I listened to Critical Drinker's review of Star Wars Rise of Skywalker. I conclude that since the conflict was repetitive & unimaginative, the whole action plot followed suit. The Rogue One prequel had the Death Star and Darth Vader as the ultimate villains, so that conflict was acceptable. Episodes 1-3 had Palpatine as the villain & the rise of the empire. 4-6 featured the Rebel Alliance against the full powered Empire. In 7-9, it sounded like the Empire was resurgent.
Timothy Zahn's Star Wars novels, which were sequels to 4-6, featured an Alliance that strained at the seams to hold together, while pushing back a reeling Empire. In the novels, the Empire never threatened, leaving the story rather unsatisfying.
With the MC Rey, the remnants of the Empire never threatened either. Without good antagonists, the action movie does not hang together. To have a disillusioned Luke, it would have made more sense to have the Alliance fall apart from the inside with old divisions & wars that were suppressed by the Empire flare back up. It is easy to imagine in the light of the post-Cold War flare ups.
That way, there would be moral ambiguity. Was there even a temptation of the Dark Side for Rey's soul? Or was she too pure for that?
A real play for her soul would have been the offer of power to stop all of the conflicts around the galaxy.
Another complaint from Critical Drink was the reprisal of the "Luke, I am your Father," scene was not so much as a reveal, but a jack in a box that is sprung on the audience. Instead of a direct lineage, the Emperor could have had his DNA spread throughout the galaxy. They would have been spread secretly high and low to see what would survive in a Darwinian winnowing of those who would succeed in surviving and see reality stripped of the niceties. Instead, there would be the survival of the strong to meet the greatest threats.
Surviving a lifetime of poverty, Rey could have relied on the Dark Side to make her way. After Luke left the Alliance to find a new way without direct force, the remaining members would look for a new leader/figurehead/force user. They would find a smart & plucky Rey.
It would make sense that the Emperor would not put all of his eggs in one basket. One of the seeds would have been Rey. The Emporer could have also left a legacy for the future Sith that reached the top. Rey could reject that legacy as well. Hell, I would settle for the gurl power message that she really is independent & don't need no man, Empreor, bicycle. This possible temptation could be mutually exclusive of the power to enforce order in the Universe.
Thursday, April 16, 2020
Sunday, September 22, 2019
Reset count
Isekai Villager isn't working out. It was a bad move making the main character mute to lead up to one joke: having the father prefer his kid not talk. One thing that I got from listening to Chuck Dixon talk about writers block with my bro was to understand that it was about the story. I compromised telling the tale for one punchline.
Another problem was the realization that far from making it easier, the lack of a conflict or a goal makes a work far more difficult to focus. The reason why shounen manga often have the MC striving to be the best figure skater/running back/biker/cook is to provide focus and a goal to direct that fiery passion. In this one, I only had a series of scenes that I wanted to experience.
My favorite part of isekai is inducing someone into wearing depends from crapping their pants in surprise. Those scenes don't make a story worth telling. Those are just vignettes that stack loosely at best. Far from writing better isekai than the most goofy webnovel, my work just crumbled.
I don't particularly remember my childhood as happy. In fact, it felt more constrained and restrained than anything else. I'm starting with adolescence.
I'm not quitting. I'm just resetting the counter back to one and striking out with another work.
Another problem was the realization that far from making it easier, the lack of a conflict or a goal makes a work far more difficult to focus. The reason why shounen manga often have the MC striving to be the best figure skater/running back/biker/cook is to provide focus and a goal to direct that fiery passion. In this one, I only had a series of scenes that I wanted to experience.
My favorite part of isekai is inducing someone into wearing depends from crapping their pants in surprise. Those scenes don't make a story worth telling. Those are just vignettes that stack loosely at best. Far from writing better isekai than the most goofy webnovel, my work just crumbled.
I don't particularly remember my childhood as happy. In fact, it felt more constrained and restrained than anything else. I'm starting with adolescence.
I'm not quitting. I'm just resetting the counter back to one and striking out with another work.
Sunday, September 15, 2019
Sixth Son: Villager in Another World 26
I used the ink to scribble some notes about herbs and plants. Helen found some shed antler and passed it along to me in exchange for more arrow points. I sharpened an awl from a point of the antler and bored some holes into the leaves of birch, then bound them together with some nettle cordage.
The experience taught me that the ink was a use amount of effort to make and did not keep long, even in the ceramic container that I had taken so many pains to make. However, I still kept an open mind on improving my previous production, such as gathering oak gall. My fever-born memories were still unclear on the form of the iron that was supposed to match with the tannic acid from the galls to make the so-called iron gall ink.
In any case, I had spent a fair amount of the early summer on making ink. I thought briefly about what I wanted to pursue next. It came to me quickly as I accompanied Helen to her archery practice.
The experience taught me that the ink was a use amount of effort to make and did not keep long, even in the ceramic container that I had taken so many pains to make. However, I still kept an open mind on improving my previous production, such as gathering oak gall. My fever-born memories were still unclear on the form of the iron that was supposed to match with the tannic acid from the galls to make the so-called iron gall ink.
In any case, I had spent a fair amount of the early summer on making ink. I thought briefly about what I wanted to pursue next. It came to me quickly as I accompanied Helen to her archery practice.
Sixth Son: Villager in Another World 25
Making the ink went much smoother than my fumbling attempts at baking and glazing pottery. The walnut fruit or drupes only had to be boiled down to a warm, dark brown ink. A few days later, I showed off my ink to Agnes along with the birch paper and a feather quill.
Agnes readily recognized the ivory shade of the birch bark and small quill. She touched my stained fingers, which were dyed from squeezing the dregs from the boiled fruit. As a healer, she spent much of her time in the forest and instantly knew the identity of the ink from a shrivelled drupe. What she spent the most time studying was the small, lop-sided pot.
"Where did you get this?"
I mimed shaping it.
"Can you show me?"
I nodded.
Helen immediately got up from her canvas, where a deer had been doodled in charcoal. She took my hand and led me out the door before Agnes could utter a word. She let go of my hand and began helping her mother down to the creek. First, we showed her where the clay had come from. Next were the remnants of the two earthen ovens, which were deteriorated from the recent rainfall. One of the ovens still traces of ash and bits of charcoal left. The interior of the other oven were scarred from the heat of the fire.
Once Agnes was satisfied, we returned to her home, where we finished the lesson to Helen's chagrin. Even more to her chagrin, Agnes had us practice writing with ink and quill. The lesson felt longer than usual after enduring Helen's glare.
(written 09/08/19)
Agnes readily recognized the ivory shade of the birch bark and small quill. She touched my stained fingers, which were dyed from squeezing the dregs from the boiled fruit. As a healer, she spent much of her time in the forest and instantly knew the identity of the ink from a shrivelled drupe. What she spent the most time studying was the small, lop-sided pot.
"Where did you get this?"
I mimed shaping it.
"Can you show me?"
I nodded.
Helen immediately got up from her canvas, where a deer had been doodled in charcoal. She took my hand and led me out the door before Agnes could utter a word. She let go of my hand and began helping her mother down to the creek. First, we showed her where the clay had come from. Next were the remnants of the two earthen ovens, which were deteriorated from the recent rainfall. One of the ovens still traces of ash and bits of charcoal left. The interior of the other oven were scarred from the heat of the fire.
Once Agnes was satisfied, we returned to her home, where we finished the lesson to Helen's chagrin. Even more to her chagrin, Agnes had us practice writing with ink and quill. The lesson felt longer than usual after enduring Helen's glare.
(written 09/08/19)
Sunday, September 1, 2019
Sixth Son: Villager in Another World 24
Fishing went as well as could be expected in a shallow creek with few fish. Helen joined me. Meanwhile, a fire burned a small distance away for ash. I wasn't sure how much ash was needed, so I made a guess of one to one. The next day, I mixed the ash with clay and rebuilt the stove and baked the glazed bowl. Both of the pieces of ceramic that were recognizable as bowels survived the process and emerged a shiny, tanned brown.
Helen wasn't interested, so she delved into the forest.
More baking and fishing followed on the third day. The day was too hot to move around much, so Helen sat next to the creek with me and kept away from the fire. This time Quartus and Quintus wandered by with their fishing poles over their shoulders.
"What are you guys doing?" Quartus asked.
"Fishing," Helen answered.
"How do you expect to catch anything with that little piece of wood?" Quintus asked.
I pulled my line from the creek and showed the sliver of wood that I used in place of a hook. The cordage was tied to one side of middle of the splinter. Once a fish bit, the idea was that splinter would rotate and jam itself in the fish's maw.
It was about time for me to check up on my ink. I pulled my line, wrapped it up and hung it from a nearby branch, before making my way to a steady fire nearby.
Quartus followed, while Quintus stayed by the creek.
I stirred the bowl of dark brown liquid with some peeled birch twigs. The color stained the pale wood. The ink was going well.
"What is that for?" Quartus asked.
I mimed dipping a pen into the ink and writing. He nodded. He stood, folded his arms behind his head, and went into deep thought, which was soon interrupted by Quintus's raised voice."
"She's got a bite. Helen's got a bite!"
Quartus and I returned to Helen as she pulled a fish a little longer than her finger from the water.
"What are you going to do with that?" Quintus asked.
"It's too small to eat," Helen said.
"You can use it as bait," Quartus said.
"Not here," Helen gestured at the creek.
"You're right, what about the mill pond?"
Helen considered a moment.
"Come on, Six, let's go," she jerked her chin. "You can bank the fire, right?"
After a moment's thought, I nodded and returned to the fire. I buried the fire under some earth and left the simmering walnut ink next to it. I brought back the other bowl for her little fish, and the four of us headed to the mill pond.
Helen wasn't interested, so she delved into the forest.
More baking and fishing followed on the third day. The day was too hot to move around much, so Helen sat next to the creek with me and kept away from the fire. This time Quartus and Quintus wandered by with their fishing poles over their shoulders.
"What are you guys doing?" Quartus asked.
"Fishing," Helen answered.
"How do you expect to catch anything with that little piece of wood?" Quintus asked.
I pulled my line from the creek and showed the sliver of wood that I used in place of a hook. The cordage was tied to one side of middle of the splinter. Once a fish bit, the idea was that splinter would rotate and jam itself in the fish's maw.
It was about time for me to check up on my ink. I pulled my line, wrapped it up and hung it from a nearby branch, before making my way to a steady fire nearby.
Quartus followed, while Quintus stayed by the creek.
I stirred the bowl of dark brown liquid with some peeled birch twigs. The color stained the pale wood. The ink was going well.
"What is that for?" Quartus asked.
I mimed dipping a pen into the ink and writing. He nodded. He stood, folded his arms behind his head, and went into deep thought, which was soon interrupted by Quintus's raised voice."
"She's got a bite. Helen's got a bite!"
Quartus and I returned to Helen as she pulled a fish a little longer than her finger from the water.
"What are you going to do with that?" Quintus asked.
"It's too small to eat," Helen said.
"You can use it as bait," Quartus said.
"Not here," Helen gestured at the creek.
"You're right, what about the mill pond?"
Helen considered a moment.
"Come on, Six, let's go," she jerked her chin. "You can bank the fire, right?"
After a moment's thought, I nodded and returned to the fire. I buried the fire under some earth and left the simmering walnut ink next to it. I brought back the other bowl for her little fish, and the four of us headed to the mill pond.
Sunday, August 25, 2019
Sixth Son: Villager in Another World 23
I could not afford salt, so ash it was. Similar to the way that lime could bring down the melting point of glass, I figured that the ash would act the same way. By mixing some ash with clay, it would melt more readily and seal the surface of the clay.
I also examined the failed pots. Two of them had a very small pebbles, only a little larger than grains of coarse sand at the crack, along the path of the crack. To sort out the coarser grains, I would have to make a watertight container first. Instead, it made more sense to keep the containers small and fire up a quantity of ceramic and hoped that enough would survive.
Meanwhile, I gathered the material for my ink: walnut fruit. Not the hard shell and the edible meat within, but the husks that contained nut. I sorted through the fallen fruit to find the least bug eaten and the right level of aging. The dark brown fruit was rich in tannic acid and would etch nicely into the birch bark.
I just needed to burn enough wood to create the ash, glaze the pottery, then boil down the fruit to make ink.
In the meantime, I would need something to do. There was a creek right there, which lent itself to fishing. To fish, I would need a hook, line, and a stick. Man's wants were truly endless.
I also examined the failed pots. Two of them had a very small pebbles, only a little larger than grains of coarse sand at the crack, along the path of the crack. To sort out the coarser grains, I would have to make a watertight container first. Instead, it made more sense to keep the containers small and fire up a quantity of ceramic and hoped that enough would survive.
Meanwhile, I gathered the material for my ink: walnut fruit. Not the hard shell and the edible meat within, but the husks that contained nut. I sorted through the fallen fruit to find the least bug eaten and the right level of aging. The dark brown fruit was rich in tannic acid and would etch nicely into the birch bark.
I just needed to burn enough wood to create the ash, glaze the pottery, then boil down the fruit to make ink.
In the meantime, I would need something to do. There was a creek right there, which lent itself to fishing. To fish, I would need a hook, line, and a stick. Man's wants were truly endless.
Sunday, August 18, 2019
Sixth Son: Villager in Another World 22
Helen led me past a row of overgrown hedges and through a fallen section of fence. The lawn was overgrown. The potter's home had holes in the thatching.
We approached the kiln. The red brick enclosure was a little larger than an outhouse. The exterior was in good repair, but there looked to be a nest inside.
Helen circled the workshop and found a shutter that had been forced open at some point, which had been wedged into place with a splinter of wood. Once the wedge was removed, the shutter swung open.
She agilely climbed in & held her hand out to me. I took it and followed into the darkened workshop. A pair of spinning wheels dominated the space. Helen gave a wheel a spin. Several bins sat against the walls.
A pair held a small quantity of earth. One was wet. The roof had a hole over it. The other had a withered plant growing out it. A third bins held traces of dark dust, which could have held ash. A fourth still had traces granular salt. We had found two candidates for glazing.
We approached the kiln. The red brick enclosure was a little larger than an outhouse. The exterior was in good repair, but there looked to be a nest inside.
Helen circled the workshop and found a shutter that had been forced open at some point, which had been wedged into place with a splinter of wood. Once the wedge was removed, the shutter swung open.
She agilely climbed in & held her hand out to me. I took it and followed into the darkened workshop. A pair of spinning wheels dominated the space. Helen gave a wheel a spin. Several bins sat against the walls.
A pair held a small quantity of earth. One was wet. The roof had a hole over it. The other had a withered plant growing out it. A third bins held traces of dark dust, which could have held ash. A fourth still had traces granular salt. We had found two candidates for glazing.
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