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How to Get into Jedi Heaven - or - Remember that Time Vader Killed Kids?

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One of the most difficult thing for a writer to write, is a prequel. When you go back to tell the story before the main story, you are automatically at a disadvantage. Trying to detail how the hero became the hero, or how the villain became the villain, is difficult because we the reader/viewer already know what they become. There are no stakes for the protagonist. Only the illusion of danger. At best, you’ll meet and lose a few secondary characters along the way.

It was . . . okay?

It was . . . okay?

When George Lucas announced the prequel trilogy way back when, I, like most nerds, was excited. When I saw them . . . well, let us say history has not been kind. But, this isn’t a rant about the Star Wars prequels. Well, not exactly.


I recently rewatched all the Star Wars movies and I have to wonder: how did Anakin Skywalker/Darth Vader get into Jedi heaven?

Remember in Return of the Jedi, following the destruction of Death Star II, when the rebels are partying with those little furry, little, flesh-eating muppets? Luke looks over and sees Yoda, Obi-Wan Kenobi and . . . Anakin Skywalker. Depending on which version you’ve seen, it’s either the distinguished older gentleman, or Hayden Christensen. Regardless, it told us the audience, that for saving his son Luke, and killing the evil Emperor Palpatine, The Force absolved Anakin for his sins and allowed him to be a glowing blue ghost. Cool.

But then the prequels came along. We all remember in Revenge of the Sith when Anakin, now turned totally evil, slaughtered all the Jedi in the temple to include “the younglings” (psst . . . that’s totally PG-13 code for child murder). And everyone in the audience said “Oh . . . shit. Kids? Damn! How could he?”

Their hats alone make them targets for bullies . . . with lightsabers

Their hats alone make them targets for bullies . . . with lightsabers

Yes, how could he? Well, let’s rewind back to Attack of the Clones. Where gangly Anakin, in a search for his missing mother, slaughtered an entire tribe of Tuskan Raiders. We remember those folks right? The weird scavenger people we met in A New Hope? The ones who attacked Luke, knocked the snot out of him, and were going to kill him. Then old Ben came along, made a scary Krayyt Dragon shriek and scared them away. Now, we always assumed the Tuskans were evil. I mean, they have Raider right in their name. So, no harm no foul, right?

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No. Because thanks to George Lucas, right before Anakin starts the Sand People genocide, we get a clear shot of little Tuskan “younglins” playing with some reptilian-dog pet. You know, like a normal native family.

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And, as Anakin said later in his confession to Padme:

“I killed them. I killed them all. They're dead, every single one of them. And not just the men, but the women and the children, too. They're like animals, and I slaughtered them like animals. I HATE THEM.”

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But Gibby, remember, they stole his momma! They did some pretty mean things to her. She died! And, that is true. But, according to wookipedia: Tusken Raiders, less formally referred to as Sand People or simply as Tuskens, were a culture of nomadic, primitive sentient indigenous to Tatooine, where they were often hostile to local settlers.

Huh. So, a bunch of space honkeys come to a planet, displaced the local indigenous people, and dared to get cranky when said indigenous people strike back at the space honkeys? That doesn’t seem fair, now does it? #tuskanlivesmatter.

But back to the point, seems that while trying to make Anakin dark and brooding, so we understand why he becomes Vader, the movies show that he does some really horrible things. Lucas tried to slowly show Anakins fall and seduction to the dark side. But, it didn’t seem like he was seduced. It seems like he was already kinda dirty and was just looking for that nudge. The movies also eluded to Palpatine manipulating . . . sigh, Midichlorians, into creating his life, somewhat explaining Anakin’s immaculate conception. But, that would mean he was tainted by the dark side from birth? Through the entire prequel series we were led to believe that Anakin’s fall was to save Padme. He married her and she was carrying his twin children after all.

Hmm . . . he did slaughter indigenous people. But, I think I can fix him.

Hmm . . . he did slaughter indigenous people. But, I think I can fix him.

Oh, speaking of, remember when Anakin became Vader, asked where was Padme and screamed “Nooooo!” when he found out she died? Notice how he didn’t even ask “Well, what about my kids?” You know, the ones he tortured, and tried to kill in the original trilogy?

But, Anakin’s sins obviously weren’t contained solely in the prequels. I recently went to San Fancisco, to help promote my books by going on a YouTube channel, Kinda funny, and their flagship video/podcast, Game Over Greggy (GoG). A topic-based show where we BS and talk nerd crap. While pimping my books, I mentioned that Author, Screenwriter, and Video Game writer Gary Whitta was an inspiration of mine. And that after a 2015 appearance of his on GoG to promote his new book, Abomination, it pushed me to keep trying to get my own material out there. Well, he lives in San Fran. They called him, and he came over. It was . . . awesome!

Damn it Greg Miller, quit photo bombing my meeting Gary Whitta!

Damn it Greg Miller, quit photo bombing my meeting Gary Whitta!

You see, among Gary’s accolades, he wrote an initial script for Star Wars: Rogue One. After the main show was over and we were doing a post show, BS session, I had to ask if the Darth Vader hallway scene was his. He said no, that he had a scene written where Vader stormed a beach and waylaid some rebels. But everyone agreed that the hallway scene, with Vader going full murder-bot in order to get the Death Star plans, was the best scene in the movie.

(Psst . . . that last guy, the one on the ceiling, he was only three more payments away from paying off his student loans. )

And I said, “Yeah, it was cool. But, that scene always troubled me. I get why its there, to move the plot and raise the stakes. But, all it did was make the audience cheer . . . for the cool villain who was committing multiple, horrible murders.”

And they all looked at me like I was an idiot. I repeated that the best part of the movie wasn’t the rebels who died giving the galaxy a chance. It was the villain, murdering innocent men. Again, I was looked at like I was crazy.

Many villains get redemption in books and movies. And some of them earned it. Remember how we hated the Hound and Jamie Lannister in Game of Thrones? Now fan favorites. Redeemed for some. And to others, still guilty of many crimes to include child murder, and attempted child murder. They may be going to Westeros Hell, but at least they’ll sell some swag along the way.

Maybe I’m wrong, but with all the films, showcasing all his sins, was Anakin worth redemption? In A New Hope, he was Tarkin’s attack dog, and stood by Tarkin’s side when Alderan, and its billions of peaceful citizens, went boom-boom in a Death Star demonstration. In Empire, he gave zero fucks about torturing Han and not asking any questions. In Jedi he did threaten to turn Leia if Luke wouldn’t give himself over.

Through all seven movies with Vader, for all the child killing, slaughter, torture, manipulation, lies, treachery, and planetary destruction, was one act of redemption enough? One kindness paid to the son he never cared to ask about. One act of self sacrificegranted him blue ghost status?

Man. I guess Jedi Heaven is easier to get into than community college.

And that’s why prequels are hard. We know where Vader ended up. But, the story getting there, to me, makes him beyond redemption. Now he gets to kick it, all blue and sparkly. But, to be fair, there is a Dark Side to The Force. And maybe that he was brought back as a practical joke. You know, to torture Luke into being a grumpy, teat milking hermit. How else do you explain The Last Jedi?

I don’t really have an end to this wandering thought exercise. I know in the universe of Star Wars, The Force is mysterious and there are other factors I haven’t addressed. It’s just something as a viewer, and later a writer, that always bothered me.

Gym Butt Highlanders - Or - The War of the Rumps

Think of the great rivalries. Cato and Ceaser. Michelangelo and da Vinci. Burr and Hamilton. Edison and Tesla. Kanye West and . . . everyone not Kanye West.

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These were nothing compared to what I saw on that fateful early June afternoon. I saw my sleepy little town’s gym turn into thunderdome. I saw . . .

. . . Two 19 year old wannabe Instagram Butt Models girls competing in a B*tch Off.

Laugh if you want. You weren’t there. I was.

The following events are 100% true. The names are changed to protect the innocent . . . or made up. Look, I didn’t know their real names. (Music and sound effects were added in post for dramatic effect :) )

It was 5 minutes to 3pm. After finishing my warm up of the elliptical I made my way to the free weight section. The normal afternoon patrons were there. Older people, a few early 40's folk like me trying like hell to fight off age, and of course the bevvy of young redneck men who believed camouflage was a way of life.

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All were familiar faces . . . save one. A young, fit, brunette girl in the tightest, high-waisted, olive green workout leggings. The kind that divided the butt into individual cheeks and left no room for imagination. She wore a matching low cut top that exposed cleavage and a bare mid-rift. In my mind I named this new comer “Thunder Butt.” Why? Because every exercise she did was thigh and butt based.

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(The butt and thigh exercises had become something of the latest trend at my gym with the local gals. And I’d take this moment to say this: I am not mocking this girl. You can read THIS POST to see my feelings on such shaming. I say if you have it, flaunt it for as long as you can. Time, gravity, and McNuggets are everyone’s enemy. All I ask is that you temper your confidence with just a touch of humility. Because if you spend your gym time looking down on others, I WILL mock you when you eventually get injured, or lazy, and get flabby. )

 - Now, back to the scene -

The single, redneck men watched Thunder Butt with sideways glances. They began picking up heavier and heavier weights as the primate portion of their brains told them to compete for the females attention. The males of the pack failed to notice the two thing that did matter to Thunder Butt: her upward held smart phone and the mirror. Between sets she would stand, legs askance, rump forward, side boob in frame, and camera out. Followers, not suitors, were her target.

It was then that I saw her head snap to the side. Her eyes narrowed. Thunder Butt sniffed the air. Something had her spooked. Like a highlander she knew there was something . . . amiss. I looked back towards the walkway and there I saw it. Or rather, her.

Ruby Rumble Buns. The ginger queen of the afternoon rump regiment.

(Yes . . . I name strangers at the gym. Sue me. I get bored during my elliptical work outs/between sets and giving different people at the gym nick-names is kind of my thing. In another post I can tell you all about Eminem McChicken Legs, Joey-Beard-Fashion, Captain Tans-Too-Much, Sad-Sally Trophy Tits, Roid Rage Roger, Bench-Press Mario, and Methusala’s Corpse.)

Thunder Butt scowled at the newcomer. Sadly, ole TB didn’t know that 330pm was when Ruby Rumble Buns liked to make her entrance. On this day, Ruby was sporting low-rise, dark gray leggings, with a light gray swirl pattern that circled her equally dominant backside. Ruby Rumble Buns tossed her strawberry-blonde pigtails back and pulled out her own phone. But . . . oops, she dropped it.

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Instead of picking it up like a regular human, RRB bent over at the waist, without bending her knees, to retrieve her device and to give the now frenzied young folk of the gym a show. But her real target was obvious. Ruby Rumble Buns stared right at Thunder Butt . . . and smirked.

Oh . . . SNAP!

If there was a mic, it would have been dropped. The room grew cold. Both women glared at one another. I could hear Clancy Brown’s gravely voice clear as day declare:

THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!

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Over the gym stereo, Queen’s “Princes of the Universe” played (ok, it didn’t. But for the sake of the story just go with it.)

What transpired next was an epic war of one-upsmanship as the two titans of the tush began their war. Ruby Rumble Butt began with single dumbbell squats. She looked over ever-so-slightly at Thunder Butt with a smile that said “Go home little girl”.

Thunder Butt’s lips thinned. Her glare hardened. Thunder Butt stormed over to the assisted chin-up machine. But instead of working her upper body as designed, she placed one foot on the knee pad, and executed multiple sets of single-leg presses. Bringing her knee to her chest, she ensured the glutes would be maximized. Once done, and a picture taken, she threw a catty glance over to Ruby.

But Ruby was having none of Thunder Butt’s shade. Instead she was performing deep, side lunges with a 45lb plate in front of two young men. Once she completed her set, Ruby Rumble Buns snapped a few pics of herself, then looked up at Thunder Butt in a “Oh . . . are you still here?” look.

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Oh no she didn’t!

More exercises were done. Poses made. Pictures were taken. I give credit to Thunder Butt, she tried. She fought valiantly. But, she’d been at the gym longer, and it was clear she was tired. Ruby Rumble Buns was fresher. Determined. To Ruby Rumble Buns, it wasn’t just posing and snapping selfies. No no no. Each move she made, every step she took, ensured that the butt came first. A drink of water? Knees together, butt out. Picking up of weights? Drop it like it's hot. Even standing and checking her phone was an exercise in modeling, with one hip canted ridiculously high.

Outmatched and defeated, Thunder Butt lowered her head in shame and left the gym.

There can be only one . . . butt. And on that day, Ruby Rumble Butt won “the prize”.

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GIMMIE THE PRIZE!

Let’s Get Back to Scaring Children -or- Meh . . . a Little Therapy is Good for You

“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”


― Frank HerbertDune

Despite the title of this post, I’m not advocating that we should traumatize kids. Nor am I saying that we should lie in wait and spring out from the darkness with a clown mask and roaring chainsaw . . .

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. . . But that being said, that would be a moment they’d never forget. Heh, good times.

This thought’s been rattling around my head for a while, scaring kids that is. As a part time writer, I’m constantly pondering new, and horrible, scenarios to put my protagonists through. In order for a story to be "good", the hero has to go through a crucible. What good is a story if there is no challenge, no stakes, and . . . no fear?

Because that’s the rub of heroism isn’t? What is courage, or bravery, if not doing what needs to be done in the face of fear?

Of course kids face fear all the time. My own son, by the time of this post, is 6 and a half. When he’s scared, I tell him that it’s okay. But, just because your scared, doesn’t mean you get to quit doing what what we’re doing.

He gets it, mostly. And in time, he’ll understand it better. But as I look at my son, I ponder: what “scary” things I should expose him to? Where are the new primers to teach a little fear? The movies, the shows, the books?

Who remembers Choose Your Own Adventure and being too scared to turn to page 26 to find out your fate? (Pro tip: If you keep your finger at the decision page, it doesn’t count.) Doing a little bit of research, I’m happy to see that scary books, like Goosebumps and others, still exist for kids. But, what about the scary movies?

A quick Google search of popular scary movies for kids came up with a list that is primarily from my childhood and formative years, with a few here and there.

By no means am I saying I’m an expert, or is this meant to come off preachy in the “kids these days aren’t tough enough”. No. Far too many young kids face real fears and horrors that I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

I’m honestly wondering: Where are the popular, modern versions of The Secret of NIMH, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Neverending Story, Labyrinth, Dark Crystal, Willy Wonka, Something Wicked This Way Comes, Goonies, Gremlins, Star Wars, or Witches? The movies, while entertaining, are also full of dread, consequences, fear . . . hope, perseverance, and ultimately triumph through courage?

I guess Stranger Things, fits part of that, as do the modern sequels of some of those movies. But, is it the same? Are those meant for kids? Maybe I’m wrong, but, it feels like we are missing our modern Grimm’s Fairy Tales. The lessons taught to kids to give them a healthy respect of the unknown, while also thickening the emotional skin. And I’m talking about the actual Grimm’s Tales, the ones with the dark forests, cannibalism, eyeball pecking, grandma killing, toe cutting, abduction, and creepy as F*CK adults who don’t care one whit for the life of the young.

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Sure, the old movies I, and many of us, grew up on are still there. But, shouldn’t there be a new generation of film makers actively trying to murder/scare kids like Stephen Spielberg did in E.T., Hook, and Jurassic Park? For God's sake, the man killed Rufio!

I guess all I’m wondering is: are we still willing to scare the young, properly, thus instilling the value of fear? Are we still willing to teach them that The Fratelli’s will chop off your hand in a blender? That to Raptors, you are food? That Mr. Dark's Pandemonium Carnival is most likely operated by an agent of the Devil? That Darth Vader will chop off your hand, even if you are his son? That to Witches, children smell obnoxious and that they, The Witches, are demons in mortal form?

I’d like to think so. Special shout out to Guillermo del Toro and Pan's Labyrinth for keeping fear alive! 

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A taste of fear is good. A sense of the dark is good. Given a controlled space, it helps the psyche experiment with the macabre, reason with mortality, and cope better in times of real stress. 

But not TOO much. If there's too much, well,  I think we know where that leads.

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Are You Critical or Just an A-Hole? -or- The Rusty Spork Phenomenon

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“I would rather gouge out my eye with a rusty spork than read another word of this.”

. . . Ouch.

in March 2016, I became a published author. After many rejections from agents and publishing houses, Amber Cove Publishing found merit in my words, patted me on the head, and helped me publish my first book: To Beat The Devil, A Technomancer Novel. 

And that felt AMAZING.

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So, naturally, I wanted people to read the book and review it. And after a bit, the reviews start coming in. And, most of the reviews have been pretty positive! And yes, a few reviews have pointed out some rookie mistakes, some skill based issues, and a few continuity problems. I took note of them and tried to fix such things on each subsequent book I’ve written. Because, those are positive criticisms. They highlighted the good, focused on the bad in a way which said “This would be better if XY&Z were fixed”.

But, naturally, the mean reviews started coming in as well. The quote at the beginning of this post, the rusty spork one, came from a friend of a friend whom we’ll call Beth. Now, my friend didn’t care for the book, but at least he finished it. Beth got three pages in and said that line about the rusty spork to the eye. Not to me, but to my friend who relayed it to me after I pried the info out of him.

I laughed. It hurt, a lot, but I laughed. Why? Two reasons. First, because it’s funny. In fact, I plan on starting a blog column called “The Rusty Spork” to highlight  negative reviews. But secondly because, well . . . Mel Brooks said it best in History of the World Part I:

“After the birth of The Artist, came the inevitable afterbirth, The Critic.” (Jump to 43 seconds in on the video)

Do you like something, or don’t you? It’s simple as that. And who doesn’t love giving their opinion about the latest movie, episode of their favorite show, or music, while gathered among a group of friends? Sometimes, it’s an exercise in creative thought to express your feelings, both positive and negative.

And let’s be honest, being hypercritical of something you don’t like is fun. I myself, while among friends, have indulged in a few creative rants, doing my best to weave curse laden strings of nonsensical bullshit into a humorous, metaphorical “Ugly Christmas Sweater” of a review. Horrible, but somehow fun. But, I try not to leave those opinions as critical fact when “officially” reviewing something.

So, my question is: at what point during a critique, does the critic stop being critical and just becomes an asshole? Saying mean things is easy. Pointing out flaws is easy. But nonstop bashing isn't criticism.

As I was taught in the military: fine fine, bitch all you want. What would you have done to fix it? If you have nothing to add, then you’re just complaining and wasting time.

It’s been two years now since getting published. I have five books out with a sixth on its way, and my skin is thick enough now to laugh and find amusement in most of the “criticisms”. But once in a while a few back-to-back (to back!) bad reviews roll in, and it does eat at me a bit. How can it not?

If you’re a creative type and you make something, paint something, compose something, or write something, then you know what it feels like to pour yourself into something. The artistic endeavor can take ten minutes, ten weeks, ten months, or even ten years.

But, all it takes is one snarky asshole with a laptop, a vendetta, and five minutes on the internet, dismissing your labor of love as one dismisses a pile of dog feces, to wreck you.

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The longer you keep creating, the easier it is to bounce back. But, the overtly cruel ones can linger a bit.

I like to read reviews of various media. But I don’t read the good ones, no I go straight to the 1 and 2-star reviews first. And there in that quagmire of vitriol, is the personification of the afterbirth art critic which Mr. Brooks explained. These “people” take great delight in saying some of the meanest, vilest, and down right cruelest words I’ve ever read.

Often these little mini-rants are written by delusional, self-appointed experts who believe themselves to be tenured collegiate educators, lecturing about . . . whatever. You can always tell when one of these reviews are going to get saucy because they tend to have the same catchphrases like: “The writer clearly . . . ”, “The Director’s lack of . . . ”, so forth and so on . . .

. . . because they’re assholes.

When I get a really bad review, and I know this is weird . . . and perhaps a touch creepy, I like to see if I can look them up on social media. You know, just to get an idea of who they are. After all, they took great glee in shitting on my work.

I did learn a fun fact while doing this. Did you know a LOT of angry 1 & 2 star book reviewers, the ones actually leave their names, leave their Facebook pages, and their photos, set to public? Yup, any ole person (or snooping writer) can see who they are.

Translation: I’ve seen them. I get why they’re so angry.

So, in closing, I’m not telling anyone how to review a piece of art, media, or content. If you do/don’t like something, don’t be afraid to say it. You can even like something AND be critical of it (Just ask me my opinion on the Nolan Batman trilogy). Being critical helps to make better content. It pushes a creators mind and ability. Just remember that someone, most of the time, worked really hard to create/make it.

So, I challenge you (and myself) to not just say something “is the suckiest suck that ever sucked suck” if you don’t like it. Instead, point out what worked, what didn’t work, and then offer a solution. Before too long, you’ll actually develop as a critic, and perhaps as a human being.

. . . Well, except for that one guy who called my third book “Unsuspenseful, predictable villain-fic, with a few laughs but mostly remorse, of the buyer's variety.” Since he was nice enough to say that, I was curious enough to find his Facebook page and discover that he's an early 30’s, smug faced fuckwad who likes to take “cool” photos of himself leaning against his car. Nothing can help that asshole. :)