The Power of the Feminine

So babby's aunt/godmother is staying with us this weekend, which provided the Murloc and meself with free babbysitting. We took the opportunity to go out to the movies (the first time since we saw Half-Blood Prince!) and went to see the non-Imax, non-3D Alice in Wonderland.

The movie was entertaining and visually splendid, but suffered from the same thing every Tim Burton movie I've ever seen; that is, it's formulaic and the characters didn't engage me. With the possibility of Victor Van Dort, I can't think of a single Tim Burton character that I cared for enough that I would have been emotionally moved by the character's death. I think part of it stems from an unclear character dramatic need and motivation. (So what's Alice's dramatic goal, upon reaching Wonderland? How does Charlie's deep-seated want influence his actions once he's in the chocolate factory?) Also, within ten minutes of the start of Alice, I predicted how it was going to end and even what her final speech was going to be, with a great degree of accuracy (and I'm talking more than just general "the good guys win" prediction).

About the time Alice donned the silver armor and rode into battle with the Vorpal sword to slay the Jabberwocky (that's really not that big of a spoiler; see: predictability), I realized why my co-worker liked the movie so much, and why she urged me to see it, to the point of offering to babysit. Alice is definitely the strong female character, but as I watched, I began to wonder whether she was in fact a strong female character, or a strong character, who just happened to be female. When I thought about it, I realized that she didn't have a single pronounced feminine trait, and had the movie been Bob in Wonderland, it would not have been significantly different or fundamentally changed.

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Well, I suppose I should tell my story of the San Diego State University Writer's Conference, for all one of you who are interested (hi Mom!).

Background: every year for the past 26 years, San Diego State University has held a writer's conference, designed to help aspiring writers meet with industry professionals. I first found out about it via my instructor at UC Irvine, who recommended it and has had several students who have had success at the conference.

The conference took place from January 29-31 and, after a year taking classes and working in a critique group, was to be my first foray into the world of professional writing.

The conference started Friday evening (I took a half-day at my day job so I could have time to prepare and not have to fight rush hour traffic to San Diego) with a mixer (alcohol!). The ballroom of the hotel where the mixer was held had tables assigned by genre, so you could meet with people with similar interests. Aside from a bit of not-at-all-awkward-nosiree, when I sat down at the SFF table where the only other person was a 15 year-old girl ("Hi! I'm twice your age and drinking alcohol and we're sharing a table. No, I'm not a stalker or pedo, why do you ask?"), the mixer was enjoyable. I met with some of my friends from my writing classes who also came to the conference. Also, towards the end of the evening a woman—who I later found out was Loretta Barrett, a very, very prominent literary agent—joined the SFF table. While she didn't represent that genre at all, she did mention that it was the fastest-growing segment in the entire publishing industry. She also talked about some interesting things, such as how writing isn't a profession, it's a vocation (that makes me feel better for not getting paid for it!).

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I miss Tom.

No, wait. I don't. I just miss making movies with him.

New post on my literary blog for those who are interested in Space Pirates.

Just sayin'. You might check it out.

And I Seem to Call Myself a Writer.

An actual line I seemed to discover while editing that book-thingy I'm working on: "And by the way everyone else seemed to ignore her, it seemed they already knew who she was, so it seemed pointless to introduce herself."

And some of you people actually seem to like my writing?!

It seems that "seem", along with "technically", "pretty", "actually", "little", "began", and "really" are some of my favorite words. 'Cause those are the ones that I'm finding overused a lot (seemingly).

(The sentence now seems to read: "And by the way everyone else ignored her, it seemed they already knew, or didn't care, who she was.")

Sentence of the day: "The author seemingly was actually pretty wordy because, technically, he began to really overuse some words a little bit too much."

Yaaaargh!

Ok, I wanted to have Space Pirates Episode II done by today.

That didn't happen. Not nearly. So I will tide you over with some excerpts.

Firstly, the whole of chapter 1. (Very long; 16,500 words). I have not yet gone through it with the fine-toothed comb of editing, so this does not represent my best writing style.

Secondly, the scene below. I am introducing a new character, who I think will recur through the rest of the series. (Bonus points: Count how many inside jokes and references you can find.)

* * *

Jack scanned through the list of names on the directory, but did not see a mention of Chris White anywhere. He then browsed them by apartment number, looking for the number on the card Damian had handed him. He found the listing for apartment 472 next to the name J. Galt, and pressed the intercom button.

A voice sounded, speaking in a very fake French accent. “Allo?”

This caught Jack by surprise and he stuttered over his response. “Um, hi.... uh—who is this?” he finally blurted out.

“I don't know. I can't see you,” the voice said. Jack wasn't sure what to make of that and stumbled some more.

“Um, yeah. I'm trying to reach Chris White. Is this he?”

“Who wants to know?” By this time Jack was beginning to clue in.

“Me name is Jack Flint. Me first mate, Damian Braun, sent me.”

“What's the password?”

“Excuse me?” Jack asked, once more completely lost by the conversation.

“What's the password I told Damian? The password to get in?”

Jack's brain searched frantically, trying to remember some lost part of the conversation, fearing that he may have forgotten some crucial detail. He stammered once again. “Um, I don't, uh, recall a password being given in the conversation.”

“That is correct,” the voice solemnly replied. “I also would have accepted 'swordfish' or 'xyzzy'. Bottom floor, second door on the left,” the voice said before being cut off by a buzzer, indicating the front door had unlocked.

Jack proceeded into the complex. It was the type of thing that would have been built with government funding for low income people, except that Arcas didn't have that type of program. So instead, it was probably built by someone who, unable to squeeze any additional money from the middle income class, decided to see what he could get from those with less. Even still, some aspects of the design didn't make sense. He could understand some of the cost-cutting measures, like not fixing the flickering lights, or cleaning the vandalized walls. But he really had to wonder if paint in a color that could only be described as “baby shit green” was that much cheaper than, say, white.

He made his way down the stairs to what was the fourth floor down from the entrance. Judging by the directory, this building also had two floors going upwards from the entrance as well, which would mean there was at least one floor that protruded through the surface into the air-less sky of Callisto. Due to safety considerations, such floors were usually more expensive, and must have catered to the upper-lower-class.

He stopped outside the second door on the left and raised his hand to knock, but paused upon noticing the sign that said “Utility Closet”. He thought it through a moment but before he could come to a decision, there was a click sound and the door slowly opened inwards with a creak. There was no one immediately on the other side.

He stepped into the rather dark, cave-like interior. The smell was the first thing that greeted him. It gave the general impression of a closed, confined space with poor ventilation, inhabited by a creature that did not bathe frequently, and only rarely deposited the remaining morsels of food from its meals in a waste receptacle, which was rarely emptied; and only when the lingering smell became so overpowering that breathing became difficult was an air freshener liberally applied.

Only after his eyes became adjusted to the dim light was he able to take in his surroundings. “Utility Closet” was not a bad description for the place. It was a single room apartment, deeper than it was wide, stretching away from the door. To the left of the door was a small kitchenette, with a sink piled with dishes that clearly—judging from the new civilization of mold emerging on them—hadn't been washed in some time. The recycling receptacle was so over-piled with disposable dishes that it was hard to discern exactly which ones qualified as “in” the container. To the right of the door was—well Jack had to assume it was there somewhere, as all that dirty laundry surely couldn't just be floating—presumably a dining table of some sort, although Jack couldn't imagine it having been used for that purpose in a past time measurable on a calendar. At the very back of the right wall was a door that Jack assumed led to a head. Judging by the state of the rest of the apartment, he was very glad he currently had no urges of that nature.

But all that was window dressing. Inconsequential trivialities to the main attraction, the real attention-grabber in the room. For filling at least half the room was perhaps the largest and most robust computer set up that Jack had ever seen. Zack would surely have wept had he seen this, Jack thought, upon the realization that all his engineering and technical pursuits were mere dust when compared with this monument to sheer geek ingenuity. It easily cost more than the apartment itself, perhaps more than the whole complex.

Practically the entire back wall and half the left wall were covered in large, vibrant displays; some continuations of one large image; others displaying their own image, ranging from local video programming, games, news, and some other highly technical data that Jack couldn't make heads or tails of. There was a large desk—the word being used in the loosest possible sense, only conveying the description of a surface on which one does work, but continent may have been more appropriate to describe its size—on which, and under which, were at least a dozen computers, three portable computers and five servers, not to mention the associated keyboards, pointing devices, and at least a few game controllers.

Jack couldn't really appreciate it, not having been born with the Gene—that gene which compels young boys or girls, when presented with a device that performs some function, to take it apart to verify its operation—but the only suitable term to describe the computer set up, assuredly used by any professional in the field, would be “awesome”.

And in the middle of it all, seated in what had to be the most well-sat-in chair in the history of chairs, was a disheveled, moderately overweight, pale-skinned man, his clothing wrinkled, his long unkempt hair pulled into a pony tail, and his chin unshaven.

“Larger than I expected a utility closet to be,” Jack finally said, finding himself talking in an elevated tone, to be heard over the dull roar of what sounded like a jet engine.

“What? Oh, the sign. Yeah, I just put that up to fool the ninja assassins so they couldn't find me.”

“Does it work?” Jack asked as he crossed towards the back of the apartment, stepping around a large couch which must have served double duty as the bed, before stopping a few feet from Chris. He really didn't want to get much closer.

“I'm still here, aren't I? Hold on,” Chris said, before fiddling with one of his controllers. On one of the displays, a control panel opened up and he made some adjustments to it. The background roar died down to a volume almost suitable for indoors.

“Sorry about that. I just wanted to turn down the compressor for the liquid nitrogen cooling system,” he said, waving a hand towards a piece of industrial equipment tucked away in the back corner of the room.

“What, are you running a furnace to power all this?” Jack's limited experience with liquid cooling systems was in starship engineering, where a chemical that was usually a gas at standard temperature and pressure was liquefied to cool the several tens-of-thousands of degrees reaction inside the furnace.

“No, I steel the extra power from my neighbors,” Chris said, waving a hand over his shoulder, then adding, “it's savvy, though. They don't know about it. The coolant is for the computers.”

“What do you use all this for?” Jack said, looking around the displays again.

“Anything and everything. Over here, I've got a buffered feed of all the Earth's interplanetarily broadcast video and audio programming—on a thirty minute delay, of course—so you can catch all the reruns of all your favorite shows,” he said, indicating one display in which the image was split into easily hundreds of smaller images. “From that box, the feed goes over to my content hosting server, which holds a one-year archive of everything for anyone on Callisto who's watching. Except, of course, for Space Voyages. I keep archives of all the episodes of that show.”

He pointed at another display. “This box is currently running my clan's multiplayer server for the Littoral Operations expansion to Starship Combat. I'm in a pretty well-known clan. Ever heard of Plutonium Knights?” Jack, who hadn't followed much of what he had said since the words “anything and everything”, shook his head. “No? Well, they're pretty famous. Number one ranked on Callisto and, I think, number twelve in the system.

“On this server, I'm trying to assemble the system's largest collection of porn,” Chris continued. Jack rolled his eyes in disgust.

“And this server—this is the one that's soaking up most of the cooling; I had to slow it by a factor of ten while the cooling system is running on low—this is the one I'm using to try and find the next Mersenne prime. Well the main one. The others are all set up in an ad hoc Beowulf cluster—which is simple since they're all running my own home-brewed Torvix distro of course—and they'll share some of the processing load during low usage.” Jack just shook his head. It was all geek to him. “But ninety percent of the processing is done on her.” Chris looked longingly at the display of numbers rapidly scrolling up the screen. “She'll find it one of these days.” Somehow, Jack wasn't surprised that Chris had anthropomorphized his computers as female.

“Nice set up, but do you really need all this?”

Chris gave Jack a look as if he was equal parts surprised and offended. “Did... did Alexander the Great need to conquer the world?” he started. “Did Amundsen need to go to the South Pole? Did Cromwell need to invent the fusion propulsion engine?” He continued to hold his stare at Jack for several awkward seconds. “Well, did they?”

Jack, assuming it was a rhetorical question, fumbled for the answer. “No?” he finally blurted out.

“Of course they did! Who would remember them if they didn't?”

He had a point, thought Jack.

Pop Quiz.

Q. In a modern movie/TV show, how do you tell if a character is evil?

A. Count the number of crucifixes on their wall. To wit:

In this screenshot from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer episode "Where the Wild Things Are", the gang visits an old lady. In the introductory shot of her home, we can see five crucifixes, a statue and picture of Our Lady, a picture of St. Michael the Archangel, and numerous other religious pictures and items that I could not identify. As soon as we are shown her home, I thought to myself "she's evil." A couple minutes later, we find out that she is, in fact, evil. She ran an orphanage and would abuse the children in some manner if they sinned against chastity.

But then I thought it interesting that my first reflex was to think her a villain (and also interesting that I was right). Now why would I think that? Why would I, when shown a character with lots of religious artifacts, reflexively assume the character is evil? Is this perhaps a conditioned response?

Let's play a game. You've got ten seconds. Name, off the top of your head, three positive portrayals of priests from film or TV.

Bah, that is trivial. I can name four in that time: Gregory Peck in both The Keys of the Kingdom and The Scarlet and the Black, Bing Crosby in The Bells of St. Mary's, and Spencer Tracy in The Devil at 4 O'Clock.

Now let's add a twist. Name three made after 1970. That were also mainstream films.

Hmm.... The Scarlet and the Black was made in 1983, but was a TV movie. The Keys of the Kingdom was made in 1944, The Bell's of St. Mary's was 1945, and The Devil at 4 O'Clock was 1961.

Ok, well just name three mainstream portrayals of priests from movies made after 1970.

I come up with Edward Norton in Keeping the Faith, Linus Roache in Priest, and, um... wasn't there a priest in Chocolat? Ok, that took me more than 10 seconds. And none of those are exactly what I'd call stellar examples.

Let's open this up a little wider. Name three portrayals of devout Christians from movies made after 1970.

Well, I heard (though I have not seen the movie) that there was an Evangelical Christian family in Harold and Kumar Go to White Castle. There's also the documentary Jesus Camp. And didn't Matt Damon play a Catholic in The Good Shepherd? (Which, if memory serves, is the movie that prompted a leading Jewish periodical to write something like "apparently, Catholicism is the last religion which it is acceptable to insult." Of course I've gone and lost the blasted quote.)

It seems that in recent years Hollywood has forgotten how to make movies that show priests, Catholics, or even Christians in general in a positive light. 

Now, one villain who happens to be Christian would be no concern. But when there is a general, overwhelming trend, I call shenanigans. Suppose there was a general, overwhelming trend for portraying blacks, or women, or homosexuals as villains? Do we suspect that there wouldn't be cries of foul, and claims that Hollywood was bigoted?

And this touches back on some of my points about PC: why should I worry about offending the hyper-sensitive feelings of those who do not give a rat's ass if they offend me? Is it because, as a Christian, I should avoid offending my neighbor? But that's my philosophy, not theirs, and they specifically reject it. If they are to convince me to play the PC game, they need to take a principle from their rule book, not mine. "You should abandon your philosophy and come to mine because your philosophy says you should" is not a valid argument, for once I've abandoned my philosophy, why should I follow what it says?

* * *

The poison of PC can certainly be insidiously evil, turning people to hate those whom PC disapproves of, when used to create shows. I think my story of being conditioned to think a character with many religious artifacts is evil is evidence of that. But when it enters into the story as a motivation for the characters, it can turn from something twisted and wrong into something comically stupid.

Take, for example, the old TV show Seaquest: DSV, that show which was so dripping with PC that Justin Long once confused it for his co-star. In one episode, I think the only one I watched in its entirety, the captain of Seaquest is ordered to put an end to some environmental terrorists. The captain refuses, because the terrorists have been sinking whaling vessels. It doesn't seem to bother him that the terrorists are, y'know, murdering people. But because the people that are being murdered are not PC, the captain does not seem to care about them. He prepares to resign his commission, refusing to follow the order. In the end, he finally does go after the terrorists when they accidentally miss their intended target and sink a cruise ship. No one seems to question if the lives aboard the cruise ship could have been saved if the captain did his duty in the first place.

Another example comes from Star Trek: Enterprise. In one episode, the Enterprise encounters an alien civilization that is dying from some genetic disease. The crew of the Enterprise, with their advanced technology, are able to create a cure to the disease, but Captain Archer decides not to give it to the aliens, because there is another race on that planet which are mistreated as slaves by the civilization. Apparently, Archer thinks that genocide is an appropriate response. It's interesting that Archer chooses to let the entire civilization be wiped out, without considering if one of the aliens might be that planet's William Wilberforce. In his eyes, none of the aliens are worth saving because some mistreat their slaves. There is a term for this. It is called "bigotry". In the end, Dr. Phlox pats Archer on the back and expresses his pleasure that the captain did the right thing. This was about the time I stopped watching Enterprise. (An interesting note: one of the arguments Phlox gave for why the civilization should not be saved, is that the aliens are dying from a genetic disease, and their slaves appear to be more intelligent than the aliens let on. Phlox posits that this is just evolution's natural progression, that the old race is dying out to make room for the new, and they have no business standing in the way. Well, there is a term for this view of evolution as a guided and benevolent force. It is called "Intelligent Design" and it is the very definition of irony that so many Evolutionists see evolution in this way, and insist that we should not interfere with Her will.)

In a recent episode of Buffy (well, recent for me; it aired nine or ten years ago), the spirit of an American Indian tribe goes on a rampage through Sunnydale, slitting the throats of its citizens (in the show, Buffy berates one character for using the term "Indian" and insists the proper term is "Native American"; also ironic, in that most Indians do not object to the term "Indian"). Buffy finally corners the spirit, but hesitates, unable to deliver the killing blow. Willow explains her indecision, stating that the Indians were peaceful—"fluffy, indigenous kittens", in her own words—until the Evil Christian Europeans came along and tortured, enslaved, and civilized them (*gasp*), and that the spirit of the tribe is only out seeking justice. No one seems to care that he is seeking justice on those born hundreds of years after the alleged atrocities. This was the first episode that I couldn't finish watching, because the bullshit-o-meter—that most useful device which measures the BS of PC things in sucky TV shows—not only hit the pin at ten, it pushed past the pin, wrote in the number eleven, pointed at that, quivered, uttered the rite of extreme unction, and burst into flame.

If PC is the philosophy that guides the creation of your show, such that the only Christians that show up are evil, I can accept that. No one has ever perfectly lived up to Our Lord's example, and many Christians have missed the point entirely. I'm willing to accept that—through some statistical fluke—the only ones who make it into movies and TV shows are evil (probably not that much of a fluke; Hollywood is a hard place to survive without turning to the Dark Side). But when PC is the philosophy that guides your characters, then you have lost me. When your characters do not do what is right, and in fact sometimes do just the opposite (that is, what is evil, for those of you keeping score at home), I lose sympathy for them and cease to care if they win. They are no longer "the good guys" but instead become "the morally confused guys who sometimes happen to defeat other morally confused guys, if it suits them."

In essence, when you base the meta-philosophy of your story around PC, you create something potentially insidieous and evil. When you base the internal philosophy of your characters on PC, you create something much worse: a bad story.

* * *

(I have here a long screed on Buffy season 4. Since it assumes a detailed knowledge of the Whedon-verse, that most of my readers don't have, it is optional. Nothing to see here, move along.)

Watching season 4 of Buffy has been very enlightening. Up until Joss' latest show, Dollhouse, the only works of his I'd seen were the first three seasons of Buffy, Firefly, Serenity, and Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along-Blog, all of which I found delightful, and like most other nerds, I was willing to declare Joss to be my new master. In fact, Serenity is—and I say this with no hyperbole—probably the greatest SF film ever made. Those of you following me on Twitter know that it is now difficult for me to watch that film, because every time I do, I weep, knowing that Space Pirates is not, and never can be, that damned good. But when I started watching Dollhouse, something felt off. Firstly, Joss' signature clever dialogue is missing. Secondly, well, none of the characters are really that likable. In fact, the only one I can really get behind is Boyd Langton (played by Harry Lenix, from Matrix: Revolutions). There are also—and this is surprising for Joss—absolutely no strong or likable female characters in Dollhouse. And while Joss is normally hit-and-miss with his women (for every Kaylee, there is an Inara), it's odd that he should go 0-for-5.

(Before you think that I dislike the show, I should mention that even though the pilot fell flat and the first 4 or 5 episodes weren't particularly memorable, the plot did pick up later in the season, and ended strong. And Alan Tudyk is awesome.)

But Buffy, season 4, has been sort of an eye-opener. As it turns out, Joss is not infallible, and that sometimes his characters just aren't that great. Season 4 has been doing a wonderful job of destroying the characters that have been built up so far. Xander, the comic relief, hasn't developed at all in four seasons, and remains as one-dimensional as he was to begin with, only now the joke is less funny, as it's four years old. But now he's also impotent and is routinely dominated by his girlfriend, who he is powerless to stand up to and seems incapable of really loving her (his relationship is actually an interesting metaphor on fornication; the more sex he has with his girlfriend, the more impotent he becomes with her in everything non-sexual). Giles—the wise mentor and perhaps my favorite character—has been trashed; as it turns out, he has a "friend with benefits" who periodically flies out from England to be with him. Willow is turning lesbian (which in itself is interesting: I thought the argument of the homosexual activists was that homosexuality wasn't something that just turned on or off, and that's why those therapists that seek to help gay men become straight were stupid and evil), and in one recent episode has to decide between her old boyfriend, now come back, and her new love, a girl who also practices Wicca with her. And here, I'm thinking why does she have to choose between them? I mean, if you're abandoning sexual ethics in favor of homosexuality, why not go all the way and embrace polyamory as well? Why hold back? (Every time Willow mentions her Wicca, I am reminded of G.K. Chesterton in Heretics: "All that genuinely remains of the ancient hymns or the ancient dances of Europe, all that has honestly come to us from the festivals of Phoebus or Pan, is to be found in the festivals of the Christian Church. If any one wants to hold the end of a chain which really goes back to the heathen mysteries, he had better take hold of a festoon of flowers at Easter or a string of sausages at Christmas. Everything else in the modern world is of Christian origin, even everything that seems most anti-Christian. The French Revolution is of Christian origin. The newspaper is of Christian origin. The anarchists are of Christian origin. Physical science is of Christian origin. The attack on Christianity is of Christian origin. There is one thing, and one thing only, in existence at the present day which can in any sense accurately be said to be of pagan origin, and that is Christianity." QFT) And Buffy, who was previously the poster-girl for chastity (her first love, quite literally, lost his soul, and her second abused and discarded her; you'd think she'd learn) is now in a relationship with so much sex involved that in one episode, they are too busy having sex to help their friends fight off ghosts. Her boyfriend, while I'd like to like him (he's a Marine and also, it's implied, Catholic) thinks with his genitals just a bit too much. When a female character sleeps around, I usually feel pity for her. When I male character does it, I feel contempt.

Lest you think that I don't like the show, I remind you that I still enjoy it. The plots are still interesting, the dialogue still witty. It's just merely a reminder that Joss sometimes writes unlikeable and unmemorable characters. And sometimes they all end up in one show. When I saw Firefly, I thought Inara was the exception, and that his characters tended to be better than that. After Dollhouse and Buffy season 4, I see that Firefly is the exception (although so far I like the characters in Angel, though I'm only in the first season).

Joss frequently loses me with the sex in his shows. Very few characters have healthy sexual relationships (Zoey and Wash from Firefly are the only two that come to mind) and many are destroyed by their promiscuity. One of the biggest disappointments in Firefly was in the episode "Out of Gas", when we discovered that the only difference between Kaylee and Inara is that Inara gets paid. I have high hopes for Angel, though. It's been established that the title character must remain chaste, or he will turn evil.

* * *

Buffy isn't the only show that has lost me with characters. The new Battlestar Galactica was very intense, and had very colorful and interesting characters to begin with, but by the end of the show, each and everyone had ceased to be likable, ending with the formerly-noble Admiral William Adama, who is shown visiting a strip club in one of the last episodes.

Stargate SG-1 did better. The characters never betrayed me, but the writers seemed to think that the last two seasons would be a wonderful way to make the point: "Religion = bad".

It was my general frustration with the state of SF TV shows that lead me to draw the following comic, in the style of XKCD:

Several fellow students (all of them women) in my writing class have left perfectly polite comments on my last two homework assignments. I have decided that I am going to go get the town crier all over them.

The comments:

At the beginning of chapter 3, Jack gives Regina the order to depart Arcas spaceport with the command "Miss Burke, take us up." Three women in the class seemed to take exception to this. One circled "Miss" and wrote "Pilot"; one wrote "Ms."; and a third circled "Miss" and left the note "Wouldn't she have a title with more dignity?"

In the next week's homework assignment, Regina referred to herself as "the new gal" aboard the ship. One of the women circled it and wrote "Women don't like this word" and gave several alternatives, such as "girl", "pilot", "crew member", "mate".

Really? Women don't like that word? You are speaking for all women? Then why do I hear my grandmother use it so often? Are you contending that she is not a woman?

Concerning the implication that "miss" is a title without dignity, this one single sentence demonstrates and proves with one single breath the heinous thing, and my biggest gripe, with political correctness: political correctness seeks not to avoid offending, but rather to find offense where none is intended or, even more likely, even present.

Does anyone argue that when Jack refers to Regina as "miss", he is doing it specifically to degrade her, or demean her? (He is quite capable of  doing this in other ways.) Would you argue that if I held a door for a young lady and said "let me get that for you, miss," that I am purposely and actively, with malice aforethought, trying to show my superiority over her, lower her dignity, take away her right to vote, and chain her to the kitchen?

Please. Be surd. (absurd : surd :: incest : cest)

The "best" argument I have heard against the titles of miss and mrs. is that these titles "chain a woman's identity to her marital status, and thus make her a slave of her husband" which is logic on par with "if a woman weighs the same as a duck, she's made of wood and thus a witch." This betrays what John Wright so expertly points out about those who follow the Religion of PC: "They think (or rather, they feel) that when they are calling one thing by another name, that the actual nature of reality changes. They put themselves in a position where they can no longer talk about real things. Words are severed from referents."

He is, of course and as always, right. Those who worship at the altar of PC, and also those in the left wing (usually the same crowd) believe in the magic of language relativity: that is, by changing the way we refer to something we can change the nature of the thing itself. This seems to me to be closely associated with moral relativism: the belief that we can change morality by wishing it away. What is wrong for you or for another is not wrong for me because I don't want it to be. We see this in other aspects of life, too: if we call a "baby" a "fetus", it is no longer human, and can be killed; if we refer to people as having "gender" instead of "sex", then by changing their gender, they can change the fundamental nature of themselves. News flash: if I name my cat "rover", refer to her as "the dog", and feed her dog biscuits, she still won't bark. Sex is a biological and supernatural reality. Changing how we refer to it won't change its nature.

The reality of miss and mrs. seems to me to be far more innocuous. In a society where men purse and women allure, one would expect simple and obvious social cues that would indicate to the pursuer if the allurer is available to be pursued. Titles are one aspect of this, as are rings (hence, a woman wearing an engagement ring; I think of a man's wedding ring more as a reminder to himself than as a signal to other women). Were we to live in a society that operated in the opposite fashion, where women sought out a mate, bought him dinner, escorted him to the opera, and took him home and kissed him goodnight on his porch, I would expect the titles to be reversed.

But the PCists, of course, are chained to their idea of language driving nature; thus if we call an unmarried woman "miss" and a married woman "mrs.", we are saying that her nature changes when she gets married. Since they feel this is offensive (and I have never heard a good explanation for how it is offensive, probably in no small part because they feel rather than think it is offensive) they think (or rather, feel) that by changing a woman's title to the generic "ms.", we have somehow altered her nature and the nature of marriage.

As mentioned before, one of the primary aspects of political correctness is how it assumes offense where none exists. To refer to a married woman by a different title as an unmarried woman seems reasonable to the normal, rational person. In fact, these are the terms that were used for decades, if not centuries, and no offense was meant or taken. But then one day (and that is probably quite literal) some follower of the dogma of PC decided that words that had no offense attached to them before suddenly were offensive and that they had to be changed. Granted, language changes, but suddenly deciding that words have new meaning never before intended is not the sort of gradual change as "chuse" changing to "choose". Other examples of this include suddenly deciding that using the pronoun "he" to refer to groups of mixed sex is offensive, where it never was before, and that the term "secretary" to refer to those with a secretarial job, is offensive. (I once asked a PCist why it was that "secretary" was demeaning to women. She explained that it was because it harkened to a time when women were only allowed three careers: secretary, teacher, and nurse. She did not explain why "teacher" and "nurse" were still allowable. (This is one reason I'm Catholic and not PC; the rules are far more intuitive and easier to understand.))

Another aspect of Political Correctness is that it only seeks to find offense directed a certain groups that are mascots of the left. Surely, the PCists object to "offenses" against blacks, American Indians, women, homosexuals, and other "protected" groups. I have never heard one so much as flinch at offenses directed at Irishmen, men, Catholics, or evangelical Christians. Somehow, Muslims have weasled themselves onto the "protected" list, which means those outside the Church of PC get to watch, with wonderful bemusement, how those in the PC Church "protect" from offense those who are probably the least PC, and indeed viciously hate some of the other protected groups. (For instance, my writing instructor mentioned, perhaps in a doubt of the faith, that she was having a hard time accepting the PC dogma that fundamentalist Islamic societies had a "right" to horribly abuse their women. I remain blissfully outside of PCism, so I can answer as any sane man should: no such right exists and we can kill the bastards for doing such.)

If you want evidence of how imbalanced the double-standard for offensive speech is, look no further than the NCAA. Remember a few years ago when, out of sensitivity to "Native Americans" they tried to outlaw all schools with American Indian mascots? (They apparantly had a very selective use of "Native American"; I am a native to America too, but they didn't outlaw any team called "the Josephs". However, since no team with that name exists, perhaps they thought it a non-issue. I will give them the benifit of the doubt, and assume that they would have.) This, of course, was a monumental search for offense, such that they must have been using NASA's Spitzer space telescope to find it, as they clearly ignored the fact that many colleges with American Indian mascots do so with the approval and blessing of the tribe! One thing I found particularly interesting was that the University of Illinois Fighting Illini were to be banned, because "Fighting Illini" is offensive. However, there never was any mention of banning the University of Notre Dame Fighting Irish. How, exactly, is "Fighting Illini" racially insensitive and "Fighting Irish" is not? Are you going to argue that the Irish have not been oppressed? Are you going to argue that it is politically correct to portray Irishmen as drunken, brawling, leprechauns, but incorrect to portray American Indians as tomahawk-wielding warriors with feathered headdresses? Now we must play a game of measuring relativism, and explain why one offense is more offensive than the other.

So it is because of political correctness that society jumps at imagined shadows of offense, but only those shadows cast from a certain angle and from certain objects, that you have to turn your head sideways and squint to see, but then it just looks like a bunny. It is because of political correctness that I can't say "miss", but no politically correct person would bat an eyelash over the term "hocus pocus", with all its associated anti-Catholic bigotry. (For those not in the know, "hocus pocus", originally, was a mockery of the Latin words of consecration: "Hoc est enim corpus meum" or "This is my body", the climax of the Mass, and that sacred moment when a host of unleavened bread is turned into the Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Christ. I, personally, do not take offense to "hocus pocus", because I know that no one today uses it to offend Catholics, and probably no one who is not Catholic even knows where the term comes from. I would not stoop to correct someone who uses such a term in ignorance.)  It is because of political correctness that I can't refer to a secretary as a secretary, but the followers of PC can—and do—take Our Lord's name in vain, without so much as a worry or care to whether or not they offend me (and I do take great offense to that). I am not in a protected group; I am not worthy of avoiding offense towards. (In fact, someone once argued on this very blog that it is allowable to insult and offend white Christians because they have it coming.) But if those followers of PC don't care if they offend me, on what grounds do they argue that I should not offend them?

Since I can't think of a witty or snappy end to this article, I will let the inestimable John Wright do it for me, even though I think I am over my allocated "John Wright quote or link" quota by quite a lot this month:

Quoted for Truth:

The rudest society imaginable is one where everyone is hyper-sensitive, thin-skinned, and willing to see insults where none are intended, and, most of all, a society were everyone demands, as a matter of right, as a matter of entitlement, that no one cross or offend his ultra-fine nerves, which have been sandpapered to the most exquisite pitch of sensitivity. The professional crybabies have been given a trump card that wins every hand and always collects the kitty. So, we get more crybabies. Dignity, adieu: rudeness, hail! Hail, horrors!

*Mentally counts* 17... 18... 19... 20!

A-ha! Twenty posts since my last Space Pirates post. Time to bore you again!

So after a year, I figured enough time had passed and it was time to re-visit Episode I and go through the long process of editing. So far I've finished editing the first chapter, which you can read here.

My first thought when I went back to read it was I couldn't believe you people actually liked it. Some of the writing is just awful. Terrible grammar, excessive wordiness, boring descriptions in the middle of action, excessive use of the passive voice. I mean, come on, people. Where are your standards?

Anyways, here's a highlight of some of the changes.

Firstly, the prologue is gone. While I liked how it gave an overview and timeframe for the story, there was nothing in it that was essential information that wasn't conveyed better within the scope of the novel, and it served as a terrible opening hook.

One thing I've learned is that while the passive voice is something that can be used to great effect, it doesn't work in action. Action scene sentences need to be short, to the point, and exciting. Also, (this is something my instructor emphasizes) a story is more interesting if we're hearing it from a particular person's perspective. "The tree fell and crashed to the ground" is not as exciting as "Bob's heart raced when he heard the crack of the wood. He dove for cover, narrowly avoiding being crushed by the tree that fell and crashed to the ground." Keeping that in mind, here's how it was and is:

As it was	As it is
“Cannons loaded and at the ready, if you please” he barked at the gunnery officer, as he instinctively braced himself. Before he could get a response, the fluyt rocked violently as an explosion was heard through the ship.	“Cannons loaded and at the ready, if you please” he barked at the gunnery mate, while instinctively bracing himself. Before he could get a response, the fluyt rocked violently and he heard an explosion through the ship.

Another problem I have is repeating the same words over and over.

As it was

As it is

The fluyt rocked violently as an explosion was heard through the ship.... Again, a bang rocked the fluyt, but this time it was their own cannons firing a broadside at where the pirate ship had been, just moments earlier. The cluster of wrecked ships among which the pirates had been hiding was rocked by explosion as their area of effect shells detonated at the preordained distance, but it did them no good as the pirate vessel narrowly outran the explosion.

The shells detonated at the preordained distance and the cluster of wrecked ships among which the pirates had been hiding was obliterated by the explosion, but it did no good. The pirate vessel narrowly outran the blast.

In that example, "rocked" and "explosion" were both used three times in one paragraph. I trimmed out one usage of each. Not that rocking out to explosions isn't cool or anything.

A non-grammatical change that I'm making is the general feel of the writing. When I first started, it was much more Star Trek-y in feel. I later decided it should feel more 18th century than 22nd century, so I changed some of the terminology. Sensors, engines, reactor, etc. became Crow's Eyes, sails, furnace. Hence the change from "gunnery officer" (originally "security officer" in the very first draft) to "gunnery mate".

However, when I began writing it, I was still planning that they'd have faster-than-light travel. (I scrapped that partly because, as I was writing the pirate attack scene, I couldn't figure out why the fluyt wouldn't just jump to lightspeed. Or how you would even have piracy if any ship could just jump away from an attack.) As such, some of the technology in the first chapter seems more 22nd cetury than I'd like. References to auto-loading cannons, targeting computers, etc. were scrapped in favor of gunnery crews, like a wooden sailing vessel would have.

As it was

As it is

“Track them and fire, single turret only,” the captain ordered. His fluyt had four cannon turrets, two port and two starboard. Amongst the four the ship could defend itself from an attack in any direction, its strong points being in the plane of fore, aft, top and bottom, where all four turrets could aim. This pirate was carefully staying off to one side, prompting the captain to fire one turret at a time, so that the other turret that covered that firing arc might be ready should a good shot present itself. The captain counted down, waiting for the auto-loader to finish, while the targeting computer tracked the pirate vessel and computed its speed, trajectory, and looked for patterns in the evasive maneuvers to try to predict where the target would be, and aimed the turrets accordingly, taking into account the time it would take for the shell to reach the target and applying the proper deflection. The massive turrets slowly moved and, when the loading mechanism completed, another muffled bang could be heard through the hull as the cannon fired.

“Track them and fire, spaced firing sequence,” the captain ordered. He began counting down, waiting for the gunnery crews to reload. Looking back through the viewport, he saw a bright flash from the pirate vessel. He only had a moment to prepare himself before his fluyt rocked a second time.  “Where be me guns, Mr. Cobb,” the captain demanded of his gunnery mate.  “Loaded and ready,” the officer replied. The captain heard the muffled bang of the first gun, followed several seconds later by the second, as the gunnery crew fired each cannon in turn.  The pirate vessel bobbed and weaved, attempting to put some distance between themselves and their prey. Every few seconds the fluyt would send another volley at them, preventing them from flying straight enough to get off a good shot.  The captain felt his fluyt rock with each volley and, watching the bright streak of the tracers, he noted the shells getting progressively closer to their target, the gunnery crew improving their aim with each shot. The pirate's maneuvers became more erratic, as their pilot desperately tried to avoid the incoming projectiles. He watched one shell leave the barrel and, visually tracing its path, thought they might have a hit. But just before it hit the pirate vessel, their enemy ducked behind an asteroid, and the shell impacted harmlessly into the rock.

That example is also an example of another of my problems. As a friend pontied out, I tend to write like an engineer. Breaking from an exciting action sequence to describe, in detail, the armaments of the fluyt and the fire arcs each one covers does not help the pacing. Another example:

As it was

As it is

This time the captain saw more clearly what he was up against. The pirate vessels main broadside cannons looked to be smaller, only 105-millimeter, which would have some trouble penetrating the fluyt’s thick armor. But their turret appeared to be a linear induction cannon, more commonly known as a rail gun. Instead of using an explosive charge to launch the shell, it used the magnetic field created by a sudden discharge of electricity to provide velocity. This cannon had a far higher muzzle velocity, but was limited by projectile caliber. However, when used in conjunction with a larger caliber conventional gun, it could be deadly. The linear induction cannon would punch a small hole in the armor while the larger conventional cannons would make that small hole a lot bigger.

Now he was at a disadvantage; he had no guns ready to fire, and the pirate had all of his. He tightened his grip and braced himself. The pirate ship came streaking towards them, putting the asteroid to their rudder and the fluyt to their bow. They were momentarily obscured by the flash of light and cloud of smoke that emerged from the gun deck in the bow of the ship as the pirate fired with everything she had, before breaking to her starboard.   The fluyt bucked and creaked, twisting under the explosive force. Alarms started blaring, and the lights on the bridge went out, for just a moment, before the red emergency lighting came alive.

On that same note, and on that of changing the feel to be that of "the age of sail in space", ships are getting re-armed. The fluyt is now an eight-gun ship (instead of four) and Redemtrix will be either a ten- or twelve-gun corvette (not sure yet; up from six guns). Also, originally the cannons were described as 105mm (nicknamed the "one-aught-fives"), to model those in the AC-130. They are being upgraded to 155mm (after the M198 howitzer) and will be referred to as the much more age-of-sail-sounding "hundred pounders" (the M-107 shell that's fired by the M198 howitzer does, in fact, weigh about 100 lbs.).

Another change is that I'm trying to be clearer about motion and action. Someone commented of the original draft that it was unclear how people were moving in zero-gravity (also, all references to that are being changed to the more scientifically-accurate micro-gravity). Part of the reason is because it was unclear in my own mind how people were moving around. As I edit and re-write, I'm trying to form a better picture of the movement, and trying to keep in mind whether or not their is gravity in that scene, and how much.

As it was	As it is
The captain moved back to his chair and rang the engine room on the intercom. “What be the damage?” he asked the engineer.	The captain pushed off from the Crow's Eyes station and floated to a panel in the middle of the bridge. Arresting his momentum, he lifted a handset from its cradle and rang the engine room. “What be the damage?” he asked the engine mate.

A concern that came from some of my classmates is that the appearance of the charaters is not really clear. Regina is the only character who is described in detail in the narrative. All other descriptions were—literally—added as an afterthought. I'm trying to work them in a little better, and when the characters make their appearance.

Lastly, I'm reviewing all names, to be changed, possibly (save Jack and Regina). This came about when I realized that Jack and John sound very much alike. John has since been renamed the much more ethnic-sounding "Yosef" (after Joseph Mkasa, another of the Ugandan Martyrs). I'm pretty sure Elijah will be renamed "Damian" ( :) ) to make it a little less obvious who the real-life person he's based on is. Steve is keeping his name, but might be referred to as "Steven", Zack should get a name change, but I honestly can't think of anything that has quite the geeky sound as Zack. David and Gregory will be renamed, but I have no idea to what, yet.

As it was	As it is
"Well, that's one way," Elijah had commented to Jack, as they both removed their gas masks. So there Jack stood, after what had to be one of the strangest boarding operations. "You almost done there, John?" Jack had to yell, as John had moved to the aft of the cargo hold, chasing down a couple crew who didn't want to become whatever it was they thought space pirates did to them.	"Well, that's one way," Damian had commented to Jack, as they both removed their gas masks.  Jack ran a hand through his jet-black hair, flattening it. He stroked his goatee, reflecting on what had to be one of the strangest boarding operations he had ever pulled. "You almost done there, Yosef?"

Reaction -> Dilemma -> ...Indecision.

If you're reading this, it means I probably accidentally hit "Publish Post" instead of "Save Now".

Being open to advice or criticism is a very important life lesson, and much of one's character formation should be about learning to graciously accept advice and learning how to apply it (the extent to which this trait is developed in today's society is a whole 'nuther topic, for a whole 'nuther day). This is especially true for the aspiring author or learning writer.

But one thing that I have trouble grasping is this: how do I know which pieces of advice to take to heart and which to discard?

To let you know where this is going:

During my writing class, the instructor and other students have been giving me lots of advice—very good advice, really—on ways to improve Space Pirates (and if you did not see that coming as the topic of the post, then... well... then you are clearly not even remotely clairvoyant). So far during the class, we have been covering the classical plot structure and bringing in explanations of the Plot Point decisions, events that shape those decisions, character reactions, etc. During the previous class meeting we covered the climax of the novel, and our homework explained how the focal character fought the protagonist (intellectually or physically), the loose ends to tie up, and the denouement.

(The rest of this article assumes you've read Space Pirates, so you may be lost or spoiled if you have not already. Well, I don't really consider anything that happens in Episode I a "spoiler", as the "twists" are mere trivialities compared with the real plot twists in the coming installments. It would be like calling the fact that R2-D2 and C-3PO escape the Tantive IV and reach Tatooine in an escape pod a spoiler. )

(There are also minor, trivial plot points from later episodes mentioned as well, so don't read those if you don't wants ta know.)

Some very good questions were asked, which I had to explain, and some good advice given. For instance, one fellow student, after asking why Tim wants the MacGuffin disk (minor spoiler: to sell to Gregory, as established in the ending), pointed out that both Tim and Jack want the same thing for the same reason, so why should we want Jack to "win" in the climax? Why does the reader have an emotional investment in Jack's victory? The instructor came to my defense on this point, explaining that in many stories, the hero and villain want the same thing, it's just a question of how they go about doing it. She then said that Tim would then have to be a really evil or sleazy character, and Jack had to be very virtuous in order to make the reader have a vented interest in one over the other.

The instructor's advice was to "raise the stakes". She asked me why Jack needed this job so badly, I explained that he didn't have much money and he couldn't afford continued maintenance on his ship. She countered that it needed to be more than that. His ship should be falling apart, barely flying. Also, she was pretty insistent that Jack should find out what's on the disk that's so important. (I tried to explain that I was trying to mimic the feel of Ronin, in which after 2 hours of searching for a silver case with unknown contents, the heroes get it, but never is the audience allowed to know what it contained; in that movie, the story is about the mercenaries themselves, not what they're after.) After explaining to her what's on the disk, (trivial Ep. III spoiler: research on efficient and inexpensive anti-matter creation, for the purposes of building an anti-matter bomb) she said that when Jack discovers this, he should then do the right thing and turn the disk in to the US Navy for a reward. Also, Tim should be planning to sell it to the "North Korea" analogue: the enemy, terrorist nation-state that would do heinous things if they got their hands on it.

One of the ladies in the class also seems pretty adamant that their should be some romantic element, and this was seconded by the instructor, either between Jack and Regina, or perhaps between Regina and Tim.

Now, all this seems very good advice, and would put Space Pirates more in the vein of Star Wars, Lord of the Rings, Serenity, or any of the other great SF/F tales, wherein you have a noble hero who is drawn (typically against his will) into battle against the ultimate foe, where he must do the right thing and keep the evil enemy from obtaining that item that would bring about an end of the world as we know it. Usually along the way, there is some romantic interest to either help or hinder the hero.

There's just one problem: that's not the story I want to write (at least, not to begin with). Jack is not the noble hero, Tim is not the evil villain. They're both just space pirates. They both just do a job. They're both jerks, in their own right. They both have good qualities, in their own ways. There really isn't one supreme reason why Jack should win out over Tim, and that's the way I want it.

Joss Whedon said of the creation of Firefly that he didn't want to tell some grandiose SF tale, about the movers and shakers of the universe: the people who save civilization as we know it, day in and day out, like in Star Trek. Instead, he said that he wanted to tell a tale about the people that the Enterprise would blow right by without a moment's notice: ordinary people doing ordinary things like finding a job to make ends meet, but in a SF setting.

(Author's disclaimer: to my credit, I came up with the entire plot and setting of all six SP novels before I ever saw any episode of Firefly, so no, I'm not just ripping off Joss. I prefer, coinciding with him.)

I don't think this could more perfectly describe my ideas for SPE1. Perhaps a better title would be "A Day in the Life of a Space Pirate" (or a month and a half, as the case may be). I just wanted to show what an average day was like in the life of average Joe Space Pirate. He gets a job. He does the job. He doesn't get paid. He has to go back and do it right. He meets a bully who's not particularly evil, just sort of a jerk. He has his own problems and his own vices. This is supposed to be real life, just in space.

Jack doesn't care what's on the disk, nor would he give it to the US Navy even if he did. They wouldn't pay as much as he can get from Gregory and they wouldn't offer him the steady employment he can get from Gregory. And even if the information on the disk was potentially harmful to someone, somewhere, why does he care? He's a space pirate! He's not paid enough to care.

But then, if Jack isn't that great of a guy, why does Dear Reader care if he wins or loses? Why would you be emotionally invested in seeing this guy come out the victor? Why do you care?

So my dilemma boils down to this: do I tell the story that the reader wants to read, or do I say to hell with the reader and write the story I want to write?

* * *

Perhaps my problem is that I told the tale to my class from Jack's point of view. He is the focal character of the six-book series, after all. But he's not the character that the audience is supposed to like the most. That distinction goes to Regina (who is my favorite character from the series). So perhaps we should tell the tale from her point of view. I think it makes it a little more palatable that way.

It also makes more sense this way. The Plot Point II decision is hers to make. Jack's decision is easy: steal the disk from Tim. I mean, come on, what else is he going to do? But Regina's the one who has to suffer the hard choice. Who does she side with in the end, Jack or Tim? Jack really isn't that different from Tim. They're both (same spoiler as the first one) working for the same guy; they're both jerks towards Regina; they both have redeeming qualities; they're both ambitious and willing to sell the other guy out to make a buck. Why root for Jack and not Tim? Of course, in the end, she chooses Jack because Tim is merely nice to her on the surface, while being a jerk underneath. Jack is a jerk on the surface, but always has her best interests at heart. My hope is that Dear Reader, associating with her, will agree with her decision and reasons, and thus be more endeared towards Jack, and root for him to be the victor. I hope.

But even then, it's still a weak emotional attachment. It's not the ultimate climax of good vs. evil, but the fight between a jerk with a heart of gold, and a jerk with the heart of a jerk. Why should the reader give it any more than a passing "meh"?

* * *

Again, in my defense, the story doesn't stay the same throughout all six episodes. Jack doesn't stay the same through all six episodes. Of course my classmates and my instructor are right. It would be a better story if the protagonist is the virtuous hero, battling the evil overlord. A morally ambiguous character really can't carry a series.

Since deep down, Jack is the virtuous guy, of course he does the right thing in the end. While the battle between him and Tim is ambiguous, the battle becomes more clearly defined as things go on. In later episodes, he comes against real moral struggles, and of course he does the right thing and fights for truth, justice, and all that jazz. It goes without saying.

Similarly, how could I possibly write a story where the hero is an author insertion, and the heroine is an analogue of the author's wife and not have a romantic element? Of course Episode II starts building romantic tension; it goes without saying!

But can I really use that excuse? "Yeah, the first couple books really are sorta ambiguous, and there's no real reason to root for the good guy, but trust me: it gets better. Just give me 800 pages and 15 hours of your life, and you'll get to the good parts." To quote John Gabriel, I didn't even know you could do that.

P.S. TVtropes are fun! Have fun with that link. You're welcome. No, you can't have those hours of your life back.

P.P.S. How many tropes can you find in Space Pirates? There's the obvious ones: Jack's the Lovable Rogue and The Captain, Regina the Mary Sue (or to be correct, the Canon Sue) and Gamer Chick. I haven't found the tropes for the others, but I'm sure they're there. Redemptrix (I hope) is a Cool Starship, and Regina's gleeful dispatching of Tim's mercenaries, I think, qualifies it as More Dakka. I think Tim's plan was a foiled Xanatos Gambit, and Jack's a successful one. And of course, the disk is a Grade-A, pastuerized, homoginized MacGuffin.

P.P.P.S. TVTropes on The Mary Sue:

She's exotically beautiful (a-yup, the only character to be described in detail), often having an unusual hair or eye color (Regina's blue eyes are mentioned several times), and has a similarly cool and exotic name (I think so). She's exceptionally talented in an implausibly wide variety of areas (fantastic pilot, cook, engineer, singer, flutist....), and may possess skills that are rare or nonexistent in the canon setting. She also lacks any realistic, or at least story-relevant, character flaws (only one that comes to mind is that Regina is an adrenaline junky) — or her "flaws" are obviously meant to be endearing. She has an unusual and dramatic Back Story (a-yup; more on that later). The canon protagonists are all overwhelmed with admiration for her beauty, wit, courage and other virtues (check, check, check, and check), and are quick to adopt her into their nakama, even characters who are usually antisocial and untrusting (*cough* Zack *cough*); if anyone doesn't love her, the character who dislikes her will get an extremely unsympathetic portrayal. (*cough* Jack *cough*)

P.P.P.P.S. She scores a 93 on the Mary Sue Litmus test. "Irredeemable-Sue. You're going to have to start over, my friend. I know you want to keep writing, but no. Just no." The internet hates me :(

Homework, week 1.

So, I decided to ignore all of your advice and went with a sligthly modified version of paragraph #1. Screw you people.

Here's what I finally submitted.

“Hold course. Steady as she goes,” the captain barked. He looked intently through the view port of his fluyt. To avoid attention from the authorities, they were staying away from the main shipping lanes, but that meant during this leg of their journey they'd be traveling particularly close to a region of the asteroid belt notorious for pirate activity. This was going to be his least favorite part of the cargo run.

It was generally well received by the class, even though no one knew what a "fluyt" was. I had to explain that it was 16th century Dutch cargo vessel, and I was trying to evoke the feeling of the age of sail in space, so I used ship classifications from the 16th through 18th centuries. The instructor said that it was fine if I used obscure terms from time to time, and that I should keep it to add flavor.

In addition to that, we had to list the name, age, two positive and two negative traits, and three or four quirks of our focal character. The instructor explained that "traits" are those behaviors that we can't see, but quirks are what we can. Here's what I submitted:

Jack Flint, age 30

Traits:

-Chivalrous
-Perseverance
-Pessimist/Realist
-Contradictory sense of morality

Quirks:

-Strokes his goatee when thinking
-Says “me” instead of “my”, “be” instead of “is”, and other pirate-isms
-Insists he's a privateer, not a pirate

Lastly, we had to bring a picture of our focal character. The instructor indicated that we should look through magazines and such, but I brought a picture I had made about a year ago using UGO's Hero Machine. The instructor thought it was terrific.

Maybe later I'll post the picture I made of Regina.

Since everyone seemed to like the fourth option so much (the first paragraph of Episode II), I'll go ahead and post the rest of that section, from the first chapter. I think Dave will get a kick out of it. (Keep in mind, this is rough-draft and has not yet been edited.)

The Marine on duty lazily flipped the coin and watched as it bounced off the ceiling of the guard shack and gently floated back down, pulled by the weak Rhean gravity. He caught it in one hand and slapped it onto the sleeve of his extra-vehicular suit. He looked down at the engraved image of President Ronald Reagan staring back up at him. That was the tenth heads in a row, and brought the total to three hundred fourteen heads and two hundred seventy-one tails. It was a slow day. 

He briefly looked up. Saturn loomed large in the pre-dawn sky. It hung there in the same spot, day in and day out. Currently, it was about half-full, being last quarter, and would be "new"—a thin, bright crescent—sometime late the next night. Well, night universal time. It would be just after noon, local time, in Rhea's four-and-a-half day rotation. 

Thinking about it made the Marine's head spin. It was one more thing he hated about this God-forsaken moon. Rhea was about as boring as a ball of ice and rock could be. Most of the interesting places in the Saturnian system were either farther out, such as on Titan—home to some of the largest cities off of Earth, and where the vast majority of the solar system's hydrocarbon mining took place—or farther in, on Mimas or Enceladus, which housed the hydrogen refineries where the skimmer ships would take their gaseous cargo after skimming it off the upper-most layers of Saturn's atmosphere. Rhea, by comparison, was the middle of nowhere, which was exactly why he was there. There wasn't much point to building a super top-secret and high-security special weapons laboratory on one of the busiest moons in the solar system. And as long as the US government needed super top-secret and high-security weapons labs, they needed Marines to guard them. 

"Heads up," the Marine heard through his two-way. He looked up at his partner, standing just outside the guard shack. He was pointing towards a small, open-top vehicle approaching from the direction of the spaceport. The Marine stepped out of the guard shack and held up his hand, signaling the vehicle to stop. The vehicle slowly decelerated and came to a halt just in front of the gate. There were three people in it. The driver looked to be about thirty years old and had black hair and a devilish looking goatee. Seated to his right in the front passenger's seat was a very tall dark-skinned man with a thin face. Behind the two of them, in the back seat, was a very young looking man with messy, sandy blond hair. 

"Name and purpose of visit," the Marine demanded into his two-way on a commonly-used communications frequency. 

The Marine could tell by looking through the visors of the EV suits of the vehicle's passengers that the driver was the one responding. "I'm escorting Doctor Gordon Frohman, here on business to see Doctor Kleiner."

 

"Can I see a government-issued photo ID, Doctor Freeman?" the Marine asked. 

"Frohman," the young man in the back seat corrected as he produced an ID card, which he handed to the Marine. The Marine took it and inspected it. He returned to the guard shack and checked the schedules. There was an entry that a Doctor G. Freeman would be coming to see Doctor Kleiner, but no mention of a Doctor Frohman. It was probably just a typo on the schedule, but the Marine still felt it necessary to call it in. 

He touched a control on his suit that set his two-way to use the base's secure frequency. "This is Corporal Calhoun, at the main gate. I need to speak with Doctor Kleiner." 

"One moment," came the reply from the base communications officer. 

The Marine waited for about fifteen more seconds before another voice came over his two-way. "Doctor Kleiner here." 

"Hello, Doctor Kleiner, this is Corporal Calhoun at the main gate. I have a Doctor Gordon Frohman here to see you. Are you expecting someone by that name?" 

"Yes, absolutely. He should be on the schedule. I made sure to let base security know he was coming." 

"Thank you, Doctor. The schedule lists a Doctor Freeman. I figured it was an error but wanted to confirm with you first." 

"That's not right," said the voice at the other end, sounding very annoyed. "I don't know any Doctor Freeman. Why would I have said a Doctor Freeman was coming when I don't know one?"

 

"Sorry to disturb you, Doctor. I'll send him right in." 

"Thank you, Corporal. It will be exciting to see Doctor Frohman again. It's been twenty years since I last saw him, at graduate school." 

The Marine had already been moving to press the end transmission switch, and his mind was further slowed by the sheer boredom of the day and the fact that so many of his brain cells had already been lost to counting coin flips, so that he had already ended the call to the doctor before he had fully comprehended his last sentence. Twenty years? He looked down at the ID card, still in his hands. It listed a birth date of March 14th, 2157. Twenty years, indeed. He didn't think too many universities were in the business of conferring doctorates on toddlers. He began to reach for his assault rifle when he felt a sharp prick in his arm, followed by a sudden and overwhelming feeling of drowsiness. He tried to fight it, at least long enough to lie down on the floor, but gave way very quickly to the desire to take a nap right then and there.

So I finally bit the bullet, took the advice of Mom and Dad, and enrolled in a UCI Extension course: Intermediate Novel Writing. (Now that I've already written one, I'll learn how to do it right.) I may from time to time post the homework, when it doesn't have extreme spoilers, and if there are any who are interested.

Part of our homework assignment for the first work week is "write an opening paragraph for a novel incorporating a dramatic "hook". (Maximum 100 words)

In the interest of laziness, I don't plan to actually write anything new for this, but instead will just recycle stuff I've already written. And in the interest of extreme laziness, I don't even plan on choosing the pre-written material myself. Instead, I'll just put it up to a vote for my flock of loyal fan (hi, Mom!).

So, which of the following opening paragraphs do you think is best written and has the best dramatic hook. In essence, which one of these paragraphs most makes you want to know what the next paragraph says?:

1. “Hold course. Steady as she goes,” the first mate barked. The captain kept a close watch through the viewport of his fluyt. This was going to be his least favorite part of the cargo run. To avoid attention, they were staying off the main shipping lanes and in this leg of their journey they were traveling through an uninhabited stretch of the asteroid belt.
   
   
2. Captain Jack Flint floated through the docking hatch of his corvette Redemptrix, and into the spacious cargo hold of the fluyt. After that debacle of a boarding attempt, he was amazed that he and his crew had made it inside. The attack and disable operation had gone flawlessly; just about the best he'd ever seen. But of course, the whole job couldn't go that smoothly. No, that would have been too easy.
   
   
3. "Miss Burke, take us up." As if eager for the Captain's command, Regina gently yet firmly eased the throttle forward. The Redemptrix gracefully lifted out of bay three-two-seven of Arcas spaceport and began her skyward ascent. The hot helium gas streaming from the four thrust nozzles left a yellow trail keelward and behind the ship.
   
   
4. The Marine on duty lazily flipped the coin and watched as it bounced off the ceiling of the guard shack and gently floated back down, pulled by the weak Rhean gravity. He caught it in one hand and slapped it onto the sleeve of his extra-vehicular suit. He looked down at the engraved image of President Ronald Reagan staring back up at him. That was the tenth heads in a row, and brought the total to three hundred fourteen heads and two hundred seventy-one tails. It was a slow day.
   
   
5. Ensign Thomas Beckett had practically been raised on Star Trek. As a kid, he would religiously watch the weekly adventures of Captain James T. Kirk and his crew, making sure to catch them as soon as they were broadcast. Later on, he followed Captain Jean-Luc Picard and his crew in their battles for the good of the Federation. By the time Voyager aired, he did not have much time to watch it—but did so whenever he could—because he was attending Star Fleet Academy.

(In case you hadn't caught it, that last one isn't from SPM3DoF: The Novel, but from a short story.)

The Good Ship Redemptrix.

Long may she fly.

(Next in my series of "Space Pirate" posts. Let me know when you get tired of these.)

At some point while reading through SPE1, you may have wondered "what does Captain Jack Flint's BAE CT-1300 model corvette look like?"

Well, thanks to the miracle of modern technology, I can deliver images through the intertubes directly to your Technicolor Rasterizificationer.

But before I do that (that is, give you what you want), allow me to go through the evolution of the ship (that is, bore you with details you don't want).

My starting point for designing the ship was a C-130. I figured this basically described everything your average Joe space pirate could need. A large fuselage, capable of carrying lots of loot; the ability to load it with guns, for massive broadsides; and small enough (in spaceship terms), to be agile.

However,  I wanted to make some changes to this design. Firstly, I always liked how the nose cone on a C-5 could open to allow the loading of cargo in through the front or back. This seemed like a handy thing for a space pirate to be able to do. But I thought it should be able to do that in flight, so the idea of the entire nose opening, and blocking the view from the cockpit, was impractical. Instead, I opted for a cockpit that was above a loading ramp.

The first drawings were based on this idea. You can see how I worked through different hull shapes, trying to hone in on one I liked. Other changes I made involved wing shape and placement, turret placement, engine configuration (I always knew it would have four; again patterened off the C-130), and addition of tails. The drawing closest to the middle of that page (the side-view; second side-view down on the right) was the first one I really liked, so I drew a perspective of it, to get an idea of what it looked like from other angles. It was getting close, but it still lacked something. 

Around this time, I decided that many of my ideas were too close to Star Trek, and I wanted to move the feel of the story back about four centuries, closer to Master and Commander. This led to many other changes in the story (which I may talk about later), and I strived for less futurism and more anachronism.

The way this manifested in Redemptrix was that I decided it should be more like a sailing ship and less like an airplane. The obvious way to change this was to move the bridge to the stern of the ship, and you can see this in the drawings towards the bottom of the page. The only other things I played with from there were changes to the slope of the hull.

This is the drawing I made about the time I started writing the book, and was the first "final" drawing. As I wrote, I realized I needed to make a few minor changes. The engines, which were supposed to be atop the wings, on the downward slope of the hull, were moved. (I realized that if you are accelerating a ship at 9.8 m/s², you would want your thrust to be downward, and not aftward, so you could walk on the floor, not the wall.) Also, all the weaponry was moved forward to be in the nose cone, and the number of cannons was reduced from eight to six. (Moving the cannons into the nose cone meant that, due to the slant, all six guns could point forwards, which meant you could bring more firepower to bear on a single target.) But this drawing is still pretty close (although the final design is proportionally longer).

From that drawing I was able to build a very simple 3D model in Anim8or.

This model is completely untextured, and no details, such as the rail gun turret, cannon portals, or throats, are shown. 

Since no one has yet opted the rights to make Space Pirates into a multi-million dollar blockbuster and it remains only a book, you will have to use the old-fashioned technique of using your imagination to visualize the details. To help you along, I have provided this quote from near the beginning of chapter two of the work-in-progress Space Pirates Episode II.

"The hull was colored a dark bluish-gray, except for the vertical stabilizers at the ends of the wings, which were painted gold, and the word "REDEMPTRIX", painted across the stern of the ship in large, serifed, gold, electro-opaque paint. This special type of paint only turned opaque when an electric current was supplied, meaning that if the crew didn't want to broadcast who exactly it was that was stealing from you, they could simply turn off the incriminating name."

Even though it is very simple, it really did help me visualize what the ship looked like, and from there I was able to work out the details of the interior.

In those schematics, the dashed lines represent the ceilings of the respective decks, since the sloping of the hull makes most of the decks wider at the floor.

"The entire ship was sixty meters, stem to stern, fifteen meters, keel to dorsal, and thirty meters, wingtip to wingtip, which put it squarely in the standard classifications as a corvette: slightly larger than a sloop or sloop-of-war, and smaller than a frigate."

(In Episode I, Jack says that Redemptrix is 100 meters. That was before I worked out the exact size, and it will be corrected when I go back and edit it.)

As for the name, there was no real evolution. When trying to come up with a name for Jack's ship, I sort of knew the direction I wanted to go. Redemptrix occurred to me, I liked it, and, more importantly, choosing the name helped shape the plot; obviously I had to figure out why Jack chose that name (his reasons will be revealed at a later date).