What Makes A Scene Perfect?

Introduction
Way back in October, 2014 I wrote a blog called "5 Perfect Moments In Modern Cinema" in which I talked about five scenes that, regardless of the quality of the rest of the movie, could not be improved on. As far as film analysis and criticism goes, it was pretty shallow. I don't mean that it was wrong or that I don't stand by that blog, but it was more about indulging my desire to rave about things I love in movies and didn't go far to explain why those scenes were perfect. Mostly, I let the scenes speak for themselves. But what makes a scene perfect is worth exploring in detail. Perfect is a big claim and like it or not, film criticism is at least partly subjective, so proving anything is perfect is, on the face of it, impossible, but that's not going to stop me from trying. To be clear: I'm going to keep the same definition of perfect that I used in 2014. A perfect moment in cinema is one in which everything happening on screen works, every choice is made purposefully, and you couldn't noticeably significantly improve on the elements.

And that definition kind of answers the title question. What makes a movie scene perfect? When you cannot significantly improve on it.

Obviously we're not stopping there. Now that definitions and simple answers are out of the way, let's take a specific scene and break down the ways in which it is so good it can't be made better. The perfect scene I've chosen comes from 2017's Wonder Woman. This is the scene when she leaves the trenches and rushes across No Man's Land.

I've chosen this scene because While superhero films are big money and popular with basically everyone, they're still largely overlooked as low art; popular with people who don't know better or without a refined taste in art. But to do so is a disservice to the artists who make them, and to deprive yourself of truly enjoying something. I want to outline how a single scene can be perfect, but also demonstrate just how good, and how intelligently made super hero films can be. And Party Jenkins proves what a great film maker cam bring to even so-called low art.

Also, I've been wanting an excuse to talk about how good this movie is for a while now. Okay, now we know why we're here and what we're doing, let's get to it. I'm going to divide my analysis of this film into 4 parts: narrative, colour and imagery, characterisation, and visual motif.

Ready? Here we go.

Wonder Woman on seeing the length of this blog.

The Self-Evident Actually, before I get into it, there's one more qualifier on this endeavour. The four elements of the scene I'm examining are not exhaustive. But it doesn't need to be because some details are self evident. You're an intelligent person who watched the scene in question. You don't need me to tell you that the sound mix is clear, the set and costuming are high quality, the dialogue is believable, well delivered, that the actors are all great, that the staging makes for clear presentation, and that Gal Gadot's performance as Wonder Woman is basically flawless. And I don't need to tell you why all those details being high quality is important and a requisite to the scene being perfect.

Like I said, you're intelligent enough on your own to understand that and to see that everything here is fine. Thus, this study is more about the fine details of a selection of elements that work largely as subtext, and how they function together in this scene and with the rest of the film to do and say more than what's on the surface. They are greater as a whole and the scene is greater because of them. They build to something.

We're looking at how attention to detail in in the film making process leads to a more detailed, interesting, and meaningful scene beyond immediate, obvious, technical accomplishment. Okay, for real this time, let's go. Narrative Just so were absolutely on the same page, we'll start with brief rundown of what happens in this scene, beat-by-beat. This is the film's surface. Everything about this film builds upwards from the narrative flow of this scene. While trekking through the trenches of the western front, somewhere in Belgium, a crying woman grabs Wonder Woman (aka Diana) and pleads for her help to save her village from invading Germans. Wonder Woman insists to Steve and her companions that they need to do something, but Steve explains it's not possible. The trench warfare here has been going on for almost a year in a stalemate because, well, that's mostly how trench warfare worked. Steve tells her that the only thing they can do is continue with their mission, which means leaving the battle to play out as it has while they focus on the big picture. But Wonder Woman ignores Steve's protests and does what she thinks is right, what she feels she has to do.

Diana doesn't need your negativity, Steve

She throws off her cloak, climbs a ladder out of the trenches, and charges across no man's land to face the mortars and machine guns of the German army, single handed if she has to. It works and her companions quickly join her, eventually followed by the English soldiers. They take the trenches and Wonder Woman continues to lead the assault into the captured village. And what could just be a mandatory action beat in a super hero film is in reality a major turning point for the characters and their relationships, and a defining moment for Wonder Woman as we understand the character, and how she relates to the people and world around her. It makes it clear that she's a Big Damn Hero.

A Big Damn Hero

The dialogue between Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor is of particular importance here. Steve Trevor acts as exposition so that, if you somehow went through life not learning what a disaster the first World War was and how awful everything about it was for everybody involved, you get the idea. This is not a battle anybody can just win, and this is not a situation you can just fight your way out of. They're seeing the truly terrible face of the war and nobody can do a damned thing about it.

Wonder Woman's response is not just heroism, it is defiance. It is defiance of Steve and his big picture view of their mission, it is defiance of the way the war is fought, and it is a defiance of any attempt to constrain her through argument or material conditions. We'll come back to this some more, later, but for now just recognise that the dialogue and the events unfolding are our foundation. What comes next is built on top of this. It's not exposition for exposition sake, it's set up, set up for what we'll talk about in characterisation in particular, but set up for, well everything I'm about to say. And it's not just the dialogue, either, even though I've focused on it. Everything from the beginning of the scene is important. Nothing is wasted. Colour and Imagery In order to understand the way this scene works, we need to go back to some earlier parts of the film, and we need to understand how Wonder Woman uses colour. Watching the film, it's immediately obvious that Wonder Woman uses a washed out colour palette even in its brightest locations. This is a consistent stylistic choice that helps set the sombre and grim tone of the film. This is true even in the most bright and colourful part of the film: the scenes on Themyscira. This part of the film uses primarily green, gold, white, and bronze. Even though things aren't especially grim here, to be too vibrant or pastel would be distracting when we move into Act 2's colour palette.

That's as colourful as it gets.

The movement into the second act of the film, when Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor leave Themyscira and arrive in London, sees the colours shift to relying more heavily on blacks and greys, with some brown, and when we do get green, it's the dirty olive green of military uniforms. This continues into the scenes on the front line and establishes a strong contrast between Themyscira and the modern world of men, one as sunny and colourful and livley, the other as dark and dirty and cold. Even Wonder Woman spends this time dressed in her dark suit or wrapped in her black cloak.

Things not pictured: the sun

And then comes our perfect scene and in an act of defiance against the modern world of men and the war around her, she dons her gold tiara. Immediately we have colour again, colour we haven't really seen since Themyscira. And it doesn't stop there. Wonder Woman throws off her cloak and reveals her classic colourful costume. Dressed in red, blue, and gold, Wonder Woman couldn't look more out of place, more different to her surroundings. She brings that contrast of Themyscira and the modern world into the moment.

A Big Damn Hero, colourised

And it's not the whole colour scheme of the movie changing, here. Everything else is still muddy and grey and terrible, but Wonder Woman is a shining beacon in all that. She is more than her surroundings, different, a literal piece of another world marching through no man's land. But the film doesn't stop at just using colour to set Wonder Woman apart, as she climbs the ladder out of the trenches - literally transcending the confines of the war that Steve Trevor just established for us - we get a close up of her shield and its sunburst design. The world of men has, until now, been entirely overcast. The skies in London and the front lines are all grey, and here comes Wonder Woman carrying a sun as she rises over the trenches and the battlefield. Wonder Woman is a new dawn for the war, a clean, colourful, transcendent dawn. The film is showing us not just through the narrative, but the visuals, that she is different, that she is more, that if she is not literally divine, she is like the divine. And from there, we can get more specific. Characterisation I've already gone over how Wonder Woman charging into no man's land is not merely heroism in the classic courageous comic book super hero sense, but defiance. Wonder Woman knows what she's about. She's a Big Damn hero and she's not going to be held back by small problems like "it's impossible" or "this isn't why we're here", she's going to go and do what a warrior does and fight, and do what Big Damn Heroes do and save the civilians. This is consistent with what we've seen earlier in the film. Wonder Woman wasn't going to be persuaded to stay home just because her mother and Queen told her to. She's not fussed that she stealing sacred and important relics of her people before she leaves. It all serves her moral compass and that sits fine with her. Defiance is nothing new, but in all the ways Wonder Woman has gone into battle before, she's never faced anything like a trench full of machine guns and mortars, a battle that has been going on almost a year with no end in sight. This is new. And what does Wonder Woman take as her weapon into this impossible to cross battle field called no man's land?

Nothing.

Just your average rising sun symbolism casually climbing unarmed onto the worst place on Earth.

She goes in empty handed. Even when she does draw something, it's not her magic rope or her god slaying sword, it's her shield, a piece of equipment designed to defend, not attack or kill. We know she has a sword, we know she can kick all kinds of arse with her magic rope, but against rifles she chooses her bare hands, against mortars and machine guns, she chooses her shield. This speaks volumes about who Wonder Woman is. She is a warrior who chooses protection before assault, whose default is non-lethal options. And why does she go into battle? It's not because she sees that the English soldiers around here are somehow on the right side of battle. In fact, she's largely silent on their role in the war or the politics of the war at all. What motivates her into defiance and Big Damn Heroics in this scene, in this moment in the film's narrative, is a civilian crying out for help from anybody who comes by, and of all the people who walk by, Wonder Woman is the only one who acts. This, again, makes her distinct from everybody around her, and it ensures that we understand her motivation. This isn't a war with an unambiguous villain like the NAZIs to punch in the face, but it is a war where innocent non-combatants are suffering, and that, not the morality of war or choosing sides, is what pushes Diana into action. And while there is brief dialogue in which she makes it clear that she needs to do something to help the people of the village, largely everything we learn about Wonder Woman in this scene is through her actions. There's no explicit dialogue where she explains "My sword is only for true villains like Ares." The film doesn't feel the need to spell that out for us because it's a visual medium and the action speaks for itself. When I say this scene is a defining moment, I mean that it reveals significant aspects of the character and sets in stone aspects that had been shown or hinted at before. A lot about this scene requires some knowledge of the rest of the film to truly appreciate, but even if this scene was all you had, you would get an immediate understanding of who Wonder Woman is what she's all about.

This is part of the different the colours and imagery were highlighting how she is special and different, this is the part of her that is different. Even her companions charging in after her come in guns blazing, weapons in hand. They are heroes, but they are not Big Damn Heroes. Visual Motif We need to go back to the start of the film again, to the story of the Amazons. Queen Hypolita tells a younger Wonder Woman about the history of the Amazons. While she narrates the story, the events play out on screen in scenes that look like slow moving, animated paintings. The aesthetic here resembles Renaissance paintings of scenes and characters from Greek myth. The Amazons rising from the water resemble Raphael's Triumph of Galatea, when Ares falls it harkens to Cossiers' 'Prometheus Carrying Fire'.

Triumph of Galatea, Raphael

Prometheus Steals Fire, Cossiers

Even before this scene, our first slow motions shots occur while Diana is watching the Amazons practice their various arts of war. Then we see slow motion used again in the battle on the beach of Themyscira. Slow motion is used in both these scenes in combination with the elaborate and impressive fight choreography and stunt work to frame the Amazons in the same mythic way. On the beach, they're almost frozen into those same Renaissance paintings of mythical creatures, as almost frozen as the scenes from the prologue.

Hmm, where have we seen staging like that before?

It'd be all to easy to write off the use of slow motion as a stylistic choice, because Snyder was still producer of the DCEU at this point and Snyder loves slow motion and has often used it as a purely stylistic choice. But the slow motion is being used deliberately here. The slow motion is almost exclusively associated with the action of Amazons and their mythic nature. They are inexorably connected. Although there are fight scenes between the beach and our perfect scene, and Wonder Woman is at the centre of them all, none of them include slow motion. But as soon as she's climbing the ladder, transcending the war, rising like a sun over man's dirty, dark, and grim world, she's moving in slow motion. She is not just a warrior, not just a hero, she is an Amazon, a living myth marching into battle. Wonder Woman is not a super soldier, not a genius billionaire philanthropist playboy, not an above average man, not a well trained human in a costume, she is more than human, she is a Big Damn Legendary Hero.

I will use this image as many times as I can

Even to this day, it is a reoccurring idea in the DC film universe that the heroes are truly super human, they are more than mere mortals can be. But rather than the obnoxious and misguided Christ symbolism we saw through Man of Steel, Wonder Woman uses a running visual motif to link Wonder Woman to her mythical origins and that is more important here, in this scene, than in any moment before it because this scene is largely about contrasting the war and the world of men with everything that Wonder Woman is.

How is she different?

She's a living myth.

You could not layer this idea in this way, through these choices, in anything but the medium of film. Oh yeah, the music. Look, I'm not at all qualified to speak about music but it needs to be said that the music does a lot to carry the emotional weight of this scene. Of course it does. A good score carries a lot of the emotional weight in any film. But what's striking about the score here and that I want to mention briefly before I go back to not talking about things I have very little business pretending I'm an expert on is that the score's pace here matches the scene with incredible precision.

It begins small and low, letting the visuals and dialogue carry the scene at first, and then as Wonder Woman rises from the trench, the music rises with her in tempo and volume. That rise continues but at a crawling pace as the visuals do the heavy lifting during those first slow motion shots, merely keeping pace with the speed of the cinematography and of Diana's movement. Even when the machine guns force her to stop running, she leans forward into the attack and the music moves with her. Then when the film has made the points it wants to make - all the stuff I've said above - and Wonder Woman charges forward full force, the music swells at last, letting out all that building tension to join Wonder Woman in her bombastic, beautiful assault on the Germans.

Diana getting impatient for a conclusion

In Conclusion In May 2015, I wrote a blog called 'Action Speaks Louder Than Action' in which I said that the best scenes do multiple things. They move the A plot forward, but also develop characters and their relationships, and build on what we know about established characters and the world. This scene is absolutely doing more than one thing. The scene does exist because this is an action movie and we should have action scenes in an action movie, but good action scenes are more than spectacle. While the actual plot is advanced only a little, it advances Wonder Woman and Steve Trevor's relationship, reveals a whole lot about the character of Wonder Woman as a person, and even more about how she relates to her environment by way of contrast. That's not just a contrast of character and world, but of the two worlds in the film, the world of men and the world of myth. And as a film, it uses all of the tools available to it: music, acting, dialogue, visual effects, colour and lighting, a range of camera angles and shots. Nothing is spared. The level of consideration is staggering. The film makers knew this was going to be a big moment, a defining moment, and they poured every drop of intelligence and creativity and artistic skill into it. It's so good, it even withstands the greater flaws of the film as a whole, it's so good that you can pull a lot of important information from it without even seeing the rest of the film. I defined a perfect scene as one that can't be significantly improved. Is there room for significant improvement here? How could there be? They've covered all their bases, used every tool, filled every moment, every lighting and costuming choice, every action, every shot with purpose, and they've done it all brilliantly. This is smart film making. Beyond that self-evident, outstanding technical proficiency of making a coherent, engaging, pleasant-to-look-at piece of cinema, they have woven a subtextual tapestry that gives more meaning to what we are seeing than "Wonder Woman does a cool exciting thing" while also still being "Wonder Woman does a cool and exciting thing." Can it be made significantly better?

No way, friend.

This scene is perfect.

One more time for good measure

On Not Writing

About six months ago I stopped writing.

Well, not quite true. You see, I’d been working on a project and hit a wall. I’d made some big mistakes, stylistically, and about half way through the first draft those mistakes had caught up with me and clamped down hard on my work. Going forward meant starting again.

Ouch.

Every time I looked at the project, I felt like a ghost being chased by a roided up Pacman. The mistake was too much and my buzz, the feeling of riding high on a wave of successful experimentation, was gone - because that experimentation was not successful. So I filed it away for a day I’d feel better, when I knew how I wanted to proceed, and I went on with other things. I worked on some other projects, wrote some short stories, revised another manuscript I’ve been sitting on, and did my best to ignore this malformed aborted manuscript hanging over me and saying “You know, I’m actually pretty good if you’d JUST FIX ME ALREADY.”

The stress got to me. I felt stifled and trapped and I decided I needed a break. So I put away my fiction writer hat and went to one of my great loves: role playing games. I started reading a lot of role playing game books, some RPG design forums, and I started experimenting with hacking and homebrewing some games I like. Then I went on to designing my own system. A couple of them, in fact. And then I decided enough was enough. Holiday was over. Time to work. And I sat at my desk and looked up and saw the pointy end of that bastard manuscript and said, “Noooooope” and went back to games.

And so, six months ago, I kind of just went on an indefinite hiatus from writing books, which is a weird thing for a small time indie author with lots of ambition and not much renown to do. Which is why I decided to come back.

And I sat under that fucking failure of an experiment again and I said “This time for sure!” like an optimistic and determined moose about to reach into his top hat again to the chagrin of his friends.

And I began to revise. I grit my teeth, I rebuked myself for crappy work, and I dug through the work I’d done and I fixed it. And then I finished fixing it and I kept going. And over the next three days I cranked out about 15,000 words. Averaging 5k a day is good for me at any time. At my best I can do 10k a day but it’s never sustainable. If I’d written 5k a day, I could have written Sorceress’ Blood in under a week. That’s the kind of mad feverish no-fucks-given writing I did to knock out the first version of Summer’s end in a long weekend. Before I knew it, I hadn’t just fixed that broken, half-written manuscript, I’d completed it and started a new one.

And then I got to reflecting on what this experience had taught me. There’s no point in fucking up if you don’t learn from it. And I did. And it gave me some thoughts on that legendary bugbear that is writer’s block.

I’ve been critical of writer’s block in the past. Not of writers who are blocked, but of the very idea of writer’s block. I haven’t changed my mind. Writer’s block isn’t real. Everybody gets burnt out, everybody struggles, everybody feels their sweet syrupy strawberry flavoured lychee scented creative juices turn hard and crusty and the whole process starts to resemble pulling your own teeth. But that’s not unique to writers. Everybody has those struggles. To call that experience for writers “writer’s block” is to dignify it with a uniqueness and mythical nature it does not deserve. And to hear writers talk, the concept of writer’s block has become mythical. It has become a spectre that haunts us all and, so I’ve been told, keeps writers from putting words on the page for years at a time.

So, as I’ve said, get clear of this notion that there’s some special writers-only monster under our beds. Take that idea and kick its unwanted arse clear our of your life.

And then sit down and let’s talk about something more practical. Here’s how I learned to write again after faffing about for way too long.

1. It’s okay to take a break. Like, don’t spend the better part of a year hiding from your work like I did. That was stupid. But you can just take it easy and de-stress and do something you like. While I was hiding from my obligations, I took up drawing again and it let me be creative without the pressure I feel from doing this whole author thing. I don’t need to be good when I draw because I’m only doing it for myself, not for an external audience. So if you do need to walk away and do something else for a while, maybe pick up a hobby, just do it. Clear your mind, dude.

2. Eventually you have to write and you’ve got to make that your goal. There’s no way to trick yourself into creating words without sitting down and punching keys or pressing the pen to paper. You’re not going to find the hidden valley of the magic word fungus, eat of the fruit, and watch as a completed first draft springs from your ear. Don’t approach this problem as slaying the mythical beast, approach it as bringing yourself back to the point where you can just write.

And, at the end of the day, writing isn’t actually that fucking hard. I’m here making a big deal out of not doing it for so long and the struggles of sitting at my computer and pushing buttons to tell elaborate lies. I’m being a big fucking drama queen because it feels dramatic, and live I’ve overcome something but let’s all take a moment to ground ourselves on the fact that we’re literally just pushing buttons. Be clear about what your goal is and know that it is something you can accomplish. You will accomplish it.

3. Don’t start by writing. I’m aware that sounds counter intuitive but for real, don’t start with new words. You’re in this situation because new words are your problem. You’re getting all clogged up with new words that you can’t quite recognise. So begin with old words. If, like me, you had something waiting for you that demanded editing, begin by doing an editing pass on what you have. Or start with an old work and start another edit of that (but, seriously, don’t do this to something published. It will drive you to a whole new level of fucking mad). Hell, grab a book from your bookshelf, begin transcribing it and, as you go, edit what you’re reading. How would you improve it? How can you rephrase it to read better to you? How would you write this dialogue to fit your characters, or sound more natural in your mind? This is basically using a writing prompt and is a writer’s tool as old as Moses. Make it easy on yourself and start with the words in front of you.

4. Be passionate. Love what you’re writing. You are the first audience for your work and if you don’t love writing it, if you don’t love (or love to hate) the characters, if you aren’t interested in the story, and if you don’t love it when you read over it and revise in spite of its many flaws you’re now fixing, why would you expect somebody else to love it? What will you do for motivation when the fires of inspiration cool and leave you with just your regular levels of writing enthusiasm? If you’re not in love with your work and doing the work, maybe you need to say goodbye to this project. This is also why you should pick a book you enjoy if you’re starting with somebody else’s work. Turn that exercise of refining into your own glorious fan fiction in which Harry Dresden gives up magic, learns Tae Kwon Do, and becomes the sidekick to Lady Legasus. Love your art enough to want to share that love.

5. Start writing new words. Hey, guess what, bucko? I tricked you. YOU WERE WRITING THE WHOLE TIME. Editing is writing. It’s fixing words, it’s creating blanks and then filling them in, and it’s creative. And now that those creative juices are flowing and you’re putting words on the page, you’re writing again. The fires of passion are burning, words are flowing, the story is there to be written. So write it. You’re already there. The fires in the word factory are burning. Just keep going.

And that, in brief, is the road I took back into writing. And this isn’t just a “5 Easy Tips To Beat Writer’s Block” because there’s a lot of reasons not to write beyond struggling with your creativity. But no matter the reason you stop, the longer that hiatus stretches out, the harder it is to start again. Anybody who has found themselves in the zone, with the words pouring out of them and onto the page, knows that writing is like rolling a cartoon snowball down a hill. Momentum is good for it and creation compounds. The hardest part is getting started again. You’ve got to get to the top of the hill before you start rolling.

And, of course, it would be dishonest for me to say that this is all there is to writing, let alone writing well, or that it’s the only way of overcoming a block, but it’s enough for one rambling reflection on my life as a writer distilled into some, hopefully, helpful insights into the creative process.

The Australian War Memorial and Operation Sovreign Borders

The Australian War Memorial is a memorial, museum, and archive in Canberra, our nation's capital city. It is owned and run by the government. The war memorial's website says "The Memorial's purpose is to commemorate the sacrifice of those Australians who have died in war."

The Oxford Dictionary gives us two definitions of "commemorate":

1. Recall and show respect for (someone or something).
2. Mark or celebrate (an event or person) by doing or producing something.

Brendan Nelson, the director of the War Memorial, wants to expand the war memorial to include a section on Operation Sovreign Borders.

Operation Sovreign Borders is, in short, a military operation to keep asylumn seekers coming to Australia by boat. It is the result of federal policy which - again, in short - means collecting any asylumn seekers who come to Australia by boat and dumping them in concentration camps run by Australia in Papua New Guinea and Nauru. And, yes, they are concentration camps, which are defined by the oxford dictionary are:

1. A place in which large numbers of people, especially political prisoners or members of persecuted minorities, are deliberately imprisoned in a relatively small area with inadequate facilities, sometimes to provide forced labour or to await mass execution. 

Politician Richard Marles has spoken out in support of the extension and inclusion of Operation Sovreign Borders at the War Memorial. If you're wondering what Operation Sovreign Borders has to do with war, well, you're not alone. Even Marles' political colleagues don't agree with the plan.

My first response to reading about this was a simple but instinctive "Fuck you and the nationalism you rode in on."

But, you know what? I've changed my mind.

Build it. Make it big. Make it grand. Put it out for all to see. Please forever immortalise Australia's decision to wage war on the desperate, our betrayal of the ideals sung in our national anthem*, the decision to be cruel and selfish and hateful.

And then remind yourself that a war memorial is not a place of reverence, not a place to bask in jingoism and chest thumping national pride. Nor is a war memorial a Questacon** of history, a place for school children and tourists to take a walking history-lesson on all Australian military actions.

What it is, what it should be, is a place of regret. It is a reminder of humanity's darkest history, of how a few sent many to die, of the savagery inside us that we pretend we have expelled in the millennia long process of civilising the species. A war memorial is a reminder that we do not owe our war veterans and our dead esteem and celebration, we owe them an apology. We owe them an apology because we - we the broken-at-the-core mankind - chose to embrace the worst of our nature and put the suffering of that choice on them and dared to call it "necessary" when it was simply easy to give in and ask them to wear those consequences for us.

So build it. Take my tax money and build your commemoration of our national shame. But do it knowing that we were - we are - wrong, we are fundamentally and irrevocably wrong. Do it knowing this is not a tribute, but a scar, a blight on our history.

And if you can't do that, fuck you and the nationalism you rode in on.

*The lyrics are literally "For those who've come across the seas / We've boundless plains to share"

** Questacon is a museum of science and technology with lots of interactive exhibits. It's a lot of fun.

Diversify Your Skillset

A man goes to the school of a great swordsman. The man says, "Master, how long will it take me to become an expert with the sword?" The master says "It takes five years to become an expert swordsman." The man says, "But, master, what if I spend every waking moment of every day practicing and training?" The master smiles and says "That's different. If you do that, it will take you ten years."

If being an author is your goal, if that's what you want to do with life, then you should treat being an author like a job. Work at it, get better, produce finished material. And just because you decide you're a professional word wizard who takes this shit serious, yo, doesn't mean writing will stop being fun. But odds are it will become more stressful. When you're not just writing for yourself, when you're not just writing for the pleasure of it, you become acutely aware of your audience (even if they're mostly imaginary at this point) and, more than likely, of the higher standards of performance you're now imposing on yourself.

Taking a step from writing as hobby and fun times to writing as work and fun times without replacing it with a new hobby and fun times is the perfect recipe for burnout and burnout is not what you want. What you want is a way to relax and to engage the creative parts of your mind without feeling the pressure of performing for an audience. I believe this is why so many creators and performers take up creative side projects. Stephen King is in a band, Robert Downey Jr sings, Jim Carey and David Bowie paint. Creative people are creative because of an intense desire to do so. If you also like to play video games and watch movies, that's cool, too. But you should spend some of your leisure time on something that stimulates you creatively.

Me? I run and play a lot of role playing games in my leisure time. It's how I get the bulk of my socialising and creative stimulation when I'm not writing. But ever the experimenter, I've spent a lot of time on drawing, photography, creating pixel art and, most recently, playing with Lego. I'll be honest with you, most of it is intensely, painfully, almost shamefully amateurish. In fact, a lot of it's just bad. But that doesn't matter, because I'm not creating for an audience. I might show them to interested parties - and to make a point, I'm going to show it to you - but these creative efforts are for me. They are a way to relax on my own and still be creative.

I've said before that statements like "you're not a real writer if you don't write every day" are bullshit. Real writers are people who write. There's no other box you need to tick. If you write for half an hour every weekday morning, well done, you're a writer. If you write for six hours on Saturday and spend the rest of your week living up to your other responsibilities, congratulations you're a writer. If you can and do make the time to write every day, excellent. Go you. Just because you don't have to, doesn't mean it's not awesome if you do. But you'll also probably burnout faster if you don't take care of yourself.

And you know what? The more you do in life that isn't writing, the better your writing will be. This comes back to something else I've often said: writing what you know is a challenge to know more. Your experiences away from the writing desk is fuel for the imagination.

Okay. I'm about to show off some of my non-writing creative endeavours. You will not be impressed by these. I will not be basking in the glory of these works. But neither do I care. Not caring is fundamental to the practice. I actively turn off the perfectionist parts of my brain and just create for the fun of it. If I get better incidentally, great. But if I don't? That's fine too.

We've Boundless Pains To Share

Where I'm sitting now, on couch, in my home, was, until the late 1700s, the land of the Darug people. Respect to these original custodians, past, present, and future.
On January 26, 1788, the first fleet arrived on Australian shores and with them came the ancestors of my family. It is one event in a history of infinite coincidences that led to my birth. But it is also an event that set into motion a relatively short history of deliberate efforts to take a land from a people, and then to eradicate those people. It is a planned extermination that was frighteningly successful, and it is a mark on our history that we are not nearly as ashamed of as we should be. You may say it's ancient history, that you didn't do it, that you refuse to suffer white guilt because of what some people did hundreds of years ago*.
But there are no Australians free of that legacy. There are no Australians who do not benefit or suffer as a result of what has occurred and what has been perpetrated on the Aboriginal people. The price of white man's burden is blood. The price of luck in this lucky country is blood.
We cannot change history, but we must acknowledge it. We must acknowledge that history is a living narrative, one that touches the present, and for some, history's touch is painful. To celebrate Australia on this day is to revel in the pain that Australia's first people feel from history's white hot grasp. It is fuel for that agonising fire. This statement is not theory, it is not conjecture, it is fact. We know it is fact because they have told us that our celebration hurts.
And that's all you need to know. That's all that matters. It hurts. It hurts people now. To continue calling January 26 Australia Day is to do wrong by the country we're supposed to be celebrating, wrong by the people who make it Australia.
There is so much pain in our history, so much that must be fixed. They will be difficult problems to solve. But this is an easy one. This one has a simple solution.
Change the date.
*Aboriginal children were still being taken from their families in the 1960s. This isn't a crime of hundreds of years ago.

Male Feminism

There's been a lot of talk about sexual assault and harassment on my radar, lately. As a result, I've found myself in an above average number of discussions on women's issues and speaking out, sometimes quite harshly, for more and better action, and attempting to silence bullshit from the #notallmen brigade. Over the last month, as I've engaged in these discussions and reflected on my position as a feminist, I've come to a greater appreciation of the biggest challenge I face as a male feminist.

I'm flying blind.

It's an important realistion - and by no means new or ground breaking - for any male feminist to understand that they are not a woman and do not understand the life experience of a woman. I do not understand what it is like to live under systemic oppression, I have not been sexually assaulted and I face a very low chance of that happening to me in my life, let alone every day I wake up.

Not understanding these things intimately means, of course, that I must listen, I must be empathetic, I must trust and believe women when they speak about their experiences and highlight the problems they face as a woman. Feminism is not merely academic, it must be practical, it must push a cause forward, it must work to solve problems and the way for non-lady feminists to help is to be co-pilot of the cause, following the lead of women who know what the problem is and what needs to be done.

Again, nothing ground breaking, nothing revolutionary. Listening to women is "Being a Feminist 101."

But there is a practical issue.

Sometimes, even often, women don't want to talk. No, scratch that. Women often feel that they cannot talk, or that talking is pointless, or that talking is dangerous. I'm not proud of how vitriolic I've been in recent discussion, but do you know what consequences I faced for being so aggressive towards men who I saw as being a problem?

None.

In fact, I was called a smart guy.

There's no doubt that if a woman said the things I said, the way I said them, publicly and loudly and aimed directly at a group of men, she'd have risked dismissal, patronising, invalidation at best, rape threats and actual physical reprisal.

This is the reality of feminism today. Generally, the worst a man can expect is being called a "cuck" or maybe he'll just get complimented. It's not unreasonable for a woman to expect rape threats or any number of far more personal attacks.

This is why I never expect or ask a woman to speak up. This is why I do, even when no women will. This is one more reason men MUST be feminists. But I've talked about the use of privilege as an ally, before. Go look through the blog's archives for an explanation of that. That's not why we're here.

Recapping: Male feminists can only fly blind. Male feminists must be copilots of the cause because we're flying blind. In the absence of a woman willing to speak up, a man must take the lead.

That's a hell of a recipe for a screw up.

Fortunately, if you're doing a good job listening and staying informed on the evolving philosophy of feminism and if you're letting a lady lead when she's willing to, then you're probably not going to go to astray or do wrong by anybody.

But just to be sure, I have a request. See, this blog is not just for male feminists, it's not just a reminder of the basic best practice for feminist advocacy. This blog is also for women. It's to say "We know we can't fully grasp what it's like to be you, but we're doing our best to help in spite of those limitations." It is also to to ask - having established the biggest challenge of being a male feminist - that if you see a man fighting the good fight, let him know he's on the right track and that he's actually helping.

Just to be clear, I'm not asking for women to thank men. I never will ask a woman to thank me for being a feminist. I'm not asking for validation or ego stroking or congratulations or appreciation of any kind, I'm just asking you to help us keep flying straight.

The Diary of No Fate (A Shadowrun Actual Play) Prelude

As part of preparing for this game, the GM asked the players to describe a recent run that went wrong, and what the character's life is like day-to-day. Since there's no actual update on the diary, I thought I'd post those instead.

A Day In The Life of No Fate

Across from Victoria Harbour, on the south west of Kowloon Peninsula is Yau Tsim Mong. Along the water's edge is Tsim Sha Tsui, Yau Tsim Mong's touristville, distinct for it's affordable middle class hotels in the golden mile and the Hong Kong slum chic that sells so well to fans of glamerous, high budget Hong Kong trids. Keep following Nathan Road inland, and you'll come to Yau Ma Tei and Mong Kok. This is also the Hong Kong of the crime and kung fu trids, but it's the sleazy low budget trids. This is the bridge between Hong Kong's world of business elite and the horrors of the walled city. This is the Hong Kong of narrow roads, match box sized apartments in brutal high rise buildings, the Hong Kong of market stalls, street food and, of course, the Hong Kong of triads and tongs. This is the real Hong Kong.

Perfect place for a dwarf girl looking for a genuine cultural experience! No Fate loves it. Sure, it rains from late spring to early winter, and sure' that's run off from the thousands of high rise window mounted AC units, and sure that's bad for her allergies, and sure there's three times as many gangers here as anywhere else in Hong Kong, but she's got a flash apartment. It used to be a HoHan Guesthouse, back when Yau Ma Tei still attracted visitors. Rok owns it now, rents out sections to local runners. No Fate lives in a basement apartment. You kind have to go down a couple of dead end streets and through an alley or two, into an empty plaza that the HoHan backs onto, then through the garage door off to the side of the old mural, but it comes with garage and workshop space, so who's to complain that it's a little hard to find and you don't leave the house without a loaded gun? Rent's good, electricity and water work, and Rok's a nice guy. Probably.

On a regular day, a day without Business, No Fate wakes up early, real early, dons her respirator, a "just in case" backpack, and some armoured running clothes and goes for a run around Yau Ma Tei. Toxic weather be damned, a girl's got to stay fit. After her run, around when most other people are waking up, she has a light nutrisoy breakfast and checks her regular Gunhaver and the Shadow Commando fan bulletins for news, leaks and on-set photos, then it's round the house chores. You know the kind, scrubbing down benches, helping the autovac get under furniture, washing sweaty clothes and vomit covered rugs, maintenance on the Ramshankle, oiling the warhawks.

Lunch is street food. Always street food. No Fate's apartment is a stone's throw from the Yau Ma Tei 'Poor Mystic's Market', which, in addition to the plentiful junk stores, alchemists, and talismongres, serves up great local Cantonese street food. Occasionally something not soy or krill based even falls off the back of a truck and makes its way into the market food. Either way, for the most authentic and freshest synthetic food substitutes, you go to a market.

After lunch, now loaded up on energy and faux carbs, No Fate heads out for a little urban exploration. There's still lots of Hong Kong she hasn't seen, so whether it's parkouring her way across Kowloon or riding the world's longest elevator all the way to the top, there's a lot for a foreigner to see. A few deck jockeys have told No Fate that the local tours are even better in VR, less crowded, breathable air, minimum risk of being mugged, but she finds it hard to believe a virtual ride up the world's longest escalator could be nearly as exciting as the real thing.

Come evening, the Tsim Sha Tsui markets open up. These are an experience in and of themselves, and No Fate is a sucker for an experience. She does most of her shopping at the markets. She wouldn't dream of going anywhere but Mr Choi for the off-the-rack necessities like pants and firearms, and she'll stop in there if she needs to fence something from a run or restock on ammo, but for everything else (like replacement commlinks, synth-leather boots, and smartlink goggles under the counter) there's no place like the night market for good prices and no questions. She's pretty sure the Gunhaver Replica Armoured Dusters aren't authentic, though, so watch out. The other great thing about the night markets is more street food. The markets stretch across multiple roads, closing off traffic for the evening. In addition to food stalls, local restaurants adjacent to the market set up extra seating on the road, making themselves a de facto part of the market experience. You haven't lived Hong Kong unless you've been sat between two stranger on a chair made for a human, served steamed dumpings in a synth-bamboo steamer and given troll sized chopsticks to eat with.


If there's no shopping to be done, No Fate might browse the markets on her way home from her explorations, but will head home early, throw on a runner trid or two, eat a simple nutrisoy dinner and get to bed early, lulled to sleep by the distant sounds of gang violence her neighbours gearing up for their own Business.

A Run Gone Bad

About a month ago, my fixer contacted me to arrange a meet with Mr Wu. We met in a booth at a Mong Kok restaurant. There was me; White Noise, the decker; a mage named Sun; and a chromed heavy called Quan, our so-called security expert. White Noise had a respectable enthusiasm, Sun was a walking mystery, and in five minutes I could tell Quan didn't know security from his own ass, but he looked like he could squeeze a KE riot helmet into drek with his bare hands, so maybe security expert was a euphamism.

Mr Wu wanted us to get into the board room and president's office of Soba Foods (a subsidiary of Wuxing Inc) and plant some bugs. B&E, standard biz, but I hadn't gone five steps from the restaurant before I got another buzz from my fixer. Special instructions from Mr Wu: My number one responsibility was to keep Sun alive. I had to assume Mr Wu had special instructions for everyone else, too, and that set the alarm bells ringing.

It's like Gunhaver says: Running with only half the info is running blind, and the shadows are deep enough. Still, Gunhaver always takes the job and so do I.

Sun had a plan to get us in via the roof of the Soba Foods building after business hours. The building next to it had an observation deck, and he could use magic to get us from one roof to the next. Once there, White Noise could give the security system a hiccup and we'd walk in theough the roof acces.
Sun went over first, followed by Quan. While White Noise and I waited our turn, she told me she knew Mr Wu had given me special instructions, that she'd got them too; A request for a particular paydata while she was in Soba Food's system. That prompted her to do some extra leg work on the job. She found out Mr Wu worked for Eastern Tiger, he'd given us all extra instructions except Quan, and I should be on my toes because this job was bigger than corp espionage. Then Sun grabbed her and she flew across to Soba Foods before she could tell me anymore.

Going in from the top via the stairs, we hit the board room and the president's office in no time and didn't run into any security. White Noise stayed on the roof to deck in safety. We were done and about to buzz when she started freaking over comms. I assumed she'd been tagged by ice, but she screamed security had found her, the whole thing was a set up, we were fragged, and needed to bug out. I agreed, but Sun finally dropped his bomb on us: Bugging the building was only half the run.

Turns out, the president of Soba Food has a daughter, and her apartment had a bad infestation of roaches, so while it was being cleaned, she'd taken up temporary residency in the Soba Foods office building. This was now a snatch & grab.

Quan had other ideas. He pulled his gun on us and told us to sit tight and security was on its way. He was a plant. Probably not even thebreal Quan. Sun panicked and tried to hit him with a spell but it backfired; blew half his brains right out his nose. Quan said something about the feng shui working to disrupt unwanted magic, an arcane security courtesy of Soba's parent company. I didn't ask for details, just shot the bastard in his knees and in his eyes and did what White Noise suggested: I bugged out.

Good thing about being small is, in a modern building, you can always find a McLane exit.
I don't know what happened to White Noise, but Wuxing Security hasn't come knocking on my door, so I'm guessing she's dead. I called in to my fixer when I was clear and laid it all out for him. Chummer wasn't even mad, just told me to duck and cover for a few days.


Never heard from Mr Wu or Eastern Tiger, but it's like Gunhaver says: The big corps have got a memory a thousand Mr Johnson's long.