Feelings.

I'm Black Ya'll. 

I don’t think about myself as a black man. I don’t really consider race. Not in a, “I don’t see skin color,” kind of way, because that’s silly. Our backgrounds, our culture, our upbringing are all things to be celebrated. No, I don’t see race, because it’s irrelevant to me. I am aware of race. I appreciate race. I just don’t think about it. I am aware I’m black. I just don’t think about it. I am, however, constantly reminded that I am black. I am forced to think about my skin color, my upbringing, and how this relates to the world around me. When I am in an English class, and we’re reading literature written by a black person, I become the subject matter expert. I can feel the eyes on me when I speak, the added weight of my words as the only black person in the class. I have wondered how different those classes would be, the things students might say, if I weren’t in those classes. I’ve brought this up several professors, and they all say the dynamic and the discussion is very different with and without a black student in the room. A friend of mine, a white woman, told me that it was “straight up racist” when they were reading…a book whose title I don’t remember. I don’t think about myself as a black man, but my experiences, the news, and other people constantly force me to do so.


I was in the grocery store the other day. It was early and I needed some milk for my cereal, I practically live on cereal, so I got up early, threw on a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie. I’m normally a button-shirt and sweater vest kind of guy, but not at 7:30am on a Saturday. For most people, a hoodie is just an article of clothing. Something comfortable, something lazy to throw on when they go out, something to protect against the cold, maybe. Most people probably don’t think much about putting a hoodie on when they go out. But when a black man reads things like, “A black man running is suspicious,” because I love to run in my hoodie, or when somebody like Trayvon Martin is murdered because he wore a hoodie and didn’t look like he belonged, he thinks about these things. If it’s windy out, if it’s cold, I make sure not to put my hood up, because I don’t want to send the wrong message. When I’m running to my gym, that’s only a quarter mile from where I live, I make sure not to run when I pass cops, because I don’t want to look suspicious. I think about all these things and believe that it’s not likely that I can get into trouble so early in the morning just going to get some cereal. And when I wear a hoodie, not even with the hood up, and I’m at the grocery store at 7:30 in the morning looking for some cinnamon life, and I turn the corner, not suddenly because I give corners wide berth as I’m clumsy and prone to knocking things over, and a white woman recoils from my appearance, and when I see her take in my size and clutch her purse to her body and jerk to the opposite side of the aisle, I’m forced to think of myself as black. Not only that, it makes me think back and realize this isn’t the first time I’ve seen this reaction, and that something I’d thought was an isolated event, a coincidence, something with no cause, was not at all. I’m forced to think about my appearance. My response, and as I write this, I’m ashamed and sad to say this, but my response is to smile. To try and ease this white person, as if I’m a slave who has wronged massa. As if the way to show this white person that I’m not a threat is to shuck and jive. I’m ashamed and sad, but also mad because I feel like this is how I have to survive in this world. I’ve done nothing wrong except be black and want cereal.

It seems like each day for the past year that I’ve been inundated with stories about how my life matters less than a white man’s. I am friends with lots of people from different backgrounds, with different political stances and leanings, with wildly varying opinions from mine. This is fine, this is the way it should be. That’s how you grow as a person, not by having friends that think only one way, but by surrounding yourself with people who challenge you and the way you think. I believe this and I still do; however, recently, this has had the effect of seeing things I might not otherwise. One friend will post a link or comment on something, and as a result, I see it. Recently, somebody posted a meme that said, “White People – The only race it’s legal to discriminate against.” Another posted on the Black Lives Matter movement and called the protestors, “Thugs,” which is just what many people say when they can’t say nigger. On twitter, the Minnesota GOP account tweeted, “a special session” to deal with the “#negroproblem.” Donald Trump tweeted an image used by neo-Nazis that tried erroneously to claim that black on black violence was the cause of 92% of black deaths in this country. I constantly seeing stories about black men, women, and children abused by people in authority. A police officer picks up a 10 or 11 year old child and slams her down to the ground. A black man with a knife is shot 32 times. A black man is pulled bodily from his car for not showing the proper identification, even though he was only a passenger and did nothing wrong. I see people commenting on the cases of Trayvon Martin and Mike Brown Jr., and the general sentiment is that if they had just laid low, respected the law, dressed “less like a thug,” then they would not have died. People are literally saying that being killed by a cop for “being like a thug” is okay. What’s more is the dehumanizing speak that is used when police officers described Mike Brown when testifying. He wasn’t a normal human, no, “he looked like a demon,” and other words that might make one think of the way black men and women would have been described by slave owners. Anything to justify the use of excessive force.

There was a Facebook post that went viral a few months ago. You may have seen it. In it, a black man is pulled over by the police, and he says, “Maybe if you treat police officers with respect, they will do the same to you.” This argument is flawed, I think, because it assumes that everybody who has ever been harassed by an officer was not “paying proper respect.” But more than that, reading this reminded me of some slave literature I’ve read. Probably Frederick Douglass. It seems that there was a popular opinion that slaves during that time actually enjoyed being slaves. If you were to walk up to a slave and ask if they liked their lives, they’d smile and say yes, of course. They couldn’t imagine living without their master. But the book I read told another angle. It told of a white man that walked up to a slave and asked this very thing, and the answer he received was something to the effect of, “Not really. It’s cold, I don’t have shoes, and the sleeping conditions are terrible.” The white man went to that slave’s master to relay this message, and that slave was beaten. Since that was typically the punishment, and lying is usually preferable to pain, many other slaves parroted the belief that they did not mind at all their lot in life. That being a slave was fine with them. The white people hearing this had their confirmation bias confirmed and could go on with their lives feeling like they were actually helping these poor, unfortunate souls. Sometimes I feel like that’s what I’m doing, that it’s what is necessary to live. No, it’s not fine that, once, when I, because I am a kind and caring individual, opened a door for an old white woman, and as she passed me she said, “Nigger,” and it’s not okay that when I’m walking to the comic shop a truck speeds by and yells out the word again. It’s not okay that when I’m in a class speaking about a topic that I become the expert on that topic. It’s not okay that, when I leave, I have to think about the things I’m wearing and how likely they might make me to “look suspicious” in the eyes of the law. It’s not okay. Not one bit. But like those slaves, when that white woman clutched at her purse and swerved to avoid me, I just kept smiling, and on the outside pretended like there was nothing wrong. 

I got married recently (yay! :)). We’ve been thinking about having a child. Watching the news, seeing how America is changing, seeing how civil rights are, in my opinion, moving backwards, my wife asked me, “Do you want to raise a black child in this?” Last year, my answer was yes. Absolutely. Now, I’m not so sure. When a child is killed because a police officer thought a toy gun was a real gun; when a black man tells a cop that he can’t breathe and has bones broken; when an entire police force is exposed for planting evidence to convict black men and women they arrest; when an article of clothing becomes a reason to be suspicious of a person of color; when a professor at a reputable college attempts to get in his own home after forgetting the key and has the police called on him and, when the police arrive and is arrested because; when I can’t go to a grocery store, walk down the street, and feel unsafe because “a black man jogging is suspicious,” I can’t say “Yes, absolutely,” with certainty. How do you know if you’re ready to explain to your son that, because of your skin color, you have to act in a certain way so that you don’t attract attention, that you can’t wear certain colors or items of clothing because it will be suspicious. How can I explain to a child that your life experiences will be different only because of your skin color; that no matter the privileges I have worked so hard to gift to you, no matter how intelligent, how respectful, you still need to be careful. Because you’re black. I like to think I can. I hope so, certainly, but I cannot be sure. Just the thought of such a conversation breaks my heart. 

So recently, with Donald Trump exposing what a group of white people actually think, I just feel tired, sad, and afraid. I cannot go anywhere without being reminded of my ethnicity. Without being reminded that not long ago, people with my skin color were lynched and burned. I can’t help but wonder why the phrase and movement, “Black Lives Matter,” is controversial. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. That’s what I find myself saying over and over. I don’t know. What can we do? I don’t know. All I know is that I’m tired. Tired of reading about it. Sad because I can’t avoid it. I don’t even know if I should post this to my blog. I avoid politics when I can. Keep my opinions to myself, usually. I don’t know. I feel like I’m rambling a bit now, so I’ll stop. But this is something that I keep thinking about, so I’ll probably post something again in a year. Which seems to be the amount of time it takes for me to make my way back here.
What makes this worse it the media surrounding this violence that has become all too common in America. We recently had a shooting in Colorado Springs. A white man with an ideological difference against planned parent hood shot and killed several people. He was taken alive. The media immediately points out that this man was “mentally-ill,” similar to the man who shot so many in the James Holmes case. Two men that shot and killed people, both taken alive, and the rhetoric turns to how they have an illness. This is in stark contrast to the way many people use these black victim’s backgrounds and upbringing to justify their deaths. Like my experiences earlier, once seems coincidence, but so many times is a disturbing pattern.

Identity Crisis

I was sitting in the library at school, thinking about what I might want to write when school is out.  I'd like to focus on some short stories since those would be easier to get published and they take less time.  Mostly they take less time.

And that got me thinking about what I would want to write.  I didn't know.  I don't know who I am as a writer.  Or if a distinction is even necessary.  I think back to the novels I've started:

One a story about a world destroyed by people suddenly given super powers, and the realization of one "villain" that things can't go on this way.  The story would follow him as he tries to rebuild his own piece of the world and the challenges that follow.  I like this story for a few reasons.  First being I love comics.  I've been thinking about drawing a lot recently and think this would be a fun project to work with.  Not drawing the whole thing, just designing the characters and world.  Second, I love comics.  What person that loves comics hasn't thought about creating their own heroes and villains? Third, because, as I've said before, I want to write a story about how powers affect people and the world.  It isn't about the powers, it's about what happens.  What does it do to a society when there are people who can shapeshift and destroy entire city blocks as easy as whispering.  I think that sounds awesome.

I wrote a short story about a teenage girl named Faye.  She was a suicidal girl going through some stuff.  What didn't come out in the story is the mythology.  In norse mythology, valkyries can turn into swans, and if you catch a valkyrie and pull a feather while she is in "bird form," she is honor bound to grant you a wish.  My valkyrie, call her Ally, had this happen, and the man, as in fairytales, was so enraptured of the woman, that he could only ask for one thing.  As a result, Ally has a child who she names Faye.   A daughter that she loves grudgingly and never wanted.  Ally was a favorite of Odin's, but once she has a child, she's required to remain on Earth.  She can't go back to Valhalla until she dies, which is another thing she sees when she look at Faye.  Faye doesn't know why there's this distance between mother and daughter.  Faye in the story I wrote uses her mother's distance to seek trouble.  None of the mythology stuff came out in what I produced.  It felt like the story worked without it, but I don't want it to, and I want to go back and make the mythology stuff so integral that I can't imagine taking it out.

I started a novel about a man named Swift.  He was a troubled youth, smart, but stuck in the wrong neighborhood, with the wrong friends.  I consider him a bizarro-me.  It's my attempt at social commentary, and how some people are just born into the wrong life and can't escape. I think, if I do say so myself, that my first line is brilliant, "It rained the day they put me out of jail."  He's an extremely difficult character to write since any lapse in voice is telling immediately and doesn't sound right. He's surrounded by complex characters.  But his story is one I want to write because I don't think it works out well for him.  That's probably just my cynicism talking, but it's how I feel.  Things don't work out for most people, no matter how hard they try.  This one has more of a literary bent to it.

And then I've got my memoir, and a fantasy novel, and a bunch of fairy tale ideas.  And...I just don't know what I want to write.  Or if I even have to write any one thing.  I'm just going to write what I want.

#writingisdumb

Why I'm not doing NaNo this year.

It's about this time of year that I remember I have a blog.  Where I'll make a post about how I have an idea for a novel, and that I'm going to try NaNo.  I'd say something about how hard it will be, how I have class, life, etc.  The normal reasons tons of people attempt NaNo and fail, or commit and "win."  These things are true every year for most people.  It's part of the reason it's in November, afterall.  I could try NaNo again.  Get to about 16,000 words and get busy, or have my story peter out on me, or get tired of feeling guilty that I'm not writing my 1,667 words per day and just stop.

This semester isn't particularly difficult for me.  I'm only in two classes.  My only homework is writing.  I could attempt NaNo this year and likely do very well.  But I don't want to.  I have tried...5 years in a row, maybe six.  I have at least four novels with very generous starts.  Four novels that I am immensely interested in finishing.  I did "win" one year, which tells me that I could do it. I could buckle down and write.  But that year also showed me that I didn't produce anything I wanted to look at again.  The novels with generous starts are actually only ideas that I'll end up having to revise.  NaNo gets me writing, which is excellent.  But I'm at a point where I don't need the impetus of November to get myself writing.  I need to be writing every day (which I am, mostly).

The prospect of starting another novel doesn't interest me.  I'd much rather go back to any one of the several pieces that I've started, that have been sitting in my scrivener folder, in my dropbox, on my desktop, and look at those.  It's something I've traditionally been very bad at.  Going back to my old stuff, reading, revising, editing.  So instead of attempting 50,000 words of something new, I'm going to continue to write things for the creative writing class I'm in.  I'm going to build a portfolio to use for my applications to an MFA program (which is coming up here within the next 6 months).  I'm going to go back to a novel or two and take notes on what I like, what I didn't.  I might distribute them to friends, get their input, and push forward on an idea or two.  I'm going to go back to some of the short stories I've written and revise and edit.  I'm going to send some stuff out for publication. Get some rejections, maybe get accepted.  Who knows.

I love that I've attempted NaNo so many times.  I learned, and continue to learn, more about my writing only through, you know, writing.  The most important thing is to put something on paper.  To actually write.  But I do that pretty regularly now.  I need to focus on finishing, polishing, and submitting.  I think NaNo is great for aspiring writers.  It's great for me since I work best with a deadline.  But I'm going to try something different this year.  Focus on existing content and getting that readable rather than producing any amount of words of questionable quality that will take time away from the questionable quality I've already written.

Michael Ferguson

Wherein I rank and not-review the MCU movies.

I've been reading comic books since I was 10 or 11.  I've been going to the same comic shop as long as I've been reading them.  I'm 33 now, and have far too many comics.  They mostly just sit there, doing nothing.  Collecting dust.  I'd never get rid of them, though.  My boxes mean something more to me than a bunch of superheroes, crazy stories, deaths that only last as long as the current writer, and overall general silliness that comes with men or women in tights.  They're time with friends.  They're ridiculous conversations about who would beat whom.  Sometimes they're sad, and show me the meaning of character in my writing.  When Ultimate Parker died, I was sad.  Sometimes they're amazing.  I just finished reading Neil Gaiman's Sandman.  At its end, I thought, and still do, that it is one of the finest pieces of literature (yes, literature) I have yet read.

So comics are important to me.  And as such, what Marvel is doing with their "Cinematic Universe" is particularly happy making.  It is the kind of thing nerds like me dreamed about as a child.  The kind of thing I used to talk about with my friends on the playground, and then with my friends in the kitchen, because everybody ends up in the kitchen for some reason.  We would talk about who would beat him, how broken Thanos is, what hulk would do with the mind gem.  I now live in a reality where some of the craziest theories will come to fruition on screen.  I live in a world where Guardians of the Galaxy movie is a thing.  A popular thing, one that lots of people have paid money to see.  A year ago, these were obscure characters, and it's only a matter of time before we have a dancing baby Groot toy.

Which I will buy.

Immediately.

I mean, look.  How could you resist?  

Anyway, I started this blog because my fiance said, "You should put your thoughts about the Marvel movies into the universe," and I thought it would be fun to not-review them. That is, to blather about them in a particular order because it's my blog and I want to, and also because I haven't posted anything here in almost a year.  Again.

Soooo....

#10

Iron Man 2

By far the worst and most disappointing movie to come from the MCU.  The premise was there, Mickey Rourke as a villain should have been awesome.  RDJ had already cemented his place as awesome in the role of Tony Stark.  The addition of Justin Hammer and Hammer Tech as a rival to Stark Industries could have been pretty cool.  The payoff was just a generic war machine and some Iron Man suit wannabes that looked like the Go-Bots to Stark's Transformers.  Many elements were obviously shoehorned in by Marvel to build their cinematic universe.  The "key to unlocking Stark's heart" and Fury's appearance in the movies were unnecessary and added far too much fluff in a movie already way too long.  Stark spends a lot of the time sitting and looking at things.  I remember him sitting on top of a donut staring off into space.  There was a fight scene at a party that lasted longer than the anticlimactic battle with Whiplash (that was the villain's name, right?) for the end of the movie.   The movie lacked focus and was obviously more concerned with setting up future events in other movies than dealing with Tony Stark and being Iron Man.

RDJ is always awesome, so I still enjoyed the movie, but I don't felt it added anything to the character.  If I were to watch the MCU movies over again, I'd definitely skip this one.

#9

Thor

I thought the movie did a wonderful job introducing the Asgardians.  Tom Hiddleston as Loki is the 2nd best villain (anti-hero?) in the series.  Hemsworth's Thor does an excellent job of being handsome and yelling things.  He also smashes mugs really well: a true asgardian.  Also, Idris Elba is in the movie, so that's awesome.   I love the mythology the movie sets up.  I read somewhere that, "Magic is only technology we don't yet understand," or something like that, and I thought the MCU Asgard was the perfect example.  But once we get past that and see Thor get expelled for being too cocky and the viewer is given a basic heroe's journey.  My issue is that I don't buy the redemption.  Thor is going to sacfrice himself for his friends.  It's a very touching scene, yes, and it's sad that he almost dies, but  Thor always would have sacrificed himself for his friends.  He would have put his life before others in an instant.  I know that the point is he learned humility, he attacked the huge thing without his powers, etc., but we rush through the entire movie to get to this point.  There's no time taken to explore Thor's character.  What must it have been like to be, literally, a god, and banished to Earth, basically powerless?  Why no interactions with the humans he finds wondering how they live without the technology they possess in Asgard? Thor adjusts incredibly well to his sudden affliction and then does what he pretty much would have done regardless of the circumstances because, you know, he's a warrior, and is given back his powers.  The movie didn't offer any breathing room for reflection.  He ends up a hero again and it makes sense because that was the obvious conclusion, but the journey there isn't fleshed out nearly well enough.

Hiddleston is the the bomb, though.

#8

Thor: The Dark World

I don't much to say about this one.  Loki is still awesome.  Thor is pretty cool, but here I remember beginning to feel like I don't really know how powerful these characters are.  There aren't many moments that show that.  I thought the villain was really one note.  Far I LIKE BEING EVIL, not relateable at all.  It's always better when you can understand and sympathize with the villain's motivations, but there was none of that with Malekith.  The ending with Loki on the throne has me excited for whatever movie that particular plot thread will continue.

Thor's mom showed how awesome Asgardian women.  That was an awesome scene.

#7

Captain America: The First Avenger

Origin stories are always rough to do.  I understand that some people might not know that Steve Rogers was a scrawny dude who got injected with a serum and turned into Mr. America, but I don't really want to see it, or read it.  So we do that, and then get to the middle of the movie where Captain America is actually doing stuff and instead of showing us him actually doing stuff, we get news reals and spinning newspapers that give headlines of the cool shit he just did.  Boo urns on that.  There was nowhere near enough Captain America being a Super Soldier in this movie.  Red Skull wasn't utilized anywhere near enough.  It did give us Stark's dad, which was cool.

I dunno, maybe I'd rate this one lower.  Those newspaper reels were dumb.

#6

The Incredible Hulk

Maybe you could swap this and Cap.  The problem with Hulk movies is most people only care about the green guy and smashing.  That's cool, but I prefer the struggle of Bruce Banner.   I'm one of the few people in the world that liked the Aang Lee Hulk.  I felt like they really nailed the struggle (it's real).  Hulk was well done in that movie, but so was Bruce.  I liked that more than this movie, but anything with Ed Norton is going to be pretty good. 

The villain, Blonsky (I think), was pretty cool.  I did not like that he took a full Hulk Foot to the chest and lived to tell about it.  

On the whole, I enjoyed watching this more than everything I've listed before it, but don't think it added much to the overall MCU.

#5

Iron Man 3

I've seen a lot of people say they hated this movie.  Similar to Hulk, a lot of people seem to just want Stark to suit up and go blow stuff up.  That's fun for about 3 minutes, and then I get bored.  RDJ is a phenomenal actor, and so I appreciated this more intimate take on the character.  Tony Stark is a scientist, and after the events of Avengers, has to come face to face with the fact that their are aliens, potentially other dimensions, that the norse pantheon exists, is real, and has what he can only understand as magic.  I loved that he was emotionally and psychologically fucked up.  It's the first movie to show me how the interconnected-ness of the MCU.  The others haven't really shown any cause and effect, but this one did.

I think a running problem with the majority of these movies is a terrible villain.  They aren't really characters at all.  They're put in the movie because writers know that the hero needs an obstacle to overcome.  Mandarin reveal was cool, but overall there wasn't much more to deal with after that.  I did enjoy the interpretation of the Extremis arc from the comics and wonder if it will have any effect in Avengers 2 when that comes out next summer.

On the whole, I enjoyed that this wasn't just Tony Stark suiting up and taking out bad guys.  Dude obviously has a problem he needs to deal with and the suits are part of it.  This felt like a journey to overcome an addiction.  Instead of alcohol, he started building suits.

#4

Iron Man 1

I hate origin stories.  I've read them before.  Usually more than once.  I've seen them on TV, in cartoons or whatever.  This, though, was awesome.  RDJ as Stark was as perfectly cast as Patrick Stewart as Prof. X.  Again, the villain was anticlimactic, but the build up to that point was sharp and well  written.  I loved the dynamic between Penny and Stark.  Jarvis, who I suspect will become something more in Avengers 2, was awesome.  The scene where Iron Man takes out the village of terrorists is one of my favorites in any of the Marvel movies.  Iron Man 2 is a shorter movie by about two minutes but feels like it's 20 minutes longer.  There are few wasted scenes in this movie.  So good.

#3

Avengers

Hiddleston as Loki is always great to watch, but they managed to make him a type of mindless minion in this.  His goal, in stereotypical fashion, brought an army to a large city, caused tons of destruction and collateral damage, and was ultimately defeated.  Between Avengers, Winter Soldier, Man of Steel and others, it would really suck to live in a world with superheroes.  Anyway, there was nothing really special about the story.  So why rank it so high? For what the movie accompished. It brought together all of these disparate strands between several movies and put them on screen.  It built a superhero team movie.  Thor, Iron Man, Captain America, Hulk, Hawkeye, Black Widow. All together, all showing awesome teamwork.  My comic nerd cannot contain its glee at this fact.  There is now a movie universe with Marvel characters.  The movie had some of my favorite character moments in comic movies as well. Black Widow running from Hulk; terrified. The moment of silence before Hulk finds her.  It was so cool to see how absolutely helpless a normal human would be when Hulk does his thing.  Hulk doing the Droopy to Loki.  The scene showing Captain America and Iron Man fighting side by side, using shields and beams together.

It wasn't the best story, but I like it more for what it accomplished. I enjoyed watching it from beginning to end (a couple times), but I expect Avengers 2 to make this look like a very amateur attempt if Winter Soldier is anything to go by.

#2

Captain America: The Winter Soldier

A comic movie that majorly shakes up the status quo.  A good villain (finally).  Captain America looking more like a super soldieer and less like a guy that just knows how to fight. The opening scene on the tanker made me realize how relatively weak Cap had been in the other movies. The shield, strength, and speed were all on display; things I didn't even realize I'd missed.  When Winter Soldier stood in front of Fury's SUV, unafraid, I thought he was badass. When he turned around and caught Cap's shield, I knew he was a threat.  Because I read comics, I knew who he was, but for the first time in one of these comic movies, I didn't know exactly what was going to happen.  The revelation of Hydra, the fall of SHIELD, the repercussions this will yield for both the MCU (I hear that the Agents of SHIELD starts to get good after the Winters Soldier) is awesome.  In comics, all too often do we see some major event or character death, only to have it reversed about a year later  (and more recently, around the time a new movie starring these characters is due to release).  The nature of movies means that the downfall of SHIELD should have longlasting effects.

The end of the movie was pretty ridiculous; taking out these flying death machines is as simple as putting random cards into special slots. We have more wanton destruction of cities.  But I'm willing to overlook these things since the rest of the movie was so solid.

#1

Guardians of the Galaxy

This movie was pure fun. From the opening scene with James Pratt dancing through ruins, to the introduction of Starlord.  All of the characters were good. Even Bautista as Drax.  I think Groot is Vin Diesel's best role to date.  The movie introduced a lot of people to the Guardians for the first time, and it did it without any of the trappings of an origin story.  It didn't retread old stories. We were placed in an active universe and the characters were allowed to tell their origins more organically.  Gamora is the weakest link in the group.  I don't feel like she was given enough to become an actual character. It's weird when Bautista is more memorable.  The movie managed to introduce the Cosmic Marvel universe, complete with Celestials, and it didn't feel too long or too short. I never got bored, or felt anything was rushed.

The villain was weak, as usual.  We had another starship fall and destroy a city, as usual. I'm hoping for a hero movie without this one day.  But the rest of the characters, the movie, and THANOS, was so good. So fun.  I went in knowing nothing about these characters or the series and left with a desire to read every Guardians of the Galaxy comic.   It is INSANE to me that Marvel is able to make a movie as high quality as this with characters people don't know and yet DC with some of the most iconic characters in the business is unable to get a Justice League movie off of the ground.  I think that says tons about the strength of this movie. I can't wait for part 2.
And more Thanos.

NaNoWriMo

It happens every year.  Like Christmas and Birthdays.  NaNoWriMo once again.

In 2009 I began a novel that started its life called Darkness Falls, but will likely see another title should I ever go back and finish (which I fully intend to do).  It was my second earnest attempt at fantasy.  My first attempts so much high school drivel.  Seriously dreadful stuff.  Not that Falls was much better, but at least I managed to get rid of the Dragonlance influence that colored so much of my teenage writing.  I'd been reading a lot of George RR Martin and Joe Abercrombie, and so found myself impersonating them.  It was not a very good story, I think, but I love the characters. It's the characters I think of more than the story.  I went back to look at the story just now.  You know that picture you have.  It's one your parents or girlfriend have of you in that outfit you hated, or making a face under duress.  And then when you see it, you wince.  That's what it's like when I go back to old writing.  It's just...not good.

Cain pulled from the chest a tattered book, its cover the color of rotten apple cores.  Cain stroked the cover, poking with a finger at several maroon splotches that stained the book.  A single word was written there, “Verus.”  Cain read the word aloud, his name, his family’s name, and felt as always a chill run through his spine and making his legs weak.  It seemed that he could hear the line of kings from which he came when he said his name.  Before closing the chest Cain cast his gaze around the room.  The door remained shut.  Shadows danced on the stone walls of his study, cast by a flickering candle resting on his desk.  Bookcases lined the walls of the room, brought to him from the farthest reaches of the world by all manner of men.  The books themselves were riddles, each word, each volume more rage inducing than the last.  None moreso than the book he held clasped in his hands. 

I mean, I know I wrote this in November with no editing, but geez.  "Cain stroked the cover, poking with a finger..."  ""felt as always a chill run through his spine and making his legs weak..."  (all kinds of cliches and verb tense problems up in here"  The rest is not much better.  It is, in fact, embarrassing to read.  But real writing is revision, so I'm told, and this story never got the chance.  And now that I've had time to sit and think about it, the story I get to writing will be different than the one I started.  

In 2010 I wrote "Greens and Other Short Stories."  This was a mostly autobiographical piece, although I did write some short stories from the perspective of my family.  I also wrote one exceptionally long piece that was more of a "what if," in which I my mother was ill in the hospital and, unbeknownst to me (at first).  It ended up being mostly cathartic, horrible fiction, but useful to me in that I got a lot of stuff out of my head on to paper that I never knew I wanted to say.  I "won" NaNo in 2010 with Greens.  I haven't looked at much of it since then, however.  A lot of this was much better than Falls.  Part of it is because I'm better writing literature.  Part of it is because I'm bad at writing fantasy.  Going back, reading some of this, I think, "I like reading this."  That doesn't happen often with things I write.  I look to my friends for affirmation.  This passage takes place after my mother and father tell my grandparents that she (my mother) is pregnant: 

Roots fell to the floor, its hollow thud swallowed by the bellow of my first grandfather.  Standing over six feet tall and weighing over three hundred pounds, Michael never expected John to have the ability to move with the fluidity of flowing water.  The strength to crush Michael’s neck, the young man had surmised from John’s size and did not appear at all surprised to find the older man’s hands currently gripping his throat.  Michael’s hands found their way to my first grandfather’s, but his own hands were but weeds to the man’s oak, and almost as annoying.  The look in my grandfather’s eyes, so my grandmother says, stole the mobility of every person in the room.  Michael James Ferguson, convinced he was soon to die, could only choke out sounds.  He believed he said, “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.”  What he actually did was cough, slivers of spittle trailing down the sides of his mouth, pooling at the skin between my grandfather’s hands and Michael’s neck.  Lisa, for the first time in her 16 years on God’s green Earth, was shocked into silence.  One hand found its way to her mouth where it stayed positioned as if she smelled something foul, the other on the burgeoning swell of her belly.  My grandmother moaned, “John, stop.”  Repeatedly.   

                And my first grandfather did stop.  He released Michael’s neck, holding his hands above his head and looking down at the young man in disgust.  The look he spared my mother was coated in disappointment.  Lisa had the grace to look down at her feet, ashamed. 

                “Sixteen years old,” was all he said.  And left.  The sound of his car starting came through the door. 

I read a lot of comic books.  My favorite super hero is Spiderman.  Ultimate Spidey to be exact, but 616 Parker has a lot of good stories.  The reason I love Spidey is because of the balancing act between Peter and Spidey.  I love the human aspect of comics.  Yes, Cyclops can shoot beams of energy from his eyes and that's great, but what does it feel like for a man to be able to do that.  What would it do to a person's psyche to know that if he opens his eyes at the wrong time, he could kill dozens of people.  That's the kind of super hero story I want to write.  So the idea for my story was that somehow, and I never really worked it out, I was thinking something along the lines of some alien meteor on display in a museum, but somehow super heroes start appearing.  There were none before, and now we have people with powers popping up all over earth.  There would be heros, but it is my experience and my belief (and more interesting stories) when evil has the upperhand, and so the heros will be routed, and my story was going to begin with a villain who realizes that the villains are destroying earth.  He has no grandiose plans to save earth.  He just wants to carve out a little niche where he and some like-minded friends can have a bit of civilization.  

Months later the first super appeared.  Nobody knew the world had changed.  Who would think change would come with a grandmother.  She lived in a small town in Tenessee.  Johanna Johnson.  A small name.  An inconspicuous name.  An ordinary name.  An ordinary name for an old woman who lived her life, raised her children, retired away from people so she could die quietly like her husband before her.  She went into town on the third Tuesday of each month to buy groceries.  It was at the King Soopers, or the Piggly Wiggly, or the Walgreens.  Or whatever they called the grocery stores there.  Johanna was buying her supplies, Benadryl, milk, grapefruit.  I don’t know what old people need.  She was there and she could hear people who weren’t talking.  She heard the cash register talking about how he would like to fuck the new bagging girl.  She heard the manager complaining about how lazy everybody was and that his wife was cheating on him.  She heard a father who couldn’t remember if his wife had asked for swiss cheese or cheddar.  She heard all of these things but nobody spoke.  Johanna approached the clerk and told him it was not polite to speak that way in front of his elders.  She told  the father to buy both and save himself heartache.  And she asked if everybody wouldn’t stop talking all at once.  Everybody looked at her and the voices got louder, they were all thinking the same thing.  What was wrong with Johanna?  Had she finally gone crazy.  Don’t know how she managed to stay sane living all the way out in BFE by herself.  Mrs. Johanna noticed then nobody moved her lips and when somebody did, nothing matched.

            “Are you okay?” The manager asked.

            What the hell is wrong old woman, he said almost simultaneously.  Get out of my store.  Last thing I need is an ambulance blocking the entrance to the store.  All these lookie-loos not buying anything. 

            It was all Johanna could stand.  She put her hands to her face and began to scream.  She would stop for a moment, hear more voices and continue screaming.  She told me it was the only way to block out the voices in her head was to use her own.  She died shortly after I spoke with her. 

            Most people do. 

I didn't get very far into this story, but I will definitely be coming back.  It hasn't changed much as I've thought about it like Darkness Falls has.

And so this year, 2013, I will write another non-fiction, fictional piece.  It will be continuing and expanding upon what I began with Greens.  I plan on writing a cohesive story this time instead of a bunch of shorts.  It will be called Survivor's Guilt.  NaNo isn't easy.  I am a student, I have a significant other and kids.  The PS4 comes out in November, Thanksgiving and time with the family.  Time is at a premium.  But I think I can do it again.  The stories are all in my head and the rest is just scribbles.  But mostly, it'll be good to write consistently, even if I don't make it to the goal.  It'll be nice to write something other than essays about Shakespeare and books I did not choose to read.

So yay for NaNo.  If nothing else, I will write.  Hopefully I will write a lot.

I met Boyz II Men

For my birthday, my girlfriend and another friend put me in a car, blindfolded me, and drove me to the airport.  The entire ride they made fun of me, asking if I knew where I was, or if I had guessed where we were going.  I hadn't, of course, since, you know, I couldn't see.  She told me to pack a bag and bring a toothbrush, so naturally I thought we were staying somewhere overnight in Denver.  And so my shock when the blindfold was removed and I found myself staring at the entrance of the airport.

"Do you know where we're going yet," my girlfriend asked me?  I did not, but I had an inkling.  I found out I was right when we printed out the tickets: Las Vegas.  But I still didn't know why.  When we landed, she asked and I told her I still hadn't guessed.  We got outside, assaulted by the thick Las Vegas heat, and grabbed a shuttle to The Mirage hotel.  And then it clicked.  I knew, you see, that Boyz II Men was performing at that very hotel, but when she asked, I only said that I think I knew, and that I'd wait to see if I was right.

I was.  

Motown Suits

The first time I heard Yesterday by Boyz II Men changed the way I looked at music.  I'm sure it was not the first a capella song I had ever heard, but it is the first one I remember.  It is a beautiful song that I had long attributed to Boyz II Men, only later learning that theirs was not the original version.  Covers wasn't in my vocabulary when I heard it.  Since hearing that song, one of my dreams, and if I had a bucket list this would have been on it, was to hear Boyz II Men sing the Temptation's "My Girl."  When they released the album Motown Hitsville (vol 1), I read the tracklist and was disappointed to see that particular cover was not a part of the cd.  But that night, on May 11th, in the Mirage hotel, sitting three rows from the stage next to the woman I love, Boyz II Men came out in oldschool gold Temptation style suits, started doing the shoop and wing, and opened the Motown portion of the show with My Girl.  

This happened.  Right in front of me. 

It was, quite literally, a dream come true.  It was an amazing night that I will never forget.  I think back on it constantly.  I would go see them again, would love to go see them again, if the opportunity comes up.  But I will always remember that birthday because it was so unexpected.  

And after the show, when I was smiling and sad it had ended,  I was ready to go back up to the hotel room.  So, I asked +Sandy if she was ready to go.  She grabbed my arm, pulled me down and said, "We're not finished yet."

And so I sat down, wondering what more there could possibly be.  We waited for 20 minutes or so for the room to clear out, and then we left and went to an area to the side of the entrance where there was another line forming.  We were going to meet Boyz II Men.

I can't type those words without breaking in to a huge grin.   I got to meet Boyz II Men.  In fact, I gave Shawn a huge, awkward hug. 

It was, by far, the best birthday I've ever had.  And one of the best days I've ever had.  So when I sat down to type this blog, it was the first thing that came to mind. Thanks, babe.  Best birthday ever. 

I fit right in. 

NaNo 2012

Doing it again this year. :)

Here's an excerpt:

It was raining the day they put me out of jail. Heavy drops like the sky was determined to beat me down under it. I could hear mom in my head saying somewhere the devil was beating his wife and those were her tears making their way down my face and soaking my pants. The rain got soaked up into the walkway. Could almost hear them hissing. For weeks I’d wanted some cool weather on the yard. Figures it’d come on the long walk home. Styles walked next to me, uniform creased like he was attending a funeral. Underneath all that hat and all that hair his face was creased just like his pants. Seemed like everytime he looked at me the crease got deeper and longer. Thought I saw him open his mouth to say something once or twice, but if he had anything to say it got lost in the sound of the storm.

“You going to be okay, Swift?” He said, finally.

We’d reached the gate all barb wire and doom. Remember when I’d been forced through it 8 years ago. Now I was leaving the same way. Guards stood up above me like the eyes of god watching, making sure I wasn’t doing wrong. Making sure I walked right and went down the right path. Truth be told I felt the right path was right back into that brick house. Wasn’t nothing for me on the other side of that gate. Nothing and no one.

“Yeah,” I said. “I made it this far.”

Styles spit on the ground, didn’t know if he was spitting at what I said or just in general. He grunted. Didn’t say nothing after that.

When we reached the entrance he gave me a bag. I looked in it to see everything that’d been on me when I got took. My wallet, with not a damn thing in it but wishes, prayers, and an ID. The kid in that picture looked soft and stupid.

I wasn’t much for goodbyes. I took the wallet and put it in my back pocket. Nodded at Styles and turned to go. He grabbed my arm. If I hadn’t been looking, would’ve thought my arm was caught between two 45lb plates. I tried to pull away. You didn’t let nobody grab you like that on the other side. Quick way to be somebody’s bitch. Took everything I had not to swing at a cop.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll figure it out.”

Styles pulled something white from his chest and handed it to me. His card.

“You call me, Swift.” When I nodded the crease in his forehead got deeper. “God dammit, Swift.” He said. Yelled. He tightened his grip on my arm. “You don’t belong in here. Everybody saw that. Don’t end up back here like so many of you do.”

I nodded again. Something he saw must’ve satisfied him because he let go of my arm. I rubbed it. Not like I was hurt, just wasn’t used to people grabbing me the way he did.

“We had some good times,” Styles said. “Considering your situation.  I’m not opposed to having a few more outside of here.  Call me.  You owe me a game of chess.”

Here are my stats:

I feel good about this one. Hoping to finish or come extremely close. :D