Dear Star Wars,

I heard that The Rise of Skywalker is coming to Disney+ next week just in time for May the 4th (be with you). Clever. You’ve always been clever. I’ve only seen the movie once, back when it was first released in late December 2019. Sadly, I didn’t like it . . . but it was fun.

Maybe fun isn’t enough anymore. Maybe . . . maybe this is time for us to go our separate ways.

It’s not you, it’s me.

See, I grew up loving you. The heroic adventures, the losses, the successes, and the camaraderie of Han, Luke, and Leia were my first exposure to that type of storytelling.

And it’s like they say. You never forget your first.

When I think about our relationship, back when it was new and fresh, when you were just the original trilogy, it was easy to be blinded by “perfect memories.” It’s hard to set aside sacred nostalgia in lieu of a critical eye. And when I did, I realized that you, well . . . you weren’t great.

But the idea of you was. I think I fell in love with the idea of you. What I thought you were.

Pulp action-fantasy in space? The mystical juxtaposed with the technological? Space wizards and laser blasters? Bounty hunters and lightsabers? Oh, you had me. I can’t deny the impact you had on me and my own writing, especially my Technomancer books.

But as time went on, I had to admit certain truths. That maybe the problem was me. I saw you in a certain way, and when that way changed, I wasn’t willing to change with you.

I loved that come Empire and Jedi, you had the boldness to time jump. I loved the opening first acts, which were amazing mini-movies (Hoth and Jabba’s palace, respectively). But then . . . well, I get kinda bored. Yes, Yoda’s introduction was iconic, as was the exploration of The Force. But let’s be honest, Luke’s three-day training montage and Cloud City aren’t really fun. And don’t get me started on the Ewoks.

Now listen, I don’t blame you. You tried. Both flicks have cool moments during their respective down times. Vader at the dinner table? The speeder bike chase on the forest moon of Endor? So cool. But honestly . . . sigh, I didn’t want to tell you this. But this is where I typically fast forward to the hype moments of the respective films. I kinda just wanna see the final Jedi/Sith confrontation.

Damn. It seems like I’m blaming you. And maybe . . . maybe I am. These feelings are natural. No relationship is perfect. After all, I have been seeing other franchises. None as beloved as you! But I wanted to be honest.

And if I’m being honest, I feel you’re partly to blame.

Don’t look at me like that. You took the the beloved scoundrel Han Solo and . . . turned him into a plot device. During the bulk of Jedi, he just stands there and overreacts to events. Sure, he helped bring down the shield generator, but he wasn’t pivotal. He’s all trembly, kinda scared, and . . . oh. Oh shit. You . . . you turned him into the Ron Weasley of Star Wars.

And that’s in addition to all the other silly shit you did. What? You know what I’m talking about. Luke and Leia kissing just to make them brother and sister ring any bells?

When the prequels came, I wanted them to be good. And . . . well, they were what they were. I liked some parts, but bad acting, worse dialogue, and a dumb-as-fuck plot about trade federations? Come on.

I know it was supposed to serve as the backdrop to the fall of Anakin and rise of Palpatine, but it was a stilted CGI-set mess and you know it. Come Revenge of the Sith, I kind of wished I was one of those younglings that Anakin butchered.

I’m sorry. That was cruel. But it’s how I felt.

I missed the old, mysterious you. The one who said cool things but never explained them, leaving me to fill in the gaps. I think back on our early days, of the beloved original trilogy, with such fondness, flaws and all.

You were so bold. So fresh. A New Hope, while following the classic story structure, was also an exemplary teaching tool of “show, don’t tell.” You didn’t explain anything. Stormtroopers, Darth Vader, Galactic Senate, Rebel Alliance, droids, and more in the first five minutes with nary an explanation. And that’s before we even get into The Force, Lightsabers and whatever the hell a Kessel Run was.

That was you. Uncompromising.

But over the years, you changed. Maybe that’s what happens－the longer you’re with someone, you lose that sense of mystery. And in this time you went out of your way to explain yourself. You licensed yourself out to countless books that sought to explain . . . hell, every stupid nuanced fucking thing.

Sure, sure. Some were kinda fun, I won’t lie. It honestly was nice to see some further adventures of the old gang. But there came a point when it was too much. And instead of drawing back, you doubled down.

Midichlorians? Really?

Hell, two of the modern movies you recently made were nothing but explaining yourself. Rogue One was a story about a “plot hole” no one cared about. Sure, it was fun overall. But there was only one character worth caring about, the droid K-2SO. Those other chumps might as well have been a nameless D&D adventuring party for all the personality, and lack of camaraderie, you gave them.

And Solo? Really? You’re telling me that everything about Han, from his name, gun, ship, Chewbacca, and Lando, all happened over the course of a week and he never evolved since? Yes, I’m being hyperbolic . . . technically he got his name when he enlisted and the rest came two years later. But really “I have no people” = “Hmm, Han . . . Solo.”

God, you’re a douche.

I’m sorry. I take that back.

You did create The Clone Wars and Rebels, after all. And once more, you had me. Character development. Pulp-action story style. Mixing the magic and the tech. Stakes. Imagery without explanation. It was . . . well, it was perfect.

But then you made “the modern trilogy,” and it was like our relationship was just going through the motions. Worse, you sacrificed actual adventure for mystery boxes. And let’s not kid ourselves. Desert planet? Droid with a secret? Protagonist in robes that becomes a Jedi? A death star-like weapon? You know damn well The Force Awakens followed New Hope’s plot and imagery. But yes, it was nice to see you again after all this time. And yes, I admit it, I really liked Rey. She was affable and fun to watch. Hell, I even kinda liked Kylo Ren.

And then . . . then The Last Jedi came. The cinematic equivalent of a surprise finger in the ass during sex.

Moreover, it felt like you went off to college, took freshman-level poli sci and philosophy classes, and came back an insufferable know-it-all. Capitalism, war profiteering, and the nature of man? Gasp. How intellectual of you. But you ham-fisted your thesis into a pulp space opera populated by knights, princesses, and rogues. Why?

I mean, if you had originally started that way, more like Star Trek, where social thought and science was the crux of the adventure, I wouldn’t have minded. But it felt like you adjusted your black-rimmed glasses, affixed your beret, tossed your scarf over your shoulder, and then with a few narrative strokes of your pen, abandoned the love of your legacy characters and the love of adventure in lieu of a preachy narrative that . . .

Sigh. You know what, never mind. That’s not the point of this letter. You tried something new and it was what it was. And what it was wasn’t for me.

The point of this breakup is simple. There are parts of you I will always love. And there are parts I could never love. In the end, I will never forget the laughter and love we shared and will always cherish our time together.

But you see, I’m a man now. I have a family of my own. I even recently tried telling my eight-year-old old son about our relationship by showing you to him. Honestly, he was a bit bored. And frankly, I can’t blame him. A New Hope is a slow burn. And he’s seen so many other shows and movies that stood on your back that the spectacle isn’t the same for him.

Which is what Rise of Skywalker was. A complete spectacle devoid of anything to say. It was fun. But like our relationship, I didn’t like it.

Sigh. I wish you well, Star Wars. I hope you have nothing but success with your new adventures. And if I’m being honest, I’ll stalk you online from time to time. I’ll watch your new stuff. Just try to remember you’re not Star Trek, or any other sci-fi. Be the you I know you can be.

But that doesn’t mean I’ll ever love you again.