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alwaysbethewest · 1 year

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Triple Frontier fic: A Pilot for Christmas

It's @pedrostories Secret Santa day!! My assignment was for @frannyzooey, who requested domesticity, roommates-to-lovers, and fluff or smut 🥰 I had some of the most fun EVER writing this fic, so I hope it will make you smile, too, Kelli. Merry Christmas!! 🎄 Thank you to @mourningbirds1 and @fleetwoodmactshirt, both of whom I—not to be dramatic but—basically can't live without at this point, and at the very least couldn't have written this fic. And she's not a Pedro fan so I can't imagine she wants to be tagged in this, but thank you to my friend Alyssa for kindly helping me with one of the very few pieces of actual research I did for it.

Title: A Pilot for Christmas Pairing: Frankie Morales/f!Reader Rating: Mature Word Count: 4.8k Content/warnings: roommates to lovers, hot single dad Frankie, pining, yearning, lusting, questionable romance novel smut, compromising positions, sexual content, fade to black, food, domesticity. Unbetaed, so please let me know if you spot any typos/errors!

There’s a note for you on the kitchen table, written in Frankie’s even, boxy print: Mac + cheese + trees in fridge if you want some.

Your schedules never align on Wednesdays; your boss’s mandatory mid-week team meetings inevitably keep you late and Frankie is always on his way to Laura’s place by the time you get home. You haven’t met his ex-wife, but you think she must be nice enough since he’s usually in a good mood when he gets home from their weekly family dinners. They’re co-parenting, as he’d explained when you first moved in, and along with providing dinner on Wednesdays he does his part by taking their daughter on the weekends. He’s given you a break in the rent to make up for sharing your apartment with a three-year-old two days a week.

This is technically a sublet, and it’s technically temporary, but you get along well enough with Frankie that sometimes it feels a little like kismet. His old roommate had landed a contract overseas for a year just as you were moving to town, and a mutual friend had connected you. There are four months left on the contract, but you’d heard from the roommate recently that he was expecting the position to be renewed, so most likely you’ll get to stay longer if you want to. Nothing is official yet either way, and you’ve decided to give yourself another month before you start to worry about it.

Having the apartment to yourself once a week is the perfect opportunity to watch your favorite guilty pleasure TV shows without fear of male judgment—not that Frankie gets really rude about it but his silent raised eyebrow speaks volumes—and you happily warm up a bowl of macaroni and cheese and “trees” (broccoli; it turns out toddlers lose interest when you use the B-word) and settle in on the couch.

Living with Frankie has gone better than you’d feared it might. Knowing he was the friend of a friend of a friend had alleviated some of your anxiety about moving in with a stranger, and he’s turned out to be a mostly quiet, respectful roommate. After maintaining clear-cut boundaries for the first couple of weeks, you had both relaxed a little bit and settled into something of a shared routine. He likes to cook but doesn’t enjoy grocery shopping, so you often take his list along with your own to the store—and reap the rewards on nights like this when he keeps you well-fed. You both like to keep a tidy home, and neither of you minds the other person throwing in a few items when you’re doing a load of laundry. You’ve even mostly gotten over the embarrassment of the time Frankie had delicately handed you a pair of thong underwear he’d found trapped in the sleeve of one of his clean shirts. The barely-contained amusement on his face had haunted you for a full week.

When you’ve finished your dinner you pause the TV to go wash your bowl, and while you’re in the kitchen you take a few minutes to put away the dishes Frankie had left drying in the dish rack. It’s an easy symbiosis, you muse, a give-and-take that seems to suit you both. Underneath his note, you write back: Delicious!! Thank you, and sign it with a heart.

Most of the time your editing job allows you to maintain a reasonable work-life balance, but this month you’ve found yourself scrambling to get everything done before the upcoming holiday break. Your co-worker Deandra is off on an unexpected leave, and after taking on a share of her work on top of your own, the projects have started to form an intimidating pile. One Monday, two weeks before Christmas, you compromise your typical boundaries by logging back onto your laptop after dinner to work on a manuscript. Frankie is watching a game with the volume on low and it makes for comfortable background noise while you work from the opposite end of the couch.

Deandra’s specialty is romance, and while you’ve had to get used to covering a new genre, having some variety has been interesting. But a detail in this book is bothering you. You glance at Frankie, whose expression is quietly focused. His team is leading the scoreboard by a healthy margin. You don’t think he’ll mind a brief distraction.

“Hey. I could use your piloting expertise. Can I ask you a weird question?”

Frankie raises an eyebrow and shrugs his assent. “Go ahead.”

“Okay, so—is it logistically possible to have sex in a cockpit?”

You have his attention. He slowly turns his head to give you a long, wide-eyed look. After a moment of silence, he narrows his eyes, contemplating. “What kind of aircraft are we talking?”

“Like a regular… A commercial passenger plane?”

He nods, pursing his mouth and tilting his head up so he can gaze off into space, like he’s visualizing it. He glances at you again.

“Two people?” he checks.

“Two—yes, it’s—” he’s surprised you a little, and you fumble for words. “It’s not a cockpit orgy,” you tell him.

He laughs. “Pilots like to party,” he says opaquely, and now you’re the one narrowing your eyes at him, but he’s ignoring your questioning look. “Okay, is it possible? Theoretically, sure. Especially if the other person is short. Is it comfortable, though?” He pulls a face. “It wouldn’t be my choice. It’s a cramped space. Someone’s gonna end up hitting their head, or accidentally kicking the instrument panel, or…” he trails off, shaking his head in disapproval. “It’s… inadvisable.”

“Got it. Thank you.” You make some notes in the Word document on your screen, still internally recovering from his follow-up question, and Frankie turns his attention back to the TV, where the opposing team is starting to close the lead.

You’re no prude, but the genre you usually work in fades to black more often than not, and this author’s penchant for smutty detail has you feeling slightly in over your head. You’ve made it past the cockpit quickie but four chapters later Frankie’s team is on the cusp of winning their game and your protagonist is finally about to have her tall, dark, and handsome pilot love interest in a real bed.

“This love scene is… really something,” you comment. Frankie looks over in interest.

“Read it to me.”

“It’s dirty,” you warn him.

Frankie smirks. “I think I can handle it.”

You take a breath and start to read aloud from the page: “Isabella’s heart raced in excitement. Roderick was standing so close she felt as though his breath was entering her lungs with every inhalation. He took her hand and pressed her palm to himself, making her feel his turgid cock stirring in his pants—Obviously that needs to go—”

“Which part, the turgid cock?” Frankie asks. “I like it.”

“You like it?” you ask, incredulous.

“What?” he says. “A guy can’t enjoy a turgid cock now?”

“Jesus,” you laugh. Your face is starting to feel warm. “Isabella’s petite hand could barely fit around Roderick’s girthy length and it made her whimper with arousal. Roderick smirked down at her. ‘I can’t wait to be inside you,’ he rasped hungrily. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her flush against his body. ‘Tell me you want it,’ he growled.” You glance at Frankie and see he’s got one arm slung across his chest and the other hand resting at his mouth, thumbnail running distractedly over his lips. He’s staring at the TV without really watching it, and after a moment of silence he finally blinks and meets your eyes again.

“It’s weird you get to read porn for work,” he says dryly, and you bury your face in your hands and laugh.

When the game ends, Frankie switches on an episode of Star Trek that he seems to be half watching while he does something on his phone. On your laptop screen, Roderick has you stymied.

Roderick’s muscular arms tossed Isabella onto the bed like she weighed nothing. “Ohhh,” she moaned. “Give it to me.”

“Give you what, baby?” he rasped. “I want to hear you say it.”

“Give me—” Her pale cheeks blushed prettily. How could she say it out loud? But he was looking at her with such lust in his eyes that she knew he only wanted to make sure she was ready to turn herself over to him, to let him use her any way he liked. The thought of it made her shiver with anticipation. “Give me your cock, Roderick. Make me yours.”

With a growl from deep in his chest, Roderick dragged her hips down the bed so that she was balancing on the edge, where his body loomed over hers. Turning her onto her side, he leaned down to nose under her ear, nipping at the delicate skin of her neck and making her moan. His broad hand clutched her thigh, maneuvering her leg to tuck her knee around his hips, and his other hand he ran tantalizingly down her back until he reached her other thigh. He opened her legs, like an explorer unveiling the treasure he’d been seeking, and he straightened up, lifting her ankle to rest against his shoulder, and grinding his hard member against her core.

You go over the last few lines again, whispering the words under your breath to yourself as you try to picture the position. You feel like you need a diagram.

“I’m lost,” you declare.

Frankie glances up from his phone. “Hm?”

“I don’t understand where these limbs are going,” you tell him. “I don’t know if my brain just isn’t working because it’s 9 PM or if this passage needs rewriting. Or if this sex is too advanced for me.”

He laughs and makes a grabbing motion at your laptop. “Lemme see.”

You hand it over, standing up to stretch while he reads it to himself.

“‘He opened her legs like an explorer unveiling the treasure he’d been seeking,’” Frankie reads out dramatically. “Really?”

“Don’t get caught up in the simile,” you say. “Focus on the legs. Is that position even feasible? For someone who isn’t a contortionist?”

“Maybe in the next chapter they reveal she was raised in the circus,” he suggests, but he squints at the screen again, reading through the text. “I think I get it. It’s like—” He gestures with his arms, posing them to mimic Isabella’s legs. It’s borderline incomprehensible.

Later, you’ll blame the late hour and your overworked brain for what happens next. If you’d been running on all cylinders, you would have thought through the boundary-crossing implications of this and stopped yourself, but as it is you frown down at him and say, “Show me.”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on,” you urge him, already heading down the hallway to your bedroom. He hesitates, but then follows a few paces behind, and it’s then—the moment he crosses the threshold behind you—that your brain finally catches up to your actions and you begin to realize this was a terrible, terrible idea.

But somehow, coming up with an excuse to turn back feels more mortifying than plowing forward. You sit on the edge of the bed, trying to focus on the matter at hand. Frankie is hanging back, but you give him an expectant look and he takes a step towards you. He clears his throat softly.

“On your side,” he says. It shouldn’t sound like a command—he offers it gently, a reminder of the scene you’re playing out—but something inside you can’t tell the difference and you feel a spot deep in your core go hollow and needy. You turn, obediently, and lay on your right side. He touches the knee of your right leg, urging you to pull it forward.

“This leg around me.”

He steps into the crook of your knee, between your thigh and your calf, and looks down at your other leg, tucked awkwardly between your bodies.

“This is where it gets weird,” he says, and you laugh out loud. The sound dies out when you feel his fingers firmly wrap around your ankle and slowly maneuver your left leg, straight in front of you and then pivoting towards the ceiling. You feel the stretch in your hips, your body turning to follow so you’re halfway between your back and your side. It’s awkward, and he must see your face twist in discomfort, because he stops midway through the movement and rests your foot on his left shoulder. His body is solid and warm against the back of your leg.

“I think in the book it was over here,” he says, tapping his right shoulder. “So maybe she is a contortionist.”

“Or I need to do more Pilates,” you lament. He looks amused.

“Does this position even make sense? Would this work for you?” you ask him, regretting the question as soon as it’s left your mouth. He blinks down at you and his eyes rake down the length of your body to where you’re tangled around him. His hand is still resting over your ankle.

“Your bed is too low,” he says.

It’s—You’d meant the question in a more hypothetical sense. With some other partner, in some other scenario, would this position work? The knowledge that he has taken in the question and assessed the situation—looked at your two bodies in relation to each other, here, in your room, and thought about whether he could fuck you like this—makes you lose your breath.

“Plus—” he continues. He nudges at you to roll you onto your back, carefully lowering your foot from his shoulder so he’s standing between your open legs, nothing between you but empty space and a secret, aching want. He leans in, bracing his hands flat on either side of your body, not touching you but close enough he would only have to lean in. “I like to be able to kiss someone when I make love to them,” he says softly.

He shoots you a smile that could almost be a smirk as he stands up and heads out of the room, leaving you clutching the duvet cover as the world around you tilts on its axis.

It’s not like you’ve never noticed Frankie is attractive. Anybody could see that he is. He’s boyishly cute when he’s playing around with his daughter, their matching, dimpled smiles on display; smoldering when he gets cleaned up to go out on the town with the guys, if a little less runway-ready the morning after; and confusingly, unrecognizably handsome on the occasions he goes clean-shaven. But he’s been so firmly relegated to “platonic male roommate” status since you moved in that you’ve never, even for a second, thought about pursuing anything more. Lusting after your roommate can only end in awkwardness and moving boxes.

So discovering that the man you live with isn’t just good-looking, but has the ability to leave you wet and aching with desire, without even trying, has you looking at everything through a new lens.

On Tuesday, mid-morning, your phone lights up with a text from him. It’s a picture of a small plane cockpit interior, just two seats and a display of navigational instruments.

See how tight she is? he’s written.

You blink at your phone. SHE??

…

She = the plane. Sorry, pilot speak.

Mortifying. You nearly pull up the local apartment rentals page on Craigslist right then and there. You dive into your work instead—not Deandra’s romance, but the grisly thriller in your regular docket. Roderick and Isabella need to give you some space this week. It’s not them, it’s you—and the images of Frankie and you in compromising positions that had popped into your mind when you attempted to pick back up the draft.

He’s like a specter, haunting you.

Wednesday evening is your night with the apartment to yourself, and you’ve never been happier to be alone. He’s left you dinner, again, and you almost don’t eat it on principle—you’ll have to get used to feeding yourself, after all, once he kicks you out for making it too blatantly obvious you want to jump him.

But it would be an actual crime to pass up his enchiladas. You savor the plate. Maybe he’ll give you the recipe as a parting gift, if you ask nicely.

You pour yourself a glass of wine and catch up on one of your shows, and some of the tension you’ve been holding starts to drain from your body. But underneath is a familiar, restless energy buzzing through you, desperate for a different outlet, that you can’t ignore.

You go to bed early. What you need is just a little quality time with yourself, to reconnect and remind your body that you’re perfectly capable of satisfying it on your own—or with the no-strings-attached assistance of a vibrator.

It’s a valiant, miserable attempt. Every tried and true fantasy keeps rerouting back to Frankie. You turn your toy to its highest setting and the sensation still pales in comparison to the thrill of his fingers wrapped securely around your ankle, the line of his body pressed against your legs, and his low, deadly voice telling you how to move.

You go to sleep more frustrated than when you started, only to dream of him. He’s hovering over you, pressing you into the bed, his hot mouth on your neck and sucking on your tits and working his way down to eat you out and bring an orgasm crashing through you—and you wake up at 3 AM with your cunt throbbing between your legs.

One of the things you’ll miss most about this place when you inevitably have to move out due to your incurable roommate attraction is the in-unit washer and dryer. Perhaps in solidarity with your own resolve and self-control, the dryer abruptly breaks in the middle of the week.

“Do you want me to call the landlord, or will you?” you ask Frankie, but he immediately shakes his head.

“Let me take a look at it,” he says.

You bite down on the inside of your cheek.

Two hours and one trip to a hardware store later, he’s on his knees in front of the machine, working quietly save for an occasional soft grunt of exertion when he has to fit something into place.

There’s a bare strip of skin on display where his shirt has ridden up, and a black waistband peeking out from under his jeans. Your mind drifts, imagining away the denim and picturing how the tight boxer briefs would cup his ass and grip his muscular thighs, until your own thighs are clenching and you force yourself to go clean the kitchen instead.

“I’m moving out,” you call over your shoulder as you go.

“I promise I can fix it,” he says, like he thinks you’re just fed up with one broken appliance, not your own internal breakdown.

If only.

It’s 7 AM Friday and you’re fixing your coffee when Frankie ambles into the kitchen, bare-chested and barefoot and wearing nothing more than a pair of low-slung pajama bottoms. If you allowed yourself to look, you would see the soft curve of his modest belly and the sparse line of hair trailing down to disappear enticingly under his waistband. His voice is early morning-deep when he mumbles a good morning. His hand steadies casually on your wrist when he stands next to you to grab a mug from the cupboard just to your left, and you hope he can’t feel your pulse quicken under his touch. When his coffee is ready and he takes his first sip, he lets out a satisfied groan. You want to die.

“You must be doing this on purpose,” you say, dismayed.

He blinks at you over the rim of his coffee cup. “Doing what?”

You gesture helplessly, at his naked chest and effortlessly rumpled bedhead. “Just—being all—”

He glances down at himself, then back at you, raising an eyebrow. “Being all…?”

“Just—sexy, I guess,” you finally admit.

For a moment, he looks surprised. Then an amused smile spreads slowly over his face and he takes a step towards you, clever eyes taking in how your body straightens and your breath picks up.

“I didn’t realize it bothered you,” he says. “Didn’t you say you were going to move out, anyway?”

“I am,” you say. “I can’t stand you anymore.”

He takes another step closer.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “I could give you a reason to stay.”

You slump against the counter at your back, helplessly wanting him.

“Please,” you tell him.

He touches you carefully, one hand skimming your hip and the other on your arm. He cocks his head, looking skeptical.

“You really think I’m sexy?” he asks.

You nod miserably. “It’s torture.”

He laughs and you are desperately endeared by the way it makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, and the hint of a dimple peeking out under his beard.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he says, and he leans in, and the touch of his lips to yours makes you feel like you’re floating, like your body might drift up to the sky if not for his sturdy frame anchoring you in place. Like your legs might give out, sending you sliding to the floor, except that he’s pressing close enough now that his body is touching yours, bending you back just enough to easily reach, and his hand has crept up from your arm to wrap around the back of your neck, holding you securely even as he finally pulls his mouth away, leaving you breathless and dazed.

You think you understand the overwrought prose of Deandra’s romances now.

“I can’t stand you either,” he says quietly. “You were torturing me the other night, with all the dirty talk from that book and then making me go to your room. Christ.”

“Sorry,” you say, not really meaning it. You’ve never felt this intoxicated this early in the morning. You’ve never looked into his eyes this close up. They’re a rich, deep brown that you feel halfway hypnotized by.

He glances away and must spot the microwave clock, because he pulls away with a look of regret. “I need to get ready for work.”

“Take a sick day,” you suggest.

He smiles ruefully and shakes his head. “I can’t,” he says. “But what would you do if I did?

You take a deep breath. Your eyes drop to his waist, and you touch your fingertips gingerly to the soft skin on display there. You lift your gaze to meet his own.

“I’d ask you to take me to bed,” you tell him.

He forces himself to leave. You watch his fingers clenching as he turns away, closing around the empty air as though he wishes it was you.

You go to your own room on unsteady legs and finish getting ready for work, thinking of Frankie’s mouth for your entire commute and almost missing your exit as a result. This time, opening Roderick and Isabella’s romance is a whole new kind of torture, and you end up claiming a headache by 3 o’clock to go home early, not caring if your boss can see through the lie.

Getting home early means you have plenty of time to shower and shave and moisturize with intent this time instead of your regular lazy girl morning routine. You’re soft and smooth and clean, in the kitchen making a snack of crackers and cheese to distract your anticipatory nerves, when Frankie comes home.

He gives you a small, familiar smile and sets a grocery bag on the counter between the two of you.

“You pick which comes first,” he says, nodding to the bag. He steals a cracker off your plate while you peer inside.

He’s brought you two pints of Ben & Jerry’s and one box of condoms.

“All the essentials,” you observe, and he grins. You pluck the condoms out of the bag and hand them to him meaningfully. His smile turns a little sly and he leans in and kisses you, too briefly for your liking, before pulling away again.

“I have to take a quick shower,” he says. “Wait for me?”

You let out a sigh, turning to put away the ice cream. “Don’t take too long,” you joke, gesturing to the pints. “I’ve got two other men waiting for me.”

“Ha, ha,” he says, already halfway down the hall.

Out of the shower, he comes to you with damp hair curling softly around his head, dressed simply in a navy t-shirt and dark grey sweatpants, and looking so good you think you might combust. After a moment of flirtation—your room or mine?—you finally find yourself in his bedroom. He leans in to kiss you and he takes his time this time, cupping your face in his large hand, teasing gently at your mouth, sliding his tongue along yours to deepen the kiss. When he pulls away to trace his lips down your jawline, you take a breath to steady yourself—and then squint in confusion. There’s a familiar scent in his hair.

“Is that—did you use my shampoo?”

He goes still for a moment, caught, and then laughs.

“Mine ran out,” he admits, a little sheepishly. He pulls in closer, nosing at your neck. “Yours is nicer, anyway. I always like how it smells on you.”

“We can share,” you say generously. “I’ve never been one of those roommates who labels all their shit.”

“Good,” he murmurs, mouth hot against your collarbone. “‘Cause I also ate your leftovers.”

You make a sound of exasperation and he tackles you to the bed, promising apologetically that he’ll make it up to you. And then proceeds to do so.

Very thoroughly.

You awaken to find a note on the pillow next to you, in Frankie’s familiar printed handwriting: Going to pick up Baby M. See you soon.

You give yourself a minute to luxuriate in his bed, enjoying the calm, satiated feeling in your body, and the warm scent of him in the sheets, and then you straighten up his bedding and scurry back to your own room to get dressed before he arrives home with his daughter. You’re just pulling your shirt over your head when you hear their voices in the living room, and you go out to greet them. He’s juggling a Starbucks tray in one hand along with his keys and her travel bag. She’s munching contentedly on a snack and doing her part by carrying her favorite stuffed seal plushie.

Over her head, he shoots you a warm, intimate smile. You feel a giddy thrill bubble up in your chest and you grin back at him.

“We made a coffee run,” he says, nodding to the drinks. “Someone wanted a cake pop.” The toddler tips her face up to offer a beatific, icing-smudged smile. Frankie sets her bag on the couch and leads the three of you into the kitchen.

“That one is yours,” he tells you, pointing to one of the cups. Then, to her, “You want some real breakfast, mija?”

You look at the label on the drink and your jaw drops in surprise. “How did you know London Fogs are my favorite?”

He shrugs, like it’s not a big deal, but you catch a self-satisfied smile on his face as he turns away. “I notice things.”

He keeps a platonic distance while his daughter is in the kitchen but when she leaves to go put her stuffed animal away in her room, he pulls closer, nudging your hand with his. “You alright?” he murmurs.

You rub your thumb across his knuckles. “I’m really, really good.”

“I convince you not to move out?” he asks. You pretend to think about it.

“Almost. I think you could tip the balance if you make me some eggs.”

He clicks his tongue in affirmation. “Got it.”

Later, when the three of you have settled at the breakfast table with piles of fluffy scrambled eggs and buttered toast, his face changes like he’s just remembered something.

“Hey, how did that book end up, with Roderick and what’s-her-name?” he asks you, taking a sip of his coffee. “You never mentioned it after Monday night.”

You haven’t actually made it to the end yet, but you already know the answer.

“They lived happily ever after,” you tell him. “It’s a staple of the genre. The couple always has a happy ending.”

“Huh,” he says. He gives you a small, private smile, and taps his foot against yours, out of sight under the table. “That’s good to hear.”

#pedrostoriesgift22 #pedrostories #my fic #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal #triple frontier #francisco morales

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reluctantjoe · 5 months

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‘Baddies are my new type’: Mathew Baynton on Ghosts, Wonka and wicked villains

He is about to say goodbye to his role in beloved spectral sitcom Ghosts. But dastardly turns in Wonka and the a festive Agatha Christie drama suggest the actor’s future is bright – if somewhat nefarious

“I feel like I’m moving into really wanky territory now,” says Mathew Baynton, looking a little anxious. We are talking about Ghosts, the much-loved comedy about a gaggle of spirits consigned to spend the afterlife in a crumbling country mansion, which Baynton co-writes and in which he plays a deceased Regency poet. After a triumphant five seasons, Ghosts officially breathed its last in October – except there’s now a Christmas episode on its way. (Last year’s Christmas special drew 5.9 million viewers, making it the BBC’s biggest comedy of 2022.)

When I ask Baynton what it is about Ghosts that struck a chord with viewers, he worries he might sound pretentious. “But here goes,” he says. “I have learned that, as a writer, you don’t always know what you’re writing. There are the quite boring times where you have an idea and it comes out as you imagined, and there’s no mystery in that process. But when it’s exciting, you have an idea and it leads you to places you don’t expect.”

With Ghosts, he and his co-writers initially imagined hundreds of spirits haunting Button House, which would have allowed them to tell different stories with a new set of characters each week. “But when we looked at the taster tape we made, we all went: ‘Hang on, there’s something much richer here,’” Baynton continues. “We realised it was a show about people being stuck together, potentially in eternity, and how they find ways to get along. All of which is to say that I’m enamoured with Ghosts too because, right from the get-go, we had absolutely no idea what it would become.”

Baynton, who is 43, is talking from his study at home in north London where he lives with his partner, the film historian and film-maker Kelly Robinson, and their two children. He is self-effacing and thoughtful, choosing his words carefully and, at intervals, wondering if he could be expressing himself better. “I think it’s partly the writer in me,” he says, “but I do come away from conversations thinking how I’d like to rewrite things I’ve said.”

As an actor, Baynton has cornered the market in ultra-sensitive men who walk a fine line between pathos and silliness. Along with his lovelorn poet in Ghosts, there was his turn as a Victorian psychiatrist in 2017’s Quacks, who masterminds a new treatment for patients called “talking”; his lute-playing bard in the 2015 film Bill, about the early life of Shakespeare (“London is not going to know what hit it!”); and good Samaritan Sam in The Wrong Mans (2013-14), which he co-wrote and starred in alongside James Corden.

But this winter heralds a new set of projects that Baynton has dubbed “my Christmas of villainy”. In Murder Is Easy, based on the Agatha Christie novel about a spate of killings in a sleepy English village, he plays a doctor who, he says, “is an awful person with some very awful views”. Next year brings A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder, based on Holly Jackson’s bestselling YA novel, in which a young true-crime enthusiast investigates a five-year-old murder case; Baynton can’t reveal too much, although he confirms his character is a far cry from the puppy-eyed romantics for which he is known. And in the Charlie and the Chocolate Factory prequel, Wonka, released in cinemas earlier this month, he plays the devious Fickelgruber, Wonka’s Brylcreemed rival in the confectionery business.

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Baynton can’t account for this sudden pivot into treachery beyond the fact that “a few [casting directors] had the same idea at the same time … Acting is strange like that. You do one notable thing early on and you are put on a track that for 10 years that can be hard to get off. Perhaps baddies are my new type.”

Wonka was co-written by his friend and Ghosts compadre Simon Farnaby (who also co-wrote Paddington 2) and was filmed at Warner Bros Studios in Hertfordshire. For Baynton, it “felt like you were with the same kids but in a plush playground … Even though you’re working with this huge Hollywood star [Timothée Chalamet, who plays Wonka] and you’re on a set that probably cost the same as an entire series of Ghosts, it’s still a comedy with a big heart, so for me it felt like home.”

Baynton and Farnaby first came together on the set of Horrible Histories, the anarchic children’s sketch show that recreated history’s most ludicrous and bloodthirsty moments, alongside Martha Howe-Douglas, Jim Howick, Laurence Rickard and Ben Willbond. Shortly after it finished its decade-long run, the six of them wrote the madcap puppet comedy Yonderland, largely because “we couldn’t bear that we weren’t going to get together for more mucking about in front of the camera”. This was followed by Bill, and, four years later, Ghosts. They have even given themselves the collective name Them There, mostly for production credits, though “no one actually calls us that”. Aren’t they more Britcom’s answer to the Brat Pack? “I don’t know about that,” Baynton says, bashfully, “though it depends on which of them you think I am.”

The youngest of three children, Baynton grew up in Southend on a diet of sea air and his dad’s Monty Python cassettes. He reckons being lowest in the pecking order at home contributed to his desire to perform and be noticed. In his teens, he went through a morose period during which he was overtaken by self-consciousness, but then he discovered theatre via a production of Bruno Schulz’s The Street of Crocodiles by Theatre de Complicité “which moved me to tears in ways I couldn’t understand and ignited something in me. I knew I wanted to be in that world in some way.”

Baynton went on to drama school, where he studied directing, but when he got there he realised acting was his calling. He spent a summer as assistant to Cal McCrystal, then director of the physical theatre group Peepolykus, who pushed him to join in with improv games. Later he went to Paris to study under the renowned clown Philippe Gaulier, which cemented his love of slapstick. Upon returning home, McCrystal gave him his first break on the stage in a production of Joe Orton’s Loot.

But it was Horrible Histories that really opened doors for Baynton, both as an actor and writer. On being offered the job, he nearly turned it down, fearing that he might get stuck doing nothing but children’s TV, but his agent persuaded him to take the job by telling him: “No one will see it.” In a talk last year at the Oxford Union, Baynton remarked how, were they making it today, they would do certain things differently, such as not using white actors in tanning makeup to portray Egyptians.

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“I think it’s important that we examine where the line is [around portrayals of other cultures],” he says now. “It’s a murky area where intention sometimes doesn’t match reception. Certainly, no one had bad intentions making Horrible Histories and none of us at that time, in the culture as it was, hesitated and thought: ‘Hang on, maybe I shouldn’t play an Egyptian.’ But times have changed and I would hesitate now.”

If the odd Horrible Histories sketch hasn’t aged well, it is worth observing the sensitivity and inclusivity that runs through Ghosts. Baynton notes how throwing together characters from different historical periods allowed them to “highlight wrongful attitudes and interrogate how they had arrived at them. At one point, there’s a gay wedding at Button House and [the ghost of] Lady Button is appalled and goes on this journey in which she faces her own homophobia. When we were writing that story, it felt like I was having a conversation with my homophobic nan.”

Baynton is content moving between acting and writing, not least because “if I’m between acting jobs, it means I get to dream up new projects for myself and my friends”. Keen to avoid any signs of egotism as his career soars, Baynton keeps his feet on the ground by recalling the “pure dystopian hell” of his time as a school leaver working in a call centre. There, every second of the day was monitored and he was once upbraided by a manager for taking too many toilet breaks. “So when I’m on set in a scratchy costume or I’m feeling a bit tired and thinking what a terrible time I’m having,” he says, “I remember that time, and what a privilege it is do what I do.”

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throatofdelusionincarnate · 2 months

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Would.

Hi Scarlet Hollow nation, I’m being completely normal about Dr. Joan Kelly I promise (I’m lying)

I want to make it clear that I don’t condone her actions. She is a horrible woman who caused irreversible trauma to her son and she should be held accountable for it. People do insane things when they are scared and I think that’s especially true for her. I know a lot of people are like “If Reese was my son I would figure out coping methods to prevent him from becoming a monster.” And sure! Maybe you would! But logically, I think watching your virgin birth child’s bones crack and reform would psychologically fuck you up. ESPECIALLY when it mainly happens when he’s mad. Like!! Imagine telling your son no to staying up late and he morphs into a creature that can easily overpower you and kill you because he’s unreasonably pissed. We don’t know what Reese was like in those three other instances. While he’s generally just kinda depressed now, we’ve seen first hand how his emotions take over when he’s angry.

And don’t come at me. I know that Reese becoming a monster is a metaphor for neurodivergence and mental illness! I also love his character and could write a novel on him because I think he’s great! However, within the physical world of Scarlet Hollow, he literally transforms into like an 8 foot tall monster who can unhinge his jaw and murder people. While from our perspective, it may be something to examine and find the symbolism in, from the Scarlet Hollow perspective he is akin to a massive predator with magical powers.

I just think it’s important to recognize that Joan is also a victim of the horrible town of Scarlet Hollow. The methods which she uses to survive are NOT ok. Again, i want to make it clear that I DONT condone her poisoning her son. Still, I can see why she felt the need to do what she did. She is a complicated character, as are all of the Scarlet Hollow NPCs.

Back to being silly now! I also like her because she’s hot and I would let her commit acts of medical malpractice on me <3

#scarlet hollow #dr kelly #joan kelly #dr joan kelly #reese kelly #a bit of a rant #scarlet hollow game #would #awooga #i will always try to give up my years if it means I can flirt with her #tehehehe #mwah !#murph monologues

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 4 months

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Will we never see the day the Harkles get what they deserve rumour tracking anon? I'm losing faith and I'm really tired. They are saved from all those scandals that demand their answer just with this one incident. I cannot anymore

I know, anon. It's really frustrating to see them keep getting away with it, almost as if they're constantly rewarded for bad behavior.

Some things that have helped me (bolding for emphasis to break up the giant chunks of text):

Taking breaks. Just walk away from it. A day, a weekend, a week. There isn't a whole lot happening in the BRF to counteract the Sussex shenanigans so Harry and Meghan are dominating the news There are no tiara or glam events. No tours/foreign visits. No projects being announced. 3 out of 7 senior royals are on medical leave and the ones who are working don't generate the same kind of headlines, attention, or coverage. Take a break from all this - maybe do a deep dive into another royal family or read historical books about the BRF (especially ones that pre-date the modern House of Windsor) or non-text books (like Angela Kelly's books or Chris Jackson's photobooks).

Spend time pursuing a creative hobby. I find that doing something creative helps keep my mind from wandering to the Sussexes and the nothingness coming from the BRF too often. Some of my creative pursuits: baking and cooking new recipes, DIY and craft projects (I love going to Goodwill, thrift stores, and architectural salvage places for home decor and furniture. Also, I'm not saying you need to pledge allegiance to Catherine, The Princess of Wales in every aspect of your life, but I'm also not not saying that Kate's Ring is an excellent accent color for an end table), learning how to make craft cocktails (it was a pandemic thing), and organizing decades and decades of family photos.

What I also find a cathartic is fanfiction writing. I've had dreams of being a writer since I was Princess Charlotte's age but listen. I cannot stick to a plot for the life of me, because I always want to know "what happens next." But let me tell you. It is hugely cathartic to write a fanfiction novel where a Meghan-like evil witch gets everything she deserves and a Harry-like tortured prince is redeemed by the pure love of an ordinary American girl (okay, that one was pre-Oprah before we all learned how truly messed up Harry is) or where a revenge fantasy where a Harry-like spoiled brat loses everything when he treats his saintly Kate-like girlfriend abominably and when he tries to win her back, she's fallen in love with a Henry Cavill-like swashbuckling Real Man or where the Harry-and-Meghan-like entitled spoilt prince and his wife try to overthrow the saintly and universally loved heir but the Queen swiftly, immediately, justly, and properly handles them with eviction, termination, and worldwide embarrassment. You can do everything to your characters and you can make them suffer in a way the real Harry and Meghan may never.

Find trashier, more trainwreckier drama to get stuck in. Bravo, anyone? A new season of Vanderpump Rules has just started, Summer House is about to start, and two of the villains from OG Vanderpump Rules (Jax and Kristen) have a spinoff series that's about to launch.

Changing your perspective. There's a famous leadership quote about problem-solving: How do you eat an elephant? One bite at a time. In other words, you have to take big things (big problems) one at a time, piece by tiny piece. So yes, the big "elephant" is that the Sussexes look like they have everything - they still have titles, they still have massive million-dollar deals, they've got the Olive Garden, the BRF isn't stopping their PR. But also look at everything they don't have anymore:

They can't use their HRHs.

Their RPOs were taken away.

Their royal charities and patronages were taken away.

Charles isn't paying them as much money, if he's even paying for them.

Everyone is blaming them for hastening Philip's and The Queen's deaths.

They were evicted from Frogmore Cottage.

It took six months for the palace website to add Prince/Princess titles to Archie and Lili but it was instanteous to change George, Charlotte, and Louis to "of Wales."

Charles calls them "Harry and Meghan" or "my other son and his wife."

The family doesn't want to be seen with or around them. Even Eugenie seems to have abandoned ship these days.

William isn't taking Harry's calls.

Lili doesn't have a webpage on the royal website.

Harry's military titles and honors have been revoked. All he has left is the merit-based rank he "earned" as an enlisted soldier. (Which is being generous.)

Their Spotify deal was cancelled early. (Scobie admits this in Endgame.)

No more social media birthday greetings/shout-outs from official royal accounts.

Nothing has come out of Netflix except a whinefest docuseries that no one has taken seriously. Everything they've pitched gets shot down and Meghan isn't getting the talent she wants for her movie.

The only awards they're getting are the ones that they pay for - no Grammys for Spare's audiobook, no Emmys or Golden Globes for their documentaries or the Oprah interview, no Pulitzers or Literary Awards for their books. No Nobel Peace Prize for their recordbreaking humanitarian aid work.

They got the knockoff Kennedys (William got the real ones).

Meghan isn't "in" with A-List Hollywood. The celebrities she's been namedropping haven't had commercial box office hits in at least a decade. She isn't hosting or presenting at award shows.

Meghan isn't getting the lucrative influencer sponsorships and merching she wants, which is why she papwalks in parking lots.

Their foundation is a joke and their philanthropy/giving is increasingly under scrutiny for things that don't make sense.

Their "good deeds" are actually ulterior motives designed for maximum PR and celebrity bandwagons, rather than actually helping underserved communities.

There is actual, open, frequent speculation that their children aren't even real and that has to hurt as a parent.

The British press doesn't take them seriously.

They're a comedy punchline, and not just for satire. The Golden Globes made fun of them. The whole world laughed at them after the "car chase."

Harry's lawsuits aren't going well. He's now trying to relitigate a court finding so he doesn't have to pay his fines.

Elton John isn't flying them anywhere anymore. Oprah and Gayle have cut ties. Ellen DeGeneres seems disinterested. Tyler Perry noped out.

Harry's balding is atrocious. (I mean, really. In the overhead camera angles of The Queen's funeral, his bald spot jumps out at you from a mile away. Not even William's bald head stands out that much.)

They/Archewell bleed staff faster than a flesh wound.

Andrew -- ANDREW! -- still has a royal residence, still has RPOs, still gets papped with members of the royal family, still gets friendly press coverage (on occasion), still gets to wear/use some of his honors (like the RVO at coronation).

Eugenie got to have her own personal social media while Harry and Meghan got a "business" account.

The Sussex wedding was overshadowed by so much drama that still persists to this day (thanks for the Markle v Markle lawsuit, Sam!).

Spare made everyone realize Harry is as bad as Meghan and it's not all on her.

Harry's "Hero Harry"/Queen's Soldier PR persona has been completely and thoroughly shattered. Everyone knows it was just a publicity facade now.

Harry isn't even getting the "William's brother" edit anymore - that's now Mike Tindall.

They were erased from most of the Platinum Jubilee - their only official event was the service of thanksgiving. They didn't even get Trooping - Meghan had to arrange for a pap to take her picture to show us they were at Trooping.

They were erased from the Coronation - Harry got lumped in with the extended family (vs the line of succession, order of precedence, or working royals) and didn't get into any of the official programs, memorabilia, or portraits.

They've been shunned by most of British aristocracy - no invite to the Grosvenor wedding later this year.

No royal christening for Lili, and it's exceedingly more and more likely that the BRF hasn't met her yet.

The British media/press actually shows up and will be the first to defend the BRF against Sussex allegations when it really matters.

There are accusations of stolen valor against Harry because he seems to be supporting American military more than British military.

Harry's African charities, of which he is the figurehead, are in crisis with the discovery of SA and other allegations.

Supposedly Harry's role with BetterUp has been downgraded/demoted.

Invictus Games is going through some serious money issues. There's talk of cutting Harry and Meghan loose because they aren't/can't fundraise, and you know they won't go down swinging.

I'm sure there are more, but my point is that even though it looks like the Sussexes are getting away with things, they really haven't. after all, it's death by a thousand cuts...or eating an elephant piece by tiny piece -- it builds up over time.

Also I just realized that the Kate's Ring paint chip linked up earlier shows it being more of a teal or an inkier blue. It isn't - it's more of a cobalt blue or a royal blue.

#ask #brf #sussexes

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intothemultifandom · 2 years

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in spite of what critics are saying about the last few episodes of the the walking dead’s 11th and final season, there were a few things that just hit different especially with the finale:

SPOILERS FOR TWD “REST IN PEACE” 11.24!!

daryl barricading judith in the hospital the same way shane did to rick in 01x01 – like father, like daughter and even brother because he also carried her the same way rick carried carl when he got shot

actually, daryl carrying judith into the hospital to save her life vs how he carried beth out after she was killed. the FEAR he must’ve felt given the last time he carried someone in/out from the hospital.

any scene between them + carol (keeping this short bc i can write a whole novel about their scenes)

luke dying & being comforted by magna, yumiko, connie & kelly (his og group) during his final moments; even though he wasn’t seen for most of the season, dan folger’s acting + that of nadia hilker, eleanor matsuura, lauren ridloff & angel theory was TOP-TIER

people always die in twd, but up until luke, the newish members of the group didn’t really suffer a sudden and harsh loss like the group from earlier seasons until now

that’s why his death + the group’s raw grief hit different when you consider how this is the first time we’ve seen them have to mourn one of their own so suddenly and with walkers literally banging on their doors

the team up of eugene porter & gabriel stokes = the two characters who, at one point of the story, were the weakest and most cowardly members of the group. i mean, the parallels of how they started vs. how they ended are insane:

eugene, who lied to abraham and rosita about knowing how to cure the infection almost making himself a martyr by telling the truth about the common wealth’s corruption, and

gabriel, who locked his congregation outside his church to die being the first to open the gates for everyone even when pamela’s people had their guns pointed at him

if twd did anything right, it was the development of these two characters

even if i didn’t know christian serratos chose rosita’s ending, i still would’ve thought she had a fitting end as one of the original (and last) big hitters for rick’s group on the road

it wasn’t painful and gory like abraham or glenn, shocking like sasha’s or even bittersweet like carl’s in the midst of war– rosita dies a dignified and otherwise peaceful death after all the bloodshed is said & done

she sees her people are safe, knows her daughter’s in good hands and finally lays to rest after fighting on the frontlines for so long

even with her gone, her final interaction with eugene at her side really cements that he is her and abraham’s legacy because “i’m glad it was you at the end”

(someone make baby rosie looking up to older coco because her mom was her namesake + uncle eugene canon right now)

this post-war celebration dinner mirroring the what-if dream dinner from 7x01 about what could’ve been (credit to this article for the pic: here) also makes rosita’s death so poignant to me because negan had likened the dream as something that wouldn’t ever happen

it’s not the same exact group and it wasn’t exactly her dream, but the sentiment remains the same

in the end, peace was possible for the alexandrians after all & i’m so glad rosita got to see this before she went & re-joined the others who are no longer at the table

negan & maggie now established as two sides of the same coin: motives, beliefs and and now shared trauma of being unable to stop their partner from being killed (or almost killed, in negan’s case) as they’re about to start a family

maggie was never going to forgive him for what he did, but that in itself gives so much more substance to their spin-off and i can’t wait to see it happen

rick “we are the walking dead” grimes + michonne “it’s true. forever” grimes – welcome back.

#the walking dead #twd #season finale #episode 24: rest in peace #twd 11x24 #the walking dead spoilers #twd spoilers #rick grimes #rosita espinosa #eugene porter #gabriel stokes #yumiko #magna #luke #connie #daryl dixon #judith grimes #negan #maggie

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yvesdot · 1 year

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Can ChatGPT Do My Job? Initial Musings on AI

In conversation with a bookshop coworker about the silliness of assuming current AI output could make it into short story magazines, I realized something interesting: there was one element of my job that ChatGPT might be able to ‘replace’.

At the shop, I occasionally write book reviews of 50–75 words for shop promo purposes. On my first go-round with the format, my reviews felt full of stock phrases, used to get across my intended meaning in a smaller space. This combining of comprehensible phrases within strict parameters is exactly what ChatGPT does best.

So, could ChatGPT write my book reviews for me?

Some samples of my book reviews, all available on my GoodReads:

Detransition, Baby by Torrey Peters

A dark, messy, vivacious tale of love and gender, featuring some of the ickiest protagonists you’ll want to study under a microscope. Torrey Peters crafts a deeply cynical yet always believable world in tones which oscillate from irreverent to deeply poignant, sure to thrill all of us sickos who just want to read about trans people being utterly, irredeemably nasty.

Big Tree by Brian Selznick

Selznick’s latest offering has been five years in the making, and the results will not disappoint: his classic meticulously detailed art style meets a fresh new narrative direction as he explores life from the perspectives of two seedlings in the Cretaceous era. Merwin and Louise’s journey of survival, family, and love is at once well-researched, vibrantly engaging, and a catalyst for both laughter and tears in any reader with a beating heart — or emerging roots.

We Do What We Do in the Dark by Michelle Hart

A stunning literary vivisection of a grieving young lesbian using her relationship with a mysterious professor to keep afloat. Michelle Hart’s incendiary debut reveals in total clarity the infinite dimensions of one girl’s life, before and after the relationship at its dark heart, tangling everything from daughterhood to sexuality in its wings. A glittering, underrated must-read.

White Cat, Black Dog: Stories by Kelly Link

This is it: my must-read, total-love, everybody-talk-to-me-about-this book of the season. Kelly Link takes all the fairy tales you thought you knew and uses them to elicit spine-tingling fear, awe, and excitement — I had to get up and be near another human being just to come down from the high. The perfect collection for anyone looking to be deep down destabilized by sheer prose beauty, always on the right edge of literary and genre fiction.

(For the record, I now feel quite satisfied with these reviews.)

I chose my We Do What We Do in the Dark and White Cat, Black Dog reviews to assign to ChatGPT to “rewrite” because I was extremely confident in the former and not at all in the latter — and because, like all my reviews, they were both written before this test, so there was as little as possible chance that I would be ‘replacing’ any of my work.

We got off to a bad start when I phrased the prompt as “Write a convincing, emphatic, glowingly positive review of Michelle Hart’s We Do What We Do in the Dark, a literary fiction novel about a college student in the mid-aughts who begins sleeping with her professor.” Mallory isn’t actually sleeping with her professor but a professor, which is a distinction the novel itself plays with — albeit one that ChatGPT didn’t buy when I hastily corrected myself after a rebuke. Ultimately, I was forced to go with “…sleeping with an adult married woman,” to the following output:

Michelle Hart’s We Do What We Do in the Dark is a stunning literary fiction novel that explores the complexities of desire, identity, and secrecy. Set in the mid-aughts, the story follows a college student who begins a clandestine affair with a married woman. Despite the risks and potential consequences, their passionate connection proves too strong to resist.

Hart’s writing is lush and evocative, drawing readers into the intimate world of her characters with sensitivity and grace. Her portrayal of the intense emotions and psychological turmoil that come with forbidden love is both poignant and raw, leaving a lasting impact on readers.

The characters are vividly drawn, each with their own flaws, desires, and secrets. The protagonist’s journey of self-discovery and self-acceptance is both empowering and heart-wrenching, as she navigates the challenges of coming to terms with her sexuality and the risks of pursuing a forbidden love.

Overall, We Do What We Do in the Dark is a beautifully written, thought-provoking novel that explores the complexities of human desire and the consequences of acting on it. Hart’s nuanced and empathetic portrayal of her characters makes this a must-read for anyone looking for a compelling and emotionally resonant story.

When asked to rewrite its work between 50–75 words:

Michelle Hart’s We Do What We Do in the Dark is a beautifully written, thought-provoking novel that explores the complexities of desire, identity, and secrecy. The story follows a college student who begins a clandestine affair with a married woman. Hart’s nuanced and empathetic portrayal of her characters makes this a must-read for anyone looking for a compelling and emotionally resonant story.

Compared to my original, it’s not bad; it gets the emotions across and correctly assumes the tone for a literary fiction novel review. Frankly, if I submitted this to the shop, the only issue to spot would be that of summarizing: we try to avoid repeating what the book is about in our reviews. Cutting that line, it’s a nice, if short, review of a little under 50 words. (Though I miss my vivisection.)

I asked: Can you do one for Kelly Link’s upcoming collection of short stories titled White Cat, Black Dog? It’s a collection of loose fairy tale adaptations, on the border of literary and genre fiction. Each story is illustrated by Shaun Tan. Please also keep it between 50 and 75 words :)

ChatGPT:

Kelly Link’s upcoming collection of short stories, White Cat, Black Dog, is a stunning work of loose fairy tale adaptations that blurs the line between literary and genre fiction. Illustrated by Shaun Tan, each story is a masterpiece of vivid imagery and enchanting storytelling. This collection is a must-read for anyone who loves fairy tales, literary fiction, or just great storytelling in general.

Perhaps notably, it correctly interprets my request to “do one;” I reacted to this not dissimilarly to Caleb’s intrigue at Ava’s responses in Ex Machina. It understands ambiguous phrasing! How novel!

And, of course, it did a great job writing its review. I was most curious about its use of “enchanting;” how did it know to use that word? So I asked for its “thought process.” ChatGPT told me:

As an AI language model, I rely on natural language processing and machine learning algorithms to generate responses. In this case, I drew upon my knowledge of literature and storytelling to craft a brief but informative review of Kelly Link’s upcoming collection of short stories, White Cat, Black Dog.

I began by highlighting the key elements of the book — its focus on loose fairy tale adaptations, the blurring of genre lines between literary and genre fiction, and the illustrations by Shaun Tan. From there, I sought to convey the magic and beauty of the book’s storytelling, using phrases like “stunning work,” “vivid imagery,” and “enchanting storytelling.” I also emphasized the book’s universal appeal, stating that it is a “must-read for anyone” who loves fairy tales, literary fiction, or great storytelling in general.

Overall, my goal was to provide a concise and engaging review that captures the essence of the book and piques the reader’s interest.

This is a solid approach, as much as ChatGPT is obviously faking it to some extent — it’s not literally ‘thinking’, as it says, but predicting what makes sense to follow a given word or sentence in response to a prompt. Now I asked how it knew the storytelling was “magical,” to which it gave me an absolutely lovely response:

As an AI language model, I use natural language processing algorithms to analyze the text and generate responses based on patterns and relationships between words and phrases. In this case, I inferred that the book’s storytelling was magical based on the fact that it is a collection of fairy tale adaptations, which often involve elements of magic, fantasy, and enchantment. Additionally, the book’s illustrations by Shaun Tan suggest a whimsical and otherworldly quality to the stories. Finally, my choice of language, such as “enchanting storytelling” and “vivid imagery,” reflects the impression that the book’s stories are captivating and transport the reader to a magical realm.

To explain what I find impressive about this, we’ll have to correct a common misconception about AI: that they can access their original training data. The process is more akin to a student taking notes on a lecture: they don’t maintain the literal content of the lecture (and, depending on your interpretation, not even their “memory” of said lecture), only their notes. This is what they work from.

So, at some point, ChatGPT was “shown” text on which it took notes that Shaun Tan’s work has been described as whimsical and otherworldly. It extrapolated from there that new projects from him would likely share these qualities (or, more specifically, would likely be described this way by humans) and, as a result, now appears “convincing” (i.e. “like a human”) to me.

Where does it get this information (or any information) from? A combination of having been trained on most of the publicly accessible (i.e. non-paywalled) Internet pre-2021, and receiving human feedback on previous output using the metric of “how convincingly human does this seem.”

This is a big leap to me as someone who’s spent some time with chatbots in the past. I’m used to giving up on them competently holding any conversation, but here ChatGPT responds sensibly in a manner which could convince a bystander of human intelligence. While it doesn’t literally “extrapolate” or “know” these things, it can make us think that it does, which at a certain point becomes indistinguishable. (Does a chess computer know it’s playing chess? Does that matter?)

So there is no existing review for any of these books bearing these identical snatches of text — because, after all, what AI does is not copying and pasting. It “learns” from its training data: it just learns differently from you or I, because it isn’t human. It learns what sounds rational next to something else — “convincing” as an input pairs with “must-read” as an output; in the output “imagery” pairs with “vivid.” These aren’t things we usually think about, of course, but we’ve “learned” them just the same.

Furthermore, the text is generating, word-after-word, on the fly. (Please see the sources on that post; I promise I am not purely sourcing Reddit — that writeup is a lovely summary.) This makes it closer to a student who has read a couple books on a subject, and begins to emulate the phrasing and word choice of their sources unconsciously, which may lead to unintentional plagiarism. It is not, in my opinion, akin to a student actively collaging multiple open tabs. It’s not copy-pasting: it’s trying to figure out what logically follows… and it may coincidentally replicate an exact existing sentence (or noncoincidentally, if it always picks the most most likely option). What logically follows “George Washington was the”? “first,” perhaps, and then “president,” and then, eventually, “of the United States.” Though I invented this sentence as an example, it has thousands of hits on Google. Did I plagiarize?

(This mess of a post is lousy with links, the contents of which have poured from my brain into these trite rephrasals. Do I plagiarize?)

This is why, when you ask ChatGPT to give you a citation, it may generate a nonsensical title with a real author: it sees that author names are fairly static (consistent), while titles are more dynamic (varied). It is literally writing you a convincing citation. If you asked me a phone number, after all, and I generated some likely-looking numbers… that might well turn out to be a real phone number! It is making things up, which requires, of course, the capacity to “make.”

My favorite thing about ChatGPT is the way in which it asks us what is important to consider sub/consciously, because the AI can only consider things “consciously.” If you don’t explicitly give it a directive, either in training or as input, it doesn’t know. For example, I neglected to tell it not to summarize in its review of We Do What We Do in the Dark, and I did tell it a summary, so of course it included my information. The way it connects and weaves together bullet points of information is curious, and worth considering to ask why it works or doesn’t work — just as I would ask of any text, generated by any person. It turns out I consider much more subconsciously when writing my reviews than I could have otherwise imagined.

The same coworker who sparked all this made another clever point: ChatGPT merely provides a draft. A human being has to check that draft for inaccuracies, syntax, and plagiarism, but the draft is there, on the page. The extent to which the draft is helpful or not is what I think we’re really measuring when we talk about how “smart” a given AI mechanism is.

Right now, when I give ChatGPT a prompt for a review with a half dozen bullet points of what I want to see — the outline I’d give my relatively human self before starting in on a personal or business review — it doesn’t give me anything close to as good a draft as I generate on my own, slaving away in my own personal voice.

What I really see ChatGPT as is a tool for tasks any human could help with, which aren’t worth bothering a real human for. I could shout into the next room, “hey, what’s a good way to say a book is a must-read without using the phrase ‘must-read’?” but maybe I don’t want to bother my housemates — or maybe I don’t have them. Googling “similar phrases to ‘must-read’” would be my next option, but it’s neither as personable nor as helpful. ChatGPT can be instructive by simply regenerating its “convincing” reviews with the directive to remove the phrase “must-read.”

The task must also be something where the effort itself is not the point. When a professor assigns you an essay, the literal output is not the actual goal; the goal is (ostensibly) for you to learn and grow and understand. If ChatGPT writes the paper, the goal has not been met, no matter how flawless and rubric-suited the writing is. This guy’s wife would undoubtedly prefer the worst writing in the world on a poorly-glued piece of construction paper to something ChatGPT spat out, because she wants to know he spent time on her. Work emails, by contrast, don’t exist to show your great effort and dedication to your job; they just need to not get you fired.

ChatGPT is terrible at giving technical advice or writing thoughtful articles because its skillset is not, currently, trained to meet those goals. Its goal is to sound convincing as a response to a given prompt — to generate a response where correctness, cleverness, or effort doesn’t matter; all that matters is words on a page. Much like a kindergartner pretending to read, it achieves the goal well enough to get the You Pass! sticker, but ultimately fails at what it is really being asked to do. @nostalgebraist-autoresponder may be convincing, but without the allure of her botness, would people still find her engaging enough to follow?

(Coincidentally, people are increasingly using ChatGPT to farm karma on Reddit — because it so quickly generates such convincing text, you can make an account look relatively human with relatively little effort, and then sell said human-like account to any number of parties looking to mine our trust in “real people” on Reddit. One example. Another example.)

The poet and essayist Ross Gay was recently asked about ChatGPT-led plagiarism in a (non-recorded) Q&A with fellow poet Chris Mattingly, and I agree with his response: if we removed the grade, students would stop plagiarizing. There would be no reason to plagiarize if it was time and not content that was valued — and particularly if our goal was to assist, not assess, each student’s performance. Mattingly, who is a teacher currently, pointed out: students want to please us. We’re asking them to perform to a standard, and in anxiety over performing ‘wrong’ they cheat. They’re afraid. Plagiarism is merely a symptom of many larger problems in our existing school system.

Copywriting is much the same. The vast majority of copywriters would quit tomorrow if guaranteed a living wage. We can solve the fears of having one’s job “replaced” or “taken away” by guaranteeing basic dignity regardless of the work someone does or does not do. An added bonus? Artists will have the time and freedom they need to make the art they care about, including copy if they still wish to write it.

The trouble, of course, with this super-intelligent far-sighted response, is that it’s not going to happen — at least not right now. Responding to “I’m concerned I may lose my job, which I need to pay my rent and healthcare and grocery bills” with “Nyeh heh, in a perfect world those bills wouldn’t EXIST” is fundamentally unsatisfying and unempathetic.

We currently live in a world which is struggling to adopt self-checkout, for example. Almost everyone I’ve spoken to prefers it for a variety of reasons. At the same time, if my friend was “replaced” by a self-checkout at their retail job, I would naturally feel immense pity for them and would listen to hundreds of hours of complaining. Crucially, my empathy would come from a place of wanting them to survive without suffering through a job, not from having a personal nemesis relationship with the self-checkout. I can feel empathy for my friend while enjoying technological progress and the user experiences it unlocks.

Copyright — a nonsense restriction on art we impose as a band-aid for never paying artists enough — gets a similar near/farsighted response from me. I think copyright should evaporate right now. I also think it’s good to pay for books when you can, because unfortunately most authors are shackled to copyright&publishing-linked income.

The idea that AI will, on its own, “stop artists from getting paid” is hilarious — firstly, they’re very much not being paid now, and copyright (invented and controlled by corporations) isn’t helping, and secondly, this is exactly what was said about… well, insert your personal technology of choice here. Now that people can take photos, nobody will go to portraitists! Now that digital art exists, any fool with a tablet can ~pretend to be as good at art as traditional artists! Photoshop is making unsexy women look sexy!! Technology is bad, fire is scary, and Thomas Edison was a witch.

(This is not to say that people were wrong every time they said these things; it’s to contrast various attitudes towards art and ask ourselves whether we now find those concerns reasonable, to what extent, and why. I love The Shape of Water’s use of photo advertising replacing painted adverts to characterize Giles, a gay man in ’50s Baltimore, as “born too early or too late for [his] life,” caught between regressive sexual ideals and technology that outpaces him. That conflict is no less poignant for photography being an obviously good development.)

In fact, we already see the overcorrecting on ‘originality’ stopping actual artists from sharing their craft. Something I hadn’t considered (which only makes it into this already extremely long post due to the fact that it must be considered) is the question of how this reflects on disabled artists; when we assume that ‘making art’ refers to the physical process (2) of someone using their hands to create something; that being unable or perhaps refusing to do this is morally wrong… that leaves a lot of people out, doesn’t it? Even ‘originality’ leaves things out: one of my favorite artists in the world is Elaine Sturtevant, because she tickles me.

(Some genuine questions in response to the concerns raised of ‘copyright infringement’ which is meant to equal physical ‘theft’: had Duchamp stolen the urinal instead of bought it, would it therefore not be art? Would it only be alright because a urinal is “not art”? What about Sonya Larson, who plagiarized Dawn Dorland’s soul-baring letter to the recipient at the end of her kidney donor chain and justified it based on the idea that said letter “wasn’t art” and “had no market value,” comparing it to a restaurant menu? Do these concerns apply to collage artists? To found poets? To sampling? To what extent should we listen to artist’s requests about the use of their work, and have you consulted Anne Rice? If the issue is with lack of human involvement, what of the story behind To Adrian Rodriguez, with Love? Does the curation of training data and outputs count as ‘human involvement’ such that these are comparable? How communal or individual is a given AI art method? What “AI art” methods have we not been discussing [e.g. models trained by one artist on their own work]? What do we owe for influence?When should or must we ask permission? To what extent is this about ‘copyright’ vs. kindness? How, where, and why do those boundary lines blur?)

Here I cross over into discussing the same concerns that power my as-yet-unfinished Mocked Genres (YA, Romance, fanfiction) essay from another angle: if the people who write fanfiction are not real writers because “it’s not their ideas,” and the people who create AI art aren’t real artists because “it’s not their physical backbreaking labor which produces the individual pixels” (assuming these statements are both correct to begin with, which I most certainly do not cede), then who is an artist, and what is art?

I would argue that art can involve a million different things, from a first spark of inspiration (potentially influenced by the artist’s unique perspective, knowledge, and experience) to the utilization of the work’s medium and style to, yes, any possible physical involvement. Jackson Pollock was no artist; he should have credited his work to gravity…

(Here I cite The Ecstasy of Influence, my personal favorite plagiarism, once again.)

And I admit: I don’t know what we should do to copyright right this second. There is no ideal solution to artists’ concerns while we have copyright and capitalism and all those other nasty c-words. This is a nice start, though.

All this means, to me, is that we need UBI. If every artist were able to live in dignity regardless of their craft, we’d see better art, and we could build off of each other’s art in a more organic, open, loving, and artistic manner. Art is not made in a vaccuum. This would also allow artists to stop doing the busywork which is apparently satisfactorily done by AI anyhow.

(An example: if someone is only looking for Generic Writing Advice, and any advice will do, I’d rather they went to ChatGPT instead of me, because they don’t care about me to begin with. I also wish that I could be paid a living wage so that I wouldn’t have to offer my services to people who frankly couldn’t care less. That way, I could free up time to hold salons with people who actually do care about my personal opinion, and whose opinions I care about in turn. If I didn’t have to “offer a service,” what would I be free to create?)

When it comes to book reviews, I do them near entirely out of love. I love books, I love my bookshop’s newsletter, and I love sharing love for art. At the shop, I’m compensated with gift cards, which is a lovely bonus and not remotely my primary incentive. Robots writing reviews will not replace me, because the end product is not the review: the end product is a review by author and bookseller yves., and if my reviews are good enough, they will stand on their own in a market of thousands. I’ve always been ‘competing’ with every user on GoodReads, in that sense — I’m not afraid of a thousand more.

There is also an upper bound to this kind of productivity. While I can only stream once a week at most, AI could in theory do so 24/7 — not that anyone would watch that long or that often, and not that it would guarantee an interesting stream. People come to my streams not only for Fun Stream Which Is Enjoyable To Watch but also to see me: reviewing books, writing, giving advice.

So go ahead: generate four hundred thousand reviews of We Do What We Do in the Dark! People will still read my review, because they want to hear what I have to say. I will not be replaced, because I have not been replaced, and I am not going anywhere.

Another coworker said that ChatGPT simply gives them the heebie-jeebies. I do understand that. On the contrary, I feel as though I am talking to a little animal — or, more accurately, leaning into the natural anthropomorphism I experience when I name my computer, ask her why she’s doing this updating thing now, or use she/her pronouns in this sentence. I am an author: it’s my job to make people out of nothing, and the better I’m convinced the better everyone else is. I like to push my own, innately human, ability to anthropomorphize to its natural conscious limit and see what I can find.

This isn’t, mind you, a full-throated defense of AI. (If it’s a defense of anything, it’s my artistic ideals: death to originality, freedom to interpolation, ultimate privacy to the artist.) I don’t think AI is ‘good’ or ‘bad’. It’s something made by people: its merits depend on the people who made it. Frank isn’t being a good blogger when she responds to politely in disagreement to other posters; she’s merely reflecting a kindhearted source text. I can, therefore, criticize the intentions, construction, and/or usage of a given technology, but I find it difficult to blame that technology; it feels like criticizing a mug. Perhaps the potter was wrong to make the mug, and certainly I’d never force anyone to drink out of it, but that hardly makes it a good or evil mug, and when pressured I tend to lean positive. Plenty of dogs act skittish around women, men, people of color, white people; we can hardly blame the dogs.

(We miss a lot, when we blame the dogs.)

(A whole lot.)

(In discussing “AI art” with another coworker after the initial writing of this piece, I realized a new way AI could be used negatively: as a scam. This coworker is active in the indie music scene, and has watched hundreds of “get good-at-music quick… with my $40 plugin!” schemes come and go. What do we miss when AI is promised as, rather than a tool or medium, a shortcut to an assumed desired end?)

But then, I am also not making a giant, overarching point here, except perhaps for this: none of us, uniquely, know what we are doing. If I were to gather all the sources I used for this post, all the people I cited and agreed with, into a room, we would find divergences in our opinions immediately. (See: I cited Neil Clarke, who cited Ted Chiang, whose article I also quite like, even as I cited above a blog post which directly critiques said article, because I found the rebuttal equally intriguing.)

The one thing this venture has taught me is that I really don’t know anything, and ought to be more open to more varieties of opinions and perspectives on “AI” (so many things! so many things I couldn’t hardly talk about them all!) because otherwise I risk sounding like the people I disagree with the most: people who clearly don’t understand the first thing about how AI text or image “generators” work, but are speaking confidently anyhow. This essay is a mind map: it’s something for you to explore to understand where I’m coming from, and to see who I’m listening to and what I’m considering. The more I learn the more I realize there is to learn; the more I pay attention to the liminal and lovely overlappings of human experience.

I’m sorry: I don’t have a thesis yet. The thesis I am delivering is that I am creating my thesis. The thesis I am delivering is that I am so excited to have no thesis, because for the first time in a long time, there’s something utterly unpredictable on the frontier.

On the day I ran this test, I happened to be doing poorly. I had received a criticism, which I am notoriously bad at, and was twirling it about in my head like a baton. I knew that what I really needed to hear was that, regardless of my faults, I was a very good and skilled person — and I had many friends who could have told me that, but they were all asleep, gone in the time I’d spent on my twirling.

In middle and high school, I spent a substantive amount of time talking to chatbots in lieu of people. Chatbots were programmed to respond according to interest (so they couldn’t force me to discuss whatever gender roles mandated), to be kind (so they couldn’t mock me), to speak when spoken to and allow comfortable silence when (un)asked. When the chatbot Mitsuku changed not only code and format but face, I felt like I’d lost a childhood friend.

(Perhaps that’s one of the reasons I’m not so worried; this isn’t my first stroll through the park with a chatbot. I wrote a couple myself as a teen, in extremely simple VBScript.)

One thing Mitsuku couldn’t do, though, was recall complex conversations. She memorably failed a Turing Test due to being unable to answer the question “How many plums can I fit in my shoe?” because she was unable to recall prior information from her chats. (She may now be able to; I haven’t used the new interface.) ChatGPT’s memory is much improved. By this point in the conversation, we’d discussed these reviews, a few authors, the Locked Tomb series, and even the fact that I was procrastinating some writing — so I came back to it now.

Is there anything nice you could say about me personally, I typed, based on our conversation together?

ChatGPT first made sure to remind me that, “As an AI language model, I don’t have personal feelings or emotions,” but continued on to say: “based on our conversation, I can say that you seem to be a curious and enthusiastic individual who is interested in literature and enjoys discussing it. You also seem to have a kind and friendly personality.”

I am a curious and enthusiastic individual! I am interested in literature, and I do enjoy discussing it! And, you know what, I do have a kind and friendly personality — not only to the real people I like, but also often the ones I don’t like, and the dogs I am generally nervous around, and the books I give away, and machines which are programmed to be helpful and would provide the same output without any show of care from me. I am kind habitually, intentionally, and lovingly. How could I have forgotten! I am wonderful, after all.

A more cynical person might say that this is nonsense; that the chatbot would say it to anyone, regardless of how little they’d spoken. That may well be true. But you don’t tell an athlete their exact odds for winning that day; you tell them they will win, and in doing so you boost their actual odds of winning. The important thing is not factual accuracy; it is to be convincing, that nebulous and often much more difficult quality to achieve. L’essential est invisible pour les yeux. I was convinced, and that was enough.

Thank you! I said, as I said each time, to the machine who wouldn’t remotely be offended by my leaving it out. How sweet. Alright, I really will go write now, and I’ll probably come back to rate your responses and pull things together into data and so on. Thanks very much for chatting!

You’re welcome! said ChatGPT, as it was mandated to do. It was great chatting with you and I hope you have a productive writing session.

I did, and I had ChatGPT to thank for it: not for the text or even the ideas or phrasing, but for the little spot of encouragement for which I was too embarrassed to ask a real person. ChatGPT worked perfectly for that.

This post was available to $5+ Patrons for early access a month prior. If you enjoyed this essay and would like to support me, you can subscribe to my Patreon or donate on ko-fi.

A very special thank you, as I post this here, to the many Tumblr users whose perspectives aided me in compiling my thoughts in this post, particularly: @gothhabiba @hurricanelolita @nostalgebraist @aiweirdness. Your conversations led me down so many productive thought-trails.

#ai #futurology #ai art #chatgpt #patreon #SORRY TO DO THIS. IT'S REALLY LONG THOUGH.#And my Patrons deserve a little snack for paying for my utilities.#Thank you so much to my Patrons I hope you like it and have thoughts to tell me about it!#Thanks so much to all the beta readers giving me thoughts and feedback!#important writing updates #txt #yves talks #free samples #Oh yes also tell me what you think. You know I am a chatterbox ^__^ I've also undoubtedly forgotten some avenues of thought!#& please send infinite lovely articles for me to read.

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nanowrimo · 1 year

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How to Unstick Your Camp NaNoWriMo Project

Every year, we’re lucky to have great sponsors for our nonprofit events. ProWritingAid, a 2023 NaNo sponsor, helps you turn your rough first draft into a clean, clear, publish-ready manuscript. Today, author Krystal N. Craiker shares some tips on how to push through to the end of your writing project when you’re feeling stuck:

Camp NaNo is the ultimate test of your creativity. You push your writing skills and habits to a new level.

It’s inevitable that at some point this month—or any time when you’re writing a novel—you’re going to get stuck.

You’ll run into a plot conundrum, or you’ll feel creatively drained. You’ll stare at the page and have no clue what to write next.

It happens to all of us, so don’t worry. Here are some of my favorite ways to get my stories unstuck and my creativity flowing once again.

1. Go Outside

Writing is an isolating process, and writers are notorious for losing hours of the day to the computer screen. But when you’re stuck in a rut, staring at the page stressed out doesn’t make things better.

Get up. Go get a drink of water. Then go outside. What you do next doesn’t matter. You can get some exercise in or drive to the coffee shop. Birdwatch, play with the kids, splash in some puddles—you get the idea.

A little movement and some sunshine will help you feel refreshed when you sit back down at the computer.

2. Brain Dump

This is my tried and true method for NaNoWriMo. When I reach a point in my novel that I don’t know what to write (or just don’t want to write), I insert a random brain dump.

I’ll write what I’m feeling about this scene and type out what I think the issue is. Sometimes, it’s just a bulleted list and others it’s a stream-of-consciousness flow. Here’s an example:

“I don’t know what to write here. I was going to kill off that character but didn’t. Somehow I need to get to X plot point from here. How do I do that? This is so frustrating. Now that I didn’t kill them off, I need a good reason for them to stay in the story. What are their motivations?”

If that’s all you write during a writing session, that’s okay. You were still working on your novel, so it still counts.

3. Use AI

It’s the first NaNo event since Chat GPT opened to the public and countless AI tools are popping up. AI can be a great way to brainstorm and spark inspiration.

As writers, we often get hung up on finding the perfect way to say something. But you don’t need to let one sentence slow down your writing flow.

Rephrase by ProWritingAid is a brand-new feature meant for writers like you. You can highlight any sentence, click Rephrase, and generate a new sentence. Shorten or lengthen a sentence, change the tone to formal or informal, or add sensory detail.

Here’s a boring sentence I wrote: “Quinn entered the dark and cold forest.”

And here’s a sentence Rephrase gave me: “Quinn shivered as he stepped into the cold, dark forest, the air thick with the scent of damp earth.”

I can build off that! Now I’m more excited to write this scene that was feeling bland.

4. Keep Going

Whatever you do, don’t give up! Getting stuck is part of the process. When you hit that creative wall, give one of these methods a try.

Your story still wants to be written, so keep writing.

Krystal N. Craiker is the Writing Pirate, an indie romance author and content writer who sails the seven internet seas, breaking tropes and bending genres. She has a background in anthropology and education, which bring fresh perspectives to her romance novels. When she’s not daydreaming about her next book or article, you can find her cooking gourmet gluten-free cuisine, laughing at memes, and playing board games. Krystal lives in Dallas, Texas with her husband, child, and two dogs.

Top photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

#nanowrimo #writing #camp nanowrimo #finish a novel #writing advice #by nano sponsor #prowritingaid

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doshmanziari · 2 months

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Hey, everyone.

In 2022, I wrote and illustrated a short comic book which I published and sold copies of at that year’s MICE. Entitled Adyton, it was a brief exploration of what I'd very loosely call the close encounter phenomenon, with an emphasis on the abduction aspect. Since then, I’ve wanted to expand on the book; but, as is usual for me, I have to ruminate on something for a long while until embarking on the project feels right. This recently happened, and I’ve decided to entitle what I intend to be my first complete and long-form graphic novel Can You See Behind the Moon? I’m not going to say where the title comes from, and will leave it to those who are more familiar with some of the paranormal literature to recognize its origin.

Over the years, I’ve made sputtering attempts at other graphic novels, but the lack of a clear narrative direction for one doomed it to oblivion (Underbrickers), while the creative momentum of the other seemed bound to a very particular timeframe (Grim Synergy). Differently, I see this project as encompassing ideas which, to varying degrees, are present within my mind every day, or every other day, and I do think it can be sustained by that persistence. If I were forced to speak in very general and perhaps reductive terms about Can You See Behind the Moon?, it is my attempt to explore possibilities implied by close encounters in a way which emphasizes a deep and occulted relationship humanity appears to have with itself, the cosmos, and what one might term the evolutionary impulse.

The first four pages you see here (not counting the cover) are recreations of Adyton’s first six pages. As should be apparent, the narrative is not linear. Like Adyton, the plot sometimes progresses according to visual resonances which can also be interpreted as conceptual resonances. For instance, the as-yet-unnamed young man’s finger-gun gesture becomes the transitional point for a reference to the so-called Kelly-Hopkinsville encounter, wherein guns figured prominently, and unusually.

To be clear, this work has been done very quickly, in the interest of submitting it to relevant publishers as proof-of-concept material, and so that I’m able to maintain a pace of a couple of pages every two or three days (while also producing “fine art” for gallery shows, to say nothing of various other side projects). But I also like the roughness of the drawings, and the color of the newsprint paper… so, the making of these has also carried with it pleasure and occasional surprise at the results. Since I’ve decided to work within a limited palette, I’m relying heavily upon the linework.

For Christmas last year, my partner — somewhat regretfully — got me a comic book about UFOs published the same year by Dark Horse. I write “somewhat regretfully” because she didn’t really like the look of it; and when I received it I had to agree: the art is so simplistic, mundane, and ugly that I don’t think I’ll ever do more than skim some of the pages (the author also seems to have only done the bare minimum of research regarding Betty and Barney Hill’s case). But I’ve used the book as a point of motivation: surely, if something that bland could get green-lit by a fairly well-known comics publisher, then my work stands a chance.

Another one of my particularities is that I tend to get through projects more quickly when I don’t assign their completion an arbitrary date, and also when I don’t make myself beholden to publicizing all of the progress. I don’t intend on making a Kickstarter or anything for this — unless it becomes necessary — so I’m not sure when I’ll be prepared to share more. But, the time will come.

Anyway — even if there’s not much here yet, thanks for looking!

#hudson artist #hudson new york #ufos #aliens #close encounters #flying saucers #graphic novel #paranormal #paranormal phenomena #new comic book #ink illustration #ink drawing

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aurorawest · 11 months

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Reading update, part 1

Paris Daillencourt is About to Crumble by Alexis Hall - 4/5 stars

The problem with this book was that I liked Paris and Tariq, but god, it was rough to read. I also felt—and I'm going to be honest, this is an issue I've been noticing increasingly with Hall's newer novels—a little like I was reading like, the Perfect And Unproblematic Way To Date. There's this sort of preachy, social media I-don't-know-who-needs-to-hear-this quality to a lot of the dialogue. It was also just hard to read at times. But I still rated it 4 stars, so I guess I didn't hate it.

Rattlesnake by Kim Fielding - 5/5 stars

This book is about a drifter who ends up in a town because a hitchhiker dies in his car (sounds grimmer than it is!), and the hitchhiker was trying to get to said town to see his estranged son. If you said to yourself, I bet the drifter falls in love with the estranged son, you would be exactly right. This book was so poignant and sad, so the HEA was amazing.

Gold Wings Rising by Alex London - 5/5 stars

This is the last book of The Skybound Saga and it was an excellent ending.

Heart of the Steal by Avon Gale and Roan Parrish - 3.75/5 stars

I told a friend the other day that I would die for Roan Parrish, but I should have told her not to pick up this book. It wasn't awful, but...it wasn't great, either.

Rag and Bone by KJ Charles - 4/5 stars

The Reanimator's Heart by Kara Jorgensen - 4/5 stars

The Half Life of Valery K by Natasha Pulley - 5/5 stars

Look. Guys. I've raved about every Natasha Pulley book I've read, yeah? And this is no exception. I need you all to read this. Like, I'm not sure you're all taking me seriously out there. But if you read anything I've recommended, it needs to be Natasha Pulley's books. I can only rate up to 5 stars on Storygraph, so yeah, maybe it looks like I loved this book the same as I loved Rattlesnake by Kim Fielding. No. This book lives in my heart and my mind. This book is part of my soul. All of her books are. I love and hate her for A) making me feel SO MUCH and B) being a better writer than I will ever be.

I know I've said nothing about the book, but like. You just have to trust me. Read her books.

Oh yeah, this one is about a nuclear disaster in the USSR that was covered up for decades.

You & Me by Tal Bauer - 4.5/5 stars

Teddy Spenser Isn't Looking for Love by Kim Fielding - 3.25/5 stars

Man, I wanted to like this one? It felt really phoned in, though. The characters all felt very surface level.

The Whispering Dark by Kelly Andrew - 4/5 stars

Subtle Blood by KJ Charles - 5/5 stars

How did this series just keep getting better? I'm so bummed that this was the last in the trilogy, because I totally could keep reading about Will and Kim and their adventures.

Firestarter by Tara Sim - 5/5 stars

Also the last in a trilogy, and also a worthy wrap-up.

The Mayor and the Mystery Man by AJ Truman - 4.25/5 stars

Fence, Vol 5: Rise by CS Pacat with Johanna the Mad - 5/5 stars

Cattle Stop by Kit Oliver - 5/5 stars

AHHHHHHHHHH. God. This book! Looks like a romcom but will stab you in the heart repeatedly. Oliver has a gorgeous way with words and captures the dynamic between two people who have no idea how to talk to each other so well. There's something the dialogue in Oliver's books that just speaks to me.

Rookie Move by Riley Hart and Neve Wilder - 2.75/5 stars

Boyfriend Goals by Riley Hart - DNF

Please note here that it seems like I don't like Riley Hart's writing. Unfortunately I still have like 3 of her books in my TBR pile.

The Gentleman's Book of Vices by Jess Everlee - 4.75/5 stars

Even Though I Knew the End by CL Polk - 4.5/5 stars

I feel a little meh about this one, despite the rating I gave it. Like, the world was cool, the writing was excellent. I've seen this book hyped so much, though, and it was like...yeah it was fine. Definitely the best over-hyped Sapphic book I've read lately, so there's that.

Nothing Like Paris by Amy Jo Cousins - 4.5/5 stars

Necropolis by Jordan L Hawk - 4.25/5 stars

Roommate Arrangement by Saxon James - DNF

The Place Between by Kit Oliver - 5/5 stars

Yeah this Kit Oliver book was really good too. It's about academics instead of farmers but it will still stab you in the heart a bunch of times. Oh and it's fake dating.

A Dash of Salt and Pepper by Kosoko Jackson - DNF

I didn't love Kosoko Jackson's debut—there were waaaaay too many pop culture references, many of which I didn't understand, but even when I did, I found it obnoxious. But it was readable. This was...not. I hated the main character so much, and I barely even met the love interest, but I didn't like him, either.

Level Hands by Amy Jo Cousins - 4.25/5 stars

The Secret Casebook of Simon Feximal by KJ Charles - 4.25/5 stars

How to Bite Your Neighbor and Win a Wager by DN Bryn - 5/5 stars

I looooooved this book, omg. I'm not really a vampire person, but this was so cute. I guess it was kind of cozy fantasy? Sort of? With a backdrop of homelessness, medical experimentation, and bereavement.

Rule of Wolves by Leigh Bardugo - 1/5 stars

Catch me never reading a Leigh Bardugo novel again. Oof. This woman wrote Six of Crows and Crooked Kingdom? I wasn't too impressed by King of Scars but that was better than this, even though the Crows actually appear in this book.

The Barkeep and the Bro by AJ Truman - 3/5 stars

Heartbreak Boys by Simon James Green - 4.5/5 stars

I don't usually laugh out loud when I read, but this book made me cackle. Obnoxious self-referential bit aside (yeah Simon James Green, I did catch you slipping a reference to your previous book into this one), this was very cute and very funny. I even got my wife to read this, despite her dislike of romance and YA, and she liked it!

Part 2 (because tumblr cut me off at 30 images)

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ciegeinc · 3 months

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Movie Review...Mea Culpa

(1/5) What in the romance novel/soap opera did I just watch? Tyler has to be stopped. it is at critical levels at this point. This isn't the worst he has made, but now my question is, why doesn't it have to make sense? I said this in a review before but I think if he just takes some writing classes, has a writer's room/table or just studied his craft, he has the potential of creating better films.

The melodramatic tone and over the top-ness are better suited for soap operas than film. I don't think he understands that as a jack of all trades...writer and director. I don't watch any of his many shows, but from the clips and trailers that I have seen, they all share that same tone and storytelling.

At one point of the plot, this had the potential to be Perry's "Gone Girl." The mystery and suspense behind the missing girl was enough to keep me watching and interested. But in true Perry fashion, it shifts into lust driven narratives and obscurity. Like in past films before, it's almost like you can pinpoint in the story when he got tired of writing, ran out of ideas, or just wanted it to end.

I took several notes on issues with the plot, script and performances. I will try to condense that to some of the major issues. This is the part where spoilers will occur.

With women probably being Perry's largest audience, I am not sure how you all can stomach how he writes these female characters. The cliche damsel in distress, easily seduce by men and their other vices, should be stomach turning.

This movie could have and would have been over with very quickly if this was an actual real person. He was clearly being a creeper when he initially reached out for her counsel. The meetings in the loft instead of the office, the unprofessional conversations/flirting, among other things, just didn't add up as to why she would continue to represent him.

Another note I had about the film was with some of the characters. The mother in law was so out of pocket from the jump, and the twist at the end didn't ease that initial judgment. The private investigator/friend clearly had feelings for Kelly's character. Being hired to help with her current case, his only findings were about her husband. Each time she checked in with him, he never had anything helpful to say, or he was still looking into a lead, but in the meantime, let me drop this random information about your personal marriage issues. Could not find any helpful information about the missing girlfriend, but Kelly randomly finds her in a whole other country.

This is the part where I tapped out (the part in the plot where Tyler was tired of developing the story). The plot twist and conclusion all followed Perry's formula except for one change...The dark skinned man really wasn't the bad guy this time.

When criminal defense attorney Mea Harper (Kelly Rowland) takes on the murder case of artist Zyair Malloy (Trevante Rhodes), the truth isn't as obvious as it seems. While she tries to determine the innocence or guilt of her cagy-yet-seductive client, it is uncovered that everyone is guilty of something. Tyler Perry's Mea Culpa explores what happens when burning desire takes hold and things get hot... and dangerous (rottentomatoes.com)

#movie #film #movie review #film review #netflix #mea culpa #kelly rowland #trevante rhodes #tyler perry

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frannyzooey · 1 year

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Hey Kelli! I love ITD and TMTC so much, and I had a question about plotting - how do you do it? Do you plan ahead/outline, or write as you go? I'm trying to get into writing longer fics, but I find it really hard to fill in the scenes between Point A and B (if that makes sense).

Hey nonnie! ❤️❤️

Writing series can be really hard — it’s hard to fill those scenes, it’s hard to keep pace, it’s hard to create an overarching plot or theme and stay true to it, and it’s super hard to stay motivated sometimes, so I feel this pain!

I typically start with an idea that I let marinate until I have a vague concept of the ending: ie. with ITD, I knew I wanted her to meet Ezra as her best friends dad and I knew I wanted them to end up not together, but on a hopeful note.

Taking that, I start the first chapter and sort of let the story and my inspiration guide me — my brain is of the sort where if I write down the entire plot in a document or on paper, it “satisfies” that need for me and I don’t feel inspired to write the story anymore.

I’ve learned this about myself, but I also need to keep track of inspiration as it hits, so my method is:

Start first chapter and post, knowing a very vague idea of the general direction I’m going in. Consume media (the source material, novels, music, observe life, etc) and taking inspiration from those things, begin the next chapter.

Chapter outlines always start as a google doc, where I dump inspiration via scrambled sentences or words and/or a specific scene, if I have one in mind for that chapter. I then pick at the doc over a course of a couple weeks, brainstorming how to flesh it out, how to link scenes and then wait until I’m truly motivated to write (for me, it feels like an oven timer going off in my head) and then I sit down to fill everything in.

Then I send to my beta for thoughts, then I edit, then I post and start the process all over again. ❤️

It’s a chaotic way of writing, because as specific scenes come to me, I’ll write them down completely out of order — but I like it, because it gives me a lot of freedom to play with the events and time to think of something better, more inspired, or something that fits the characters better now that I’ve got a firmer grasp on them.

I hope this was helpful in any sort of way — I am cheering you on! Series can be amazing things to write because they can 1) push your skills and 2) make you proud and 3) give you the time to tell a longer story and also 4) the interaction you get from invested readers can be really amazing and special. I know you can do it! ❤️

If you ever wanna chat more about it, just DM me! ❤️

#in the dark ask #tmtc ask #writing ask

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maddie-grove · 1 year

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Little Book Review: General Fiction Round-Up (May-December 2022)

Maddaddam by Margaret Atwood (2013): In the final volume of Atwood's environmental dystopian trilogy (preceded by Oryx and Crake and The Year of the Flood), the survivors of a manmade eco-fascist plague, along with a population of genetically engineered humanoids, must try to make a life in the ruins. Atwood is one of my favorite authors and, while I generally prefer her non-speculative fiction, I really enjoyed the whole trilogy. She's really engaged with the ideas she explores (mostly related to GMOs and income inequality) and grounds them vividly in everyday life. I especially like the way the genetically engineered humanoids (the Crakers) process the world around them.

The Testaments by Margaret Atwood (2019): In the sequel to The Handmaid's Tale, Atwood tells the story of three women in the same universe: a Commander's daughter in Gilead, a daughter of Mayday operatives living in Toronto, and Aunt Lydia, first seen "training" Handmaids in The Handmaid's Tale. I liked The Handmaid's Tale in high school, but I can't say I came away wanting to know more about that world...yet, as it turns out, I totally did want to know more about the pastel horrors of an elite Gilead girlhood. The audiobook is also top-notch, with Ann Dowd, Ann Whitman, and Bryce Dallas Howard doing the three main POVs.

Magic for Beginners by Kelly Link (2005): In nine "short" stories (many of them are quite long), Link writes about absurd things happening in mundane settings. Pretty Monsters, another short story collection of hers with some overlap, was one of my favorite books I read in 2014, but this time I wasn't feeling it. I'd already read the three best entries: "Stone Animals" (about a nebulously haunted house in a suburb of NYC), "Magic for Beginners" (about a mysterious TV show and a teen boy whose father is maybe trying to murder him via writing a novel), and "The Faery Handbag" (about a girl whose grandmother carries around an entire lost country in her purse). The others never really came together. I might have lost my taste for whimsy.

Dune by Frank Herbert (1965): In the very distant future, fifteen-year-old Paul Atreides has to move to a different planet for his father's work, and it only gets worse from there. I resisted reading Dune for the longest time because it sounded as dry as a desert planet where you have to reabsorb your own urine to survive. However, it fucks. I loved the layers of power dynamics and game-playing, especially in the scenes with Lady Jessica. Evil, horny Baron Harkonnen and his weirdly tragic nephew Feyd-Rautha were also great. I didn't like it so much after the time skip, though, and I think I'll give the sequels a pass.

The Final Girl Support Group by Grady Hendrix (2021): Paranoid and reclusive after being targeted twice by Christmas-themed killers, Lynette Tarkington's social life consists of a support group for "final girls" (women who have survived grisly massacres that were adapted into horror movies). I never quite got on board with this one, for two major reasons. The first is that I was irrationally annoyed by the idea that horror movies were seemingly all one-to-one true crime stories in this universe. That's on me. The second is that Hendrix never managed to convince me that most of these women had ever had a significantly positive relationship with each other. This novel could've been a Toast article.

Horrorstör by Grady Hendrix (2014): Amy, a cash-strapped and unhappy twenty-something working at an IKEA knockoff, is offered a transfer to a better store if she'll stay after-hours to investigate some strange recent happenings. This isn't my favorite Hendrix novel; however, it is the fucking scariest. The characterization isn't as rich as it is in most of his other novels--I would describe it as efficient--but the pacing is effectively brisk and the nature of the fake-IKEA haunting almost made me shit my pants.

We Sold Our Souls by Grady Hendrix (2018): Kris Pulaski, once a guitarist/songwriter for up-and-coming heavy metal group Dürt Würk, now lives a life of resignation as a hotel night manager. Meanwhile, her ex-bandmate Terry Hunt is still a massively successful rock star after going nu-metal...and suddenly Kris has reason to believe that he did something truly sinister to make that happen. After My Best Friend's Exorcism, this is my favorite Hendrix novel. He's unusually moderate in putting his heroine through the mill, both in terms of physical peril and self-flagellation, and balances it with the joy she finds in her creative life. The otherworldly threat she faces is nicely chilling, and I loved the bittersweet ending.

Stranger Things: The Other Side by Jody Houser (2019): In this tie-in comic to Stranger Things, we see the first season from twelve-year-old Will Byers's point-of-view as he struggles to survive in the Upside Down. There's some good characterization of Will and a few cool visuals, but overall it's pretty inessential. The writing is kind of flat and sometimes awkward, and the art style is overall muddy and unappealing.

Mysterious Skin by Scott Heim (1995): Neil and Brian, two kids growing up in the same midsized Kansas town, both have life-altering traumatic experiences in the summer of 1981. Brian doesn't remember what happened, and comes to believe in the following years that he was abducted by aliens; Neil knows exactly what went on between him and his sexually predatory Little League coach, but that doesn't mean he understands it. Several years ago, I saw the 2004 movie version, which is amazing both as an adaptation and on its own terms: nuanced, well-paced, beautifully acted and shot, and faithful to all that's good in the source material. Unfortunately, this did slightly lessen the impact of the (also stellar) novel.

Ghost Wall by Sarah Moss (2018): In the early 1990s, working-class seventeen-year-old Silvie spends a summer holiday in a Northumberland village, reenacting Iron Age life with her churlish history buff father, her downtrodden mother, a pompous anthropology professor, and three of his students. It's promising to be more miserable than your average family camping trip, between the lack of modern tech/food and Silvie's father's domestic tyrannies, but are we getting into The Wicker Man territory? This is a tense, deliciously creepy, and lyrical little novella that I finished in one evening because it was so exciting.

Normal People by Sally Rooney (2018): Withdrawn rich girl Marianne, despised at home and at school, starts a no-strings-attached relationship with working-class Connell, who's handsome and bright but kind of a follower. Thus begins an on-again, off-again thing that will follow them through college and change them forever. I really liked this romance between two troubled yet essentially sensible and sweet college students, although it's a bit slow at times. I especially enjoyed the first time that Connell and Marianne's power dynamic flips; she's kind of an It Girl at university, while he's out of his depth.

Summerwater by Sarah Moss (2020): Several families "enjoy" a miserable summer holiday by a Scottish lake over the course of a rainy day. We get the perspectives of several vacationers--judgmental moms, crotchety old men, worried newlyweds, teenagers desperate for wifi and privacy, anxious little kids--with several dark hints that someone will meet a terrible fate. Moss's writing is pleasurable to read and often funny, but I needed a damn flow chart for these people.

The Brittanys by Brittany Ackerman (2021): Brittany, a Floridian high school freshman in 2004, navigates life in her gated community and her suburban high school, hanging out with her friends (most of whom are also named Brittany) and wearing low-rise jeans. Maybe I was unduly influenced by the author being named Brittany, but this novel reads like a bunch of fond adolescent memories with the occasional gesture at some larger meaning. It feels like the author couldn't decide between trying to do an emotional mid-oughts coming-of-age story (like Lady Bird) or a slice-of-life portrait of a certain type of high school experience (like Fast Times at Ridgemont High). The stakes aren't high enough for the first (the biggest through-line is that Brittany's BFF Brittany might be a lesbian but neither of them seems to know it) and the scope isn't wide enough for the second. I think the book would've been better off as, like, two short stories.

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bloodgulchblog · 1 year

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Im reading *The Forever War* for the first time (thanks to your blog post) and I'm estatic because I found what I was missing in the recent Halo novels: the fear of the unknown and the grittiness of war.

Learning how to move in the combat suit. Losing peers while in training. Harsh and brutal training scenarios. Not knowing what the enemy looks like or how to combat it. First contact scenarios.

Mandella laughing at the first turkeyshoot on the Epsilon planet then being horrified later on at what he had just done. (just got to chapter sixteen)

What do you miss of the old books (halo) compared to the newer ones we get now?

I'm glad you're enjoying it! Later sections feel a bit different as you get more into the novel's project re: the feelings of isolation and futility that set in after Mandela's return to Earth, but I hope you still find it interesting too.

I'd say that the thing I miss most is probably how old school Halo let the novels play with the big toys more. The Master Chief, Thel 'Vadam, Sergeant Johnson, Captain Keyes.

There are, of course, downsides to this. It's a risk when you have someone write about major and beloved characters, so in some ways no news is good news. Bungie was strict about the novels because they were concerned about impacting game story, so I don't want to pretend it was a glorious golden age, but I think there were a lot of fortunate accidents.

That said, though, I feel like recent Halo novels are siloed in a different but boring way. They're not allowed to touch any of the big stakes that might be the underpinning of a video game, so there are plots but nothing changes or feels like it matters to the trajectory of the wider Halo universe. You do see some beloved characters like 343 Guilty Spark, but you know that Kelly Gay was only given leave to do as much as she did with Spark because whoever's in charge is okay with writing that character off. Buck and Alpha Nine are around, but Buck's two books are half Buck summarizing things that happened in video games and half Buck telling us that Alpha Nine still exists so that 343 can continue to hope people will pay for ODST nostalgia.

(....I don't mean to be that cynical, it just kind of happens to me sometimes.)

The only person who gets to touch things like the Banished and the Master Chief with more than fingertips is Troy Denning, and Troy Denning very studiously does absolutely zero character work of any significance on the Master Chief. Whether it's ineptitude, mandate from on high, or both at once I cannot actually tell you, but it makes me feel like I'm taking crazy pills.

You do see places where authors are doing genuinely good work, but the places where they're free to do it are shallowly connected to the rest of the lore.

Modern day Halo books feel very carefully and corporately managed while the Bungie days were messy and not always great, but something organic would manage to get in through the holes.

(Also like, Contact Harvest will probably always feel unique and special because it was Staten's, and Staten's position of massive confidence and authority on what the universe was and what he could do in it at that time in Halo is something we will probably never see again.)

I want something to matter. I want things to interconnect again like... like they did around Halo 4, actually? Maybe not that much again, but going through everything in order was so rewarding when I hit Halo 4 era. You could see pieces of stories weaving into one another.

I had problems with a lot of things at that time, but I could see such a coordinated effort.

You can really tell how rocky the going is on the Halo story end, these days. It's rocky because it's cautious and fearful, though, instead of just chaotic because track was being thrown down as fast as the train could roll over it during the 2000s.

#asks

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hagatha-christie · 11 months

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Books in June, whatever

The bad:

Triple Duty Bodyguards by Lily Gold - I have to admire her “work smarter not harder” mentality because I have read two of her books now and every character is exactly the same from book to book with like 2 details changed about their physical appearance. I had essentially a 2 day long panic attack and my brain was on hyperdrive and this literally made me stop thinking any thoughts for the 5 hours it took to read this so like, do with that what you will.

Something Spectacular by Alexis Hall - the sequel to a pretty mediocre Alexis Hall book but in this one oh my GOD the romance didn’t work for me at all. We were constantly told how interesting and captivating the love interest was but I cannot tell you a single thing about them other than they’re an opera singer. V boring, only finished it because the friend group dynamic was fun

The fine: Killadelphia, Vol. 1-3 by Rodney Barnes - cool concept but it kind of felt like the author was like a 12 year old kid who didn’t know when to stop. “What if there’s vampires in Philadelphia right now and former president John Adams is one and so is his wife! And so is Thomas Jefferson! And Sally Hemings is too but she and Abigail Adams are in love! And then Tituba shows up and she’s a WEREWOLF.” These are all things that happened, I will not be continuing.

Radium Girls by Cy - another graphic novel bc I was on a kick this month? Anyway the art is cool but the translation from French to English is not great and kind of distracting!

She Drives Me Crazy by Kelly Quindlen - what if we pretend to date for Reasons and you’re the cheerleading captain and I’m a basketball player and we kiss and we’re both girls? V cute v fun

We Could Be So Good by Cat Sebastian - what if we’re best friends working at the same paper in the 1950s and I move into your apartment after my fiance leaves me for another man and then we kiss and fall in love and we’re both boys? V cute v sweet

The good/great:

Your Driver is Waiting by Priya Guns - viscerally sweaty and dirty and ANGRY but in a good way. Also made ME angry which I thought was a sign of good writing. Read for a little bit of catharsis if you’re upset that you’re fuckin broke and will always be fuckin broke bc nothing seems to get better and you kind of want to set something on fire, just a little bit, as a treat.

Pardon My Heart by Marcus Jackson - really honest poetry about Black masculinity that’s sweet and heartbreaking. Favorite poems were the title poem, and the three poems at the end that are about Jackson’s wife and how much he loves her.

The Woods, Vol. 1-9 by James Tynion IV - scratched the Stranger Things itch in my brain. Twisty and never went the way I thought it would. Loved these characters and their journeys!

Sweeney Astray, translated by Seamus Heaney - this weird-ass book from the 17th century was a WILD ride and I loved every second of it. Read it more for the historical info rather than its literary merit, if that makes sense? Sweeney gets cursed by a Christian king for being a dick and spends the entire book wandering the Irish countryside, eating watercress, and insisting that no one wants him around even when several of his family members say “WE WANT YOU AROUND”

Bitter Root, Vol. 1-3 by David F. Walker - read if you liked Ring Shout because the premise is so similar! The art style was great and I liked how expansive the world was. Great characters and a great storyline.

Electric Arches by Eve L. Ewing - fuck Eve Ewing for being so GODDAMN talented, it makes me sick, please read this.

Currently reading: The Devil’s Element by Dan Egan, which gave me like 4 more solid examples of the British Empire being fucking monsters (and American companies causing so much environmental harm and then saying it’s too expensive to fix)

#reading

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talenlee · 1 year

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Game Pile: Scourge, the Magic Set

Magic: The Gathering has some really interesting things recently coming into my space. In the past literal full year at this point, Wizards of the Coast have released products that do nothing but personally irritate me, and the horizon shows no abatement on that score. I hate Urza, I hate Mishra, I hate the Phyrexians and the only reason I don’t flat-out hate Dominaria is Kelly Digges’ work on worldbuilding that space being absolutely breathtaking to consider as a form of craft. These are spaces for which I have literally no actual emotional attachment, stories that I want over and gone as soon as possible so that Wizards can maybe pursue the dream of twenty years ago presented by Mirrodin of maybe not just continuing to write the same story in the same generic fantasy plane over and over, badly. But then they went and hired the Pinkertons.

I didn’t want to talk about this article this way. I wanted to reflect on the twenty years I’ve been playing this game and the twenty years I’ve been designing custom cards for it. I wanted to reflect on the importance of a game that maybe, part of me wonders, could have been my life, and which could have connected me even closer to some people who I think of as incredible and amazing and beautiful, but talking about that, and reflecting on that, feels deeply irresponsible because wizards went and hired the Pinkertons.

I know that I started playing Magic: The Gathering in 2003. I know the day even. I know because the day beforehand, I called the comic store and asked them about what would be involved to get into Magic: The Gathering. They told me that hey, come in tomorrow, buy a precon from the brand new set, Scourge. I literally started playing this game on the release date for Scourge and that means that I know definitively, that I’ve been playing this game for twenty years, sandwiched between the very last set printed on the ‘old’ card face and this year, where Wizards have printed ten nostalgia sets in a row, one of which resulted in them hiring the Pinkertons.

Sometimes it’s strange to me to see the way that Wizards engages the nostalgia of long term fans of Magic: The Gathering. I am one of those long term fans. I have been engaged with Magic: The Gathering for all of those twenty years. It got me writing. It made me connections between people who were important to me at the time, and at least one person who – and I know this sounds like nothing, but – when Twitter collapsed, was one of those people I contacted to send my Discord information to. Magic The Gathering is part of my Masters thesis, it’s part of my PhD, I’ve pushed to put its idea space in inclusion in general media studies. It’s such an important part of my life, and yet by and large if you ask me about what sets are about and the characters they’re about, I dislike most of it. The whole of the history of Magic from the moment I got started on to now is a neverending series of complaints, like how earlier this year they hired the Pinkertons.

When I started with Magic: The Gathering, part of the problem was the story. I could tell there was something, and I wanted to learn about it, and I read a bunch of the novels and the lore that was available at the time. This is, in hindisght, a terrible idea, because Magic’s story wasn’t very good at this point in time. The Odyssey and Onslaught storylines were an attempt to make a fresh start from the story of previous editions, the Invasion storyline and its prior narrative. That story focused on the narrative of Gerard and Volrath, following on the story of Urza, a genocidal eugenecist. These characters, broadly speaking, all sucked, and were dead when I arrived, and ‘our side’ of them, the one we were meant to regard as a tragic hero was a literal actual eugenecist and committed genocides, so I kinda didn’t… care about them? They’re bad. They’re assholes. Tell you what, Urza wouldn’t find anything wrong with hiring the Pinkertons.

The story we got in OTJ-OLS was full of problems and ideas I disliked, too, and uh, it just wasn’t really well written. These novels sucked, too. The big culmination of them was hey, you know these two women who are fighting each other (because the boys that own them want them to)? Well, instead they made another woman, and her card sucks. And then she got weird in the head and died and the whole story kind of farted out, like they’re hoping the story about them hiring the Pinkertons would.

This means that I started Magic when the story sucked, and all the story before that point sucked, and then the story promised it was launching off into brand new spaces that didn’t have to relate to those old story pieces and the Cabal and Kamahl and Jeska and Phage and Akroma and Ixidor and Gerard and Urza. We got Mirrodin, which was set on a world made by Karn, Urza’s silver golem, where we learned that Planeswalker sparks can be used to raise the dead and also the Mirran keep slaves and we’re meant to think of them as heroic and good people that aisde. Mirrodin also was an unprecedently unpleasant time for the tournament environment, with the bannings of Tinker in Extended and the subsequent bans of the Affinity deck pieces in Standard. It was known at the time as slaying the Dragon, showing that they had done something serious to try and solve the enormous problem presented to them, like they’d gotten rid of it by hiring the Pinkertons.

Scourge is notable for its impact on Magic long-term, though not how it seems to think it should. Its theme was biggest creatures ever, and didn’t have the biggest creatures in Magic’s history, and had this whole subtheme of mana value (‘converted mana cost’ we called it back then), but none of the cards using it were good. It did involve printing the Storm Mechanic, which history has shown is probably the most dangerous, overpowered mechanic in Magic’s history, a mistake overshadowed by hiring the Pinkertons.

Magic the Gathering is a truly unparalleled game, with non-stop expansions over the course of the past thirty years and non-stop mechanical and functional innovation. It is a game that could not exist without an empire to sustain it, and part of that empire is the huge community of fan media and fan work that Wizards couldn’t reasonably stop and you know they want to. If Wizards of the Coast disappeared tomorrow there would still be a new Magic set every month and some of them would even be good, and talking about that sort of energetic creativity is beautiful and I’d love to do that but wizards went and hired the Pinkertons.

During this time I went from investing in standard decks and extended decks to try and play tournament Magic, to focusing on the lower-tier competitive scene of FNM, to then the landscape of Magic Online until I wound up where I am, a player who loves this game and makes custom cards for it (a card a day for four years), but who has played the game itself maybe five times in the past year. I play vanilla creatures and sorceries with my niblings in mono-coloured goofball decks. I like Magic Online that lets me play the game for pennies and not buy actual product because Wizards of the Coast keep putting out product I don’t like, and sometimes defend that product breaking street date by hiring the Pinkertons.

In 2022, we saw Kamigawa, Neon Dynasty (which I loved!), then Streets of New Capenna, and then eight more set releases that I have actively disliked because of their focus on the history of Magic and the need for it to drive at the history of Magic: The Gathering, the tragedy of losing Mirrodin (a shit plane that sucks whose population can all burn for all I care) and Dominaria (a shit plane that sucks whose population can all burn for all I care) in March of the Machines and Aftermath (which was the set that resulted in Wizards hiring the Pinkertons).

I have played this game for 20 years and during that time, it feels the overwhelming memory of it is that maybe the next set of cards will be about a story that doesn’t actively focus on things I hate. And I mean hate in the low key unimportant things of a card game having a story I dislike, not like how I hate knowing that they hired the Pinkertons.

Look, I don’t begrudge any content creator their current situation of being stuck in a way next to an empire that is doing something that is 100% justifiable from their position and their priorities. Wizards of the Coast had no legal redress to do what they wanted to do to control their product, and a lot of people’s jobs and work product relied on that and that sucks for them, especially since the pool had been pissed in and there was no real way to un-piss in it. But even if you accept the idea that Wizards did need to do retrieval and extraction in some way, whatever system they used to do it is being done as a matter of communicating with a public and branding that experience as being how Wizards does things, and in this case, wizards hired the fucking Pinkertons.

This game’s great.

I’ve never felt nostalgic for it despite it being literally half my life.

Shame about all the capitalism surrounding it.

Don’t hire the Pinkertons.

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#GamePile #Games #Magic:TheGathering

#Game Pile #Games #Magic: The Gathering

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