Space Bros 2

On Friday we had a half-day at work and a friend declared she was going to see Star Trek Into Darkness and I was like "I like every actor in that movie" and off we went to see it.

I don't know if it was Star Trek, but it was definitely an action movie and you know what? I enjoyed it. Possibly for the same reasons I enjoyed watching Thor. Star Trek Into Darkness is so shiny and everyone in it acts the hell out of what they've been given to work with, but it doesn't really make any sense. It's like watching any episode of the recent season of Doctor Who.

If you don't want to know what happens in Star Trek Into Darkness, you should stop reading.
No, really, stop reading.

I'm going to tell you what happens.

I did warn you.

Ok, fine, but don't complain to me in the comments that I "ruined" it or "spoiled" things for you because I have given you adequate warnings.

SPACE BROS 2

Kirk: Bro, I've effed up big time.

Spock: Bro, you effed up big time.

Kirk: BROTRAYAL, SPACE ELF. BROTRAYAL.

Spock: You're being illogical. Also, that's not a real word.

Kirk: Brotrayal.

*

Mickey Smith: (may not have had any actual lines of dialogue but got a lot of sentimental music to express the FEELS of a dire situation.)

Sherlock: Hello, I see you would be an excellent candidate for blackmail.

Mickey Smith: (looks hopeful)

Sherlock: Yes, an excellent candidate. Indeed.

*

Things explode. A lot. Sherlock stares. A lot.

Wait, no, I got that out of order. Sherlock stares a lot and then eventually things explode. Not because he stares at them, unless his stare was what compelled Mickey Smith to make things explode—which is entirely possibly because it's a powerful stare that fully conveys how Mickey Smith owes Sherlock.

That's how blackmail works, I guess. By staring.

*

Kirk: Wow, Sherlock got so mean without Watson there to tell him not to be an asshole. Watson should've never gone off with those dwarfs.

Spock: Yet Sherlock's cruelty makes him no less handsome. It's all very illogical.

Kirk: Maybe I'm your Watson?

Spock: Is this part of your Earthling humor?

Kirk: I'm still angry about that brotrayal.

Spock: I still do not recognize that as a word.

*

More things explode! Some people die! Sherlock stares at everyone while wearing a really great coat!

*

Kirk: Space Elf bro, I've forgiven your brotrayal.

Spock: I'm happy we're moving the plot along, Captain.

Kirk: How can you be happy? YOU HAVE NO FEELS.

Spock: Maybe I subtly just informed you that I do.

Kirk: What?

Spock: Maybe my FEELS are all in the subtext, locked away because I'm ashamed of them.

Kirk: We have to go get Sherlock. He's such an asshole! He doesn't even hit on the ladies all the time like I do.

Spock: But he's off in deep space with our enemies.

Kirk: We must risk the Daleks.

Spock: Klingons.

Kirk: Look, bro, bros don't correct their bros. It hurts the bro FEELS.

Spock: FEELS are hard.


*


Kirk: Ok, everyone, we're loading some suspicious weapons on board because the admiral says we can go to an enemy planet and do a secret special mission. It's not suspicious at all that he'd let me do this when it's known that he thinks I'm an idiot.

Carol: Hi! I'm a science officer joining your party.

Spock: Perhaps you are a scientist but you're also suspicious.

Carol: Hush exposition with half drawn-on eyebrows, I'm talking to Kirk.

Kirk: A lady is talking to me.

Spock: Is this low-level certainty that everyone around me is stupid what Sherlock feels all the time?

Bones: Probably. You've got so much in common.

Spock: How so?

Bones: You're both emotionless. Creepy yet somehow alluring.

Spock: I hadn't considered this, Doctor. Perhaps Sherlock and I are representations of the danger of having no emotions?

Bones: Damned if I know about themes, Spock, I'm just a doctor.

*

Simon Pegg: You can't bring these weird weapons on my ship.

Kirk: Why do you sound like Craig Ferguson? You're Simon Pegg.

Simon Pegg: I quit because you aren't listening to my logic.

Kirk: Fine. I hate logic anyway because Spock likes it and I'm passive-agressively fighting with him.

Simon Pegg: BROTRAYAL.

Kirk: It's going around, Peggy.


*

So they go to find Sherlock despite that Spock wants everyone to question their life decisions, because logic loses to plot.

Something goes wrong with the warp core, because that's the whole point of the ship having a warp engine. Seriously. That damn thing is always breaking. Chekov is pretty uncertain he can fix it and I'm at this point starting to wonder if when they find Sherlock they will also find the plot. It's gotta be the only reason they're doing any of this.

So off they go to the planet full of murderous aliens and Sherlock.

*

Spock: This is a Klingon planet.

Uhura: Fortunately, I speak Daleklingon.

Kirk: Subtextually, I resent you a bit for kicking more ass than I do.

Spock: Why are you all so illogical?

Uhura: YOU HAVE NO FEELS. Kirk agrees.

Spock: No, I have feels. I have so many feels. And I also took some feels from someone as he died so I could better understand your human feels.

Uhura: That's incredibly creepy. Like almost as creepy as Sherlock but less homicidal.

Kirk: Why would you do that, bro?

Spock: Logic told me the plot would need me to, bro, so I could talk about my feels.

Kirk: Logic is hard.

Spock: Not as hard as feels.

*

Uhura: Hey Daleklingons. I speak your language. Nifty, amiright?

Daleklingons: EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE! AHH SOME GUY IN A REALLY COOL HOOD JUST KILLED US ALL.

Kirk: UNFAIR! I'm supposed to be the cool one!

Sherlock: This is my Angel Islington Voice, and that was my Arrow impression. Did you enjoy it? Was it sufficient in its ridiculous awesomeness? Was my gun big enough?

Kirk: I want to punch your beautiful face, bro! For reasons.

Sherlock: Punch away. My cheekbones and amazing coat give me defensive strength.

Uhura: His voice....it's so creepy.

Spock: Yet alluring at the same time.

Sherlock: I am enunciating every word very clearly to express my utter disdain. I assure you I'm not a Vulcan because my hair is imperfect after being ridiculously awesome

Kirk: So creepy.

Spock: Yet alluring at the same time.

Sherlock: I surrender. Take me to your TARDIS—I mean whatever spaceship your people have.

Kirk: It's a really nice ship.

Sherlock: I'm sure it is, Captain.

Kirk: Everything sounds undermining when you say it. I hate that you're so cool.

Sherlock: Indeed.


*


Kirk: We totally put you in jail! But I also had them comb your hair back. I wanted you to feel like you were being treated well so you'd see how reasonable we good guys are.

Sherlock: Indeed. Now you will attempt to kill me?

Kirk: We're gonna take you to Earth and make you stand trial.

Sherlock: I see. Did you make this decision based on how I killed nearly the entire party of Daleklingons single-handedly?

Kirk: Um... No. I made it for... reasons. Smart reasons. Yeah. For logic!

Sherlock: I appeal to your conscience. Your morality. I'm told people have these things. I find them bothersome.

Kirk: Ok, you got me. My bro Spock told me to do this. He's logical. I'm not.

Sherlock: Ahhh, Captain, it's all right to admit you're impressed by me. My logic is superior to Spock's logic in every way.

Kirk: Look, Spock and I are cool right now, ok? We had a talk about FEELS. I want to respect that he has them.

Sherlock: Listen to my Angel Islington Voice. It's not brotrayal. You and I can also be... "bros."

Kirk: No. Spock is my first bro. Even more of my bro than Bones or Peggy! FIRST BRO.

Sherlock: You're a captain, I'm this movie's equivalent of a Time Lord, which is like you but superior in all ways. Also, your admiral is going to brotray you.

Kirk: NO WAY.

Sherlock: He committed the brotrayal against me. You and I have so much in common. Consider my offer of broship. I'll tell you who my tailor is.

Kirk: Must. Resist. Must. FLEEEEEE!

*

Admiral: Hey guys. I came to brotray you. So gimme John Smith. Jack Harkness. Whatever the hell we're calling Benedict Cumberbatch in this movie.

Kirk: He says his name is Sherlock, and he wants to be my bro.

Admiral: Yes, and he'll brotray you. I'm totally brotraying you, too. But he'll brotray you worse. Because he's Sherlock. High functioning sociopath and all that. I'm just an angry man who wants to start an intergalactic war.

Kirk: EVERYTHING IS BROTRAYAL!

Spock: Captain, logic says it's time to tell you Carol is the admiral's daughter.

Carol: Chill, bros, I'll appeal to my Dad's FEELS.

Admiral: And I'll steal you with my transporter. I don't want you to die. I'm not a total monster.

Kirk: Everything is brotrayal and chaos! I better go talk to Sherlock. Enemy of my enemy is my new bro.

Spock: Logic tells me this will go badly.

Kirk: I'm doing it.

Spock: Logic wants me to question your life decisions.

Kirk: Again?

Spock: Always.

Kirk: Listen, bro, this isn't about logic because my actions don't make any sense. In fact, I actually say in the movie that my actions don't make any sense. But my FEELS tell me I gotta do this.

Spock: It's almost like I'm a slave to logic and you're a slave to emotion. It's almost like only relying on one is a bad life decision.

Kirk: Whoa, there, bro. Don't get philosophical. We've got a ship to save.

*

Kirk: Hey, Sherlock.

Sherlock: Oh, hello, Captain. Brotrayal from the admiral came just as I predicted, I see.

Kirk: How do you know all of this?

Sherlock: Some events are fixed points in time.

Kirk: Good thing I shun logic or I'd question you more. Anyway, how'd you like to wear a space suit that kind of makes you look like an EVA pilot and do a space luge from our crippled ship to the admiral's? It's going to be a great part of the video game.

Sherlock: How delightful. Try to keep up, as I'm ever so much better at being awesome than you are.

Kirk: Well, I did this in the first movie so I'm probably better at it than you.

Sherlock: Doubtful, but why don't I let you feel secure in a false sense of superiority so I can use you to get what I want?

Kirk: So we're fake bros?

Sherlock: Fake bros. Indeed.

*

Things go terribly wrong. Sherlock kills a bunch of people and it's BROTRAYAL and Kirk is surprised even though he shouldn't be.

*

Spock: Hello, New Vulcan.

William Bell: Spock, please tell JJ Abrams to stop messing with the space time continuum.

Spock: Tell me about the movie that this movie was before someone remade it.

William Bell: No. The time reset negates that previous movie. Didn't you watch Fringe?

Spock: Very few people watched Fringe.

William Bell: If I tell you then it becomes a fixed path.

Spock: That seems as illogical as the reasoning for why the 11th Doctor couldn't save Amy and Rory.

William Bell: Point taken. I will tell you this: during a future scene you're going to yell SHERLOCK with the feels that other people yell BROTRAYAL.

*


Anyway more stuff happens. Most of it happens like an explosion. There's a lot of exploding. Most of it in space, and then there's a spaceship crashing towards Earth but it doesn't because Kirk does something stupid and noble for the greater good.

*

Kirk: Bro, I made a life decision like you would've.

Spock: I see now how logic leads to death.

Kirk: Feels also lead to death.

Spock: All leads to death.

Kirk: I'm so glad we're bros and we saved our ship, bro.

Spock: SHERRRRRRRRRRLOCK!

*

Sherlock lost his really cool coat earlier so he like jets off to earth and steals another coat that's not as cool but it's nice enough. He and Spock have a fight over who is the more appealing emotionless character. Uhura helps Spock defeat Sherlock. Anyway, Sherlock's not dead—he's just sleeping. We all know that Sherlock never really dies. Neither does Kirk.

Then there's a speech and the movie is like SURPRISE SUCKERS WE'RE TOTALLY BACK ON THE TIMELINE OF THE ORIGINAL SERIES. Let us end with the speech that opens the TV show episodes!

And we all learned a lesson about FEELS and being bros and not trusting any character played by Benedict Cumberbatch or Peter Weller.

The End.

Teaser Tuesday

She didn’t say it to be an accusation, and he didn’t flinch at it. He kept his hands on his knees, where she could see them, and his eyes open. He had a trustworthy face, although she wouldn’t have said that upon meeting him. Maybe it was the angles, the edge of his cheekbones, that kept lies from getting close. 

Hello, Spring

This has been, as a friend said yesterday, a week with too many feels. It has been a week with a lifetime tucked inside it. 

I took a couple days off work and went out to the country to stay with a friend. It's a reciprocal state of her having company and me being in a removed environment from my day to day distractions that results in big chunks of words going in my draft. It was magnificent, even if I did do half my words when I got home, because I met my somewhat ambitious word goal.

Very late Thursday—actually, it was very early Friday—I had a moment when the world shifted from one reality to another. It was a dear, little thing that caused it—really, kindness exchanged for kindness—but the reality I woke up to was not the reality I said good night to. I love simple moments charged with meaning, and how they reorientate the world.

Then something else happened on Friday that left me searching for a word that means both disappointed and relieved. The word that conveys those emotions are happening at the same time—that they're twisted and twined together. Is it closure?

Spent this weekend with friends while we wandered different neighbourhoods. I love this city in the spring and the whole world of possibilities coming out of hibernation. I've been thinking about the plans we make, and how we pretend we know what the future looks like. More than that, we pretend we know what our ideal future will look like. We make goals without understanding anything about them; they sound like the right direction, a good destination, so we decide we want something without considering how we'll grow from the person we are to the person we'll become. We think "I want to do this, so my life will look like this, and it will happen in this way."

A year ago disappointment was a sharp-edged word; I kept cutting my hands on it while I reached for things. And reached. And reached. And reached. This week someone dulled those edges and I can hold it, examine it, and then release it.

There is a difference between giving up and letting go. Especially if you're relinquishing something that might feel galaxy-sized, but you realize it will free up space for what is the whole of the universe to you.

Is this about work? Yes, it is. Is this about writing? Oh, absolutely. This is about life. It's finally spring, so let's go live it.

My friend took this picture because it's AWESOME and the world could always use more of that.

Teaser Tuesday

        "I’ve told you that there is no Lord Barrington in this forest,” he said. “Only me.”

       "You would be Lord Barrington if you left this place.”

       The lantern caught his jaw, the faint shadow of stubble growing on it. It was a jaw strong as any hunter’s, and it was held firm against her words. 

       “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he said. “You can’t come here and exhume all my buried possibilities."

The Scorpio Races by Maggie Stiefvater

Last night I finished reading Maggie Stiefvater's The Scorpio Races. I had missed this book when it first released, and then just never gotten around to it. (And yes, several people have given me hell since finding out that I hadn't read it yet.) Most everyone would mention it and then ask me if I liked horses, to which I would conclude it was a book about horses and that didn't sound like something I wanted to read. Then someone clarified it was a book about horses that eat people, and I was like "whoa, I am all over that" because I love a monster story.

The Scorpio Races does have monsters in it, but it's not specifically a monster book. It's a story of people's wants, and the different ways that we grow up and move on. (It is also a book where horses eat people, and most certainly a book for people who love horses.) It's a book about myth and magic and tradition and how we live with them.  

More importantly, The Scorpio Races is beautifully atmospheric, it's a world built inside a book. Reading it reminded me of how to build a world—it's the details. The way characters think and feel and the food they eat and the words they use. World isn't just a town name or a map frontispiece, it permeates every scene. It is the way the air smells and how the birds sound and the color of the mud clinging to a character's shoes.

Sometimes I read a book, and the author has a talent for place... but they do nothing with the place. They create it and it's there, but it's all background. It never moves from atmosphere to solid ground beneath a reader's feet.

While I love Sean Kendrick and Puck Connolly, the main character of The Scorpio Races is Thisby, with its awful weather and hungry capaill uisce. It was so real, transcending mood and tone to become the only place where this book could have happened.

There was something beautifully Diana Wynne Jones-like about the story, from the subtle and perfect weaving of magic throughout to George Holly, who is basically the Chrestomanci. Seriously. He shows up and he's all "hello, I am a friendly and oddly well-dressed foreigner, so let me subtly comment on how you should fix your life then go make nice with this lady off camera." Ok, maybe he's the Doctor of the book. Either way, George Holly was an unending source of amusement. I don't know if I could've finished the book without him, because there were dark times in those pages and this was not the best week to be reading something with such a weight to it.

I could talk myself into relatively certainty that Sean and Puck would be alive by the end of the story, but I was always on the edge of horror that something awful might happen to Finn. (Maybe I've read too many Cassandra Clare books.) This is information I would share with people when I told them I was reading the book. "I'm very concerned for Finn." I supposed being an older sister, I could relate to Finn and Puck's relationship more than Gabe and Puck's.

But I'm glad I gave this book a chance and that I finished it, so I could feel that same sense I get after I read David Mitchell—the knowing that I've just put something of literary merit, something that I can learn from, into my head. Because now I want to take what I've learned and applied it to how I tell my own stories.

Now if I could just convince someone to make me November Cakes....

Never Wanted Your Love

If I were to search this blog, I could likely find several posts of how I loathe writing The Middle of a draft. I'm not going to search the blog, but I'm fairly certain they're there. The Middle is the part where I am convinced that nothing I've written makes any sense, but it's not the point where I throw it out and start all over again. (Which have done twice, and it was around 53,000-56,000 words in.)

Beginnings are easy, because I don't start writing a book until I know how it starts. Endings are easy because I know when I've gotten to the end. It's instinct. But The Middle? The Middle is a flashlight beam in the woods that only reveals a portion of the path at the time. Made worse by suspicious sounds coming from an ambiguously located but obviously nearby location.

I know when I'm in The Middle, because I started grumbling about how awful this was. I looked at my wordcount and judged it against what books by me usually total and went "oh, it's not the story. It's just The Middle." Then I remembered that there's a light novel sitting on my shelf and several finished manuscripts that each did their tour of duty in The Middle, and each came out the other side and found the end. This one will, too, and how ever awful it may be now... I'll just need to finish it. I can do something with a finished thing.

Surviving The Middle is learning to love the story, despite that it's not what I thought it was. It's when the story becomes the beginning of what—after significant revision—it's going to be.

Flaws

I meant to blog this about a week ago, but I've been on vacation doing a whole lot of reading and relaxing and it's like all the noise turned down enough to hear the signal. In other words, I have an ending for the worst first draft ever. (It's not the worst first draft ever, but it's headed into that gross bit known as The Middle when everything seems like the worst idea and probably will never actually get finished. When it's just easier not to bother, so it's that much more important to keep digging.) Anyway, the important bit is: I. Know. How. It. Ends.

This is Bastille's Flaws, which I found after listening to their new single Pompeii that Maggie Stiefvater shared on Twitter a while back. They have an album out. (At least in the UK.) I may have imported it despite not having bought a physical CD in probably three years. It's a deep mad love for this song, really. As you can see on the pinspiration board for this story, it's one of the theme songs. That's the truth of music and writing for me; until I find the soundtrack for the book, the songs that connect to who the characters are, I have a hard time getting anywhere with the draft. Many writers don't outline, but I have to know the ending so that I know it will end. An ending is what makes it a story instead of a collection of ideas bound together by thousands and thousands of words.