“If This Be Bechdel!” : Can Girl Germs Kill the Marvel Universe?

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By Shawn Stjean

Alternate reality.  Imagine this: you’re in a movie theater, and the feature film stars 5-25 named women characters, and one male.  You’re a pretty sharp viewer, so it’s not long before you realize the male seems primarily there, in the first hour of run time, to confirm the heterosexuality of the women (he’s the boyfriend of one, but a second makes a suggestive remark to him, and a third checks out his ass–with help from the POV of the panning camera, held by a female as the credits will show, and directed by a female).  So we can all be comfortable knowing our heroes are “normal.”

In the second half, the male gets sent home, while the women go out and accomplish their epic mission.  That’s okay, he can make supper and take care of their motherless child while he waits.  Oh, sorry, I spoke too soon.  The bad guys break in and kidnap him, to use as leverage against the team.

As all this drama unfolds, you glance around to see if the rest of the audience is buying it.  You notice something: like you, 52% of the audience is male.  Yet, this lack of interest by the filmmakers in your gender seems “normal.”  How?  It’s always been that way.

Back onscreen, something odd happens.  Your male character looks as if he’s about to display power somehow: by interrupting, or grabbing a gun, or possibly even out-thinking the bad guys.  Well, he’s quickly de-powered.  How?  Well, it looks as if someone just slapped him across the face and sent him sprawling.  But the real work is done with the word that directly precedes the act: a slur that you’ve heard in dozens of films and never thought much of.  Yet, today, you realize that it comes always at moments when males threaten to display true free agency.  In some other reality, the word is B—H.  Here, it’s unpronounceable.  You first remember hearing it onscreen in 1986, when rare male hero Ripley had to fight the Alien King for custody of his adopted son, Newt, and challenged: “Get away from him, you —–!”

For those familiar with the Bechdel Test *1 for films, you recognize I’m furthering its project of offering an inverted perspective, a (regrettably) ridiculous fantasy to create empathy with female viewers.  No, the test isn’t sophisticated enough to tell a good movie from a bad one, based on gender representation alone.  It wasn’t meant to: it simply points to an area of our culture with a big, gaping hole: why doesn’t the film industry, which creates products for consumption by roughly equal numbers of men and women, fairly represent and employ both?

Let’s tweak the scenario just a bit, and in a more realistic direction.  Let’s say you haven’t come alone to the theater.  Your young child is sitting next to you.  A son, in my alternate reality.  A daughter, in our own.  That matter to you?

It ought to.  You, as an adult, can process a certain level of critical thinking about all this.  He can, too, of course–perhaps more than most adults realize–however, there’s quite a lot of subconscious imitative behavior left in him.  At some level, he’s digesting all this gender inequity as normal.

Which brings me, as a major example, to Marvel Studios.  Not because they do so poorly, but because they do so well.  And because they produce big-budget blockbusters that are suitable and attractive to children.

Here’s a statement most parents would agree with: when you regularly leave your child with Grandma, or Uncle Joe, then in effect Grandma or Uncle Joe are helping you raise your child, for better or worse.  Now, here’s a more controversial statement:  When you leave your child in daycare, then the babysitters there are helping you raise your child.  Does the fact that these providers are not blood-related, or that they accept payment, change the dynamic, from the child’s perspective?  I doubt it.  Finally, try this one: when you sit your child in front of a video game, television, or book, then those media are helping to raise your child.  The stories they tell are as influential, if not more so, than Grandma’s.  Marvel, in all its forms, and like it or not, is helping America raise its children.

Back to our own reality.  Where, to put it succinctly, boys rule.

Here’s a great little moment from Captain America: The Winter Soldier:

Black Widow:  Where did Captain America learn to steal a car?

Cap: Nazi Germany.  And we’re borrowing–take your feet off the dash[board].

And she does.  So, do you think Marvel Studios doesn’t believe it’s influencing kids?  Now, besides that, if we look a little closer at the extended scene, we can see that the woman is bowing to the man’s [superior moral] authority.  The conversation continues as the Widow defends the notion of secrecy and deception as a survival mechanism, and Cap argues that friendship and honesty are what’s needed.  She seems to win the local debate: “You might be in the wrong business, Rogers.”  But he’s able to turn that line back on her, later, and in fact thematically the whole film endorses his point of view: SHIELD’s addiction to stealth technology, and secrecy in general, has brought the world to the brink of Armageddon by genocide.  So at both the subtextual and metatextual levels, we’re learning that, as much as males may screw things up, females can help, but ultimate freedom and justice must be brought about by males (by extension, this argument would also carry a racial dimension, since both the Falcon, Cap’s sidekick, and Nick Fury, his wrongheaded boss, are black).  An eight-year-old is not too young to hear and see this message.  It’s not really a more difficult message to decode than the perennial one (that violence is the proper way to solve problems,) that so many Hollywood films endorse.  Because, in his mind, somewhere, the question is raised: what is this story finally telling me?

Studio Head Kevin Feige, *2 in light of most-recent successes of Avengers and Guardians of the Galaxy (both of which have women characters in important roles,) lately finds Marvel functioning as a lightning-rod for renewed  demand for gender equity in our culture.*3  Because you have to understand something very clearly: movies, music, TV programs and sports, even grafitti, may all seem like “make-believe,” but: THEY MIRROR REALITY.  It may be a distorting, funhouse mirror, true.  But the fundamental facts remain the same.  We see gender inequity in films because that’s what we perceive as we walk through the world.  What we also perceive is that women (like all human beings, after all) have unlimited, heroic potential.  But, for all but a few, extra difficulties must be faced in realizing that potential.

You don’t have to be a rabid feminist to see how problematic this is.   There are practical consequences.  No women leads, no women directors: Where will our young women get their role models from?  From greedy racists, classists, and sexists, or from people who not only pay lip service to, but actually live as if they acknowledge human rights?  I personally grew up reading Marvel Comics, and they had a profound effect on who I am today, no doubt of that.  And if Marvel had been making more films then, I certainly would have been influenced by them.  Eventually, I taught an upper level film studies course at the university level called Women and Film.  So let’s just say, with regard to gender politics, my views have come a long way in forty years.

One dimension that Marvel characters seem to possess, more than in many other mythologies (I would include Tolkien, Twilight, and DC Comics*4  in that) is that both the heroes and villains, however deeply flawed, are on a slow trajectory of growth, or decay–just like people we know.  No, I don’t dress in primary colors–but I do try to live more like Captain America than Dr. Doom.

As “pop” culture–with all its connotations of popcorn, soda pop, and instant-microwave gratification–slowly and inevitably replaces the (traditionally patriarchal) high culture of reading, drama, museums, galleries, and the symphony, the “pop” still seems to signify rule by the father.  But if we lose all those nutrients, then our popcorn better get sprinkled with some protein powder.  Actually, infused.  Like Marvel Gummie vitamins.

The Modern Marvel Age, as Stan Lee sometimes referred to it, was built upon some important precepts, like:  WITH GREAT POWER, COMES GREAT RESPONSIBILITY.  As Spider-Man himself often finds, that’s a tremendously challenging ethical code to live up to.  On TV, Marvel’s Agents of SHIELD already has racial and gender diversity well-covered.  The next step is Hollywood:  With its infestation of suits, bean counters, and formulaic, often exploitative junk.  Does Marvel still have the courage to grow and take real risks (they used to–remember Blade, a movie made before vampires got popular again, with a black male lead)?   Can the people who hold custody of this mythology of heroes, that both reflects and helps create our culture, do any less than the fictional characters whose adventures they chronicle?  The better they do, the better they have to do.  Or is it really all just “stories?”

*1  For non-geeks, my title alludes to Fantastic Four #49, “If This Be Doomsday!”  The Bechdel Test requires that a film contain 1) two women characters, who 2) talk to each other, 3) about some other topic than a man.  One can readily imagine that the majority of Hollywood films fail this test, often without progressing beyond the first requirement.  However, the test is not really meant to be used as deductive reasoning, which explains why I’ve inductively inverted it in this essay.  Rather, it’s really about raising our consciousnesses about a vital social issue, not for use as a litmus test for whether one should actually judge quality by limited, demographic criteria.

*2 Kevin Feige’s interview: http://www.comicbookresources.com/?page=article&id=54522

*3 For an example on the critical backlash Marvel is facing, try this at Slashfilm: http://www.slashfilm.com/kevin-feige-marvel-female-superhero-movie/  Essentially, many fans want Marvel Studios to quit stalling projects with women leads and directors, but, as always, money seems to be the deciding factor.  What will people pay to see?

*4 Last year, I deconstructed the recent Batman franchise to expose its low-level economic class biases: https://clothosloom.wordpress.com/2013/03/15/the-con-of-the-coin-shouldnt-batman-go-independent/  Perhaps, for DC fans, more hope will come in the form of  Wonder Woman’s character–who, in the comics at least, in recent years has become a lethal threat to patriarchy.

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They Will Not Thanks Us—Generation Y Can’t Stay in School Forever

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By Shawn Stjean

When is the last time your kid genuinely thanked you for the drive to school/a friend’s house/a social or sporting event/part-time job? Because if he or she is not thanking you now, it sure won’t happen later, when the mini-van trips are all over.

In general, millennials of the so-called “middle class” are deprived of the rituals of youth in America, which toughened previous generations.  The school bus stops these days at every house for a pickup, rather having little Dylan make the trek of a block or two to a common bus-stop, where swaggered actual (not cyber-) bullies, cranky at their own failure to get/maintain their own set of wheels, and willing to take it out on whomever looked vulnerable.  They were teachers too, in their way–they modeled bad behavior, taught who we didn’t want to be, and the price of admission was their company.

And when the bus actually arrives at school, today’s lads and lasses dismount only to board a vicious cycle dressed up as a merry-go-round, and underneath, the corroding machinery works something like this: the administrators inherit a shrinking budget less-and-less reflective of our society valuing education, which leads to “differentiated learning,” (the semi-literate bully might appear next to you in class now, rather than being tracked into a room with other low-functioning brutes.)  They’ve got bigger class sizes, less homework, shorter readings–or maybe no readings at all, because the teacher is reading the book aloud, leaving many free to stare out the window.  She’s got challenges of her own, because when the phone on the wall rings, or someone runs the old “I gotta go pee” ploy, or a girl who’s been out for eight weeks with mono needs catching up, or the e-mail light blinks constantly with parents demanding to know why Brittany–a real treat to have around–isn’t getting her “A”. . .well, then, old Teach just has to soak it up.  Nothing three glasses of a middling Chardonnay after 4 pm won’t help her repress, until she burns out on weekend grading, while never finding time on Sunday for better lesson plans, meanwhile absorbing pressure to “keep standards high” while somehow not flunking anyone.  She doesn’t even have the power to throw Christian a detention anymore, as he whips a pencil and happens to catch Peter (a boy with a diagnosed and legitimate learning disorder, who used to have an IEP, but they’re much harder to get this year) in the ear, drawing extended screams, but no blood.  So the flinger gets written up for it, twenty minutes of class time get wasted, and the administrator gets to try another case of “The Lesser of Two Evils.”  Will his parents support a suspension, or at least a series of DTs, and ground him during his tenure at home, or will they take his word that he didn’t mean it, and pressure the school to keep him on because he’s already behind? (that trip to Florida between the winter and spring breaks probably didn’t help.)  And to give them their due, they’re both working, and ultimately Christian can’t be trusted home by himself–he’s got an undiagnosed case of painkiller addiction, and chronic pain-in-the-ass.  So the Big Wheel of administrator-parent-teacher creakily slows down long enough for the lad to jump back on, and keeps on turnin’.

How did this get to be the way we all roll?  It’s easy enough for the principal to blame the economy, the parents this generation of poorly trained teachers, and the teachers a non-supportive administration.  It’s a Mexican stand-off now, not a carnival ride.  So does it really matter–or is the real issue what we’re going to do about it?  Start blasting, and hope to be the least-unlucky-hombre in this tepid triumvirate, or lower our weapons long enough to see where the real loser has skulked off to?

The kid doesn’t have the vocabulary, so he doesn’t know the operative word–complicity–but he does know the concept. He understands, deep down, that he’s not exactly doing his best, either–and why should he?  Every time he lowers the bar a notch, someone unaccountably offers him a boost to get over it, and it’s not long before he’s looking down at the floor for the standards and expectations everyone’s paying lip-service to.  Terms like Excellence, Achievement, Breadth and Depth, Pride–they mean only so much to a fella who can’t remember his girlfriend’s phone number, despite texting her 22 times a day, because it’s saved in his Contacts.  Hell, he doesn’t remember his own number.

Oh, the computers play their part, too.  Because when you cut three-and-a-half teaching positions, but acquire three hundred touchscreen terminals in the same five-year period (hoping the community won’t notice the former, as they ooh-and-ahh over the latter,) well, you better use the things.  The students will need the keyboarding practice, anyway, in an age where “all thumbs” is actually a skill, and half the jobs they’ll be qualified for involve this new form of coal-mining: checking people out as they run up their credit cards for new possessions, big and small, new services, needed and unneeded.  Unless there’s a bar-code reader at the counter.

Oh, not my Chelsea!, I can hear some of you declaring.  She’s going straight to college to become a professional!  What kind, I’m wondering?  Well, we haven’t figured that out yet.  But she’s going–this Fall.  No break.  Of course she hasn’t thought up a major to declare, because she’s had enough of school–she really has–and instead of wasting her parents’ second mortgage or retirement funds, she ought to be out there–in a crummy apartment with leaky pipes, taking public transportation to work, eating substandard food, yet still living life here in America with free speech to complain, fresh water to drink, and rights many people in the world can only dream of.  It’s those years of deprivation, out from under one’s guardians, that make young folks appreciate the rest of it.  And it shouldn’t take a war that decimates both their generation, and the population of another nation with a different skin color, religion, or economic ideology from our own, to evoke that appreciation.

Now in the old days, she could work her way through a series of jobs, eventually gain a toehold and some maturity through making her own mistakes and creating her own triumphs, meet a partner, start a family of her own.  Not anymore, and again, you can only take the “blame the economy” game so far.

See, instead, she’s persuaded to take a different path, to endure 4-6 more years of “higher education,” with ample Spring, Summer, and Winter Breaks, but no real relief.  She changes majors three times and the actual college twice, meanwhile signing over student loans–in addition to Mom and Dad’s contribution–that will keep her in payments until she’s 55.  And those payments, depending on where she went to school, will take a lot of choices out of her hands along the way.  Now she has to take work as somebody’s “administrative assistant,” (Heaven forbid we call a secretary a secretary!,) even though she’s come a long way in the Brains department, and she’s pushing 30 now.  Because the Bachelor’s degree she cobbled together in between partying is about worthless in the job market of 2020, and the Master’s she’d like to earn at night will cast 100 grand, and she’s not sure about the gamble.

Somewhere in here, in between dropping her divorce papers in the e-slot (lawyers are still doing well, but the USPS is defunct) and feedings of her three-year-old, Chelsea gets upset.  Really upset.  And by now, she’s self-aware enough to realize she’s not just sad, or lonely, or menstruating–she’s angry.  Pissed.

Why?  She’s had every advantage.  So many, in fact, that she never had to go to summer school to make up that gym class she blew off nine times in tenth grade, never had to repeat the eighth grade even though the “D”s she got in three classes were as munificent as the gifts of the Magi, never got suspended for calling her sixth grade teacher a “bitch” right to her face–Mom got her counseling instead.  Never got called on showing up in class high, never did most of what little reading and homework was asked of her, never had to walk home after school.  Never had to count cell-phone minutes or texts (or pay the bill for them,) never had her allowance withheld, never had to stay home from a prom, never picked up a check (eating out-food 2-3 times a week).

So, again, why the anger?  Because, plain and simple, everything she was supposed to learn before she was twenty, under relatively easy and supervised conditions–from how to track a bank account, to how to sew, write a business letter, read a tax rule, do a real job interview, and apologize sincerely when she’s wrong–she’s now having to learn herself, a decade late, the hard way.  It’s always the hard way, now, because if she can’t do it, someone else with more degrees, fewer recent scars, and who is still young enough to live with her parents (28 or so,) will do it instead.

She missed out on the one advantage that can’t be bought, substituted, calculated, synthesized, or replicated: she never had to choose.  Because choosing always means losing something, leaving something behind, and valuing the other thing enough to sacrifice for it.  Instead, she was fed fat on the absurd idea that every previous generation of human beings on the planet was weaned off, in childhood: that you can’t have everything.

Forgive us, kids, we felt guilty.  ‘Cuz we f—–d things up for you, and we knew it.  We knew the coming world was tough, tougher than we’d ever had to survive ourselves, and in meaning well we hoped to insulate you from the worst.  And somehow the worst just became the bad, and the bad the uncomfortable, and the uncomfortable the inconvenient.

Too bad–ol’ Chelsea could’ve done alright for herself.  A few bumps and bruises aside.  They would have saved deeper cuts, later on.

So if your youngster is thanking you for that ride now, (you’ve raised her to at least be polite,) enjoy it–it won’t last.  We knew it back when we were young (there was a T-shirt, remember?) No one rides for free.

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Casting Call–Miscellaneous Characters–Angelic Mother, Demonic Father

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For William Wyrd’s parents (both of whom are only seen in flashback,) we add an even more international flavor to the cast of a hypothetical film production of Clotho’s Loom.  Irish actress Susan Lynch (known in the U.S. as Maggie from Waking Ned Devine,) and currently working in the TV series Monroe, could well handle the role of Will’s unnamed mother, who, like the heroine of the novel and her daughter-in-law, Nexus, has to raise her son alone following the disappearance of his father (in this case, into North Vietnam.)  Earlier, she even defends the boy against his father at several points, doing her best in spite of a clear lack of power–so she functions as a foil for Will’s future wife.

For Will’s father, known only as Sergeant Wyrd to us, no particular actor is needed because we would never seem him very clearly onscreen.  A black operator, possibly, or perhaps even CIA, his shadow is imposing and threatens to suffocate both his wife and son, and his voice gritty and vaguely Germanic (Will’s grandparents were German and Irish immigrants to America).  I tried to write into the novel the psychological trauma of the strong father, from many angles: even when moral, as with Nexus’ father Lambert, the voice of Vader can be paralyzing.

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From out of the unconscious to Oedipus Rex to Star Wars to the latest video game, HE just keeps turning up. . .

Really Deep Beneath the Weave (my running baldness joke)–New Interview: Laurie vs. Shawn

http://lauries-interviews.blogspot.com/2012/11/clothos-loom-by-shawn-stjean-interview.html

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Very impressive promotion on Shawn StJean’s novel today, including a GIVEAWAY you may want to enter. She’s got an interview, excerpt, full bio, the works. . .
Someday someone will “like” that baldness joke. . .

Cowboys and Indies: Amazon and Monopoly in the Free Market

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poster for High Plains Drifter

The last few years have been a revolutionary ones for book publishing—five centuries shackled to the mechanical printing press are over. Yet, with all that free-for-all, a new sheriff was bound to come to town, to corral the anarchy. One of the largest distributors and retailers of both physical and e-volumes has aided, but not unequivocally endeared itself, in 2012, to the largest, most sensitive group of content providers: self-publishers, and “Indie” authors.

It’s no more a secret that Amazon.com would like to be the default sales engine for books, than that Google wants to be the default search engine for the internet, Microsoft Windows wants to be the default OS for PCs, and Intel the default hardware manufacturer. It’s all too easy to forget that ITunes (and Barnes & Noble, and Smashwords, and your local library, and many littler guys,) Bing, Linux, and AMD make great products/provide great services, too. Why so easy? Well, we as consumers are so busy, we’d just like a nice comfortable place we can be sure of, in many aspects of our lives. Everybody loves having a go-to restaurant, or saloon: “Ahh, that’s one load off my mind.”

For the record, and from this consumer/content-creator’s perspective, at this point I think Amazon has it about 75% right. Remember when they were just books and movies? But, in their apparent quest to be and sell all things to all people (just look at the logo, with its arrow from “A” to “Z”,) they must necessarily do a lot of experimenting. Some of those attempts, as in any general store, fail to produce the expected or hoped-for results.

So, first take a paragraph to give them their due: they have certainly provided a valuable opportunity for authors (not all of them first-timers, and some extremely talented) to bypass the stranglehold of the traditional, brick-and-mortar publishing establishment–whose time had certainly come. Amazon’s KDP Select Program, which currently balances a modest exclusivity agreement with attractive royalty terms and good exposure schemes, deserves particular praise.

Now, the not-so-good: I was lately asked, in an interview, if I’m afraid that Amazon will try to gain a monopoly on ebooks. My response was that, in order keep relative parity with a self-regulating market, they will have to play fair with creators and consumers. I still believe that, today—but apparently, some of us may have to put it to the test, ourselves.

I have heard a few, varied, and repeated charges against the giant bookseller, ranging from shorted royalty payouts (a serious problem, if true,) to frustration with the arcane ranking system that no one seems to be able to adequately explain (but which is clearly sales-driven to a large extent. Unless one is a best-selling author, I don’t consider unknown variables in ranking to be too bothersome. My own rises and falls several hundred thousand places, every week.) The current experiment I’d like to focus on is the “review-policing” that has recently caused an uproar on message boards and blogs.

I don’t have to cite the experiences of others (just “Google” it—sorry, Blekko, I jest). I personally had two 5-star reviews taken down. For a first-novel that was published only two months ago, this is fairly devastating—those reviews are hard to get. And for all the wide and sundry types of promoting we self-publishers do, reviews are really our lifesblood. I received a belated, boilerplate e-mail from Amazon informing me that “during a quality review of the Kindle catalog, we determined that one (or more) of the reviews associated with your book does not meet the Amazon General Review Creation Guidelines.” Upon consulting these guidelines, and in considering the seven reviews I had up at the time, I could glean no clue as to which guidelines had been violated. In even the most broad interpretation, I can at least say that the reviews, as a group, were not targeted consistently. My attempts to complain, and requests for restoration of the seemingly random victims, have gone ignored. I was even able to track down one of the reviewers (who had been provided with an ARC, but who also had officially purchased a copy, as had the second reviewer whose text had disappeared,) and convince her to re-post with best-guess modifications. This was summarily removed within several minutes, obviously by a ‘bot. Is this person then banned from reviewing my book?

Furthermore, I had a reader (whom I have never met, but is a friend of a friend) denied a posting because, even though he has an Amazon account, he had not purchased the book from them. Does this mean that the thousands of people who downloaded it for free will be denied, as well?

If this doesn’t seem like a big deal to some (“oh, just wait for more good reviews,”) that attitude would be misconceived. I worked very hard at producing a nontraditional, non-formulaic novel that some will love and some will hate. That’s fine: I wanted no compromises, and Clotho’s Loom is certainly not for everybody. But the wrecking of my average (I had four 5-star reviews, one 3-star, and two 1-stars) is not just a blow to my fragile, writer’s ego—in fact, to me the positive-biased spread helps confirm the book’s legitimacy to my target audience of potential readers. But going to a much more dismal review distribution has effectively put, in the short-term at least, a stake-to-the-heart of sales. Let’s face it: it’s quicker and easier to scan a few two-sentence condemnations, and assume you’ve run across a hack who couldn’t find a “real” publisher, than to actually read the generous sample provided. And that smarts.

Assuming this all gets straightened out, not just for me, but for all the authors out there (a BIG assumption,) it troubles me because it may be symptomatic of the slide toward monopoly. I was already bothered by the fact that links to external blogs are disallowed on product pages—this seems needlessly restrictive, as blogs are many writers’ primary promotional channel. ITunes has alienated a lot of potential repeat customers with its (some say) fascistic Digital Rights Management protection. I personally paid nearly $40 for books I cannot read, because I don’t own an IDevice. It strikes me that the review-policing we’re seeing, across town, is really the same kind of problem: designed in intent to protect consumers and creators, what happens in practice is that Amazon/ITunes actually dictates what gets read, and how, and to some extent by whom. Too much control, which can be called a form of greed. Remember, I started out by calling them a distributor and a retailer. Publishers and authors own the texts and rights. And just as we had to bow to the conditions of the people who “managed” the printing presses for 500 years, or to the railroad barons, so too now we’re in the position of negotiating our rights with the new technology-holders.

The difference is, there are now a lot more choices for us.

When we sing America’s praises (which many equate with capitalism and the free market, as much as basic human rights,) one of the things we’re endorsing is the value of competition. I certainly was, until recently at least, willing to put all my horses in the Amazon stable: I’m currently producing an Audiobook edition (to be sold on Amazon-owned Audible.com) and a mass market paperback for Createspace (also a creature of Amazon.) I’m continuing research on the alternatives, and there are some very viable ones out there. I’m particularly interested in watching the extreme potential of the audiobook marketplace over the next several years, as no single contender has yet risen to dominate it (entrepreneurs, take note.) There is no better way of sending a message to a corporate entity whose practices one deplores, than to not only withhold one’s money, but to redistribute it to a competitor.

So how badly does the sheriff want my vote, for re-election? Or will it be shoot first, answer questions later?

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Clint Eastwood and Chief Dan George in The Outlaw Josey Wales

Casting Call–Miscellaneous Characters–the Old Man and the Young

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Martin Sheen as Nexus Wyrd’s blue-collar father, Lambert

Before I reveal my pick for the major male character of William Wyrd for my hypothetical film production of Clotho’s Loom, there remain a few minor characters that fill important supporting roles.  First is Nexus’ father, Lambert.  An uneducated but nevertheless sharp, liberal influence on the heroine, Lambert undergoes minor adventures of his own in the course of the novel, and provides it with a pure, moral voice.  Famous from his breakout role as Captain Willard in Apocalypse Now, later as the president in The West Wing, Martin Sheen has shown such a flexibility throughout his career, and lately seems to be featured as a father so often (even onscreen to real-life sons Charlie Sheen and Emilio Estevez,) that I think we should get in on the privilege.

I know little of Days of Our Lives‘ Dylan Patton, and even though he’s now about twenty years old, he just looks like James, Nexus’ adolescent neighbor, and helper, to me.  His line, “Because I hate the bastards,” is one of my favorite in the novel.

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Dylan Patton as James

WHO Women Want—or, Will a Real Man Please Step Forward?

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A woman and child look for America’s future

With presidential candidates Obama and Romney alternating between courting and alienating women voters, that old, quintessentially male question, “What do women want?” rears its head again this October, with no less power than a coven of Wiccans.

I wrote a novel in which I took on the dubious task of sustaining a strong female protagonist, who shared the stage with males, proving better than most of them.  Unlike her husband, she had to do it without a BFG (“big fraggin’ gun”) and a 400–horsepower car. In creating this character, I put a lot of thought into this puzzle, because, as a middle-aged man, I have no direct access to women’s inner minds—except what I’m told, and what I can observe.  And I see and hear a lot about children.  And it makes sense: What woman would choose a leader for her country whom she wouldn’t trust near her own family?

I’m sure no expert–so everything I’m about to say may seem presumptuous–but it seems to me that long-term security for their children would be foremost on many women’s shopping list for a powerful man, whether for romantic-involvement, or otherwise.  They’d like a leader who can deliver an America in which those kids can still dare to dream, and moreover, have realistic opportunities to pursue those dreams: in short, they want sensible educational reform, affordable and equal access to higher education, market regulation, and more jobs in the future.

Now, don’t try that bunk about how we can have ALL that, AND everything else too.  Most women learn, sooner or later and as a practical necessity, how to budget money.  And one of the first things they learn is that it’s hard to have both a decent set of kitchen appliances, AND a Harley in the driveway, without going way into debt.  Some, a few, are certainly comfortable with debt—-but again, you’re eating into that future, aren’t you?

Of course, they want border security and military strength, the same way a dog about the house and a deadbolt are deterrents to burglars.  But if you look at how most adult women distribute their own spending—-regardless of social class—-I’m really not sure that the percentage-equivalent of buying a medieval moat, a solid iron drawbridge, not to mention a hundred catapults and a standing army to go out and make sure none of the other barons have their own catapults, is really how they would budget.

And speaking of job creation, how many mothers, aunts, cousins, sisters, and grandmothers of a five-year old—-either boy or girl—forsee a career in the military for the little ones?

How about a man who is tough enough to need fewer guns, secure enough to love his children openly, responsible enough to show it in deed and not just word, and reliable enough to keep on truckin’, year after year?

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Sarah and John Connor of the Terminator mythology