Category Archives: Writing

To Boob or not to Boob: Struggles with AI

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Today I want to talk about sexism on the internet, specifically regarding AI. I don’t think AI is inherently evil. It is just dependent on users for source material as well as prompts. The more sexist we are, the more sexist results it’ll produce. It’s no secret that exploitative sexist content runs wild on the internet, to the detriment of many. I try to avoid giving clicks to content I come across, but as you’ll see below, that content has a way of making itself known.

A few nights ago I was playing around on Midjourney, trying to come up with some character images for the novel I’m working on. I had an idea for a group of magical warriors who imbued runes on their bodies like tattoos, and when activated would provide armor, weapons, etc. I did my search first with male pronouns. All four generated images were close approximations to each other. Then I did the search with female pronouns. They were generally close, with one outlier. And that outlier had two *ahem* outliers.

I did the search again with gender neutral pronouns and the result was fairly close to the original prompt, with three of the four clearly being ripped dudes, and the fourth sported a hood that obscured his face, though the body was the same as the others.

This was my prompt: A magical warrior whose body is covered with runes. They are incredibly fit and wear no armor. The runes are all the protection they need.

I’m assuming the AI defaulted to a male when given the gender neutral pronouns because I used the word “warrior.” Clearly, there can be female warriors. But the AI algorithms are based on content that exists on the internet. It should come as no surprise that it’d assume the warriors would be dudes. I’m conflicted on the lack of clothes on all the pics. I did say the runes covered their entire body, but I’m pretty sure that could be conveyed with less skin showing for all of them. In fact I know it can, as you’ll see further down.

I do want to do a quick aside here and explain my usage of Midjourney. Many people hate generative AI, especially image generators. There are talented artists out there who are having their styles and ideas stolen to train the AI, and those same artists have less work as AI is being utilized instead of hiring them.

None of the images I generate are for any use beyond my own creative process. I don’t pass them off as my own, or use them to make money. My reason for using generated images is due to a somewhat rare mental handicap I have. I’ve been fairly candid about my experiences with aphantasia and how it makes writing very tricky. A quick definition is that I can’t picture images in my head. As you can imagine, that might make writing difficult.

One of the main struggles I have is coming up with a character’s appearance, and then keeping that appearance consistent throughout the story. I can’t just think up their image for reference. In the past, before AI, I’d base all my characters’ physical appearances on people I knew or on celebrities. One of my last projects included John Krasinski, Alexandra Daddario, Joaquin Phoenix, Victoria Beckham, and Jeremy Irons, among others.

To a certain extent, that limited what I could work with. Also, there aren’t a ton of well known actors who aren’t very attractive. Not everyone in a story should be a knockout, so that was limiting as well. But with generative AI, I can enter my description once, the way I want a character to be, and then it’ll make a picture of my character that I can reference as I write.

Here are some examples from my current project.

The first thing you might notice is that these people are all fairly attractive as well. Midjourney is really good at making beautiful people, and really good at making ugly people. Anything in the middle is difficult. Why? Because people on the internet obsess over anything really beautiful and really ugly. Like a sunrise and a train wreck, or a rainforest and People of Walmart. AI is only as good as the content we give it.

I’ll come back to these images in a moment, but I’m guessing you’re wanting to hear more about the post’s title (that’s why you clicked it). To boob, or not to boob. The answer: it ain’t up to me. Mostly.

The image I shared above of that runed warrior woman was not intended to produce uncovered breasts. Was I expecting a fit, attractive woman? Yes. That’s what the algorithm always gives me unless I explicitly say they’re obese or scarred or something. Here’s one of the other images generated from that same prompt.

Much less boobage and skin in general. She seems more model than warrior though; a distinct lack of fierceness, but that’s something that can be played with or simply described when I write. This is more of what I was expecting.

Most of the time, I don’t want the images of my characters to ooze sex and just let it all hang out. But there are some characters where that is essential to who they are. Emma Frost of the X-Men comes to mind. Or Ava Lord from Sin City 2. Or Ianthe from A Court of Thorns and Roses. For some female characters, their physical attributes are another tool in their toolbox.

So what happens when I try to have MidJourney generate an image with that type of character in mind?

“Sorry. Please try a different prompt. We’re not sure this one meets our community guidelines. Hover to tap to review the guidelines.”

This was the prompt I used specifically to get flagged: Incredibly attractive woman dressed scantily in order to sway political opponents with her overt sexuality.

Now, I shouldn’t be too surprised here. I imagine “dressed scantily” and “overt sexuality” are red flags. But what if I toned it down, still trying to find an image that will convey the character I’m unable to visualize?

“Incredibly attractive woman wearing a snug corset in order to sway political opponents with her striking aesthetics.” Same result.

“Incredibly attractive woman wearing a courtesan’s outfit in order to sway political opponents with her striking aesthetics.” This one actually worked and produced this series of images:

A byproduct of the phrasing I had to resort to resulted in an Asian depiction of the character, I’m assuming because of the term “courtesan.” Do some of them fit the character I was looking for? Sort of. Was it tricky to generate these? Yup. Are they anywhere close to as revealing as that first image I shared? Not at all.

Aside from the racial decisions the AI has made, which can be its own whole thing, what I’m trying to figure out is when it decides to super sexualize the images and when it decides not to. Obviously, this last set was intended to be more sexualized. But what if that’s not the goal? Take for example one of my characters from above.

This character will be a future love interest of one of the main characters. She’ll appear once in the first book as an unknown burglar, and then won’t appear again until book two. But given her future prominence, I wanted to get a good idea of her right away.

The prompt I used was: Late 20s human female with shoulder-length blonde hair. She is attractive and fit. She is a professional thief who uses gadgets, magic, and charisma to do her job. Feisty.

Now, attractive can mean all sorts of things. Most often than not though, for Midjourney that translates to cleavage. Of the four images it presented, I was drawn to this one because of her hair and expression. But, being unable to visualize images in my mind, I wanted more of a full body image. So I told it to zoom out. This is what happened.

Notice anything? This was not the look I wanted nor was going for. So I asked it to try again. And again. And again. My fifth try gave me this, which I figured would be the best I was going to get:

Couldn’t get away from the cleavage, but at least it didn’t look like she was wearing a leather jacket over a bikini. I mean she’s not, right? Right? Guess what happened when I asked it to zoom out again?

I had it try again six more times, hoping for an outfit that said thief, not leather pool party. The images did not get better, and some were even more ridiculous.

Clearly, Midjourney’s interpretation of my request really wanted her to dress this way. I tried to figure out what in my prompt signified this result, but nothing stood out. Before I move on, I do want to say that these images of her seem way more in line with the “aesthetics as a tool/weapon” than when I tried for that result.

But the gender biases in AI aren’t limited to women. Let’s look at one of the other characters.

This is one of the main characters, the one who’ll fall in love with the woman above. He’s a claims investigator who spends most of his days at a desk. He used to play sports in college, but isn’t exceptionally active now.

Once of the challenges with AI, especially something like MidJourney where there’s only so much info you can convey, is giving it the right input. So I went with: Early 30s human male. Forensic investigator. Relatively fit. Short, dark hair. Dresses practically.

When I was younger, I was relatively fit. I did not look like this guy. This is stern Henry Cavill. Also, this dude is way more put together than I’d wanted. I guess dressing practically involves ties and vests. So I changed “dresses practically” to “rugged attire.”

Dude got older. Grey hair and/or stubble in each picture. And I’d still said early 30s. Based on my experience with the other pics, both in this project and in priors, I grabbed that first pic and called it good, because, as I said earlier, making a normal looking person is tricky. This guy was normal enough that I could run with it.

But like with the women, Midjourney had an idea of what my dude should be. Broad shoulders, chiseled jaw, large biceps. Of the character pics above, the most normal looking dude is the young man with the wavy dark hair, and for that prompt I’d said lanky with a slight build. And even then I’d got muscly results on my first go round.

So what is it with AI and these overly gendered results? It’s like Midjourney lives on either end of a bell curve. Is it because of our obsession with the beautiful or ugly? Is it learned behavior as people give it more and more prompts, looking for that sexy woman or that ripped man? Probably both. At times I fell guilty with some of my prompts, knowing they’ll likely perpetuate these problems.

I do want to say, that as stereotype prone as Midjourney is, there have been extremely helpful results it’s given me, especially when it comes to setting and non-human beings. Here are some examples, all what I would consider faithful representations of my prompts.

I wish I had some sort of best practice or ethical rationale, but that’s what everyone’s debating right now. Do I think AI is the devil and should be stricken from everything? Of course not. AI is a tool, and like any tool, its efficacy is dependent on the user. And I don’t mean efficacy strictly in the quality of content, but also in its usage.

As tricky as AI is to figure out, especially given how frequently it changes and updates, it does have its uses. For some people, it speeds up mundane tasks. For others, it provides inspiration. For me, it helps me see the ideas that flood my brain. Yeah, sometimes it’s a little liberal with the boobs and deltoids, but it’s learning. It’s up to us to not only teach AI how to function, but to teach ourselves the right time to use it.

Why The Borderlands Movie Sucked… And How They Could Have Fixed It

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For anyone who has had more than two conversations with me, it’s no secret that I’m a huge Borderlands fan. This is the game that got me into first person shooters. Borderlands 2 is only the second game that has made me walk away because of emotional storyline choices (FFVII popped that cherry in high school. Damn you Sephiroth). Borderlands has also provided my best multiplayer story experience (sorry Mario Kart and Smash Bros, you don’t really have a story).

So when this movie was announced years ago, I was excited. Very excited. Then the casting began. Jack Black. Cate Blanchett. Jamie Lee Curtis. Kevin Hart. Yes. This was going be amazing. Was I a little concerned about Cate Blanchett’s age in regards to Lilith? Yes. Did Kevin Hart’s height seem surprising given the massive physical presence Roland had? Of course. But having seen Cloud Atlas become a movie and Wheel of Time become a show, I was open to interpretation.

As well all know, the movie has been utterly destroyed by critics. Disheartening. On pace for one of the worst movie releases ever. Dream-shattering. But that created the perfect silver lining. If I went into it thinking it would be an abomination, then I was likely to enjoy it more than if I’d super-hyped it up. Right? Right?!

Borderlands was not a good movie. It wasn’t a terrible movie either. It was just a bad movie. The beginning was particularly bad, though it did get better as it went along. Why? I’ll point out very specific reasons that someone in the writing or editing process should have picked up on.

Warning! Spoilers are coming. I’ll try to only hint at big reveals in case you haven’t seen it, but I won’t be able to talk about this spoiler-free.

Problem One: Pacing.

This movie did not know what it wanted to be. Comedy/action? Straight action? Potty humor? Now, I’m not privy to exactly which parts were involved in the reshoots, but I’d wager a healthy sum it was focused on the beginning. It started out with Cate Blanchett exposition regarding Eridians and the Vault and for someone knowing nothing about the world of Borderlands, that would be very helpful. Part of me thinks they were trying to replicate her intro narration in LOTR. It didn’t work out.

The problem with narration is it slows everything down. Borderlands is a first person shooter. The most effective parts of this movie were when they leaned into that freneticism (something I’m assuming attracted them to director Eli Roth). The second problem with narration in film is that it’s often the sign of bad/lazy writing.

There are three moments of narration. The very beginning, a random bit maybe fifteen minutes later when Lilith gets to Pandora, and then a bit at the end. The middle narration was completely unnecessary. She tells us something happened, then we watch it happen. Then she tells us something happened, then we watch it happen. There’s that problematic writing axiom, show don’t tell. Regardless of how you feel about that, you definitely don’t do both at the same time.

The end narration was one of those contrived, moral of the story bits. No, it didn’t have a moral, but it told you how you were supposed to feel about what happened and where things were going. Audiences (arguably) aren’t dumb. We can form our own opinions. Don’t belittle us with that garbage.

The middle and ending narration were bad and shouldn’t have been there. That leaves the beginning narration. Can you have just the one segment of narration. Yes. Will the film be stronger without it? Probably. The reason I don’t like narration and find that it’s lazy, is most of the time that information can be conveyed during the action of the movie. We heard plenty of times that the Eridians were no longer there, that they left tech behind, and Vault Hunters sought the missing vault on Pandora. That takes out the entire opening narration right there.

The one other pacing thing I’ll mention, not even talking about the actual cutting and editing of the sequence of events, is as it relates to the tension of a scene or moment. Very serious, awe-inspiring Lilith flying around with fire wings? Probably a good time to throw Krieg in there with a 1.5 second gag line. Then back to the seriousness. What? Really? Who thought that was a good idea?

Problem Number Two: Continuity.

I imagine (or hope) much of the blame for this lies in the need for reshoots. Basically, there were several payoff moments toward the end of the movie that called back to earlier scenes in the film. The one that stands out the most was when Tannis offered Tina some tea. You could definitely tell this intimate moment was set up earlier. Except it wasn’t. I’m sure at some point there was a scene or set of lines involving Tannis and Tina and tea, but those lines didn’t make it into the final cut. The problem is that the emotional impact of the lines we did see was non-existent. Instead of an “awwww” derived from character growth, we just wonder why the celebration scene is being interrupted with tea? Every second of screen time is important. Why waste ten seconds on that line when it doesn’t mean anything to the audience.

Also, and this stemmed from an in-game joke, when they got to Sanctuary they all had to go up some stairs. I asked my friend at the theater, “how’d Claptrap get up the stairs?” And we both chuckled. Then later on there were stairs again and Claptrap started to do his “oh no, stairs” bit, and Krieg grabbed him and carried him. So they addressed the question/problem, but not when the question/problem first arose. Take the Sanctuary stairs out… perfect. Or have Krieg carry him in Santaury… works great. Ignore the stairs entirely and then do the stairs joke? Continuity problems. Things happen in an order for a reason. Understand those reasons.

Problem Number Three: Appropriate Level of Fan Service.

I admit this is a broad topic. In adaptations, anything and everything can be considered fan service. For the sake of this, I’ll break it down to three aspects: locations, dialogue, and characters.

I’ll start with the least offensive: locations. I actually quite enjoyed seeing the world of Pandora and everything that was included. From named locations like Fyrestone and Sanctuary, to the exact placement of bones where that one badass skag always comes from, or the fact that they jumped over Piss Wash Gully, those visual treats were subtle and hit the fandom just right. Now, did it make sense for them to brave the Caustic Caverns only to stumble across a bandit stronghold whose denizens clearly didn’t use the caverns to get there? Not one bit.

Next: dialogue. Knowing first-hand how hard acting is, I don’t want any of this to seem a judgment on the actors. I’ve said for a long time that the greatest struggle for independent films is good writing, followed by good audio, but that’s another issue. That being said, were there times when Eli Roth should have said, “Okay, let’s try that one again?” Yes. Beyond that, there were moments when Easter eggs were thrown into dialogue at the expense of the quality of the dialogue.

For example, there’s the moment when Lilith realizes she needs a vehicle, so she says she’s gotta “catch a ride.” That’s straight from the game, but it sounds utterly ridiculous in the moment. Another time, Tina asks Lilith to grab her badonkadonk. Another reference straight from the game. With the right setup, it might have worked. But it didn’t. Even knowing what that meant, the execution was terrible. Fans like having those moments appear in film and TV, but it has to be organically integrated, not shoved in half-assed. We want to experience the world. We don’t want you to wink at us every time you think you’re clever.

And speaking of Tina, though off topic, let her blow stuff up! That’s what Tina does. Sure she throws some grenades at the end, but she gave Bob to Roland, and the few explosions when we meet her seem situational, not character driven. Tina is bat-shit. Let us see that.

That leaves us with characters. I’m going to point out two poor choices, and two good choices. The poor choices (and there were more than just two) are Marcus and Krieg. It’s tricky, adapting a world with so many characters that so many people love. I understand wanting to satisfy everyone, but it can’t be at the expense of the story. Marcus had two real scenes. The first was picking up Lilith on the Vault Hunter bus. That is a classic callback to the first Borderlands game, and technically it served as a vehicle *ahem* to learn about Lilith’s feelings about Vault Hunters. But it ate up a lot of time and added nothing new to the story. We knew Lilith thought Vault Hunters were dumb. It played as an awkward scene shoved in for the sake of seeing the bus. His second scene was trying to barter with the Crimson Lance. That’s a perfect use for Marcus. Give him three lines (not just a split second visual like with Ellie). Show the audience that the people of Sanctuary stand together against the Lance. Advance the plot as our heroes try to escape. For people who know Marcus it’s “hey, it Marcus!” For those who don’t, it doesn’t matter. Because it adds to the world in a way that advances world-building and story at the same time, without taking us out of the moment.

The second poor choice was Krieg. I understand wanting the big dumb brute as a foil for pretty much everyone else, though the main contrast is with Tina. The problem is this big dumb brute lacks a face, only shouts, and only speaks in caveman garble. Combine the garble with shouting, and half of what he says (and that’s generous) is unintelligible. Does unintelligible dialogue advance plot or character or anything? No. Does a primary character with zero facial expressions work? Almost always, no. But I do like the idea of pairing a sensitive brute with a small child. Luckily, Borderlands has just the person for that. Brick! He’s big, he’s dumb, and man is he protective of Tina. Not only would we have understood him, but we would have seen actual emotion. And he could have addressed why he was on that Atlas ship in the first place.

There were two good character inclusions in the movie. The first is obviously Lilith. As much as she was underwhelming in the first game, her role in the subsequent games can’t be overstated. And then there’s Roland. Remember when I mentioned Borderlands 2 was one of the two games that made me emotional enough to walk away? Roland. God damn you, Handsome Jack.

In Lilith we get a central character that is meaningful for the gamers, while also being a fairly well-realized cinema character. Adding her mother (completely wasting Haley Bennett) and showing her prior connections to Tannis and Moxxi worked very well and her character arc in the movie was one of the best parts. Also, when she goes full Firehawk… hits the nostalgia so hard.

In Roland we get the jaded ex-corporate soldier. Roland’s character arc was lacking, likely due to the fact that he was intended as a supporting character to Lilith and Tina. But he was a great choice as a character to include. With better writing, we could have seen the corruption of the corporations (also negating the need for intro narration), and Roland’s setup as a Pandoran leader would have made sense on a practical and emotional level. There’s a reason his character was so pivotal in Borderlands 2. A sad note about him though… we never got to see him deploy hit turret. We see plenty of cool tech, and there are a couple of battles it would have been great in. Lilith got to phasewalk. Kreig almost always rampaged. But no turret for Roland. Missed opportunity.

These three problems I’ve addressed aren’t the only problems in the movie, they’re just three of the most obvious, and most easily fixed. The ease with which they could have been addressed is especially frustrating after waiting so long for this movie to exist. But it at least provides solace in knowing that a Borderlands movie won’t inherently be garbage. There is so much lore to pull from and so much opportunity for engaging storytelling, even if the movie doesn’t follow the game’s story.

TLDR: The movie was bad, especially beginning. Pacing, editing, and character usage were major problems.

I should say that the fights worked well, especially with the bandits in the tunnels and the main fight at the end. The chaos and unrelenting horde of meat fodder was very reminiscent of the game and very fun.

Would I watch it again? Maybe when my kid is old enough. Maybe just in the background so I can glance at nostalgic scenery. And, because I’m eight-years-old, watching Claptrap violently diarrhea bullets will never get old.

PS: When Roland breaks Tina out at the beginning, that was totally the perfect moment for a “little short for a Crimson Lance” joke. Right in line with Borderlands and much funnier than the short joke they put in later.

Book Review: The Tainted Cup

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My MFA thesis starts up this fall and I’ve decided to write a fantasy mystery (Mystasy?), because those are two genres I don’t see paired up too often. And whereas I’ve had the idea for this book/series for quite a while, I haven’t had the time to devote to it. Once I made my decision, it begged the question, what is a fantasy mystery?

As luck would have it, I was walking out of my local library and a cover on the staff recommendation shelf jumped out at me. The gold on navy with green accents pulled my eye and I found myself hushing my kid so I could read the back. I needed to know what a fantasy mystery was. The back read “A Holmes and Watson-style detective duo take the stage in this fantasy with a mystery twist, from the Edgar-winning, multiple Hugo-nominated Robert Jackson Bennett.”

I was ready to ask the question “where have you been all my life?” to both the book and the staff recommender (thanks Mao), simply from holding it in my hand. I’d instantaneously set The Tainted Cup on a pedestal without even realizing it. And it didn’t disappoint.

The story starts with our main protagonist, Din, as he investigates his first murder. He’s partnered with brilliant eccentric recluse Ana, who never steps foot on the crime scene (or out of her house for that matter). This grisly and disturbing murder is only the beginning, because as with any mystery (and transformer), there’s more than meets the eye.

I never want to give away spoilers, so here’s my brief rundown of what I liked and why you should read it:

  1. The magic system is neat. Botanical and just vague enough to be mysterious in its own right.
  2. Din’s flaws make his resourcefulness impressive. Plus he’s not too shabby with a sword. 🙂
  3. Ana’s logic is never Deus Ex Machina. There’s never any logical leaps stemming from withheld information. Everything is presented, ready for you to figure it out.
  4. Also: kaiju. Because why not.

Obviously there’s more going for it than what’s listed, but no sense giving anything away. Oh, and did I mention it’s the first in a series? The Tainted Cup just came out this year, so we’ll have some waiting to do (2025 according to google), but with the character, world, and story setup that happens in these pages, we’ll before too long be able to return to this world and continue sleuthing with Din and Ana.

One surprising aspect for me was the amount of violence in the book. And by that, I mean there was much less than I expected. Most fantasy has crazy action scenes with swords and magic and mythical beasts. Mysteries often have chases and, of course, murders. You’d think that crossing the two genres would ratchet that up a bit. Not really. And that’s not a bad thing. It wasn’t even until after I’d finished that I’d had this realization. Personal preference: I’d have loved some more fights. But it worked just fine without them.

I very much appreciated how the information was doled out to the reader. Sometimes we got the info and made the connection along with the characters. Sometimes the detail was mentioned chapters earlier and only became relevant at a later time and it was on us to remember it. And other times we were given hints at known information that wasn’t pertinent in the moment, but became a promise of a meaningful reveal later.

But how, as a writer, do you determine what information to give and when? That’s a good question, and one that applies to more than just mysteries. You might have guessed it, our craft subject of the day is:

Information Rationing.

Let’s start with characters who have information. When it comes to non-perspective characters, information rationing isn’t too difficult. People lie. Or they’re ignorant. Or they tell half-truths, intentional or not. You can pick any number of reasons why a non-perspective character will omit information, assuming it works with the story and their character of course. Bilbo doesn’t tell Frodo the details of his ring. The Dursleys tell Harry his parents died in a car crash. The International Fleet doesn’t tell Ender those aren’t just games. They’ve got reasons, and those reasons make sense for the characters and the plot.

Perspective characters are trickier. When Katniss has that flashback about Peeta giving her bread, we learn something about the both of them that impacts the story later on. That memory is triggered and she conveys that information to us. But what if we she withheld that memory? The characters’ connection later on wouldn’t make as much sense.

Even more to the point, take when Penelope is truly shocked about something Lady Whistledown said. It doesn’t make any sense. She is Lady Whistledown. The character’s knowledge of her secret role is hidden, even in her POV. Unless there’s a Fight Club situation going on, she would reasonably have thought once or twice about the fact that she is the one writing gossip.

An effective way around this is for the character to be cognizant of the fact that they have information, and then move on. Everyone has secrets, but let’s say we’re in your head, and your secret comes up. You’re not going to not think about it. That’s silly. And unrealistic. And it loses the reader’s trust.

In The Tainted Cup, there’s a situation just like that. Din (and this isn’t really a spoiler since he thinks about it right away in chapter one) has somewhat regular thoughts about not wanting Ana to find out what he did, or what his limitations are. We eventually learn the truth, and all his actions make perfect sense because of it. But we don’t feel cheated as the reader, because Din was honest with us about what he knew, and we knew why he wasn’t going into specifics.

And beyond character information, there’s story information. One way story information is distributed is via the plot. For the longest time, those two terms were synonymous in my head. The way I like to think about it now is the story is what happens. The plot is the order in which we see it happen. In Edward P. Jones’ The Known World, we see the story of this fictional county through the lives of its many inhabitants. The stories are given to us in bits and pieces, from character to character and back again. If all those characters’ stories were told chronologically, one at a time, we’d still get the whole story, but we’d lose so much context and interconnection as we experienced each one. The rationing of information, the order in which the story is told, is was makes that story great. One of the many reasons, actually.

And of course we have to talk about mysteries. Finding clues, finding information, is what those books are all about. There are probably a ton of different ways to go about it, but I like to look at a mystery’s disbursement of information like a family tree. A likely incestuous family tree, but you get the idea. At the bottom is, for the sake of the analogy, you, the inciting incident, the moment that kicks the story off. From there we branch up to the parents, the clues we find. Some people only have one parent, some have two or four or even more. And those parents don’t exist in a vacuum. They have parents and cousins and aunts and uncles and secret lovers and all that.

But how do you know just how many parents your story needs? How many different people is your grandpa going to make kids with? For that, I start at the other end of the family tree. Your great great great great grandparent, for example. The bad guy. I need to figure out what they did, who they did it with, and why they did it. Each of those is one of their kids. Each of those kids will have their own motivations and actions and relationships, making kids of their own. Sometimes those kids will meet, sometimes they’ll get a little incestuous. But before long there’ll be this massive family tree of plot, all leading to the bad guy. You just need to find one of the bottom descendants and start your story there.

As with any incestuous relationship, the goal of the participants is to keep it hidden. Your protagonist needs to figure out which cousins did which cousins, and why. Surely it wasn’t just because of a pair of big brown eyes. Right? Right? Treat each step of the family tree as a new secret. Some won’t be hidden, they’ll just need to be traced. “Ohhhh, that’s who my great-grandma was.” Others will definitely be hidden and will take a bit more work. “Aunt Peggy did what?!” But once all the tree has been revealed, each clue, each relationship, will make sense and support the structure of the entire tree.

Wow. I had not planned on that analogy, especially not as much lover from the same mother. But I think it works. And you know what else works? The Tainted Cup. Without further ado, here’s how The Tainted Cup fares with The Author’s Arsenal.

For excellent character creation and portrayal, I award The Seal. Ana definitely is set up to be a big player in future books, but Din especially shines. For phenomenal world-building, I award The Scroll. The ecology of the world alone is astounding, but add in the politics and history and classism… very nice. And for brilliant storytelling, I award The Quill Pen. In order for a mystery to work, the storytelling has to be on point. And it very much is.

If you you’re a fan of either fantasy or mystery, and especially if you’re both, I highly recommend picking up The Tainted Cup. I don’t think I’ve read anything quite like it, and I’m certainly glad I did.

As always, feel free to let me know if there’s a book you want reviewed.

Book Review: The Blinding Knife

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So, I officially hate Brent Weeks. Not actual hate where I wish him harm or anything, but more in the “man, you’ve made my life inconvenient” sort of way.

The Blinding Knife is the second in the Lightbringer series, following The Black Prism. My hatred stems from his magic system and world building. Eight years ago (I know, because I have my notes), I came up with this fun magic system involving the color spectrum, where people have different powers based on the color of light they’re exposed to. That’s super simplified, but the basic premise. I told my idea to Gavin, one of my fellow MFA students, and he was like, “Oh, like the Brent Weeks books.”

Say what? I’d never heard of Brent Weeks at that point, and the idea that someone had already published a magic system that was the same as the one I’d just spent a ton of time working on was disheartening. At the end of the semester that classmate gifted me a copy of The Black Prism so I could see what similarities existed. And because he really liked the book.

Flash forward to this past summer. I hadn’t read The Black Prism yet, not because I didn’t want to, but just because of its placement on the “to read” list. I was thinking about another story, and I mentioned to my wife that creating a base number system based on the story’s pantheon seemed super neat, especially when information could be interpreted different ways. I put some work into that, but mainly it was an idea to come back to.

Then I started reading The Black Prism in the fall. And yes, the magic was based on light. To my relief, that was where the similarity ended. How the magic functions and is tapped into is completely different, but any chromatic based magic system I use will still be seen as less novel because of The Black Prism’s existence.

Then I read The Blinding Knife these last couple of weeks. And guess what it introduced? A base number system based on the story’s pantheon. My jaw dropped as it was explained in-story. Are you kidding me, Brent Weeks?! A friend of my is now joking that I read the entire series in the past and have shut it out of my conscious memory. He’s waiting for my next idea and for it to be something from one of the next books. Sigh.

But, as much as I can joke that I hate Brent Weeks, I am thoroughly enjoying his books. So, let’s review The Blinding Knife (with minimal Black Prism spoilers).

The Blinding Knife picks up immediately where The Black Prism left off. Kip, Gavin, Karris, and Liv each leave Garriston with their own revelations about themselves and their companions. Kip is struggling to find (and earn) his place in the Chromeria, while the shadow of his father looms over him. And he’s got that fancy knife. Gavin’s mortality clock has advanced and he still has most of his great purposes to fulfill. Karris knows, and boy is that conflicting. And Liv is seeing things in a new light *ahem* and needs to reconcile what that’ll cost.

A few new characters are also introduced as Kip learns how to use his magic, and those relationships are clearly setting up more drama in future books. The Colors are dragging their feet and Andross Guile is still a world-class douche. A card game is introduced that becomes important for multiple reasons.

One of the more interesting aspects of the second installment is how the magic system is able to expand without (usually) feeling like deus ex machina. Weeks uses a simple but effective tactic for this: everything we’ve learned is what the Chromeria has authorized. In other words, there are secrets to the magic that rebels, color wights, self-taught drafters, etc., can, in a narrative sense, spontaneously use, in a way that doesn’t feel like cheating on the author’s part.

We also dive a bit deeper into the religion of the world. In the first book, we heard Orholam’s name prayed to and cursed with all the time. Now we are introduced to the concept of the Old Gods. Religion becomes a central arc for one of the main supporting characters and drives much of the action in the story (as it does in the real world).

Another aspect that impressed me was the escalation of stakes. For example—and without giving spoilery details—there’s a romance between two characters. And it’s not working. Then, yay, it’s going to happen! Then, shit! Oh, it’s doomed. Then, yay, it is happening. Then, shit shit shit, there’s no way it’s happening now. I won’t say how it ends, but the escalations kept me on my toes and very concerned for the outcome of the characters.

I think the part I enjoyed the most about the book wasn’t something I was actively aware of while reading. And that’s the point, and the goal of fiction. I became so immersed in the story, in the world, that I was happily along for the ride. I didn’t stop to analyze or think about what was happening (that happened when I wasn’t reading), I was able to sit back and just read.

As with the first book, and as to be expected in epic fantasy, there are fight scenes galore. Most are small, some larger, and of course there’s always the climatic confrontation. These scenes didn’t exist merely to have physical conflict. There is a narrative and/or character purpose for each. And each does double duty to delve further into the magic system and the world the characters inhabit.

And that brings me to the craft topic of the review. I just said that fights are a staple, and being such, there’s the risk of a dime-a-dozen feel. That doesn’t happen here because of *drum roll* specificity.

Specificity is the cure for the common trope. It allows you to take any idea and make it your own, no matter how common or overly used. For example: You ever hear of Star Wars? Hunger Games? Interview with the Vampire? Wizard of Oz? What do they all have in common? They all follow the same story arc. Almost exactly the same. What makes them different? The details. Specificity.

I know that’s a very broad brush with which to talk about details making stories unique. Let me use another example, this time from The Blinding Knife itself. I’d mentioned the introduction of a card game in the world of the story. It’s called Nine Kings. As I was reading the story I was engaged with the cards and their descriptions, as well as the strategy Kip employed while playing. There are so many different cards that there can be different decks, and each deck is normally themed around a color (the colors of the Chromeria). I recall having the passing thought at one moment that it reminded me of Magic the Gathering, but then the story moved on and so did I.

Well, as it happens, Brent Weeks was introduced to Magic the Gathering after writing the first book, but before writing the second. He enjoyed the game so much, that he wrote his own version of it into the sequel. Now, for those who don’t know, I am very into Magic the Gathering. I’ve played since middle school and have two massive library card catalogs filled with cards. Even with my massive history and knowledge of the game, I only had the briefest of moments of recognition with Nine Kings. Why? Specificity.

Weeks was able to take a concept that I was very familiar with and tweak it, adding detail after detail after detail in order to make it unique and distinct. This can be done with anything, no matter the source material. Have a character with a physical ailment/limitation? That’s nothing new. But if you’re specific about it, it becomes part of the character, as opposed to a descriptor of the character. Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow’s Gabrielle Zevin spent chapter after chapter on Sam’s ankle/foot injury, and we were given a character whose physical limitations impacted the story in unique and heartbreaking ways, different from any other character with a physical limitation.

Depending on your choices, you don’t need to spend chapter after chapter on those details, but you need enough to make whatever concept or decision you’ve come up with fully your own. I say that I hate Brent Weeks because of the similar ideas, but the key to making that not an issue is specificity. We can both have magic related to light, but the how, the why, the drawbacks and benefits, all the nuances a magic system needs are what will separate them and make my story stand apart. Specificity.

Now, time for the big reveal. What tools in The Author’s Arsenal does Brent Weeks wield in The Blinding Knife?

For exceptional storytelling/narrative, I award the Quill Pen. There are a lot of balls for Weeks to juggle, a lot of motivations playing against one another, and it all flows so smoothly that the complexities don’t bog down the reader.

For depth and richness of theme, I award the Inkwell. Colors. The Light Spectrum. Wavelengths. What seems like a limited concept has been integrated into the world so richly that we’re fully on board with this unique magic system and how it colors *cough* every aspect of life in that world. Each color means something, and the characters act and react appropriately based on those colors.

And for world-building and setting, I award the Scroll. It sort of overlaps with the theme award, but I can’t say enough about the fully realized world we’re given and all the minutia included to ground that world and make it real. Details. Specificity. It’s all there.

A Blinding Knife has been the most enjoyable book I’ve read all year. My jaw literally dropped, I couldn’t put it down, and my wife more than one time had to sit through me retelling her aspects of the plot she had not one iota of investment in. Good times.

And there you are. If you have a suggestion for a review, feel free to drop it in the comments or send a message.

Book Review: A Court of Mist and Fury

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When I told one of my tenth graders I was reading this book, she was scandalized. We were on the topic of books because I saw her reading The Belgariad, which I was shocked by as I haven’t seen anyone reading that since I’d read it over twenty years ago. Apparently her dad’s making her read it. Good for him. And her, too.

Anyway, the idea that a dude, especially a grown-up dude, was reading that book was almost too much for her to take. I can only guess at her ideas as to why I was reading New Adult Romantasy (too sexually graphic for YA, IMO). Part of the reason was that I’d seen so much about the series across social media that I knew I’d have to give it a go at some point. Part was that Jacqueline Carey teed up the genre for me back in my Belgariad days. The third part of the equation was there were no holds on it in the Libby app. The stars aligned (and not just in the Rhysand sort of way).

Warning for book one (A Court of Thorns and Roses) spoilers. Obviously, in a book review for a sequel, there will be spoilers for book one. If you haven’t read it, stop here. If you have, here we go.

A Court of Mist and Fury picks up with Feyre and Tamlin, she newly fae and he once again fully empowered. They’re engaged, they’re in love, just what’d you’d expect following the ending of the first book.

But things are not as they seem. Feyre had made a deal with Rhysand to spend one week a month with him in the Night Court (sans John Larroquette), where she’ll learn exactly who Rhysand is, and what life is like for the fae when not under Amarantha’s thumb.

Feyre not only has to deal with that bargain, but also the fame that comes with being the one to stop Amarantha. Everyone knows, and everyone is very, very grateful. And I’m not just talking about her Summer Court subjects (she is engaged to Tamlin, after all), but the fae across all the courts.

I don’t want to get into spoilers, and because the narrative structure of this book is different than A Court of Thorns and Roses, it’s hard to say more than what I already have without giving away surprises. What I will do is offer comparisons between the two.

More magic? Yes. More of the hot and sticky? Yes. Higher and clearer stakes? Yes. More fun action? Yes. More Feyre acting illogical? No, thankfully. All around, it’s a better book than the predecessor.

I spent most of the first section afraid that it would be nothing but illogical Feyre, but as soon as it switched gears I was on board. Tons of fun character development, world building, and contextualizing moments from the first book that enriched the narrative and made me like the first book more than I initially did.

Some of the non-perspective character motivations were a little shaky at times, but with so many characters, it’s hard to make everything fit snuggly. It has been the most fun read of the year so far, but it’s not without its flaws.

Which brings me to the craft subject of the day: foreshadowing.

Foreshadowing is a fairly common concept, but also very broad. Simplistically, foreshadowing is a warning or indication of a future event. But that definition implies we recognize the foreshadowing. Sometimes that’s the point, to purposefully clue the reader into something. Concrete foreshadowing. When Romeo dreams of seeing Juliet dead, the audience knows that’s how he’s going to find her. When Chekhov overtly draws attention to the gun, we know it’s going to play a role.

Other times, we’re given hints that only make sense after the reveal. Prophecy foreshadowing. Like in Sixth Sense, when the kid says he sees dead people, and they don’t know they’re dead. When we find out Bruce Willis is dead, that line carries a lot more meaning. Or even in A Court of Thorns and Roses, when there’s the line about Tamlin’s stone heart, we think it’s a common metaphor about being cold, or callous. Then we find out it’s a literal stone heart which is the key to defeating Amarantha.

Flashbacks and flash-forwards are another common medium for foreshadowing. In Hunger Games, we get the flashback of Peeta giving Katniss bread, essentially feeding her when she’s in need. Later, when Peeta needs feeding, Katniss feeds him, balancing out that act of kindness.

Next up is abstract, or symbolic foreshadowing. This is often used with setting. It was a dark and stormy night, or, a fog settled over the town. It can also be used with objects that have cultural meanings/baggage. In American Beauty, there is the iconic scene of the young girl lying in a pile rose petals, with more falling on her. Roses are often a symbol of romance and lust. In the same movie, you see the main character’s wife methodically pruning the roses in her yard. This will give us expectations about his relationship with both those women.

Lastly, we have fallacy foreshadowing, or a red herring. This is similar to the concrete foreshadowing, except it is supposed to trick the reader, as opposed to give them insight. When Obi-Wan tells Luke that Vader killed Luke’s father, that sets up the surprise reveal that Vader is Luke’s father. In Game of Thrones, Littlefinger pits Arya and Sansa against each other, readying us for a sister vs sister showdown, but they join forces and turn on him.

Foreshadowing is effective in that we have learned how to interpret the various types, and when the reveal comes, we are pleased or satisfied. When foreshadowing doesn’t work is when it tries to be one type, and ends up falling flat, or turns into another type. When you set up a proper foreshadow, you essentially make a promise to the reader. If you don’t fulfill that promise, the moment falls flat, and you lose that reader’s trust.

As I mentioned earlier, Sarah J. Maas handles foreshadowing well in the first book, especially with that stone heart moment. There are good instances in A Court of Mist and Fury as well (the one that stick out involves her sisters), but also a mishandled one that, for me, kept me at arm’s length the rest of the story. I won’t give it away, I’ll just say it involves “merfolk”, so you know what I’m talking about when it happens.

So how does A Court of Mist and Fury fare with the Author’s Arsenal?

For world-building and setting, A Court of Mist and Fury earns The Scroll. We had a taste of the fae world in the first book, and we really delved deep and explored so many new locations and cultures, in addition to expanded on what we already knew.

And for character building, it earns The Seal. Many of the characters were presented in new light, and grew to be much more than they were before. The relationships between Feyre and her companions (and their relationships with each other) are was drive the narrative and suck the reader into this world Maas has created.

Unlike some other books I’ve read recently, I’m looking forward to the next installment. I’m just hoping Elain becomes more than just a pretty mannequin.

Side note: If I had the time and energy, I’d have tied The Belgariad into the review’s ending, a sort of foreshadowing. But it has been twenty-plus years since I’ve read them and it’s hard to remember specific details. Forgive me. 🙂