In December, Wizards of the Coast released Dragonlance: Shadow of the Dragon Queen. Like many fans, I was eagerly looking forward to a return to the world of Krynn. While the book itself was very hit-or-miss for me, especially as a source book, just looking at the map of Ansalon again took me back to the time when I fell in love with Dragonlance.
The story, the characters, the setting — all of it really resonates with me. In the pantheon of fantasy epics, the Chronicles and Legends trilogies rate right up there with Lord of the Rings in my estimation. So, for this blog, I thought I would share the particulars of how Dragonlance first came into my life.
It was, as it turns out, quite a happy accident.
The First Taste
When I was about 13, a relative of mine came down from Michigan. I had never met him before that summer. He was older than me by a few years and interested in many of the same things I was, including tabletop role-playing games. At that time, I had played some Palladium RPGs, but never actually played D&D itself. He was also a big fantasy reader.
Between trips to the local pool, he told me about this cool new fantasy series he was reading. (No, it wasn’t Dragonlance. That would come a bit later). The series he described was actually the Deathgate Cycle by Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman. He had the paperbacks of the first two novels with him, Dragon Wing and Elven Star. Since he was big into collecting the hardcovers, he gave me those two well-loved (but dog-eared) copies of the books.
I devoured those two novels over the next couple of weeks, and loved every page, character, footnote, and appendix. That was my first taste of what Weis and Hickman could do when they collaborated together. It definitely wouldn’t be the last.
A Fateful Trip
Many moons ago, there was a B. Dalton Bookseller in the Broadway Square Mall in Tyler, Texas. I loved that store, and I was sad to eventually see it close down. I had an uncle who lived just outside of Tyler. Any time I would go to visit him, he would find an excuse for the two of us to head off to the mall to look at books. Like me, he was a voracious reader. While he was not a rich man by any means, he made sure that any novel that really caught my attention came home with me.
Normally, we would each get a book, read it, then give each other a verbal book report about it the next time we saw each other. We had similar tastes, so when one of us liked a book, we would let the other one have a turn at reading it. I didn’t realize until much later that he never asked for any of the books back that he let me borrow. This was just another way that he helped me fill up my bookshelves.
So, on one of these trips, he found an anthology of fantasy short stories called Tales 1: The Magic of Krynn. The cool cover had been what first piqued his interest. This is a photo of the actual book he got on that day. As you can see, it’s been read over many times.
He really liked the book and recommended that I read it as well. Looking through the table of contents, I found some familiar names. The very last story in the book was called “The Legacy,” and it was written by (you guessed it), Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman.
Raistlin Did Something Really Bad.
[Some DL spoilers ahead, so take heed.]
In “The Legacy,” we find an aging yet powerful warrior named Caramon who is worried for his son, Palin. Palin is going to take his test at the Tower of High Sorcery to see if he can become a wizard of the White Robes. There is an uneasiness hanging over everyone in the story. Caramon, Palin, and the other wizards of the Tower all seem on edge.
Turns out, it’s all because Caramon’s brother, Palin’s uncle, did something truly unconscionable. Everyone is really upset about it. But here’s the thing: No one says explicitly what Raistlin did. Whatever it was, it was so heinous and world-shattering that everyone in the story speaks Raistlin’s name in hushed tones. That’s one of the reasons that no one is exactly thrilled that Raistlin’s nephew wants to become a wizard as well.
Of course, now I know the whole story, but back then I had no idea who any of these characters were, what they had done previously, or what their interrelationships looked like. This was my very first introduction to them. “The Legacy” wound up being about 100 pages worth of pure foreshadowing for me. I was intrigued to know more.
Larry Elmore for the Win
Sometime later, my uncle and I were once again in the B.Dalton looking for new books. The fantasy novels had inhabited one back corner of the store for a long time, but the eponymous booksellers had rearranged the books since the last time we visited.
As I passed by one shelf on the way to my usual corner, I caught a glimpse of Caramon’s distinctive dragonhelm. I recognized it from the cover of The Magic of Krynn. In this painting, he was in his fighting prime. Raistlin was present beside him wearing the red robes of neutral mages instead of black. I was, of course, holding a copy of Dragons of Spring Dawning with cover art by Larry Elmore. Elmore had also done the cover for The Magic of Krynn, so his artwork was instrumental in introducing me to Dragonlance at two separate points.
I had thought that Palin and his brothers, Tanin and Sturm, were the main characters of the setting. Here, I was seeing compelling evidence that they were, in fact, the second generation of heroes in Dragonlance.
Without hesitation, my uncle bought me all three volumes of the Chronicles series. I couldn’t wait to dive in. I read the first lines of Dragons of Autumn Twilight in the car on the way back to his house.
A Lasting Impression
In no time flat, I had read all three books. Hungry for more, I picked up the Legends series, which finally revealed to me the epic bad deed that Raistlin had tried, and failed, to do. Finally, the circle I had started with “The Legacy” was complete. I moved on to many of the other books by other authors in the Dragonlance setting, but the six books by Weis and Hickman really stuck with me.
I began reading their other series as well. The Rose of the Prophet. TheDarksword. Margaret’s solo series, The Star of the Guardians. Let’s not forget the rest of the Deathgate Cycle, which I didn’t finish until I was in college.
To say that Weis and Hickman were an inspiration to me is a massive understatement. Dragonlance had captured my imagination. It became the spark for me to start writing my own fan fiction. Admittedly, it was really bad fan fiction, but still a necessary step to becoming a writer myself. Krynn gave me a familiar place to set my stories, and I went all in.
Becoming a Hero of the Lance
When I first read Dragons of Autumn Twilight as a young teenager, I had yet to play D&D. So, I’m actually someone who fell in love with the world of Dragonlance before I ever played the game it was set in. Years passed, however, and I finally got my chance to play in Forgotten Realms, Greyhawk, and a few homebrewed settings. Never Krynn, though.
The source of the aforementioned fan fiction? That came when a good friend of mine announced that he wanted to run a Dragonlance campaign using the original modules. Here was my chance to step into the world I had been such a fan of for so long. I have to hand it to this friend of mine, he loved Dragonlance as much (if not more) than I did, and it definitely showed.
I took on the role of a gentlemanly Knight of Solamnia, who had seen a vision he couldn’t explain and had gone on a quest to find the story of the True Gods. He was joined by a tinker gnome from Mount Nevermind, a brother Knight of the Crown who harbored a potentially ruinous secret, an enigmatic mage of the red robes, and a dwarven drill instructor from Thorbardin. Together, they became the new Heroes of the Lance.
Everyone who made up characters for this game role-played them to perfection. I’ve played in a lot of memorable campaigns over my gaming career, but as Paladine as my witness, this one had a kind of life to it that I have never seen before or since.
The Journey Continues
There have been occasional forays back to Dragonlance over the years, whether in the pages of a novel, or in game. Dragonlance is still very much a part of me to this day. This series was precisely at the right time/right place for me as a young man. It continues to be a source of inspiration. I have my annotated Chronicles and Legends hardbacks on display in my office.
I’m happy to say that I’ve been able to meet Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman, and Larry Elmore at various conventions over the years, though I’m not sure they would remember me. I’ve been off the convention circuit for many years now, even before the pandemic, but I’m hoping to catch up to one or more of them at some point in the future.
To the three of them, if any of you should read this, you have my most heartfelt thank you. Your work helped give a kid who was really struggling with, well, pretty much everything a place to go when the world grew too heavy to bear. Beyond that, I can trace much of my interest in becoming a fantasy author back to Dragonlance.
Lastly, I would like to thank my uncle, whom I sadly lost in 2015. I miss him still, especially when I set foot in a bookstore. It was through his understanding and generosity that I found the magical world of Krynn and was forever changed. So, to him, I’d like to simply say:
I was a voracious reader as a kid. Even back then words fascinated me. Between my love of books, a mother who would explain things using medical terminology, and a father who used to play word games with me, I wound up with a pretty advanced vocabulary for my age.
When I encountered a word I didn’t know, I was pretty fearless about asking adults what it meant. Often the definition they gave me might contain a word or two I wasn’t familiar with as well. I would ask about the meaning of those words, and so on and on it went. In retrospect, it was good training.
Today, I make my living with words. Etymology remains a passion of mine. To quote the movie version of V for Vendetta, “Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who listen, the enunciation of truth.”
Now, I’m not aware of when every word I know entered into my vocabulary, but there are exceptions. With that in mind, here are seven such words and the stories and memories that go with them. As you’ll see, my general geekiness/nerdiness was firmly established even at a young age. Let’s start the count.
Source:Monty Python and the Holy Grail
My father was, and still is, a huge Monty Python fan. I was fortunate enough to grow up within broadcasting reach of KERA, the local PBS affiliate in Dallas, Texas. They would broadcast all sorts of ‘britcoms’ and British TV, including Monty Python’sFlying Circus, Fawlty Towers, Doctor Who, Are You Being Served?, and many others.
From the Flying Circus, I graduated to the Monty Python movies, particularly The Holy Grail. I was already big into Arthurian legend at the time, so a completely off-the-wall interpretation of the Knights of the Round Table was perfect for me. It’s definitely one of those movies I can quote nearly verbatim. It has worked its way into my everyday speech.
The scene in question involves Sir Lancelot travelling about with his squire, Concord. Concord is struck by an arrow with a note attached, leading to Eric Idle uttering, “Message for you, sir!” (Which has been my email alert on more than one occasion.) At first, Lancelot believes his squire is dead, vowing that his death was not in vain. When Concord wakes up and offers to go with Lancelot on his rescue mission at Swamp Castle, Lancelot tells him to stay put until he’s accomplished the deed in his own particular…idiom.
Source:Star Trek: The Next Generation, “The Measure of a Man” (Season 2, Episode 9)
Both of my parents were fans of Original Series Star Trek, so when Next Generation started up, we were tuned in and ready. While Seasons 1 and 2 of TNG struggled to find traction, it’s episodes like “Measure of a Man” that really started to demonstrate how forward-thinking and idealistic the show could be.
In this episode, the android, Lieutenant Commander Data, is put on trial to determine whether he is, in fact, a sentient being or merely the property of the Federation. The stakes are high because if Data loses the case, he will likely be disassembled and studied by Commander Bruce Maddox.
During the trial, Maddox is questioned by Captain Picard about what defines sentience. Maddox lists three things: intelligence, self-awareness, and consciousness. Captain Picard is then able to demonstrate that the first two parts of Maddox’s criteria are met, going on to ask what if Data meets the third criteria, even in the smallest degree. It’s a fantastic episode, one that really digs into the morality of artificial intelligence and personhood.
This was a bit of a late-comer to my vocabulary. I had read stories of lords and vassals for years, but for some reason the word genuflect, the act of showing reverence by bending the knee, didn’t reach me until I saw Aladdin in the theatre. It was, you guessed it, the “Prince Ali” song. Genuflect, show some respect, down on one knee…
Bonus points: This song also gave me the word coterie, which would come in handy when I started playing Vampire: The Masquerade a few years later. Thanks, Howard Ashman!
Source:Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson
When I was about eight or nine, I started reading various classics for kids like Tom Sawyer, Robin Hood, and so forth. Treasure Island was one of my favorites. It sparked my lifelong love of the pirate genre.
So, I was reading this book in my Aunt’s living room when I ran across the phrase: “he drew his cutlass.” The word sounded familiar, but at the time I didn’t know that it meant a sword. My father was sitting at the kitchen table, so I asked him, “Hey, Dad…what’s a cutlass?”
Well, that made no sense. Why would someone take the time in a tense situation to draw a picture of a car that, presumably, didn’t exist in the time of wooden sailing ships and maps to hidden treasure?
Apparently, the confused look on my face prompted him to ask how it was used in the sentence. Then he was able to amend his answer to a single-edged pirate sword.
Source:TheTransformers, “The Master Builder” (Season 2, Episode 12)
In this episode, we find the architect, Grapple, with his buddy, Hoist. The two of them are busy building a “Power Tower” model, a device that can turn solar energy into energon. They present it to Optimus Prime, but the Autobot leader declines to advance their project citing that it would make too tempting a target for the greedy, energy-hungry Decepticons.
The two Autobots go to repair Power Glide in the field where they are quickly surrounded by the Constructicons, who claim that they have left Megatron’s cause and gone rogue. They offer to help Grapple and Hoist build a full-scale Power Tower. The Constructicons make a show of some supposedly stolen energon cubes, and the two Autobots agree to jointly build Grapple’s masterpiece.
Surprise, surprise, it’s a trick. Just as the finishing touches are put on the Power Tower, Megatron shows up and captures Grapple and Hoist. He imprisons them in the solar collecting sphere atop the Tower, which will surely melt them down into slag. This prompts Megatron to muse, “Magnificent…now the gullible twosome shall perish in their own tower.”
That’s right, I learned this word from the legendary Frank Welker himself!
Source:Robotech: Macross Saga
Another one I picked up from my weekday-morning cartoons, this was a word that I learned but didn’t quite know the meaning. In the Macross Saga of Robotech, Rick Hunter is the main protagonist. He starts out as a civilian stunt pilot but quickly joins the ranks of the Robotech Defense Force (RDF) as he is pulled into the armed conflict between Earth and the Zentraedi armada.
After an initial training period, Rick is given command of the Vermillion Squadron. The ‘squadron’ seemed to consist only of Rick himself, Max Sterling, and Ben Dixon, though to be fair, sometimes they were referred to collectively as Vermillion Team. I thought the word just sounded cool, but at the time I had no idea it meant a bright shade of red-orange.
Spoilers: Vermillion Squadron’s time in the sun was short-lived, however. Ben Dixon dies in a huge explosion over Ontario. Rick and Max become part of the storied Skull Squadron. Since Rick’s older brother, Roy Fokker, died in the previous episode, Rick takes command of the Skull Squadron. Vermillion Squadron is effectively dissolved at that point.
Source:The UncannyX-Men #120
The direct opposite of vermillion, this is a word I had heard and knew the meaning of already. I had just not seen it written out. I was a big X-Men fan when I was a kid. Unfortunately for me, I didn’t have a great way of getting a particular title regularly. So, my comic ‘collection’ (if it could be called that) was a mish-mash of different titles I could scrounge together along with those given to me by friends and family.
Somehow, I wound up with a second-hand copy of The Uncanny X-Men #120. I don’t remember how it came into my possession, exactly, but I remember seeing the word chaos on the cover which proclaimed “Chaos in Canada!” This was when the X-men fought Alpha Flight. Not recognizing the word, I asked my father about it. He informed me it was pronounced kay-os. For a kid who was still trying to master phonics at the time, a ‘ch’ combination of letters that didn’t make the traditional ‘ch’ sound was bit confusing.
To this day, it remains one of my favorite comic book covers. It’s evocative and colorful, and there’s a real menace at seeing the outlines of Shaman, Vindicator, and Sasquatch in the foreground. *chef’s kiss*
Fun fact: One of the cover artists for this issue was none other than Bob Budiansky, who famously developed Transformers lore for the original comic. He is known for naming Megatron, Wheeljack, Starscream, Sideswipe, Shockwave, and a whole host of others. Since Megatron appears on the list above, I’m declaring that a double vocabulary synergy, baby!
So, there you have it, folks — there’s a look at where I discovered seven different words and how I learned them. If you enjoyed this blog post, please give it a like. If you had fun with this one, I have some other word origins I’m happy to talk about in the future. Also, feel free to share where in your personal history you picked up certain words. I’d love to hear your stories. Until next time, thanks for reading!
[Author’s note: Each time I went to post this, the story and circumstances around the OGL changed (that’s part of why it’s late). I’ve kept the text more or less the way I had it. I’ve included an update section at the very end.]
Well, you’ve had an interesting couple of weeks. Once again, it feels like I’m watching history unfold before my eyes. Not the happy kind. More like the destined-to-be-taught-in-business-college-courses-cautionary-tale kind of history.
Now, before we get too far into this, let me make a distinction here. This letter is to the executive staff of Wizards of the Coast, the decision-makers and gatekeepers, as well as any others from Hasbro that might be involved in what could only charitably be called a fiasco. For all the designers, community managers, middle managers, and developmental staff of D&D, this isn’t aimed at you. I know this has been hard on you, too. Stay strong and know that you are loved. (Also, I’d like to see you do more with the Artificer, but that’s another story.)
So, WotC executives, where to begin? I swear by the great beard of Moradin that I’m not just ragging on you. In fact, believe it or not, I want to help you. Let’s start with a little education. We all know the old axiom that those who do not know history are doomed to repeat it, right? Unfortunately, for many of us, recent events in the TTRPG space have felt more like those who know history are doomed to watch those who don’t know history repeat it.
Let’s set the wayback machine to 2008. Fourth edition comes along, and it’s excluded from the existing OGL. It takes its cues from the GSL, a much more restrictive set of rules for putting out game content. Paizo says no thanks, and BOOM — we have Pathfinder.
I doubt any of the existing WotC executive team in place now was present back then, but there was a definite cause and effect. Cause: a departure from the OGL that had issued in a golden age for D&D. Effect: massive loss of faith in D&D by the player base, giving rise to the game’s biggest competitor.
At the time, the blunder of Fourth Edition in its attempt to chase the thrill of an MMO (but without all the things that make an MMO memorable and fun), seemed like D&D had finally run its course. Shortly, it would join any number of other legacy systems on the scrap heap. It would be something old players of the game would reminisce about and tell war stories from adventures at the High Clerist’s Tower or in the streets of Waterdeep. Maybe we’d pull it out for a one-shot every now and then.
I stepped away from D&D at that time. Truth be told, I didn’t think I would ever come back, and if I did, I would probably play older editions of the game. I ignored 5e when it came out initially. I thought I was done with D&D.
Then a miracle happened, the thing I’ve always wanted since I’ve been a TTRPG player: D&D broke through into the mainstream, or as close to it as I’ve ever seen. Suddenly there were more active players than there ever had been before. Folks who might never have played RPGs previously found a home with D&D 5e, and I was super onboard for that. D&D came alive again. People were excited to play it. I never thought I would see that again after Fourth Edition.
You see, I firmly believe that playing TTRPGs is a healthy form of self-expression. At once, it combines creativity, tactical and strategic thinking, improvisation, critical analysis, and basic math. There’s also a strong social component to it. For life-long introverts such as myself, D&D was a refuge, a home away from home. I know I’m not alone in this.
Unfortunately for everyone involved, the OGL 1.1 (or 1.2, 2.0, or whatever) has made this haven feel pretty inhospitable. I’m one of the lucky ones in that my livelihood is not directly tied to D&D content creation, but there are innumerable talented Youtubers and creators out there that I respect who are put in jeopardy over this.
This will not do.
At the time of this writing, you have released your response to the uproar. Silence was not your friend, let me tell you. The statement itself did little to allay any of my fears. Truly, you may like to label it as “we both won,” but if anything the opposite is true — we all lost.
We lost a home and the promise of what the OGL was meant to stand for. Whether you realize it now or not, you lost, too. Not from the backlash this caused, no, but you’ve lost the trust. Shattered it, more like. Your want to control that part of the gaming space has opened the door for your competitors to offer their own OGLs, ones that we hope live up to the spirit of the original. Once again, cause and effect.
Cause: a departure from the OGL that had issued in a second golden age for D&D. Effect: massive loss of faith in D&D by the player base, giving rise to the game’s biggest competitors. Note the plural there.
It’s exhausting to see the death of D&D — again — play out in real time before my eyes. All empires crumble, however, and perhaps it’s time for D&D to fade into near obscurity. I doubt the game will go away completely, but I’m not putting any odds on One D&D now. I was looking forward to where it would go, but now…not so much. Ditto for the upcoming movie and TV show.
While some small, idiotically optimistic part of me thinks you might change course in light of how unpopular this initiative is, the truth is that you will likely continue with deauthorizing the OGL 1.0a as planned, despite the many, many warnings of what an avoidable, self-inflicted wound that would be.
But okay, if moving units is really what motivates you, if that’s the only language you speak, take heed. By attempting to have more, you will wind up with less. I know that sounds a bit like a fortune cookie. It’s true though. If you move forward with your plans, you will have put the nails in the coffin of D&D’s resurgence. All of them, all at once. Dead and buried.
And I suppose that’s what hurts the most about all of this. You had the top spot, you had achieved something fantastic, something truly wondrous…and then you just threw it all away. Perhaps you view the ecosystem that developed around D&D, and by extension those who could make a living from it, as parasitic. You really should view them as pillars. They prop up your brand and your game on a daily basis. How many other games ever get to that point? You should have done everything you could to further empower and protect them.
Instead, you’ve managed to alienate practically all of them in a comically short amount of time, though there’s nothing funny about any of this. Once again, livelihoods are on the line. How can the community ever trust you again? Your actions demonstrate a staggering lack of understanding of your own product, and a level of disconnect from your playerbase that is almost too much to believe.
In short: You were the chosen one! You were supposed to bring balance to the Force, not leave it in darkness!
Then again, I could be looking at this the wrong way. Perhaps I should be celebrating this in the form of an Irish wake. Maybe there should be no monoliths in the TTRPG space, no not one. Perhaps we’ll be better off without you. Perhaps ironically, and certainly unintentionally, you have made Dungeons & Dragons into a phoenix.
Paizo is already laying the groundwork for the ORC. MCDM is working on their own game system that will be “aggressive” in its own open gaming license. Kobold Press has their “Black Flag” project in the works. Monte Cook, who has designed several of my favorite games, has his Cypher system. I’ve been meaning to check it out, so this seems like the opportune moment to do so.
They are all rising from the ashes before you’ve even finished burning it all down. But make no mistake, your game, your community, the goodwill you’ve built up over the years, and the reputation of Wizards of the Coast, such as it is — yeah, it’s all on fire.
And you are the ones who held the torch.
But in the words of the great Led Zeppelin, whose music is inextricably tied to classic D&D: There are two paths you can go by, but in the long run, there’s still time to change the road you’re on.
Thank you for your time and consideration.
Si vales, valeo.
UPDATE: At this point, the first proposed “playtest” form has gone up for OGL 1.2. I’ll admit that some of the concessions appear to be a step in the right direction, but I would still never dare to produce content under it. Here’s a short list of why:
1. You still want to deauthorize the OGL 1.0a. The reasons you cite are spurious — a dodge at best and an insult at worst. The OGL has stood for more than 20 years. That I’m aware of, there haven’t been any high-profile offensive content released under it by third-party publishers.
2. The morality clause in 6f is untenable. The way this situation was handled shows that WotC is hardly a moral compass to determine what is “harmful” or “obscene.” This point says that you alone determine what is considered hateful, and this cannot be contested in court. Even if the rest of OGL 1.2 were perfect (and spoilers, it isn’t), there’s no way any content creator would, or should, agree to that.
3. You give yourself at least three ways you can change your mind in the future if it suits you, including the Severability clause. “Irrevocable” in this case doesn’t mean what you’re hoping the community thinks it means.
4. I’m not as well versed in the VTT space, but the provisions you put in place are clearly meant to give you an advantage once the One D&D VTT comes out. This doesn’t seem like you’re terribly confident in your product if you feel the need to close off sections of it from other developers.
5. Ultimately, the broken trust means that I cannot expect you to act in good faith with any of this. It’s as simple as that. OGL 1.2 does attempt to give content creators a little more breathing room, but it’s just not enough.
As it stands now, the new OGL is a bad bet, one that most third-party publishers and content creators will be unwilling or unable to make.
I have an admission to make: This was not my original idea for my last blog of the year. Recent events, however, have put my situation as an author in a whole new light, almost certainly setting the tone and focus for my writing in 2023 and beyond. As you read on, I think you’ll see why.
Science fiction has long been my “home” genre, the one in which I feel like I have something to say. This is especially true of military sci-fi. I love stories that feature new classes of starship, starfighters engaged with other starfighters in deadly dogfights in space, dropships carrying determined Marines in power armor into battle, pretty much all the tropes of the genre. Heinlein was a big influence on me early on, and my first published novel, The Backwards Mask, was steeped in all of that.
Unfortunately, the market for military sci-fi right now is pretty tough, especially for authors who do not already have an established readership. I had several conversations with literary agents, editors, and industry professionals recently about why this is.
I don’t pretend to know all of the internal workings of the industry, but from what I gather it’s like this: The pandemic really messed up the supply chain, including production of the book-weight paper that publishers use to print (you guessed it) books. Since there will be fewer books printed, publishers want to go with the books that they know will be a sure thing. They are less inclined to take chances when they have fewer resources to go around. The supply chain has improved somewhat since then, but the inertia of the industry still remains.
This has made midlist genres like science fiction instantly harder to break into since publishers aren’t putting as much resources towards them. The midlist genres are those that have an established readership, but don’t have the broad commercial appeal of, say, a mystery or romance novel. You are unlikely to get an international bestseller of the scope of TheDaVinci Code or The Bridges of Madison County out of science fiction.
After much soul-searching, I have come to the conclusion that I need to put science fiction down for the foreseeable future. I’m still trying to break into the industry, and it just doesn’t look like my path forward for traditional publishing has science fiction in it. At least for now. This is not to say that there isn’t a great demand for science fiction from book readers — there certainly is — but if publishers aren’t terribly interested in military sci-fi at the moment, agents won’t be either. Books have to have somewhere to go.
That means that the sci-fi series I’ve been developing, that already has two finished novels to its name, one that I’ve worked on for many years, needs to be shelved, possibly indefinitely. It’s hard to say what publishers may want six months, a year, or five years down the line, but it’s been made pretty clear to me what they don’t want right now. So, as much as it breaks my heart, I’m leaving science fiction behind. I hope to return to it one day, I honestly do.
Does this mean I’m going to stop writing? No, not at all. It just means that I need to change my angle of approach. I’ve decided to hang up my power armor and gauss rifle in favor of a well-worn travelling cloak (that may at one time have been green) and strap on my storied, ancestral sword. That’s right, I’m switching over to fantasy as my main genre.
So, why do I think fantasy might work if sci-fi can’t or won’t?
Well, I used to see the two genres as close family, walking essentially hand in hand. They are usually found in bookstores together. Depending on the store, they might even be lumped together into one section. We often see “SF/F” as a signifier for the two genres in concert. More and more, though, there are literary agents who represent fantasy but not science fiction. A recent convention I attended had only about three agents present who would consider sci-fi. For fantasy? Double that or more. Fantasy and sci-fi are no longer equals. Fantasy dropped a haste spell and raced ahead, leaving sci-fi behind in its wake.
Whether you attribute it to the long-standing popularity of Harry Potter, the Game of Thrones show on HBO, or immensely popular authors like Brandon Sanderson, people who wouldn’t have been readers of fantasy ten or twelve years ago are reading it now. Fantasy is the closest thing to mainstream that it has ever been, and publishers are looking for more.
Truth be told, I avoided the fantasy genre for the longest time. I didn’t feel like I had much to say that hadn’t already been said by much better authors than myself. Also, Tolkien’s effect on the genre can’t really be overstated, like the moon’s pull on the tides. It’s exceedingly difficult not to be influenced by his work in some way or another, if you trace it back far enough.
Conversely, it’s almost too easy to find yourself walking along some of the paths that he first blazed. I didn’t want to be just another author rearranging the furniture in his house and trying to file off the serial numbers, nor did I want to chase the trend of grimdark fantasy when it became popular in recent years. So, what’s an author to do?
Little by little, one idea that I’d had in the back of my mind for a while fused with another. I started making connections in my head. New concepts and old designs began to temper each other. Not long after I had an outline and a map. Then I started writing what was essentially an experiment. I don’t want to give away the name, but the initials for that manuscript are “DMM.” I was happy with the result, and I found my voice in the genre, opening the door for more.
When it came time to choose my next novel, I wrote another experimental manuscript, very different in tone and execution, but tangentially set in the same world, as well as on the same continent (though separated by vast distances and set in another age.) This one’s initials are “AOTO.” While the book is finished, and I believe it’s the best plotted and paced book I’ve written so far, it still needs a lot of polishing before it’s ready for the querying process. That’s on my to-do list for the near future.
Both DMM and AOTO are each meant to be the first volumes in their respective series. Without spoiling anything, one story is a meditation on war, society, and coming to know yourself when everything else has been taken away. The other is about an outsider finding a place to belong and coming to understand why the cause he follows is the right one for him, while also discovering the strength to stand up for what he believes in, no matter the odds. I’ll leave you to decide which one is which.
I pitched these ideas to some industry professionals, and their feedback was that these two books might be able to land in the current publishing environment where my sci-fi series couldn’t. So, starting next year, both DMM and AOTO will be entering the query trenches, likely in that order. Let us hope that the light of Paladine, Crom, UL, Primus and/or Eru Illúvatar can shine down upon them as they seek to find their way into the light of day. It won’t be easy. Then again, nothing worth doing ever is.
So, that’s where I am at the moment. The New Year will see me switching gears and continuing to push forward. I hope that you will continue to join me on this journey, albeit along a path I had not intended.
I wish you and your families a happy and safe holiday season! I will be back on Friday, January 6 with the State of the Sector Address. We’ll talk about what worked, and what didn’t, for 2022 and set out our goals and aspirations for 2023. I hope that you will join me for this.
The concept of a prequel as a literary device has been around in one form or another for quite a long time in almost every medium. When The Phantom Menace came out in 1999, the idea of going back and telling the story of the Clone Wars was something that hadn’t been done before on that kind of cinematic scale. More than 20 years later, the Star Wars universe is still dipping into that well, and will likely continue showcasing stories that take place before A New Hope for the foreseeable future.
Star Wars certainly isn’t alone in wanting to delve into the stories that take place before the original setting of the intellectual property. A short list of heavy-hitters appearing this year alone on TV includes (but is certainly not limited to) the following:
Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power
House of the Dragon
Star Trek: Strange New Worlds
(And just this week) Andor
Before I get into the particulars, let me say this: This post is not about the casting, fan backlash, or creative decisions involved with any of these shows. I have the greatest respect for the actors, crew, and digital artists who bring these shows to life. If you’re here expecting some sort of fanboy outrage at one or more of those groups, feel free to hit that “eject” button now and punch out. Byyyyeee.
Still with me? Excellent. What I hope to do with this blog is to take a look at the viability of prequels as a framework for telling stories, exploring three things that make prequels attractive as well as three more that make them less appealing than an original story. With that in mind, let’s dive in.
The most obvious answer is that a prequel hopes to capture the magic that the property had before, tapping into the good will and warm fuzzies that we may harbor from previous iterations of said property. Depending on how subtle or overt this previous connection is handled, you might wind up with fun call-backs, but it runs the risk of becoming heavy handed with member berries.
For the most part, I’m fairly forgiving of when the fan service gets too fan service-y. Even when this happens, it’s hard to deny that the feelings that are evoked when you see parallels play out. In the right hands, they can be profound. The best prequels are able to successfully excavate those little nuggets of emotion we have tied up with the original and shine new light on them.
Nostalgia is often a distortion of past events, though, filtered through the lens of a yearning for a past that may or may not have really existed except in our minds. While it can be a two-edged sword, it can also be a powerful reminder of what we love, reigniting our passion and enthusiasm in the present.
More Time in the Setting
Stories taking place in settings we love are always finite. There are only so many episodes of Star Trek: The Next Generation, only so many Lord of the Rings movies. Once a setting has achieved that sort of critical mass in the hearts and minds of fans, it’s natural to want to go back to that place if given the chance. After all, we have friends there, favorite spots, and (in general) we know what we’re getting ourselves into. It’s a known quantity, and one we already like.
Settings with rich backgrounds are often the most fertile soil for prequels. If you’re a lore nerd like I am, who just loves to sink your teeth into the backstory and worldbuilding, this is a chance to see it brought to life. The mentor figure of a previous story might now take center stage as the protagonist of the prequel. Characters who are bitter enemies might be friends in this telling. Maybe you get to witness legendary events play out that were only ever talked about, or receive additional context to the original story.
Like the voyages of the original Constitution-class Enterprise? Well, here’s more of that. Remember the thrill of Game of Thrones? Let’s have another foray into Westeros, shall we? And so on.
A Safe Bet
Prequels don’t have the risk that new, completely original stories carry. There’s a built-in audience, likely one that’s hungry to see more of whatever it is. This makes prequel stories something comfortable for both the producers and consumers of media. If you liked this, you’ll surely love that.
It’s the same mindset that brings us sequels, but there’s an innate guardrail backed into prequels: You know where the characters are going. You don’t have to worry about coming up with the next big story arc, and you already have the end point established. You’re just filling in the gaps and adding additional layers to a story that’s already been told.
The issue with going back before the ‘main’ timelines is that the temptation to make the prequel story bigger, grander, and more impressive often blows the originals out of the water. Consider the lightsaber duels in the Star Wars prequel trilogy. They are orders of magnitude more complex and fast-paced than the ones we see in the original trilogy.
The ever-increasing want to pile spectacle on top of spectacle, to outdo what audiences have experienced before, can be momentarily thrilling in the moment, but it always has the effect of making the source material seem far more mundane. This is especially noticeable when you watch the releases in that universe’s chronological order. Thus, prequels often have the side-effect of downgrading or side-lining the originals.
By its very nature, a prequel does not exist in a void. It comes before something. It’s no easy feat to balance the needs of the prequel story with the constraints placed on it by the stories that released before it. It’s a delicate balance to walk. Lean too much into what’s been established and you risk severely limiting the scope of your story. Throw canon to the wind and the prequel story may not fit within the greater framework that exists in the minds of fans.
This is personally why I think that prequels can be a hard sell for long-running fandoms — it’s too easy to cause contradictions and lore breaks. Sure, not everyone cares about that. Most casual viewers probably don’t, but invariably there are fans who are invested in the universe that do want to see continuity maintained. Prequels are often the bane of those kinds of fans.
Now I know that, more often than not, these types of fans are dismissed out of hand as whiny manbabies, like a Youtube comment section come to life. But, I would argue that many of the fans that object to major breaks in a universe’s continuity just want all parts of the thing they love to work in concert, forming a cohesive whole, rather than having elements that work in opposition to that. Major breaks in continuity can make that a bridge too far to span.
Lack of Stakes
Perhaps the worst curse of prequels is that we know that nothing will really change. Yeah, maybe we get a little extra insight into what leads up to the originals, but we know the story can only resolve in a certain way. We already know who lives and who dies.
That means that established characters that are alive and kicking in the future are effectively untouchable in the present. There are no stakes when the outcome is already known. When there are no stakes to a story, it can make everything in it feel brittle and unearned. It doesn’t matter how outnumbered, outgunned, or impossibly the odds are against them, we know that the heroes will make it through. It drains most, if not all, of the dramatic tension from the story as we already know the protagonists will win. Prequels are where the plot armor is thickest, and it shows.
For one reason or another, we live in an age of prequels. In the case of both the Lord of the Rings and Game of Thrones universes, it’s because the main stories have already been told, and it’s too soon for any sort of reboot. With Star Trek and Star Wars, they seem to both have an allergy to advancing their own timelines (with some exceptions), and would much rather set their stories in eras that have historically proven popular.
Combine that with the powerful urge for studios to create some sort of interrelated cinematic universe, and it’s a safe bet that the stream of inevitable prequel releases is just getting started.
Still, there are some places even within those offerings where new, original stories can thrive, ones that aren’t as beholden to other source material that have more space to grow. (Mandalorian, I’m looking at you.) While my instinct is usually to leave backstory as just that, I’m usually willing to give prequels stories a shot. Sometimes they land, and sometimes they don’t. After all, a story well told is a story worth your time, regardless of how much baggage it might carry from what has gone before.
So, I put it to you, dear reader, what are your thoughts on prequels? Do you like them, love them, despise them, or are you just sort of ‘meh’ on them? Let me know in the comments below.
This topic has been on my mind for years now. I had originally intended to release this blog post later in the year as winter set in (for reasons that will be obvious in a moment), but since House of the Dragon premiers this weekend, now seemed as good a time as any.
There’s a part of the worldbuilding of Westeros that I want to examine. Before we get into that, let me first say that George R.R. Martin’s series is one of my favorite fantasy worlds of all time. It’s full of wonderfully flawed characters, historical parallels, and rich backstory. One of the things that sets it apart from many other fantasy worlds is the concept that the seasons can last much longer than in our world. The winters in Westeros are famously years long and apocalyptically cold.
It’s the topic of winters that I want to delve into here.
There are precedents in actual history for seasons lasting beyond their usual cycle, such as the Year Without a Summer in 1816. In Westeros, however, winters can last for up to six or seven years at a time, possibly longer. For the purposes of this discussion we’re not going to worry about saving up the requisite amount of food as we have many examples from history on methods to avoid potential famine over long periods of time. The main thing we are going to look at (as the title suggests) is the question of firewood.
The Westerosi, like their medieval counterparts, don’t have many ways to heat their homes. There are no radiators or electric heaters to rely upon, so to survive the cold, cruel winters, they would have to burn fuel to keep themselves warm and cook their food. In real life, it was an arduous enough task to cut enough firewood to last a winter season that spanned only three to five months. Virtually every moment not spent on some of other critical task had to be devoted to cutting firewood, just to make sure you had enough.
Now imagine having to stockpile firewood for a winter that can last for years. If the winters are as bad as Old Nan suggests, you won’t be able to cut down trees after winter has come due to the risk of exposure and sickness. Since you have no way of knowing just how long winter will be, you had better assume it’s going to go the full seven years. If you cut enough for three years, and winter lasts four, you’re dead.
Truly, when you play the game of firewood, you either have enough or you die; there is no middle ground.
(Sorry, couldn’t resist.)
How much firewood are we talking?
Let’s say that you’re a peasant living somewhere in Westeros, possibly in a sturdy cottage or farmhouse. You likely have only one hearth or fireplace. You might even have a fire pit, which is likely closer to what actual medieval peasants used to use less wood as they brave the harsh winters of Northern Europe. Whatever form your heat source takes, you’ll need to keep the fire going all the time. Letting it go out overnight could result in you waking up a frozen peasant-sicle.
To accomplish this, you’ll need fuel in the form of wood. There are other forms of fuel, but firewood is going to be your most reliable and most abundant. Also, I don’t know of many defined peat bogs (peat being another source of fuel) found in the North, where the hammer of winter falls the hardest. You could burn animal dung, but they require additional food stores, so again, wood is likely going to be your mainstay.
According to sources I found (listed below), heating a 1,000 square foot house needs about 3 cords of wood for a three-month winter, effectively one cord per month per 1,000 square feet. Luckily for our hypothetical peasant, their home is likely smaller than that size, so it requires less fuel to heat. For ease of measurement, let’s say the home in question is half that square footage, so 500 square feet. Assuming the ceiling is 10-feet high, the example cottage would be around 5,000 cubic feet.
We’ll assume that the history of extremely long winters has made insulation and heat retention for this peasant’s house roughly equivalent to the modern standard. That’s a big leap, sure, but I’m giving the people of Westeros the benefit of the doubt here.
So, how much is a cord of wood? A single cord of firewood is usually defined as a stack that’s 4 feet wide, 4 feet tall, and 8 feet long. That winds up being 128 cubic feet of wood.
Seven years equals 84 months. According to the example above, it would take 84 cords of wood for a modern 1,000 square foot house to keep a fire going for that long, so it would take around 42 cords of wood at the very least to heat the Westerosi peasant’s house. Doing the math, that’s a stack of wood 168 feet wide, 168 feet tall, and 336 feet long, or 9,483,264 cubic feet.
To give you an idea of just how much that is, imagine that you covered every inch of a modern football field with firewood (including at least one end zone) and stacked it all up to a height of 168 feet. That’s taller than the Statue of Liberty.
See the problem?
All of that is to fuel a single fireplace continuously for seven years, to say nothing of if you have a larger home with more than one fireplace. Even if fire pits might allow you to cut less wood than it would take to keep a regular fireplace going, the extreme length of time you have to maintain it makes it a herculean feat to cut that much firewood.
Blisters and Magnification:
With modern logging equipment, or just a functional chainsaw, a single person could conceivably cut that much wood during the seven years of the Long Summer, but the folk of Westeros don’t have that luxury. They would certainly have a wood-cutting axe handy, and if they are very lucky, they might also have a splitting wedge and/or maul to make things easier.
Regardless of the equipment available, the daunting task of cutting that much wood must be done by hand. The amount of effort it would take to cut, transport, split, season, and store that amount of wood so it won’t rot is staggering. Talk about calluses!
Perhaps larger keeps and holdfasts would have whole teams of lumberjacks with big cross cut saws to fell the timbers faster, but having a larger home, with more than one fireplace, only magnifies this problem.
It’s hard to get a read on just how many hearths and fireplaces some of the major holdings in the series possess. We can safely cross Winterfell off the list here, since it has the hot spring flowing through its walls (or did until Ramsay Bolton messed it all up in the books. Spoilers, sorry!).
The only solid number we have comes from Harrenhal. Its rather inaccurately named Hall of the Hundred Hearths has only about 35 of them. That’s in one room. Admittedly, this fortress was built to a colossal scale, but it’s safe to say that large holdings like Highgarden, Casterly Rock, and the Red Keep might have dozens of fireplaces that they keep going, from the main hall to the private quarters of the noble families.
That doesn’t even take into account things like wood for torches to light the halls, braziers for watch fires, fuel for the forge, or any extra wood used in the kitchens for cooking and food preparation. Even a lord or castellan that is extremely frugal with the available stores of wood would surely be using many times that of our hypothetical peasant in a cottage.
How are there any forests left standing in Westeros if that’s the case?
Inventing a Solution:
George R. R. Martin is a smart author, and he’s tackled problems like this before. Ravens, for example. I’m speculating here, but I imagine that he looked at how massive Westeros was, and how far flung the centers of power actually are on the map. They were once seven independent kingdoms after all. There aren’t many usable roads connecting them, and a lack of an inland sea really limits how fast ships can get to places. Without a means of fast, reliable travel overland or by sea, it would be almost impossible to effectively administrate a kingdom of that size using any historical medieval methods. Without some channel for communications, the Seven Kingdoms would have likely collapsed under its own geopolitical weight.
So, GRRM invented a means to send messages quickly over great distances. Enter the Maesters and their incredible knowledge of ravenry (or rookery). Like trained carrier pigeons, you attach a note to one of their feet and off they go to a predetermined place. It’s not clear how fast these birds are, but I would imagine that a Prince of Dorne might have a decent idea of what was going on in the North within a week or two, as opposed to many months to a year.
GRRM famously dislikes fan fiction set in his universe, so let’s simply look at this as a mental exercise. Let’s apply the same kind of practical problem solving he used with ravens to the firewood problem. What follows is my solution to the problem. If you have a solution of your own, or if there is a solution presented in the books that I have missed, I would love to hear it in comments below.
Enter the Winter Oak. This tree is a cousin to the Weirwood tree, sharing some of its physical properties, but distinctly lacking in its metaphysical ones. Like the Weirwood, it maintains its bloom throughout all seasons, needing little in the way of sunlight, but more importantly, the wood of the Winter Oak does not rot. It can be stored for years on end without degradation from either outside conditions or damage from vermin. That alone would make it invaluable to Westeros, but we don’t stop there. Here are a few more characteristics that help alleviate the firewood problem:
The Winter Oak burns many times longer than regular oak, maple, or hickory due in part to the special red sap it secretes. It is not appreciably heavier to carry or harder to cut. Stocking this wood allows you to greatly reduce the fuel you need to get through the winter by several orders of magnitude.
This tree produces thousands of seed pods that are a particularly attractive food source to burrowing animals. The animals eat the pods and fertilize the seeds in their feces underground. This allows new trees to find fertile ground and start growing even with several feet of snow on the ground. New crops of trees are then ready to go as soon as the spring comes. Some particularly hardy specimens even start shooting up during the height of winter.
The tree is common enough that wood from it is plentiful all around the Seven Kingdoms. The Winter Oak tree does not require a particular type of soil to grow, so it can be sown just about anywhere plants grow.
This tree grows quickly. Not as fast as bamboo, but considerably faster than other trees. This makes them perfect for ‘farming’ multiple times during the spring/summer/autumn seasons. Because they can grow during the winter, the brave or foolish (or both) may attempt to gather them in the winter, too.
The Winter Oak will naturally find a balance with the trees around it, including others of its kind. It doesn’t have to compete over sunlight as much, but does require lots of nutrients from the soil. So, it does not grow as aggressively or pervasively as kudzu.
In summary, you have a tree that reduces the amount of wood you need, stores well for long periods of time, replaces itself quickly, and is common enough that all of the Seven Kingdoms have ample access to it.
Now, if there any dendrologists or arborists reading this, I’m sure you are shaking your head or blinking in disbelief. But I ask you, is a tree that does all that any less believable than one that can see through time while harboring an ancient hive mind? The Winter Oak still makes life in Westeros a struggle for survival, as it should be, but makes living there a bit more viable.
While The Song of Ice and Fire is a work of fantasy, it’s a type of fantasy that is firmly grounded in historical realism. A worldbuilder’s job is to construct universes which possess the ring of truth. When you decide to change something major, you have to keep in mind what else changes with it.
If everyone in the world could suddenly teleport by just using their mind, it doesn’t just save on commute times to work. There will be many permutations and effects that will need to be addressed to give the world a realistic sense of place. (An excellent example of this is Alfred Bester’s novel, The Stars My Destination.) Merely saying “it’s magic!” and leaving it at that is not a valid way of getting around problems, or downplaying their importance, even in fantasy worlds that are far less rooted in reality.
Now, does this tiny wrinkle diminish my enjoyment of GRRM’s books? Absolutely not. I don’t read his works for complicated explanations of the seasons. No, I’m all about compelling grey characters that almost leap off the page, descriptions of feasts that make my stomach rumble, and as GRRM puts it, “the human heart in conflict with itself.” *chef’s kiss.*
So, bundle up everyone. It may be hot outside now, but Winter is Coming.
My recent quarantine with Covid has been a springboard to catch up on several streaming shows that are within my wheelhouse, including (but not limited to) Obi-Wan Kenobi, Ms. Marvel, and Stranger Things 4. That much media in so short a time made certain things stand out to me in sharp relief, so I thought I would share them here. What follows will contain spoilers for the aforementioned shows, so consider yourself warned.
Also, I want to be clear that while I may be discussing some of the missteps of these shows, that doesn’t mean that I’m dunking on them, the actors, the crew, or anyone involved in the production. This is up to and including the writers. There are a lot of moving parts when it comes to productions of this size, a lot of compromises that have to be made for time and budget. My purpose here is not merely to point out some of the underlying flaws. No, I want the shows coming on the major streaming services to be better. Many of them are already watchable, but there’s always room for improvement.
As I’ve stated elsewhere on this blog, writing is cheap. Before the camera rolls or the digital artists jump in to work their magic, you have a script. Just words on a page. It surprises me sometimes what actually makes it through to the screen when a little bit of logic or a slightly different presentation could make a world of difference.
With that in mind, here are five ‘under the hood’ considerations writers should think about when constructing their narratives:
1.) Moving pieces around the board
Unless your entire story takes places in a single location, your characters have places to be. How long does it take them to get there? What challenges, if any, do they have to overcome to arrive at their destination? Even if all of this takes place off the screen or page, it’s worth thinking this through. This is especially important if there are other events occurring during this time that need to eventually synch up.
In science fiction, it might be as easy as hopping in a ship or stepping onto a transporter pad. Still, you should have an idea of how long the trip takes, as well as how events might have changed in the meantime.
For fantasy, where the fastest mode of travel available might be a sailing ship, you might consider how long the characters are at sea. That could affect the relationship they have with each other and give you space to further develop their interrelations.
Example: At the end of episode 5 of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Ex-Grand Inquisitor Reva is seen stabbed through the abdomen with a lightsaber, abandoned by her forces on a junk world, and left for dead. At the opening of episode 6, however, she’s on Tatooine, seemingly fully healed and back to normal.
We might give this a pass, assuming in our minds that several days have passed since her duel with Vader. If that were the case, there are still some things we don’t see and are never mentioned. How did she heal herself of what was (presumably) a mortal wound with no resources at the ready? Once she did that, where did she find a ship with the range to get her off planet? The time in hyperspace is shown later to take almost no time at all, so I’m not counting that.
However, the show undercuts this by continuing the transport chase with Obi-Wan, Leia, and the rest of the Path in space. Unless the transport has some serious shields, it shouldn’t be able to withstand the onslaught of an Imperial Star Destroyer for very long. So, this tells us that not much time at all has passed since Reva’s stabbing.
2.)What options are available to solve a problem? Why do they choose that one?
In just about any situation, the characters may have several options to deal with a given obstacle or problem. They could try to use brute force, employ misdirection, kitbash some solution on the spot MacGyver style, or any number of a million possibilities.
So, why do they go with the option that plays out in the narrative? This can be particularly tricky when you’re dealing with people who have military training, those who are trained to shrewdly assess a situation and come up with a solution that produces a specific end result.
This is not to say that all decisions your characters make will be done with calm, rational precision. Decisions are often made out of emotion, instinct, or conditioning. While the audience may not think to question why a character undertakes a certain course of action, these decisions are something that deserves the writer’s attention. The larger, more important the decision, the more the writer should weigh whether it makes sense in the context of what they’ve established.
Example: Let’s head back to Obi-Wan Kenobi, episode 6. He’s on a ship with a busted hyperdrive and likely doesn’t have the time to make repairs before the ship is destroyed (although that point gets a bit muddled along the way). He does, however, have access to a pretty decent-sized shuttle that does have a functional hyperdrive. The shuttle looked big enough to hold a large percentage of the Path, at least enough to significantly reduce the number of people in harm’s way.
Instead of employing the shuttle to evacuate the kids and a good chunk of the people, Obi-Wan takes it to use as a diversion. It would have made more sense in that situation if Obi-Wan’s shuttle did not have a hyperdrive on it at all, so Obi-Wan takes Vader’s Lambda-class shuttle after their duel, which we know from Return of the Jedi has a hyperdrive.
3.)Why do they need to act right now? What is their time scale?
Have you ever been frustrated that a character spends no time developing a skill and is suddenly an expert with no explanation, not even the tried-and-true ’80s montage? Or, has a love story not quite worked because the characters have barely had time to know each other? Chances are that the scale of time wasn’t enough to make the payoff feel earned or plausible.
The same goes for a villain who needs to act right now for some reason. What is the time scale they are working off of? Perhaps there’s some convergence of events or a limited window of opportunity that won’t come again anytime soon, or ever. Why doesn’t the villain just walk away, learn from their mistakes, and try again in five years?
Time is a factor in the travel that I mentioned above, but this aspect is less about the amount of time that passes for the characters and more what they do, or don’t do, with it.
Example: In episode 3 of Ms. Marvel, Kamala Khan meets her Jinn extended family, the Clandestines. Their initial meeting is cordial and welcoming, and goes a long way towards explaining part of Kamala’s mysterious background. At that point, I thought the stage was set for Kamala to be buddies with them initially, then slowly start to realize that the Clandestines’ goals maybe weren’t as noble as they seemed at first.
Later in the same episode, however, Najma decides that Kamala has to help her achieve her goal of opening the portal to her home plane that night, during Kamala’s brother’s wedding. Besides the abrupt tonal shift of ‘you’re one of us’ to ‘we’ll kill you and your entire family if you don’t comply,’ there is zero explanation of why Najma couldn’t wait until the next day. Or next week, or next month.
All the Jinn appear to be long-lived, and they had been waiting around since at least Partition in 1947. So, what’s with the sudden urgency? Clearly, they could wait because Najma and her group are all arrested at the end of episode and don’t catch up to Kamala again until they’re all in Pakistan, presumably several days to a week later.
4.)What knowledge do the characters have to act on? How do they know that?
Let’s say your characters are faced with a difficult decision. They don’t have time to debate it in committee. They need decisive action, and they need it now. What do they do? Perhaps more importantly, what do they know to do? What is the situation as they understand it in that moment? That will entirely shape the decision that they make.
This is especially important if you have several groups working in concert towards a larger goal, and something changes suddenly. There has to be some believable way for the characters at the point of contact to understand the broader scope of what is going on. With literary devices like telepathy, you can easily have one character reach out to another one, such as Luke contacting Leia as he hung from the bottom of Cloud City. But, Leia wouldn’t have known to do that otherwise.
Bottom line, unless there’s magic in your story, and it’s able to inform all parties involved, the characters shouldn’t magically know the right thing to do; they need to have some way of arriving at the correct decision that makes sense.
Example: In Stranger Things 4, we get perhaps my favorite scene in the entire series: Eddie Munson on top of his trailer in the Upside-Down shredding out Metallica’s Master of Puppets. The scene is made even better with the knowledge that the actor playing Eddie, Joseph Quinn, was actually playing the guitar in that scene. Ultimately, Eddie sacrifices his life to keep the demobats distracted, to buy his friends more time. It is a great character moment, as well as a heartbreaking death scene between Eddie and Dustin.
There’s just one issue: Eddie had no knowledge of what was going on with Steve, Robin, and Nancy in the Creel House (who were all busy being strung up by tentacles at the time). Eddie is absolutely correct in his assessment that his friends need more time, but how did he arrive at that conclusion? Why would he have thought they needed more time? There’s nothing in that moment to tell him to stall for time, certainly at the cost of his own life. For a group that makes a point of showing that they have walkie-talkies to keep in contact, they don’t use them.
5.) What are the consequences of their actions?
This is a biggie for me, mainly because negative consequences so rarely seem to come back to haunt main characters. Obviously, you want to grant your characters as much agency as you can, so they need to make meaningful decisions. The result of these decisions should be a big part of the story you’re telling, and there should be repercussions. Without them, it can start to feel like nothing the characters do really matters.
Consequences don’t always have to be negative, however. Most of the time your characters are standing in triumph at the end of the story because of their actions. In fact, I have a special place in my heart for stories that show us how the heroes’ actions tangibly improve the lives of the people around them.
Besides a sense of stakes and tension, knowing the consequences of the characters’ actions is a great way to map out what happens in future stories or later in the one you’re writing. So, you’re not doing yourself a favor by ignoring them. Your story will feel more real and engaging if your characters don’t always get off the hook. Even if they’ve done the right thing, sometimes no good deed goes unpunished.
Example: In Stranger Things 4, Eleven loses it on her school rival, Angela. Eleven viciously attacks her bully with one of her roller-skates. This results in Angela being hurt badly and bleeding. Two police officers show up at her house the next day to take her into custody, pending assault charges.
When Dr. Owens, played by Paul Reiser, recruits Eleven in the diner, she asks about the incident. Owens hand-waves that and says that he will make that all go away. He certainly does. It’s never mentioned again. Unless it’s referenced in Season 5, which I seriously doubt, it’s a complete non-issue to the story.
Okay, that’s five. I don’t often write about writing itself, but I thought this was worth exploring. Do you have any narrative tropes, non-sequiturs, or leaps of logic that stick out like a sore thumb to you when you’re reading or watching movies and/or TV? If so, share them below in the comments.
[Note: I do not consider myself a movie critic. What follows is just one fanboy’s opinion based off of a single double viewing of the film. Oh, and there are SPOILERS ahead for this movie, Wandavision and Loki, so take heed.]
Folks, this is a hard entry for me to write. I’m normally pretty glowing in my reviews of Marvel projects, and maybe a little more forgiving of their flaws, simply because the interconnected nature of the MCU is quite literally a dream come true.
So, it’s going to be tough love today, unfortunately. It’s been a while since I’ve felt the MCU had a true misfire. Opinions vary on that score, of course, but even when the MCU is not at its best (Iron Man 2, Thor: The Dark World, I’m looking in your direction), the movies have been watchable. I would have to rank this movie down in the lower tiers. Strap in, folks, here we go:
I like Doctor Strange, not just the movie from 2016, but the concept of the character and his role in the Marvel Universe. I thought he was fantastic in Infinity War and Endgame. The way he was used in No Way Home didn’t thrill me, but he’s a character that’s powerful enough that he can overwhelm a story if you’re not careful. I think there was a better way to handle his interactions with Spider-Man, but that was a minor issue in a movie I really loved.
I had heard that this movie experienced significant rewrites and reshoots, which started to make my spider-sense tingle, especially since the initial director backed out. But, I can’t blame the guy; Jon Watts directed all three of the MCU Spider-Man movies. He deserves a chance to step away.
Since the torch passed to Sam Raimi, I wasn’t too concerned, as I really love him as a director. The Army of Darkness is one of those movies that I can quote from beginning to end, pretty much right up there with Big Trouble in Little China, The Princess Bride, and Monty Python and the Holy Grail. The first two Spider-Man movies with Tobey Maguire were also incredibly good. I, for one, was glad to see Raimi return to Marvel. At first…
What I liked:
All the Sam Raimi-isms — Like I said, I really enjoy Sam Raimi’s visual style. The monster cams, the extreme reaction shots, the (ahem) break-neck pace. By the end, some of the choices were starting to grate a little, but there is no denying that he directed this film. His stamp, for good or for ill, is indelibly marked all over the movie.
Wanda believes she’s the protagonist — If you’ve read this blog for any length of time, you know that I really love literary villains. In one of my posts, I talk about how villains should always behave as though they are the central hero of their own story. Most villains don’t, and shouldn’t, think they are a villain, and behave accordingly. Thanos in Infinity War is a good example. Even though Wanda does some truly horrific deeds, she still doesn’t think she’s a monster. For most of the movie, anyway. More on that in a minute.
High production values — This is a major Marvel release, and that means incredible visuals, great sound editing, and overall a polished product, at least from a technical perspective. In that way, it definitely delivers.
The acting — One of Marvel’s strengths has been the casting and talent of the performers. I think every on-screen actor that appears here turns in a great performance, even if the material they are handed doesn’t give them much to work with. I think we’re lucky to have Benedict Wong, Benedict Cumberbatch, Rachel McAdams, and of course Elizabeth friggin’ Olsen. The amount of talent they have is astounding.
The Illuminati reveal — I did love this part of the movie, even if it didn’t really go anywhere in the end. We finally get to see Captain Carter in live action, along with Mr. Fantastic, and PROFESSOR X. Wow wow wow. Even though Inhumans wasn’t a good show, I like Anson Mount as an actor. I would love to see Black Bolt return in some capacity…though obviously not this version of him.
Zombie Doctor Strange — This is peak Sam Raimi, right here. An undead Doctor Strange who forges a cloak out of damned souls….OH YEAH! (*said in the Yello voice from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off*) Extra points that Doctor Strange starts sorta talking like a pirate, which seems to be a thing when you’re either undead or a deadite. Love it.
Wanda’s realization that she’s actually the antagonist — Wanda has a Falling Down moment at the climax of the film. She has somehow been able to justify everything she’s done up to that point. Seeing the children she hoped to mother completely terrified of her, to see them rally around the Wanda from that universe, it’s a cold splash of water to the face, allowing Wanda to come back to the forefront from being the Scarlet Witch. She realizes that she is the villain of the piece. Some top-shelf acting from Elizabeth Olsen (on both sides of that scene) really goes a long way.
What I DIDN’T Like:
Where’s Kang in all this? Or Vision? — I thought that the breaking of the timeline in Loki would be a catalyst for this movie, but there is zero mention of him or any of his other incarnations. You might make a case that there’s a difference between alternate timelines and alternate universes, but I suspected that Kang would be the next Big Bad, to use a Buffy term. Worse though, is that Vision is mentioned once, but Wanda never attempts to seek out White Vision or even find a universe where the original vision is still alive. He’s treated, effectively, as though he doesn’t exist. Considering the end of Wandavision, that’s a really odd choice.
Is this the same Wanda from Wandavision? — Speaking of that show, the version of Wanda we see here doesn’t seem to be the same one from the end of Wandavision. I thought the whole interlude had taught her that she needed to learn to refine the use of her powers to avoid hurting more people. I also thought she had made her peace with the illusory nature of her boys and Vision. But here, she is hyperfixated on getting the boys back, even though they weren’t real in the first place. This leads me to my next point.
What is the deal with her kids? — It’s the same two boys from Wandavision, but in the Hex, they were supposed to be the kids she had with Vision. That was all an illusion. Since Vision is an android, we can make a pretty decent guess that he can’t actually father children with her. (I’m fairly certain that wasn’t a concern when Ultron built the body.) But in the multiverse, however, Wanda apparently does have these kids. So, are they magical conjurations as well? Or did she have them the usual way? If the latter, who’s the father? It’s such a central point to Wanda’s character, but there is no real explanation of who, or what, these kids actually are.
The dark side of the Bruce Campbell cameo — I love me some Bruce Campbell, but this…this gets darker the more you think about it. So, a pizza-ball street vendor asks for payment for something a punk kid steals, and in the altercation is about to spray mustard into some arrogant Doctor Strange cosplayer’s face. Mustard. Even if he had succeeded, it would have done zero harm. In return, Strange puts a curse on him to do physical harm to himself for several weeks. Besides just the physical trauma, it seems like it would be pretty hard to eat, drink, or sleep as your limbs act on their own accord. While we see him in the end stinger, in reality that man would be dead. The whole thing is played for laughs, and is completely unnecessary.
So, how long does it take to drain America’s powers? — There are a number of internal inconsistencies in this movie. I don’t want to go into all of them, but one of the biggest ones was this: At the beginning of the movie, Soon-To-Be-Zombie Strange has trapped a demon, one that’s about to escape in the next few seconds. He makes the choice to take America’s universe-hopping power for himself. He’s holding the demon with one hand, and draining her power with the other. The implication is that Strange believes he can take the power in the moments before the demon gets loose again.
At the climax of the movie, Strange and Wong trap Wanda in a spell sphere. She’s also about to break free, so Wong prompts Strange to take the power. Again, the idea is that Strange can do this before Wanda busts out and kills all of them. And yet, Wanda captures America and has her in her temple for potentially hours while Strange and Christine walk through the ruined universe to find Third-Eye Strange, fight him, set up the spell using the Darkhold, then get Zombie Strange to the temple, fight off the spirits of the damned, and then finally get over there to disrupt Wanda’s ritual.
Wanda can’t take the power from Strange? — The frustrating part about America being a living McGuffin (amongst the things), is that Strange taking her power is likely for nothing. It’s never mentioned anywhere in the movie, but if Wanda can drain the power from America, who’s to say that she couldn’t do exactly the same thing to Strange himself? Even if he crossed that threshold, and killed America for her power, Wanda could almost certainly turn around and take it from him on the spot. She soloed against Kamar-Taj, and barely broke a sweat against dozens of the most powerful wizards in the world. As much as I would like to give Strange the benefit of the doubt, the silver bullet they keep bringing up might not actually help them.
The lack of material for America Chavez — I think that Xochitl Gomez does a good job with a character that has almost no backstory, and no real character development. America is treated like a walking, talking McGuffin that’s occasionally snarky. What a waste of potential. I really hoped this would be a grand entrance for both the actress and the character into the MCU, but the character comes off as the bratty, streetwise trope that we’ve seen any number of times in other things. Also, she’s been to 73 universes and never heard of Spider-Man? What the—?
The Fall of Kamar-Taj — I understand the need to show that Wanda is now an Omega-level threat. I thought they established that quite well, but where it fell apart from me was when Wong orders “Fortify Your Minds!” I mean, Wanda’s powers were always about affecting people’s minds, of getting in their heads. If you have a way to ‘fortify your mind’ as a wizard, shouldn’t you have already done that? In game terms, maybe it’s best to cast mind blank before combat if that’s an option. Also, one guy running away is enough to open a hole in the shield? Ugh.
Wong is a pushover — Wong is the Sorcerer Supreme. He, more than anyone else, has an idea of what damage Wanda can do with the Darkhold. One of his wizards even sacrifices herself in a pretty brutal way to make sure Wanda is deprived of the Book of Vile Darkness. When captured, he tells Wanda that she can torture him all she wants, but he won’t tell her anything more. She threatens some of the other wizards, and he folds like a card table. There’s no attempt to resist, or any thought of Wanda trying to get into his head, perhaps even trying to convince him that its Strange asking for the book instead of her. For a character that we’ve seen that’s so great about being a moral compass for Strange, and a solid, reliable presence, this has plot contrivance written all over it. It doesn’t do the character justice.
A multiverse of…three? — There’s a quick cutscene of Strange and America crashing through universal barriers, but other than that, we don’t get to see much of the multiverse. There’s our universe (kind of a given), the 838 universe with the Illuminati, and the destroyed universe where Third-Eye strange resides. I guess for a movie with ‘multiverse’ in the title, I was expecting more variety than just three.
The execution of Strange-838 — I understand that the conflict with Thanos played out differently in Universe-838, and that Strange was responsible for the destruction of a whole universe. While it was a sad scene to see Black Bolt simply say “I’m sorry” and kill his friend, it rankles me a bit that the Illuminati didn’t attempt to reform their friend, find a way to help him, or simply imprison him. They just execute him, and that’s that. I can’t speak for all the members of the Illuminati, but are you telling me that Captain Carter and Professor X in particular would have just been okay with that? No attempt at a redemption, just death? Superheroes should not be in the execution business.
Fall of the Illuminati — Hoo boy. First, maybe don’t tell the bad guy the exact nature of Black Bolt’s powers. Second, for the world’s smartest man, what was he doing? Stretching his arm out to do…what? Punch her? Pat her on the shoulder? While Mr. Fantastic is busily getting spaghettified, and then promptly popped like a balloon, his (remaining) companions do nothing. And if Wanda can do that, why would she bother engaging Captain Carter in hand-to-hand combat at all? Why not a quick balloon-popping for everyone? Then, she drops a statue on Captain Marvel with the implication (the hand-falling gesture) that the hero is dead. Yeah, the Carol Danvers Captain Marvel flew through a concentrated barrage from Thanos’ ship without any hindrance whatsoever. A statue falling on her would be less than nothing.
Like I said, the Illuminati thread just sort of ends without accomplishing anything but slowing Wanda down temporarily, and really not even that. Xavier makes the most progress, in a scene that reminded me of him trying to lock away the Dark Phoenix in Jean Grey, but that fails, once again, with no tangible return or lasting results. I would have almost preferred that we scrub this section completely and get to spend more time with Wanda, Strange, and America. Those three characters could have used it.
Doddering around the Book of Vishanti — I could tell immediately when we got to this part of the movie, from the musical cues, to the camera angles, that the Book of Vishanti would be a non-starter. And so it was. Instead of sprinting towards the book, knowing that one of the most powerful beings in existence is hot on their heels, intent on their destruction, they screw around, wasting what precious seconds they had. In game terms, you’ve got maybe three rounds before the boss gets there. You’ve got one round to get to the book, one round to find the spell you need, and one round to cast it. Sure enough, no sooner has Strange got the book in hand, it’s destroyed without being useful at all.
Since it’s clear that the Darkhold is the polar opposite of the Book of Vishanti, and the Darkhold exists throughout the multiverse, doesn’t it also stand to reason that the Book of Vishanti might also exist in other universes? That possibility is never explored, or even given a line mention. Once the good book is destroyed, it’s never mentioned again. That’s a lot of screen time invested in a McGuffin for it to have zero effect on the outcome.
Slow, dramatic walking as the world is about to end — The movie has a real issue with building up events as important, perhaps even all-important, and then promptly deflating them by having the characters react to them in a ho-hum fashion. The Book of Vishanti was one, but the interlude with Third-Eye Strange really takes the cake. Strange and Christine walk nonchalantly through the ruined universe (he has a repaired cape that allows him to fly at this point), find the Sanctum, and then slowly walk up the staircase. May I remind you that during this interlude, Wanda has America in her clutches, and no one is around to stop her. There is zero sense of urgency in any of this. I could just hear Sgt. Avery Johnson from Halo yelling, “Let’s move like we’ve got a purpose, Marines!”
Doctor Strange checks out — Strange is not responsible for resolving the conflict in his own movie. In fact, as cool as Zombie Doctor Strange is, he doesn’t contribute much to the crux of the action. He hands that completely off to America with a just “go kick her ass” pep talk. America attempts to fight Wanda for three seconds before realizing she can’t win, then on her own decides to give Wanda what she wants. It’s a great twist, leading to one of the best moments of realization in the movie, but the whole thing is resolved without Strange really doing much. Again, what a weird way to go.
There’s no redemption for Wanda — I know a fair few Wanda Maximoff fans, and this was a hard one for them to watch. Wanda makes an incredible villain here. That chase scene through the tunnels really makes her seem like a cross between Carrie and the Terminator, but once she realizes what’s she’s become, she just ends it.
For the sake of the aforementioned fans, I hope that isn’t actually the end for Wanda. Otherwise, that is a great character that’s just tossed into the bin. If Marvel has a redemption arc for Wanda in mind, you certainly couldn’t tell if from this movie. She just drops a mountain on herself as the story just seems eager to be done with her rather than see her try to undo the harm that she’s done. Also, just like Captain Marvel, unless she intentionally willed herself to be vulnerable, dropping the temple on herself wouldn’t have killed her. It’s a frustrating way to handle her exit.
Too many to count. I’ve addressed a number of them in the entries above, but this movie really does leave me with so many more questions than answers, and not just about the story. How much studio interference was there? What concessions were made? What did the original story arc look like? What was left on the cutting room floor that might have made more sense than what we got in the end? I guess we’ll never know.
It’s definitely exciting and visually appealing…but, too much of it is on the surface or winds up being a confused mess. There’s too much of “Wow, that was cool. Don’t think too hard about it.” That phrase might as well be the motto of the entire movie. Unfortunately, a second viewing only made the cracks stand out in even sharper relief.
Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness is an odd puzzle piece for the MCU. It doesn’t really fit with what was established in the movies and shows that led up to it, and it doesn’t seem to further the somewhat meandering Phase IV continuity moving forward. Heck, it doesn’t even seem to jive with itself half the time. I expected that this movie would leverage what Loki had set up with Kang, even if it was only a line mention. It didn’t, and that seems like a big missed opportunity.
Overall, I’m not sure if the MCU is served by this movie’s presence. Unless future installments refer back to the events here, such as a return of Wanda, I don’t think this one is required viewing. If you’re not a Sam Raimi fan, or if you have an aversion to horror in your superhero movie, it’s definitely a hard pass. Even if you are a fan of those things, it still might be worth skipping. I wish that weren’t the case, but here we are.
This next Tuesday, April 26th, marks three years since the release of the final installment of the Infinity Saga. At the time, I wasn’t sure if anything could truly cap off 11 years of the MCU, including 22 movies and one helluva setup with Infinity War. I should’ve known all of you would knock it out of the park.
Of course, the odds of any of the actual cast reading this are admittedly pretty slim, but writing this is cathartic for me after the emotional roller-coaster that is Avengers: Endgame that still lives rent-free in my head now in 2022.
First, the general stuff:
This goes out to not only the cast but the crew as well. It took a literal army of people to bring this movie to life. No matter what your role was on this film, on or off the screen, it’s clear that your passion for the work came shining through in a way that’s seldom seen. I’m sure there were a myriad of frustrations and obstacles that we, as the viewing audience, will never understand or even know existed. But you persevered, laboring to create something truly beautiful.
And what you have created is nothing less than a love letter to the Marvel Cinematic Universe. As both a comics fanboy and movie enthusiast, I am humbled by the feature you collectively delivered. Truly.Humbled. From the bottom of my heart, thank you. You have no idea what your work means to me.
There are a few folks in particular I would like to address. Obviously, I can’t cover everyone involved in a production this size (this may lead me to write a Part 2 to this eventually), so let me simply say that every actor who made an on-screen appearance played their part to perfection. Every single one. The MCU has always had pretty inspired casting, and I can safely say that the acting here is phenomenal across the board. I love you all.
Okay, now the specifics:
Jon Favreau – Where would we be if you hadn’t directed the original Iron Man? For me and many of my friends, it’s been our collective dream to see an interconnected universe where these heroes could team up and interact with each other. You set that in motion, and I’m really happy (note the use of the word) that you have maintained a recurring character. I always look forward to seeing him, and wow-oh-wow did your scene with young Morgan strike home, post-funeral scene. While it’s not strictly on topic, I have really enjoyed The Mandalorian and other Star Wars projects that you and Dave Filoni have created. I look forward to many more.
Alan Silvestri – I’ve been listening to your Endgame score while writing this letter. It’s so evocative. There’s pain, and despair, but there’s a slender thread of hope that runs through it. One of the hardest things about watching this movie was seeing all these characters I love in such pain, and you underscore it beautifully. Let me add that I’ve been a fan of your scores since Back to the Future. Your work regularly appears on my writing playlists. Your ability to inspire, or to break my heart, through music is astonishing. When your Avengers theme comes on, I feel like I can fly.
The Russo Brothers – You did the impossible. You brought a million disparate threads together, weaving them into a tapestry worthy of Odin’s great hall. Your contributions to the MCU in the past have been top-tier. Winter Soldier and Civil War are visual poetry. And now with Infinity War/Endgame, you have created the crown jewel of the Infinity Saga. You should be proud.
Tom Holland – I know that you weren’t in this film very much, but every moment with Spidey is absolute gold. You really twisted the knife in Infinity War with your “I don’t feel so good, Mr. Stark” line. I’m still not sure I’ve recovered from it. And then, the look on your face when the tables were turned at the end here — wow. Peter’s vulnerability is something that really shines through every time you’re in the role. Also, as I said in my No Way Home review, that was pretty much everything I could have ever asked for as a life-long Spider-Man fan.
Jeremy Renner – The first scene of this movie really allows you to shine. As a parent, it really struck home. The confusion, which quickly turns to fear, it was all there on your face. This was a Clint that was hard to watch because he was just so dead inside, and we as the audience were witness to the moment it happened. I think you are a fine actor, and I think that this is some of the best work I’ve ever seen from you. I was also very pleased by the Hawkeye Disney+ series. I hope that this isn’t the last we’ve seen of Clint Barton.
Scarlett Johansson – What a legend. Thank you for being an integral part of the MCU since Iron Man 2. I know that death in the comics, and often in the movies, can be more of an inconvenience that anything else. That wasn’t the case with Nat’s death. It felt pretty permanent, and thus more real. I gotta say, Endgame had me crying about six different times, and I when saw Nat fall, I was bawling. No more red in her ledger. She made the hard call. It was incredibly harsh to watch, but what a way to go out.
Paul Rudd – I have to tell you that Scott’s reunion with Cassie was incredibly moving, and one of many places where the screen was suddenly blurry for, ahem, no well-explained reason. There are so many emotions playing across your face in that moment. I love that Ant-Man is the key to the Avengers’ eventual victory, and that you had so many great moments. You, sir, are a national treasure. I look forward to seeing you return in Quantummania.
Mark Ruffalo – You took one of the most challenging characters to portray in maybe of all of Marvel, and you make it look effortless. I can’t even imagine the level of motion capture rigs and general weirdness it must take to turn in a Hulk performance. I loved seeing Professor Hulk in this, where Bruce had found a kind of balance with the dual sides of his nature. While Tony may have defeated Thanos in the end, it was the Hulk that undid the Blip. Half of the universe returned to life because of his direct actions. As accolades go, that one doesn’t suck.
Chris Hemsworth – Of all the Avengers, Thor is the one who internalized the failure to stop Thanos the most, taking him down a self-destructive path. I know that a lot of it gets played for laughs, thanks in part to your incredible comic timing, but those moments when we see Thor reflect on his role in events is moving. He’s always the hero who is exactly where he needs to be when it matters most, so for him to fail by a matter of seconds was gut wrenching. I noticed in the recent Thor: Love and Thunder teaser that Thor is trying to find his place in the universe after all of that. I am here for it.
Chris Evans – Oh Captain, My Captain! I remember seeing Cap standing alone on the field facing Thanos, hurt, dirty, with a broken shield in hand. I knew that this would be the last movie where you played Steve Rogers, and I was painfully aware of how that confrontation played out in the Infinity Gauntlet comics. I remember sitting in the theatre thinking, “Oh god, this is where we lose him.” Even when it all seemed hopeless, when the Avengers were scattered, we see that Steve is ready to fight to the last.
Then we get perhaps my favorite moment in any MCU, set to this piece of music. There used to be these promotional posters that just said “Marvel Universe” on them. They were entirely covered with overlapping superhero art. There was one of those hanging up at the local comic shop (local being a relative term) when I was a kid. I used to stare in awe at it. Every single hero on that poster had a story, an origin, dreams, challenges, victories, and defeats.
Seeing Cap lead the Avengers into battle one last time took me back to that poster, a reminder of my earliest interest in Marvel comics. Of course, finally hearing you say “Avengers, assemble!” was the cherry on top. Thank you for a great run as Captain America.
Robert Downey, Jr. – Here’s the thing about Iron Man for me: My love for the character is second generation. I got it from my Dad, who read Iron Man comics as a kid in the late ’60s. He encouraged me to read the comics, and love of the character is something we’ve bonded over. His birthday is in May. Since Marvel tends to kick their summer off around that time, practically every year I’ve had a movie to take him to around his birthday. In 2008, we saw the first Iron Man together in a little theatre in East Texas. When we saw Endgame together, it was in the same theatre. We ended our journey with Tony Stark in the same place it began. Just thought I’d share that.
You are a once-in-a-generation casting for this role. Others might have been able to do him justice, but you took the very real pain from your personal life and used it to bring Tony to life in a way that felt right, felt true. I am thankful for every second of every appearance of your Tony Stark. From the bottom of my fanboy heart, thank you.
Truth is, I’m super selfish. If you had played him 100 times, I would want to see 101. I know that there comes a time for all things to end. And as heroic ends go, Tony’s is pretty hard to beat; he not only defeated Thanos, but saved the life of every living being in the universe. Every character we see from now on in an MCU film owes Tony a debt of gratitude. We’ve already seen the shadow that his absence casts, particularly over Peter Parker. I am curious to see how his legacy unfolds moving forward, especially as we get into shows like Armor Wars and Ironheart.
I’m sure that you’ve heard this a million times by now, but I sincerely mean it:
I love you 3000.
And really, that goes for everyone associated with this movie.
[Full disclosure: I wrote the bulk of this blog post a while back as a fun, tongue-in-cheek sort of writing prompt. As it deals with some themes of war, and we find ourselves watching in collective horror at what’s going on in Ukraine, I’m putting a mild trigger warning on this one.]
The pandemic has seen me return to a number of my favorite shows. Needing a little levity and excitement, I decided to pick up all five seasons of The A-Team. I have fond memories of seeing it as a kid, and let’s face it…you just can’t be unhappy when that iconic theme song is playing. It is simply the way of things.
Well, in one of the earlier episodes, Face, Murdock, B.A., and Hannibal are on a mission in South America. As it’s pretty warm there, we see George Peppard wear a bandana around his neck like an ascot as he merrily smokes cigars and fights the assorted baddies in that week’s episode. At that moment, I was struck by how much Hannibal looked like an older, extremely badass version of Fred Jones from Scooby-Doo.
And that got me to thinking: What if the two men were actually the same person?
What follows is the resulting story as my mind started making connections between the two.
The child that would come to be known as Fredrick Jones, Jr. was born in the autumn of 1932 in Crystal Cove, California. The son of the mayor, he never knew his mother who (supposedly) left when he was very young. A curious and intelligent child, Fred had a natural knack for mechanics, gimmickry, and gadgetry, particularly in the area of building traps. He was also fascinated by the True Crime comics of his day, leading him to take an interest in investigation and deductive reasoning. This would lead him to meet and befriend Norville “Shaggy” Rogers and his Great Dane, Scooby-Doo, the incredible genius Velma Dinkley, and the woman who would become the love of his life, Daphne Blake.
As he grew to be a teenager, he excelled at sports and athletics, turning into a handsome young man who was socially popular. Even with all the attention, he only had eyes for Daphne. The four of them would solve many mysteries and strange occurrences before founding Mystery Inc. officially. Upon earning his driver’s license in 1949, his father rewarded him with a bright teal Volkswagon minibus, one of the first ever sold in the United States. Shaggy would paint green flourishes over it sides, while Daphne and Velma added orange daisies. Together, they dubbed the van the “Mystery Machine.” The vehicle would come to symbolize their unique bond, and it would become their home for the next two years as they toured the country, investigating hundreds of supernatural phenomena and mysterious happenings.
In every instance where they meddled, they found it was someone merely attempting to frighten people with clever light shows, special effects and — most notably — personal disguises. While the majority of the disguises turned out to be rubber masks that could be easily pulled off, a fair few of them used makeup, wigs, and spirit gum in ingenious ways to give their appearance realistic and convincing details. Little by little, Fred learned from their disguise techniques, stowing them away to one day become a master of disguise himself.
During this time on the road, Velma kept a detailed journal of their adventures. Years later, a copy of this journal would wind up in the hands of executives at Hanna-Barbera, who would translate the colorful adventures contained within into an animated series named for Norville’s mystery-solving dog.
In early 1952, Mystery Inc. went their separate ways. Velma went to MIT on a full-ride scholarship for math and science. Daphne went to study architecture in places across Italy and France. Norville and his dog became nomads, continuing to seek out adventure and oversized hero sandwiches wherever the winds of fate might carry them. With a tear in his eye, Fred handed Norville the keys to the Mystery Machine to aid them in their travels, and said good-bye.
The breaking of their band was hard on Fred, but the loss of Daphne made the familiar sights of Crystal Cove too painful to bear. Wanting to get away from it all, he secretly created a false identity for himself and enlisted in the Army. Knowing that his father would not approve, Fred signed his papers with the most non-descript name he could think of, one that would be virtually impossible to track: John Smith. He would likewise wear gloves at almost all times to keep from being tracked by his fingerprints.
His exceptional physical abilities, combined with his innate leadership skills and cleverness, made him a natural choice for the Green Berets. Once in training, he drilled on a host of skills, including operating small arms, parachuting out of a plane, and outflanking and out-thinking an enemy in virtually any environment. In short order, he deployed to Korea in the final year of the war. The unorthodox methods he employed while in the field won him the nickname “Hannibal,” a nom de guerre he would carry for the rest of his life.
After leaving Korea, he was tapped for Officer Candidacy School (OCS), where he underwent his transformation from an enlisted soldier to an officer. Over the next few years, the Army would invest heavily in Hannibal’s education, heaping upon him extra training and learning opportunities. He excelled at every turn. He was among the first American ‘advisors’ to reach Vietnam in the late ’50s. While the fighting did not quite reach the fevered pitch that it would a decade later, Hannibal wearied of fighting.
By 1962, Hannibal’s term in the Army was almost up. He toyed with the idea of leaving the fighting behind and settling down. While on leave in the United States, he looked up Daphne, hoping to rekindle their old flame. He proposed on the spot. Unfortunately for Hannibal, she was already considering an engagement to Jack Harmon, a successful businessman. While Daphne still harbored feelings for Hannibal, she ultimately chose Jack over her old Mystery Inc. friend and lover. Hannibal was still an adventurer, still destined to travel the world, where as Daphne had dreams of starting a family.
Though brokenhearted, Hannibal knew that Jack was a good and decent man who would take care of Daphne. Hannibal and Jack parted ways as reluctant friends. With nothing left for him in the United States, Hannibal re-enlisted in the Army and once again shipped out to Vietnam. In 1965, Jack and Daphne welcomed a baby boy into their family, Fred “Kid” Harmon. Hannibal would visit them often when he returned to the States, where his namesake would recognize him as “Uncle John.”
In Vietnam, Hannibal would continue to make a name for himself. While he remained fit and operational, his blonde hair slowly turned into a silvery gray, but his signature blue eyes remained bright, however. While never a hard drinker, the years of war and conflict did see him pick up the habit of smoking cigars, particularly Cuban panetelas.
Always one to surround himself with talented people, he came to build a new core team in the jungles of Vietnam, somewhat modeled after his experience with Mystery Inc. Shortly before the Tet Offensive kicked off in 1968, he recruited and befriended four other Green Berets: the handsome, fast-talking swindler, Templeton “Faceman” Peck, the half-crazed Huey pilot with an invisible dog, Captain H.M. “Howling Mad” Murdock, and the tough-as-nails Sergeant Bosco Albert Baracus (or simply “B.A.”), who would prove to be the most capable fighter Hannibal would ever encounter.
While Hannibal hadn’t planned it that way, the four of them mirrored the structure of Mystery Inc. Hannibal was once again the leader, with Face as the resident convincer and influencer, and Murdock as an analogue to Norville’s zany antics. Oddly enough, B.A. was the genius of the group like Velma had been all those years before. Instead of a scientific genius, however, Mr. Bad Attitude himself was an absolute wizard when it came to vehicles and mechanics. The four of them together had a knack for kit-bashing what they needed for the mission out of the materials at hand, including elaborate traps, which Hannibal excelled at building.
The four of them would come to form a crack commando unit tasked with the most difficult missions the Vietnamese theatre could throw at them. They were known as Alpha Team during their early exploits, a name which would later be shortened to the A-Team. They would become the most famous soldiers in Vietnam, though H.M. Murdock’s role as the team’s resident pilot would remain ambiguous, at least as far as the Army was aware.
At various times, they would cross paths and run missions with the likes of fellow Green Beret, Michael Arthur Long, the ingenious bomb specialist, Angus “Bud” MacGyver, noted college athlete, James Crockett, and decorated Navy SEAL, Thomas Sullivan Magnum IV. There was even a friendly rivalry that developed between fellow helicopter pilots Murdock and Stringfellow “Stray Dog” Hawke.
In 1972, their commanding officer, Colonel Morrison, ordered them on a super secret mission to rob the Bank of Hanoi in an attempt to end the war. While they were successful in completing the mission, they returned to their base to find it utterly destroyed and Colonel Morrison killed. Without any evidence that they were ordered to rob the bank, it appeared to the Army that the A-Team had gone rogue. Upon reporting in to clear their names, they were arrested.
These men promptly escaped from a maximum security stockade to the Los Angeles underground, where they survived as soldiers of fortune. Glad to be back in his native California, Hannibal found that he had traded the steaming jungle terrain of Vietnam for the concrete jungle of modern-day LA. For the next 10 years, the four of them used their skills to fight for those in need, sometimes for pay, sometimes out of the necessity of the cause.
Still wanted by the government, and pursued by the tenacious Colonel Lynch, and others like him, Hannibal mounted a successful mission back to Vietnam in late 1982 to recover the gold taken on that fateful mission. Once in hand, they divvied up the money. H.M Murdock gave most of his away to various animal charities and checked himself into a military psychiatric ward to avoid suspicion. Face spent his reward on the finer things in life, but his pockets were soon emptied. Hannibal anonymously invested his earnings into his adopted nephew’s fledgling racing career.
Yet, the part that made Hannibal’s heart soar was when B.A. spent his reward on a black and gray 1983 GMC Vandura with red turbine wheels, a spoiler, and slanting racing stripes down the sides. B.A. had supercharged the engine, reinforced the frame with bulletproof panels, and installed secret compartments, including weapon storage and even a full photographic and printing suite.
B.A. had prepared for them a mobile command center, a home away from home, a vehicle that would be emblematic of their loyalty to one another. Once again, the man from Crystal Cove, who had worn many names in his lifetime, and helped countless people, slipped into the seat of a van with his closest friends to seek out adventure in the great unknown.
There you have it, folks. If you write fan fiction of either property, feel free to take this information and do with it what you will.
This was an interesting thought experiment for me that I really enjoyed writing. Would you like me to do others in a Strange Headcanon series? Would you like to continue the timeline of this particular thread? If so, leave me a like or a comment to let me know.