Sanctions I walk my dog four times a day. There is nothing special about such a routine, but if I tell you I feed my Loulou Spitz at the expense of my nutritional intake, would you call me insane? This is my outfit for these daily strolls, a woolen jumper to match her fluffy coat, a baggy jeans due to heavy weight loss, and hair in a knot for absence of gloss. We wait for justice to ascend its throne, for sanctions to be lifted for a sun-born dawn, for wreckage to be sifted to salvage unburied bones, for the return of electricity to current-less bulbs, for the advent of bread to hungry households without the discord that long queues invoke, for our dignity to be restored. If I fly, I will first class For eleven years, we have played our portion of the Hunger Games, and having survived these plights, who says I am ready to depart from my own homeland for a better world? I might, but not before I am equipped with a beautiful, stone house and a well-fed bank account, a life to return to should you humiliate me as you did in past times, for we will always be refugees in your own misapprehending eyes. If I fly, I will first class, but I am done with flights. They evoke a poor student’s unhappy times. Instead, I shall travel in a luxury car and have as many stops as there are stars in our night sky, accompanied by my un-quarantined little dog, even if it takes years to reach the designated house, which should be totally devoid of other inmates and accessories that remind me of a poisoned past. You will probably respond by stating that I am in position to dictate what I like I say: “Suit yourselves, for having blasted our lives, you cannot make things any worse”. Bonne Chance ! Reminiscence [In memory of my father] A few words would sum up my childhood: strawberries, chocolate, toys, and a rowing boat, a chimney whose logs roaring glowed, the huge mirror before which I danced in our hall and rivers across which we tried to build bridges of stone. My dad had Da Vinci up the wall. He played his golden trumpet and silver saxophone. He prepared our breakfasts, our evening popcorn and set up a banquet for us before he dined outside our home. He never grew tired of wearing blue, enchanting us with his aftershave and Brut, and I could not help wearing his expensive perfume despite his gentle pleas to stop depleting his fragrant store. His few business trips abroad brought us accounts of travel that enthralled, the Château of The Count of Monte Cristo and the glamorous yachts of Monaco. He looked like Rock Hudson in his teens. Some opt for resemblance to James Dean. I say regardless of his handsome mien, he was the most generous dad that ever breathed. Finales Finales vary in their various tints: the tragic, the comic, and the open-end. Very few can boast an apocalyptic bend or a happy content. Those that are weaved on misfortune’s wheel appeal to the lachrymose, the morose, the realist, who attribute their plights to a vengeful god like the afflicted Mayor of Casterbridge. Those that are blessed with a humorous twist lend each mishap a sardonic concept, breeding a troop of permanent grins on contorted lips. The open-end titillates each wit, some wishful thinking to compete with a naturalistic trend, leaving the interpreter caught up in net of inner conflicts.
Article from Zara Miller, author of the YA historical novel I Am Cecilia
HERO VS. VILLAINS
“Honestly, the closest I can think of them, as well made as they are, with actors doing the best they can under the circumstances, is theme parks. It isn’t the cinema of human beings trying to convey emotional, psychological experiences to another human being.”
So, Martin Scorcese compares Marvel movies to theme parks. And honestly, what a mood.
True, this isn´t exactly the newsworthy material, Ricky Gervais discussed Scorcese´s top-notch diss of superhero culture movies during his monologue at the 2020 Golden Globe Awards.
But it recently popped up in my recommended videos because the Youtube algorithm works in mysterious ways and got to thinking – is it just about shallow screenwriting and the allure of cheap CGI action, the mindless fun?
And I realized that the problem of Marvel storytelling runs even deeper than the genius director conveyed to us out loud – that it heavily influenced the type of novels we get to read – and it´s not exactly Marvel´s fault … Not entirely.
ONE-DIMENSIONAL CHARACTERS
One-dimensional characters or flat characters do not change or grow from the start of the story to the end. Their purpose is to highlight the main character, to be a plot device, or a tool, and they typically are simpletons with a one point of view on life – they only see one dimension – hence one-dimensional characters, hold a simple and small perspective about life or the situation in the story. Their character is often used as a literary device to keep the narrative moving – many times when the script has written itself into a corner, or the writer has run out of effective ways to move the plot forward.
Now, Marvel, from the three-hundred and seventy-two movies total from which I´ve seen eighteen, does not suffer from one-dimensional characters on the hero side of the story. All the good guys go through trauma, they learn, they grow, they develop new opinions (ehm-ehm- some of them).
Marvel has been criticized for sucking at writing an effective villain but the problem is not the villains, the problem is the root of the Marvel storytelling – the good guys are good and the bad guys are bad.
One would think that they would take their own advice and write all the villains the way Loki is written – which is the reason (not the only one, yeah, Tom Hiddleston is awesome and all that) why audiences flock to him so much. He has a strong motivation, he´s smart and his character is a rainbow of personalities – just like a regular human being, which makes him likable and most importantly, relatable.
But Marvel is not the inventor of one-dimensional characters.
William Shakespeare is.
Benvolio from Romeo and Juliet, Gertrude from Hamlet, Shylock from The Merchant of Venice very effective plot devices with one stubborn character feature that poses an obstacle to the protagonist.
However, Shakespeare didn´t have Hollywood studios behind him to balance out the lack of personalities in his stories with raging beam in the sky and generic CGI armies. To give a complete experience to audiences, he had to support the narrative by creating strong protagonists, interesting antagonists, and villains with complex personalities (Lady Macbeth, Hamlet, Portia). And when you do that, your story not only allows for the one-dimensional character to make sense, it makes it even more immersive and realistic – because we all know that one blank person who is just sort of … there. Existing, with one opinion on all the debatable, morally grey, complicated stuff we deal with in life.
And that´s why people will never have such a raging allergy if a Marvel movie turns out bad and will keep watching them and paying for the next one and the next one and the next one.
Low stakes, low damage.
Now compare that to a show heavily driven by character development where there are no villains and heroes like the Game of Thrones.
Feel like re-watching it? No? Me neither. And no one can blame us. That show became un-rewatchable due to replacing the complexity of the human heart with a hero vs. villain storytelling and adding some explosive Marvel-type action as the final lethal, cyanide-like icing on the cake.
IN BOOKS
All the teenage apocalyptic series. Thank you for your time, good night.
….
I really didn´t want to get into this but there is no better example than the popular doomsday book series where children hunt each other in a world that no longer resembles a rational society. And they gave us all the subsequent movie franchises in which those very same teenagers are at least twenty-six years old, of course.
However, there is a silver lining on the horizon in a form of Shadow and Bone. I´ve never read the books but the popular fantasy book series The Grisha has been picked up by Netflix and the first book has been adapted in a form of a limited TV series.
And if the source material is as strong as the adaptation, we might just be plunging out of the lazy storytelling brought about by the likes of Twilight and 50 Shades of Grey.
DOES I AM CECILIA DO BETTER THAN THAT?
Cecilia used to think that being born to a small fortune, accompanied by chrysanthemums on the way from the hospital and surrounded by exploding fanfares of affection, would set her up for a never-ending life of lottery wins, parades without rain, and smooth slides on the slopes of adoration. She never realized how slippery that slope of adoration was. Maybe money was not the root of all evil. Family dysfunction was.
- An Excerpt from I am Cecilia by Zara Miller
As promised last time in the first article, I would reveal a little bit behind the story and the inspiration behind writing this YA novel.
The hero vs. villain in the Marvel movies is something that was always on my mind and tried to avoid during writing. Blurring the lines in the protagonist/antagonist/villain/anti-hero characterization. Not just because it´s a lot of fun but because it makes for a rich experience.
When you find yourself disliking the hero yet rooting for them anyway, or loving the villain yet understanding that they have to be stopped – the writer is probably doing it right.
I am Cecilia is now available on Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/I-am-Cecilia-Zara-Miller-ebook/dp/B094519D7T/ref
You can follow me on Instagram @zaramiller_author, or on LinkedIn under Zara Miller for more news and swoon-worthy fiction content. Looking forward to meeting you all!
Poetry from Anthony Vernon
Universes In The Sky Lying upon obsidian ground A Pneuman child stares at universes Like stars in the night sky The spiraling of galaxies and the crashing of cosmoses Are but flickers Explosions of physics and feelings Are but distant episodes What comprises totality for many Is just a point of amusement
Anthony David Vernon's publishing credits include A Great Fire (2020 Cabinet of Heed), The Warrior King (2020 The Mindful Word), Seven Scripts (2021 The New Mystics), and An Echo An Echo (2021 The Drabble).
Prose from Kahlil Crawford
It’s always midnight beneath the viaducts…
The metropolis is divided by viaducts – a disparate world where aerosol art is eroded by automobile exhaust and industrial rain puddles littered with man-made debris. Much happens beneath these viaducts – from the holy to the ungodly…
Apparitions haunt passersby whose footsteps echo tales of life, death, and all else. Rumbling trains accelerate black eroded raindrops, sending soot-coated pigeons into a frenzy – protecting their dark nests tucked deep in the crevices of this elevated underworld, their crimson eyes cry forbidden songs.
Al frequently passes through the viaduct – his preferred route from the 4th-floor room he inhabits at the Y to the Blue line train that takes him to his seemingly endless stream of appointments. Today he’s going to see his therapist who seems to derive pleasure from changing his meds after nearly every visit. Al’s short on change again, so he checks for cops then hops the turnstile, feeling a rush of triumph over the pricey fare required for the two-mile ride to Six Corners.
The only thing wobblier than the swerving train car is his trembling hand – a janky side effect of the Klonopin. It thins his hair too, so he sports a grey golf cap he got for a quarter at the Brown Elephant. However, copping donated gear is not Al’s main reason for frequenting The Elephant – it’s the cashier…
Xochil has dark, shoulder-length hair that she sometimes stuffs into an engraved clip that reads “Hecho En Męxico”. She doesn’t talk much, but her fluctuating tone fills the verbal gaps. When she speaks of the weather her voice lilts up as the sun showers or down if the rain falls. She always drives her points home with pronounced hand gestures that suggest she enjoys a good dance from time to time. Xochil says that the Brown Elephant makes her feel like she’s serving the Lord in a practical way.
After his appointment, Al takes the Blue line back east then transfers to the Brown line. He’s heading to East Lakeview for his weekly social rehabilitation group at Catholic Charities. He hopes they paint today because he loves taking his easel to the park and practice painting the big Goethe statue on Diversey. There’s something calming about the smooth, earthly texture of the metal and the giant hawk perched on the knee of the protagonist. The base of the sculpture reads, “To Goethe: The Master Mind of the German People”.
Directly across the street is the Elk’s lodge – it’s always been a mystery to Al. Much more ornate than the Goethe site, its Romanesque architecture and well-polished sculptures add to its mystique.
To read the prequel, click HERE.
Poetry from Chimezie Ihekuna
What an amazing piece of nature Yet, reflecting the other side of its torture A place of inspiration Yet, the site for depression The commonality or all visible interactions Yet, the disparity of all information The presence of life abounds Yet, the absence of death abounds A creation of the living and non living essence Yet, a design of vacuum residence
Short story from Jack Galmitz
The Frogs
A Fable
Beside a rivulet running along the woods just beyond the border of a suburban home, an assembly of frogs had gathered. You couldn’t mistake the croaking however far from the site you stood. It was urgent.
“I’ve had enough” one of the more remonstrative males said. “I’ve just laid my second batch of tadpoles. It’s humiliating. Everyone is making fun of me.”
Others joined in. They all knew they were the laughingstock of the species and the laughingstock of humans, too.
“Soon we’ll be wearing dresses and putting on lipstick. It’s disgusting.”
“Here here” came the general agreement echoed in the woods as more and more frogs came to join the assembled.
“They want their little manicured lawns and sculpted hedges and they won’t tolerate wildflowers and any living thing they call a weed. And God forbid any insects should invade their little gardens. So they spray their lawns with pesticides that get into our water and we end up mutants- male frogs that get pregnant and give birth.”
“What’s to be done” one of the more thoughtful croaked.
“Let’s go to their Village Square in vast numbers and demonstrate” said a huge female sitting in the mud. “Perhaps, we can stage a die-in. That would generate some interest in our cause.”
“Hear hear” came a great croaking from the woods and by the rivulet and along the banks of the nearby river that ran along the town.
“Break up into cells and report to the central committee we will establish today “said a small male frog. “We need to prepare and organize and have everyone attend. Thousands of frogs pretending to be dead in the center of their Village Square will wake them up to our existence.”
So that day the Union of Concerned Frogs was born in the suburbs in the town of Bayville. They quickly spread word to all frogs that lived in the neighboring townships so as to increase their numbers at the die-in.
By the end of the night, the frogs in all the adjoining townships had organized and begun hopping under cover of night towards Bayville. There were easily tens of thousands as historians would later relate.
As light broke on the highway, thousands of frogs could be seen moving along the edge of the road by drivers on their way to work. Some of the people were amused, some were panic stricken. There was no accounting for such an event. It was unparalleled.
Close to the opening of businesses, the Village Square was filled with frogs. They lay prostrate on the ground looking as if they were dead.
As workers arrived, they were alarmed. They discussed the problem among themselves. Some suggested calling the Volunteer Fire Department. Some suggested they contact the Bayville Animal Control Center. Some of the elders who were just entering the local diner thought of the Plague on Egypt. The appearance of so many dead frogs sprawled about had a Biblical appearance to it. Children were ushered away by their parents.
Pretty soon the fire engine of the Fire Department appeared on the scene. The hose was connected and a powerful jet of water was directed at the frogs. It lifted some of them off the ground, but when the Firefighters saw the frogs begin to stir to life, hop away and swim away, they realized there had been something else going on than at first sight appeared. Plus there were so many frogs that the hose was not going to be enough to wash them out of the Square.
The Sanitation Department came in with the men using the great stiff brooms to sweep away the frogs. Well with thousands of frogs assembled, it was nearly impossible to make much headway in the task.
Finally, the Animal Control Center was called in to assist. With all the Village services combined, they managed to sweep most of the frogs into huge plastic containers to be moved to the woods outside of the Village.
Of course, the frogs were the subject of all the conversations held that day. The daily news station covered the removal effort. The story even reached some of the larger metropolitan news outlets.
In the end, though the frogs had garnered the much needed attention they desired, no one, not one person connected their appearance to the pesticides that were genetically transforming the male frogs into egg bearing females.
A schoolgirl, having seen the frogs that day, began to read about them. She came upon an article in a science journal that explained how humans were destroying habitats by dumping hazardous chemicals into the environment. This schoolgirl might turn out to be the one the frogs were looking for.
Poetry from Alan Catlin
302- Fernando Passoa Modern Dance Studio. Do you pony. Like hony maroni. Night of a thousand dancers. Rumba. Tango. vodka and orange premix cocktails. Worst drunk ever. The Beauty of the Husband: A Fictional Essay in 29 Tangos. Dance script with electric ballerinas. Not PK Dick. Fulton. Not the NY gov. Alice. Not the one who descends into rabbit holes. Of disinformation. 303- The Madwoman in the Attic. Jane Eyre or Wide Sargasso Sea. Jean Rhys or Charlotte Bronte. The one who actually got laid. Dominica or Haworth. Don’t drink the water. Hochmeister. Corpse water. The Blue Hour. After Leaving Mr. McKenzie. Good Morning Midnight. Voyage in the Dark. Smile Please. Difficult women. The end of the novel of love. Tigers were better looking. 304- Talking to frogs in boiling water. Lobsters on a leash. Sunday in the Park with. George. William or Mary. Who’s your Dada. 305- Now out of the blue, out of the black, a number caller-id’d from Hades.” Stephen Bett. Not the exchange. Rate. That’s bothersome. The caller id. What’s your area. Code. Zip. Code. Bar. Code. Navajo code talker anonymous. The answer (s), my friend, are blowing in the wind. 306- “Modern historical reality has greatly enlarged the imagination of disaster.” Said Susan Sontag. All too accurately. The beginning of the end. Them! The Hulk. Spiderman. Radioactive spiders from Mars. The Atomic Cafe. The sheep look up. Not Biblical. Though it could be. Was. Is. Not science fiction. Fallout. Illness as metaphor.