On Not Reading the Comments (Or, For Real, I Shouldn't Have)

You're not supposed to write angry. It's pretty much the first rule of writing, right after your teacher tells you that there are no rules and right before he/she lists several. Don't write angry. Doesn't mean you can't write about the things that make you angry, just that...if you're fired up in the wrong way, you'll lose your objectivity and probably make your point less effectively.

I've had waves of anger about this particular issue on and off for quite some time, the most recent of which happened maybe an hour ago. Let's see if enough time has passed.

Recently, when asked about the possibility of LGBT characters in the Star Wars universe, The Force Awakens director J.J. Abrams offered his enthusiastic endorsement of the idea. Let's be clear: this wasn't an announcement of an LGBT character, nor even a statement of intent to include one on screen. Rather, it was a statement of support of the possibility of non-heterosexual characters existing. In a fictional universe.

Right away, the comments on the piece I was reading started populating with rage. I shouldn't have read the comments. Nobody should ever read the comments. But I did, so here we are.

Filtering out the blatant and purposeful homophobia, which isn't worth addressing because nobody here has time now or ever, there was a lot of this (paraphrased, because to directly quote would mean going back into the comments):

"And we should care why?"

"What does sexual preference matter, it's STAR WARS"

"Why? How often is sex a motivator in the plot? We don't know about it because it's not pertinent. Will this character blurt it out in a fight? Making sexuality a device to appease a community? Really?"

Let's take that last one first.

Open depictions of heterosexual attraction run rampant throughout the Star Wars universe and media in general. Most of us just don't think about it because it is the societal norm. Han Solo didn't blurt out, "I'm attracted to ladies," in a fight. Instead, he openly flirted with Princess Leia and then just straight up smooched her before they directly declared their romantic love for each other over the course of two movies. Message delivered. And that became a big motivator. It's still driving parts of the narrative.

So. Don't tell me character orientation shouldn't be a part of movies unless you're going to argue that every straight or straight-presenting couple's presence is superfluous to the story and should be kept out of your face.

Now, let's take the other two comments, which are branches on the same tree, as it were.

When we ask, "Why should I care," or, "What does it matter," often what we are really saying is, "I do not care," or, "This does not matter to me." And you know what? That's okay. Really. It's okay to not care about stuff when other people do, just as it's okay to like/dislike something that others feel the opposite about.

The problem lies in the attitude that, because something does not matter to you, it shouldn't matter to anybody else either.

'Cause here's the thing: the subtext of, "This does not matter to me," particularly in this scenario, is, "This is not me."

I am a not a straight person. When I get to see my orientation fairly represented in the stories I love, it means the world to me. It makes me feel a little more seen, a little more recognized. A little more understood within the framework of the world at large.

There are so many types of people in this world, all of whom are real and valid and deserving of a place in our stories - not as tokens, but as heroes and villains and leaders and lovers, because that's who we all can be.

Media representation is something that gets taken for granted by the majority of us because we are fortunate enough to see ourselves on the page and screen all the time. It's why so much confusion arises when the whiteness or straightness or maleness of anything gets questioned - what's the problem? Good stories are good stories, right? What does it matter?

It matters when that story is not, "you."

And it's beyond time we start making space for each other.

Don't tell me the idea of a Resistance pilot turning his charm on another man at the bar or two gals holding hands in the background of a scene is an impossible and ridiculous concept in a world where a wee CGI alien fondly calls a Wookiee her, "boyfriend."

Let go. Open up. Consider the fact that just because it's not about you doesn't mean it isn't important.

And take a minute to think about why you're so upset about an answer to an award season question about something that hasn't even happened yet and, hell, possibly never will.

Try being upset that it's a question that still has to be asked at all.

Still Watching the Watchmen? (Or, My Best Gatsby Metaphor Ever)

Big news hit recently, if you're a comic book nerd. Even if you're not, it may have worked its way onto your radar. DC Comics unveiled its plan to release a series of comics featuring the characters of Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons' award winning classic, Watchmen. All indications are that the line will function as a prequel to the bestselling story. It's a buzzworthy announcement. It's also, in my opinion, a mistake.

When I originally started drafting this post the morning of the announcement, I got really technical about all the details of Alan Moore's contract with DC and how the terms of said contract led to their pretty public and messy falling out. Then I realized that this was a big waste of my time and yours, precisely because it was pretty public (and did I mention messy?). So I'm going to operate under the assumption that we all know what happened and go from there. If need be, just go over to Wikipedia and search Alan Moore, or even just Watchmen, and you'll be able to get a decent summary of things.

Watchmen was a groundbreaking work when it was originally released in the 80's and is still viewed as a masterpiece today, often appearing on lists of the greatest novels ever written - a particularly impressive feat for a graphic novel in an age when comics in general are still widely regarded as below second class literature. Before there was any bad blood with the company, prequel and spinoff ideas were discussed, with neither Moore nor artist Dave Gibbons feeling very strongly about any of the projects. When the subject of other writers and artists taking a run with the characters came up, Moore was very vocal about his opposition.

And that, right there, is what irked me the most about DC's announcement: this Before Watchmen prequel project is in direct opposition to the creator's wishes. Moore is a bit of a polarizing figure - brilliant and bitter all at once - but however one feels about the man, it cannot be denied that Watchmen and its characters are his.

Now, what about Gibbons? The artist is every bit as important as the writer, and he's given the prequels his blessing, having remained on better terms with DC over the years. Supporting something that Alan Moore is against does not make Dave Gibbons wrong. However, the support of one of two creators does not stop this whole situation from feeling off. It's as if DC is saying, "Well, we know you don't want us to do this, but we're going to anyway, just because we can," and that doesn't sit well with me.

Am I saying that everybody involved with the project is evil and unethical? Absolutely not. Some very talented people whose work I respect very much are on board, and I will continue to respect them regardless.

However, let's ignore all of that for a moment. Let's say that all the creators and businessmen were BFFs and thought this was a wonderful idea. Ask yourself this: Does there really need to be more?

It almost seems like a stupid question. After all, it's human nature to want more of the things you love. But it's also undeniable that sometimes less is more. As a devoted Watchmen fan, I can honestly say that I don't need, or even really want, to see more of those characters, because the story we got was strong enough to stand on its own. There's something special about only having brief glimpses of what life was like for them in the past based on flashbacks and contextual clues, and being able to imagine the rest for yourself.

The best example of less being more that I can think of is Star Wars. That the film series started with Episode IV in big, bold print, immediately implying a rich history that we did not - and might not ever - know was exciting. The agony of only getting passing references to the Clone Wars and the fall of the Jedi was a secret thrill, especially because it let us know that a whole world existed outside of what we were being allowed to see. The prequel trilogy was destined to be the Daisy Buchanan of Star Wars nerds because that story could never, ever have lived up to what had been imagined for decades.

Sometimes a great story needs to be allowed to stand on its own, for the sake of the reader as much as for the artistic integrity of that story.

So, in case you hadn't guessed, I won't be picking up the prequels. It's a personal choice, one that certainly won't affect DC's bottom line for what will most assuredly be a financially successful project. I can't, in good conscience, as a writer who would feel violated if somebody co-opted my characters. I won't, as a reader who feels that she has already been given the ideal experience.

In the spirit of ending things on a light note, check out this classic from 2009 that, in spite of everything I just said, made us all wish for more Rorschach: