In real life, I like things nice and tame, non-life-threatening, and calm. But in books, media, and maybe especially movies, I love a good fight.
Now, what makes a good fight? That can be hard to define, and is definitely all about one's personal tastes.
Myself, I like what I term "creative" fights. By this I mean, fights that surprise and delight me by unusual moves, out-of-the-box choreography, and use of interesting props or settings.
So here are five fairly recent favorites. I hope you enjoy.
Bus fight in Shang-chi
Shang-Chi and the Legend of the Ten Rings (2021) had LOTS of fight scenes, as one would expect in a a Marvel superhero story about a young man with a mystical origin and epic fighting skills. For me, the big set-piece fight at the end with all the monsters was the least interesting fight in the film. I felt the stakes much more strongly in this moment, when Shang-Chi has to choose to reveal his single biggest secret to save his best friend (and all the other people on the bus).
I love a good close-quarters fight, which the bus definitely delivered. I loved the nod to Jackie Chan with the "my own jacket is a weapon" move. Awkwafina's performance as Katy really gave the viewer an "in" to the moment as well: her shock, how impressed she became, and her willingness to jump into the fray herself and exhibit some really impressive driving skills.
This was the first Jackie Chan movie I ever saw, so it has a special place in my heart. Of course, the most awesome thing about watching a Jackie Chan fight is knowing that the man is actually doing everything you see. In this scene, it's the way that everything became a part of the fight: pool table, chair, refrigerators, skis, televisions, even a grocery cart. If you watch the flick, make sure you check out the end blooper scenes. It's amazing to think he filmed parts of that film with a broken foot.
The charm of this scene is in the unexpectedness of it, that this very calm and collected, polished and posh British man would fight so capably. It certainly surprised everyone else in the room. The umbrella was cool even before it's extra elements (like built-in projectiles and bulletproof cloth) were revealed. I also appreciate that the one fighter versus several attackers trope came across more believably. The bad guys didn't just take turns for no reason--they were surprised, or temporarily decommissioned and jumped back into the fight the second they could.
Speaking of one fighter against many, how about Black Widow's chair fight in The Avengers (2012)?
Like the scene in Kingsman, reversal of expectations is everything in this scene. Natasha looks helpless, tied to a chair in her evening wear, but of course, she is anything but. A skilled fighter turn a seeming disadvantage into a weapon made for some fun choreography, and Natasha made short work of the group of men who thought they were winning that interrogation.
I'll finish with the rollerskating chase/fight scene from Birds of Prey (2020):
You'd think a woman on roller skates would be no match for a car, but when that woman is Harley Quinn? All bets are off. That basic premise allowed for such marvelous athleticism and unexpected movement. That same creativity came into play in the big group fight at the amusement park.
I can only hope that if my Menopausal Superhero series ever makes it to the screen, the fight scene coordinators come up with something as visual striking and wow-inducing as these filmmakers did.
How about you? Are you a fan of creative fight scenes? What are some of your favorites? I'd love to hear about them in the comments!
More Disney! (See our earlier thoughts here, here, here, here, here, here, and here) Welcome to the 1970s in Disney animation. We've finally reached films that were made during my lifetime. While Disney has often echoed its earlier work, using the same voice actors or animators or a similar style, that seemed especially obvious in these films, which is something my daughter and I both enjoyed. We delighted in hearing Phil Harris (Baloo of Jungle Book) as Thomas O'Malley and Little John; Eva Gabor as Duchess and Bianca; Pat Buttram as Napoleon, the Sheriff of Nottingham, and Luke the Swamp Mouse; Sterling Holloway whom we'd already admired as Mr. Stork, Flower, The Cheshire Cat, and Kaa, returning in the 1970s as Roquefort and Winnie the Pooh.
My daughter is interested in voice acting as a possible future career, so we make special note of those performances and these voice actors were so much a part of the soundtrack of my childhood that I feel that warm and gushy rush of nostalgia whenever and I hear them.
We also saw a lot of visual echoes, with familiar animal shapes in chase scenes from Robin Hood and the Rescuers, and Cruella de Vil's seeming cousin Madame Medusa.
Three of our four selections had couples that crossed "class" barriers: Duchess and Thomas, Robin and Maid Marian (in Disney's version, there's no mention of Robin being nobility--he's just some guy), and Bianca and Bernard.
The music of the Aristocats is similar to the tunes from Jungle Book in the jazz influence, too. My daughter and I enjoyed that "Easter egg" feeling that spotting these connections and echoes gave us.
In case, you haven't read the other posts, the basic project is that my 12 year old daughter and I are watching all the Disney animated features in chronological order since Dad got us Disney plus this winter. We're using the wikipedia list and so far there have been only a few that weren't available on Disney Plus: Academy Award Review of Walt Disney Cartoons, Victory Through Air Power, Make Mine Music, Song of the South, So Dear to My Heart, and The Sword and the Stone (which we found from another source and watched). So, we've watched 23 films so far.
So how do the 70s stack up?
Story-wise, we found these less problematic. While Duchess was a bit of a damsel in distress, Marian and Bianca have serious backbone and a sense of adventure.
The films were mostly free of "ick" moments of leering men and voluptuous women or racial stereotyping or outright offensive portrayals as we'd found in earlier films. They still play well to twenty-first century women like us. We weren't pulled out by outmoded references or outdated humor like we sometimes were with earlier flicks.
Animation-wise, production seemed a little less careful. Thomas O'Malley in the Aristocats looked like a completely different cat in some scenes, especially when he was supposed to be frightened. He changed shape and size throughout. We were pretty sure we spotted some repeated footage in Robin Hood and the Rescuers, like you might see in a Hanna Barbera production, a sign of cost-cutting.
In contrast Winnie the Pooh was highly creative with its use of the text of the books as part of the animation and breaking of the fourth wall as characters interacted directly with the narrator and seemed to know they were in a story.
So far as animation sequences, we loved Tigger sliding down the words on the page when the narrator shook him out of his tree and the opening sequence where a book is opened and all the drawings begin to move. Or when Pooh Bear bounced on lines of text. It was fun how this feature in particular kept reminding you that it was really a storybook.
Even though, she came in to this one expecting she might be "too old" for it, my daughter really enjoyed the sweet stories and fun characters. She thought a lot of the denizens of the Hundred Acre Woods reminded her of her own friends. It's a low stress cartoon that feels very soothing, in the same way that Totoro has been for her throughout her childhood: something you watch when you want something calm.
The 70s get a bad rap sometimes artistically as an era of tacky exploitation and low production values, but we felt these films are still well-worth seeing.
If you've been reading these posts, you already know my husband got us a subscription to Disney Plus, so my daughter (age 12) and I have taken on a project of watching all the Disney animated features in order. I'm writing about the movies and our reactions here on the blog.
Since the United States was kind of busy in the 1940s, thanks to WWII, Disney produced mostly collections of short animations during this period. Even though the release dates are largely post-war, the artists must have working on these pieces during some tumultuous times, and the Disney studio did a lot of government propaganda work, leaving less time to develop popular features.
The compilation/anthology movies don't appeal to me as much as the more extended movies that tell a single story. My daughter doesn't mind though. She's a bigger animation fan in general, though, seeking out animators on YouTube in her spare time and drawing still images in the various styles she sees there. So, she enjoyed these more than I did.
The next one on our list was Make Mine Music (1946), and I was disappointed to find that it wasn't on Disney Plus. I know I've seen it because when I read the description on wikipedia, I remembered Casey at the Bat, Peter and the Wolf, Johnny Fedora and Alice Bluebonnet, and that one with the singing whale. I'll check back for it in the future. Maybe there's a distribution rights problem or something.
On the other hand, I wasn't at all surprised that Song of the South (1946) wasn't there. That one already felt weird in terms of race depictions in the 1970s when I was a little kid. It would probably be even stranger now.
I told my daughter about it, and we both wished we could have watched it for the animation study, to see if the integration of live action and animation had gotten any better after The Three Cabelleros in 1944. I remember thinking it was pretty amazing at the time, but then I wasn't the animation connoisseur she is.
Having learned about Uncle Remus stories, though, my daughter had an a-ha moment about the reference her dad and I sometimes make to being thrown in the Briar Patch, so hey--educational moment :-)
So, we jumped to 1947 with Fun and Fancy Free, which features several famous names of the era alongside two cartoons: Bongo and Mickey and the Beanstalk. I didn't remember Bongo at all, though I remembered Mickey and the Beanstalk quite well. The retelling of Jack and the Beanstalk has been released in other forms and shown on television over the years, though, so it's entirely possibly that I really never had seen Bongo.
My daughter and I both enjoyed Dinah Shore's reading and singing of Bongo, but were more than a little perplexed at the whole "Bears Say I Love You With a Slap" thing. My daughter's reaction was pretty much: Wait? What? Still, it was a fairly charming story and we enjoyed it, even if we didn't find anything especially memorable about it. We both enjoyed seeing Jiminy Cricket again. He's a charmer, that little bug.
Edgar Bergen introduced Mickey with his dummies Charlie McCarthy and Mortimer Snerd. Now I've never found Bergen's schtick funny, but I tried to hold my tongue and let my girl decide what she thought uninfluenced by me. I guess she's my kiddo, after all, because she also wished they would just hush up with the creepy dolls and staged conversations and get back to the story.
Mickey and the Beanstalk was a charming telling and does a good job integrating the normal personalities of Mickey, Donald, and Goofy into the familiar fairy tale. The giant was such a goofball that he wasn't scary at all. We were happy to see him again at the end, pulling the roof off Edgar Bergen's house and then stomping off into the city to put on the Brown Derby restaurant as a hat.
Next we made it to 1948 and Melody Time, which was a string of music-centered stories: Once Upon a Wintertime, Bumble Boogie, The Legend of Johnny Appleseed, Little Toot, Trees, Blame it on the Samba, and Pecos Bill. I remembered Johnny Appleseed and Little Toot from childhood, and was happy to recognize The Andrews Sisters and Roy Rogers among the narrators.
My daughter knew Johnny Appleseed, too--having had a babysitter in her preschool years who showed that cartoon alongside lots of Veggie Tales to the children when she needed a break. And I'm proud to say that she knows who The Andrews Sisters were, too. She's a fan of an electro-swing rendition of Mr. Sandman, which sent her down a historical music rabbit hole, so she's now probably the only twelve-year-fan of a musical group her great-grandmother used to love.
Among the other stories, we were both mostly just annoyed by Once Upon a Wintertime and couldn't figure out why in the world Jenny and Joe were all cuddly at the end when their disastrous ice skating date should have taught them both that they are ill suited for one another. The music didn't really go with the animation either. It looked slapstick and sounded melodramatically romantic.
Bumble Boogie was fun visually and would have been at home in Fantasia, but it's good that it's short.
The Legend of Johnny Appleseed was way more overtly Christian than I remembered, but still managed to be pretty charming, even though both of us don't usually enjoy art that proselytizes too much. Johnny was just so earnest and grateful for his blessings that it's hard not to like him.
Little Toot definitely benefitted from the Andrews Sisters' talents, because the story is a bit of a muddle. My daughter that Little Toot's parents were the ones were needed a talking to, maybe something about age-appropriate expectations and child supervision.
Trees was really pretty to look at onscreen. According to wikipedia, "To preserve the look of the original story sketches, layout artist Ken O'Connor came up with the idea of using frosted cels and render the pastel images right onto the cel. Before being photographed each cel was laminated in clear lacquer to protect the pastel. The result was a look that had never been seen in animation before." It truly was striking visually! We oohed and ahed over that one, but again we were glad it was short because the poem wasn't very interesting and there wasn't really a narrative hook.
Pecos Bill was the silliest piece. A tall tale story you might hear alongside something about Paul Bunyan or John Henry, it told the story of a cowboy who had been raised by coyotes, wrestled cyclones, and fell in love with a cowgirl named Slue Foot Sue.
We giggled quite a bit during this section, but its silly-ness really brought out how all over the map the tones were in this collection. It was very much a kitchen-sink production, probably having something for everyone since we threw everything in willy-nilly.
Next should have been So Dear to My Heart, 1948, but it too was unavailable on Disney +. So onward we went to The Adventures of Ichabod and Mr. Toad, 1949. Neither of us was sure why these two stories were paired for release. There's really nothing to connect them, though both are fun in their own way. I remembered both stories with some fondness from childhood. My daughter had never seen either one.
Mr. Toad is about, well, Mr. Toad. He's a madcap frog with an enthusiasm for speed and adventure that gets him into trouble. The portrayal of Toad's mania with the hypno-spinning-wheel eyes was entertaining, as was the whole frog running around the countryside dressed as a country gentleman from the turn of the century.
It was a light and entertaining story and we both enjoyed it, but thought it rather forgettable. (The introduction by Basil Rathbone delighted me, but unfortunately my daughter doesn't know who he is, so we'll have to try some old school Sherlock Holmes on her soon.)
Ichabod was a delight. Bing Crosby was perfect and we were both delighted by the portrayal of Ichabod (already a familiar character to both of us) as socially graceful despite his gangly appearance. The scene where he's dancing with Katrina at the party and stuffing himself with pie without ever missing a step and Brom is trying and failing to switch partners so he can squire Katrina around the dance floor? Priceless. So many moving parts in that scene and all so deftly handled. Brilliant.
Talking afterwards we wondered if Katrina's ploy worked and made Brom work harder to win her heart or not. We hoped that Ichabod found a warm hearth and good food in another town. He was a man of simple enough wants after all.
We're both glad to be done with the anthology pieces now. Check back soon to see what we think of Disney in the 1950s. I'm anxious to see how Cinderella holds up!
I had more exposure to classical musical as a child than was average for those around me. My beloved grandfather was a fan, especially of Wagner and Beethoven. You know how some kids sneak into the back of movie theaters to watch movies without paying? My grandfather, as a boy, snuck into the back of Music Hall to listen to opera and classical music.
I also took dance lessons. My parents hoped it would make me less clumsy, and I did enjoy it even though I didn't have much talent. Later, I was in the band and the chorus. All that is to say that I liked classical music more than many children around me, so the classical aspect of this film was not a hard sell for me, even then.
My younger daughter isn't particularly a classical music fan, but she appreciates music and animation in combination and does listen to quite a bit of instrumental music on her own. She was quite open to giving this film a chance, and remembered the Mickey Mouse sorcerer part from Fantasia 2000, which we watched kind of a lot when she was smaller.
For both of us, one of the oddest aspects of Fantasia were the bits between pieces. We were tempted to fast forward the man talking to us about the music (Deems Taylor) to get to the "good part" where we actually hear it and see what the artists did with it.
Program notes are tricky beasts. Classical programs always seem to want to combine education with entertainment, and the audience overall does seem to want that background about the composers and the times they wrote in. Neither of us found these particular program notes all that engaging though. The bit where Mickey came out and shook hands with the conductor was cute and charming. The bit where the musicians randomly knocked over their own instrument was weird. The rest was utterly forgettable. In fact, I don't actually remember anything said during this part now.
I guess the program notes were intended to add some gravitas? To make sure we didn't feel the serious music was disrespected by the animated interpretations? I don't know. Maybe it's a product of its times. It was 1940 and I'm watching in 2019. I think I'd have left this part out and just put in a title slide letting me know the name of the piece, the composer, and when it was written.
"The Sorcerer's Apprentice" by Paul Dukas is still the most memorable piece in the collection. Perhaps this is because it has a plot, whereas most of the others don't really tell a story, or maybe it's because of Mickey Mouse. It's beautifully matched to the music and Mickey is sympathetic as the apprentice looking for a shortcut for his labor. My daughter was as charmed by those relentless water-hauling broomsticks as I had been as a child, and it ends on a cute laugh where Mickey is punished by the scary wizard, but in a "get out of here, you scamp" way which is a relief of tension.
"Tocatta and Fugue in D Minor" by Bach, the opening piece, probably did the least for either of us. It morphed from live action images of the orchestra into increasing abstract images. My daughter--the visual artist of the two of us--admired the moment of transition, noting that at some points it was difficult to tell if something was real or drawn, but I was impatient. It doesn't help that I'm not particularly a Bach fan, so the music didn't pull me in either.
"The Nutcracker Suite" by Tchaikovsky is by far the piece of music we both know best. Thanks to the popularity of the ballet, that score is etched into our brains. This one must have made an impression on me when I was a child, because it hit with a rush of nostalgia, especially the long-legged fairies the dancing mushrooms.
My daughter was especially charmed by the Russian flower people section. Overall, we both enjoyed this section immensely for the way it reinterpreted the music while still referencing the familiar and popular aspects of the ballet.
"Rites of Spring" by Igor Stravinksy or "the dinosaur part" as children remember it reminded me of Bambi. The part where the spike-tailed dinosaur fights for life and loses it to the T-Rex (who has larger "hands" than are usually depicted, which made him even more terrifying) was heartbreaking, with all the other dinos hiding in the greenery and watching him die. Disney really loves to get gruesome in its pathos sometimes.
My daughter's highlight in this part was the pterodactyls (who were pretty scary looking too) getting their comeuppance for torturing the squid they'd captured by losing one of their count to the large-jawed sea creature. It suited her sense of justice.
"The Pastoral Symphony" by Beethoven, in contrast, was so pastel-romantic that it was funny. The plot of this one involves little cupid babies trying to get centaurs and "centaurettes" (I kid you not: they actually called them that in the intro) together for a little spring romance, then everyone being attacked by Zeus with thunderbolts for a while. Oh yeah, and the bit with a chubby comically drunk Dionysus.
Now, my daughter is into Greek mythology. She's a fan of a Red from Overly Sarcastic Productions on YouTube (whom I also really enjoy! She's witty and sarcastic and unapologetic in her interpretations and opinions). So, my girl was a little startled by this portrayal of the gods, though she thought Zeus randomly throwing lightning at people because he was bored was very on-brand. He's such a bro-dude.
I was more taken aback by these simpering, beauty-obsessed female centaurs. (Not that the boys did much either--they seemed to mostly mope about hoping one of the girls would notice them, or jump around athletically). In my first piece on this project, I talked about my ambivalence about Disney, some of which stems from portrayals of female characters. This is some of the kind that bothers me. Every Centaur girl was so passive and sweetly docile. How about just one with a little moxie?
Still, the art was idyllic, soft and pretty. And Zeus definitely looked like a jerk for attacking their party with lightning for no clear reason.
"Dance of the Hours" by Amilcare Ponchielli didn't sound familiar until we got to the bit that was stolen for "Camp Granada," but I did remember the dancing hippos fondly. This one was clearly meant to re-engage the younger children who might have lost interest during the pastoral languor. We have ostriches, hippos, elephants, and alligators dancing ballet. It's cute and funny. Watching, my daughter and I were a little confused as to the intentions of the alligators. Did they want to eat the hippos or date them? It seemed a bit of both.
"Night on Bald Mountain" by Mussorgsky was a surprise. Chernabog the demon/devil dude was pretty darn dark and scary looking. I recently read a book about Milicent Patrick, an artist who worked on this segment and later went on to create the Gill-man, my favorite old movie monster and I thought about that while I was watching, wondering what parts she'd been responsible for.
My daughter often creates demon OCs (original characters) in her sketchbook (though hers are usually cute-creepy rather than large-scary), so she sat up and took notice during this part, too. She ooo-ed and ahh-ed over the imagery of his drawing ghosts out, skeletons and ghostly figures swirling through the air.
We were both struck by the effect of the church bell sound on Chernabog. Such expression on his face! The animation work is just amazing here. In fact, there's much that I've seen echoed in later animations: the use of light to indicate power, the body language, the shapes of wing and face. From Gargoyles to Maleficent, lots of future Disney scares seem to have found inspiration in this demon character.
I confess that the Ave Maria that ended the piece put me to sleep, though. In part, this is because I was a tired mother at the end of a long day, resting under a cozy blanket on the sofa. In part it was just so soothing, both the music and the animation of the souls walking into eternity, which is apparently a beautiful wooded landscape with gorgeous bridges, reflective waters, and elaborate gateways. I missed the last two minutes because I had literally drifted off!
My daughter laughed at me, but confessed it had left her feeling sleepy, too. So, I'm not sure what to make of that as an end note.
Since this piece contained so many different stories and styles, it's hard to compare to the single-character-arc stories of Snow White and Cinderella. It's just too different a critter to compare easily.
An interesting aspect of any anthology piece like this one is the effect of the order of the pieces: knowing what emotion to draw in your audience with and what to send them out with, when to up the tension and when to throw in comic relief or something else to calm the audience. Fantasia is beautifully paced for the most part in this way, balancing the different pieces. It's still so well worth viewing!
Can you feel it? There's a wave of excitement in the air, a mixture of anticipation and nostalgia which can only come from spending a weekend talking with new friends about old loves. In other words, it's convention time!
I'll be heading to Roanoke, Virginia this weekend as an author guest for Mysticon. It's my second time attending this convention, and I'm thrilled to have been invited back. I had a wonderful time last year. I'm taking my sister with me again, which always increases the fun, so I'm expecting to enjoy myself immensely.
So, here's what I'll be up to.
Author Reading: I'll kick things off with an author reading at 4:00 on Friday. I haven't chosen for certain what I'll read just yet, but you can expect some favorite scenes from The Menopausal Superhero series and maybe a sneak peak into my new project, a young adult dystopian romance, working title Thursday's Children. Either way, I'll probably be able to convince my sister to film it, so that my friends and readers who can't make it to the Virginia can catch it on my Facebook page or my YouTube channel.
Here's a piece from a reading at ConGregate last summer to give you a taste:
Writing Up Close and Personal: Panel Saturday at 10:00 a.m. Luckily, I'm not a party-girl, because my first panel on Saturday is early by convention standards. We'll be discussing point of view choices and the advantages and disadvantages of each one. My fellow panelists include Crymsyn Hart, Melissa McArthur, Pamela K. Kinney, Peter Prellwitz, and Travis Sivart.
Let's Take Flight: Panel Saturday at 11:00 a.m. Now this should be fun! Jim Gaines, Darin Kennedy, Erin Ashley, Jason T. Graves, Travis Sivart, and me (of course) will spend some time waxing eloquent about the myriad methods of flight in fiction, from rocket packs to umbrellas, capes, and balloons.
Women Rocking Hollywood: Panel Saturday at 1:00 p.m. The success of Wonder Woman, a woman directed, woman-led blockbuster movie that got both critical acclaim and box office results, has us hungry for more. Along with Erin Ashley, Alex Matsuo, Ginger Snaps, Mariah Johnson, and Bob Flack, I'll be exploring what's on the horizon and what our hopes are for the field.
Signing Table: Signing Saturday, 4:00 p.m. Here's my chance to possibly sell a few books and talk with a few readers. I'll have all three of my novels and several of the anthologies including my work available, as well as the sign up for my author newsletter and some freebie bookmarks.
Broad Universe RFR: Reading Saturday, 8:00 p.m. Broad Universe is an
organization devoted to support the work of women in science fiction. I've been a member for a few years now and one of my favorite parts is participating in the RFR or Rapid-Fire-Readings at conventions. Any Broads who attend this con will be invited to read briefly from their work. It's a great opportunity to sample the work of several authors all at once. The Last Racebenders/Genderbenders: Panel Sunday 10:00 a.m. This panel discussion will explore the ways that changing the traditional gender or race of a character impacts and changes a story. Amanda J McGee, Darin Kennedy, Alex Matsuo, and Peter Prellwitz, will join me for what promises to be a lively discussion.
Other than all this paneling and reading and signing, I'll also be shopping, eating, gaming, and going to other people's events. Mysticon scored some pretty exciting guests this year, so maybe I'll even do a little fangirling myself.
I'm still enjoying the prompts from the DIYMFA book club. They've got a very active group over on Facebook, too. If you're interested in exploring these themes about your own writing, I highly recommend giving them a look!
Today's question is: What feeds YOUR creativity?
Knowing what fuels your creativity is SO IMPORTANT if you're going to make a go of your creative endeavor of choice. All of us have certain supports that have to be in place or it's a no-go.
I considered just saying "caffeine" because tea and coffee definitely have a starring role in my writing life, but I decide to explore the topic a little more deeply than that.
For me, it comes down to two basic things:
Taking care of myself AND seeking interesting input.
Taking care of myself may seem pretty basic, but it's something I have to consciously remind myself to do at times. I can't think well if I am exhausted, hungry, or headachy and thinking is kind of necessary to the writing process.
I do my writing at night most of the time, after a full teaching day and seeing my family through meals, homework, and whatever else life throws at us. It's easy to accidentally stay up very late that way. But nobody likes underslept Samantha! She's a Crankasaurus Rex.
Taking care of myself sometimes means keeping myself on a time leash and protecting me from me. Even if I'm in the groove, I have hard stop times each night.
Since I also write everyday, come hell or high water, it evens out. And it can be a great feeling to sit back down the next day raring to go because I had to stop before I really wanted to the night before. (YMMV: After years of teaching and mom-ing, I'm used to working while being constantly interrupted; I'm good at putting a pin in it and leaving good notes that help me find my place again quickly).
It also means saying no to things, which I am not good at, but see the necessity of. I have to protect my writing time by NOT attending every reading, books club, and workshop in the Triangle. And there are *a lot* of great writing related events in my corner of North Carolina, so that can be hard to balance.
The other side of that balance is the "interesting input" part of things. I need exposure to new things. Novelty keeps me interested. Learning excites me.
So, sometimes, I say YES, too. I go to the piano recital or middle school production. I watch the movie everyone is talking about. I read the book. I take the class; I try the new hobby.
I go out and talk to people (good conversation with interesting people is rocket fuel for my writing).
It's not just that it's a break (though it is that, too). But having disparate ideas bounce around in my noggin causes connections and inspirations that wouldn't happen otherwise. Some of my favorite ideas starting with a simple daydreaming, "What if?"
So, there's my secret formula for writing fuel: self care and interesting input.
The nice thing is that it doesn't have to be expensive. Just people watching at the park can be enough to get my storytelling brain spinning (I LOVE writing backstories for strangers). The key is keeping tabs on myself and noticing burnout or loss of interest and actively seeking the spark that keeps imagination ignited and curiosity's head on a swivel.
As I move deeper into my writing life, I'm getting invitations to do a variety of things. It's proving to be almost as much fun as writing itself is!
My favorite is probably participating in discussion panels. I get to indulge my vanity by acting as an expert on a topic, as well as the more altruistic side of me that wants to help others move towards their dreams AND I get to connect with other people with similar interests.
Since I started doing this (at conventions, libraries, and literary events), I've participated in discussions about writing craft (dialogue, action, characterization, etc.), writing tools (software, storyboarding, editing programs), marketing (social media, blogging, sales), paths to publishing, time management, superheroes, concepts like honor, the importance of diversity, and so much more.
So, if life hands you the opportunity to be on a panel, here are a few pieces of advice about how to make the most of it:
1. A little research helps. If you know ahead of time who you are sharing panel conversation with and what the topic is, spend a little time looking into who the other people are and considering questions and topics you might raise if the conversation needs a nudge. This can also really assist you if you're introverted or don't consider yourself as good as thinking on your feet as others. You don't want to go too far and write a speech, but a few notes can be a nice support and keep long lulls from happening.
2. Be generous. Talk kindly of anyone you mention (if you can't talk kindly about something/someone . . .maybe don't mention it at all). Give the other panelists an "in" to the conversation by throwing them a bone from time to time. If you notice someone is quiet, try to bring them in (even if you're not the moderator) by riffing off of something they said or using what you learned about them in your research. We all benefit if the conversation flows well and stays interesting for the audience.
3. Be aware. Pay attention to the social cues your audience and fellow panelists are giving you. Are you talking too much? Interrupting or over-talking? Stay focused and "in the moment" giving your companions the courtesy of your full attention. Listen to the other panelists rather than just waiting for your turn to talk.
4. Take care of you. Self care is especially important when you're going to be in
the public eye. I learned the hard way about accepting too many panels at a convention, then having to struggle to keep myself wakeful and positive by the last one of the day. Plan ahead by bringing layers you can add or remove for temperature comfort. Lip balm, water, and portable snacks like protein bars can be a lifesaver. Allow yourself enough time between events to rest your voice and your mind (especially important if you're more introverted).
5. Show gratitude. Thank your panelists, audience, and organizers both on the spot and afterwards. Give some social media love by sharing pictures and tagging the other participants. Even if there are only a few audience members, you never know what ripples you've created that will feed your career and networks. Be gracious, and present yourself well even if you feel disappointed.
Nine more days until Mysticon! I'm so excited. It's my first time at this convention, and I'll be there as a guest author. This is my year for new cons. I'll also be attending Ravencon and going back to ConCarolinas, but this time as a guest. w00t!
If you've been following this blog, then you know that I love doing the author thing at cons. I get to see lots of my writer friends, and talk nerdy for hours, and maybe even sell some books. My sister is going with me as my Plus One this time, so we'll get to geek out together, too.
Here's what I'll be up to at Mysticon. If you're in Virginia, come find me!
Friday, 24 February, 3:00:
Welcome to the Hellmouth:
I'll be talking all things Buffy with other
fans. To prepare, I've been rewatching the series with my daughter. Ah, the sacrifices we make for art!
Friday, 24 February, 7:00:
What Are Cult Classics? : What exactly makes a cult classic "cult" and "classic"? I'm sure our panel will have it all figured out by the end of our hour together.
Friday, 24 February, 10:00:
ConCarolinas Party: I'm anxious to meet some of the people who pull ConCarolinas together, especially now that we'll be working together this year. I'm even willing to get over my party anxiety to do it.
Saturday, 25 February, 11:00:
Honor in the Verse: Exploring the concept of honor in various fandoms. I signed up to talk about Firefly, which has an interestingly complex notion of honor, in my opinion.
Saturday, 25 February, 2:00:
Author Signing Table: This is the nerve-wracking part, just me at a table, hoping someone comes by and buys a book and wants me to sign it.
Saturday, 25 February, 8:30:
Broad Universe Rapid Fire Reading: This is often the highlight of a con for me. Members of Broad Universe get together and each give a short reading from their work. It's a great way to catch up on what a lot of different writers are up to and find your next read.
Sunday, 26 February, 9:00:
Where are my (super) girls at?: A conversation about female superheroes. What's worth reading or watching? What do wish there was more of?
Sunday, 26 February, 1:00:
Ingredients of a Story: If there's a recipe for a story, what really needs to be there?
Got any thoughts about any of these topics? I'd love to hear what you'd have to say if you were going with me.
Given that I'm a gal who enjoys big monster movies, you'd think King Kong would be right up my alley. It's got a giant ape and dinosaurs at the same time, and who doesn't like to see an ape swatting airplanes out of the sky?
But King Kong has always pissed me off. Even when I was a little girl, I hated the story, though I couldn't have explained why. It wasn't just that they killed the ape, though I was and continue to be a softy when it comes to animals. I think it was what the story does with its leading lady. At a subconscious level, I was offended, even when my age was still being counted in single digits.
The story's pretty old (first released as a movie with Fay Wray in 1933), so I don't think I'm spoiling it for you to say that the basic plot outline involves a film director, a young woman, and a giant ape. The ape ends up dying in a fall from a skyscraper after being abducted from his home and displayed in New York City, and with the very last line of the movie, the blame for the entire tragedy is handed to the young woman: "Oh no, it wasn't the airplanes. It was Beauty killed the Beast."
Even six-year-old Samantha was going, "What? Um, did you watch the same movie I did? Because I'm thinking Ann didn't actually do a darn thing. How is this her fault?"
The movie was made in 1933, but the 30's also brought us Nora Charles in the Thin Man series, so the year isn't fully an excuse.
I don't know why a giant ape would want young women. You'd think he'd rather have food, or at least another giant ape. But the tribe of people on this island have a tradition of sacrificing a young woman to Kong periodically, and our hapless Ann Darrow is kidnapped, tied to posts, and serves as this year's offering. Given that Kong is never portrayed as able to communicate, I don't know how we're supposed to have arrived at this arrangement, but women as bargaining chips in the games of men is hardly a new thing. Offering your daughters as war prizes or peace offerings goes way back.
Their first encounter is hardly the stuff of romance. Ann screams her head off and tries to get away while the stop-motion Kong makes terrifying faces at her and roars a lot.
Ann's next few scenes are pretty much about her being menaced by one monster and saved by the one who snatched her. I get why the T-Rex and the pterodactyl want her, after all, she's a sizable meal with no armor or spikes to have to chew through. The mythology tells us that Kong is supposed to be smitten and that's why he keep fighting to save her, but it views more like simple possession to me. "Hey that's mine!" There's a part where he removes parts of her dress and examines the cloth, like "what the heck is this stuff?" There's no reason really, other than to make sure we get a nice full view of Ann's trim figure.
In the 1933 Kong, there's no emotional connection between Ann and Kong like there is in later versions. She only looks on him with terror, even when he's saving her from even scarier monsters. No Stockholm Syndrome here. In other tellings, there are these moments when Ann reaches out and touches him gently or tries to make him laugh, because even though her life is in danger, she feels for her captor.
This idea that it is somehow a woman's job to tame a man rankles me, even when the man is portrayed as an actual beast--and that's part of what that ending line implies. That toxic idea is part of the whole maelstrom of destructive ideas that create rape culture and necessitate feminism. Men are people, women are people. Why should it be my job to "be a good influence" on half the people of the world just because I was born female? Why shouldn't they be responsible for themselves? If men thought about that "boys will be boys" attitude a little longer, they might be insulted, too. Do we, as a culture, really think our men are little better than animals, unable to control their baser urges?
So, poor Ann Darrow: got duped into taking a journey to a dangerous place because some manipulative jerk took advantage of her poverty and desperation, only to end up kidnapped by a giant ape who kills people and other monsters to try and keep her, and then to be blamed for the creature's death because she's beautiful. Gah! What shot did she ever have?
The movie ends without giving much of a hint of what becomes of Ann after Kong is dead. I'd like to think that she learned to take some agency in her own life instead of blowing wherever the wind takes her. More likely, she married her leading man and cried when he left her. Or worse yet, she was sent to an asylum for her nervous condition and fell apart when they take her on a field trip to a zoo and she saw a gorilla.
"I am big. It's the pictures that got small." -Norma Desmond
This evening I had the pleasure of watching Sunset Boulevard on the big screen with some friends. Our art museum holds these wonderful Friday night showings of movies. I would go every Friday if life allowed.
I love old movies. In some ways, I think Norma was right. There's something about the older movies. Something powerful that newer movies don't generally have. I don't know exactly what it is, but older movies move me and affect me differently. Maybe it's that the years have let the schlock fall by the wayside, so the movies that have survived to be shown are real jewels. Maybe it's the black and white. Maybe it was the writing. Maybe it was the types of stories being told. Maybe it was the acting. As Norma said: "We didn't need dialogue. We had faces!"
If you've never seen this film, you should. There are few near-perfect movies in this world. But this is one. (Another is Casablanca). The main three characters: Norma Desmond played by Gloria Swanson, Joe Gillis played by William Holden and Max Von Mayerling played by Erich von Stroheim were all so spot on. Not a false moment. The curator told us in her talk about the other actors considered for the roles of Norma and Joe, but now it's impossible to imagine anyone else in the roles, so entwined have they become with these performers.
In fact, there was (I presume and imagine) some element of personal truth for the actors in these roles, and I wonder if that is where the strength of performance comes from. Gloria Swanson had indeed been a silent film star, and, like many women of Hollywood, knew how unkind the industry was about aging. She is undeniably beautiful. Even as she holds her head at that impossible, cockeyed angle that she invented for the character, she is lovely.
But, as the recent Oscars showed us with catty and harsh comments about Kim Novak and Liza Minelli and even Matthew McConaughey's mother, Hollywood is very uncomfortable with aging in women, regardless of whether you age "gracefully" and "naturally" or fight the process tooth and nail. Gloria Swanson tortures herself to try to recapture her younger face. If the story were written now, she'd probably have botox and surgery.
I'm not in Hollywood, obviously, but even ordinary women feel the sting of the shift in the way the world treats you when you are considered past your sell-by date. Sexuality, we're told, is for the young, slender and beautiful. There's a little longer window these days, for the MILF . . . but even that role is one you can play only briefly, when you still are guessed as too young to have a child as old as you do. G-d forbid you should look your age. Hollywood isn't the only place in the United States that doesn't know what to do with a woman old enough to have lines and sag, but who hasn't resigned herself to an asexual invisibility either. It was Joe who said it best: "There's nothing tragic about being fifty. Not unless you're trying to be twenty-five."
William Holden may have understood Joe pretty well, too. His alcoholism was affecting his looks. The "shine" was off him. He was too old to be the golden boy anymore. Holden did a beautiful job with the nonverbal parts of this role. Every time Holden's Joe accepted money or gifts from Norma, a part of him died. He hated himself for being kept, and hating himself made him want to be cruel. Even when he told the young woman he was falling in love with the truth of his life as Norma's kept man, there was so much subtext in each line and each movement. He conveyed the pain and anger of his own lost chance at happiness intermixed with a feeling of worthlessness that meant he didn't deserve that chance in the first place. He sent her away because he loved her enough to save her from himself.
I don't know anything about the actor who played Max, but he, too, was amazing. His quiet protection of Norma, his acceptance of his responsibility for what became of her. The torch he still carried after all these years.
What a tragic love story! No one loves the right person. Max loves Norma. Norma loves Joe. Joe loves Betty. Artie loves Betty. Betty loves Joe. Everyone is reaching for someone who doesn't love them back. Or, in the case of Betty and Joe, the love was poisoned before it could grow by the circumstances of its birth--infidelity and deception.
Whew! Makes me glad I'm in no danger of becoming famous. I'd end up face-down in the swimming pool for sure.
The smallest place I ever lived was Kenny Lake, Alaska, population 400. I taught in a school of 100 children, grades K-12. My Spanish class had four students in it.
I loved it.
I knew nearly everyone, when I'd been there only a year. The people I didn't know by name still knew me, because I was a teacher at the school. The life of the community was around the school and the children. Everyone came to the hockey games.
We dealt with each other as individuals. None of this crap of making a blanket rule about something because there's a problem with one person. You would just talk to the one person, directly. I miss that.
The biggest place I ever lived was Madrid, Spain. That was just for a summer tour of study. For the summer, it was fine. Though I was intimidated at times, especially since I was living in a country that I only kind of spoke the language of, I really enjoyed walking everywhere, exploring gorgeous public parks, taking trains, living a public life. I enjoyed the feeling of life and vitality, like there was something exciting around any given corner.
But, when I got back to small town Kentucky afterwards, I was glad to be home. Madrid was exciting, and exhausting.
Cities are nice to visit. I kind of like living within reach of one, where I can drive there when I want to take advantage of what they have. It's nice to go hear a variety of types music, go to good art museums, see professional theatrical productions, or eat really specific ethnic foods. But I am not a city girl.
I don't like traffic. I get grumpy if I have to wait more than a few cars worth of waiting. This is bad enough that I generally stay off the road between 5:30 and 6:00 in my current hometown (population 6200), because you might have up to ten minutes in traffic getting through town.
I also don't like crowds. They are loud, and there are always at least a few truly obnoxious people in them. Crowds make it hard to move because there are always people in your way. Crowds make it hard to hear the person I'm walking with. The energy of a crowd worms its way into your psyche and influences your mood. This makes me feel stubborn. I want to feel what I feel, not get sucked into a group feeling.
Related to the crowds thing, I don't like being forced into physical proximity with people I don't know. Whether this is jostled around in a crowd, or just sharing a bus seat with a stranger, I don't like it. My personal bubble is large. If I don't know you, stay out of it!
While I do like people, individual people that I know by name and face and build a relationship with, I don't like PEOPLE as a big anonymous group of individuals I may not ever encounter again in my life. It makes me happy to walk into a small business and be recognized by the sales clerk, to know to ask about her new grandchild or puppy or home improvement project, because we talked about that last time I was in. It makes me feel connected.
I'm bad at meeting people. City life strikes me as transient, full of new people all the time. It stresses me out. I told my husband that one of the best things about starting to date him a decade or so ago was that I didn't have to meet him. We had already met a decade or so before that and were friends. Maybe familiarity breeds contempt, but I'm more worried about stranger danger and making first impressions. (shudder)
They're putting a hospital in, here in my small town. They knocked down a bunch of trees for it, and built three big brick buildings that would look at home in a much larger, more modern place. I hate it. I get how it's good for the community, but it's bringing changes I won't like. It's already added a traffic light to my life, with a turn arrow and everything. What's next? A Starbucks?
Yeah, it might be time to start thinking about my next home. I can breathe in a small town. I can be myself in a small town. And that's good enough for me.
I recently was able to see Night of the Hunter on the big screen.
I had seen the movie before, maybe more than once. Going in, I remembered only that I found the movie affecting and visually gorgeous. I was sure it would be amazing on the big screen. I could remember a scene in a bedroom where something in the lighting and angles made it look like a chapel and I could remember Robert Mitchum's quiet menace.
Overall, it's a flawed piece. The plot is sketchy, full of odd holes and unclear motivations. The little girl looks eight and acts three. The narration is messy and the focus a little askew. There are a few moments that pulled me out of the story when my suspension of disbelief was stretched too thin and snapped.
But there's still something so compelling in the film. The older brother's loyalty to his father, suspicion of Mitchum's Harry Powell, protectiveness of his little sister, slow movement to trusting Lillian Gish's Ms. Cooper.
Mitchum's cold madness, his sureness in "the religion the Almighty and me worked out betwixt us," his animal rage when thwarted. Lillian Gish's portrayal of the grandmotherly patron of lost children, come to a hard-won peace with her own mistakes.
Even poor, silly Ruby's willingness to give away her affections for a little attention and a movie magazine. As Ms. Cooper says, "Women are such durn fools." And we feel she knows--she's been that fool. She understands.
It must be about the moments. The overall effect is not perfect, but there are moments of startling clarity and beauty. Iconic moments. Moments that only work in black and white.
Willa Harper's body tied into the sunken car, her hair flowing like seaweed and the light making her translucent and glowing, a water spirit.
Ms. Cooper's straight backed, long-strided, no nonsense walk with the line of children in tow behind her, like so many ducklings. Sitting in her rocking chair with her rifle across her knees. Strength in a frail wrapping.
The silhouette of Harry Powell on the horizon, under the impossibly bright moon, his baritone hymns echoing across the empty, desperate landscape. As lonely as Don Quijote, but implacable and adamant.
All the close ups on the animals who share the night journey downriver. You feel the fears in the night with your child's heart, thumping as fast as any frightened rabbit's.
And certain lines.
Harry Powell lifting his head at the ice cream counter and saying, "She'll not be back. I reckon I'm safe in promisin' you that," his hooded eyes failing to disguise the threat in his voice.
All of Ms. Cooper's pronouncements about the way of the world. "It's a hard world for little things." Only Lillian Gish could pull off speaking them to the camera without sounding pedantic or strained.
In the end, I think it comes down to Robert Mitchum, the mixture of madness, coldness and menace he brought to the role. Who else could make "Bringing In the Sheaves" into a battle hymn? And what can it mean that when Gish joins him in song, it's beautiful? They sing together as he stands outside waiting for his moment to attack and she guards the children, as much the embodiments of love and hate as Powell's finger tattoos.
