In the interest of avoiding the current topic which is dominating global headlines and is something of a buzzkill, let's have a little fun. My last post (a whole three months ago) was Star Wars-related, so let's keep the joy going.
I have previously mentioned my affection for the series and my anticipation for the conclusion, The Rise of Skywalker. Seems like that happened a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. Doesn't it, though? Disney rolled out the digital release sooner than expected, which has allowed me to revisit the film and put it into perspective vis a vis the previous eight. In short, I'm pleased with where we ended up 42 years after the saga began. NOTE: Huge spoilers ahead. But if you're reading this, and you care, you've already seen this flick multiple times.
ROS was not without its glaring flaws (anyone with a discerning eye or brain can pick apart all nine, truth be told), and J.J. Abrams packed a wallop of a story into less than 2.5 hours, which did make it feel a bit rushed at times. But three elements stay with me that call to the success of the final episode.
1/ We end where we began (i.e. with A New Hope), and the Skywalker name permeates to the final line. Rey can carry on the mantle if she desires, but even if this story means peace for the galaxy and an opportunity for the last Jedi to take early retirement, the great spiritual and political challenges of the saga have been resolved.
2/ I love how J.J. managed to bring us Luke, Leia, and Han in meaningful roles (even if cameos) in a way that felt right. Seriously, did anyone truly believe the big three were going to survive this latest trilogy (with or without Carrie Fisher's passing)? Each made a sacrifice for the greater good to move the galaxy forward. Purpose served.
3/ Rey as the granddaughter of Palpatine and as a Force Dyad with Ben Solo works for me. It explains her mysterious origin story from The Force Awakens and her staggering (and stunning) ability to use the Force. Like with Luke, she was pushed to her limits in order to avoid the dark side of her nature.
Only wee little complaint that I wish were answered (and I'm not alone here): How did Palpatine and his creepy Siths-in-shadow build that massive fleet with planet-killing ability without anyone in the New Republic finding out? This is where space opera requires a wink and a nod and shouldn't be taken so damn seriously. Also, revealing that Palpatine was actually a clone (the movie novelization tells us this) would have helped answer the question of how he "survived" the destruction of the second Death Star.
Quibbles. No more. I'm satisfied.
My last blog focused on my long history with Star Wars, and how the original film sparked my imagination. I talked of my anticipation for Episode IX: The Rise of Skywalker. While I did enjoy the conclusion of the saga (it had pacing issues but packed many great emotional beats), something else happened since that last blog. Specifically, a little project on Disney+ called The Mandalorian.
I must admit I went into this with trepidation, not even sure it would be worth my time. Now, several weeks later, with the eight-episode first season concluded, I can say that I have watched every episode at least three times. (Nerd alert!) The finale received a fourth viewing this morning. Very simply, I haven't been this excited about the franchise in a long, long time. Judging from the reaction across the internet, apparently many people agree.
I could go on and on about Baby Yoda, a character so adorable he'll melt even the most hardened hearts. Instead, I think what excites me about this series (returning in fall 2020) is that it brings the Star Wars universe back to the basics. A compelling story with a few characters who we are given time to know and love (or hate), vivid worlds that take us beyond the familiar sites of the Skywalker saga, and a sharp-witted sense of humor that reminds us we are supposed to be having A GOOD TIME watching these stories. And the production values are top-notch cinema quality.
The Star Wars universe is populated by thousands of worlds with infinite story possibilities. We'll soon be seeing other live-action series featuring Obi-Wan Kenobi and a prequel series to Rogue One featuring Cassian Andor. Is it possible that it's time for the movies to end? I'm thinking ... maybe.
Where do my ideas come from? Perhaps that's not the best question.
When did my imagination take flight? Now, that's more appropriate.
I can tell you the month and year when my flights of fancy were triggered: June 1977. I lived in New Bern, North Carolina, a nice little town along the Neuse and Trent Rivers. The Sun-Journal newspaper (still in operation but probably as doomed as most local papers) was a critical outlet to what was happening in the world. One of my favorite pages was the entertainment page, which included a daily TV grid and the ads for movies playing and coming soon.
The movie in question: Star Wars. (At the time, no episode title.) The movie had been out a few weeks and seemed to be taking the country by storm (as much as anyone might have noticed such things pre-Internet). Our little town, which had two movie theaters for a total of three screens, didn't pick up the big-tent films right away. Then life changed. Forever.
The antiquated Tryon Theater, a relic built in the early 20th century (I'm sure it was around before talkies arrived) was playing Star Wars exclusively. I arrived as a 14-year-old with no expectations. A woman with one foot in the grave and a cigarette butt an inch long took my ticket. The Tryon was almost as old as her.
Armed with soda and popcorn, I took a seat near the rear. What happened next etched itself in my memory. I'm still there today. The music, the crawl, the Imperial star destroyer chasing the blockade runner above Tatooine. And away we went, jaw displaced on the floor.
I went back five more times. I know every line, every beat of that film. I've taught it in ELA classes as examples of the heroes journey. And on December 20, I will be watching Episode IX: The Rise of SkyWalker with two teacher friends who have a shared experience from childhood. The saga will end. Forty-two years of one story. OK, so not every film has been great, and only The Empire Strikes Back matches of exceeds the original. But that's beside the point.
The boy is still there. And the boy hasn't lost his imagination. The boy is still telling stories and has no plans to stop these petty pursuits.
Forty. That's how many worlds exist in the Collectorate, which is featured in my Impossible Future series and in The Father Unbound. Earth is at the center, thirty-nine colonies under her dominion. Until recently, I didn't know most of them even by name. Then I got thinking: What's life like on all those worlds where I haven't yet told stories? What amazing possibilities rest on those worlds for all manner of adventures once the current series is complete?
So, taking a cue from my imagination and Wikipedia, I have embarked on a months-long (at least) deep-dive into the Collectorate, building a digital catalog tracking every world - its history, culture, environmental and resources, government, economics, and so on. One thing that is becoming clear right off: Creating a world from scratch is a daunting enough effort. Times forty? Yeehaw, I'm truly bonkers.
However, I tell myself this will produce a fountain of story possibilities for years, maybe decades - so long as I don't get tired of it and move on to another universe.
Eventually, I'll add the Worlds of the Collectorate page to the website, but if you're reading here, you can get a sneak peek at what has only just begun (click on Earth). I'm hoping some of my readers will embark on this mission with me. It should be a fascinating ride.
The Risen Gods officially took flight today - August 23. The first reviews to come in have been enthusiastic, and I hope to see more in the coming weeks. In the past, I would have relaxed for a while, contemplating the next book I might eventually get around to. Not this time.
School begins Monday, but I refuse to slow down on the writing. Book 3 is well underway, with a couple of surprising character moments in the opening chapters. My target to finish is December, with release sometime during winter. It's now a business.
However, finishing this second book in a series is only possible because I refused to give up on my childhood dream of writing novels. Of going to the stars. Of deciding that it's OK to remain a child at heart. I was certain this was the path when I was in my teens; but had anyone told me these stories wouldn't see the light of day for forty years, I'm sure I would have packed in those dreams. (Yet another reason for having no knowledge of the future.)
Back to the writing. Sam has just made two new friends. This isn't going to end well.
Time travel is fun until it's not. Often, it's a lazy attempt by a writer to unwind a stubborn knot in the story . Outside of Doctor Who, time travel more often than not proves to be an epic fail. Yet I can't think of a sillier rendition of it than what I saw this summer in Avengers: Endgame. If you are a fan of the Marvel universe, You probably cheered and cried for the epic conclusion of what 19 or so movies have been leading toward. You probably also ignored the ridiculous ramifications of this film's central plot device: Time travel. (Note: If you haven't seen the film you probably never will, which is why I'm going to spoil it here. Second note: I'm not an MCU fanatic and am at best a casual watcher).
In short: Big bad Thanos wipes out half of all living things in the universe (that's 3.8 billion humans, give or take). Good guys lose. How to fix it? Go back in time and make sure it never happened. Five years pass. A solution appears. But a few are selfish: I'll help you do this but I get to keep the family I've gained in the past five years. End result: Everyone (and thing) returns five years after vanishing. All of a sudden, half the Earth's population pops back into existence. The film ignores the chaotic, disastrous results of such a reality (did people who vanished while on airplanes reappear in mid-air and plummet to their second deaths?). Imagine all those scenes of: "Hey, honey, I'm home. ... Honey? Who's this woman? Whose baby is that?" Ruh-roh.
I've been tempted to play with time myself, but never to reset a plot. When I have used it (usually altering events by fractions of a second), I don't shy away from showing the disastrous consequences (the end of The Last Everything). If you really want to see the devastating consequences of time travel in action, please binge the stunning, intricate, and incredibly absorbing Dark on Netflix. You'll be glad you did.
Now. I will go back in time and delete this blog entry for something more interesting. (You can do that, too. Just pretend you never read this. No, really. It works.)
How do opening and closing lines make us feel? Does the beginning set unrealistic expectations of what's to come? Does the final line require a level of drama commensurate with what came before? And if it doesn't accomplish this, does it take the wind out of the novel?
You can find lists of the so-called greatest opening and closing lines in history. Just Google them. People qualified (and not) have their own takes. If you're looking for any answers here, look again. I will say this: I do have a tendency (like many writers, I'm sure) to redo the opening lines many times before achieving satisfaction. Really, that's all one can hope. I've stopped trying to find that perfect remedy to hooking a reader. As long as the intrigue on page one is sufficient to push the reader along to page two, then the job is done. Next up is page 2's responsibility to carry the load. As for endings? These I don't tend to beat myself up about. For one, if I got you that far, I must have done something right. Two, I want you to feel satisfied with the total piece. It would be like if you watched a two-hour film and focused all your rage, frustration, or unbridled joy on the final image at the expense of the complete work.
I prefer to think of opening and closings as lines that validate the tone I'm trying to set in the moment, and nothing more. With Book 2 of The Impossible Future series coming out in August, I thought I'd post the first and last lines of books 1 and 2. They are not spoiler-ish, but they do reflect a different tone. And boy, these two books are nothing alike.
From The Last Everything's beginning: Marlena Sheridan brought one son and one monster to this version of Earth because the fool she married sought adventure. The ending: A wash of golden, late-day sunlight cut through the forest. The dust cloud disappeared.
From The Risen Gods' beginning: Jamie Sheridan sensed his humanity peeling away like thin sheets of sun-ravaged skin. The ending: “I’m coming for you, dude. Get my speed?”
As I write this, a certain somebody is speaking in front of the Lincoln Memorial with a wide variety of tanks on display. I suppose that's one way to think about independence. I guess. Another form of independence is taking place in my living room, where 15-year-old Misty (pictured here) is slumbering in her favorite spot because hey, she has well earned freedom from silly rules about lying on the furniture. Now that's the life.
Wouldn't we all love the ability to make our own rules, govern our time, and rarely (if ever) find ourselves accountable to anyone? I'm not suggesting a life of sleeping the hours away like Misty, but having the ability to do those things we love most because we have the financial wherewithal. As I have discussed here before, my full-time job puts me in an English classroom, but the future lies in that place where I work in shorts and a t-shirt doing little more than telling stories for a living. (Selling books would be a helpful side-effect, thank you very much.)
I am one year into the mission of working toward that independence, and that goal remains strong and viable (albeit still a little ways distant). The second book in The Impossible Future is finished, with a release target of August. Much work remains - building a licensed business ain't exactly the joy of life - but objectives are being met, strategies being learned, and a declaration of independence inevitable.
Watch this space as well as Facebook and my newsletter for exciting news and visuals in the coming weeks! If you haven't joined the newsletter, take the plunge! Fill out the pop-up form on this site or on my Facebook page.
(On a side note, neighbors are shooting off fireworks routinely, and Misty doesn't seem put-out, which is truly a new development. Must be that 15-year vibe.)
Endings are an exciting contradiction. You work your butt off for months (maybe even years), and you can't wait to celebrate the final polish, the concluding tweak. At last, you're done. Maybe you're ecstatic, prideful, immensely satisfied. Or perhaps you're one of those folks who wouldn't find satisfaction with a Nobel Peace Prize. Either way, what's done is done, and now we all face the inevitable question: What now?
For good or ill, that's a question a novelist never has to face. There's the editing, the cover, the blurb, the marketing plan, the publishing format, the launch, the blog, the newsletter, the social media contacts, the ads, and on and on it goes. There's always a ridiculous list of what-nows - most of which don't involve writing. That makes the ending of writing a novel bittersweet. As long as I'm not there yet, the what-nows can be put off.
As I write this, I am within a couple weeks of the ending for the second book in my four-book series. In sports terms, I'm nearing halftime. A very LONG halftime. I'd love to have the financial luxury of shoving the book off to paid editors and proofreaders, cover designers, and publicists. Until the time when sufficient money drops from heaven and fills my coffer, I'll remain in DIY mode. And excitedly dreading the final page.
Life comes so fast. Looking at my previous blogs, I realized I haven't contributed any of my remarkable insights in almost six months. Shame on me. Time to do better!
On the publishing front: I'm cracking through the follow-up to The Last Everything, and it's on track for a summer arrival. This story is bonkers. If you read TLE, hold on tight. This book, which picks up right where TLE left off, is an entirely different tale - in substance and style. There's night, then there's day. I'm having a blast writing it, and I hope you'll enjoy it. If you haven't joined my mailing list, what are you waiting for? Go back to the home page or check me out on Facebook.
In the meantime, if you're looking some rocking new science fiction that also happens to be everyone's favorite price, try out this page during the month of May. You might even see a familiar title from yours truly.
I, Frank Kennedy, am a lifelong writer who only recently began publishing novels I have written over the past quarter century. I am also an English teacher, philosopher of the impractical, and occasional oddball. This seems to work out nicely for me.