It's the Principal Of The Thing!

By now anyone who's remotely plugged in to US politics on the web will have heard all about the saga of the Kansas student who tweeted about the state Governor and wound up in the principal's office over it.  In short, she claimed that she had been rude to his face in a joke tweet that was not true - she had been present while he gave a talk to the class but never spoke to him.  Then the Governor's media monitors (yes, he has those) were trawling the web for people's personal opinions on him and decided they just had to make her life difficult for displaying 'disrespect'.  So they called the school and demanded that she be punished and forced to write an apology letter to the Governor, losing any chance the guy ever had at actually earning respect by petulantly demanding it.

She refused, her sister went to the press, and twitter exploded with the tag #heblowsalot.  Now Emma Sullivan is a brief household name, and Sam Brownback's name is mud.  Good job, that'll teach that little bitch for having an opinion.

What I find fascinating about this little story is the gulf that it displays.  Much like the income inequality between the 1% and the 99%, it seems to only ever get wider and those with the power and the privilege are digging in their heels, refusing to give up any ground.  For this situation to become what it did required a series of adults to be, in essence, not adults, and to not care.  It required grown men and women in the big bad world of politics to deliberately seek out negative comments on the Internet, care enough about them to find out who said them and when, and care enough still to think that an 18 year old high school student was worth their time harassing and bullying in order to make an example.  And then it required a school district and principal, presumably adults themselves, to bow to this ludicrous demand for an apology and drag the young woman to the office, berate her for an hour about what a terrible person she was for a tweet that took all of ten seconds to write, and waste everybody's time and energy.  And of course, it required all of these adults to act without the foresight to think that perhaps this was unreasonable and bound to look stupid to the rest of the planet.

An update on the story can be found here: http://videocafe.crooksandliars.com/heather/teen-who-tweeted-about-brownback-wont-apol

Anyway, you may remember from earlier I mentioned that part of the reason I left the Catholic church was the attitude of teachers in my Catholic high school, which tended to range from apathetic to despotic.  This is not purely a Catholic or religious issue, though.  I see it in education, policing, politics, and anything with any kind of hierarchy really.  It is a common human failing that seems to come crashing down particularly hard on the young as they are the most vulnerable.  When you are faced with a teacher screaming in your face with literally no justification, what recourse does a student have?  When they punish you for having done nothing wrong, or their punishment is overzealous and outrageous, what can you do or say?  All the power is theirs, the scales are entirely tipped in their favour.  Or so they think.  So they would insist, and in their childishness they fully believe that it should be so.  Yet this little story demonstrates that in essence they have no power but that which they are granted by people bending to their will.  Emma Sullivan refused to be cowed and simply said "No, I will not apologise, I will not accept a punishment".  And the school district backed down, revealing themselves to be complete cowards in the process as they tried to pretend in a statement that they never intended or tried to censor a student's speech.  This is what happens to those with power - they fear losing it, and most of all they fear that when they try to wield it they will discover it is simply not there.  Losing face is such anathema to them that it makes them act irrationally and tip their hand, revealing they hold jack shit.  Governor Brownback himself made a hollow apology, saying he was sorry for the actions of his staff and of course wiping his own hands of the mess.  I imagine he expects us to believe his staff trawl twitter for negative comments about the Governor for a hobby and it was never ordered or endorsed by him.  Regardless, as soon as this girl stood up and said "no", her myriad bullies crumbled and embarrassed themselves in their haste to pretend they had not been trying to bully her at all.

Unfortunately this approach does not work when you have to go it alone, and does not have such immediate results when the bully is licensed to hurt you with impunity.  I had to go it alone at school, and my bullies thus held all the cards.  The world has its bullies to deal with, and tweeting #heblowsalot a half million times is unlikely to stop them coming with their clubs and their chemical sprays.  It's not hopeless, but it is going to require that this time the meek dig their heels in, that this time the downtrodden decide that they shouldn't have to play by the rules either.  When the grown ups don't have to be grown up, when the child is the only one with courage, and when keeping the peace means spraying people in the face with a chemical weapon, maybe the meek shall inherit the Earth.

Now here it is to reflect upon, your moment of zen:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HaeCqChRQms

Time...

Well, it's been a while.  Over a week.  I think I must have gotten lost somewhere in the region of Skyrim.  Sorry about that.

Anyway, last time I talked about fan fiction, and how over time a piece I had received much commendation for turned out to look a little dog-eared.  My plan was to tinker with that and polish the overall piece, to make it suitable for enshrining here on the altar of the Internet.  Obviously I have been busy lately, and have not really had time to get out my red pen*.  Instead I have a climactic scene from a fan fiction I wrote years and years ago that could still do with a little dusting.  Here is the original scene, as written in the year 2001:

Hunched over the decaying, hideously disfigured body of his mother, Luke Skywalker glared up the stairs at the silent, immobile figure in the throne. At the side of the high-backed chair, slicing through the silence with his mechanical breathing, Darth Bane gazed back down at the boy.

"The other is here," Palpatine said suddenly, and, as if to confirm his word, the turbolift hissed open, and a young human female with chocolate brown hair slipped quietly into the room, then gasped at seeing her brother's frail state.

"Luke!" she cried, and knelt beside him. "Are you alright?" she asked, trying to avoid the desturbing...thing that was lying on the floor beside her. The thing with equally brown hair... Suddenly a realisation struck Leia. "Mother..."

Luke nodded, slowly, and turned to face his sister. His eyes were sunken in deep, purple sockets, and the rest of his skin was disturbingly pale. He also smelled strangely, as if he was burning.

"Excellent," Palpatine said, and rose from his throne.

Leia looked up at him, then at the shadow-like figure to his side. The black figure did not move.

Palpatine, however, continued to stride forward. "I now have the last in the line of the Jedi at my hands..." he said, and raised his hands before himself, stretching his fingers out.

Luke winced, and seemed to become very tense. This didn't help Leia's already frought nerves.

"Now, the Jedi shall become extinct, and The Sith will have their final revenge!" the Emperor spat, his face contorting with anger. Suddenly, blue bolts of electricity shot out from his fingertips, and seared their way through the air towards Luke and Leia, wrapping themselves around their violently shaking bodies.

Leia screeched in pain, but Luke remained quite silent, having destroyed his voice box already from screaming so much.

The crackling energy vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, and the Emperor grinned at the two smoking, twitching bodies.

Leia slowly raised her gaze upwards to Darth Bane's metal face-plate, and pleaded. "Master, please..."

Deep in the black helmet of Darth Bane, an old man blinked, and glanced sadly down at the Skywalkers, remembering when he had pleaded with their father to spare his life and save him over two decades ago, when the Jedi Council had been all but destroyed. He began to slowly stride away from the throne, forcing his metal body to obey his will, and reached out to the cloaked figure in front of him.

The Emperor raised his hands again, and blue energy sparked from them. However, instead of hitting the cowering young Skywalkers before him, they screeched over their heads. The Emperor noticed he was rising above the ground quickly, due to the metal hands clamped around his cloak. He roared as the energy crackled around him and the black figure who carried him, and screamed as he was dropped over the side of the railings beside his throne, into the chasm leading to the very bottom of the Death Star.

The black, metal figure dropped to his knees at the railings, and the blue energy that had coursed through him finally wrapped around his helmet then vanished. Kenobi slumped back against the side of the throne, as a young woman limped up the steps and crouched beside him.

"Thank you..." Leia whispered.

And here is the Special Edition:

Luke Skywalker glared up the stairs at the silent, immobile figure in the throne.  He stood hunched over the decaying disfigured body of his mother.   Atop the stairs, at the side of his master's chair like a Cyborrean battlehound, Darth Bane gazed back down at the boy.  His mechanical breathing sliced the silence. 

"The other is here," Palpatine said.  As if to confirm his word, the turbolift hissed open, and a young human female with chocolate brown hair slipped quietly into the room.  She gasped at seeing her brother's frail state.

"Luke!" she cried, and knelt beside him. "Are you all right?" she asked, trying to avoid the disturbing...thing that was lying on the floor beside her. The thing with equally brown hair... A whisper in the back of her mind, and suddenly a realisation struck Leia. "Mother..."

Luke nodded, slowly, and turned to face his sister. His eyes were sunken in deep, purple sockets, and the rest of his skin was pale. The smell of burning hung in the air.

"Excellent," Palpatine said, and rose from his throne.

Leia looked up at him, then at the shadow-like figure to his side. The black figure did not move.

Palpatine, however, continued to stride forward. "I now have the last in the line of the Jedi at my hands..." he said, and raised those crooked old hands before himself.  He stretched his fingers out.

Luke winced, became tense. Leia looked from him to the Emperor, neck whipping frantically.

"Now, the Jedi shall become extinct, and The Sith will have their final revenge!" the Emperor spat, his face contorting with anger. Blue bolts of electricity shot out from his fingertips and seared their way through the air towards Luke and Leia.  The surge of energy wrapped itself around their violently shaking bodies.

Leia screeched in pain.  Luke could no longer.

The crackling energy vanished as suddenly as it had appeared, and the Emperor grinned at the two smoking, twitching bodies.

Leia slowly raised her gaze upwards to Darth Bane's metal face-plate, and pleaded. "Master, please..."

Deep in the black helmet of Darth Bane, an old man blinked.  He looked sadly down at the Skywalkers, remembering when he had pleaded with their father to spare his life and save him over two decades ago, when the Jedi Council had been all but destroyed. He began to walk.  Slowly, step by step, he strode away from the throne, forcing his metal body to obey his will.  Bane reached out to the cloaked figure in front of him.

The Emperor raised his hands again.  Blue energy sparked from his fingertips.  However, instead of hitting the cowering young Skywalkers before him, they bolts screeched over their heads. The Emperor cried out; he was rising above the ground quickly.  Metal hands clamped around his cloak. He roared as the energy crackled around him and the black figure who carried him.  His screamed hung in the chamber as he was dropped over the side of the railings beside his throne, into the chasm leading to the very bottom of the Death Star.

The black, metal figure dropped to his knees at the railings, and the blue energy that had coursed through him finally wrapped around his helmet then vanished.  Kenobi slumped back against the side of the throne, as a young woman limped up the steps and crouched beside him.

"Thank you..." Leia whispered.

Quite a difference, right?  It still isn't perfect writing, and it may suffer from some of the common issues of fan fiction such as the rush to get the story out of the author's powerful imagination and onto the page.  It surprises me, looking over the whole piece, that I managed to retell the Star Wars saga in 55,000 words.  What would be a 20 page battle scene in a modern novel has been told in a few paragraphs.  That breathless enthusiasm is common in young writers and fan fiction, but it is almost amusing looking back now, when I struggle to cut a short story under 10,000 words.

Most of the changes are word order issues and cleaning up that speaks for itself.  Another large chunk is showing, rather than telling.  That age-old advice to writers is usually difficult to keep in mind when hammering out your vision on a keyboard, but I find that reviewing after a break tends to catch it.  That is, of course, when it is quite apparent - sometimes the difference is not as clear as text-dump histories vs constant point-of-view observations.

Another problem, and another trait I have found common in fan fiction, is the use of passive voice.  I went through a phase of writing in the passive voice quite consistently, reporting rather than exploring a story, and it is a habit that sometimes creeps in if I don't keep an eye on my writing.  Again, it tends to be easy to catch on a review, but it is also something that I find is not always a problem.  Passive voice, along with telling rather than showing and Stephen King's much-hated adverbs, are often treated as cardinal sins in the writing world, but they exist for a purpose and can be effective.  Toward the end of the passage I have left a segment in passive voice to give the impression that the reader is now a distant, remote viewer of unfathomable proceedings - much as Luke and Leia would likely feel, watching Darth Bane turn on his master and save their lives as they recover from being tortured.  

Hopefully you can see the difference and even more hopefully you agree with me that the revised version is a much more solid piece of writing.  Unlike George Lucas, I tried to restrain myself from cramming in unnecessary fluff.  Either way, let me know what you think.

Until next time, here it is, your moment of zen:

*I do not actually use a pen.  In fact, due to injury I can barely hold one, but consider this pen to be a metaphorical one, mightier than the metaphorical sword.

Where No Fan Has Gone Before...

Time heals all wounds, they say, though I have always wondered how long it might take to heal amputation.  What it doesn't do is make awkward, ugly writing look any better.  I have actually found that given sufficient time, a piece I thought overwrought or found I had to laboriously hack my way through reads as much more pleasant, but a lot of early, unpolished work stands out starkly when you've learned a thing or two and look on it with wiser, more critical eyes.

I wanted to share some of my old Star Wars fan fiction, to show how the medium can be a worthwhile exercise for aspiring authors as well as plain fun.  Unfortunately while looking over the manuscript for an appropriate passage, I have come to realise one thing: it's rough.  Real rough.  Not atrocious and not quite falling into the most egregious traps of fan fiction, though I do flirt with a Mary Sue Author Avatar.  It is not what I would call terrible, and as I believe I said earlier, it is what I have been told is genuinely 'good literature'.  I believed it at the time, and what 14 year old wouldn't consider themselves capable of such a feat in the guise of their own fantasy retelling of the Star Wars Saga?  It was quite the confidence booster,  and it can be hard not to feel deflated looking back and finding dialogue that clunks and cluttered prose that makes me cringe.  Well, at least the dialogue fits with the Star Wars universe, where one might wish they could wish away their feelings of burning hatred for sand.

Being harsh won't do myself much good, though, and in one way looking back at this is also quite uplifting - at least I know enough about the craft to spot the errors and iron out the terrible muddle of words that comes from having written, read and learned so much in the intervening decade-and-a-bit since I penned this tome.  And it really is a tome - 55,000 words gushed out in after-school writing sessions over a couple of months seemed quite a lot at the time.  Then I read some Stephen King and felt terribly inadequate.

Anyway, I had initially planned to simply share an excerpt from my critically-acclaimed work (if you assume everyone who posts on a Star Wars forum thinks themselves a critic).  Instead, I believe it would be more valuable to find a suitable excerpt, shine it up real nice, then post both and explain why the learning I have gone through led me to make certain changes.  Think of it as a working demonstration of editing in practice.

Now, as always, here is your moment of zen: