Blogging Crossroads

     It has been some time since I've made a post. I don't have much of an excuse for that, and I apologize. Life has been getting in the way I guess, what with the never-ending parade of housework on top of the holidays on top of my wife's impending childbirth. Still, I'm sure there is still time in which I could stop watching TV long enough to write a post or two. That is, if I could get my brain to function beyond the minimal level required to go to work, eat, and sleep (which is about all I seem to have the energy for anymore).
     I am at a crossroads for the blog, as it is. I don't see myself maintaining a regular schedule of article-like posts as I have done. I don't have the inspiration for it, and quite frankly, it's not exactly setting the internet on fire with its popularity. I have been debating changing format some, and have already taken the step of arranging the posts somewhat with tags that you can see along the top of the page. I did this in anticipation that I may start adding different kinds of content to the blog. Like my Lovecraft Country comics, I thought it might do me some good to start putting some fiction on here. Give people something to read that has a plot and characters and is more interesting than my boring old observations on gaming and whining about what I don't like in movies anymore.
     Of course, as a writer, this opens up a much larger dilemma. Were I to do this, I would be providing free content for the world. As an artist, I've no problem with this. On the other hand, there's the part of me that would like to someday make some money off my writing. So  is giving it away a good idea? Would it serve as a free sample for the admittedly small audience I have here, or merely be another example of my continuing hubris in thinking that anybody cares what I have to say? Should I just admit that the dozen-or-so people who bought Reign of Rezal are the same dozen-or-so people who actually read this blog, and therefore I'd just be advertising to the choir (to mix a metaphor)? Or should I continue to hold out hope that somehow, magically, I might have a readership that breaks out from my immediate circle of friends to the internet masses beyond?

Not Just Zombies Anymore

     I may have to detract my earlier complaints about the zombie genre. Rather, I may have to add to them. Maybe it's not the "zombie" part, but the "apocalypse" part that is getting tired.

Plus, nobody ever dresses appropriately anymore.

     After having a discussion about such things over Thanksgiving (because that's the kind of family I have), I started watching Survivors, which is a British post-apocalypse show featuring a plague as the cause of the end of the world. I'm only on episode 2 of 12, but already I can see the themes and realize that my interest will wane fast.
     The problem is that I don't tune into these kinds of shows to watch a soap opera that just happens to take place with the backdrop of apocalypse. It's the same reason I'm struggling through The Walking Dead. It's just a big mass of high school-esque drama with the occasional zombie. I might as well watch Glee; it's the same thing, just replace "zombie" with "musical number."
     Yes, yes, as a writer I understand that part of the importance of the genre is to show how normal people react when civilization as we know breaks down. But really, we've seen it before. It's all the same. There's a Lawful Stupid protagonist who refuses to acknowledge that the old rules don't apply anymore, and there's the guy who goes way over to the Dark Side just to provide juxtaposition. Is there a child and/or pregnant lady to provide unwarranted optimism and remind us to hope for the future? You bet. Tough guy survivalist who is just waiting for an otherwise useless female character to bring out his heroic side? Check and check. And wait, what's that over there? The suicidal character who has to learn that all is not bleak and that life is worth living, no matter what terrible fate inevitably awaits you? Why yes, yes it is.
     However, I realize now that plague as a start leads to even less options for excitement. There aren't even monsters to pop in every once in a while. All you get is bandits or guys shooting each other over canned foods. While I accept that these would be realistic and logical dangers, you can only watch so many tense standoffs between middle-aged unwashed office workers before it starts to lose its appeal. Most plague apocalypse stories understand this and start going off on other tangents, which is often worse. Like the conspiracy angle (where it seems Survivors is going) or the magical/religious nonsense that takes up the last two-thirds of The Stand. Either are just as groan-worthy, and smack of the author shrugging and saying "I know there isn't enough plot in a plague, so I just started winging it."
     Of the apocalypse genres, I think of the big four: zombies, plague, aliens, or nuclear. The first two have been done to death. I haven't had a chance to watch any Falling Skies, so we'll see how alien holocaust does. I have some hope, because at least then we have monstrous bad guys to fall back on (like zombies, but who's superior technology actually poses some logical threat to our heavily-armed society). If not, then I guess we're back to thinking other ways to create an apocalypse. My vote is for more plant-related madness, like Day of the Triffids or The Happening. But I'm pretty sure I'm alone on that one...

Thanksgiving Special

     My wife and I used to have a tradition of watching the Thanksgiving episode of Buffy: The Vampire Slayer every year on said holiday. With that time of year rolling around again, I thought I'd compile a list of geeky-related Thanksgiving shows to watch, just to help give a little variety. I was horribly disappointed to find that it was such a short, sad list:

     Buffy the Vampire Slayer: "Pangs"
     Chuck: "Chuck Versus the Nemesis"
     Heroes: "Thanksgiving" 
     Quantum Leap: "The Leap Home" (Parts 1 and 2)
     Roswell: "Max In The City"
     Charmed: "The Truth Is Out There... And It Hurts" and "There's Something About Leo"
     Smallville: "Rage" and "Ambush"

And they were all crushed by the house-sized cornucopia

     Now, admittedly, I am unfamiliar with all but the first three of these, because I've yet to sit down and watch Quantum Leap, Roswell, Charmed, or Smallville (and I only ever intend to watch one of those; the prize goes to who can guess which one!). So I can't vouch for how "Thanksgiving-y" any of them are. Also, I'm only considering what I think of as "geeky" shows, which wouldn't include mainstream sitcoms or dramas, even if they are generally popular among geeks.
     Thanksgiving always seems to get the short end of the stick in our society. I'm not going to go onto a long rant about how Christmas decorations in our town go up the day after Halloween, because every time I do I only get fervent agreement from everyone. It makes me wonder: if everybody agrees that Christmas should hold off until December like the decent, respectful holiday it should be, than what vandal is sneaking into stores and onto the city streets to decorations a month early?
     Of course, geek shows can often get a free pass when it comes to holiday episodes, depending on their setting. If the show doesn't take place in modern America, then Thanksgiving isn't a thing and therefore it would just be weird to try to shoehorn it in (case in point: the Star Wars Christmas Special). But just off the top of my head, I can think of a lot of series that dropped the ball and totally should have had (or should have, if the show is still in production) Thanksgiving specials.

     Eureka: Turkeyzilla, a genetically engineered bird created by one of the town's scientists in an attempt to feed everyone at once, rampages through the town.
     Stargate SG-1: The team accidentally stumbles across a world where they recreate their own version of the first Thanksgiving. And guess who else is invited to dinner? Goa'uld!
     Warehouse 13: The artifact: the gravy boat used at the first Thanksgiving. The mayhem: gravy flood!
     The X-Files: Mulder and Scully investigate a small town where the ghosts of all the slain turkeys of the past roam the streets in a demonic procession.

     That's just a primer, folks. Feel free to add more ideas in the comments.

Plumbing Perils

     This is one of those times when it sucks to be a grown-up.
     We had a sewage backup that took out our downstairs bathroom and part of the surrounding hall. In the future, we will probably be able to look back at this as a minor disaster. It, of course, does not feel like it now. Pipes and flooring are needing replaced, and no matter how much the guys doing the work assure us that it could have been much worse and that insurance will (probably) cover it, it is still painful to watch. My wife and I were literally wincing as we could hear them sawing out chunks of drywall and prying up baseboards. As I type, my wife is going outside to dig out some Easter lily bulbs that will otherwise be destroyed by people fixing our pipe (to get it up to code: another joy of buying an old "fixer-upper").
     I mentioned in an earlier post how important it was that our house felt like home, and things like this make me realize how true that really is. The house itself almost gets anthropomorphized. We've put so much work into it, and watching something outside our control ruin some of it just seems like a cruel trick of fate. My wife kept talking about how much time she spent painting those damn baseboards. Yes, the repairmen will replace them and repaint them exactly the same, and in theory it won't cost us any more than our deductible (which is quite enough, thank you very much). But it doesn't make the destruction any easier to bear.
     I could see it in the repairmen's faces that they just didn't understand our reactions (i.e. that we were upset about all that they were tearing apart). In their mind, it was going to be covered and put back just as it was, so who cares? I wonder if they feel this way about their own homes; I wonder if it's normal to just shrug and repair something that's broken without a second thought. Similarly, I wonder about the people who move from house to house a lot*, or the idea of having a "starter home." This is where you live, how can you not care about it enough to toss it away after a handful of years?
     I'm sure I'm being overly sentimental, and we'll all just have to put up with it until everything gets put back to normal. Hopefully this will happen before Thanksgiving when my family is coming into town. As for now, I'm just going to have to pace nervously while my house is sick, until the experts tell me it's all better.

*I referring, of course, to people who have enough money that they are constantly "upgrading." I understand that a lot of people have to move a lot, and not of their own volition. Obviously real estate and property shuffling is not a game to them.

Dispensable (?): Divine Casters

At least he hit you so hard you left the battlefield...

     The last archetype to look at is the divine caster. In this case, I am referring mainly to clerics, although anybody who is capable of healing magic qualifies (druids, favored souls, etc). Is it possible to have a successful party without a healer of some kind?
     I might have to say "no."
     Here's the thing: you're going to need some way to patch the party up. Unless the entire purpose of the game is to be low-combat or low-magic, you're party is going to get beat up and you're going to need some way faster than natural healing to get back into the fray. Even the most basic of dungeons is likely to require the party to pause and heal between encounters.
     Now, there are ways you could get around having a divine caster, but I think they're all rather impractical. The simplest solution is just to rely on potions, although it is easy to see how this doesn't stack up to the abilities of an actual healer. For starters, you can't drink a potion if you're already in negative hit points and thus bleeding out. Potions also cap off at allowing 3rd level spells, which means you'll never get that cure critical you really need at later levels. You're also going to find that potions are not as effective as spells cast by actual people, because casters get to add their class level to the d8s rolled for the spell. You could spend extra money to have a potion made at a higher caster level, but that leads us to the other problem. All those potions are going to set you back a fair bit (50-750 gp a pop, and that's base price).
     I've also read about the idea of having a paladin using wands. It's not a bad idea, since anybody with a spell on their list can cast out of a wand, even if they are not high enough level to cast the spell themselves. Wands also let you get up to 4th level spells, which is a little better. These spells will still be weaker than those cast by a cleric, though, just like with the potions. The cost is a bit better if you think about it per-spell, but the wand method of course doesn't have the flexibility of potions (anybody can drink a potion, but only divine casters can use wands with divine spells). Also, it depends on what other role your paladin is playing. Paladins are more martial in nature, and in some ways it seems a waste to have a warrior character wasted having to spend all their rounds running around healing. At least casting is what clerics should expect to do every round.
     So I think I'm going to have to say that divine casters (healers) are the only truly indispensable characters in a traditional D&D party. Again, we're assuming a normal game where combat and traps are the norm, and playing strictly by the rules as given. House rules and games where combat is rare may change this, of course, but that's pretty much true of any rpg commentary.
     As always, though, feel free to comment and let me know your thoughts. Otherwise, this is a wrap on this particular series.

Dispensible: Rogues

Seriously, lady, you're just going to snag on everything.

     Here's where it's going to start getting tricky.
     I define "rogues" as anybody who is not combat-based, with a lot of skills (mostly in the spheres of sneaking, disabling devices, and picking locks), and the trapfinding special feature. This is usually a rogue, but it could also be any of the base classes from the Complete Adventurer supplement (like the scout, spellthief, or ninja; although none of them do it as well as a rogue).
     Which leads to an inherent problem with the D&D rule system when it comes to rogues. Trapfinding is defined as the ability to search and disarm any trap with a DC over 20. So it does not matter how many ranks your ranger has in Search; if the trap is too tough, he won't be able to find it without trapfinding. And it is only available as a class feature. There are no feats that grant this ability. 
     Now, my first instinct as to how to make rogues dispensible is to introduce a little house-rule called "Screw Trapfinding." In this variant, trapfinding is either a feat that anybody can get, or isn't necessary at all and anybody can find/disarm a trap with any DC so long as they can make the roll. Of course, as with most house rules, this leads you down a slippery slope of alterations. Because even with Screw Trapfinding in effect, you still only have one class with Disable Device as a class skill (rogues) and two classes with Search (rogues and rangers). So you might find yourself having to allow other classes to take these skills as class skills, or else wind up in the same situation. Would it make sense to let wizards have Disable Device, since they can be rather tinkery if they want? That's up to you and the game you're running, I guess. But the point is, there are other d20 games (like the Star Wars RPG) in which trapfinding doesn't exist. Does that mean traps don't exist in this game? Don't count on it. It just means that there isn't a special class that is defined to deal with them.
     Some people will also talk about the find traps spell, but I'm just going to ignore that entire topic. Remember when we were talking about spells that nobody ever wastes a slot on? That's one of them. For starters, it's a 2nd level spell, which means you don't get it until 3rd level. Also, it's only available to clerics (not even all divine casters; just clerics). Finally, it specifically does not allow you to disarm the trap, just to find it. A handful of gravel tossed down a hallway or poking a door with a stick will let you find half the traps out there, so what the hell good is that?
     When you get around the trapfinding issue, then you start to really that the rogue is utterly dispensible. Yes, they get more skill points than any other class, but that doesn't mean they are the only characters who have skills. It just might mean that the other characters have to pick up some slack. I've played in two campaigns now where there has been a rogue and a ranger and they were both equally stealthy, so you don't need a rogue for the sneaky bits. Also, as far as damage output goes, a good fighter or sorcerer is much more consistent (and doesn't have to go hide whenever there's undead or constructs or something else that isn't susceptible to sneak attacks).
     And, as was commented in my into post to this series, playing without a rogue does not mean that the party is necessarily stymied by every locked door or obviously trapped corridor. It just means that the party has to find other ways around. True, those ways are likely to involve brute force, but hey, if that's the kind of game you're playing, who cares? Some people like to just smash everything; so long as it's fun, have at.
     I like the rogue class, don't get me wrong. But really--and I'm just as upset to realize this--if you take away the trapfinding monopoly they have, they are utterly replaceable as a class.

Dispensible: Warriors

     The next character archetype on the chopping block is the warrior. 
     As far as D&D is concerned, I'm referring mostly to fighters and barbarians; classes that are the typical "tank" in that they are designed specifically to deal and take damage. These are the classes whose job is to stroll out into the front of the battlefield and start swinging. 
     The line here gets a little fuzzy, though. D&D has a lot of classes that are considered "martial" classes. Mostly, these are classes that have the defining characteristic of having the best Base Attack Bonus and the most combat-oriented special abilities. However, many of these do not qualify as tanks, as far as I'm concerned. Rangers and swashbucklers, for instance, might be able to put out a lot of damage, but their limited armor selection and relatively low hit points make them mighty vulnerable in a front-line situation. The paladin suffers similarly, because they have a lot of nifty special abilities that are a nice touch, but that really just get in the way of essential tank-duties.
     The thing to keep in mind is that if a warrior wants to keep from lagging behind in the damage-dealing business, he or she really needs to focus. In my last post, when I was talking about the fighter dishing out as much as the warmage, I was talking about a high level character who had enough feats to really specialize. And the times he was dealing massive amounts of damage involved using Power Attack with a magical two-handed weapon that would cause a critical hit on every third or fourth attack. Weapon combat takes a lot of money and time to make as damaging as even the most basic arcane attack spell. It's really just Strength plus weapon damage, and neither of those increases much without a lot of levels and gold pieces (to buff up your ability points and to add bonuses to your weapon). There are a handful of feats (like Power Attack) that help a lot, but that's it. While I've seen a well-built fighter keep up with the damage-dealing, I've seen just as many fall behind. Using a single-handed weapon without Power Attack, for instance, isn't going to do much more than 10 points of damage on average (and that's even assuming an 18 Strength with a magical weapon). Compare that to the 17.5 average damage done by a single fireball from the lowest possible level wizard (minimum level 5 to cast third-level spells).
     So if you're looking for damage output, it's pretty easy to replace the tank with a combat-focused mage or even a good archer (especially with feats like Rapid Shot and Multishot). We've even talked about how a rogue can dish out roughly the same amount of damage in sneak attack dice. I can personally attest to this, since I just had a game session where my 5th level rogue did roughly 60 points of damage in three rounds. Built for melee, with a keen rapier (15-20 crit threat range) and the Telling Blow feat (which allows you to add your sneak attack dice to any crit), a rogue can fairly consistently crit and deal massive amounts of damage. Or, instead of relying on crits, a melee rogue can go the Bluff-Feint route, and still get their sneak attack dice more often than not. Not to mention that much of the time a rogue gets to attack a flat-footed opponent and a mage gets to make touch attacks (if they have to make any rolls at all), which helps make up for their lower BABs (as compared with a warrior). Either way, we see a lot of damage can be done by a non-martial classes.

Well, they normally wear good armor...

     Which leaves the tank's real purpose to be in attack-absorption. In all fairness, this is one place where no other character type can really compare. Warriors can wear the best armor and have the most hit points. They also are great at drawing a lot of attention to themselves. The horde of baddies are going to pay more attention to the full-plated fighter who is a whirlwind of blades or the frothing, raging, axe-wielding barbarian than they are those hanging back and doing things that are ostensibly less threatening. That is a drawback in a party that has no tank; the damage is likely going to be more distributed among the squishier classes. 
     This is not an insurmountable challenge. The key with a party without a tank is just that it needs a number of other front-line characters to help absorb the damage. Split up even among "weaker" classes, usually you won't get total party kills (provided that the GM is giving you appropriately-leveled encounters, no single encounter should be enough to drop you all).  So long as there is enough healing to go around, and as long as the party is smart about it (and not afraid to retreat if necessary), they should survive with no problem. 
     As far as parties that are missing key archetypes go, the tank-less party lends itself to a game that could be far more interesting in the long run. The non-fighter characters are apt to have the lion's share of the party's skills, anyway, so non-combat scenarios won't be affected. This type of party might even lead to a subtler, less combat-oriented campaign, which can be just as fun. So go ahead, give it a try!

Dispensible: Arcane Casters

     Easily the most replaceable character type in the D&D world is the arcane caster. I mean no disrespect, but experience and logic tell me that most games can still be completed without having a mage-type (wizard, sorcerer, etc).
     First, let's think about what a mage does. They cast spells, and that's pretty much it. Still a very important role, to be sure, but that also depends on the types of spells. An arcane caster really only has two types of spells: damage and stat-effect (buffs, debuffs, etc). Sure, there are spells that can do all sorts of random effects, but those are almost never used. Leomund's Tiny Hut sounds fun, but what caster in their right mind would waste the spell slot on it? Let's face it, magic is prepped for combat, and not much else. There are spells that could help in social situations, yes, but the Face of your party should be able to handle that without help. There are spells that can aid in stealth, but the rogue or ranger should have that angle covered. Finally, let's face it, both of those situations can also be circumvented if your party isn't quite diplomatic or sneaky enough. Most of those situations involve brute force, but still, the job can get done.
     If you're looking for an effect-caster, it has been my experience that a cleric can fill this role just as well (if not better). Their spells are mostly designed for support: buff, debuff, healing, and summoning. A divine caster tends to have spells that help the party as a whole, not just the cleric himself. Not to mention, when the chips are down, a cleric has decent attack and defense capabilities (so if they manage to run out of spells, they can still hit things with a mace and hide behind heavy armors and shields). Mages, on the other hand, are just squishy sacks waiting to get the beatdown if they run out of spell slots.
     Where arcane casters corner the market is damage-dealings spells. And don't get me wrong, nobody can output as much damage per round as a sorcerer built for evocation. A single well-placed fireball or lightning bolt can deal more damage than any other single character. But if all you're looking for is a damage-dealing machine, is a mage really a better option than a well-designed fighter? 
     In one of my campaigns, we reached mid-to-high level (12-17). At the end, it was something of a competition between the warmage, the fighter, and the rogue as to who could deal the most damage in a single round. A crit with Power Attack on the fighter's keen falchion was on the same level as the rogue's 8 or 9 sneak attack dice and the warmage's fireballs. So it is certainly still possible to maintain the appropriate damage-dealing threshold with non-spellcasters.
     Also consider that, as far as damage-dealing goes, there are plenty of monsters that have spell resistance and resistances or immunities to energy damage. That means there are chances that a mage's spells are going to fizzle or deal far less than optimum damage. Sure, there's damage reduction, but by the time you get those monsters your main weapon-damage-dealers (i.e. the fighter) should have a magic weapon anyway, which overcomes 95% of all DR out there. Basically, there's a respectable percentage of monsters that are immune to fireballs or lightning bolts, but pretty much nothing is immune to getting chopped to bits with sharp pieces of metal.
     So, while a wizard is a welcome addition to any adventuring party, in my opinion if you have to vote out one of the four traditional classes (for example, if you only have four players), then the arcane caster should be the first one on the chopping block.

Dispensible

     The last two D&D campaigns I've been in have had an interesting mix of characters. I don't mean just personality and role-playing wise, either (because I'm proud to say that my crew of gamers always come up with good stuff in that regard). But we've managed to pull off parties that are ostensibly missing essential archetypes.
     I generally break down a standard four-person party as thus: the fighter (or barbarian, paladin, or other tank-like melee character), the arcane caster (wizard or sorcerer), the divine caster (cleric, or a druid built specifically for healing and spellcasting), and the rogue. Each has a specific role to play and niche to fill, and it's hard to make a go of any adventure without all of the different talents each one brings to the table.
     Or is it?
     In my first campaign with this particular group of mine, the players made it through the entire first half of the game (levels 1-10) without an arcane caster. Currently, we are about to wrap up the first leg of a campaign that has no tank (we're level 6, so we've made it pretty far, I'd say). From the standpoint of a traditional party, these groups shouldn't work. But they have.
     Now, there are plenty of articles and blogs out there about how to get around in D&D without certain classes being present in the adventuring party. I've read some of these, and many of them are simple speculation based upon the rules. A quick tip for those of you not intimately familiar with rpgs: games rarely end up the way the rules say they should. Take this from the guy who knows how to build a pretty damn good character and can still suck 95% of the time because he can't seem to roll double-digits on a 20-sided die.
     So I'm going to start a short series on how to survive in a party that is missing one of the key four archetypes. I'm going to base this on my own experience, not just what the rules say are possible or plausible. Some of it's going to work, but some of it just looks good on paper and really doesn't pan out in reality.
     So, where to start...?

The Gardener and the Architect

     Years ago, I had a conversation with a friend and my wife (then girlfriend) about Stephen King's Dark Tower series. Now, this post isn't really about that, although if you haven't read it I highly recommend it (power through the first book, it'll be worth it later). But part of the premise of the series involves the metaphysical idea that stories come from "somewhere else." In this way, King starts to tie together almost every other novel and story he has written, making the entire Dark Tower series read like a scavenger hunt or Where's Waldo as you pick out the little cameos made by characters from his other stories.
     This lead to the conversation about stories existing "outside," and that all we really do is access them and write them down. Which, in my opinion, is highly insulting. I resent the idea that I'm not actually doing the work, that instead all I'm doing is scribing down something that was created in some nebulous ether. It's like saying aliens built the pyramids; why can't we just accept that humans are capable of such feats? My opposition to such an idea is compounded by the fact that when King himself advocates such notions, he just makes himself seem like even more of an arrogant ass than he already does. Oh, you're not a world-creating God, but just the chosen Prophet sent to give us the Word? That's much more humble.

Muses: Like you're going to get anything done with all this going on.

     Now, I'm not retracting my stance on the subject. When I write, I am not just drawing on the dreams of some collective consciousness, or any other hipster art-student crap. I'm working damn hard to build something, and I'm not going to let some ill-defined pseudo-mystical muse take the credit.
     However, related to this idea is the thought that stories "go where they want to go." In the same way that we, as writers, don't really create the tales we tell, we also have to allow our characters and plots to "be true to themselves." I found this idea similarly insulting: they're my stories and they will do what I damn well tell them to.
     Unfortunately, that's not necessarily true, and it's time I admit that.
     I've been working on a space-opera sci-fi novel for some time, and it hasn't been coming along as well as I'd hope. Part of the problem is that I developed the world and plot first, then came up with characters to go into it. In my previous novels, it went the other way around: I had characters first, and then found a story to put them in. This seems to work the best for me, because I want my stories to be driven by the characters, so they must come first.
     I was discussing this with another friend of mine last week, and he brought up the idea of the writer either as Architect or Gardener. 
     The Architect plans and structures everything, like following blueprints. The Architect is the type of writer who has notebooks full of timelines and outlines and tack-boards full of sticky notes that order everything in the story. The Architect knows every step of the plot and every development of the characters from start to finish, even before they ever write the first word. They complete via organization, and I imagine they rarely have a hard time finishing anything.
     The Gardener, on the other hand, starts with vague outlines and ideas; a "seed," if you will. They then write and let that seed grow, allowing it to take shape as it will. A Gardener's story evolves organically, typifying this idea that things will go where they want to go, as I mentioned above. It's a style that has much more in common with the hippie metaphysical stuff I used to rail against.
     As is so often the case, though, I was wrong.
     See, in my novel I was having a hard time really getting the characters to click. They just seemed to be plodding along with the plot, and thus just came off flat and two-dimensional. I hate stock characters, but I realized that this was all my novel had.
     This conversation about the Architect/Gardener dynamic made me think about my more successful writing ventures. And I realized I am much more the Gardener. I do tend to use terms like "organic" when describing a way a story grows and progresses (indicating, of course, how smooth and believable transitions are between plots and characters). And my last two novels started as mere ideas that were molded into full stories during the actual creation process. I didn't have a good structure before I started, and it still worked out.
     I took a scene in my current project and tried it out. I made one of the characters react differently in a single scenario, which then chain-reacted and made me have to re-write other scenes and add in completely new ones. It was a pain, but the result is that now I have several character relationships that are actually developed. I have people more than just archetypes, and everybody knows that good characters are what get readers invested. All in all, things are just starting to click into place more with the story, and it's because I "let it go where it wanted to go."
     While I'm still not going to go so far as to say that I am just a mere vessel for the transfer of stories from the ether, I can definitely say that there is something to the idea of stories and characters having a life of their own. When you make a character, and you want that character to be fully realized, then you have to really think about what they would do in a situation. Even if what they would do is not helpful to the situation or the plot as a whole. That's how people are; they rarely do what is needed to go along with the plan. But rather than force it, I'm going to start trying to sit back and see what happens.

     P.S. Those friends of mine who I've mentioned here, you know who you are, and I don't want to hear any I-told-you-so.

Finally Final Fantasy

     I started playing Final Fantasy 3 (or 6, if you're hardcore and insist on referring to it by the original Japanese designation) this last week. It's an odd story that got me there--albeit said story is a bit of a tangent. See, we were at the thrift store looking for pants for my pregnant wife when I heard somebody's cell phone go off. The notification ring was the sound effect used when Mario hits a block and gets a coin. For some reason, this got me thinking that I should play Mario. Note that I did not say "play Mario again." See, I had a Sega when I was a kid, so what we got was Sonic the Hedgehog. I've never actually played any of the Mario games, with a few minor instances where I put in an hour or so at a friend's house.
     But this is not to be a discourse on the pros or cons of Mario versus Sonic. And really, this desire to play Mario morphed into a more general desire to play something more old-school. I had tried this some time ago, but failed. Link to the Past beat me, that's all there is to it. I'd rather not talk about it too much.
     Anyway, I thought it only fair to give FF 3/6 another shot, considering our checkered past. See, when I was in high school, I dated a girl who was obsessed with the game. Now, I know some people who are obsessed with things, and that's not necessarily a bad thing. But this was one of those times where it went to an unhealthy degree. Not just a writing-fan-fiction-and-inserting-yourself-as-a-character degree (which is bad enough), but a you're-not-allowed-to-like-that-game-because-I-love-it-and-it's-mine degree. If FF 3/6 had been a rock star, she probably would have murdered it just to make sure that nobody else could have it.
     Not surprisingly, that relationship did not end well. And some of the scars I carried from it were shaped like this game. Ten years later, I think I'm ready now to see it with fresh, not-crazy eyes. I'm only about 9 hours into the game, but I've already had some revelations.
     1) Considering how many characters there are, they really did not skimp on the characterization. I mean, I've played modern RPGs where you only get a handful of people in your party, but they're all pretty two-dimensional. Sure, some of the characterization is a bit hokey and seems cliche now, but I have to remind myself how old this game is. The depth it gives the game makes me almost understand how you could get obsessed with it.

Also, why do you even bother with a concept artist?

     2) This is probably one of the best steampunk-style games I've seen aside from Arcanum. Now, I know all FFs merge magic and technology to a certain degree, but I think most of the others lean much more heavily towards one or the other. For instance, FF7 was much closer to sci-fi, whereas FF9 was practically just regular fantasy with only a bit of tech thrown in. Also, a lot of FF tech is powered by magic (or some such thing), whereas this one is very specifically steam-power. Makes me think the guys at the Alternate History track at D*C are missing some obvious costuming ideas. Note: I may just be stuck on this element of the game because my favorite character is Edgar, who kills people with steampunk weapons (like phonograph-shaped sonic blasters, giant drills, chemical sprayers, and crossbows that fire like machine guns).
     3) Why, oh why weren't any of these great RPGs ever made for the Sega? The only thing they had was stuff like Fatal Labyrinth, in which there was no story or characters and the only thing that made it remotely like an RPG is that you leveled up and got more stuff. I didn't discover true video game RPGs until I started playing things like Fallout and Baldur's Gate on my computer. I could have grown up with Chrono Trigger and the like? I was robbed.
     4) Does it seem sexist to anyone else that its always the girl characters in a Final Fantasy that are the magic users?
     Anyway, I've torn myself away long enough. I just got Edgar a chainsaw, so don't mind the evil cackles coming from the living room.

Technobabble

     I was searching for a new science fiction show to watch, and I just tried and failed to start watching Star Trek: Voyager. I've seen a bit of it before, when I was a kid and it was first on the air. I thought it was kind of hokey then, but when I tried it again this last week I thought that maybe I just couldn't appreciate it. There are definitely some things that, as I get older, I start to understand nuances and subtleties. There are some things that could not hold my attention as a kid because as a boy all I wanted were action and adventure (i.e. spaceships shooting each other with lasers and blowing up).
     No, this time, the effect was the exact opposite. Instead of being able to appreciate what my young self was not mature enough to, I am acutely aware of the ridiculousness that my young self was impervious to. I am referring mostly to the technobabble.
     Now, as a writer of science fiction myself, I understand how important technobabble is. It is a staple, not just for the writer who may not be up on all the latest of high-technology and scientific breakthroughs, but also for the reader/viewer. While there is definitely a niche for hard SF where every last line of science must be accurate and possible, most readers find this daunting and more than a little boring. Technobabble helps you breeze past the cumbersome details and get to what is important. For most of us, it's not important what part of the spaceship engine failed and for what reason; we just need to know the ship's broken, and the crew needs to fix it within the next 22-45 minutes. That's where the drama and the excitement is, not in the technical manual that would be needed to outline the exact science.

Maybe I just need to watch with this in hand.

     But Star Trek has elevated technobabble beyond and art form and into the realm of the surreal. It's like the writers were having a contest to see who could write the longest sentence without using any actual English words. The technobabble is so persistent that it is consistently used as a deus ex machina. What's that? You're stuck in the time-dilation loop on the event horizon of a singularity? Why don't we just use a tachyon beam to open a subspace rift and then convert the magnetrons to produce a graviton field to push us through? It's so obvious.
     Now, my wife has pointed out that Trekkies take this technobabble so seriously that it actually is a necessary part of the show, and that many of these terms must be used correctly or else there will be angry letters. I can understand this in some ways; any science-fiction franchise is going to have some staple technobabble that has become cannon and must therefore stay with the show. Even if this technobabble was coined decades ago, and now what we start to understand about science does not agree. 
     I get it, but it doesn't mean I have to like it. I got through all ten seasons of Stargate, despite the fact that Sam Carter's was a "scientist" in the sense that she was the resident expert on everything from chemistry to computer science to astrophysics, and that she clearly did her docotorate on Making Things Overload and Explode. But I don't think I'm going to be able to get through Star Trek and all its dilithium crystals and magical technology that can make anything out of thin air.
     And don't even get me started on the "aliens"...

Espenson's Sandbox

     At Dragon*Con I had the pleasure of sitting on a panel and listening to Jane Espenson talk. As is often the case at these kind of Q&A sessions, I had a question in mind that I considered going up to the mic and asking. But, as happens just as often as not, somebody else brings up something that gets my question answered.
     What it boiled down to was that I wanted to know what differences there were, as a writer, between working on your own stuff and working on somebody else's. The distinction, in my mind, is that "your own stuff" means characters and worlds that you have created solely on your own, as opposed to things created by somebody else. When you're a television writer, it seems to me that you are working largely with somebody else's stuff (at least, if you have a career like Espenson, where you work under people like Joss Whedon). And I wonder if that ever feels limiting or constraining.
     She responded (albeit via somebody else's question) by saying how much she preferred to work with other people's characters. She mentions being excited that she gets to "play in this sandbox" and work with characters and worlds that are already rich and developed. She then went on to talk about what characters she never got to write for that she always regretted, and so on.
     I'll admit, I was flabbergasted by this response. At first I thought she was just putting good spin on it, because I thought surely she can't enjoy having to work under the creative control of somebody else. But listening to her, I could tell this was not the case. She really did prefer to take something that already existed and add her own flare to it.
     In case you were wondering, I'm obviously the exact opposite. I don't know if I could stand not having complete creative control over the characters I was writing. Even if I was given a lot of slack and freedom, I would always know that these were somebody else's babies and that I couldn't treat them however I wanted. I would always feel the creator looming over me and saying "He/she would not say/do that." What Espenson referred to as a sandbox I just saw as a can of worms I wanted no part in. I can't even see myself attempting fan-fiction, even if it is a franchise or universe I love. For example, I wrote some scripts for a Star Wars comic, but it had to be set in a time and place where no pre-existing characters would be so that there wouldn't be any interaction or overlap. 
     As far as that goes, I also know I'm enough of a control freak that any attempt I've made in the past to co-write with somebody else has always ended in disaster. For starters, I don't know how the process should be done so that it all blends smoothly together. It always seems such an obvious, jarring joint when one writer stops and the next begins. And I also have a hard time letting somebody else take over characters and plot events that I consider "mine." Maybe I would fear the looming creator if I were working with somebody else's stuff because I know I myself would be that looming creator.
     I suppose this might just be the difference between a novelist and a TV writer, although that seems unfair (not to mention implicitly smacking of elitism). I'm used to playing God, so to speak: making the world, making the characters, and creating the plot all on my own. Oh, sure, I get inspiration and ideas from other places, but every writer does that. The big difference is that I know that I have to do everything; there aren't going to be other writers to fill in the details for me. Which is fine, I generally think of myself as a detail-oriented person, and in a lot of ways I like that.
     But now I feel like my next challenge should be to try collaboration. There's always the chance that my past attempts have failed because of some other factor other than my inherent inability to work with other creative types. If nothing else, it should be an interesting exercise that could teach me a thing or two.
     The question is, then: are there any writers out there that I know who are as dead-serious about the craft as I am?

Dream House

     I had an unusual dream last night. Well, I should say the dream itself wasn't terribly strange by most standards (it involved a friend of our trying to spend the night in a tent in our backyard while it was raining, and then people were mysteriously disappearing...). But what really struck me as odd is that it was the first dream I've had that I can remember taking place in my current house.
     I'm sure I'm not the only one who is like this, but the vast majority of my dreams take place (if they are in a recognizable setting) in the house I grew up in, back in Ohio (or the high school that was right across the street). I suppose it only makes sense; I spent the most time there of any house I've lived in, and those were my formative years. I've only owned my home for the last three years, so I guess I'm happy to have it finally sink in deep enough to show up in my dreams.
     I would also note that, for two years after college, I was living back with my parents in the new house they had built (on the same property my old house was on). But that house has never made an appearance in my subconscious wanderings. There was nothing wrong with that house, of course, but in many ways it never really fit as being "home."
     Which seems like sentimental tripe, I know. But there is something indefinable about a house that makes it feel like home, and I'm artiste enough to admit to such a metaphysical concept. What I always go back to is something that happened to my wife and I when we were buying our home.
     Now, as usual, we looked at a lot of different places. We even got outbid for a few of them that we liked, and there were dozens that we didn't even want to go visit, just by looking at the pictures. We had something of a list made of things we wanted in a house, but by and large we were just gauging what was available in our price range, and I figured we'd just end up settling for something that wasn't too bad to either of us.
     Yes, we ended up falling in love with our house. And this was after visiting another house with the exact same downstairs floorplan, but a completely different and stupid layout for the upstairs (I don't remember the exact details, but they somehow managed to fit three poorly-shaped bedrooms into a space where we currently have four). My wife, after leaving this first house, commented "I love the downstairs, but I wish we could do something about the upstairs." The very next house we went to had the exact same downstairs floorplan, but with the superior upstairs I mentioned before.
     But this is not the tale I always think of to prove my point. Before we came across either of the aforementioned houses, we ran into one that looked on paper like it would be fantastic.  It was larger than the house we settled for, it cost less, and it was much newer (and thus in far better repair).
     However, as we were taking the tour, something about the place just seemed off. I'm not going to pretend to know what it was. Now, part of it was that the yard had not a single bush or tree in it. Sure, it was your stereotypical white-picket-fence surburban lot, so there wasn't much yard anyway. But it was devoid of anything but grass. I found that more than a bit off-putting. It also might have been that it was all so new and shiny that I couldn't help but wonder why it was so cheap. To this day, I can't say what it was that turned me off the place, but it was nothing logical. On the drive away from that house, my wife and I had one of those conversations where we were both hedging around an idea we didn't know the other had also had. We were both trying to convince the other (and ourselves) that this was a great deal, and that we should go for it. Finally, we admitted that the place creeped us out in some vague, nagging way, and we skipped it. My wife has later postulated that she thought "something bad" had happened there.
     Now, I'm not going to go into a conversation here about psychics or hunches or any kind of paranormal phenomena, no matter how much that story points in that direction. Mostly because I'm still on the fence about how I feel about the existence of psychic phenomena. And if it does exist, I am probably the least psychically-sensitive person on the planet. Yet I still walked away from a house that all rational thought would have had me buy. Ostensibly, because it didn't feel like "home" to me.
     I'm glad my house does fit so comfortably into my mental niche of what a home should be. Not just because of all the damn work we've done (and are still doing) into making the place nice, but also because I'll soon be raising my son here. My hope is that this place will be featuring into his dreams until he's thirty and has he own place, too.

Also, I Know Everything is Really Big, Thanks

On an unrelated note, I will build this D&D character one day...

     Astronomy is always fascinating. Lately I've been watching documentaries on the universe and the various topics on the subject. The childlike wonder at what is possible out there still remains, as it did when I was a kid. However, there is one major point I would make to any astronomer (and many of these can be applied to any kind of scientist, really) to facilitate intelligent dialogue about the subject and to prevent me from throwing things at you.
     Stop acting like you know everything. This really should be first and foremost for all scientists, everywhere, all the time. There may be some things that can be definitively known, but really there is far more out there that we can't be 100% positive about. The example that is setting me off on this point (and the whole post, really) is the Big Bang. Firstly, it's just a theory. Secondly, just take a step back and think about it. The universe was once "small and hot," then "expanded rapidly and cooled down." The scientists on these shows throw these terms around like it makes all the obvious sense in the world. What really sets me on edge is when the Big Bang is used as the explanation for the beginning or creation of the universe. Sorry, but that doesn't fit. You're pointedly ignoring the implied question: so what was around before that beginning? If we're going to talk about timelines, and if we're going to give the universe an age (about 13.75 billion years old), then we have to logically continue the line of questioning about what was around 13.75 billion years and 1 day ago. Nothing? So all time, space, and matter just popped into existence spontaneously for no reason? And before that, what? Some kind of nothingness so profound that we can't even comprehend it? That's not very scientific. Yet everybody is just so quick to assume that the Big Bang theory is correct, it's like nobody is asking about all the things it doesn't explain.
     I will also note that, while I'm loathe to bring anything even close to a religious discussion onto this blog, the Big Bang theory is one of those scientific explanations that just give credence to the belief in higher powers or intelligent design. I mean, c'mon, you're leaving some pretty damn big holes in your theory; holes which are bound to have a god or two crammed in to fill in the gaps. 
     The same goes for the explanation of life on Earth. I'm no creationist, but saying lightning zapped a bunch of random elements and created sentient life is pretty damn far-fetched. That is, unless you are so hardcore in your scientific beliefs that you don't see the difference between human consciousness and the stimulus-response version of life found in amoeba. If you think there is nothing special and inexplicable about the human mind, it's self-awareness, it's ability to think abstractly and hypothetically even in opposition to the most basic rules of natural survival instinct; if all that is just chemical reactions and electrical signals to you...well, then I guess life is already pretty sad and dull for you, so it really doesn't matter what I say.
     As one more addendum, there are all sorts of things that people have historically considered to be scientific fact. Most notably: that the sun revolves around the Earth, that the Earth is flat, that disease is caused by evil spirits, and that it is physically impossible to run a mile in under four minutes. Science is like the U.S. Constitution: it was made to be changed and altered.
     Now, before I add political debate to the post that has already flirted with religious debate, I'm going to stop before it can get any worse.

Geekiness: The Gathering

     I started gaming (in the geeky sense of the word, not the current meaning where anybody who has ever played Guitar Hero considers themselves a gamer) in junior high school. I'm a little sad that I can't recall the exact moment, day, month, or even year. But I remember getting into Magic: The Gathering early in high school (around 9th grade), and I definitely started D&D before then.
     I should clarify that I'm talking about Advanced Dungeons & Dragons, 2nd Edition. I don't like to be too hipster, but I do feel the need to point out that I should get some street cred for having cut my teeth on THAC0. 
     It started out just my sister and I: I was the GM, and she was all the party members. It worked pretty well, considering the half-assed way we followed the rule system. We were definitely more worried about doing weird, fun things than keeping on track with any kind of established adventure (for example: there was a magic-using sentient cat in the party, just because). Now that I think about it, I've definitely looped around somewhat, in that respect; I am more interested now in the "soft" elements of the game (roleplaying, characterization, and plot arcs) than the "hard" rules and min/maxing.
     What is a bit unexpected is that this was not the gateway drug you would think it was. I actually became more of a well-rounded geek thanks to CCGs, not RPGs. I played Magic in it's first heyday (from Ice Age to Weatherlight, for those of you familiar with the older sets). Thanks to Magic's popularity, every gaming company and franchise wanted to put out a CCG to cash in on the craze. And I was one of the people they were catering to, the type of person who would plop down the cash to try any card game that seemed even remotely interesting.

Like this, only more so

     It was through these CCGs that I really got into Shadowrun, Battletech/Mechwarrior, and yes, even the Cthulhu mythos and Lovecraft in general. I know, it's hard to believe now that I only discovered Lovecraft because of the Mythos card game (put out by Chaosium).
     I look back at these CCGs, with my current savvy as to how rules systems and game mechanics work, and marvel as to how they could be so entertaining for so long with their general simplicity. Of course, an argument could be made that simplicity is key for longevity and replay value (hell, how much is chess still played, and those rules haven't changed for centuries). But really, the appeal to me (then, as now) was how the cards inspired me. The artwork and themes went a long way to sparking thoughts and ideas, leading me to look more into the world-systems that had been created around the franchises. It was a tantalizing taste of the Sixth World of Shadowrun, or hints at the horrors hidden behind the works of Lovecraft. In some ways, the vagueness and incompleteness helped beckon me further into the genre. I didn't understand why a troll would have a cybernetic arm or how an Elder Sign would keep Nyarlathotep from passing through a portal, but damned if I didn't want to find out. Playing these games, where there's not a lot of plot involved, still made me want to invent stories around them. Even now, looking at the cards--without even playing with them--gets my mind working.
     During Dragon*Con, I talked to a few people about how my Magic cards might be worth some money now. And while part of me liked this idea, the more wistful, nostalgic part of me balks at the idea of giving up any of my collection. Sure, I haven't played in over a decade, but that's not the point. The cards are still good, the game still playable, and some day I will have a child I want to introduce to the game. My father and I spent a lot of time playing CCGs together throughout my high school years, and I would be lying if I said I didn't harbor hopes to do the same with my kids. Not just for the family bonding, but also with the desire to stoke my kids' imaginations.
     So while I might let go of a few rares to get some quick cash (because I don't care about having the "power cards;" they're usually the most boring, anyway), you won't see me trying to dump the whole collection in massive lots. Because these are geek-seeds, and they're always worth planting.

Dragon*Con 2012 Highlights

     Another year, another Dragon*Con under my belt. Actually, I'm surprised to look back and realize that this is only my 4th ever D*C, and only the second time I've gone for multiple days. It feels like such a major part of my yearly routine that you'd think I've been doing it forever. Plus, of course, I've been to plenty of other conventions, including Origins back in my native Ohio pretty much as far back as I can remember being a geek (high school, at least).  Some highlights from my D*C experience this year:
     1) Seeing Jane Espenson and getting to hear her talk about writing. I don't really do celebrity panels anymore; I can't stand waiting in lines to go see them, and then I just get mortified by some of the terrible gushing questions that people always throw at the celebrities. There's nothing worse than watching and actor have to fumble through some explanation or defense of something that somebody else wrote and directed their character to do. Espenson, as a writer, is actually in a position to be able to answer questions regarding the writing of TV shows. Not to mention that she was as clever and articulate as you would expect considering her resume. As a writer myself, she gave me a lot to think about...so much so, that it's going to have to be a post in itself later on.

     2) Group costuming with my D&D crew. I don't normally hang out too long with people during the convention, because there's just too much to do and nobody's schedules ever mesh terribly well. I'm also not much of a cosplayer on my own. However, it all worked out pretty well once we got together, and getting to roam around with my gaming crew in costume was definitely one of the high points. Sure, we didn't end up finding any random encounters, but we did end up in a tavern, so I guess it wasn't that bad of an adventure after all.
     3) Figuring out what types of panels I find the most interesting. In past years, I have gone to panels on more traditionally geeky things: gaming, comics, movies, and TV. Most of them were disappointing, at best. This year I went to "nerdier" things: stuff from the Skeptics, Space, and Paranormal tracks. They were interesting and run by individuals who have some weight in the field or on the topic (as opposed to just random fans). I will definitely be spending more time seeing what they have to offer in the future.
     4) Just to be perfectly hypocritical about speaking ill of fan panels, my last highlight will be the Cabin in the Woods fan panel that I spoke on. I was nervous to do so at first, but just as my wife predicted, once you got me up there and talking about horror movies and the genre in general, you just couldn't shut me up. I remember being sad when it ended because there was just so much more to talk about. I don't know if I'll be doing more fan panels in the future, but there's a good chance.
     5) Last, but not least, my wife's performance in the Doctor Horrible shadow play is always on the top of my list. Sure, there's favoritism there, but they do a fantastic job. And I'm not the only one who thinks so; this shadow play is so popular that every year it's standing-room-only in the biggest ball room at the convention. Part of it is because all the actors have their parts down to a science, but also because they clearly love doing it so much. And that kind of enthusiasm is inevitably contagious.
     As I said, there are many of these points that I will have to discuss with more depth later, but for now, I'll just close with saying that this has probably been my best D*C so far. I think it has been worth making every other chore and home-improvement project dreadfully far behind schedule.

Domestic Sacrifice

     The house is a disaster.
     Walking barefoot is dangerous, and not recommended for people who's feet are not covered in thick, hobbit-like layers of protective calluses. Scattered like caltrops are bits of plastic and wood, the sharp little waste pieces cast off and left hiding in the carpet. Amongst them, like rattlesnakes in the grass, are the occasional pin or sewing needle. The only hope to avoid injury are the layers of discarded cloth, leather, and foam that cover the floor like an impromptu patchwork rug. The cats stalk pen and paper left carelessly on the coffee table, along with the occasional tangled wad of discarded thread. The tile and pergo of the kitchen and dining room are hidden under a fine layer of sawdust, so that we can easily track our footprints to and fro. All this is in addition to the normal scraps of dirt, leaf, and pine needle tracked in from the back patio and the orange-and-gray tumblefurs that blow across the landscape in the breeze of the fan. They have not seen there normal ritualistic culling by vacuum and broom, and their population explodes out of control.
     The exterior has been equally neglected. Killer parasitic vines strengthen their foothold upon the outer rim of the territory. Gardens, once tended and cared for, are left to fend for themselves. They fight weeds and parasites while wallowing in a sea of old, rotting mulch that is long overdue for replacing. The house itself, once a bastion of order, a fortress of control standing over the tamed landscape, stands ignored. Its walls are half-painted, left a jarring clash of colors that differ from wall to wall. In one particular area, a poignant reminder: the new coat gives way gradually to the old, where the painter has laid down his brush and sprayer and abandoned his task. It is a testament of just what has fallen victim to the emotionless triage of the times.
     But I have a doublet, a lyre, a rapier, and--most importantly--a jaunty hat. My wife is armored in studded leather and wields a crossbow. When Dragon*Con comes, we will not be found wanting.
     And the convention is only four days long.
     Soon, mess, your day of reckoning will come.

My Abandoned SF

     In my last post, I referred to my "top twenty," indicating that I had a list in my head of my favorite movies and TV shows (in this instance, of the science-fiction genre). I must admit, this is not exactly true, in the sense that I don't have such a list currently constructed. I know, you feel cheated and lied to, but I promise I'm working on said list as we speak. It's actually harder than it seems, because it's not just a matter of thinking of twenty good science fiction shows/movies, but ones that are good enough to make a list out of. I'm actually only up to fifteen at this moment.
     In the meantime, I've realized that there are some ostensibly seminal works of the genre that I have never been able to get myself to sit down and watch completely. Don't get me wrong, I'll probably try to get around to most of them eventually. But they're pretty low on my priority list. Also, let me mention that I'm only going to talk about shows that I tried (or am trying) to watch, but just can't drum up the enthusiasm to continue. I'm not much one for going back to watch classics just for the sake of seeing them, so no, I'm not even going to mention things like Lost in Space and crap like that.  So, feel free to mock and scorn me for the following:

Would you feel better if I said I was referring to this one?

     Battlestar Galactica. I've actually just now started to sit down and watch the show on Netflix, and it is part of the reason I even had the idea to make this post. I had no real interest in watching BSG while it was on the air. Too much drama is the main drawback, I think. While I like some paranoia and intrigue as much as the next guy, I can only take so much in one sitting. I was expecting more space battles and robot-shooting, and so far it's not delivering the goods.
     Babylon 5. I may be most ashamed of this one. I love J. Michael Straczynski; his comic series Rising Stars is probably the best vision of realistic portrayals of superheroes in the modern world since Watchmen. And many people have recommended it to me highly (people who's opinions I actually value, too). But I made it through only a handful of episodes of this one before I had to admit that I was bored all the way through, the effects are laughably outdated, and none of the actors were particularly compelling. Again, call me un-intellectual, but I need some kind of action going on in my science-fiction.
     Star Trek. Any of them. I watched a good bit of Next Generation and Voyager while they were on the air, but not all of them, and I did not follow them closely enough to remember anything but the most large, vague points. I just never could get behind the universe that Star Trek is set in. I think the pseudo-science gets to the point of ridiculousness, such as the holodeck, the replicators, and beaming technology. I have a hard time believing that a society that could create holograms that could be physically interacted with, machines that could make damn near anything out of thin air, and safe teleportation would have any reason to explore the universe. I mean, the friggin' universe can pretty much just come to you in the safety of your own home with that combination of technology. Also, I can't get behind the idea that 90% of the alien races out there look like humans with just varying amounts of head-ridges.
      Stargate Universe. I love the other two Stargate shows (SG-1 and Atlantis), but SGU was trying too hard to be BSG and that just killed it for me. I'm going to just come right out and say it: unrelenting drama and interpersonal conflict is no substitute for shooting aliens. Also, the other two Stargate shows had a healthy dose of wit and humor tossed in, which made them overall more enjoyable shows. Add to this a cast of characters that was not able to boast a single likable character, and I just gave up after a handful of episodes.
     Lexx. Again, I've heard good things about this show, by people who should know better. I'm also usually a fan of "cult" shows. But this one just isn't very good, really. The acting and writing is B-grade (which I understand is supposed to be part of its charm), and the special effects don't quite stand the test of time. This is another show where I could not find a single likable character in the entire cast, which is going to be the final nail in the coffin of whether or not I'm going to take the time to watch it.

     Honorable mention goes to Andromeda and V, which I have never tried to watch. In all fairness, though, they're not on Netflix yet. So, if they ever do, I'll give them a try. But I'm certainly not interested enough to go out of my way for it (which says a lot in itself).
     I'd love to hear your guys' opinions on the above mentioned shows. I'm not saying your going to convince me to give them another try, but I'll say I'm willing to entertain arguments in their favor. Have at.