that I’m nearly done with the editing pass for “Stable Love,” this monstrous commission that I had taken on years ago, I’m ready to move on to new stories — which is an excellent time to take a step back to develop some basic framework for how to move through writing them. This will be a work in progress, no doubt; I also realize that not every story is going to take to the same basic process, and some modifications will be needed from time to time. Still, we have to start somewhere, so let’s call this the beta version of my story-writing process, meant to take me from idea-generating to a story ready for submission or publication.

Since my big weakness is structure, I’ll need to take care that I pay attention to that in both the pre-writing and editing stages. With pre-writing, I’m hoping I can use character, setting and scene summaries to dive deep into the things that excite me most about the story, refining the core kernel so that it extends through pretty much everything else. What am I really doing with this story? What do I want to communicate to the reader? What do I want the audience to feel once they’ve finished? Answering those questions up front will give me something of a ‘north star’ to guide my decisions in writing and editing after that.

Pre-Writing. This is obviously the first step. I’m a bit of a pantser, mostly because attempts to plot my stories ahead of time don’t go so well. Main characters fight the plot, with some previously undiscovered trait or desire. I’ll think about a scene or direction for the story and decide that some other thing is way more exciting. Usually, the story is unrecognizable halfway through my planned outline because various changes add up.

So there has to be a better way to outline. In pre-writing, thinking about the kind of story I want to write, the effect I’d like it to have, and what the journey of the main character will be like is essential. Everything extends out from that, right? Especially in a short story, where there’s limited space to get the job done, you pretty much have to have that north star guiding every decision you make.

So: step one is figuring out the theme/purpose of the story — even if it’s just to titillate or have fun. After that, writing up the main character, the arc of their journey, and the conflict they need to deal with is the thing to do. From there, brainstorming other characters, situations and ideas to support that main theme should round things out from there.

When I’m done with pre-writing, I should have the main theme, the main character, the primary conflict and resolution, supporting characters, setting, and a rough skeleton of how things should go. For now, I’d like to stick to ‘tentpole’ plot points — the things that NEED to happen in order for the story to work — so I can forge a path towards them however the characters dictate.

First Draft. Now that I have a general direction for the story, the first draft is the pass with only one goal. FINISH. No editing, no doubling back, no overthinking. I’ve got the plan; stick to the plan. FINISH. There will be time for editing and revision later, but the most important thing is getting to write “THE END”. Once that’s done, chances are I’ll let the story marinate in its own juices for a few days to clear my head a bit and get the chance to look at it with fresh eyes.

Second Draft. After a few days’ rest for the story, I’d like to take it out of the drawer and read it over to see how much of it works. Here is where the bulk of the revisions will come. If there’s a better idea for getting the effect I want, or if the characters decide to take the story in a different direction, here is where that will happen. This draft, I think, will be the one where I look at all of the major stuff — theme, setting, character — to see if these aspects are consistent, interesting, and hold up well.

To be honest, I think this step will be the most difficult for me. It’s hard for me to read my own work, especially with a critical eye, and feel like I can actually work with it. I don’t know how many other writers have this problem, but I really hate reading my own stories — things will come off lame, or repetitive, or just boring. It’s much easier to just write something and throw it out there, forgetting about it once it’s been thrown up.

But honestly, that’s a form of cowardice and certainly no way to get better. Being able to take a hard look at your own work with an eye towards making it better is essential if I’m going to expect to get better as a writer. It’s also a way to encourage self-awareness, which might be the reason I have such a hard time with it. Right now, writing is a sensitive area for me, and most of us don’t like working with the parts of ourselves that get hurt easily.

Beta Read. Once the second draft is done, I’d like to submit the story to a few folks for a beta read. Depending on the story, the beta readers could be anyone from my writing group, a few close friends, or the patrons who are encouraging me to write more and write better. The feedback that I get from this group will help me know how close I’ve hit the target and which scenes, characters, or themes I should work on moving forward. It’s important to know that the story isn’t complete here; that it’s still a work-in-progress, but at this point it’s a good idea to show it to others for additional perspective.

Third Draft. This is where the final version of the story takes shape, more or less. Armed with the feedback of my beta readers and a clearer sense of what the actual North Star for my story should be, I can take a hard look at the pieces of the story — scenes, characters, transitions — and figure out how to make them strong and lean. Things that I like but don’t quite serve the story are excised here, and the basic structure of the narrative is set. This is also where I can settle in and try a new thing or two, planting seeds in early scenes that will bear fruit later. Since I know where the story is going, I can look for opportunities to plant signposts with that knowledge.

Polishing Draft. After a few more days in a drawer, it’s time to take out the story and polish it up. The plan is for this to be the final draft; knowing that the bulk of the story is where I want it to be, I can spend some energy “punching up” scenes, descriptions and characters so that they pop in ways that make the story as enjoyable as possible while also emphasizing the things that I really want to lean into. Once the story goes through it’s polished fourth draft, it’s ready to be submitted to a website or publication with the hope that it’ll be selected for something neat.

I’m not sure how long it’ll take me to write a story under this process; if I outline a week for each draft, that would make it a month for each one. I’m sure that’ll get faster as I become more confident and capable as a writer, and I really don’t mind the long gestation for the story. A story that makes slow progress towards publication is better than what I have been doing.

I read a blog entry on another site — I forget which or else I would link to it — that likened editing/drafting passes as hitting one circle closer to the bull’s eye each time, and I like that. That first draft, unless it’s a total disaster, should hit the outer ring of the target. Each edit should feel like a better shot, until at last you hit exactly where you’re aiming. As a young writer, I’m pretty sure I’ll have to settle for a more generous definition of the bull’s eye, but that’s OK. Getting closer with each story will almost certainly happen, and there’s simply no such thing as a perfect story.

Hopefully thinking of my writing process this way will encourage me to push through the difficulty of finishing up the draft as well as the humbling experience of reading over it and picking it apart. I know it’s silly to not want to read my own work while simultaneously hoping other people will (and like it), so that’s definitely an impulse I’ll have to get over.

What do you think, dear readers? Is this a fairly decent plan, or have I missed something? What are YOUR writing processes like? I’m really curious!

 
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Posted by on June 12, 2017 in Self-Reflection, Writing

 

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(Friday Fiction) The Only Winning Move

Writing 150I keep thinking about the Br’er idea — I think it’s a potent one that could be used to explore a lot of different themes floating in my head about the black experience. I just need to drill down into it and find out where the trouble spots are; I understand not everything is going to scan, and my inexperience with both writing and social metaphor can lead me to dangerous minefields without me even realizing it.

So here’s a bit of fiction set there, just to explore one or two aspects of the world.

Rone found his mother in the dining room, sweeping vigorously and muttering to herself. He stopped in the doorway with his ears perked to see if he could make out what she was saying, but could only make out snatches. Enough to know she was muttering about him. Wisps of his fur were floating up around every stroke of the broom, performing lazy somersaults before floating back down to the wooden floor. The sunlight caught strands as they danced. It made the whole room look like some kind of weird snow globe.

He folded his burning ears and hunched his shoulders around the pit of embarrassment in his stomach. The facility he had come from was air-conditioned the entire 18 months he was there, and since he was never allowed outside he never had to deal with the weather — just sixty degree air blowing from the vents all hours of the day. In that environment the worst thing he had to deal with was dry air, at least until they discovered his fur responded well to leave-in conditioner.

But he was back home now. It was April in Baltimore, and the weather was beginning to turn warm. He started to shed his first night back and hadn’t stopped since.

The scientists told him that his fur was virtually indistinguishable from that of an actual rabbit. Maybe a bit longer, maybe a bit thicker, but just as soft and fluffy. A few of them had even joked he should keep any sheddings to sell as sweater material. He didn’t really like the joke; it was gross imagining people walking around in clothes made from his fur, and he didn’t think there was any way he could shed that much.

A week of eighty-degree-plus days quickly disabused him of that notion. He spent more than an hour each morning brushing out his pelt and discarding blown coat. There was a trash bag full of it in his bedroom, and even still the air was saturated with it. If his mother found it as gross as he did, there’s no wonder she would be muttering about him now.

And that’s why he was here. Maybe there was a way to come to some arrangement that made everyone more comfortable.

He walked up behind her and grunted. He hadn’t learned to use his throat or strange muzzle yet, but the scientists said he might eventually learn to speak in another year or two. In the meantime, he had to learn sign language to communicate — an unexpected benefit of his…condition. Even though they were prompted to, his family hadn’t beyond a few phrases and most of the alphabet. That meant communicating through spelling slowly or simply writing things down.

Mom didn’t seem to notice him until he tapped her on the shoulder. She whirled with a start, nearly hitting him with her broom; he leapt back, his powerful legs nearly launching him into the ceiling and then into the table as he landed. He clutched the edge to steady himself, his eyes wide and his heart racing. She looked just as surprised.

“Boy, don’t sneak up on me like that!” she said, turning towards him. “You know how I get when I’m cleaning.”

Rone dipped his ears and nodded. He did indeed. He pointed to the broom and made sweeping motions, then pointed to himself. It was crude pantomime, but he hoped it was good enough to get his point across.

She blinked at him, her eyes unfocusing as she worked out what he meant. Then she shook her head. “Oh, no…thank you, though. I got this. It sure would be nice if you stopped shedding so much, though.”

Mom must have saw the way his ears flattened. “Never mind. I know you can’t help it. What did you want?”

Rone pulled out his phone and stylus. He had prepared for this. He showed her the few sentences he had written out in his Note app for this.

I think it would be best if I cleaned out the basement and stayed there for now, don’t you?

His mother stared at the phone for a long time, then looked at him. “No. Where is all the stuff in the basement now going to go? Why would you want to move your room down there?”

Rone took the phone back and typed with his stylus as quickly as he could. He wished, for the millionth time, that fur-covered fingertips didn’t prevent him from using a touchscreen. It’s cooler down there, which means I’ll shed less. It’s more private. And you won’t get as much hair floating around. We could move the basement stuff up to my room.

Mom read his phone, then shook her head. “You wouldn’t be able to move all that stuff out of the basement up to your room. Those doctors said you shouldn’t be lifting heavy things right now.”

Rone rolled his eyes. The scientists weren’t sure if his back would be able to take a lot of strain. The spines of rabbits were fairly sturdy, but had a tendency to break if they struggled too hard. The fact was no one had any idea how Rone’s body worked, even him. This was all completely uncharted territory.

I’ll be fine, Rone wrote. Besides, I can get Neek to help me.

“When?” Mom snorted, she gave the phone back to him and began sweeping again. “She’s not going to help you move furniture after she gets off work. You’re lying to yourself if you think she is.”

Rone stood there, tapping at the phone with his stylus, then erasing all the things he was about to say. One advantage of being mute is you couldn’t blurt out something you would regret nearly as easily. After a few moments, Mom stopped again and sighed.

“How about we get some of those fans from the basement and put them up in your room? Maybe that would cool things down in there, OK?” She took a step towards him and put a hesitant hand on his shoulder. “I know this ain’t easy on you, being home like this after all that time. It’s rough on all of us. We just have to…get through this until things feel like normal again.”

Rone stared at her for a moment, then nodded. Mom gave him a weak smile, then went back to sweeping.

He slipped away silently, resolving to move himself down to the basement the next time Mom and Neek went out to church. It’d be tough to get everything done in those few hours, but he was pretty sure he could.

He had to feel like he had some control over his life, even if it meant pushing things with his family. Somehow, one small corner of the world had to be his.

 
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Posted by on June 9, 2017 in Furries, Thursday Prompt, Writing

 

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(Reviews) DisneyFest: Cars 2, Winnie the Pooh, Brave

Entertainment 150By 2011, the fortunes of Disney and Pixar were reversing; while the former had finally scored a critical and commercial success with Tangled, the latter was navigating the second phase of its career after moving past its original stories with the final installment of the Toy Story trilogy. Disney released one movie that year — the small-scale, gentle Winnie the Pooh in July — while Pixar served up Cars 2 in June. The next year, they released the troubled production Brave that same month. While none of these films are golden, especially considering the work the studios had done in the recent past, they’re not bad.

Cars 2 (2011)

Cars 2 is better than its predecessor because it feels like Pixar made the choice to be really creative with its universe. Most of the film is baffling — every scene feels like it answers a question about the setting while simultaneously opening up a ton more questions. What qualifies as a sexual characteristic for a car beyond eyelashes and full lips? How do cars get modified, or have their tires changed? Does it hurt? Do they have nerves, or internal organs, or is the body their skin? How does any of this work??

These questions are so much more maddening because the movie is so much more engaging than the first. Pixar uses the opportunity to take its characters to a wide range of different locations, which allows them to play with so many different lighting effects, environments and road conditions. In the original it was a little easier to accept the world because it seemed so small; in the sequel, with Lightning McQueen and crew traveling all around the world, there are so many more opportunities for questions to pop up.

The crew also meets international racing cars with vastly different bodies, stretching the design choices for the characters in interesting ways. There’s even a scene where cars go to an underground mod shop — obviously where rejected early designs are shown off to see exactly why the cars don’t have their eyes on their headlights. Admittedly, it’s pretty creepy-looking; windshield eyes aren’t the obvious choice when you’re thinking about anthropomorphic cars, but fair point, Pixar — it’s the right one.

It’s clear that this renewed emphasis on world-building rides on the back of the story, which isn’t that great. Mater, the best friend of renowned racer Lightning McQueen, basically signs up the race car for the World Grand Prix, a brand-new event meant to introduce the world to the alternative fuel Allinol. However, there’s some kind of sabotage plot going down to discredit the fuel and return the world to fossil fuels, and Mater gets caught up in the espionage investigation to figure out who’s blowing up cars and why. Imagine a John Le Carre novel, only with talking cars and Larry the Cable Guy as your main character.

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Hey, it’s a buddy CAR movie! Har har har

Mater might be the protagonist, but Lightning McQueen is the person (car?) that gets the narrative arc. At first he’s embarrassed by Mater’s uncultured behavior among his high-class international friends, but over time he learns to appreciate the inherent goodness within his unsophisticated friend. While this is definitely a good lesson to learn, it would have been nice to see Mater develop as well; he is, after all, a tow truck that has never been outside of Radiator Springs. Instead of telling us — for the umpteenth time — that country values are just as great as anything else, it would have been nice to see that cultural shift run both ways. There are worthwhile aspects of the urbane mindset, like an appreciation of the new and different, or a sensitivity for different cultures.

Still, it was hard for me to be too upset with the movie. For all of his cringe-worthy goofiness, Mater is basically a good egg with an earnest desire to help at every turn. He’s enthusiastic and friendly, and incredibly accepting. That good-natured soul covers a multitude of sins for me, even though I realize it might not be the same for most people. If Mater grated on you in the first Cars, there’s almost no way you could enjoy Cars 2 — it doubles down on the tow truck, elevating him from sidekick to star.

And if you’re willing to overlook that, Cars 2 might be entertaining in its own right. Obviously kids will love the film, but adults might be driven enjoyably crazy trying to figure out the inner workings of the world or be impressed with the way the studio has improved its animation from the last outing. It’s certainly one of the minor Pixar outings, but that’s still better than most.

Winnie the Pooh (2011)

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Not sure where Eeyore got his stripes, but I don’t want to ask.

Like most rabbits in my age group, I grew up on the truly excellent Saturday-morning Winnie-the-Pooh series and that’s my biggest relationship with the franchise. The adaptation or “package film” from 1977, The Many Adventures of Winnie-the-Pooh, was pretty enjoyable, but in a lot of ways it felt like a prototype for the kinds of stories they told through the series. If you’re like me, then the thought of a brand-new hand-drawn Winnie-the-Pooh movie is exciting, a nostalgia bomb waiting to happen. Maybe it’s the attempts to update the format for Pooh, or the largely different voice cast, or the fact that I’VE changed, but this doesn’t feel like the Pooh I grew up with — and that’s neither bad nor good, but it’s there.

One of the strongest features of this attempt to update Pooh for a new audience is the animation. The hand-drawn character work is warm and charming, fluid and polished without seeming too sterile. There are little touches that give all the characters a sense of weight and texture, that deepens our involvement in the world. That solid foundation allows the animators to play around with a few new ideas that mostly work — most of the action takes place within the frame of illustrations for a children’s book, and Pooh and the gang regularly break the fourth wall by interacting with the text of the book itself. It’s an elegant and clever turn that heightens the humor and creativity really well.

The plot is woven by three separate stories adapted from Milne — Pooh running out of honey and heading off in search of it; a wood-wide panic brought about by Chrisopher Robin’s note and the fear of a mysterious creature called the “Backson”; and the gang (especially Tigger) helping Eeyore with his lost tail. The three subplots fade into one another fairly smoothly, but they also require the characters to behave in ways we’re not quite used to seeing them. They’re dimmer, for example, to the point that it feels like they’re forced to be obtuse for the sake of the (admittedly funny) complications that come from misunderstandings. Owl gets significantly more screen-time, relegating folks like Rabbit and Piglet to tag-alongs, while Eeyore and Tigger actually make for an engaging pair.

All in all, though, it’s just strange to see different characters embodying the toys we know so well. It feels like the writers missed some essential je ne sais quoi that makes Pooh so endearing; in updating the characters for a new generation, something gets left out that I can’t quite put my finger on. It was a notable distraction through most of the film’s 70-minute run time, and by the time I’ve settled in to what this movie actually is — it’s over. I suspect that this one is geared towards an even younger audience than I was when I caught the Saturday morning show (eight years old, by the way), so perhaps there’s just less there for me.

If you’re less attached to Winnie-the-Pooh-based nostalgia, this is worth it just for the hand-drawn animation alone. The story is clever and funny, the look is bright and sunny, and overall it’s an enjoyable way to spend an hour. Still, I’m not entirely sure this is a movie for anyone but completionists or true fans, which is a shame. Pooh is great, and it’d be awesome to go back to the Hundred-Acre Wood again.

Brave (2012)

This was announced with the title The Bear and the Bow with great fanfare for Brenda Chapman, the first woman to direct a Pixar film. It took years for the final product to arrive in theatres, with Chapman removed from the project so Mark Andrews could finish the project. Despite being pulled for “creative differences”, Chapman says that the film executed on her vision and she’s proud of the way it turned out. I’m not sure if that’s putting on a good face or what, but I think about this whenever I think about Brave. Even though a lot of Disney and Pixar projects have had troubled productions, this is the first one where it feels like the seams in the story show.

Not that Brave isn’t a good movie; it’s fine. The animation in particular is wonderful to behold — the landscapes of an ancient, mythical Scotland lend the entire film the gorgeous fairy-tale aesthetic it was going for. The characters themselves are more exaggerated but in a way that doesn’t conflict with the more realistic background; it feels like they inhabit this world instead of performing in it. Again, light and water are really impressive here, and one stand-out sequence of Merida fishing with her mother really underscores how far Pixar had come with fur and environmental textures.

Wait, fur? Yeah, Merida’s mother is turned into a bear by accident. And since bears are nature’s perfect creatures, you’d think I’d be all in on this story. There are a lot of good scenes where Chapman and Andrews get comedic mileage out of juxtaposing the prim and proper habits of Queen Elinor with the shaggy, clumsy bulk of being a bear. Mor’du, the legendary demon-bear, is an extraordinarily impressive sight, every bit the terrifying supernatural villain he should be. But there’s something about the film that doesn’t quite add up, that doesn’t really connect Merida to the audience.

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Mother Bear

Merida is forced to choose between the oldest sons of three allied clans for marriage, but she really doesn’t want to. That’s the catalyst for the story; Merida asking an old witch in a hut for a potion that would change her mother into someone who could understand her. The parallel for this is the myth of Mor’du, the jealous eldest son of an ancient king who decided to split his kingdom among all four of his sons. Mor’du decided that he would fight for the kingdom, and asked a witch for the strength of ten men. Naturally, she turned him into a bear. Mindless but terrible, Mor’du stalks the woods with but a shadow of his human intellect.

Merida’s lesson doesn’t quite scan with the tale of Mor’du, though the structure of the story wants us to think it does. Wanting more than your fair share of a kingdom doesn’t equate to not wanting to be forced into marriage, yet Merida has to learn the lesson that giving up her life to prevent war amongst the clans is the way to go. Her mother, Queen Elinor, encourages her to establish her own timetable for marriage instead.

The arc of her lesson undercuts what makes Merida such a worthy addition to Disney’s Princess canon. She is headstrong but kind, passionate and resourceful. Forcing her to temper that willful spirit in order to satisfy societal demands that we’d never agree with anyway feels off; it’s like the movie is gently chastising us for wanting to march to the beat of our own drum. Elinor eventually learns to appreciate and respect her daughter’s wishes, but the movie treats this as a secondary revelation.

Shifting protagonists can be a tricky thing, especially if remnants of the previous narrative arc are kept in the film. I can’t say for sure that’s what happened here, but with the change in directors it feels like there are artifacts of a previous draft inhabiting the skeleton of the story that made it to the screen. Because of that, the journey of Merida and Elinor is muddied and confused more than it should be — and that means we’re never quite sure where we’re supposed to stand with either of them.

That’s a shame, because if it weren’t for that fundamental flaw Brave would be a fun, beautiful movie. As it stands, it’s one that always feels like it’s not quite comfortable with itself — and that means we aren’t able to get comfortable with it either.

 
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Posted by on June 7, 2017 in DisneyFest, Movies, Reviews

 

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(Writing) The Anatomy of the Story

Writing 150This summer I want to take the time and get really serious about my writing. That means working on it every day, reading stories from friends and colleagues as much as possible, and thinking about the aspects of my craft that I need to work on. When I asked my husband — the accomplished writer and wonderful dragon The Pen Drake — what I should work on first, it didn’t take him long to answer with “narrative structure”. After a moment’s consideration I totally see it. Plotting is one of those basic tools in a writer’s toolbox, and it’s one that I haven’t learned to use very well.

Plot is basically the series of events in a story that leads the characters through their arc. Ideally it should be interrelated with the character’s internal progression AND their external conflict; the main character’s main flaw is a significant barrier or source of conflict that needs to be overcome before the plot can be resolved. The main character is motivated to resolve the plot because it’s the only way they can get the one thing they desire. So the way the plot unfolds is inextricably linked to the internal world of the protagonist; the mistakes they make and the ultimate solution they come up with is based on who they are.

I think the main problem I have with plotting is, weirdly enough, having the protagonist actively work to achieve their goals and dealing with the consequences of those actions. In most of my stories the main character is little more than an observer, there to witness and chronicle the things that happen in the story. The protagonist takes in the action, but rarely actually initiates it, and the external stimulus is absorbed into their internal mental and emotional process.

What ends up happening is a lot of description; what’s happening in the world, immediately relevant to the viewpoint character, and how it makes them feel or changes the way they think. To be honest, I really love exploring how people are changed by the things they experience, and I love describing fantastic situations to explore how they’re interpreted through the lens of a particular person. But that’s only one half of the story; the insights you gain mean nothing until you put them into practice. You have to come down from the mountain, as they say.

So what I need to do is move further with the basic situations in my stories. It’s all well and good that a character’s life has been changed by something that’s happened, but what do they do about it? How does it get them closer to what they want? And what are the consequences of their actions on the world around them? What does that say about their priorities, and the setting?

The next Patreon serial I’m working on is a good opportunity to think about that. The plan is to make the protagonist the captain of a starship tasked with exploring the frontier and helping out in any way they can. In the first story, the crew of the ship contracts a disease that severely hampers their ability to carry out that mission; anywhere they go is now at risk of contracting the disease as well. How does the captain deal with that situation? How are his personal flaws going to make the resolution more difficult to come by? How do his actions affect the rest of the crew as well as anyone else they come into contact with? And what finally allows him to overcome those personal flaws to resolve the problem?

If all goes well, this will be the first serial of many in this setting. In future serials, the viewpoint character might shift so we’ll get a sense of how the captain’s resolution spins out to affect other officers and members of the crew. It’s ambitious, but that also means that the resolution of one plot becomes the catalyst for another — and that’s an exciting idea. To be honest, that’s what really attracts me to serialized fiction in the first place. Stories are never self-contained; they’re ripples on a continuum that keep extending outward.

Anyway, as I keep working on the pre-writing for this and other stories I’ll talk about my progress with this particular aspect of the craft. For now, I’m probably sticking to basic plots just to make sure I can construct a solid skeleton for the story I’m trying to tell. As I get more comfortable, I can move on to more complicated plots or figure out what kinds of twists I like.

If you have any advice on plotting, or any resources that have helped you figure out how to get better at it, why not share them in the comments? I’d be grateful for the help!

 

(Friday Fiction) Urban Gardening

Writing 150I’m currently at Biggest Little Fur Con, a furry-fandom convention in Reno, NV. One of the things this particular con is known for is its incredible attention to theme and atmosphere. In 2015, a propaganda-filled dystopian theme slowly fell apart through the weekend to reveal the theme for the following year — the Resistance. This year, only its fifth, they developed an intriguing alternate universe centered around kaiju. Their website has a ton of great art and stories on it, and I can’t wait to see what they do with the hotel space.

In honor of the convention, I thought I’d try my hand at a small piece of fiction exploring the theme. Enjoy!

Ash didn’t pay any attention to the air raid sirens until the first hard jolt shook the library. Dust spilled from the ceiling and the hushed buzz of conversation quieted as the main lobby grew still. When the building shook again, the librarian at the reception desk stood up and spoke in the loudest voice she could muster.

“The city is under attack, folks. This is not a drill. Please make your way to the shelter below the library as quickly and orderly as you can. Walk, don’t–”

The library rocked suddenly, as if another building slammed into it. Books and animals fell to the floor, and then there was panic.

Ash watched as patrons poured towards the exits, screaming. He flattened himself against a bookshelf at the edge of the lobby as the crowd grew, filling the space between the huge glass double-doors and the reception desk. The librarian, an old groundhog with fur streaked silver, barked and whistled to bring everyone’s focus back to her, but it was no use. She couldn’t be heard over the screaming.

The meerkat swallowed the hard ball of panic rising from his stomach. He picked up a large volume — it looked like one of those atlases that, while thorough, were outdated as soon as they were published — and clutched it tight to his chest while he wracked his brain. The pressure helped, but he couldn’t remember what he was supposed to do in this situation. Was it better to shelter in place right now? Or should he try leaving the area as soon as possible? What would it be like outside?

The entire building rolled unnaturally, a visible shockwave popping tiles from the floor and cracking the brick walls. The lights flickered, then went out. The crowd was briefly quieted by the sound of steel and glass bending in ways they were never meant to, then surged and roared its panic once it realized what that meant. The library was no longer safe. There was the very real danger of collapse.

Ash felt his hackles rise and his heart thump inside his chest. The sudden realization that he could die here turned him cold, made his fingers and toes tingle. Images of unimaginable destruction flashed in his head — news reports of attacks in other cities featuring entire neighborhoods flattened, smoke and debris obscuring bright red smears that had been scrambled and blurred “for sensitive viewers”. But never enough to miss what they were — all that remained of the victims.

He threw the atlas to the side and rushed towards the opening more than a hundred feet away before he realized what he was doing. He couldn’t die here, not now, not researching for a paper he didn’t even want to write. He was supposed to go to college; he was supposed to figure out the great mystery of the kaiju appearing in cities all around the world and destroying as much as they could before the military put them down; he was supposed to at least have sex once before he died.

The set of stairs leading to the underground shelter was to his left, and the thought that he should go there instead slowed him down just enough. A horrific, high-pitched whine exploded over his head as the ceiling and the top floor of the library peeled away to reveal the impossible hulk of a kaiju peering down at the space it had just opened.

It was covered in black fur and had vaguely lupine features — pointed ears, a broad boxy muzzle with sharp fangs, wide shoulders and a barreled chest. Its eyes were a solid sanguine red, the same color of the hard, round “pearl” that sat in the middle of its forehead. As massive paws curled around the edges of the hole it had made, Ash saw two matching pearls on the back of each one.

The midday sun was hidden behind the monster’s deep shadow and the smoke from fires that were no doubt raging through many of the blocks around him. The whole building shuddered as it tugged at the edges of the ceiling, widening the jagged hole it had made so it could fit its head and shoulders in. Ash couldn’t hear anything but his own heart. He stared dumbly, like everyone else trapped in the room.

Then the kaiju growled, its lips pulling back to reveal double-rows of sword-sized teeth. The crowd in front of him howled; animals threw themselves at the sheet-glass windows until they broke. The librarian, finally seeing that there was no hope of saving order for this situation, threw herself at the small opening at the back of the circular desk.

The kaiju’s shining eyes landed on her, and a fat drop of drool fell from its lips. It landed on the librarian and a heartbeat later the air filled with a hissing sound and a whistling shriek. Ash backed against the wall as half of the groundhog melted under the viscous liquid, the other half gurgling, then spasming, then falling with a wet thump to the floor. The sludge of the librarian’s remains continued to dissolve the desk and floor. After a few moments, the smell slammed into Ash’s nostrils. His gorge rose.

The massive head followed, instantly filling the lobby as it snapped up the remains of the librarian and most of the desk. The sound of its growl and splintering wood competed with the horrific wailing of the crowd as it pushed through whatever openings were available. Ash could just see the animals sprawled in the entryway, trampled in the panic and left behind.

The monster looked up and saw the ground in front of it covered with more food. The lobby flooded with eerie red light as it squirmed its vast bulk deeper in, scooping up multiple bodies at a time with flicks of its tongue. Wherever it touched, drool burned through wood and glass and brick, adding to the overwhelming acrid scent that whirled around it.

Ash was too frightened to move. His stomach lurched several times until he finally purged his breakfast. The retching was violent and prolonged. He doubled over, clutching his stomach as if he was trying to keep it from leaping out of his throat. His head pounded with each violent heave until at last it was over.

A low growl drew his attention upwards. When he looked up, he saw the kaiju staring right at him, bathing him in the eerie red eye-shine of its gaze. Ash’s knees went weak as he stared back, frozen.

The monster looked curious, almost concerned. For a moment, it almost felt like they connected. If he didn’t know any better, Ash would have thought that the beast was forming some kind of theory about him, that something else was going on in that enormous head beyond destruction and insatiable hunger.

An explosion rocked the opening above the library, and suddenly the kaiju rose and roared. The building shook with the sheer volume of it. Ash felt his eardrums flutter and burst. Pain lanced through his ears, and the sensation jarred him into action.

Clutching one small, round ear in a hand, he stumbled down the stairs towards the shelter. He didn’t look back.

 
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Posted by on June 2, 2017 in Writing

 

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