Movie Review: True Grit

Movie Review: True Grit — Blue Ink Alchemy

I grew up with Westerns. The big music and booming voice of John Wayne is something I'm quite familiar with. Unfortunately some of my childhood memories are a bit spotty, and the only thing I really remember from the 1968 version of True Grit is the famous scene of The Duke riding towards four men with the reigns in his mouth, a rifle in one hand and a six-shooter in the other. So I walked into the 2010 version of the film with an open mind as a fan of both the frontier genre and one Jeff Bridges. I knew it was a story of a headstrong teenage girl, Mattie Ross, hunting down the man who killed her father with the enlistment of the aging, overweight, one-eyed drunkard Marshall Rooster Cogburn. Other than that basic premise and the knowledge that this is a straight adaptation of Charles Portis' novel rather than a remake of Wayne's Oscar-winner, when the lights went out I went into this one cold. The Coen Brothers, filmmakers known for quirkiness and scenery, seem to have taken all of their quirks out of the equation and focused on the authenticness of this Western experience. In addition to capturing the breathtaking landscapes that made up the untamed territory into which the protagonists ride, they also encapsulate some of the finer details of that period of American history. Houses, courtrooms and shops look lived in, hand-built, rough and tumble like the people within them. Guns sound off and kick realistically. Nobody uses contractions. It sucks you in very quickly and you can almost feel and taste the dust of the road. Every bit as authentic are the performances. In general, nobody here can be accused of phoning in a performance, or telegraphing if you will. What shows this off are some of the briefest performances managing to stick out. Barry Pepper and especially Josh Brolin are very effective frontier villains for the short time they're on screen, and Dakin Matthews as the blustering shopkeeper with whom Mattie must haggle in the film's opening cement the tone and timbre of the piece. Most of our time, however, is spent with three disparate yet inextricably bound individuals, and every performance here is solid gold.
Don't let the pigtails fool you. She's not to be trifled with. Hailee Steinfeld is in the mix with some heavy Hollywood hitters and yet comes out as just about the best performer in the movie. Her portrayal of a fourteen-year-old girl doggedly pursuing frontier justice breaks down all kinds of barriers that some would find insurmountable. She's brave without being fearless and it's clear that she's grown up fast and hard in a world that would have her staying at home, crochetting and waiting to get married off to some landowner. Intelligent, well-spoken and tenacious above all, Mattie's an immediately memorable character. Hailee's work is Oscar-caliber, and while I haven't seen The Fighter yet and can't say for certain she got snubbed, it's difficult for me to reserve judgement. For all the fun that gets poked at him, Matt Damon really earns his spurs as Texas Ranger LaBeouf (boy, am I straining the Western puns or what?) who's looking for the same man as Mattie for different reasons. He comes off as an arrogant, city-clicker dandy, but that might be a smokescreen to obfuscate just how dangerous he really is. Faced with the inplacable Mattie and the slovenly Cogburn, LeBeouf has to demonstrate patience was well as tenacity in the pursuit of his own goals. Damon does a great job with this, elevating a character that could have ended up as Cogburn's sidekick as someone that stands entirely on his own. As for Jeff Bridges... what can I say, that man can act. As if playing both 'the Dude' and Obediah Stane hadn't demonstrated his range in recent years, his inhabiting of Rooster Cogburn once again shows just the kind of performance he can bring to the table. When you look at Rooster in this film, you're not seeing Bridges in any of his other roles, you're seeing a one-eyed lawman who isn't afraid to bust a few rules to do his job, loves his liquor almost as much as running down the bad guys and demonstrates a hilarious tendency for understatement. As far as I can tell, John Wayne was playing the role as Rooster, while Bridges is Rooster, at least for this film's run-time.
Just about every time he opened his mouth, I was grinning. If I have any complaints about True Grit, it'd be linearity. There aren't many diversions in the story and no major twists to speak of. As much as a straightforward storytelling exercise is not necessarily a bad thing, there are those who have come to expect a level of complexity in the narrative that this movie lacks. However, the characters have more than enough depth and nuance to make up for this, and the acting and scenery are so captivating that you'll want the film to continue, not because there's more story to tell but because these characters are such a delight to watch. Stuff I Liked: Realism and authenticness in this Western go a long way. No actor turns in a bad or lackluster performance. Stuff I Didn't Like: A little more development of Ned Pepper and his gang would have been cool, but really wasn't necessary for the story so I understand why we didn't have it. Stuff I Loved: The scenery is absolutely breathtaking, the three principles are quite stellar and the movie as a whole stands on its own as everything a good Western yarn should be. Bottom line: FILL YOUR SEAT YOU SON-OF-A-BITCH!

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Guest Post: Deer Santa

Guest Post: Deer Santa — Blue Ink Alchemy

As I head back down from Canada, please enjoy this thematically appropriate short story from Joe McGee. He's been a busy guy, working on his paranormal Western novel Witchslinger, dabbling in children's picture books and pursuing his Master's of Arts in Writing at Rowan University. You can find his web page at here, his blog here or follow him on Twitter - @witchslinger - but in any event, enjoy the story!

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DEER SANTA, (A Story About Giving in Ontario's Forested Expanse) by Joseph McGee Nicholas paused to catch a breath and tighten his suspenders. Damn that Weight Watchers. There was just no point system accounting for the Missis and her constant cookie baking. Sure, it kept the elves working, but dammit, he was not getting any smaller. A few more trays of cookies and Ontario might find its toy allotment replaced with his alLOTment of bulk next year. Focus, Nick, he thought. Remember why you're here and not enjoying your box seats where the Maple Leafs were undoubtedly knocking the crap out of Crosby and the Penguins. All you need is one good reindeer. Teaching it to fly? That was the easy part. Teaching it not to drink and fly? That was the hard part. Thanks, Blitzen. I'll be sure to choose your replacement's name with a little more foresight. He followed the trail he had picked up that morning. There were two of them. When he came upon their droppings around midday, he knew for sure they were reindeer. Nicholas prided himself on knowing more than just who was naughty and who was nice. He caught up to them with a couple of hours of sunlight remaining. The reindeer had stopped to forage in a small clearing. Nicholas settled into a spot far enough from detection, yet close enough to keep tabs on them. He needed a few moments to unpack the rifle from the cloth case, fix the scope and ready the dart. He was as quiet as quiet could be. He'd had plenty of practice at remaining undetected. They were still grazing when he took the rifle in his hands. Nicholas raised it to his shoulder. He pressed his cheek against the steel and stared through the scope. Natural breaths, he thought. Don't hold it in. His fingertip tensed on the trigger, dancing a fine line between squeezing and laying off. He'd have one shot. One chance to bag his reindeer. If he missed, they'd be off and he would be dragging his ass through this spruce and wolf riddled expanse of forest for another few days. The Easter Bunny doesn't have these problems, he thought. He trained the crosshairs on the smaller of the two. Smaller, but not by much. And slender. If he went for bulk over grace, he would never hear the end from Donner (who, incidentally could go without some cookies himself, hmm? He'll be getting a mirror this year, Nicholas thought). Besides, he would be the one dragging it back to the camp site. With 4 cc tranquilizer darts, the deer would be out for a while. Nicholas counted down from ten, in his head. 7...6...5 The reindeer looked up, staring toward his cover. Its muscles tensed. Its eyes narrowed and it stopped chewing. 3 ... 2 ... It winked at him. Looked right through the undergrowth and log cover and winked. ... 1 ... Nicholas squeezed the trigger on his exhale. Something crashed across the back of his head. The gun fired. His body slumped. The world went dark. When Nicholas awoke, he found himself chained to a tree. His rifle was gone, his head throbbed and every time he blinked, a zing of pain like a dentist's drill pierced the back of his skull. The metal cuff on his wrist was squeezed so tight that it was rending his flesh. He had dirt in his mouth and leaves in his beard. Maple leaves, he chuckled, inwardly, and then groaned. No sudden movements, he thought. But even thinking hurt. "What the hell happened?" he said. It was a whisper. A whisper was all he could stand. "Hello?" Silent, grey shapes padded out of the forest. Wolves. Easily a dozen, with ears pinned back and teeth bared. They fanned out, circling him like a toothy wagon train. "Oh, I get it," said Nicholas, tugging at the chain and biting down the painful cry that almost gurgled up from his throat. "Send a message to the poacher. Hohoho, good one. You got me." The wolves did not make a sound. Drool collected at the corners of their mouths and glistened on the sharp points of their teeth. Their eyes were searing blue points of hunger and intensity. "Look, I understand," Nicholas said. "You're activists. You got me. You have my rifle, you saved the reindeer. I don't know how these wolves are listening to you, but I won't do it again. Just...just come out and let me go." He tugged harder on the chain gaining only a rattle and fresh blood as the cuff further tore the skin. "But I'm Santa, dammit. I'm Santa. You can't harm Santa!" The two reindeer he'd been tracking appeared at the edge of the wolf ring. Nicholas watched as they strode into the center of the clearing, unmolested by the predators around them. They stopped a few feet from him. "You ... but ..." Words refused to form on his tongue. When the slender deer he'd had in his sights transformed before him, all thoughts froze. Where two reindeer had stood, there was only one. Its partner was now a pale girl whose nakedness was only partially concealed by her long, auburn hair. "What, in Jack Frost?" said Nicholas. She smiled down at him. "It seems Christmas comes early for us." Nicholas laid his finger aside of his nose. "Your magic won't work here," she said. "This is our home and native land." She turned to address the largest of the wolves, the one whose mouth seemed large enough to swallow Nicholas's own in one gulp. "As agreed, Bearkiller, we give you a gift of tribute. We give you a sacrifice in exchange for your wolves letting our people live unharmed." The massive wolf pressed its icy, wet nose up against Nicholas's own ruddy one. Bearkiller's breath reeked like putrid meat and soured milk. "And what better gift to give other than the world's largest exporter, Nicholas Claus?" said the naked, nubile girl. "A poacher who has built his empire on the backs of lies, slaves and extortion." She spit in her palm and held out her hand. "Seal the deal, Bearkiller. Santa is yours. My people live without fear for another year." Bearkiller licked the spittle from her palm. Nicholas watched as the girl turned, twisted violently and fell to the ground, writhing. In seconds, her body had transformed, becoming once again the reindeer he'd had in his sights. It was the last thing he saw before the wolves set upon him. - Footnotes - Some fun facts**: The Migratory Woodland Caribou (or woodland reindeer) have become threatened in their habitats, with the exception of those living in the Northern Canadian forests. Santa's reindeer must be female (or castrated males, which makes Santa's fate even more deserved, heehee) because male reindeer lose their horns during the winter. Canada's boreal forest covers about 60% of the country's land area, ranging from sparsely treed areas to regions with 80-100% forested cover. These forests are home to many species of plant, insect and animal, to include caribou and the Gray Wolf (the most effective natural predator of the adult reindeer). Tranquilizer dosages vary with the drugs used, but on the average, it takes 2 CC's to tranq a deer and 5 or 6 CC's to tranq a grizzly bear. **Facts researched via Wikipedia

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Guest Post: Deer Santa

Guest Post: Deer Santa — Blue Ink Alchemy

As I head back down from Canada, please enjoy this thematically appropriate short story from Joe McGee. He's been a busy guy, working on his paranormal Western novel Witchslinger, dabbling in children's picture books and pursuing his Master's of Arts in Writing at Rowan University. You can find his web page at here, his blog here or follow him on Twitter - @witchslinger - but in any event, enjoy the story!

---

DEER SANTA, (A Story About Giving in Ontario's Forested Expanse) by Joseph McGee Nicholas paused to catch a breath and tighten his suspenders. Damn that Weight Watchers. There was just no point system accounting for the Missis and her constant cookie baking. Sure, it kept the elves working, but dammit, he was not getting any smaller. A few more trays of cookies and Ontario might find its toy allotment replaced with his alLOTment of bulk next year. Focus, Nick, he thought. Remember why you're here and not enjoying your box seats where the Maple Leafs were undoubtedly knocking the crap out of Crosby and the Penguins. All you need is one good reindeer. Teaching it to fly? That was the easy part. Teaching it not to drink and fly? That was the hard part. Thanks, Blitzen. I'll be sure to choose your replacement's name with a little more foresight. He followed the trail he had picked up that morning. There were two of them. When he came upon their droppings around midday, he knew for sure they were reindeer. Nicholas prided himself on knowing more than just who was naughty and who was nice. He caught up to them with a couple of hours of sunlight remaining. The reindeer had stopped to forage in a small clearing. Nicholas settled into a spot far enough from detection, yet close enough to keep tabs on them. He needed a few moments to unpack the rifle from the cloth case, fix the scope and ready the dart. He was as quiet as quiet could be. He'd had plenty of practice at remaining undetected. They were still grazing when he took the rifle in his hands. Nicholas raised it to his shoulder. He pressed his cheek against the steel and stared through the scope. Natural breaths, he thought. Don't hold it in. His fingertip tensed on the trigger, dancing a fine line between squeezing and laying off. He'd have one shot. One chance to bag his reindeer. If he missed, they'd be off and he would be dragging his ass through this spruce and wolf riddled expanse of forest for another few days. The Easter Bunny doesn't have these problems, he thought. He trained the crosshairs on the smaller of the two. Smaller, but not by much. And slender. If he went for bulk over grace, he would never hear the end from Donner (who, incidentally could go without some cookies himself, hmm? He'll be getting a mirror this year, Nicholas thought). Besides, he would be the one dragging it back to the camp site. With 4 cc tranquilizer darts, the deer would be out for a while. Nicholas counted down from ten, in his head. 7...6...5 The reindeer looked up, staring toward his cover. Its muscles tensed. Its eyes narrowed and it stopped chewing. 3 ... 2 ... It winked at him. Looked right through the undergrowth and log cover and winked. ... 1 ... Nicholas squeezed the trigger on his exhale. Something crashed across the back of his head. The gun fired. His body slumped. The world went dark. When Nicholas awoke, he found himself chained to a tree. His rifle was gone, his head throbbed and every time he blinked, a zing of pain like a dentist's drill pierced the back of his skull. The metal cuff on his wrist was squeezed so tight that it was rending his flesh. He had dirt in his mouth and leaves in his beard. Maple leaves, he chuckled, inwardly, and then groaned. No sudden movements, he thought. But even thinking hurt. "What the hell happened?" he said. It was a whisper. A whisper was all he could stand. "Hello?" Silent, grey shapes padded out of the forest. Wolves. Easily a dozen, with ears pinned back and teeth bared. They fanned out, circling him like a toothy wagon train. "Oh, I get it," said Nicholas, tugging at the chain and biting down the painful cry that almost gurgled up from his throat. "Send a message to the poacher. Hohoho, good one. You got me." The wolves did not make a sound. Drool collected at the corners of their mouths and glistened on the sharp points of their teeth. Their eyes were searing blue points of hunger and intensity. "Look, I understand," Nicholas said. "You're activists. You got me. You have my rifle, you saved the reindeer. I don't know how these wolves are listening to you, but I won't do it again. Just...just come out and let me go." He tugged harder on the chain gaining only a rattle and fresh blood as the cuff further tore the skin. "But I'm Santa, dammit. I'm Santa. You can't harm Santa!" The two reindeer he'd been tracking appeared at the edge of the wolf ring. Nicholas watched as they strode into the center of the clearing, unmolested by the predators around them. They stopped a few feet from him. "You ... but ..." Words refused to form on his tongue. When the slender deer he'd had in his sights transformed before him, all thoughts froze. Where two reindeer had stood, there was only one. Its partner was now a pale girl whose nakedness was only partially concealed by her long, auburn hair. "What, in Jack Frost?" said Nicholas. She smiled down at him. "It seems Christmas comes early for us." Nicholas laid his finger aside of his nose. "Your magic won't work here," she said. "This is our home and native land." She turned to address the largest of the wolves, the one whose mouth seemed large enough to swallow Nicholas's own in one gulp. "As agreed, Bearkiller, we give you a gift of tribute. We give you a sacrifice in exchange for your wolves letting our people live unharmed." The massive wolf pressed its icy, wet nose up against Nicholas's own ruddy one. Bearkiller's breath reeked like putrid meat and soured milk. "And what better gift to give other than the world's largest exporter, Nicholas Claus?" said the naked, nubile girl. "A poacher who has built his empire on the backs of lies, slaves and extortion." She spit in her palm and held out her hand. "Seal the deal, Bearkiller. Santa is yours. My people live without fear for another year." Bearkiller licked the spittle from her palm. Nicholas watched as the girl turned, twisted violently and fell to the ground, writhing. In seconds, her body had transformed, becoming once again the reindeer he'd had in his sights. It was the last thing he saw before the wolves set upon him. - Footnotes - Some fun facts**: The Migratory Woodland Caribou (or woodland reindeer) have become threatened in their habitats, with the exception of those living in the Northern Canadian forests. Santa's reindeer must be female (or castrated males, which makes Santa's fate even more deserved, heehee) because male reindeer lose their horns during the winter. Canada's boreal forest covers about 60% of the country's land area, ranging from sparsely treed areas to regions with 80-100% forested cover. These forests are home to many species of plant, insect and animal, to include caribou and the Gray Wolf (the most effective natural predator of the adult reindeer). Tranquilizer dosages vary with the drugs used, but on the average, it takes 2 CC's to tranq a deer and 5 or 6 CC's to tranq a grizzly bear. **Facts researched via Wikipedia

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Blue Ink Alchemy

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Predators

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Predators — Blue Ink Alchemy

{No audio this week. We apologize for the inconvenience.} The nice thing about not being an official or professional movie critic is I can be surprised by things. I'll read, watch and listen to other reviews and keep an eye and ear on the upcoming stuff hitting cinemas, but for the most part when I fire up the DVD player or pick an Instant selection, I can do so free of outside influences and deadlines, other than the polls. I've been trying to do that more since a couple people seem to think I need to have more thoughts of my own. In any event, I'm happy to say Predators surprised me. And it surprised me by being more than halfway decent in a really cool way. A guy in military kit with a wicked automatic shotgun gets dropped - literally - into a rainforest he doesn't recognize. He soon encounters other folk with similar gear and just as much memory as him regarding how they got here, which is to say none. It soon becomes apparent that this ragtag group of strangers have been plucked from wherever they happened to be and have been brought to an alien world for a purpose. Like stocking a fishing pond with trout, these unfortunate folks have been put into this place just so they can be hunted by the eponymous Predators. Not all is what it seems, however, and the longer some of them survive, the more they learn about this world and the nature of their captors. Other than their wickedly advanced technology and that whole spine-ripping thing. There's always been something of an undercurrent of disappointment with sequels to the original Predator up until this point. Instead of increasing the scale of the action in what seems logical to those of us familiar with the success of Aliens as compared to Alien, the immediate sequel to Predator simply changed the setting to a humid LA landscape just slightly reminiscent of Robocop's privatized Detroit. From there the Predators got coupled with the aforementioned xenomorphs in some lackluster AVP entries that were nowhere near as awesome as the original graphic novel cross-over. They vanished from movies for a bit to appear in a couple video games, until one of those half-mad genius visionaries decided to give them one more chance at kicking some ass: Robert Rodriguez.
From left: Heavy Weapons Guy, Surprise I Don't Die First, That's Mister Brody To You, Totally Not Ziva From NCIS, Badass Silent Yakuza Hitman I covered his exploits as a director extensively last week, one or two factual hiccups aside, but this guy is actually to the production side of movies what "triple-threats" like Gene Kelly and Justin Timberlake are to the acting side. Not only is he a visionary director and a bold if somewhat tongue-in-cheek screenwriter, he's also a no-nonsense producer. He's backed almost as many films as he's directed, and while some of them have been his own work, Predators is a project he's thrown himself behind with obvious positive results. Nimród Antal had shown his directoral chops with small entries like Vacancy and Armored, and here Rodriguez has pointed his aesthetic sense directly at this long-awaited 'genuine' follow-up to that much-beloved if somewhat flaming 80s action classic. Now, this isn't exactly the next Inception, here. Don't misunderstand. As much as I was having fun watching a genre-saavy Adrien Brody and several other notable character actors tromp through the jungle and wondering when and how the Predators were going to start picking them off, I couldn't quite shake the feeling that half the reason this movie got made was almost as an apology to long-suffering Predator fans who'd felt cheated out of a proper sequel for decades. It's a B-movie, and makes no apologies about being a B-movie, so viewers interested in keeping their eyeballs unsullied by B-movies will want to give this one a pass. Finally, Predators tries to stand on its own to the degree of more than a few expository scenes filling time with back-and-forth with the characters about where they are and what's going on as opposed to who they are.
"Go ahead. Make fun of The Pianist again. Did you forget I'm an Oscar-winner, bitch?" Then again, that might be part of the appeal of this sort of movie. The composition of the protagonist team is just diverse enough in personality as well as nationality to give us a snapshot of the kind of people the Predators feel 'worthy' of their attentions, and as much as this is not exactly a script that makes the ancient farts at the Academy salivate into their porridge, none of the actors seem to be phoning it in. There's just enough sincerity to make the audience generally interested in what happens to these people, and just enough tongue-in-cheek callbacks to the original, reaching back over years of lackluster abuse of the IP, to give it a much-needed injection of awesomeness. Fans of Predator, your years of disappointment are at an end. Fans of science-fiction action, this one's right up your alley. Fans of Adrien Brody... well, he looks pretty cut and he's actually got some decent one-liners, so yeah, give it a shot, but it's not for the squeamish. It's waiting for you on Netflix, but minor spoiler alert, folks: there are no helicopters in Predators. So, if you were hoping Adrien or perhaps Danny Trejo would have the opportunity to yell "GET TO DA CHOPPAH!!!"... sorry to disappoint. Josh Loomis can't always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop & over-buttered popcorn, and it's unclear if this week's film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark & mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain... IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Kindle-ing

Kindle-ing — Blue Ink Alchemy

The story of how I acquired a Kindle is best told in person, so it will not be reiterated here. Having spent about a week with the device, I can safely draw two conclusions about it: Yes, it's a great way to get books & stories to people on the cheap with convenience and a bit of flair. No, it will not replace printed books. In a bit more detail, e-readers like the Kindle have made it easier than ever for people to both produce and acquire new stories to enjoy. The readers (the people, not the devices) can access libraries of books, reams of text, from just about anywhere, even on the 3G-less WiFi versions. Catering to a wide variety of tastes and interests just like your local bookstore does, without the hassle of actually travelling to and from said store while balanced with a lack of things I'll get to later. As for the writer, those interested in making a foray into self-publishing have never had it more easy. You can finish a final draft (or what you think is a final draft), set a price point, hit Upload and BAM, instant readership. Only that's a lie. You need to promote the work yourself, without the help of others from a publishing firm or an agency. And speaking of agencies, unless you hire an editor (other than your mother) it's unlikely you'll get many favorable reviews to help drive your sales. This is also a problem for those authors that do edit their work, because for every well-polished gems there's at least a couple dozen unrefined turds sitting in the e-store. Which leads us back to promotion and marketing of one's own work. Self-publishing's been discussed more extensively elsewhere, so point your eyeballs in this direction for more on that. As to why the Kindle will never replace the actual printed word, as much as I appreciate the convenience of firing up the device to pick up Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake exactly where I left off, I do find myself missing the heft, the reality, of a real book in my hands, especially when it's a book on the Song of Ice and Fire scale. Sure, it's more convenient for flights and busses and whatnot, and this might be yet another indication that I'm quite the old fart, but the weight of an actual text is something of a comfort. I've been interested in the written word for as long as I can remember, and as much as I'm glad to see technology like the Kindle around, I'm not going to give up buying actual books any time soon. After all, when December rolls around and the cataclysm takes place that rends modern society asunder, we won't have much power for Kindles and we'll need to rely on old-fashioned dead trees, won't we? And not just for reading. I say we burn the books of Stephanie Meyer, Richard Knaak and Glenn Beck first. Gotta cook our post-apocalyptic mutant rat steaks somehow, right?

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Kindle-ing

Kindle-ing — Blue Ink Alchemy

The story of how I acquired a Kindle is best told in person, so it will not be reiterated here. Having spent about a week with the device, I can safely draw two conclusions about it: Yes, it's a great way to get books & stories to people on the cheap with convenience and a bit of flair. No, it will not replace printed books. In a bit more detail, e-readers like the Kindle have made it easier than ever for people to both produce and acquire new stories to enjoy. The readers (the people, not the devices) can access libraries of books, reams of text, from just about anywhere, even on the 3G-less WiFi versions. Catering to a wide variety of tastes and interests just like your local bookstore does, without the hassle of actually travelling to and from said store while balanced with a lack of things I'll get to later. As for the writer, those interested in making a foray into self-publishing have never had it more easy. You can finish a final draft (or what you think is a final draft), set a price point, hit Upload and BAM, instant readership. Only that's a lie. You need to promote the work yourself, without the help of others from a publishing firm or an agency. And speaking of agencies, unless you hire an editor (other than your mother) it's unlikely you'll get many favorable reviews to help drive your sales. This is also a problem for those authors that do edit their work, because for every well-polished gems there's at least a couple dozen unrefined turds sitting in the e-store. Which leads us back to promotion and marketing of one's own work. Self-publishing's been discussed more extensively elsewhere, so point your eyeballs in this direction for more on that. As to why the Kindle will never replace the actual printed word, as much as I appreciate the convenience of firing up the device to pick up Margaret Atwood's Oryx and Crake exactly where I left off, I do find myself missing the heft, the reality, of a real book in my hands, especially when it's a book on the Song of Ice and Fire scale. Sure, it's more convenient for flights and busses and whatnot, and this might be yet another indication that I'm quite the old fart, but the weight of an actual text is something of a comfort. I've been interested in the written word for as long as I can remember, and as much as I'm glad to see technology like the Kindle around, I'm not going to give up buying actual books any time soon. After all, when December rolls around and the cataclysm takes place that rends modern society asunder, we won't have much power for Kindles and we'll need to rely on old-fashioned dead trees, won't we? And not just for reading. I say we burn the books of Stephanie Meyer, Richard Knaak and Glenn Beck first. Gotta cook our post-apocalyptic mutant rat steaks somehow, right?

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Never Give Up, Never Surrender

Never Give Up, Never Surrender — Blue Ink Alchemy

Some people declare "GG" the moment the bad guys break into their bases. Would you? Handling rejection means more than just sending out more queries. It becomes more of an over-arching attitude, a modus operandi for the creative mind. At least, it should, in my humble opinion. Case in point: StarCraft 2. Now, I know, a game is not reality, not meant to be taken seriously, etc. But a lot of people tend to quit the game, either on a match basis or altogether, when their strategies fall apart or they simply get their ass kicked repeatedly. However, TotalBiscuit used the Galaxy Quest phrase "Never give up, never surrender" to frame his latest I Suck At StarCraft installment. I highly recommend this series, by the way, if you have even a passing interest in the game. You'll learn quite a bit, about both the game and how to play it properly. I know that this particular turn of phrase comes from a movie that's more a comedy than anything else, but "Never give up, never surrender" is no less a good attitude regardless of its origins. And it applies to things beyond intergalactic combat. Here's another example: when you apply for a job, you have to accept that you might not get picked to fill the position. But that doesn't mean that there's nothing left to do when you get turned down. There's no harm in thanking your interviewer for their time, and asking about other opportunities they might be aware of. Never burn a bridge that might lead you to new places - never give up, never surrender. And of course, this applies to the writing world. I've touched on rejection in the past. But dealing with it using this attitude works pretty well when you think about it. Running into criticism even if it's constructive or cold form rejections can be a demoralizing, soul-sapping experience. But when you feel this way, pop Galaxy Quest into your mind and repeat the mantra "Never give up, never surrender" until you start churning out more queries. You're going to wipe on bosses in MMOs. You're going to be told your services are no longer required by a seemingly unsympathetic employer. Bills are going to come to your door, bad news will assault your eyes and ears, people will outstrip you in terms of success and salary and gadgetry. When these things happen, some will completely shut down and some will rage against the heavens. Dropping out, ragequitting, misdirection of frustration, all of these things can and do happen. It's better, however, not to give up. Use that frustration, don't let it use you. Learn from your mistakes, refine the things that make you stand out, and promote those things in a positive way. Sooner or later, it'll break you through to the next level and you'll be in a much better position to keep moving forward. All because you didn't surrender. That's my perspective, at least. Here's hoping I don't lose sight of it.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Sandy Bridges & Bulldozers

Sandy Bridges & Bulldozers — Blue Ink Alchemy

My house growing up was something of a neutral zone during the console wars. None of the three kids in the house really declared ourselves as Nintendo or Sega fans, and we enjoyed Sonic games just as much as we did Mario & Zelda. Company rivalries have never really mattered much to me, and in the Coke & Pepsi debate, I'm the guy looking for the 'root beer' option. I've gotten into the habit of building my own computers, and the time is rapidly approaching where I'll be doing it again. Opening up a computer case also opens one up to a lot of similar rivalries: ATI vs. Nvidia in your graphics slot, Microsoft vs. Apple vs. Linux as your OS and Intel vs. AMD for your processor. With the hope of having a rig to run games like StarCraft 2, Civilization V and Dragon Age 2 at decent if not optimal levels, I've been directed to keep an eye on Intel's latest golden child, code-named Sandy Bridge. Intel designed Sandy Bridge to provide a greater amount of performance and flexibility to high-end graphics programs and gamers. It's aimed at putting out more power for those applications while being efficient in terms of power. However, the chipsets quickly evinced a problem and the products were pulled. Now, the problem is with the motherboard chipsets instead of the processors, and the issue's been addressed and new chipsets are being minted as I write this. The question is how much this hiccup has hurt the brand and how quickly Intel's rival, AMD, can turn around their own next-generation chipset, the 'Bulldozer.' While Sandy Bridge integrates new hardware pathways, Bulldozer's a completely new architecture. It's ambitious on AMD's part, and the complete redesign promises performance and flexibility comparable to Intel's highest-end processors as well as "intelligent, automatic overclocking" built into it. We aren't going to get a good look at Bulldozer until some time in March, while Intel is promising Sandy Bridge will be back on track by late February, which is fast approaching. I'll be curious to see if the 'repaired' chipsets become available through NewEgg soon, or if Bulldozer will demolish Sandy Bridge before that happens. AMD is sounding pretty aggressive in my opinion, and as much as I'm inclined to go for the new technology if the price is right, I might have to go with a lower-cost option.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

The Reality of Fantasy

The Reality of Fantasy — Blue Ink Alchemy

Fair warning, would-be writers: if you're good at what you do, somebody somewhere's going to want to hurt you. Having finished George RR Martin's A Storm of Swords last night, more than once I wanted to reach through the pages, grab the man by the beard and give him a couple of shakes for what he was doing to his characters. At the same time, though, I understood why I felt this way and why it was a good thing. He's introduced and developed these people in such a way that we can't help but care about them. He also knows that tragedy is nothing without comedy, and balances the beard-throttling moments with ones that nearly had me in tears, either from heartwarming relief or genuine laughter. This is, honestly, something toward which every author of fiction should aspire. Especially in a genre like fantasy. The entire series of A Song of Ice and Fire is an evolving ur-example of several things writers should do, and at least one they should avoid. The problem with a lot of fantasy books and stories is that the fantastical elements take center stage. If your hero is only interesting because he's "the chosen one" meaning he'll be riding dragons, overthrowing evil sorcerer-dictators and making out with hot elf chicks (because every fantasy protagonist needs a hot elf chick, right?), he's not all that interesting. Now, if he's a disenfranchised son of a noble jerkass who didn't raise him entirely right, or if the dragon he's 'destined' to ride doesn't want anything to do with him beyond perhaps eating him, or if he is, in fact, a she... that changes things. I firmly believe that characters are the foundation of any good story. Sure, you might have a neat premise or background for your narrative, the idea of turning genres on their ears or taking an old story in a new direction, but without good, solid characters it's going to be a lot of sound and fury. When you're getting ready to start down the track of telling a story, take the time to develop your characters beforehand. Give them backgrounds, envision their family lives before the story begins, draw their connections to one another. As the story proceeds, let them develop on their own. Rather than determining every single reaction beforehand, try letting the reactions grow out of the action as you write it. I think you'll find the results surprising, and it will let the narrative become its own creature, free of the expectations of whatever genre you happen to be in. Of course, this could be an entirely backwards way to do things. I still don't think fantasy should be all about the sword and sorcery. The story's true power and magic come from the people weilding those swords, and casting those spells. If you want to cast a spell of your own, look to your characters first.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Snowblind

Snowblind — Blue Ink Alchemy

I'm a little sore. Mostly it's from being behind the wheel for the better part of twelve hours, but some of that time was occupied with attempting to get my car out of a ditch. A perfect storm of lake-effect snow, high winds and nearly bald tires caused Vera to lose her grip on the road. Vera, for the uninitiated, is my 2004 Honda Civic. We eventually got winched out and were able to complete our journey to Kitchener, Ontario. But it was still a harrowing experience. My father-in-law gave me a touch of advice: "Next time you wipe out, look to where you want to go, your brain will follow you." As I was trying to get Vera out of the ditch, I was wondering if there was something to learn from the experience, other than keeping your car well-repaired and being mindful of weather conditions while you travel. During the drive north I replayed the incident, not only looking for mistakes I might've made but also for lessons to learn and convey. This little snippet, however, sums it up nicely. I've always been better at visualizing the endings and climaxes of stories than writing the middle. It took me some time to realize that such visualizations need not be ends in and of themselves. The means are just as important, and the path from where you begin to that ending need not necessarily be straight. In fact, it probably won't be. Characters are going to change and an event's flow might slide unexpectantly even as you write it. Keep your eyes on where you want to go and you'll get through it.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Guest Post: Movie Review: Dreamcatcher

Guest Post: Movie Review: Dreamcatcher — Blue Ink Alchemy

As you read this I am driving up towards the Great White North. While I deal with traffic, border shenanigans and the quest for a cup of Tim Horton's, enjoy this review of Dreamcatcher, courtesy of Monica Flink. Please check out her blog, at Poached Prose. When I find something true, or originally mind-blowing enough to leave an impression on me, I like to pay homage in a sincere show of flattery that does not evolve into all-out ass kissing. As such, I knew when I was going to review Stephen King's Dreamcatcher, I could only pay homage to one man. That is right, I'm going to give a huge nod to the Nostalgia Critic, and we're going to play The Stephen King Drinking Game. Because that is the only way we are all going to get through this movie. Warning: The Stephen King Drinking Game is only for those with the iron liver of a Depression-Era Irish bootlegger. Dreamcatcher is the story of five friends who are going on a hunting trip just outside of Derry, Maine. If you recognized that every Stephen King story takes place in Derry, go ahead and take your shot. On their hunting trip the four friends realize that something is going on when animals begin fleeing the forest in droves, and a military presence is keeping people from leaving the area.
The animals always recognize evil first. I think the presence of Damian Lewis tipped them off. The four childhood friends, Henry (Thomas Jane), Beaver (Jason Lee), Jonesy (Damian Lewis), and Pete (Timothy Olyphant), find themselves in the middle of an alien invasion, the infected human beings characterized by a red rash across their skin that is colloquially called the Ripley, after "...the broad in the Alien movies." What's that, a group of friends that have been together since childhood? Take another shot. Infection of the Ripley means flatulence, illness symptoms, and eventually an alien creature emerges from one of the holes we all have, the rectum. These creatures, called "shit-weasels" by the government (Really? Shit-weasels was the best they could come up with? You know what, take a shot. You're going to need it.) eventually grow and lay eggs to make more of their kind. The four friends discover this in different ways, Jonesy and Beaver get stuck with one in the cabin, while Henry and Pete discover a woman with the Ripley when they have a car accident in the snow.
It looks like a sperm with teeth. So basically anything that would come from Mel Gibson's shriveled sack. In flashbacks, it is revealed that the four friends made a fifth friend who does not visit the cabin with them named Douglas, a mentally disabled boy they rescue from bullies one day, who proudly declares himself "I Duddits!" and talks about someone named Mr. Gray all the time. What is this, half a Stephen King story told in flashbacks, and one-dimensional, completely irredeemable bullies put there to make the heroes draw closer? You just took two shots, didn't you? Henry figures out somehow that this alien problem is something that Duddits, now a mentally disabled adult dying of leukemia played by Donnie Wahlberg, needs to help fix. You are slowly and menially led through two stories, the story of Henry trying to get to Duddits to help stop the head alien, Mr. Gray, against the overpowering military efforts of Colonel Abraham Curtis (Morgan Freeman), and of Jonesy, who has Mr. Gray's incorporeal spirit stuck in his head, attempting to poison the water source with alien eggs. Hey, did you forget to take a shot when an overbearing authority figure was mentioned? Shame on you. Make it up now. Where are Beaver and Pete during all this, you might ask? Well they were conveniently killed off so that there would be no inconvenient need to develop them past the smart-mouthed and womanizing stages their characters were in, respectively. The story is dull, when something about aliens that ravage your innards and take over your brain should be exploding with excellence, and the actors, the big name actors in this movie which include Tom Sizemore, Morgan Freeman, Thomas Jane, Timothy Olyphant, and Jason Lee, are phoning in their performances. The only one not half-assing it is Donnie Walhberg, and he has to play someone mentally deficient the entire time.
Think they'd notice if we just flagged someone down and went to go make better movies? The director, Lawrence Kasdan, is better than this. The man has movies to his credit like The Empire Strikes Back and Raiders of the Lost Ark. Dreamcatcher just looks cheaply made for something that had nearly 70 million dollars poured into it, and the end is as anti-climactic as you can get with alien-on -alien action. It's clear it wanted to be something more, and tried so hard that it popped like an over-ripe tomato on a hot kitchen counter. If there is anything redeemable in this movie, it would be the child actors in the flashbacks. From the pop culture references that only someone King's age would understand (take a shot) to the insurmountable courage that they all have which seems to disappear as neurotic adults (take another shot), the kids are the best actors in the whole damn movie. Except maybe for the shit-weasels. Those computer generated little bastards do some good by killing folk off for us. If you are going to watch a movie based on a Stephen King novel, I suggest one of the ones that are either from his earlier years, such as Carrie or have nothing mystical or paranormal about them at all, like The Shawshank Redemption. These films will be far more entertaining, and will not get you nearly as drunk. Now call your DD and thank the Nostalgia Critic for sharing the whiskey-soaked love.
I think we both know this is just my paycheck movie. Those penguins didn't pay crap.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Machete

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Machete — Blue Ink Alchemy

{No audio this week. We apologize for the inconvenience.} Like many movie-goers, my first taste of Robert Rodriguez came in the form of Desperado. I wasn't plugged into the indy film scene when I was a lad so El Mariachi kind of passed me by. The follow-up, however, grabbed me by the collar, fed me a shot of tequila and kicked me square in the ass, and I liked it. Now while I was blown away by the action, to say nothing of the always-appealing Salma Hayek, one of the things that stuck out in my mind was the silent knife-throwing assassin sent by the absentee drug lords. He was played by an absolute mountain of a Mexican, a man they call Danny Trejo. He's been in character roles since then, but here we have his first starring role: Machete. Think of Machete as a Mexican 'Dirty Harry'. A dedicated supercop (that's 'Federale' south of the border) who runs afoul of a drug lord and pays the price in family, Machete is forced to leave his country and heads into America. Down on his luck and working as an illegal day laborer like many of his unfortunate countrymen in Texas, he is offered a shady deal by a shady businessman. There's a certain State Senator with a very hard stance against immigrant workers, and Machete is offered a large sum of money to kill the guy. Machete reluctantly accepts, but discovers too late that it's a set-up. This betrayal and subsequent surge in the senator's polls spells doom for Mexicans looking for a better life in America, unless Machete can focus his quest for heroic vengeance into the sort of inspirational spark that kindles the fires of revolution. If this seems a little over the top or gratuitous in either message or execution, you win an award for spotting the bleeding obvious. Machete began as a gag trailer in the Rodriguez-Tarantino tag-team project Grindhouse, which has also spawned Hobo With A Shotgun and Werewolf Women of the SS. A tounge-in-cheek send-up of old-school schlock cinema with exploitative roles and themes aimed at the nigh-forgotten X rating, films like this in our day and age tend to get slapped with the 'post-modern deconstruction' label. And to an extent, that's true here. There's stunt casting, gratuity in terms of both sex and violence, and some very intentional tongue in cheek moments. That doesn't make the underlying theme of Machete any less obvious or any less sincere.
"I got my green card right here, pendejo." It's clear that the makers of Machete have little love for the American policy regarding immigration in its current state. Considering it can take someone pursuing a legitimate means to reside and work in the United States years of bureaucratic runaround and thousands of dollars in government fees, it's no wonder there are people looking to cut corners and hop through loopholes. Rather than streamline the process to get these folks into the workforce in a legal way more quickly, many Americans prefer to lock down the borders entirely as if every single person crossing it is a member of that rather vocal minority of people who think blowing something up is a great way to promote the peaceful teachings of their prophet. The people caught in the middle with no means to support themselves and no recourse against the frustrating and obfuscatory ways and means of the government have done quite a bit to make things right, but they've never risen up in arms quite the way they do in Machete. Racism has been tackled in many films before this one, from the dead serious dramatic portrayal in In the Heat of the Night to the side-splitting comedy of Blazing Saddles. While Machete's action and situations may be a bit too contrived to take seriously, its thematic material is just as sincere here as it is when it comes to immigration. It really is like taking a big, deep drink of something alcoholic to put you in a euphoric state of mind right before you get into a fight. It's violent, painful and extremely real, but you're laughing your way through it because of how the events are framed. Despite the toungue in cheek nature of its larger than life characters' delivery, there are really people like this in America and they really are this ignorant, manipulative, power-hungry and indecent. And Machete killing his way throuugh their ranks is every bit as cathartic as the actions of the Punisher or the Boondock Saints.
All this and brains, too. Normally I'd harp on a movie using contrivance or spectacle for its own sake, but the truth is a good movie that includes such things make them part of the point. While being hilariously over the top is par for the course when it comes to grindhouse fodder, Rodriguiez cannily uses these familiar, schlocky tropes the same way a stage magician uses pyrotechnics or a scantily-clad assistant. It's all about distraction. You might not have realized it the first time you saw Machete, but while you were seeing Danny Trejo slice and dice his way through the bad guys, he was also delivering a B-52's worth of dropped anvils regarding the shoddy state of the immigration issue in the US. As they say on that infamous page, though, some anvils need to be dropped. I'm going to get off of my soapbox, now, and tell you that beyond this possibly overblown interpretation of the events of Machete, it's still a movie that's plenty entertaining in its own right. Like Desperado, From Dusk 'Til Dawn and Sin City, Rodriguez tempers the breakneck pace of his shooting and cutting with funny character beats and smoldering sex appeal, this time around by Jessica Alba, Michelle Rodriguez and a surprisingly effective self-parody from Linsday Lohan. You get your recommended dose of Cheech Marin, Robert DeNiro's just having a ball, Jeff Fahey nibbles on some scenery in a way you can't help but appreciate, and Steven Segal... well, you can't win 'em all. There a misstep here or there, the occasional stumble that never brings the production to a screeching halt, but that is actually part of the appeal of Robert Rodriguez, in this reviewer's humble opinion. He isn't afraid to run with something that might not seem 100% clean if it keeps the story and action going or speeds us along to the next good-looking dame. If you saw Grindhouse or caught sight of Machete's special Cinco de Mayo message for Arizona on YouTube, and cracked a smile at the scenario or narration, definitely queue this one up. That's pretty much what got me to see it - that image of Danny Trejo, airborne on a motorcycle with a mounted gatling gun, while a deep, extremely sincere voice intoned: MACHETE. RATED X.
"Look at those bite marks on the scenery! Who in tarnation's gonna clean that up?" Yeah. Definitely not for the kids. But if you're a fan of action, hot girls or criticisms of the United States government in the form of guns, blades and disembowlings? Machete's for you. Josh Loomis can't always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop & over-buttered popcorn, and it's unclear if this week's film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark & mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain... IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Machete

IT CAME FROM NETFLIX! Machete — Blue Ink Alchemy

{No audio this week. We apologize for the inconvenience.} Like many movie-goers, my first taste of Robert Rodriguez came in the form of Desperado. I wasn't plugged into the indy film scene when I was a lad so El Mariachi kind of passed me by. The follow-up, however, grabbed me by the collar, fed me a shot of tequila and kicked me square in the ass, and I liked it. Now while I was blown away by the action, to say nothing of the always-appealing Salma Hayek, one of the things that stuck out in my mind was the silent knife-throwing assassin sent by the absentee drug lords. He was played by an absolute mountain of a Mexican, a man they call Danny Trejo. He's been in character roles since then, but here we have his first starring role: Machete. Think of Machete as a Mexican 'Dirty Harry'. A dedicated supercop (that's 'Federale' south of the border) who runs afoul of a drug lord and pays the price in family, Machete is forced to leave his country and heads into America. Down on his luck and working as an illegal day laborer like many of his unfortunate countrymen in Texas, he is offered a shady deal by a shady businessman. There's a certain State Senator with a very hard stance against immigrant workers, and Machete is offered a large sum of money to kill the guy. Machete reluctantly accepts, but discovers too late that it's a set-up. This betrayal and subsequent surge in the senator's polls spells doom for Mexicans looking for a better life in America, unless Machete can focus his quest for heroic vengeance into the sort of inspirational spark that kindles the fires of revolution. If this seems a little over the top or gratuitous in either message or execution, you win an award for spotting the bleeding obvious. Machete began as a gag trailer in the Rodriguez-Tarantino tag-team project Grindhouse, which has also spawned Hobo With A Shotgun and Werewolf Women of the SS. A tounge-in-cheek send-up of old-school schlock cinema with exploitative roles and themes aimed at the nigh-forgotten X rating, films like this in our day and age tend to get slapped with the 'post-modern deconstruction' label. And to an extent, that's true here. There's stunt casting, gratuity in terms of both sex and violence, and some very intentional tongue in cheek moments. That doesn't make the underlying theme of Machete any less obvious or any less sincere.
"I got my green card right here, pendejo." It's clear that the makers of Machete have little love for the American policy regarding immigration in its current state. Considering it can take someone pursuing a legitimate means to reside and work in the United States years of bureaucratic runaround and thousands of dollars in government fees, it's no wonder there are people looking to cut corners and hop through loopholes. Rather than streamline the process to get these folks into the workforce in a legal way more quickly, many Americans prefer to lock down the borders entirely as if every single person crossing it is a member of that rather vocal minority of people who think blowing something up is a great way to promote the peaceful teachings of their prophet. The people caught in the middle with no means to support themselves and no recourse against the frustrating and obfuscatory ways and means of the government have done quite a bit to make things right, but they've never risen up in arms quite the way they do in Machete. Racism has been tackled in many films before this one, from the dead serious dramatic portrayal in In the Heat of the Night to the side-splitting comedy of Blazing Saddles. While Machete's action and situations may be a bit too contrived to take seriously, its thematic material is just as sincere here as it is when it comes to immigration. It really is like taking a big, deep drink of something alcoholic to put you in a euphoric state of mind right before you get into a fight. It's violent, painful and extremely real, but you're laughing your way through it because of how the events are framed. Despite the toungue in cheek nature of its larger than life characters' delivery, there are really people like this in America and they really are this ignorant, manipulative, power-hungry and indecent. And Machete killing his way throuugh their ranks is every bit as cathartic as the actions of the Punisher or the Boondock Saints.
All this and brains, too. Normally I'd harp on a movie using contrivance or spectacle for its own sake, but the truth is a good movie that includes such things make them part of the point. While being hilariously over the top is par for the course when it comes to grindhouse fodder, Rodriguiez cannily uses these familiar, schlocky tropes the same way a stage magician uses pyrotechnics or a scantily-clad assistant. It's all about distraction. You might not have realized it the first time you saw Machete, but while you were seeing Danny Trejo slice and dice his way through the bad guys, he was also delivering a B-52's worth of dropped anvils regarding the shoddy state of the immigration issue in the US. As they say on that infamous page, though, some anvils need to be dropped. I'm going to get off of my soapbox, now, and tell you that beyond this possibly overblown interpretation of the events of Machete, it's still a movie that's plenty entertaining in its own right. Like Desperado, From Dusk 'Til Dawn and Sin City, Rodriguiez tempers the breakneck pace of his shooting and cutting with funny character beats and smoldering sex appeal, this time around by Jessica Alba, his own wife Michelle and a surprisingly effective self-parody from Linsday Lohan. You get your recommended dose of Cheech Marin, Robert DeNiro's just having a ball, Jeff Fahey nibbles on some scenery in a way you can't help but appreciate, and Steven Segal... well, you can't win 'em all. There a misstep here or there, the occasional stumble that never brings the production to a screeching halt, but that is actually part of the appeal of Robert Rodriguez, in this reviewer's humble opinion. He isn't afraid to run with something that might not seem 100% clean if it keeps the story and action going or speeds us along to the next good-looking dame. If you saw Grindhouse or caught sight of Machete's special Cinco de Mayo message for Arizona on YouTube, and cracked a smile at the scenario or narration, definitely queue this one up. That's pretty much what got me to see it - that image of Danny Trejo, airborne on a motorcycle with a mounted gatling gun, while a deep, extremely sincere voice intoned: MACHETE. RATED X.
"Look at those bite marks on the scenery? Who in tarnation's gonna clean that up?" Yeah. Definitely not for the kids. But if you're a fan of action, hot girls or criticisms of the United States government in the form of guns, blades and disembowlings? Machete's for you. Josh Loomis can't always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop & over-buttered popcorn, and it's unclear if this week's film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark & mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain... IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Beyond the Vale: A Brief History, part 2

Beyond the Vale: A Brief History, part 2 — Blue Ink Alchemy

Continued from yesterday's post... The human lands paid due homage to their new king, and in return they were left mostly to their own devices, with minimal interference from the crown outside of taxes and requests for aid. Minor and major lords rose to power, claiming cities as their seats of power and laying claim to as much acrage as they dared. Most city-states had different patron dieties, and while for the most part they could get along, there was the occasional dogmatic squabble. The progressives of Erathgate often chided the more militaristic people of Stormwatch, who paid homage to Kord with extensive drilling and an ancient tradition of trial by combat. Stormwatch, for their part, was interested in the engineers of Erathgate creating new means to wage war. While Daggerport and Fortune's Harbor often traded ships and goods, the lack of a patron diety and reports of dark cults dwelling in Daggerport made some of the lovers of Avandra within Fortune's Harbor a bit nervous. Word of these cults reached the church of Bahamut seated in Shoredale. When Daggerport-registered vessels stopped carrying pilgrims to the Bay of Bahamut far to the east, Shoredale's duke sent ten thousand paladins and soldiers to bring the 'free city' to heel. Had it not been for emissaries from the king forging an uneasy peace, the battle could have been long and bloody. Adamantine, ancestral home of the royal family, stayed out of most of these conflicts. The princes of the Adamant Keep would come to aid the crown at a moment's notice, their arms and armor fired in the finest forges in the kingdom and possibly with a legion of dwarves in support. Adamantine was sworn to Moradin, and while the internal politics of the fortress-city was reportedly a bloody drama of betrayals, seductions and assassinations, when they rode forth they did so with the force of the hammer striking the anvil. That anvil was often a cadre of adepts from Junction, where Ioun held sway. Junction is home to many 'prodigal' wizards from the Tower of the Arcane, who forsake the Five Archmages' neutrality in favor of teaching sorcerers and assisting the crown in keeping the peace. With such powerful magics, armies from Adamantine and the Sun Guard sworn to protect the crown day and night, any king seated in Nerath's Ebon Keep was well-equipped to meet any threat to peace within the realm. It may be for this reason that Lysander came to shore at Junction. Without warning, longships beyond count appeared in the sea, filled with vicious mercenaries of the Iron Circle and priests of Bane thirsty for revenge. Junction's city guard crumbled before the onslaught and the prodigal arcanists were either burned, hung or disappeared mysteriously. From Junction, Lysander rode for Nerath, used ancient and forgotten passages to steal into the Ebon Keep in the dead of night, and put King Perrin to the sword, placing his head above the city's northern gate. The Second Nerathan Empire had begun...

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Beyond the Vale: A Brief History, part 1

Beyond the Vale: A Brief History, part 1 — Blue Ink Alchemy

The party of D&D characters I guide on Tuesday nights (who didn't meet last night) is close to embarking upon a larger world. I've touched on some things they are likely to encounter as they leave the Nentir Vale in the larger world beyond, and I think it's time I revise some of that historical and cultural background, so that it makes some sort of sense. My first attempt is available here, and as Ernest Hemingway reminds us, "The first draft of anything is shit." Also, I'd like to put together an actual map of these places soon, so it's on something other than graph paper. Anyway, here's what I've laid down so far.

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For several hundred years, the descendants of Nerath ruled every acre of land south of the Stonemarch and west of the Feystride. Founded on an unholy alliance of the churches of Asmodeus and Bane, their rule was an ironclad and thoroughly corrupt one. Lordlings, knights and princes all paid due homage to the crown, who in turn dispensed blessings and punishments seemingly on a whim. Finally, the prince of Adamanton, the lord marshall of the Vale and the duke of Shoredale made entreaties to the dwarves, elves and eladrin, respectively. None of the bordering races were friends to the Empire and agreed to join the humans in overthrowing their unjust rulers. When the uprising began, a priest of Bane bundled up the Emperor's children and fled across the sea, to the Imperial Colonies far to the west. While Bane's word was to live to conquer another day, Asmodeus' acolytes suggested the Emperor crush the rebellion immediately, rather than give up an iota of power. The Emperor had the lot of them killed. It is said this angered Asmodeus and caused the downfall of the first Empire, but Bane was already preoccupied with other plans. With the Emperor slain and his forces scattered or surrendered, a brief conflict over succession followed. The other races withdrew at that point, and the prince of Adamanton won his crown. He was quick to establish lucrative trade agreements with the dwarves, arrangements for the eladrin to treat with his royal magicians and a non-agression pact with the various tribes of elves prevelant in the woods and the Vale. An uneasy peace followed...

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Querying Do's and Don'ts

Querying Do's and Don'ts — Blue Ink Alchemy

"Professionals have standards: Be polite. Be efficient. Have a plan to kill everyone you meet."

Believe it or not, there's a lesson to be learned from the Sniper of Team Fortress 2 if you're a writer looking to get published. And it doesn't have anything to do with shooting people or covering them in piss. At least, it shouldn't. I know it's frustrating, it can get tedious and nerve-wracking, but seriously, but the gun and/or jar down. Right now. You don't want to kill agents. That's bad form. What you do want is to blow them out of the water. While I don't know precisely how to do that - if I did, I wouldn't still be looking for an agent - I do have a vague idea of how the process works and some things not to do in the query itself. I've even extended my passing knowledge into a video game metaphor. Still, I'm sure I'm not the only one struggling with writing the damn thing. Here, then, is a quick list of dos and donts I've gleaned from my personal experience, that of others and the dark recesses of the Internets.

Do Be Professional

Present yourself professionaly. You might not be showing up in their mailbox in a suit and tie, but you can ensure your query comes close. Correct spelling & grammar, short sentences that don't waste the agent's time, getting to the point - all of these things will make your query look sharp. Follow their guidelines and include everything they ask for, and nothing they don't. If they want a sample, include one and do so in your first attempt. Send a query twice to the same agent the same day, and you'll get thrown out. It's nothing personal - they just don't have the time for spam. Who does?

Don't Be Pushy

It's one thing to send a query twice by accident (whups, forgot the sample chapters again!). It's quite another to do it ON PURPOSE. Once you send your query, that's it. You may hear nothing but silence in response. Get used to that, and don't bother the agent. The more you try to get their attention related to a query they may be ignoring or rejecting for a perfectly good reason, the more likely the answer is going to be "No." Or maybe a restraining order. You don't want to wake up with the bloody head of your manuscript in your bed, either.

Do Be Polite

In the wording and presentation of both your query and your work, put your best foot forward. It's possible to be professional and also be completely cold. Don't be that way. Who wants to work with someone with zero personality? Show you're someone willing to work with other people, to talk about your work professionally and build a relationship with the agent. The challenge, here? You'll have to do it in a sentence, maybe two. You have to make the agent interested in you as much as they'd be interested in your work. It's one of the unspoken tricks necessary in hooking the agent.

Don't Be Pissy

The difference between getting frustrated and getting mad is that frustration can be used to fuel persistence (see below), while anger leads to the aforementioned pestering and urination. It's a subtle difference but it's all in how you use the negative emotions that inevitably come from rejection and silence, which can arguably worse for the struggling writer (again, see below).

Do Be Persistant

Querying is not a passive thing. You can't just find a couple agents through the Internet, dash off some lackluster queries and sit back waiting for the love to pour in. You should be taking a look at your query every day, refining it, making sure it's polished. And when another week has passed with no response? Find more agents to send it to. Hit a library or bookstore, jot down more contact information and get to querying. Do it by email, snail mail, carrier pigeon, bricks through windows*. Keep sending them out. Sooner or later you'll find the the one that simply cannot live without reading more of your work.

Don't Kick Yourself Too Hard When You Get Rejected

Not every agent is going to respond to you. And not every response is going to be positive. When you do get the inevitable rejection, even if it's simply that the agent doesn't like the way you write, there's no cause to abandon all hope. See the last 'Do' item - go query more. Find more agents. I'm sure they're out there. Even if you're in a narrow genre like, say, "young adult fantasy fiction"**, there are bound to be agents out there willing to give it a once-over. You won't find them wallowing in misery, no matter how good that bottle of Jack looks. That's it. That's the list. It's as much for myself as it is for you. So's this: What the hell are you doing still sitting there? Go query, dammit! * Don't do this either, this is bad. ** No, I just pulled that one right out of the air, nothing relevant to my current activities, why do you ask?

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Blue Ink Alchemy

Free Fiction: Miss Weaver's Lo Mein

Free Fiction: Miss Weaver's Lo Mein — Blue Ink Alchemy

Okay, I'm going to be honest. This isn't likely to be my best story ever. I haven't been editing as thoroughly as I could have over the weekend, which makes this essentially a first draft. And as Hemingway put it, "The first draft of anything is shit." So it'll probably be better when it gets bundled with my other retold myths. Anyway, appropriate for Valentine's Day and based on the Chinese folk tale "The Princess and the Cowherd" (a.k.a. The Cowherd and the Weaver Girl), I give you "Miss Weaver's Lo Mein." [spoiler] To say that Caroline Weaver didn't get out much would be an understatement. In terms of creature comforts, she wanted for nothing. She had a spacious apartment within walking distance of her father's office. Weaver & Weaver had been in the commodites business practically since there *was* a commodities business, and it was a long-standing, solid and above-board company handed down from eldest son to eldest son. When Joe's sons and wife were killed in a car accident, he turned to Caroline and immediately began grooming her to take his place when he was gone. The loss of her brothers and mother left Caroline numb, dedicated solely to her work. She knew how important it was. Her dad was counting on her. If someone who wasn't Weaver took over the company when Joe passed on, it wouldn't be Weaver & Weaver anymore, would it? It was something that consumed her. She ate organic food, slept near a laptop, never took vacations and no relationship she tried lasted longer than a couple months. Some of her co-workers joked the only guy she could stand on a regular basis outside of her father was "the lo mein guy." His cart was always parked across Broadway from the office building. FRESH CHINESE was the declaration on the placards bolted to the hammered metal sides. Paper lanters hung from the opened side doors, a little MP3 player hooked up to speakers piped quiet Chinese toons, and the smell coming from the cart was always something divine to Caroline, never greasy or fatty. It was the man behind the cart, however, that really kept her coming back. "Morning, Miss Weaver! The usual lo mein?" He was her age. He kept his dark hair short, and his eyes always had a glint of mischief in them, a laugh just waiting to explode from his mouth. More than once, Caroline reflected that there was a significant lack of laughter in her life. "Yes, please. How's the beef?" "Absolutely delicious." He grinned as he spooned noodles into her take-away container. "But you know that! You never get chicken or shrimp." "It's just that the beef is so good," she admitted. "Is it local?" "Yes, unfortunately." "Why is that unfortunate?" Caroline was speaking before thinking. That never happened. She'd been visiting this cart for months, why was she suddenly so talkative? She watched him, carefully sprinkling spices on top of the pile of beef and noodles in the paper box. Why couldn't she look away from his eyes today? "It's not as good as the beef back home. My father's a cowherd, like his father and so on and so forth." She blinked. "'Back home'? You're a Chinese native?" "Why is that a surprise?" He let out a short, barking laugh. "Is it because I speak English so well?" "Well..." She shuffled her feet. The last thing she wanted to do was offend him. If nothing else, she didn't want her food spiced with spit. "I get it all the time." He was still smiling, handing her the lunch. "I was educated at a school upstate. My father was here for years trying to secure an export contract for his beef. It never happened. He couldn't afford to move us all back home, so I stayed to make enough money on my own to do it." She handed him a few bills from her purse. "Here, and keep the change. I hope you make it home someday soon." "Me too. Thank you, Miss Weaver." His smile was infectious. She turned, face to face with a construction worker who wasn't as happy with their banter as she was. Blushing, she hurredly crossed the street. She didn't stop blushing until well after she returned to her desk. She still wasn't sure what'd possessed her to talk to him like that. She tried not to think about it as she got her chopsticks out and ate her lunch. Hours later as she was plowing through a pile of work it occured to her she'd never asked his name. That's exactly what she did the next day. "I beg your pardon?" "I didn't think to ask your name yesterday." She paused. "I've been coming her for months and never once have I asked your name. Wait... how do you know mine?" "You answered your cell phone once while I was making your lunch. That's rude, you know." His deadly serious face made her crestfallen. "Oh..." His eyes glimmered and he grinned. "I'm just playing. I didn't mind. Folks behind you might've, but I can't tell them how to think." She returned his smile. "I'm sorry. I've just been working a lot lately." "Aren't we all." He handed her the beef lo mein. "I'm Yuan. Sorry if I didn't say so before." "No, really, it's my fault for not asking." He handed her the lunch he'd made her. "Think nothing of it, Miss Weaver." She paid him, along with the tip she usually added. "It's Caroline." His smile lit up his entire face, and the rest of that afternoon flew by for her. Over the next few months, Caroline and Yuan began to learn more and more about each other. She didn't know much about baseball, but he hated the Yankees. He hadn't gotten to do much reading since establishing his business, and she was a huge Harry Potter fan. They shared a taste for older rock'n'roll, with Caroline marking the death of Jimi Hendrix every year and Yuan considering himself a Beatlemaniac. Caroline didn't go to the movies much, and Yuan promised if they ever did, it wouldn't be to see a romantic comedy. "I don't know if I'd have the time to go see a movie." The skies above were threatening rain that day. Yuan smiled as he stirred a fresh batch of lo mein noodles, intent on giving her the first portion of it. "But you'd be open to the idea?" She smiled. "What makes you think I wouldn't be?" "Don't people in your line of work usually associate with others in the same industry or social circle?" "I guess, but most of them are entitled self-important arrogant douchebags." Yuan snorted in laughter. "Well, I can't say I'm any different. I mean, these are the best noodles in the city." "But I can attest to that. I've tasted your noodles. I only have vapid claims to go on from those clowns. I have no interest in seeing their golf swings or art collections, and they think I'll be eager to find out how good they are in bed when their cologne could knock out a herd of angry rhinos? No, forget it." Yuan shook his head, grinning. "I think this is the happiest I've heard you. You really enjoy trashing your peers this much?" "No. I enjoy talking to you this much." He looked up at her smile, and for a moment, he was at a loss for words. He handed her the lunch box. She took it, touching his fingers for a moment before handing him the cash. "Thursday night, the cinema over on 55th. Seven o'clock?" He nodded. "I'll be there." The movie showing on Thursday night was a little independent production, and it was neither romantic nor a comedy. Still, at times the movie seemed absolutely superfluous, as Caroline was in the company of someone who made no demands of her and had no expectations. It wasn't an industry event where she was supposed to hobnob with this client or that CEO, it was simple, straightforward, uncomplicated. She didn't want it to end. He walked her to her door afterwards, kissed her good night and took the train back to his self-described "rathole". She was still walking six feet off the ground when she came into work on Friday. "You seem to be in excellent spirits." She came out of the pleasant memories to look at the man standing at the door of her office. Her father. Tall and thin, with a bald head and bright blond sideburns flowing into his distinctive mustache, he entered the office and closed the door behind him. "Yeah. I... I was on a date last night." "A date? With whom? That nice boy Howards from the exchange?" "No." She hesitated. How much did she want to tell him? How much could she? "You wouldn't know him." The lift he'd had in his mustache disappeared. It was the most she'd seen him smile in a while, and now it was gone. "Well, maybe I'd like to. Give it some thought." He left her to her work, and the morning dragged by for her until she headed downstairs for lunch. "You look awful," Yuan commented as he stirred the noodles at his cart. "What's wrong?" "It's my father. I told him about our date, and..." "...he'd be less than impressed with me." He nodded slowly. "He's a high-powered executive. I understand." "Yuan, he's not a bad man, but the company is all he has. I'm important to him because of the part I play in it." "Can't you be important to him because you're his daughter?" "I was, once. Now he's pinned all his hopes and future on me." He touched her hand, gently. "That's a lot to ask of someone." She looked in his eyes. "Yuan, I'm sorry. I don't want to stop seeing you. I... you make me so happy sometimes I can barely contain it." He smiled, and gently handed her her lunch. "I'm glad we agree on that. Look, you'll see me here every day. When you're ready, we'll talk about how to handle this 'dad' situation of yours. It'll be fine. I promise." Nodding, she gave her usual generous tip, taking a moment to kiss the bills before putting them in his jar. The grin splitting his face was priceless. She returned to work in better spirits and made it through the rest of the day. The next day, however, it was Yuan's turn to be followed by a dark cloud. He showed Caroline a form that'd been delivered to him in person. "It's a deportation notice," he told her. "My visa's been revoked." "How is that possible?" She studied the form. It made no sense. "After my student visa expired, I applied for residence. Despite the fact my work permit from my previous visa hadn't expired, they're saying this-" He gestured a his cart and its delicious-smelling food. "- is illegal, and they're deporting me for it." "That is bullshit!" She slammed the form back onto the cart. "What was this officer's name? I'll find him and sort it out." He shook his head. "I've already found a buyer for the cart. I'm going to go home, help dad with the farm. The money I've made here isn't much, but..." She took his hand, ignoring the people behind her. "Yuan, they don't have to run you out like this. It isn't right. We should fight this, together." "Even if we do, I'll either be doing it from China or from jail. I'd like to hold on to my freedom, even if it means leaving a country supposedly founded on it, and you." Caroline felt tears coming to her eyes and tried to blink them away. He touched her face and smiled faintly. "It's a smaller world than you might think. I don't think it can keep us apart for too long." She leaned into his touch, kissed his hand. "I'm going to miss you." "I'll miss you too, Miss Weaver. Here's your lo mein." She didn't remember the trip back upstairs, nor leaving her lunch on her desk. The next thing she knew she was in her father's office. "This was your doing." "I don't know what you mean." He didn't look at her. Six financial reports were on his wall of televisions at once. He said it kept his mind sharp. "Yuan's deportation. You had something to do with it." "People shouldn't be here on expired permits and visas. If they can't be bothered to renew their paperwork properly, they've got no place here." "His work permit's fine, you just don't like the fact that I'm interested in someone in a lower tax bracket from you!" "I don't like your tone, Caroline." "And I don't like the way you try to control my life like it's a game of chess or something! I'm your daughter, not a slave or a pawn!" "You're also the best employee I've got, and this is our busiest time of year. I need you completely on your game with no distractions. You can have all the girlish flings you want third quarter, just as long as I don't have to see it by looking out my window." Caroline felt her hands curling into fists. She stared at her father as her nails bit into her palms. Finally, when she couldn't think of anything constructive to say, she turned and walked out, returning to her office. She managed to make it through the rest of the work day and get herself home before she broke down into tears. It was a dismal month that followed. The corner across the street from the office was soon occupied by a hot dog vendor, a large gentleman with hairy shoulders who tended to undercook the dogs. She tried to focus on her work, and as her productivity didn't dip too far, her father either didn't notice the way she dragged herself through her days, or simply didn't care. Caroline suspected the latter. Finally, after returning home from work, she found an envelope with internation postage on it waiting for her. She got into her apartment, tore off her coat, sat at her tiny kitchen table and clawed the envelope open. Dear Caroline, I've never been all that good at writing things out. I try to deal with what's in front of me and not live inside my head, in words and pictures. I'm sorry if that meant I came across as cold the last time I saw you. Leaving you tore me apart. I loved that little cart and I miss it, almost as much as I miss you. We don't have the Internet out here on the farm, as my father thinks it's a superfluous expense. So I've taken to riding the train to the nearest library. Still, I have the credit card I got while I was in the States, and I used it to buy you a copy of this software that teaches you Chinese. The code for downloading it's enclosed with this letter. I've also sent you a voucher for an airline ticket, which should bring you out here around our New Year's celebration. You've got six months to learn enough Chinese to not piss off my dad. No pressure. I'm kidding. I'm sure you'll get along fine. Still, a few key Mandarin phrases won't hurt. I'm sure your dad won't be too happy with you skipping town on him, and I know your work is important to you. I'm not going to ask you to run away or anything like that. Just come see me, or at least write back. I miss you more than words can say. Love, Yuan Sure enough, the envelope had a print-out with a download code and another with information on a cross-Pacific flight. She read and re-read the letter several times, and a plan began to take shape. The exchange of letters between her and Yuan quickly became preoccupied with the particulars, as she practiced her writing of Chinese characters and he gently corrected her sentence structure. She saved all of her excitement and anticipation for after hours, ensuring her productivity remained at its usual high level. With her father pleased, he left her relatively alone. She worked her vacation request through the HR department like any other employee, knowing that her father tended to ignore the scheduling calendars of other people in his company as long as nothing they did interfered with his meetings. The Friday before she left, however, he knocked on her office door. "A two-week vacation, and I'm only just now hearing about it?" She didn't look up from her paperwork. "I'm the top earner in the company three months running. I've earned some time off." "The HR calendar doesn't say where you're going." "I didn't see how it was anybody's business." "What if you're going someplace dangerous?" "You mean like five blocks from here? I'm not going to stay shut up in this office or my apartment because of a minority of ultra-violent whackjobs." "I see your point." He lingered at the door, watching her work, before he disappeared. When he came back, he closed the door behind him and placed an envelope in front of her. "What's this?" "I moved you up to first class." He stood before her desk, his face inscrutable. "I won't have you on a cross-ocean flight for hours on end cramped in a coach seat. My daughter deserves better." She looked at the envelope, then up at her father. "You know where I'm going, then?" "Yes. And I know why." He paused. "You're right. You deserve your vacation, and the reason you're taking it there is my fault. I was... I was scared." She blinked, breath caught in her throat. He tapped the envelope, not looking her in the eye. "I know this won't make up for what I did. But I had no right to take away something that made you happy just because I feared it getting in the way of business. I'm your boss, but I'm also your father. I can't let one overwhelm the other." The muscles in his jaw danced. "I know people say this company's all I've got. But, really, Caroline... it's you. You're all I've got. And I'm scared of losing you." She took his hand. "You'll never lose me, Dad. Not really. But I can't always be here. Not when my heart is somewhere far away. I miss that little Chinese cart and the sweet guy behind it more than anything, and I'm sorry it took you this long to understand that." She smiled at him. "Don't be scared. I'm going to come back. But I need to see him. You understand that, don't you?" He nodded. "Take the time you need, be safe and come home. We'll be waiting for you." She got up from her desk and hugged him. It was the first time they'd hugged in years. Phones rang elsewhere in the building. Emails poured into inboxes. The Weavers ignored them. For that moment, they weren't co-workers anymore. They weren't commodities traders. They were a family. Two weeks later she was in China. Fireworks exploded in the streets. Paper dragons chased parades and lanters swung as people went hither and yon during the festivities. Yuan and Caroline walked hand in hand. "I'm sorry my dad's not in better health." Yuan smiled a bit in spite of his mood. "It turns out I came home at just the right time. Getting into the groove of running the farm took longer than I thought it would, but we're seeing better business than ever." "I'm glad something good came out of that. I was worried for you." "I know." He squeezed her hand. "And your Mandarin sounds good. I know you'll keep practicing when you go home." She leaned her head on his shoulder. "Let's not talk about that yet. I know I have to, that it'll be a long time before we make this work. If we ever do. For now... for now, I just want this." He nodded, and smiled. "Let me take you home, then, and make you some lo mein." Firecrackers popped nearby. Miss Weaver smiled at her cowherd. "I can't wait." [/spoiler]

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Blue Ink Alchemy