Comic Sans – Why I Don’t Get on With Comic (Movies)

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A while back I posted a fairly well-received post explaining my struggles with fantasy fiction. There’s certainly a depth of feeling there as it’s a hot genre; and even those who may have disagreed, to a degree profoundly, appreciated that I set out my stall.

Recently my good friend Chris Kenny posted his thoughts on the latest in the seemingly-never ending Avengers film franchise, Avengers Endgame, which even culturally-unaware me has been unable to escape the media buzz about. Chris’s post certainly puts an opinion forward on the matter, which is great to read, but there was one overriding thought throughout the whole post, and indeed some of the other things I’ve read about Endgame

Simply put, the comic-book wave has simply washed past me, and I think it’s high time (and slightly topical still?) to talk about that. And yes, expect a good deal of Comic Book Guy!

From sticking my finger in the air I feel that the prevailing stance is that a lot of the emotion that derives from comic book adaptations – and I focus mainly on the film adaptations as it is these that have really cemented themselves into the popular zeitgeist – comes from a familial attachment to the characters that really drives investment in the film franchises.

Certainly the Avengers films get people out into the cinema, in record numbers. And for the most part it seems to be an enjoyable romp. But I don’t have any predisposition to any of the characters so I struggle to relate.

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Let’s back up with a brief personal history lesson: I didn’t really have any introduction to comic books as a child. My childhood was horrendously vanilla – not unpleasant, indeed I cherish my formative years in the 1990s very fondly; I didn’t have a bad time by any stretch – and I feel that’s almost socially crippled me throughout adolescence and now into adulthood.

But returning to the point in question… I just never developed the interest in comic books that feel is the main driving factor behind the success of film franchises like The Avengers. My dad did keep some comics but they were kept in the loft – indeed they remain in my possession and to my knowledge they’ve not been read by anyone except him.

various-superheroesSo where does that leave me in 2019? Quite frankly, bemused and baffled by comic book films – though it probably will help to understand that I don’t have much interest in the cinema as a storytelling form anyway. I rarely visit the cinema; literally once a year at times. And that’s absolutely fine, I recognise it as an art form for sure – it’s simply not one for me. The films I do go to see I enjoy at the time but I don’t give them much thought afterwards.

Looking at the storied history of the Avengers franchise frankly fills me with dread – 22 films over 11 years. Is this particularly accessible at this point? Likely not, especially for someone with little interest in actively working through those films. So it’ll likely remain a cultural phenomenon that will pass me by.

On that point I find myself defending The Avengers films from silly click-bait articles from places like Deadspin that bemoan that films like Endgame do little to ingratiate themselves to non-fans. And indeed I know fellow non-fans who’ve seen Endgame – what’s the point? Even I realise it would be facile of me to sit through Endgame as I would get very little out of it as I’m not emotionally invested in the franchise, characters or story – whereas something like Game of Thrones I did become invested in.

Similarly it’s hard to recommend episodes of Game of Thrones in isolation, especially from the later seasons because you need that investment to really get the full amount of meaning from the events depicted. But like those what harp on about “not watching Game of Thrones”, I don’t want to necessarily be the one who harps on about “not watching Avengers films”. It’s almost too low hanging a fruit to criticise the films on a superficial level for “green aliens and talking racoons”.

Therein we pivot however to what I consider a better way of criticising these films – for their writing.

I’ve watched about one and three quarter films that could be considered from the comic book adaptation lexicon – Deadpool, roughly half of Guardians of the Galaxy and about fourty minutes of Scott Pilgrim – all lauded by fans as stellar examples of the subgenre, and that have performed at the box office accordingly. All of them I found quite deficient in terms of writing which marred my enjoyment, despite my best efforts to go in with a clean-slate open mind.

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So where do we start? Deadpool was the best of the three to my recollection (I made it to the end) – with a self-aware main character who’s very much the deadpan snarker and, crucially I found, didn’t take the enterprise entirely seriously. The self-awareness of Deadpool the character was somewhat endearing to me; however I learned only after the film’s conclusion that it is indeed a comedy film. Without sounding like an old bore… none of Deadpool’s jokes – a lot of which were indeed very laboured – hit home. Why is that? The writing for Deadpool assumes the audience is 15-year-old guys and treats them accordingly. The humour was very juvenile and immature and while I don’t expect every film to be Schindler’s List it did seem a bit too juvenile and facetious to really take seriously. The story seemed fairly solid but the overarching theme seemed to be going from one crude joke to the next.

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I found my experience with Scott Pilgrim largely the same but I had to turn the movie off after about fourty minutes as I suffered a fatal flaw to my immersion – I simply didn’t care about the protagonist’s journey. I didn’t care whether Scott “got the girl” – an original story arc if ever I’d seen one. But it was the lack of seriousness that I felt the film exhibited, combined with a similarly-juvenile writing standard that made me realise I had better uses of my time as it became apparent this film would tick none of my boxes.

And last in line is Guardians of the Galaxy which I tried to watch twice and ended up giving up on at roughly the same point an hour in – and I realise this is a fairly extreme position to take – and I would describe it as the worst film I can recall seeing. The reason? Not because it’s “green aliens and talking trees” but because I felt the story was particularly deficient.

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A resource I use and view quite frequently in my own writing is TVTropes, which is a fascinating resource dedicated to identifying the use of “tropes” in fiction. Tropes can be narrative, plot or character devices that can be categorised; usually on TVTropes it is done in quite a dry humorous way. It’s important, also, to note that tropes in and of themselves. Some tropes are indeed indicators of poor writing, but the lesson from TVTropes as a writer is not to avoid tropes in my own work but to work to mask them in layers.

A trope is a storytelling device or convention, a shortcut for describing situations the storyteller can reasonably assume the audience will recognize. Tropes are the means by which a story is told by anyone who has a story to tell. [TVTropes] collects them, for the fun involved.

Tropes are not the same thing as cliches. They may be brand new but seem trite and hackneyed; they may be thousands of years old but seem fresh and new. They are not bad, they are not good; tropes are tools that the creator of a work of art uses to express their ideas to the audience. It’s pretty much impossible to create a story without tropes.

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The reason that I bring up TVTropes is that when watching Guardians of the Galaxy, the writing felt so poor and one-layered that the tropes that comprise the plot and characters shone through so blatantly that I couldn’t help but notice it at every instance. Chris Pratt’s character is a one-dimensional juvenile who failed to endear himself to me (I suspect it’s akin to Deadpool, the “douchebag” characterisation wore thin rapidly) as one example. I only got as far as the first hour – wherein the titular Guardians are escaping the prison space station before my irritation forced me to cancel watching the movie, the tipping point being the convenience of their miraculous escape – of course the controls would start working at just the right time, and of course the talking raccoon would just happen to have the skills needed by that specific situation. Everything was telegraphed across far too readily.

206972Perhaps my writing background makes me more susceptible to anticipating and identifying these plot weak points but I think Guardians of the Galaxy actually stands as an exemplar of what I think does the comic book genre a massive disservice. The plot and characters from my recollection is particularly weak, simplistic and one dimensional. Does the film rely on the rose-tinted nostalgia glasses that the intended audience is expected to wear, having been ingratiated to these characters and tropes for a long time.

As an outsider I felt that Guardians was especially insular – it appealed to a particular type of fan. And I can understand why those people would enjoy it, and this isn’t a slight against them. I’m sure it’s a fun film. But I found it to be poorly-written and lightweight and it just didn’t endear itself to me; the opposite, in fact – I found myself actively irritated throughout my attempts to watch it. It just doesn’t seem to take itself seriously enough; but unlike, say, Deadpool, it doesn’t have the sense of being self-aware to satirise itself. Deadpool was savvy in its own way in that it almost knew it was a movie from the inside out and that helped it a lot in terms of holding my engagement and I recognise the merits there, while the writing choices seemed the low side of juvenile.

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But that said, this is more about “hating on” Guardians of the Galaxy, which was a very commercially-popular film. It would be senseless to be that contrary for the sake of being contrary. But it does make me wonder if a film like Guardians does the comic medium – and its filmic interpretation – a massive disservice. Guardians is flagged as an exemplar entry in the comic book movie canon for its apparent quality – but it has no real substance.

It seems to strive to be the classic summer blockbuster – a flashy, impressive affair that doesn’t resonate once you leave the cinema. Which, I hasten to add, is absolutely fine. Indeed watching Guardians as an outsider I already felt that the film was more interested in catering to a particular kind of fan – perhaps it’s not so inclusive after all? I didn’t feel included when watching it, even though I’d been advised it’s a good film to start with, which only added to the feeling of disappointment when I gave up on it, twice at the same point.

Can comics deliver more than that though? I realise I’m perhaps in danger of doing the medium a massive disservice of my own through basing my opinion on three particular entrants; however I feel they’re good, and well-regarded examples. I’m sure that comics can and do – both in print and film form – tackle really tough, adult and nuanced stories. But if Guardians, Scott Pilgrim and Deadpool (though on writing I feel Deadpool’s only real flaw was the juvenile, 15-year-old-male joke writing) are the shining stars of the category, those examples that can have some narrative weight seem drowned out in the white noise of those that make a big bang but little impact.

endgame-squareLike I said earlier, I don’t expect a binary choice: Guardians of the Galaxy to Schindler’s List. But is there the diversity of storytelling – and arguably quality writing – in comic books to bridge that gap toward the centre more readily? As while a lot of this discussion is exposing the narrative flaws I feel a litany of exist in comic book movie adaptations, it’s also based in a sense of deep disappointment that an art form that can and is enjoyed by millions isn’t setting its sights higher. As I said, it’s not a binary choice between hard-hitting cinema or stories like Schindler’s List or narratively paper-thin glitz-fests like Guardians; I feel that there is a root of decent storytelling to be found, but on my superficial experience with the Marvel movie juggernaut, and others of that ilk? I’m not finding it readily available, and that is simply disappointing.

Indeed, in drafting this post I was made aware of this video in the Honest Trailers by Screen Junkies. It’s a biting, witty and humorous dissection of over a decade of films into arguably their constituent parts. The fact that a great number of these films seem to have, especially when laid out sequentially, so many plot or trope similarities that they can be grouped to me is an indicator of weak narrative development and an over-reliance on the tropes that have come to be expected almost. For me with my albeit-limited experience of the films myself, I can attest to this – the tropes the writers use are barely-concealed and repetitive. Without my prior understanding of the franchises (ergo, a lack of intrinsic affection for the intellectual property, which I feel allows a lot of these narrative “sins” to be excused or fly under the radar).

An interesting point made in the Honest Trailers video is that technology is magical. It’s also in line with Clarke’s third law  – that “any sufficiently-advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic” Indeed, in my post about fantasy I made the following observation:

Magic in fantasy should have clear and specific boundaries and limitations, otherwise why have a story with conflict, tension and jeopardy if a well-timed wave of a magic wand can solve the problem? It’s a deeply dissatisfying thing to experience when executed poorly and mishandled magic leads to many a deus ex machina.

And that’s exactly what happens in these movies, isn’t it? And just like with the tropes and trappings of high fantasy it is a trait that I find extremely narratively underwhelming. Quite simply, hand-waving problems that the plot throws at the characters with suspiciously-timed revelations about technological abilities is a bit of a cop-out isn’t it?

To reiterate: I’m no scholar of comic books by any means – but the Honest Trailers video is a dissemination of common tropes across these types of stories and films, is it not? And once we strip away the auspices of how the technology is treated – in effect, it’s reskinned magic – we’re presented with the same narrative boobytraps that befall high fantasy, in my opinion. And that’s a shame – because science fiction, and I’m sure comic books in general, with their filmic adaptations certainly too – can do so much better in terms of storytelling, but from my vantage point I can’t see it through the cloud. To highlight the point the Honest Trailers makes about cookie-cutter plot elements across the films… even the posters are eerily similar!

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And while I realise a lot of this post is talking about comic book film adaptations, it does inexorably reflect back on the source material which seems to have entered the cultural lexicon throughout the years. Are these stories being judged now on their merits as pieces of writing or because the reader (or the reader’s parents) have imparted that sense of rose-coloured nostalgia that deafens them to issues and faults.

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80s Doctor Who Producer John Nathan-Turner, who coined “the memory cheats”, in 1985

The more I think about it, the more I feel that there’s certainly some truth to the idea that the memory cheats – people recollect things from their youth that they revere with pleasure as being better than they might otherwise be given a more rational or objective assessment. It’s an argument that was controversially applied to the early episodes of Doctor Who in the 1980s against a perceived drop in quality of contemporary productions and I can’t deny the logic’s there. This notion on its own is worthy of evaluation in quite a bit of depth.

Certainly with long-running cultural franchises like Doctor Who, comics that have run since the 1940s and without question Star Wars there’s the danger that the nostalgia rubs off to insulate these properties from… not overt criticism but critical thinking and evaluation. It does nothing to the art form to excuse what’s frankly poor writing because it makes those immersed in nostalgia, with a connection that plucks their heartstrings, feel warm and fuzzy. Ultimately what we’d end up with if this is maintained is a sense of cultural rot that will only get bigger, and then the patient will be too late to save, if you will. Once the bug bites, as a character in a shining example of great video game writing says, you’ve already lost the patient.

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Point and counter-point.

Honestly, I’d really like to be proved wrong. This post is not intended to pooh-pooh comic books/movies – indeed these movies and the associated stories have become part of the public cultural lexicon, and I don’t begrudge at all those legions of fans that genuinely enjoy these stories, films and franchises. This is not intended as a high-handed essay sneering derision upon those people. I’m not here to “hate popular things” for the sake of it – the purpose here has always been to analyse objectively and then reflect on my own thoughts.

Speaking of reflection, as I write this, I can’t help but think how this seems almost endemic on the modern spin of comic book movies. But my own personal experiences as an outsider with films that I’ve been told are easy to get into just left me feeling more out of the cold, and more disappointingly, really, more feeling like I’m not missing much.

A few notes before we finish:

  • Yes, I realise a lot of the movie adaptations to which I refer or talk broadly about are Marvel movies. Aparently DC Comics exists also, but is a lot less promiment. It’s all Pepsi/Coke to me.
  • I realise that having watched virtually none of the films discussed it puts me at a massive disadvantage; ergo this post is a lot of “sticking my finger in the air and seeing how the wind is blowing” and painting in broad strokes. I accept that criticism readily but I wasn’t prepared to watch twenty films; I apologise if in your view this leads you to believe I am being intellectually dishonest in my approach
  • If it wasn’t clear this is not an attack on fans of these popular films by any stretch, so please don’t take my contrasting/differing opinion on something that is enjoyed by many as my being unduly contrary.  This post has been on my mind for a good while! And it’s good to criticise and evaluate items in the popular lexicon as objectively as possible.
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Creative Writing in Your Lunchtime

20190605_153747887_iOSI’ve generally been trying to use my local library – Sutton Central Library – more as a workspace that inspires concentration as one of the worst traits I know I have is that I procrastinate like mad at home. Over the weekend I spotted a poster in the lift for an upcoming series of free creative writing workshops taking place over the summer. Intrigued, I signed up, and went along with Gary Thomas. The inaugural session took place on a couple of days ago.

I had previously attended a creative writing-themed session at Sutton Library some time ago, talking about self-publishing, which I still maintain an intrigue toward, despite my plans for my work-in-progress novel The Thaw to be traditionally published. That session was a bit of a let down as the speaker didn’t seem to have much faith in the aspects of self-publishing that I, certainly, held most interest in – their work was self-funded and the lack of an expression of faith in editors, or any discussion of online marketing, left me leaving underwhelmed.

Nevertheless I approached this new session open-minded. And I was pleasantly surprised! Walking away I was feeling, honestly, quite reinvigorated. It was a casual affair that took place in the library’s new Family Lounge and was hosted by Sutton Library’s writer-in-residence Rachel Sambrooks. We had a good group chat discussing why we write and that writing can be, and indeed is, an extension of ourselves. The conversation was good – there was a decent turnout of a diverse range of writers – from myself and Gary who are fairly experienced at the craft to people who’d read but never written.

I applaud them for having the courage, frankly, to come along as it can be daunting, even to someone like me, to face a group of people when it comes to one’s writing. Also in attendance was vlogger Aridja Kals – who came a fair distance to attend! – who made some great points in the discussion that Rachel led that we shouldn’t be afraid to fail at creative endeavours. The theme of the first workshop was based around a quote from Bennie Brown: that the search for instant perfection is the enemy of innovation. I definitely agree that that feeling is a barrier to writing that people seem to unfairly place upon themselves – there’s an expectation with creativity that things will emerge from the forge of one’s imagination perfectly formed, when it’s really not the case, and it’s absolutely fine! It’s so important to not reject one’s work off-hand and I was glad that was one of the first things Rachel imparted upon us – I certainly appreciated the refresher! But also I feel it was a good piece of advice to perhaps “mythbust” the craft of writing to those that might feel daunted at the prospect!

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Aridja made a good point in the discussion that it might be useful to see the word “fail” as a retroactive acronym for First Attempt At Learning. I agree and Rachel made an important point that “failure” is perhaps not the best term for attempting something – which to some in the group proved totally new – and realising that a particular piece isn’t working. We as writers need to be willing to throw an idea against the wall to see if it sticks in order to create and develop from that.

From my own perspective as a writer I feel that’s really key, and I was pleased that this was discussed at the workshop. Sometimes it’s too easy to psyche oneself out of writing, especially if it’s either outside of their comfort zone or a totally new endeavour – but I try to counter that in my own mind by reminding myself nothing ventured, nothing gained. And it’s an important tool in all aspects of learning to attempt new things and then identify weaknesses and strengths and work on those areas. Sometimes a story or a piece of writing just won’t execute well and that’s fine; it doesn’t all boil down just to skill – identifying that a piece didn’t work is a skill in itself.

It was also good fun to have a go at a few writing exercises. Based on the earlier theme of “failure”, Rachel asked us to come up with a list of ten “failures” that might happen in life – an exercise that I found surprisingly difficult on the hoof! We used these scenarios to then have a go at some free writing – again, something I’ve not done since my university days! I was refreshed to see how quickly the words ended up flowing, and when the time was up I did want to continue!

We were urged to not necessarily rely on laptops for writing. I’d brought mine but had also packed a notebook and pen, almost foreseeing this. Writing freehand did feel a bit more personal and artistic, as if the words flowed in a purer sense through into my scrawl. It was definitely refreshing, even if my wrists were a little sore! I’m buoyed by what I had written and I may even continue it! Certainly the session reaffirmed in my mind that it’s fine to write pieces just for practise and not all pieces need be ones to submit or get out there. Writers need practise too – and if good ideas result from that practise, all the better.

20190603_125024187_iOSThe session ended with a game of lateral thinking that I found more useful than I’d otherwise expected – word association. Initially we started with a group effort but split into individual attempts and I found it a refreshing challenge – the most challenging part of both exercises being the plucking of ideas and snippets from thin air, though I will persevere! It’s a useful and key skill to keep supple in my writer’s arsenal.

Honestly on reflection now I found the exercises hard as it does tap into that ethereal ability to conjure ideas on the hoof out of thin air. This is always the hardest, but arguably most rewarding part of writing I find, and I appreciated having to stretch myself!

I was certainly glad that I went to the session at the end of it – it reminded me very positively of my university days where my peer group would workshop ideas together. Those were arguably the most valuable sessions from university. I’m definitely going to keep going to these sessions at my local library – they’re free and it’s no real trouble to get to, and it’s nice to be surrounded by like-minded writers again! Excited for next week now!

Review – The Blinds (Paperback)

The_BlindsThe Blinds is one of those books that piqued my interest on the table in Waterstones ages ago that I only just decided to bite the bullet on. And I’m glad I did; as I devoured most this book in the course of two train journeys. That was fun.

I recall the premise of The Blinds caught my eye. A sleepy, forgotten town in the middle of a desert inhabited by people who’d chosen to have their memories wiped, and given new identities.Eight years of anonymity rocked by a series of murders. A killer in their midst. This is just the sort of thirty-minutes-into-the-future science fiction thriller that I’m trying to be better at reading. But The Blinds isn’t really a science-fiction book – yes, how people’s memories are selectively wiped is touched upon and explained. Instead the book focusses more on why people have had their memories wiped, and the repercussions what this does to the human condition.

The book takes perhaps the more interesting perspective of examine what this technology does to people. Indeed throughout I took away the sense that the story wouldn’t have a happy ending. Certainly from the off we’re presented with an unusual take on the crime techno-thriller that weeps with foreboding and leaves a definite imprint on the mind. I recall the first chapter being intriguing, urging me to dive in.

But enough about themes for now – let’s dive into the nitty-gritty!

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Discovering The Blinds in Waterstones, amongst other great books!

The Blinds is powerful, atmospheric and tense. The town of Caesura, the location for the tale, is a remote outcrop set up to house the “volunteers” in the experiment. Already the story is being kept away from the rest of the world, and the isolation is palpable, ostensibly for the protection of the residents but also it serves as a narrative device to keep the characters in a confined space. And yes, despite being in the midst of the Arizona desert, the setting of the town, a run-down, almost-forgotten collection of bungalows and chalets, feels contained. The events of the story are clearly never meant to leave Caesura, and it’s when they begin to spill out that trouble brews.

Indeed, whenever the residents of Caesura have any interaction with the outside, trouble comes knocking. The premise states that residents, with their memories erases, are indeed free to leave the settlement, they do so at their own risk, and some are never seen again. Early on we learn that The Institute administers the programme, and quickly we become suspicious. What is the Institute? And how at-arms-length are they keeping, how benevolent are they and what are their motivations? Early on I became fairly intrigued to learn how they stood to gain from the programme – it couldn’t entirely be a philanthropic application of new science? And this leads on to the liaison with the government between the town of The Blinds and the Institute. And even the new arrivals that we the viewer follow as they are inducted into the programme. As the plot progresses, these outside influences converge to really impact upon the town.

The premise of having selectively wiped one’s memory (ostensibly as an alternative to prison, to somehow absolve oneself from their crimes; a plot device that reminded me very much of One Way, which I read previously) allows for a unique opportunity in character development. The characters choose their own new names, from a list of former Vice Presidents and movie stars, which is a cool and innovative way of naming characters. But there’s always the interest in revealing these people’s real names, almost more so than their crimes, that does drive the reader on. And none of these characters, as we discover, is a white night or a dark horse; indeed, some of the expectations we have are reversed as the mystery unwraps.

Certainly The Blinds is dealing with some hefty themes – but I was most pleased to realise that the plot behind these themes is strong enough to motor through without becoming too self-indulgent. The story lasts about as long as it needs to in order to convey those themes enough so they persist, ironically enough, in the mind of the reader. Overall the plot itself is interesting enough that readers who may be less attuned to picking up thematic riffs can still enjoy the book – it’s a solid, atmospheric thriller with a dash of Western and a dash of science fiction.

It’s also partly an interesting ethical tale – we have characters that are neither black or white, and the book itself openly ponders why this amazing technology is being used for the lowly task of giving criminals a second chance when there are so many more “worthy” applications. Purportedly there are “innocents” that have been seeded in with the guilty or the witnesses to atrocities that are escaping those memories. But as the book progressed we start to question whether what we’ve been led to believe can be taken on face value. And soon enough nothing we may have assumed as the tale progresses can be trusted. It’s riveting. Overall I found it just added to the unsettling, not-quite-right tone that struck a chord for me.

Prose-wise… it was perfunctory without being overwrought, and I don’t mean that derogatorily. The Blinds employs a light, transparent prose style that I do approve of; it allows the story to flourish through it without wrapping itself up. It’s light enough to carry the action and the plot as demands but not flimsy; it conveys the themes that the author’s clearly putting across – that of what it means to lose one’s sense of identity, and as the back cover states: “identityloss [and] meta reality” – quotes that did somewhat concern me, as I am not really a massively literary reader but there was plenty of plot meat on the bones, so I came away pleasantly surprised.

Give it a read.

Mech-ing a Comeback

StoryMechs logo

I’ve recently been quite privileged to have been invited into an exclusive group of people testing out a new incarnation of StoryMechs, which my good friend Sam Richards previously ran as Tweet RPG back in the heady, halcyon days of Twitter in 2012 – the days with 140 character tweets and before GIFs and Emojis. A simpler time!

StoryMechs – and its predecessor, Tweet RPG – are a really innovative new spin on the choose-your-own-adventure story, utilising the utility and convenience that technology allows to really allow for dynamic stories. I have fond memories on playing some of the early Tweet RPG stories, and indeed met some cool people I still talk to regularly today.

I’ve previously written about StoryMechs when it was brand new – but alas, this came at a bit of a busy time for Sam so the project’s been dormant for a long time; however it was great to hear from him about re-energising the project for new stories. He’s got some really solid ideas and I’m eager to see how they develop.

So, very recently Sam invited me and some others as part of the StoryMechs Focus Group to participate in a brief new adventure to test out the waters. This was a good idea; Sam by his own admission hadn’t run something like this for some time, and considering his plans for the future, this was wise. The week-long adventure, My Valentine, was good fun, so Sam should be reassured that his ability hasn’t waned in the interim.

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My experience in the focus group did, however, get me thinking: previously, I think Tweet RPG was almost ahead of its time, existing in a time before Twitter polls and Facebook feeds. I can only imagine how much admin this would’ve added; indeed, now with these features extant on platforms like Facebook and Twitter it makes both the playing of the game a simpler process and I can only imagine how much easier it makes the game to administrate behind the scenes, so it’s a win-win in terms of infrastructure.

However Sam brought up an interesting point in the group chat – that as players using Facebook for a platform, we seemed less willing to add our own spin on our choices – in the old format, where votes and decisions were made through hashtag, it would be accompanied usually by the player’s own comments or point-of-view; with Facebook separating the voting and the comments quite distinctly, it’s almost harder to do that organically; however I feel that wherever there’s a comments field, players will find a way to put in their own spin on what’s happening.

But on reflection, also, I felt there wasn’t as much need – in the case of the mini-adventure Sam ran to test the new format out, cyberpunk yarn My Valentine – to add my own commentary as I think that certainly Sam’s writing has become more filled out and he’s clearly given the story a lot of thought in each permutation. My strategy in the focus group, in my mind, was not only to test out the infrastructure of using a Facebook group to run the game but also in a way to test how Sam’s writing had evolved. I was pleasantly surprised and I feel his work remains strong and enjoyable.

Sam plans to run forthcoming stories using Patreon as a platform for players to reward and incentivise his work, which I feel is an excellent idea. I was pleased to become Sam’s first official patron; I’m more than happy to support him as a fellow writer and friend in developing StoryMechs. Overall it’s a really innovative spin on a classic form of storytelling that I can tell Sam is a natural fan of, and it’s an intriguing and engaging spin using new technology. We’re all prone to mindlessly scrolling on social media so why not add in the opportunity to engage in something truly fun with the medium!

two woman and one man looking at the laptop

I do however identify some areas I feel that need addressing or considering going forward. I think there’s a genuine market for compilations of completed adventures – even some of the legacy Tweet RPG stories too – to perhaps be sold under the StoryMechs brand; perhaps including author’s notes for a more behind-the-scenes look at the creation of the story? Certainly there’s scope to create wide-ranging universes to tell multiple stories within; the key there would be keeping these worlds malleable – multiple adventures spanning different genres would give StoryMechs a broad appeal to a variety of fiction fans. Sam’s writing is strong and I think StoryMechs is a great vehicle for him to get his narratives out there through an innovative and imaginative medium.

I’d also recommend that Sam look into setting up a StoryMechs website that is platform-agnostic where players are able to sign up, read some of the reviews or previous adventures and learn about the system and story behind StoryMechs before jumping into an adventure through Facebook. At this early stage I realise that Sam is going to have to rely on Facebook or Twitter for infrastructure but the sky’s the limit, though how he combines those two distinct social networks is going to be interesting; we all know people who “aren’t on Facebook” (and likewise with Twitter) so I think Sam needs to be resolute in which platform he chooses to use. My personal view is that Facebook’s near-ubiquity and utility make it an obvious choice.

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Recently I had the pleasure of meeting Sam in real life at an event (more on that in a future post!) and it was great to finally put a face to the name I’d known on Twitter for some considerable time. His enthusiasm for what he wants to now do with StoryMechs. I’d strongly suggest that if you’re into interactive fiction you give StoryMechs a good look. It’s so refreshing to see a writer in his element, and innovating in telling stories he’s clearly passionate about, and is passionate in sharing. I’m certainly feeling pretty inspired! For more information follow the StoryMechs Twitter and Sam Richard’s personal page now!