The more I post on this blog, the more it becomes for my own enrichment.

When I started, I had grand visions of it helping me find clients and leveraging into an advertising revenue stream as well as sending people my way.

The fact of the matter is, though, that I don’t blog enough for that to happen. Blogging in a way that keeps people engaged requires doing so more often than I do: daily works well for many people, and microblogs like Twitter thrive on many more than that.

But I like talking to friends, or reading blogs, or writing fiction. When I have chunks of time I could dedicate to prolonged fiction writing or blogging or polishing my rusty art skills, sometimes I’ll just choose to watch a movie and knit (my well-used Netflix subscription can attest to how often ‘sometimes’ is). I guard my time jealously.

If I were spending a great deal of my fiction-writing time putting the finishing touches on something just about to hit the market, I’d spend more time researching it. If I encountered more new things I didn’t expect to have changed dramatically in the next few months, I’d spend more time researching that, too. But, with no pressing need to know exactly which channel for publication will work best for me (KDP Select looks best, especially if you make sure you get reviews before you use your promo days, but I’ve only spent a couple hours researching), it’s easy for me to get caught up reading social justice blogs or fanfiction or meta-analysis of video games.

And this post is my permission to myself to do just that.

This blog stands as a reminder that I should always be researching and trying to improve my writing, but it’s okay if I do other things sometimes, as long as I am still able to churn out a coherent chunk of writing-related non-fiction every week.

I had, until tonight, never watched Labyrinth. I’ve read things about it, seen meta discussions of it, and been subjected to pictures of David Bowie’s hair from it, but I had not seen the thing itself.

Since it’s rather ridiculously late at night, I figured I may as well liveblog it. And by ‘liveblog’ I mean ‘write it up and the queue it for like three weeks from now in case I am lacking in bloggable ideas.’

Seven minutes in, and Sarah is really ridiculously melodramatic. She makes me cringe. Liked the transition in the garden with setting jarring stuff, though.

The goblins are amazingly adorable.

David Bowie’s eyebrows are amazing, and I think it’s Sarah’s voice that I hate.

The Labyrinth itself is really, really neat.

Something I love about the visual medium more than the written one is clothes. Specifically, David Bowie’s coat. But also Seneca Crane’s beard. Reading about gaudy things and internalizing ‘okay, yes, ridiculous and blingy and wasteful’ and seeing absurd and fabulous are different things.

It’s like the problem of translating Lord of the Rings to film: long passages of the books are encompassed in a single long shot of New Zealand. As a corollary to that, an accurate description of David Bowie’s coat would most likely be boring and overdone and ruin the pacing of the story. The coat may be as awesome as the eyebrows.

I had been worried, momentarily, that at the end she would be required in proper bildungsroman fashion to leave childish things like goblins behind at the end of her journey. The dance party is excellent. I am glad she left David Bowie’s creepy love/possession thing behind, though.

Dance Magic is possibly my new favourite song.

So, I just saw The Hunger Games tonight, but I’m delaying this post because, well, there are spoilers, and I don’t want to ruin it for anyone who wants to see it in theatres still.

I really liked the movie, and Jennifer Lawrence as Katniss. The scene where she volunteered instead of Prim made me tear up, and I loved the way she looked really tomboyish and aggressive and out of place in a dress when she was declaring herself.

I found myself both annoyed at how long it took to get to the Capital and disappointed that they took out the Mayor’s daughter completely. Taking out the Mayor’s daughter changes some of the symbolism of the Mockingjay pin – in the books, the pin was given to her, starting the cycle of all of her symbolism being given to her. Cinna does a spectacular job and makes her a symbol of District 12, Haymitch and Peeta make her a symbol of star-crossed lover (yes, she plays along, later, but she does it to please Haymitch: she understands PR pretty much as ‘things that will please Haymitch’), and pretty much everyone else makes her a symbol of rebellion, the mockingjay embodied. She plays her part, and largely fulfills the roles she’s given, but she doesn’t consciously or deliberately choose the roles themselves. She takes what is presented to her.

Without the Mayor’s daughter, she chooses her symbol herself. It’ll be interesting to see if that crops up later on or if I’m just a symbolism nerd. It was understandable from a time point of view to cut a very minor character, but the method of storytelling effects change even without that sort of cut.

Jennifer Lawrence’s portrayal of Katniss was not the only reason I liked Katniss more in the movie than the book. Not being able to hear her thoughts makes it a lot easier to like her. When we are in Katniss’ head, the thought that she can’t go home without Peeta because they’ll hate her makes sense: we understand it. But when all we can see is her face as she looks torn, it’s easier to be charitable to her. Empathetic characters, and first-person narrators, are not always as likable as third person characters. I really loved the cuts to the Capital, as well.

Especially Seneca Crane’s beard. Seneca Crane’s beard kind of stole the show. Which, it seems, everyone already knows:

Ender’s Game and the subsequent books were important to me, not just as a smart, alienated teenager, but as a writer. The second point is less trodden into the ground, so let’s go with that.

Han Qing-jao of the novel Xenocide was one of the only reasons I enjoyed that particular installment in the series. She’s part of the nobility of the planet Path, a Chinese-inspired culture where nobility and meritocracy are comingled by means of genetic programming. The nobility of Path are known as the ‘godspoken,’ because along with brilliance, they are ‘gifted’ with crippling Obsessive Compulsive Disorder that is understood as service to the gods.

In Xenocide, this was done deliberately by the government as a means of controlling their geniuses.

It was the first time I really noticed that many totalitarian shadow regimes – sometimes know as authors – cripple their characters in this way. Not all of them, and many times in novels starring primarily adults it’s backstory and not current concern, but enough that I have a long and thorough and distressing list.

I understand part of the motivation for crippling characters. We want to want to write characters readers will want to connect to emotionally, because nothing’s quite as satisfying as being told someone cried at something you wrote. A lot of the time, we do that by trying to create characters readers will not necessarily fall in love with, but will identify with.

Sometimes – often – this involves taking extraordinary characters and giving them quite notable flaws to make them seem more ‘human.’ Crippling flaws, usually. In the Enderverse, this is mostly shown through smart people having really, really awful lives. Like Ender, perpetually guilt-ridden over his xenocide. Like Virlomi, who’s smart enough to set herself up as a religious figure for political power, and stupid enough to get caught up in her own hype and therefore totally useless. Like Bean, the most brilliant character in the series and so also with a genetic condition like severe giantism, which will cause his body to break down and eventually kill him horribly. And like Qing-jao, slave to her own brain.

The flaws are supposed to make them feel closer to hand, partly because real people go through things that suck, too, but partly – and this is the important bit – because writers want to make being spectacular in some highly visible way seem as if it has a price attached. Making people reading political space adventures and also wars feel better about not proceeding to start a religion or contribute to a new world order or discovering a new life form (and then going crazy, but we don’t talk about that) encourages complacency.

Speculative fiction is about reaching out and exploring, and that shouldn’t be just an authorial privilege. Remarkable characters don’t have to be horribly flawed to be relatable, and achievement on a large scale doesn’t have to be made out as sin or suffering.

This is my hundredth post on this blog. I’ve been going for just about two years now, and a lot has changed.

I finished my first non-fiction book, Navigating the Ebook Jungle. That was last year, meaning it’s dated and needs editing, because such is the nature of epublishing right now.

I finished my first novella, Intervention, with my friend Mason Kochanski.

I finished the second draft of my first novel, which is still under revision.

I became Managing Editor and then Editor in Chief of Island Writer magazine.

I helped found Theory Train Magazine, now with its third issue out.

I spoke as part of a panel on getting your book out there for the Victoria Writers’ Society.

I started writing fan-fiction which I’m actually showing to the public.

I won the first season Anything Goes Writing League, earning the Faulkner Prism.

I finished Emergency Medical Responder training (still need to get my freaking license, but we’re talking accomplishments here, so never mind that).

It’s been a pretty good couple of years, all told, and it’s only looking up. I have several writing projects in various stages of completion, and have discovered the many and varied joys of outlining first. The publishing industry appears to be stabilizing more in favor of epublishing (now watch as the next couple of months make me look back on the word ‘stabilizing’ in shame). I’m excited for what the future holds for the writing world.

Last week I talked about why I don’t read Kristen Britain anymore. You should read it! It’s another example of my carrying through with strong reactions to things most people don’t care about. This week, other stances authors have about people writing fanfiction of their work and why I like them better for it.

Sherwood Smith‘s attitude towards it makes a lot of sense to me (bottom of the page): alternate universes only, because you as a fan don’t have enough information to write in the universe completely accurately. That makes sense, and gives everyone boundaries they can stay comfortably within while still allowing a great deal of leeway to write fantastic odes to Sherwood Smith’s work.

J.K. Rowling has a slightly different boundary: she loves fanfiction, but is disturbed by the porn and wishes people would stop. Given that she originally conceived Harry Potter as children’s book, and a lot of the characters can remain under the age of consent even in the more explicit works, this makes sense to me, too.

Andrew Hussie is probably the most generous with his creation: he encourages people to play all they want as long as they’re not profiting from it (it’s how he makes his living), but he sometimes lets fanart be sold through the shop, fan art gets put in the calendars, and the latest soundtrack is going to be all fan contributions. He has also unilaterally declared that all fan things are canon to the story. Given the sheer range of stories, this was most likely at least partly sarcastic, but it was hilarious and inclusive and pretty much a gift to the fandom.

They have different comfort levels in terms of fanfiction, and slightly different boundaries, but they’re all engaging their fandom about fanfiction. It works for them: people stay engaged between books/movies/updates. Of course, some fans are still going to be jerks and be impatient for new installments and express it inappropriately. But a fandom where people connect positively keeps interest up and keeps everyone happy, which is something to consider in terms of engaging readers long-term.