Tuesday, August 29, 2006
The Super Power in Writing Superpowers
Back in the 5th grade, the red flag in my academic achievement was my “challenge in writing”. For whatever reason, during that year, the quality of my writing wasn’t at par with my peers. It’s a hazy memory. All I know is that to build my self-esteem, my mom would say that my sister was the writer and I was into math.
At the time, the peak of my childhood comic book fever was at its highest. If I remember right, Inferno was burning and I was ready to shed my reality to become the next great mutant (or at least an artist of homo-superior.) Years later, when I gained the confidence in my language skills and moved “up” to an honors English class, I finished the year as a formidable scribe, relative to the peers, and we were asked to bring home a piece of our choice to have our parents review and comment. It was supposed to be a reflective and intimate sharing of minds. I asked my dad to read my crown jewel, the reflective essay that was read in class. My mom was in the Philippines or somewhere not home.
My dad praised my work. He wrote on a piece of paper, completely on the front and the back, about how proud he was of my improvements in writing. With best intentions, he wrote that he used to read what I wrote in 5th grade and would think to himself that it was like he was reading a comic book. I assume, now, that he meant that it was fragmented, incoherent, and incomplete. It makes sense now because scripting versus prose are very different media. At the time though, it was insulting in a sense. And I still am rather defensive about the mentality. Writing in dialogue or in script is quite difficult to do well. Prose is difficult. Writing is difficult, period. Yet, when words are limited and mixed media is relied upon to tell a story, the game infinitely becomes more complex.
Comic book writing is much more than what it may seem to the disinterested eye. I still don’t understand its depths as an avid fanboy, yet I appreciate the coarseness of its landscape. If you think writing comic books, in particular superhero mythology, is a Sunday stroll at the local community park, then you’re unwittingly walking into a hike towards Mordor with less food and water than Frodo and Sam. Continuity constraints notwithstanding, writing one superhero character is a multifaceted journey into a supernova of literary quandaries.
In the root of any writing is the building of character and that’s not just referring to the people. The mood, the places, the messages, everything has character that needs to be built. In some cases, you can take over 1,000 pages to really develop that: see classics like Lord of the Rings, Les Miserables, and the Bible. But, in our fast-paced drive thru culture, you have an almost impossible task of building attachment at first contact. Love at first sight may in fact be complete bulldoodoo, but in writing within pop-culture it’s basis for life. For superhero comic books it’s no different.
Where does a (wannabe) funny book scribe start?
The essence of any character is the essence of the person. Spider-man’s great, but Peter Parker is greater. Superman is our superhero, but Clark Kent is the real hero. Now, the secret identity or the alter-ego is not what I’m talking about. It’s the real motivation of the person behind the person behind the mask. For Peter Parker, it was guilt and the obligation he realized because of the guilt. This is the first and guiding conflict of the character. Conflict, as we all should’ve learned in one of our English classes somewhere, is the foundation of plot. Without it, there really is no point to go on. Why grow with no reason to grow? And in this case, this is framework of a “man versus self” equation.
Part of the building of the person, yet a character to itself is the superpower or the gadgets and toys of superior value. Apart from necessitating a high level of ingenuity and a general excess of coolness, the, pun somewhat unintended, chemistry between a superhero and their power is very volatile. The superpower, not by incident, will be a huge building block of a hero’s condition. A mutant, for example, experiences a mutation and is living with the change. For characters like Beast or Rogue, whose mutations ultimately cripple any chance at normal human interaction, there is a level of self-hatred. That is their conflict.
Similarly, any power must be accompanied by a foil or a balancing compound beyond personality conflicts. In this case, the essence of Superman teeters thinly between innovation and blandness. Where is the fun in a character whose power gives him access to everything? It’s like the New York Yankees access to revenue and lack of a salary cap. In the hands of a keen and able captain, they have no real limitations to unabashed domination. In the hands of a less capable grunt, they’re a sloppy rendition of Much Ado About Nothing. Either way, we of the non-Yankee fan variety, hate them because we think they’re boring in their domination and wasteful in their mediocrity. Should we ever feel this way about any of our budding superheroes?
It was in this appreciation of superpowers that I started writing this self-serving and maybe ultimately only self-entertaining and self-useful opus on the word side of the comic book craft. Last night I was reading “Astonishing X-men” #16 written by Joss Whedon (Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Firefly) and visually crafted by John Cassaday (Planetary). I’ve raved about this rendition of the merry-band of mutants we’ve come to love as has most other nerds like me. So many times have the fanboys and fangirls already seen a panel or a page or an issue that caused us to pause and catch ourselves captured by the end result of the writer’s vision and the artist’s visuals. Last night was no different. Kitty Pryde, who we’ve known as Sprite and Shadowcat and was also seen in a somewhat prominent role in X3: The Last Stand, has the power to phase through solid matter. Long undervalued, she truly (once again) came to life in the pages of Astonishing. That’s all I’ll say. You should go read it. Start with #1 and move on. You’ll fall in love with her (all over again like it was the 80s).
It was in my reading last night that made the pipedream task of writing my own superheroes into reality even more daunting. What power can be revamped and mixed with a truly unique character? How can the character’s foils truly make her/him come to life? How? How? How?!
So here I am. Fascinated, awed, inspired and ultimately silenced in intimidation. Seems like a good place to start.
Monday, August 14, 2006
the birth of Mr. Neverwas Orwillbe
The birth of Mr. Neverwas
Time traveling is cute in theory,
But the strains on the muscles cause entropy.
The future endeavor showed the past in the essence
I could see clearly what will happen in the past tense,
And loneliness, the angry companion
Stays loyal as calendars turn years expanding
Gaps of metaphysical supernovas
The pain hungover,
I’m left more useless than a suburban Landrover.
The continuum preserves the status quo,
What’s past is present, the future – the same flow,
an out of body board experience so intense,
surfing waves of minutes to eras of distance.
This instance of emotional indifference,
Magnifies salutations of romance resistence.
What I do, what it be, what is true,
Opening the flew in attempts to undo
Repeated images glancing at the point of the cusp,
Mr. Neverwas birthed in response to erupt, it was
I opening, the softening of fabric snuggle
The barriers down commencing trouble,
The miniscule focused and magnified like hubble,
Cleared rooms, ending shows bursting bubbles
Repeatedly, a re-occuring pattern enjoyed sadistically,
Failure after failure of significance statistically,
Hyperbole finding no end, caricatures always bend
Vision to see the truth in the messages sent,
Mr. Neverwas, not a pseudonym, but a destiny
Because all the hope upon hope will be the end of me.
I’m done. Never been the one, never will I,
So end the masquerade, the cheer, never rely
On a bottle of lightning and simple random samples,
Even if they’re ample, there’s no sense in getting tangled.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
being right: the conundrum
When she asked about religion,
I responded with spirituality -
the nebulous course
to getting closer to all humanity.
I spoke long wind of being a better person,
just trying to play a role
in the support of others.
What I really meant
was that I wanted to leave the world
a better place
than when I arrived.
And that process starts internally.
Reflected by responses
and proactive measures.
The actions define the spirit.
and then the rub.
there is no glory in nobility,
and glory was never in the crosshairs,
and I'm not talking about love,
but definitely hope,
the most satisfying food for the soul.
where do I stand on the thin line
between a chance for happiness
and absolute integrity.
when she whispers confusion
and an opened door
welcoming that which is most
quenching for my existence:
connection
cluttered by the reality
that someone else's heart
sits firmly in her hands
that, in my getting lost
in a parade led by miscommunication
and never intended misstep,
she found a reason to ask for more.
my gut reacts in respect:
in a manner that i once was not offered
in reciprocation.
what's right and what's fair
gleams in the language i speak.
i apologize and give advice,
relationship advice
leaving the bias silent in my now
deflated soul.
i speak truths,
none weakened by internal disagreement.
my mind concurs with my mouth,
as does my heart
for the most part.
but wonderment still resonates,
and the thoughts and designs on her
sit idle with my broken spirit.
the right thing was done
and goodness remains -
but i don't feel any better.
i deserve no medals of honor
or reassurances of my merit.
i did the only correct option,
yet she still lingers
while i sit lonely in my righteousness.
Friday, August 11, 2006
the world wide web of synchronized yet remote independent celebrations
big ups - toast - opa - pound one
for the world wide web -
oh, and cell phonefoolery for my not so lonesome party.
since i couldn't participate the prior night, i decided to have one.. on my own.. but knowing that there was one in the Sunset (thanks Jen), one in Vallejo (thanks Dar, Dave, and Gelo), and uh.. I dunno.. Jay was mixing like usual.. knowing that helped me party. hehe
it was fun for a while, but having 3 beers for dinner doesn't settle well.
i think my endorphins all just left because i'm tired as heck right now.
