I am tired of translating… [NSFW rant]
Okay, straight up – this is a militant gay rant.
So, for most of my life (and I’ve been around the block far more times than I’d like to count), I’ve had to translate stories, pictures, movies and TV – basically, ALL media – for how my world works. And I am tired of translating. I am tired of using the chick in a romcom as my goto when I am soooooo not a chick. Seriously, full on happy I got a cock and balls! Yeah, I played around with the whole androgynous thing in the 80’s – I mean, who didn’t when you had Boy George, Nick Rhodes, and Peter Burns walking around? There was virtually a license whether you were gay or not to femme it up a bit. We didn’t call it guyliner back then, but shit, it was the same damned thing.
Beautiful boys who abuse the guyliner (couldn’t be happier with these guys).
There wasn’t a reason not to, really. If males posses a natural beauty that often doesn’t require any enhancement, I mean, you put a little smudged guyliner on ’em and they fucking just pop out at’cha, right?
Anyway, so back to the translating. I know there are many who are complaining that gays are everywhere. Uh, yeah, always been that way and now you just pulled your head outta your ass and saw that we aren’t hiding our shit any more. My way of thinking? I want MORE gay shit in everyone’s face. Fuck, I got your fucking shit crammed down mine! And here’s the rub – I get the counter argument about running the basic numbers that straights far out number the gays. Okay, I’ll grant you that. But I’ll see your numbers and I’ll counter that there are far more many men who will use the whole gay for pay bit in porn because it gives them the whole “hey, it’s a job” attitude to hide behind. If the social stigma wasn’t there guys would be banging other dudes (whether is a suck or fuck) a helluva lot more often. Guys understand the need to get off – we like to help a brotha out, ya know what I’m sayin’? Cause we get it. Ninety percent of the time it ain’t about the kissey kissey, love fest. The dude just wants to blow a wad and move on. Yeah, to a certain extent even gay guys want the hubby or boyfriend or whatever to come home to and cuddle – just as much as the next guy. But we also get the whole – fuck me, I am bone hard and need a release or I’ll go bat-shit crazy from needing to nut!
Now, that’s what I’m talking about! Full on GANGBANG material – You go, boy!
Anyway, I didn’t mean to get that deep that quick. But yeah, I sorta am tired to relate to someone else’s story as my own especially when I have to swap genders. I am gay. Doesn’t mean I am emasculated. I fucking hate that when people expect that when your gay your effeminate. How fucking 1970 Neanderthal can you get? I mean in that reality show “Get Out Alive” there was a straight couple from Georgia and the guy was like completely shocked that the two gay guys on it looked and ACTED like straight guys. Jeezus, head up your ass much in the last 20 years dude?
My go to creative musical muse, Jay Brannan has a brilliant song about this whole concept – it is called Ever After, Happily.
While the entire song is about not having to translate for a gay man’s life, or anyone for that matter, it is the last two lines of the song that haunts me…
“Starting today, I’ll tell the story my way. The King of Imperfection, takes back the Prince of Mistakes…” – Fucking slays me every time I hear it!
That’s become my mantra. Balls to the wall stories MY way. How my world is. Will they relate to a larger audience – I have absolutely no idea. But what I can know for certain is that they will be MY STORIES/MY WAY. No bones about it (well, wait, no that’s not 100 percent true – my boys will be swinging on a whole lotta bones!) At least they’ll be my perspectives and no one else’s. Other’s may relate, other’s may even share the character’s points of view. But at least I’ll know when I take my last breath upon this Earth, those men will not have to be translated by me. I will know them intimately. And they will be defiantly male.
Now, that’s not to say that I’ll ignore the females in their world. I am not blind nor do I operate in an all male vacuum – would that I could sometimes – no, my women will be strong willed and fiercely independent – even the more mousey variety. But the boys will, by and large, be totally comfortable with themselves in seeking out their own Ever After, Happily.
So yeah, I still have to put up with the whole straight’s dominate schlock that is passed around (I mean, how many times do we have to hear about the head strong female who can’t seem to hook a guy even if she looks like a super model but with a bad hairdo and horrible glasses? Or the bohunk of a guy who can’t seem to find the right girl? Or my absolute favorite (insert heavy dose of sarcasm at will), the star-crossed lovers) – DON’T even get me started on the TV show by the same name!
So yeah, I think I may be getting a bit more militant in my homo-erotic tastes. I’ll still write fully fledged stories with characters across all spectrums, just don’t expect my lovers to be ashamed of who or what they are. That part will (for the most part in my stories) be a thing of the past.
Starting today…
How much backstory is too much?
Okay, so I have been pondering backstory quite a bit as of late. The reason? I am writing a series of books told by three young men’s perspective over the course of the same events. Each of them has their part of the tale to tell. That’s nothing new in and of itself, right? Yeah, well, not by me. So I’ve had to seriously contemplate the first novel told by that book’s protagonist. I am still in editing mode with that one – beta readers are taking a look at it and providing feedback. So that’s good.
But then the hubby said to me, “You know that what Elliot (my MC in the first novel) sees as important and memorable isn’t necessarily what Marco (his jock quarterback boyfriend) thinks is important, right?”
In some strange part of my psyche, I knew I knew this. Only I hadn’t really given it its due. Marco, the unwavering boyfriend, is his own person. I know this because I created him. But somehow as I was retelling the same story from his perspective, trying like hell to give him a platform to tell his part of the tale, I was somehow shortchanging his experiences and not giving a real look at how he looked at the exact same circumstances but from his life experience.
This should be automatic, right? Yeah, well, it was. Just not to the extent that he deserved. Good thing I am only two chapters into his book that I can regroup and massage it into a better narrative for him. He deserves it. For fuck’s sake he’s the rock in this relationship. His artsy geeky boyfriend is the one who keeps waffling all over the damned place. Not Marco. He’s as fucking solid as they come.
Which brings me to another point – in fiction (esp. queer fiction) I take a rather hard line that cum is different than come. Sure you say I am coming when the guy is getting off. But I would actually like the more porn iteration of the word (and all it’s implied variants) cum, cumming, came (okay, that one sorta breaks the mold). But CUM vs. COME is definitely on my target list. I prefer to use C-U-M as it is a bit raunchier and as a guy, that’s where I am. I like big ol’ messy man on man action. Boys like messy sex. It drives our passions. Cumming is the best fucking thing in the world for us (yeah, yeah, I am sure it is for the ladies when they can get it too. But I don’t write straight erotica so that’s off my radar here).
I am not a piggy sort of guy but I can certainly appreciate when guys get that way. I get it. I truly do. Marco and Elliot (in Angels of Mercy) are very into their form of rutting, cum soaked sex. They like it down and dirty. It’s what grounds them, keeps them bound to each other.
And ladies, don’t let any guy tell you he hasn’t tried to taste his spooge. He’s a fat fucking liar if he does. Every dude has tried it at least once. We’re boys, we can’t help ourselves. The gay dudes that are into it, fuck me, they can’t get enough. Cum dumpster high on the shit like its the best fucking crack around – which, I guess it is. I get that too. Doesn’t mean I wallow in it myself, but I get it. So do my boys.
So back to the backstory question I pose. Marco has quite a bit of backstory that colors his world, how he views it and why. When he (finally) finds the courage to ask Elliot out, he never wavers once he has him. Marco refuses to think of his world without Elliot now that he has him. He would literally tear the world apart to get him back if something ever came between them. Scary obsessive love, that’s the kind of love he brings to Elliot. Elliot doesn’t understand it. He can’t figure out how the hottest guy in their small Northern California town would even look his way let alone profess his everlasting love to him. It rattles his world, shakes it, turns it right-side up on him but he still doesn’t get it.
Marco tells him it ‘ain’t for you to get – it just is, and you better get used to it.’
Gayboys, especially the types who’ve been told they aren’t worthy of any kind of real love, that their perverse or monsters, often can’t handle love when its offered so willingly. Elliot waffles in the beginning because of this. Marco just overwhelms, he consumes and he is very fiery. Leaving Elliot stunned and bewildered and deeply loved. It scares him like no other.
This model has been my inspirational source for Elliot Donahey in my story.
So the first book covers that, with those exact lines from Marco’s mouth about it not being something for Elliot ‘to get.’ But what Marco has behind them is something Elliot can only guess at. Yet in volume 2 of my Angels series, we get to see why Marco tells him that his love for Elliot is weighted, it has history. For Marco, his love has gone on unrequited for two very long and scare filled years wondering if Elliot would even consider going out with him. Marco is a bonafide stud. Girls follow him around, guys try to emulate him, but Marco doesn’t really see that, doesn’t pay it much mind. All he can see is the out gay kid that nearly everyone picks on and, despite the macho air that billows in his wake, all he can feel is how frightened he is that Elliot would reject him. So he waits, he watches, he follows. Consumed by all things Elliot. Marco is right, for him, it does have history – two long years in high school where the bullied gay kid takes no notice of him – slinking from dark recess to dark recess trying to stay out of the limelight. And that is the problem. Marco is nothing but limelight. A great big shiny light.
And here’s how I sort of see Marco Sforza (if a slight bit older than in the book).
And when he thinks he finally has the courage to approach Elliot to just say ‘hey’ and see if he’ll talk to him, he over hears a brutal conversation where Elliot rails to one of his geeky friends about the jocks at school and uses Marco as the poster boy for all things terrible and wrong in his life – never knowing Marco is nearby – torn apart, shredded by the boy he loves but thinks he can now never have.
So, it’s weighted, it has history. For Marco, his backstory about this love for Elliot, how he comes back even stronger and more determined to change Elliot’s mind about what he thinks about him is what is so powerful in his story. My hope is to provide enough of that struggle, enough of his backstory from book one (told by his boyfriend) that we get a chance to see what it means for Marco to ‘man up’ and fight for the man he loves and put it all out there for Elliot to see.
Luckily for him, Elliot is swept off his feet.
Even Marco can’t believe he’s got what he’s always wanted either.
Of course, no one would read a story that was only sunshine and roses. So the boys go through some fairly terrible shit. That’s life. Happy as a clam then you’re eaten by a shark. That’s not to say they don’t get their Ever After, Happily. It’ll just take a heap load of crap to sort through to get there.
But at least my hubby gave me some things to mentally chew on. Marco’s highlights in his pursuit of Elliot are very different for him than that of his boyfriend. And even where they intersect, they have different weight for each. But I guess, as a writer, that’s where the fun comes in. Letting Marco explore what it all means for him. He’s got the boy that no one liked, but that boy was the only one he could see, the only one who mattered.
The only one who had his heart…
Love divine… (with Hottie McHottie – Anthony Romero (the smaller guy))
Backstory, it’s the colors we weave to make stories worth telling and for our readers, stories worth reading.
It’s all about the characters…with a little bit of craziness thrown in.
Author’s Note: This is a converted blog post. It originally was published on 04.22.14 @ 4:48pm, US Pacific
This post is laced with a fond remembrance on my part. There was an author whose books I’ve collected and cherished for sometime. Her name is Mercedes Lackey. As I build my own spin on the Viking Feigr myths and lore, I am reminded of another beloved series that is now coloring how I invent my own world. A world dominated by men. Well, men of a different sort (again, that would be just too human to see it solely in that light). But Mercedes Lackey’s hero (the one most beloved by me) Vanyel and his lover, Tylendel and how their love, though brief and intense, is strong enough to imprint itself upon the reader for the entire trilogy – when Vanyel is finally reunited with his one true love.
I had read several of her books (the woman writes like a fiend) and enjoyed them all. The reason I picked up her books were for the Magic Series which had a real bonafide GAY hero. And this was back in the early 90’s when it was fairly uncommon to find author’s investing in gay anything.
It centered on Mage-Herald named Vanyel (a sort of magical peacekeeper if you will) of an imaginary world. I loved this series. In my early twenties (I know that dates me just saying that) it was my go-to set of books. I’ve reread them more times than I care to count. Vanyel was my ultimate hero. Alas, his story was a rough one – Mercedes isn’t known for being kind to her characters – with a very bittersweet ending. But he left his mark upon that world by the time he takes his leave of it – with his and his one true love’s laughter ringing in your ears upon the wind.
Those books gave me hope. Not only as a reader/writer, but also that not to compromise on the vision you set forth. And that gay men can be heroes too. The lovely thing about Mercedes work is that her world was peppered with gay and lesbian characters long before the current M/M genre really took root. It is these books, more than any other, which guide my hand now.
True enough, Mercedes only hinted at the sexual liaisons between the men in her series. Like a made for TV movie, the camera sweeps away when the lovers have a tryst. Though oddly enough, now that I recall it, not when Vanyel is brutally raped by a very rough man in the third book. How odd that that one point was clearly and deftly put before the reader to illicit not any point of salaciousness, but rather anger and sorrow for what the hero endured before he was able to set things right – though ultimately through a very personal and final sacrifice.
I have several copies of these books. Some highlighted to hell and gone. Some torn from their bindings so I could put them in a larger paper where I could make lengthy notations of my own regarding elements I liked or things I would have liked to have seen. A real analysis of the work so I could understand it in both construction and tone.
While I certainly have thoughts about my world and how it will no doubt differ greatly from the tone of her series. The hero will be a homage of sorts to Vanyel. A character tucked safely within my heart. I friend that I find I want to revisit even now as I write this. Might just pick up the books again.
If you’ve not read them, I highly recommend that you do. Brilliant in scope and audacious for its reach during a time when gay characters didn’t drive the drama but at best were relegated to minor roles in another hero’s story – less than a sidekick, really.
Not Vanyel.
I remember you fondly my literary friend. I can only hope Sebastian Alexander Collins (for whom I’ve taken as a nom de plume to honor him), the main character Feigr in my upcoming Fae Wars story, will live up to that high bar you’ve set as a gay hero quite a while ago. Baz is my Vanyel. He is my go-to now. I know him best because of all my characters he is the first one I nurtured from a wisp of a thought. Tending to him off and on until, like Athena, he sprang forth from my head fully formed and very, very complex.
…and I wouldn’t have him any other way.
No Apologies… [NSFW]
Author’s Note: This is a converted blog entry. It was originally published on 04.18.14 @ 10:15pm, US Pacific.
[NSFW] Not Safe For Work entry! Fair Warning…
So today I’ve been thinking. Thinking about my first novel. It’s dark, it’s messy, it’s balls to the wall, in your face covered in man-spooge aggressive. And I really can’t find it within me to make any apologies for that. It is what it is…
This is all over the map – I make no apologies for that. I’m in a mood…you’ve been warned.
So here’s the deal: Men are messy.
Even when we’re neat and tidy and orderly like a soldier straight outta the military, we’re messy. I’m talking about sex. Man sex. Men being the big boys that we are, and being thoroughly unapologetic about it. The only reason there is anything that remotely resembles going all sappily romantic and flowery (as it seems to permeate every facet of the M/M romance genre as of late) is that women are involved. Not that gay men don’t get romantic – there’s just a line in the sand where it gets too damned girly. ‘Sides, inside we still are… messy.
Boys like mess. It’s what we do best. Gay/straight – it don’t make a bit of difference. Don’t get me wrong. We can be orderly when called for. Men like rules. It’s how we like to run our lives. Responsibilities are born out of the rules that were handed to us, rules we follow or consciously choose not to follow. And somewhere along the line it gets messy.
We wouldn’t have it any other way.
Take real M/M sex.
Honest to goodness man on man sex.
Euphoric bliss much?
From what I’ve read in the genre (which is primarily marketed towards women – as a gay man I find that really astounding) – the m/m sex in it (often written by women who, I suppose, are trying to eke out what goes on in the male psyche in their burgeoning relationships as they come together, meander apart for whatever reason, only to ensure they have a big fat HEA (Happily Ever After) in the end). And if it’s anything I rail against, it’s formulaic writing structures. It may sell books but it sure as hell ain’t literature.
And before anyone in the genre starts to cackle like a hen being chased by a hungry fox – I ain’t saying my shit is high flying literature or that we have to aspire as such. But why couldn’t we? For me there is something transcendent in how two men who come together willingly in a clash of muscle, mouths and bones, so to speak. But what it is, for me at any rate, is honest to goodness male thinking about things that erotically charge my juices (along with a few of my gay male friends about all things – well, uh, male).
Yeah, I know that sounds exclusionary. Look, as a community we’ve been hounded from all sides – ‘too much gay shit on TV, too many songs about gays, too many… whereas I am saying – why isn’t there MORE of it? That’s my reality. That’s the world I move in. You know what it is: It’s all very tiring.
My latest gripe across ALL MEDIA – print or otherwise – is how much in our faces the “success” of a man in any advertisement/movie/tv show, is measured on whether he has some chick tagging along in his wake or trailing behind him in some skimpy getup (and let’s be fair to the ladies, I also don’t like it because not only on account of the guy who seems to need her to establish his studly qualities, but I think it demeans the woman/women in the scene as well). I don’t want my granddaughter thinking this is how her success is measured – by some guy she has to catch. Nuh uh, brother. We need to shit can that crap now.
Another thing I am so tired of? Having to translate the fucking straight world to my own experiences. Substituting the girl for me when I am NOT a fucking girl! If anything I think I might just being going gay militant (at least insofar as my writings go – maybe even beyond by the timbre of my rant here) in my literary worlds.
Way I figure it, somewhere someone else may want to read it. But really I’ve decided I am gonna write my shit my own way. Just get it out there one way or another and not translate or succumb to some marketing ploy/trend in order to appease some quick selling formula that seems to be all the rage at the moment.
This fucking industry needs a shake up. I’m going all gay beat generation on this whole writing endeavor of mine.
This isn’t new for me, not really. It’s a contrarian streak I have – definitely. Which I guess being gay is akin to being a contrarian when it comes to human relationships, I suppose. Then again, I am sure that since gays starting to permeate all facets of life (finally, thank the stars above), that there’s probably now “men who love buildings” or “statues” that will have us gays beat in the off-kilter (hey, they might even steal our ‘queer’ term for their more masonry inclined relationships) relationships arena. But as I said, this way of thinking isn’t new for me.
When I was in my English classes in college having to write academic papers I can’t tell you how often I pushed back on the whole topic sentence with supporting evidence bullshit that academia thrives upon. I wasn’t some kid fresh outta high school that needed that formula to make my report case. If it’s one thing I know how to do is make a strong argument and back my shit up. I know how to write a compelling narrative so let me get down and do my bidness…dammit!
So yeah, formulas and formulaic writing drive me bat-shit cray-cray.
So back to the sex… I am an erotica writer after all.
First off I have two words that epitomizes gay sex for me (aside from the hubby): Antonio Biaggi.
Cock god and uber top – Antonio Biaggi – my go to sex choreographer.
A fucking cock god if there ever was one… and not just because he’s got a rockin look and bone, either. For a guy in the porn business he’s seems to have his head screwed on straight (pardon the pun). And a very centered outlook on life (well, at least the way he expresses his views on things, at any rate.) Confident, without cockiness. Sexy as all fuck and brimming with passion (even when he might have to fake it). He’s intense. That’s what makes great sex – gay or not. Passion. Biaggi’s got it in spades. He’s my definite go to when it comes to visualizing my guys in full on rutting mode no matter the story.
Sometimes I am not even sure that the women who write in this genre are involved in gay men’s lives at all (aside from the simple mechanics involved) where they have a no holds barred open door policy on what they think and feel (provided to them by GAY men – and I don’t mean the stereotype nelly gays either) when they are intimate with another man. There is so much within the genre that I’ve run into (not all of it, mind you – I’ve found a few authors in the genre who actually have a clue – so refreshing to find them when I do) that the majority of them are really nothing more than chicks with dicks.
Who doesn’t like a good ol’ Cirque Du Soleil fuck?
I love a good circus style fuck, don’t you?
I realize that might not win me readers in this genre as the market stands now. But I’ve come to a realization: like a proud black woman, I am a proud gay man.
And as a gay man, I wouldn’t take it upon me to write about the black experience in this world. I’m not black. I simply have no real context (and this is coming from someone whose parents were in a (nearly) all black gospel choir (my parents being the sole exception) – so I was knee deep in the community and the church at the very least. Grew up with it all around me). Still – I am not black, so therefore I can’t speak with any authority in that genre. It just wouldn’t ring true. Not as a focal point to my stories. Write what you know – isn’t that the old saying? I’d be a big time pretender and trying to make money on it if I did. I just can’t go there. Sure I’ll have multi-cultural characters in my story – that’s a part of life. I am not being exclusionary or ‘gated’ in who I will write about, but what I won’t do is center my story around a culture or a people that I don’t have any real context for. No life experience.
Now the kicker? I am a trained classical singer – been not the stage since I was a kid. So I get the whole – let’s pretend and role play thing. I get it, I do. But even when I read some books written by men where women were the central character I never really quite go all the way with the – yeah, that was truthful emotive core. And I am a big Joss Whedon fan, so yeah, I can give props that he gets awfully close. But even so, it still has that maleness about the strong women characters within his stories that I sorta go – meh inside just a lil’ bit. I can’t help it. He’s a dude trying to write a strong female character that comes off a bit too – male.
I guess I should be happy that there’s a market at all for things that are even remotely speaking to my life experiences. I get that. I do, I swear. Yeah, I know it’s a mass of contradictions. It’s a straight up mess.
…and like my man on man sex, I like it just like that.
I am soooo going to use this position in one of my books at some point…
So in my stories, my boys/men will be messy. Covered in man-milk both in and out. Gay guys are all about that (yeah, ladies, I get it that you know our straight counterparts are all about the cumming as well – we’re dudes, it’s all the same shit no matter which sex you are inclined to bed) but you just don’t get the whole need to seed that goes on every 8 fucking seconds in our heads from the time we pop our first boner til the time we draw our last breath. It’s RELENTLESS… even when we aren’t ‘thinking’ about it, we are. And believe me – it’s messy.
Wide shot… (see below for the close up action)
Sloppy Slurpee Suck – The Best Kind EVER!
Let’s face it, men are built to breed. We’re built to seed. While I may write about Natives battling a menace from another universe (Cove Chronicles), or the ancient Feigr (Fae Wars), or my gay bashed artistic gay boy and his athletic quarterback boyfriend (Angels of Mercy), you can bet on one thing from me. No translations. No apologies. No fucking safety’s applied just because it might offend someone who can’t take the mess men make of their lives. My guys will be balls to the wall bonafide stud muffins that give into their baser needs whenever the moment arises. I’m cool with that. And I’ll make sure to wrap it all up in a good story too. I swear I will. I don’t write porn (though I know I could), I write erotica. So the story is what’s important. But it will be VERY male.
It’s what makes us fucking interesting. It’s why I love surrounding myself with men. Not just because they are the object of my desires. But because I emotively connect with them (there are so many straight guys in my life that don’t have a fucking clue about what I am all about – the private sexual conversations we’ve had about their wives, girlfriends or office temptations), I understand men. Why? Because I am one. A gay one, to be sure – unabashedly so.
And I’ll make no translations to anyone for who my male characters are in the world’s I create. The stories are what they are. I may have to self-pub and just hope I find an audience. It may not be a big time seller in the M/M genre out there or maybe, just maybe, I might shake things up a bit. Make a mess.
…and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Writing that tugs…the GOOD then the BAD
Author’s Note: This is a converted blog post from a previous blog software I was using. It originally was published on 04.16.14 @ 6:36PM Pacific.
Okay, so I can definitely say that there is quite a bit of good writing out there. I mean, I’m easily inspired when I see it. So many artists are great muses as well. Though they often don’t know it. Jay Brannan is one such muse of mine. I happened upon him back when I was relocating from San Diego to the SF Bay Area (for me it was a move back to SF – second time around) as my daughter was going to SFSU and she needed family support for our then five year old granddaughter.
Jay Brannan’s new album – arriving July 2014.
Anyway, I found Jay Brannan’s album/recordings from a site that was promoting up and coming gay artists. I bought the album without hearing a single song. I later found a YouTube channel for him and it was music love at first sight (hearing). Jay’s a master with words – a modern day bard. His first full length album “goddamned” was an impressive collection of words and music that, though it had been many years since I had to wrestle with what he was singing about, it did bring me back to those feelings the moment he began to sing/play. The truth of his words cut though the years behind me like blowing on a dusty photo album and rediscovering old friends, lovers and acquaintances. Brilliant textures and a crystal clear voice that I found haunting as it was lyrical.
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So I’ve been listening to him ever since. His latest album, “Rob Me Blind” served as the emotive core for one of the main character’s in the Angel’s of Mercy series. So much so, that I had him be a fan of Jay’s work in the book. Those lyrics were tantamount to why Elliot did and thought the things he did while Marco overwhelmed and consumed every aspect of his little artistic geeky boy life.
The album that inspired me to write Angels of Mercy.
Marco is a god to Elliot. Towering, confident (though never cocky), and most of all – steadfastly devoted to Elliot. Elliot doesn’t understand this. Can’t fathom how the star quarterback of his varsity high school football team would even notice him let alone being totally in love with him. It’s heady stuff for Elliot. And for a while, he keeps waiting for the other shoe to fall. For Marco to wake up and realize what a colossal mistake he’s made in dating Elliot – the out gay geeky nobody at Mercy High.
I worked really hard at Marco’s and Elliot’s backstory before I ever put a single bit or byte to electronic paper. I had to know them so thoroughly that writing them would just flow. And for the most part it does.
Now we come to one of my biggest gripes about dramatic writing – especially on TV or in the movies, is that it’s gotten way to soap opera-y on us all.
Take for example the recently aired episode of Resurrection from ABC. I don’t know if you follow it or not, but there was a moment in last week’s Ep where a busy body old cow (played brilliantly by one of the Cartwright sisters) got up and railed against probably one of the nicest/most balanced characters on that show and said some hurtful things that stretched the truth of the matter in front of his entire congregation (oh yeah, I should mention he’s the town preacher). Evidently Bessie the old cow, wasn’t happy with chewing the cud on her part of the pews and decided to rail against the preacher because of something that happened in his past (that the TV audience was completely aware of how he had been duped by the recently returned (un)dead girlfriend (this is where the title of the show comes in). There was simply no way he could’ve anticipated what came out in the wash (that his girlfriend from 12 years ago had killed herself and was pregnant with his child when she took a long drive off a short pier). But all of that is fine… EXCEPT for what came next: the preacher said none of this in his defense. Leaving everyone in his congregation to assume what Bessie had been mooing over from her part of the pew farm was the absolute truth.
Now… you and I both know that if it’d been us and we were wrongly accused of something we had no knowledge of we’d defend it. Not stand there like some poor brainless schmuck who appeared to have wandered from the Walking Dead onto the wrong show. And don’t give me the whole: but he’s a preacher crap, either. Preacher men are men of words. Not always the right one’s. I’ll grant you, but of words nonetheless. They are ‘paid’ to think on their feet. So if there was ANYone who would’ve said something it woulda been him. But nada, zilch. Just stood there like a government employee (and I was a government employee once so I can say that with some authority – that last, by the way was a nod to the writers of Greater Tuna). That’s not how it happens in real life – I know, I know, it’s a televised drama – keyword: drama.
But there’s a way to make it far more believable, isn’t there? Preacher man – no matter how balanced and good, should be able to handle Bessie the cow and put her back out to pasture to chew the cud with other bovine gossipers of her ilk.
Anywho, I’ll get off my soap opera box now. I’m just getting tired of screenplay writers who take the easy way out to create drama. The whole Duh, dah, dah moments are so 1960. I know Mad Men is still all the rage, but hey, at least they get the heightened drama right.
Am I right?