Author: Jake W. Powell

A God Walks up to the Bar – Excerpt

Well, I’ve talked a lot about writing on this blog, but I’ve never actually posted any of my work yet. I thought today that I would post an excerpt from my first-ever published book, A God Walks Up to the Bar. It’s an anthology of five short stories, connected by a framing story, that details the adventures of the Greek god Hermes in modern day. Read and enjoy!

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The night was gloomy in that part of New York. There was no glamor here, no joyous nightlife. There was just rain drizzling down half-heartedly, covering the sidewalk in a dirty wet sheen that reflected the glare of the streetlights. It reminded me of how long I’d been putting off that vacation to Aruba, and how nice it would be to lounge in the jacuzzi in my apartment. But, alas, no such luxuries tonight. I was on business. The messenger had gotten his assignment, and like the intrepid mail pilots of old, he must get through.

I tromped through the puddles and arrived at my destination. It was a real hole-in-the-wall bar. Its owner had spared no expense in stripping it of the slightest feature that would impress itself in memory. There was no sign, the windows were darkened glass, and the entrance was a blank gray door at the bottom of a flight of concrete steps. I descended and walked inside.

It wasn’t much more cheerful inside the tavern than out. Battered hanging lamps cast everything in a dim reddish-orange tint. The floor was slick with grease, and the air was sour with the scent of cheap beer. It was well into happy hour, but the clientele was sparse. I counted six men hunched over their drinks and making small talk. A couple of them glanced up and appraised me with cold eyes.

This wasn’t a place where people gathered for a good time. This was where you came when you had to conduct business that was frowned upon by civil society. An unfamiliar face like mine wasn’t welcome here. Still, they did little more than scowl at me as I approached the bar.

The bartender had just stepped out of a backroom lugging an icebox when he saw me. He set down the box and fixed his eyes on me. His voice was brusque.

“What’ll it be?”

“Nothing, tonight,” I replied. “I’m here to see your boss.”

The bartender frowned and tilted his head.

“I’m here to see Stauffer,” I clarified.

The man’s eyes narrowed.

“Who wants to see him?”

I set both my hands on the bar counter. I immediately regretted it — the wood was sticky with spilled alcohol — but I wasn’t about to show squeamishness. I pushed my right hand forward and curled my knuckles, displaying the ring I wore.

A gold ring with a seal displaying two serpents wrapped around a winged staff. The Caduceus. My personal symbol.

The bartender’s frown deepened. He recognized it.

“You’re an Olympian,” he said slowly.

“That I am,” I replied with a friendly smile. “Hermes of Olympus, Swift-runner and Wayfarer, Herald of the Dodekatheon, et cetera, et cetera. I’m here to see Arnold Stauffer with a message straight from Lord Zeus. And I fear it must be delivered face-to-face.”

He scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Sorry, my lord, but I can’t say I’ve—”

I held up my hand. “Tell you what. Let’s skip the part where you pretend that he conveniently stepped out a few hours ago and you don’t know when he’ll be back. I know he’s here. Does that sound good to you? Good, that’s settled. Now, just point me to his room, and I’ll be out of your hair faster than a Valkyrie can chug mead.”

The bartender gave a short, ugly chuckle. “He won’t see you today, my lord. He’s busy.”

“Oh!” I replied in mock horror. “He’s busy. Olympus forbid.” I leaned farther forward. “If it’s trouble you’re worried about, I’m not here to knock heads and pull ears. It’s a simple message. A communiqué. A heaven-sent singing telegram, if you will. Minus the singing.”

My words didn’t make much of an impression, but as I spoke, I took a moment to throw a casual glance across the tavern. I noted the hallway leading deeper into the building. I turned again to the bartender.

“He in back? Tending to the affairs of his kingdom?”

“He ain’t seeing you. Not my call.”

Stauffer had been expecting someone to show up. No surprise there. He knew what he’d done. And yet, he still thought he could keep me away. Adorable.

I took several meaningful steps toward the hallway. A man sitting at a nearby table slowly got up and stretched in a way that drew attention to his height and formidable musculature. His drinking buddy, a much older fellow than the rest of the barflies, remained seated but watched me carefully.

The standing man looked at me with a face that shone with arrogance.

“Must not have heard the man,” he said in a loud voice. “Arnie doesn’t want to be disturbed. So why don’t you skip out of here, Olympian?”

He gave me a predator’s grin and glanced at his friend who was still watching me. I sized up the gatekeeper. Tall, stocky, thick-skinned, with a greyish tint to him. Ogre blood. Not to be trifled with. Judging from the way his hands were open and held close to his side, I figured he was armed. Knives most likely. His jacket wasn’t thick enough to conceal a gun. He looked down at me, which isn’t hard to do to a god who’s five feet eight inches tall.

I sighed in defeat.

“Well, that’s a shame. It was worth a shot, though, wasn’t it, Mark? But you’re right, we don’t want to make a fuss. It is Mark, isn’t it?”

The man’s right eye twitched slightly at the casual mention of his name.

“Right, Mark Yeager.” I nodded as if I had just remembered. “You do a bit of leg-breaking work for Stauffer. Real smooth operator. A pawn shop here, a diner there. Very efficient, really rising in the ranks. Even got your own thing going, too, I’ve heard. A bit of burgling on the side when not on Stauffer’s payroll?”

Mark tried to laugh it off, but that telltale twitch in his eye didn’t go away. He wouldn’t make much of a poker player. “What are you trying to do, scare me? I’m a plumber.”

“Yeah, yeah.” I laughed. “That was pretty dumb of me, wasn’t it? You do good work, I’m sure.” Mark smiled mirthlessly at me as I took a step back. The tension in his body drained away, just in time for the gut punch.

“You, uh, did a real good job unclogging the pipes at Ezra Connolly’s place, I heard.”

The comment caught him off-guard. His nostrils flared, and his throat tightened. Jackpot.

“Unclogged his cabinets later that night, too. Pretty slick work.” I waved my hand across the tavern. “The guys must have really been impressed. Not easy, breaking into the home of a member of the Aristocracy.”

“What’s he talking about, Mark?” the white-bearded man asked calmly.

Mark shook his head, trying to shrug off the question. “Nothing. He’s just blowing a load of—”

I cut him off. “And is Stauffer having trouble with the Aristocracy?”

They all remained silent, watching me now with undivided attention. They knew the answer. The Aristocracy was controlled by vampires, a world-spanning criminal empire that suffered no insult. Its network in New York had been harassing Stauffer’s operations for a couple weeks now.

“Didn’t Connolly mention something to Stauffer? Something about being disrespected? About his territory being violated? Hey, Mark, you doing alright?”

The other men turned to observe Mark with acute interest. He wasn’t holding up very well under the scrutiny. His eyelid was practically short-circuiting, and his face was turning a violent shade of red.

I took a step closer to him. “You know how vampires are. Once they get it into their head that they’ve been slighted, they’ll go through fire and water to even the score. Man, I’d hate to be the guy who ticked them off. Vampires have a really interesting idea of justice. It involves lots of sharp, jagged objects. If I were Stauffer, I’d be looking for that idiot who messed up and just hand him over. So, anyway, how is the plumbing business nowadays?”

“Alright!” Mark erupted. “I get it. You think you know stuff.” He glared at me. “I’m loyal to Mr. Stauffer. And you ain’t passing through here.”

The white-bearded man whistled in derision. “He’s a god, you idiot. He’s not trying to force you to stand down. He’s proving a point.” He jerked a thumb. “Step aside.”

Mark shot a look at him. “But—”

“Shut up and get out of his way.”

Crestfallen, Mark stepped to the side, letting me pass. The old man raised his glass to me.

“Well played, Lord Hermes.”

As I walked away, I heard his voice growl, “Sit down, Mark. I think we should talk.”

A key rule of bluffing is confidence. Did I know with dead certainty that Mark was a thief? No. But I knew just enough. I had lots of little birds all over the city telling me things, and this was one of the nuggets they’d dropped me. It was all gossip, truths, and half-lies, and who knew which was which. But I had played this game before. Drop a hint, watch the opponent buckle, and then push him a little more. Never falter, never stutter, and always let them believe you already know everything. I’m a god, aren’t I? Everyone knows gods are all-knowing.

Well, I had gotten that roadblock out of the way. Now, it was time to deal with the big man himself.

There was a solid oak door at the end of the hallway. It was a fancy door, far more ornate than anything else in this place. I felt the faint pulse of magic emanating from it.

I put my hand on the doorknob and was immediately stung by a shock of intense cold that coated my palm in frost. An enchantment to ward off intruders. Clever.

But this was low-grade stuff. I focused my thoughts and pushed back against the enchantment. The magic sputtered and dissipated, and I felt the cold fade away. It took another second to take care of the lock. I opened the door and stepped inside.

To be continued …

If you just so happen to be enjoying my blog, feel free to subscribe. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

My first book, A God Walks up to the Bar, is available on Amazon.com. Witness the modern day adventures of the Greek god Hermes in a world much like our own – and with demigods, vampires, nymphs, ogres, and magic. The myths never went away, they just learned to move on with the times. It’s a tough job, being a god!

Every Story Has Its End … Hopefully

What makes a story a story? What’s the fundamental element that every story has in common, regardless of genre, author, era, or medium? What is something that every, absolutely every, story must have in order to be a complete and whole narrative?

The answer: It ends.

“Oh, well done, Jake,” you might be thinking. “Congratulations, you jumped online to state the mind-numbingly obvious.” Well, yes, it is obvious. So obvious, in fact, that it curves back around to becoming easy to forget just how important it is that stories have conclusions. And, in fact, a lot of people nowadays seem to have forgotten that it’s important for the quality of any story, whether a book, a comic, a movie, a video game, or whatever, that it eventually comes to a stop.

Every narrative has a beginning, a middle, and an end. This is the basic structure. So, unless you’re going for something avant-garde, this is the way that every story is written. You start at the beginning, work your way to the end, then stop. Obvious.

Why is this so important? Because a story that never ends ceases to be a story.

Endings are important. Maybe they’re even more important than beginnings. Endings wrap up the plot. They give closure to the characters’ arcs. They tell the audience that that’s all, folks. Whether or not they satisfy us, endings close the loop. They give a story its shape, like how our backbones keeping us humans from being floppy, wiggly things squirming on the ground. A writer works her way toward the ending. And when she gets to the ending, she knows that there’s no more. There’s a boundary there, a limit that gives focus to what she writes, because she knows that she shouldn’t go beyond the finish line. Writers need their stories to end.

One of my favorite pieces of fiction is the newspaper comic Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Watterson. It’s just fun, brilliant writing and art. It was also very successful. So successful, that Watterson could have kept it going for a long time. But you know what he did? He didn’t. When he felt that he had told every story he needed to, he chose to end the comic. Isn’t that something crazy? To end an ongoing serial at the height of its popularity? Not many people have the courage to do something like that. But the final Calvin and Hobbes comic is something special. It sums up the spirit of the work and ends on a high note. Waterson knew that his story needed its conclusion.

He was tapping into something ancient and mythical, believe it or not. All the great sagas of the ancient world have endings. The epic of Gilgamesh ends with the hero’s profound growth as a person. The tales of the Norse gods end with a world-ending bang in the form of Ragnarök. The Trojan War didn’t go on forever – it reached its climax in one final, bloody battle. In more recent times, J. R. R. Tolkien tapped into that same epic tradition with The Lord of the Rings. It’s a doorstopper, but it does have its finale. He understood what the ancients did – a saga isn’t truly a saga until it’s all over. The fates of the heroes and villains are fulfilled, and an era is finished. The world moves on.

If a story goes on forever, eventually it ceases to be a story. It’s just a never-ending spewing of words and scenes that melt into each other and lose all meaning and purpose. The story falls apart. The narrative goes astray, and the characters lose their very nature simply due to existing for too long. There is no tale to tell, just a desire to keep a dying horse trotting forward for as long as possible, and it becomes painful to experience.

Well, now, aren’t I getting melodramatic? Maybe it’s time to end this post. Before I do, here’s one last thought: Consider a franchise or story arc or series that went on too long. I’m sure you can all think of at least one. It had an end … but then it kept going. It’s still going, perhaps, and shows no sign of stopping. But you wonder why. Why doesn’t it just stop? It’s past its glory days, and you recall its height with bittersweet nostalgia. You may not even enjoy it anymore. It’s not the same. It’s lost the spirit and tone that made it fun in the first place. It’s clearly a walking corpse kept going by sheer inertia – and maybe by the creator’s desire to milk as much money out of it as possible. It should end. It needs to. But it didn’t and suffered for it.

The best stories are the ones that know when they’ve reached their stopping point.

What do you think? What are your thoughts on stories and endings? Feel free to share!

If you just so happen to be enjoying my blog, feel free to subscribe. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

My first book, A God Walks up to the Bar, is available on Amazon.com. Witness the modern day adventures of the Greek god Hermes in a world much like our own – and with demigods, vampires, nymphs, ogres, and magic. The myths never went away, they just learned to move on with the times. It’s a tough job, being a god!

The Ups and the Downs: Thoughts on Emotions and Decision-Making

Funny thing, emotions. In the grips of an emotional high, we feel invincibility and never-ending optimism. Any choice we make is a good one and can only yield good things. And then, with a snap of the fingers and a blink of the eye, we plummet into the doldrums. Everything is wrong, and what can we possibly do to make it better?

The truth is, our emotions are in constant flux. We all have off days where we just feel miserable for no good reason. And we have pleasant days when we feel like everything will keep going swell forever.

We talk about our off days, but what about when just an hour feels off? Have you have ever had a really terrific minute? Sounds silly, doesn’t it? But passions can snap back and forth that quickly. Happy warps into angry after an unexpected phone call, then changes back to happy forty minutes later after a tasty dinner. We wake up feeling listless, but after an invigorating workout, we perk up. In point of fact, all of us can jump from sad to happy to sad again to upset to tranquil all in one afternoon … and for no apparent reason at all.

In short, emotions are really weird. Do you want to feel differently from how you’re feeling now? Wait twenty minutes.

Now, when I talk about emotions, I’m not talking about medical depression. That’s an entirely different conversation. A diagnosed case of depression is a far cry from just feeling “bleh” or lacking joy in our lives. But in most everyday situations, irritation and sorrow walk hand-in-hand with joy and happiness, and they all get mixed together into a crazed tapestry that forms our emotional spectrum. They all take turns. Just because we feel a certain way about something at any given time, doesn’t meant that our opinion won’t make a one-eighty at any given moment.

There’s a somewhat unpleasant implication to take away from this: We can’t trust our feelings when making important choices. We can’t ignore them either, but something so changeable doesn’t strike me as a solid foundation on which to build decisions and opinions. I certainly can’t. I’m a moody guy, and I’ve simply learned that if I’m feeling rotten, I need to be patient and wait for it to run its course. Or heck, I’m hungry and just need a snack.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m not talking about medical depression. That’s an entirely different conversation. A diagnosed case of depression is something different from everyday emotional turbulence. Our normal emotions are something perfectly natural. To feel is to walk down a road alternatively smooth and bumpy.

When you’re feeling good, you know you can take on the world. So, you make that impulse buy. You dive into building that house. You decide, perhaps, to start writing a book. And you start out strong! Everything is going exactly as planned. Alas, you eventually run into a problem. And the good feeling fades. What’s left? Well, you still made your choice. Do you abandon it until you feel nice again, or do you resolve to keep trucking along regardless?

As a writer, there are days when I’m 100% satisfied with my work, and there are days when I know my book is crap, my writing skill is garbage, and maybe I should just find a new hobby. But, I write anyway. Emotions come and go, but they shouldn’t take our goals and dreams with them. Life is hard. How much harder would it be if employees only went to work when they were happy? Or parents only paid attention to their kids when they were in a good mood? Or doctors only decided to treat their patients when they were riding that emotional high?

People change. Change is the only constant (besides taxes), so maybe we should bear in mind that our current state of mind can flex and bend and not be hasty to make big decisions based on our emotional response. After all, eventually you will calm down, and then your brain will take over and help you make a more rational choice. Or even better, you’ll learned how to disassociate from your emotions and think logically even in the midst of turbulence. It is possible. Hard, but possible.

Emotions are a good thing. They help us get through hard times, and they teach us empathy and compassion. But they aren’t the sole guiding light in our lives. And they shouldn’t be the only director of our choices. After all, who wants a compass that doesn’t always point north?

If you just so happen to be enjoying my blog, feel free to subscribe. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

My first book, A God Walks up to the Bar, is available on Amazon.com. Witness the modern day adventures of the Greek god Hermes in a world much like our own – and with demigods, vampires, nymphs, ogres, and magic. The myths never went away, they just learned to move on with the times. It’s a tough job, being a god!

Image: “3/04/2013, 214/365, year 2 Happy face, sad face IMG_1260” by tomylees; Licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 2.0.

Give and Take: Developing Characters with Banter

So, in my last post I went on a bit of a rant about how I dislike how much quip humor is overused in today’s media. So, maybe you’re wondering what kind of comedic writing I do like. Well, lucky you! That’s what I’m here to talk about today.

In all seriousness, comedy is a great way to develop and humanize characters. We use humor in all situations, including dangerous ones. It relieves stress, it helps us relate to each other, and it can lighten a grim situation. Most everyone has a sense of humor. And you know what? Nobody’s is exactly the same. So what happens when two people pit their humor against each other? Well, sometimes a black eye, but in most situations you get the normal, casual banter that marks so many conversations in real life. And as in real life, writing banter can reveal a lot about what people are really like.

Banter is defined by Dictionary.com as “an exchange of light, playful, teasing remarks; good-natured raillery.” While I doubt anyone uses the word “raillery” in casual conversation anymore, this definition gets the point across: Banter is a two-way (or more) street. It is dialogue, and it is reliant on character interaction. Where two characters interact, you get development and characterization. You also get exposition explained in a palatable way. You can get plot progression, foreshadowing, romance, conflict, and all sorts of other things. Why? Because it is dialogue. Because it is character interaction. Because, unlike quipping, banter relies on sharing the spotlight with someone else.

Good-natured ribbing is a form of camaraderie the world over. Inside jokes and bad puns and the playful critique thereof illustrate the history of a relationship more succinctly and beautifully than a full paragraph detailing the backstory. Verbal sparring is fun to read or watch and can be laden with subtext that delivers multiple messages in a single conversation. Just check out movies and books with great dialogue. Well-written banter makes characters feel like real people.

And quips … well, people do quip in real life, but it’s a lonely game to play. It’s a one-trick pony. What happens when people get tired of one-liners? Banter is more flexible. People throw different types of funny at each other. To quip is to play golf: You hit the ball and off it goes. One and done. Banter is tennis. You hit the ball back and forth, leaping and twisting around to catch it and keep up the rhythm.

I promise my blog won’t turn into a campaign against types of writing I don’t like. I don’t despise quipping. But I do prefer variety and versatility in writing. Banter simply offers more options and has more applicability. Not everyone talks in one-liners. But everyone enjoys a spot of teasing and ribbing. Want to flesh out your cast? Add some banter.

If you just so happen to be enjoying my blog, feel free to subscribe. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

My first book, A God Walks up to the Bar, is available on Amazon.com. Witness the modern day adventures of the Greek god Hermes in a world much like our own – and with demigods, vampires, nymphs, ogres, and magic. The myths never went away, they just learned to move on with the times. It’s a tough job, being a god!

Overused and Old Hat: Why I’m No Longer a Fan of Quipping

We live in an age of quips. Quipping has gripped modern entertainment. Quick, glib, clever one-liners are all the rage nowadays. You see it in blockbuster movies, television, comic books, and general writing. Pithy turns of phrase to sum up a situation, shove humor into it, or just to show off how clever the writer is.

And like anything in excess, people eventually become tired of it. One-liners aren’t bad in and of themselves, but I feel that overexposure to any style of writing can sour people against it. Like eating ice cream and pizza three meals a day for a month, something you originally enjoyed now just leaves you feeling sick and disgusted.

Humor is very important. Without it, a story can feel lifeless and dull. But humor comes in many forms, and we aren’t limited to the simple quip. I’m not saying that quipping is bad in and of itself. James Bond can get away with his cheeky one-liners all day long. But variety is the spice of life. More importantly, not every story needs that type of writing.

Maybe I should start from the beginning. What is quipping?

Dictionary.com defines “quip” as “a clever or witty remark or comment” or “a sharp, sarcastic remark; a cutting jest.” And that pretty much sums it up. Quips are one-liners, punchlines, and statements to show off a character’s biting wit. They can be used to characterize and flesh out the tone of a story, but modern writers, especially in film and television, have become obsessed with this one form of humor. What happens when you’re exposed to one, and only one, type of funny for ten years? It becomes boring.

What’s worse, writers can fall into the temptation to constantly strive to outdo themselves and each other. Stories lose their focus and become quip-a-thons. What wacky thing will the hero say next? And how will it completely disrupt the otherwise somber tone of the scene? Because that’s what a poorly used quip can do: It destroys the mood. Too often, I watch movies that are afraid to end on a quiet note. The tone needs “lightening up” with some funny, silly observation. And suddenly, the characters aren’t taking anything seriously. And if they aren’t, why should the audience? Main hero in mortal danger? He makes a quip, and it’s just a big joke, no reason to be on the edge of your seat. A scene of exposition establishing the stakes? Sum it up with some pithy, self-aware remark that illustrates the characters are more concerned with pointing out cliches and proving how clever they are than getting the job done. Guess the audience shouldn’t care, either.

Can you tell I really don’t like this style of humor?

I used to. I enjoyed Marvel movies. I liked Arnold Schwarzenegger’s cheesy one-liners. But overexposure soured me against quips. No, let me revise that statement. It soured me against every main character in the story using quips. That’s the biggest gripe I have against the style, because it makes every character basically the same. Oh, sure, they might have different motivations, different backstories, different personalities, but they all sound the same. Same remarks, same puns, same tendency toward glibness. They all react the same way to a situation. And that is, I emphasize again, boring.

That being said, there are stories I enjoy where quipping is used. I like The Dresden Files, and the protagonist’s tendency toward wise-guy remarks. And I don’t mind James Bond’s use of hilariously callous puns after killing someone. Heck, I enjoy the Marx Brothers’ old films, and Groucho Marx is a machine at quipping. A bona fide master. And you know why I can tolerate these examples? Because they are the only characters in the story who rely on quipping for humor. They stand out because of it. Other forms of humor are used by other characters. Rather than being the default fallback for extracting humor, their smart-aleck words are used to define their character and place in the story. It’s part of who they are.

What’s that old saying? If everyone is special, nobody is. I don’t know about that, but I do think that if everyone is funny in the same way, than nobody is funny at all. Put some variety into your story’s humor!

If you just so happen to be enjoying my blog, feel free to subscribe. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

My first book, A God Walks up to the Bar, is available on Amazon.com. Witness the modern day adventures of the Greek god Hermes in a world much like our own – and with demigods, vampires, nymphs, ogres, and magic. The myths never went away, they just learned to move on with the times. It’s a tough job, being a god!

Image: “Dear Old Hat” by Muffet: Licensed under CC BY 2.0.

A Simple Drink of Water

What is your favorite drink?

I’ve never done one of WordPress’s daily prompts before, so I thought I’d give it a shot and see how things turn out.

For all the great drinks out there, my answer is really simple: Water.

Water isn’t exciting or fancy or showy. But after a long, hot summer day, nothing tastes better. After a vigorous workout session or a whole day without a chance to drink something, a cold cup of water is the sweetest thing you could ever hope to taste.

There’s something pure about water. It’s guilt-free pleasure. It’s not a cesspool of chemicals like soda, or sugary like juice or lemonade. It’s just water, simple water, and it is the stuff of life running through our veins.

I also realize that every drink of water I take is a privilege and opportunity not everyone has. Here in America, we don’t have to worry about waterborne illness or contamination the way that many other nations do. Heck, we don’t have to worry about not having any water at all. All I have to do is turn a faucet, and voila! Fresh water fit to drink, every minute of every day.

It’s simple. And that makes it very precious, indeed.

If you just so happen to be enjoying my blog, feel free to subscribe. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

My first book, A God Walks up to the Bar, is available on Amazon.com. Witness the modern day adventures of the Greek god Hermes in a world much like our own – and with demigods, vampires, nymphs, ogres, and magic. The myths never went away, they just learned to move on with the times. It’s a tough job, being a god!

What is Art?

The eternal pressing question: What is art? What defines it, what is its nature, how is it differentiated from the common dross, and how do we recognize it when we see it? What. Is. Art?

Ask a hundred people, and you’ll get a hundred and one different answers. Nobody can seem to decide, though everyone, from the working joe to the professional critic, seems convinced that they know exactly what art is. The artistic merits of literature, film, paintings, and even video games are debated again and again. Is it art? But can we know, when the definition of art is as fluid as the fresh paint dripping from a canvas?

Maybe we’re asking the wrong question. Maybe we should instead ask what isn’t art.

Can this process of elimination help answer this great question? Consider the humble spoon. Is a spoon art? Well, most people would say it isn’t. You use it to eat soup and cereal. It’s a mundane thing. It has an everyday utility. It isn’t art.

What about a car? Is a car art? Well, it also has a mundane use: transportation from point A to point B. But look at car commercials and car shows. Cars boast aesthetic pleasures and pleasing design. They are promoted based on appearance, performance, improvement, and flashy lights. People collect cars. People analyze cars. Are they art? Or are they merely utilities passed off as art? And how do we know, unless we can define what art is?

This is getting complicated.

Why do Jackson Pollack’s paintings get hung up in museums but a two-year old’s paint smears don’t? What’s the difference? Aren’t they both paintings? And aren’t both paintings art? Well, the latter obviously isn’t art art because nobody cares except the parents. But everyone must care about Sydney Pollack since he gets public exhibits.

Nobody cares about spoons unless they try eating soup with a fork. But everyone cares about cars, one way or another. They’re both a fact of life, but one is just plain more noticeable than the other.

Nobody cared about the pipe until René Magritte put up a picture of one alongside the words, “This is not a pipe.” A pipe is just a pipe until it isn’t.

Maybe that’s all there is to it. Maybe art isn’t art until you decide that it’s art.

Until you care whether or not it’s art.

If enough people say that something is true, does it become true? No. No matter how many people say you can fly by flapping your arms, you can’t. But it sure is easier to think you can.

Is that all that art is? A shared belief? A social construct? Just the idea that if we belief something has merit inherent in its composition, construction, appearance, and intent, it rises above the mundane to become something with social significance?

But what about your two-year-old’s paint splatters? Is that art? What loving parent would say, “No”? To them it’s art. It’s more precious than everything in the Louvre.

Maybe art is more than just innovation, messages, and composition. Maybe it’s something more personal than that. Maybe art lies in how much it is valued by the individual. I happen to think cars all look the same and are basically just glorified boxes on wheels. I don’t see the appeal. Cars aren’t art to me. But to others, they are masterpieces.

Critics say something is art, and so we believe them. They must know what they’re talking about, right? Then, a hundred years later, the great art of the time is depreciated. It’s not as important. And new art replaces it. Tastes and preferences change. The definition of art changes based on what we think is important.

A spoon can be a piece of art. In some ways, it is by default. “Art” is a relative of the word “artifice.” Artificial. Manmade.

Maybe everything is art. But if everything is, than nothing is art.

Oh, to heck with it. Art is whatever you want it to be.

If you just so happen to be enjoying my blog, feel free to subscribe. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

My first book, A God Walks up to the Bar, is available on Amazon.com. Witness the modern day adventures of the Greek god Hermes in a world much like our own – and with demigods, vampires, nymphs, ogres, and magic. The myths never went away, they just learned to move on with the times. It’s a tough job, being a god!

Delving into the Unreal: Fantasy and Social Commentary … or Lack Thereof

Don’t let the title scare you away. I’m not talking about specific politics or social issues. Rather, this is about how fantasy can be a tool for analyzing society undercover. That is to say, the fantasy genre gives authors a knack for talking about real life without actually talking about real life.

Now, the fantasy genre isn’t real, obviously. That’s kind of the point. However, fantasy’s detachment from reality can give it a very unique perspective on the world we do live in.

This comes, I think, from the fact that the fantasy genre can be used to observe elements of our world by substituting real groups, issues, events, or locations with fictional analogues. These same analogues allow readers to perceive them more objectively than if they were the real thing. Real-life issues tend to get our defenses up, consciously or not, and we let our own biases color our lenses. Fantasy equivalents are, well, fantasy, so we don’t view them in the same way, even if they are equivalent to the same social issues that otherwise get our hackles up. It’s a bit of a literary trick, really.

Whether or not a writer gets their message across to the audience depends on two things: One, whether the readers recognize the subtext, and two, whether they connect the subtext with the correct issue. Yes, we must trust our readers to infer what we want them to infer. And sometimes, alas, they don’t. All writers reach a point where their authority dies, and their readership draws its own conclusions independent of the author’s intent. So, you might very well have been writing a hard-hitting social critique using elves and pixies, but the audience comes away thinking it was about the virtues of natural conservation rather than the consequences of war.

On the other hand, maybe your story has no message. You just wanted to write something fun and light. Yet, for some reason, readers are convinced there’s a hidden meaning buried in your writing. Tell me, dear reader, what is the message of Little Red Riding Hood? Is it just a story about a girl and her grandma who are eaten by a wolf, then saved by a woodsman, end of story? Or is it about:

The dangers of nature

Man’s triumph over nature

Listen to your parents

Pay attention to the task at hand

Don’t trust strangers

Rebirth from death into a better person

A metaphor for puberty

A metaphor for sexual predators

A metaphor for rape

A metaphor for how people read sex into everything

Axes are useful for killing animals

If you think a wolf looks like your grandmother, you really should buy glasses

And so forth.

Maybe we don’t really know for sure? Maybe there is no analogy, but there is applicability. Applicability is a very different animal. It is the reader’s independence of the writer and ability to view the story through their own lives and beliefs. In short, they see the story as matching their own notions.

Or maybe, we’re just thinking too hard about it all.

If you just so happen to be enjoying my blog, feel free to subscribe. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

My first book, A God Walks up to the Bar, is available on Amazon.com. Witness the modern day adventures of the Greek god Hermes in a world much like our own – and with demigods, vampires, nymphs, ogres, and magic. The myths never went away, they just learned to move on with the times. It’s a tough job, being a god!

Image: “Dave Checking out the Perseid Meteor Shower at 10,000 feet“; Dave Dugdale; Licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

Delving into the Unreal: How Fantasy Helps Us Deal with Real Life

Real life is hard. Can we all agree on that? Real life is really hard to deal with. If it’s not the troubles and calamities of real life intruding on our status quo, it’s the dreary monotony of everyday activities. Going to work, washing the dishes, walking the dog. Sometimes, we just hit a rut. What to do?

People are imaginative, and there’s nothing better at firing up the creative juices then boredom.

There are people out there prone to daydreaming. They come up with whole worlds in their heads. The really ambitious ones commit those worlds to paper. Voila! A new fantasy story is created.

Fantasy helps us cope with the real world. It is a form of escapism that gives us a few precious moments away from humdrum reality, a chance to catch our breath and maybe let out a couple screams, then return to the grind. A little fantasizing is good for our mental health. Relaxation and rest is a good thing, and fantasy is a form of that. A jaunt into a made-up world where heroes always win, good triumphs over evil, magic can make food and water out of nothing, and we can fly on winged horses is just … fun. That’s the point of fantasy. Just like some people like car racing or hiking or painting or math (such people do exist), so do some enjoy fantasy because it’s just plain fun.

To deny ourselves recreation is to trap ourselves inside a metal box at the bottom of the ocean. We can’t move, can’t escape, can’t even see the light. We suffocate under the inability to exert ourselves. Our minds along with our bodies atrophy from the lack of exercise. And from the lack of challenge. Fantasy is a challenge. Fairy tales and epics challenge us to see the world in a new way and ponder how these stories match up against our own experiences. And they let us see something new, period. Don’t we humans crave novelty? Why go on vacation, if not to “get away from it all?” And what are we getting away from? The ordinary and the familiar.

Fantasy is all that writ large. It is the unfamiliar and the extraordinary. A chance to wonder: What if?

And at an even more fundamental level, fantasy taps into that all-consuming human urge to create. We all want to create something. We tinker, we write, we draw, we brainstorm, we organize, we build, we muck about. We like to make things, whether things concrete or things abstract. Fantasy is creation. It’s a powerful impulse, the urge to create, and making fantastical worlds is the perfect outlet for what, I believe, is a basic human need.

Does fantasy matter? Absolutely. We can’t resist it’s siren call. To get away from mundanity, to satisfy our basic natures, to keep ourselves sane. Fantasy is very, very important.

If you just so happen to be enjoying my blog, feel free to subscribe. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

My first book, A God Walks up to the Bar, is available on Amazon.com. Witness the modern day adventures of the Greek god Hermes in a world much like our own – and with demigods, vampires, nymphs, ogres, and magic. The myths never went away, they just learned to move on with the times. It’s a tough job, being a god!

Image: “Dave Checking out the Perseid Meteor Shower at 10,000 feet“; Dave Dugdale; Licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

Delving into the Unreal: Taking Fantasy Seriously

Does the fantasy genre matter?

Let’s be honest. With a question like that, and the fact that my blog is subtitled “Writer of Modern Day Fantasy,” you can pretty easily guess that the answer is, “Yes.” But, hey, did I catch your attention? I did? Good. Let’s dive into it, then.

Fantasy is an important genre. Myths and legends have existed for almost as long as humankind has. There is an almost natural urge in people to invent and make up lands, species, events, and other such things that don’t exist in nature. The urge to create things that defy natural law: flying carpets, giants, dragons, dryads, genies, wishing stars, talking puppets, elves, hobbits, fairies, people the size of your thumb, people as tall as a mountain, alien worlds, life on the moon, and so on and so on. The earliest myths probably were meant to explain phenomena that man couldn’t yet fully understand, like the weather or earthquakes. But even after science has offered its explanations, the fantasies endure. Do old habits die hard? Or maybe we need fantasy in our lives.

Consequently, fantasy is a versatile thing. At its heart, it is the telling of things that not only don’t exist, but can’t exist. There are no elves in the forest. There are no genies trapped in bottles. There is no Fountain of Youth or cities at the bottom of the ocean. But the stories are still told.

For a long time, though, there was a problem.

For the last century or so, fantasy got a bad rap. It was viewed as this sort of nerdish subject that is impractical and of no relevance to “real life.” Dungeons & Dragons was the epitome of loser geek culture for decades. It was a “loser” subject because, in part, it was something that wasn’t real – but people took it so seriously! Why make such a big fuss over the unreal? Why obsess over the rules for a game about fighting made-up creatures? If you’re going to obsess over statistics, at least apply that obsession to football and baseball, not orcs and hobgoblins!

For many people, deriving so much enjoyment from something made-up is just plain childish. Oh, when we are children, it’s fine to enjoy stories of knights versus dragons. Fairy tales are quaint little things that amuse us when we’re young. Then we grow up and enter the serious real world where we need to be interested in grown-up things. Like cars and sports and art and the latest celebrity gossip. You know, important stuff.

That association with the immature has been a stain on fantasy’s reputation for a long time, as well as its sister genre, science fiction. The dominions of nerds and other people who can’t handle reality. There were exceptions, of course. Star Wars, for example, was a major blockbuster in 1977. But by and large, fantasy movies and books and games were strictly niche. There was an audience, but a highly specific one.

Then things changed.

I think the Lord of the Rings film trilogy in the early 2000s was the big turning point. Here was a fantasy series with major, respected stars that took itself seriously. It had a big budget, it was being produced by a major studio, it had marketing and advertising out the wazoo. The critics liked it. It was art.

Suddenly, fantasy lost its stigma. It wasn’t so bad to admit you liked the genre.

Others followed. Game of Thrones was a biggie. And there was Stranger Things, which proudly wore its 1980s nostalgia on its sleeve. And what was big in the 1980s? Yup, Dungeons & Dragons. Speaking of which, a Dungeons and Dragons movie released last year was warmly received. Oh, how the tables had turned!

The fact is, there are lots of people who like the unreal. They like to step away from reality for a few hours. It is called escapism. Personally, I think part of fantasy’s bad reputation is that escapism is confused with retreat. One is the willingness to step away from your problems or worries for a little while to refresh yourself. The other is an ultimately selfish choice to ignore one’s real-life obligations in favor of never leaving the fantasy. But many non-fantasy fans view the genre strictly through the latter lens. A bunch of guys and gals without jobs living in their parents’ basements reading silly books about silly people in silly lands. Fantasy is for the weak, for people can’t handle their own responsibilities.

It’s not fair, really. J. R. R. Tolkien wrote fantasy, after all. You know, the highly respected scholar and linguist? A man with a very productive and well-balanced life? And it gets more unfair.

So, fantasy has hit it big, as I just mentioned. And why did it hit it big? Well, a few successful movies certainly helped. But also, you know, the average person finds out that people like Henry Cavill and Joe Manganiello play stuff like D&D and Warhammer 40,000. Hey, they’re not nerds! Fantasy must be cool!

Sometimes, the best way to get people to take something seriously is to find the right spokesperson. All this time, fantasy just needed better PR.

It worked. Fantasy is widely accepted now. People aren’t ashamed to say that they like it. Nerds aren’t social pariahs. Heck, most of them are running major corporations. And the people writing those hit fantasy movies? They’re nerds, too. That’s the other big shift in the fantasy genre in mainstream culture. Four, five decades ago, fantasy films and TV shows were mainly being written by people who saw it as harmless, inconsequential fun. But the people who grew up with those shows and films, the people who fell in love with them, are the ones calling the shots now. And their beloved childhood is anything but inconsequential. Fans tend to pour their hearts into their work, and the quality of the product (hopefully) goes up. The bigger budgets certainly help.

By and large, fantasy has found public acceptance. Fairy tales aren’t just for kids anymore.

But the question posed at the beginning of this article is only half-answered. Does fantasy matter? Yes, yes it does. Financially, socially, culturally, it matters very much. But why does it matter? And in what other ways does it affect us besides providing something to do on a Saturday night?

Stay tuned …

If you just so happen to be enjoying my blog, feel free to subscribe. I post updates on my writing career, I muse over storytelling and fiction, and I reflect on the curious and wonderful things in life.

My first book, A God Walks up to the Bar, is available on Amazon.com. Witness the modern day adventures of the Greek god Hermes in a world much like our own – and with demigods, vampires, nymphs, ogres, and magic. The myths never went away, they just learned to move on with the times. It’s a tough job, being a god!

Image: “Dave Checking out the Perseid Meteor Shower at 10,000 feet“; Dave Dugdale; Licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.