Songs that Made Me Like the Band: "Passenger"

Seeing as I spent last night rocking out to Deftones—for the first time—live at Vegas’ House of Blues, I figured it would be a perfect time to discuss what drew me to this band in the first place.

All of my friends rocked out to Deftones long before I did. Most of them started when their second album, Around the Fur dropped. This was also right about when Deftones toured with Korn (after the joint venture of “Wicked” on Korn’s Life is Peachy) and had become that “smaller sort” of popular band. "My Own Summer (Shove It)" seemed to be all over the radio and my friends’ sound systems. My cousin, in particular, was already hanging their posters on his walls and was quite enamored with the album. As a result, I was forced to listen to it on one too many occasions. But, for me, their sound didn’t mesh. I didn't think Chino fit the band, or that the band didn’t fit Chino. Those first two albums sounded like two people having separate conversations but were too stubborn to give in and join the other. On its own, the band sounded good, and if he’d been soloing it up, I would’ve liked Chino, too. But together, the two positives became a negative.

Of course, everyone thought I might have down syndrome and didn't know what the balls I was talking about. I suppose I couldn't blame them since, at this point, my earholes were living on a steady diet of Korn, The Cardigans, and Failure. And despite Deftones having been compared to Korn, I couldn’t get on board with them.

Then White Pony came out, and their first single, "In the House of Flies" already had my attention: It was so different than their last two albums, and I actually thought the band and Chino were working together—finally. My friends snagged this album up, and “Passenger” was one of the first tracks my good friend Aaron forced on me, as Tool had become another of our crew's favorites. (I mean, really, Maynard has a killer voice. As my coauthor put it, “Voice of calm, words of chaos.” One of my favorite male singers, hands down.)

So when I heard that track, all of the dissonance of Deftones’ previous albums came crashing down around me, replaced by this stunning rhythm and dream-like quality to the vocals. And the way the chorus builds each time with Maynard's "Roll the windows down..." holy shit, it made me want to do just that. Like this was a song that demanded to be blasted in the wee small hours of the morning, when it’s at its darkest moment, with every window down, hand playing in the air currents, and screaming the lyrics at the top of my lungs.

Sadly, I don't recall ever having actually done that, but this song made me feel like Deftones, finally, found their distinct voice. There were still a few “off” tracks with White Pony, some a bit too disjointed for me, but when their next, self-titled, album dropped, I thought they nailed it. And the three subsequent discs are—in my opinion—most excellent.

Oh, and the concert? I screamed along to “Passenger.” And even without Maynard, it was bad ass. Bad. Ass.

Meet My Writing Counterpart: Holly Cagney

Since my first collaboration with Holly Cagney is on the verge of being queried--and is already making the contest rounds--we thought it would be good to introduce each other. (You can find her interviewing me over on her blog, here.) Without further ado, meet my co-author for FIRE, LIGHTS, AND SLEEPLESS NIGHTS.

Give us a snapshot of who Holly is by providing a list. Name three things you “love,” three things you “hate,” one thing you “fear,” and one thing that you “know.”

Love: 

1. Bread  

2. Creating  

3.Love

Hate: 

1. Filth  

2. Scraping noises   

3. Sickness

Fear:  

Oblivion

Know:  

You’re not alive unless you’re living.

In your personal bio, you’ve said that you were inspired to write because of your great-grandmother’s writings. Would you mind explaining a bit more of that? How do your writings differ—and how are they similar?

When I learned that my great-grandmother had been an author (published by Simon and Schuster), I wanted so badly to follow in her footsteps. I think a lot of that had to do with being adopted and not really having my own past. After I was adopted, I really clung to my new family’s history and let it become a part of my own. And once I tried writing, I was hooked.

Our writings differ in the obvious. She wrote adult fiction, with the exception of one children’s novel (The Hoogles and Alexander). I, of course, write young adult. We do have similarities, though. Her writing was very much inspired by her own life, and I think a lot of mine is, too.

Have you ever thought about genre or style-hopping in your writing? What is it that started you on the YA path and has kept you there?

YA has such a heartbeat. That’s what really drew me to writing it. There’s so much room for pain and insecurity, but at the same time, it can hold intense love and magic. I feel alive when I write YA. I feel present. And that’s really what YA is about.

I have genre-hopped within YA, for sure. My first novel was a thriller, my second an urban fantasy, my third a paranormal…then I finally landed on contemporary, where I’ve stayed. Sometimes you have to try everything to find out what you love most. I love reading contemporary YA the most, and I derive the most enjoyment from writing it, as well. But even within contemporary, my style has changed. I started out writing commercial contemporary, but lately, I’ve seen myself shifting more toward literary. It’s all about finding what awakes your passion for writing.

What YA book do you wish you had written, and why?

What a hard question! Can I pick two? I’m going to anyway.

For commercial, it would be Anna and the French Kiss. This is really the model of how to write a great commercial contemporary YA. It has a unique MC, it keeps you reading, and it has love…which we all need, whether we’re willing to admit it or not.

For literary, it would be Imaginary Girls.  This book chilled me to the bone, yet the writing was so painfully beautiful that I couldn’t put it down.

What’s something that you had to learn the “hard way” in the writing world? What advice might you offer others?

To take rejection in all forms. I cried when I got my first critique. It was hard to take. And then there’s not making it into contests…being the loser amongst winners. And, without a doubt, there’s the actual rejection from agents. Those can hurt a lot.

But you HAVE to do these things in order to succeed. You must have your work beta-ed and critiqued to make it stronger. You must put your work out there to see if it’s relevant in today’s YA climate. And if you want to be a traditionally published author, you must submit to agents. It’s growing pain. Without the pain, you will not grow.

What is the biggest surprise about being a co-author? What makes it different from your own writing?

The biggest surprise was how easy it is. I really wasn’t sure how two writers who’re used to doing their own thing, their own way, could be able to come together for one cohesive novel, but it clicked. It really clicked hardcore. For me, it was like having your subconscious come alive. All those ideas that you’ve forgotten or didn’t know how to articulate suddenly spring to life in the form of this other person. Because of this, I think you really have to find the right person to co-write with. I think it has to be an organic process.

You know, it’s not different from my own writing. That’s why I love co-writing so much. I didn’t have to sacrifice who I am as a writer to be a co-writer. But it’s better…richer. It’s like my writing 2.0.

Once your book(s) sell(s), where do you see your writing life going?

Besides writing a hell of a lot more, I see myself interacting with people. I would love to go on a book tour and interact with readers. I would love to have an agent and meet said agent. I would love to go to conferences. I would really, really, really love to meet other writers and go on writing retreats. Writing can be such a solitary experience, so I’m ready to get out there and interact.

If you could meet any author, living or dead, who would it be—and why?

My great-grandmother, Dorothy Langley! I would love to hear which relatives inspired which characters. I would love to hear where her inspiration for writing came from and how it evolved. I could imagine myself sitting by a fire with her, warm tea in hand, listening to her tell me about her passions, ideas…and maybe even a few inside tips on how to become an amazing writer. 

Take a few moments to stop by and say, "Hi," to Holly. You can also find--and I recommend following--her at her blog and her Twitter account @HollyCagney. And if you want to check out our co-site, "Chris + Holly = Novels," click here.

Mary Poppins, All Grown Up

At South Pointe Casino, their theatre has been putting on a “Classic Series” recently, showing films that haven’t graced the big screen in a number of years. While I’ve been able to see Ben Hur, Singin’ in the Rain, and Chinatown, my most recent venture was to see that of Mary Poppins. (All of which were complete with film grain, glorious film grain!)

As a kid, I didn’t much care for the MP. I watched it because it was allowed—and/or on—and had an animated sequence. But I never really enjoyed the endless songs or all of those “real” people—regardless of their fan-fucking-tastical nature. My viewings over the years have been sparse, and the last time I saw it, I remember that my biggest revelation was noticing that Uncle Albert (the nutbar giggling on the ceiling of his house) is also the voice of the Mad Hatter in Disney’s animated version of Alice in Wonderland. Outside of that connection, my response hadn’t changed: too much singing, not enough animation, and that “Step in Time” song/dance goes on for far, far too long.

And really, who didn’t watch this film as a child and get creeped out by Dick Van Dyke’s portrayal of Mr. Dawes Senior? The look in his eye before he snatches the tuppence from Michael… Some mighty fine acting on his part, as it freaked me out as a child and was still more than a little unsettling as an adult. Sadly though, this always seems like such a focal point of the film, his monstrousness—followed in turn by his laughing himself to death. I don’t know how many quips and comments I’ve heard about this over the years, the Scrooge-like transformation that is more than a little ridiculous.

However, my recent viewing flipped my proverbial shit, as it became an entirely new film to my “adult” eyes.

While rewatching the thing, I questioned who actually owned the film. And like The Dark Knight, where the film isn’t the titular character’s—it’s totally Harvey’s—Mary Poppins isn’t about Mary or Bert or even the two, doe-eyed kids. It’s Mr. Bank’s film. Period. He’s the one who changes. He’s the one who grows. And in the end, he’s the only one who “learns” anything. (Yes, the children see their father in a new light, but they never hated him or had much of a problem with him to begin with—even though they had every right.) It’s all about George and the inversion of his world, from being one of order, where he’s entirely in control, to one where he’s stripped of his title and stature, and has little to no say over what’s happening in his life and household.

Especially for the time of the film’s release, where the American Dream was kickin’ down noggin-doors and blasting through the American collective consciousness—talk about the thematic opposite. Yes, having a successful family was an important ideal of the time—and still supposedly is—but it hinged on the husband’s success, what he provided and the status he achieved in life. Ultimately though, it’s this exact ideal and ladder-climbing pursuit that George must give up in order to find happiness.

(This is taken further when Mr. Banks breaks the fourth wall of film and stares down the audience—twice, no less—as Bert dispenses his two cents about life, Mary Poppins, and what it means to be happy.)

In the end, George’s exclamation of “supercalifragilisticexpialidocious” is the equivalent of a “Fuck You” to Mr. Dawes Senior, his current lifestyle, and—in essence—the American Dream. He doesn’t care about his social status or amassing a Scrooge McDuck cache of cash, as long as he has joy in his life, joy brought about by his wife and children.

And, yes, I’ll admit that he doesn’t have to worry for long. It all ends on a happy note—as Disney films do, regardless of how the source material concludes. But that doesn’t decrease the importance of George’s choice. After his dark and solitary walk to the bank, he doesn’t know that it will all work out. Rather than become a distraught and bitter man, he finally realizes that he’s been broken all along, and it’s only letting go of his self expectations, his class, and his life that fixes him.

I guess this is why the film has its “Classic” status, as any story that grows and changes as you do has to amount to something worthwhile…

Right?

Pissed Off Book Reviews: Jeff Lemire's Sweet Tooth

Today marks the beginning of a new series of posts for me. As I intend to continue my "Songs That Made Me Like the Band" posts—though I probably need to come up with a better name—I intend to continue these as well. For these, I realized that there are some books and stories in the world that simply make me angry. And I'm not talking about being angry because I'm offended or because the book sucks; I'm angry because I'm jealous that I didn't think of it first—or have as much talent as these authors/creators/illustrators. The more angry I am, the better the story. To kick this whole thing off, I'm taking a look at the beautifully ugly world that is Jeff Lemire's Sweet Tooth series.

After reading Lemire's Essex trilogy (you can see my snippet reviews here, here, and here), I tracked whatever else I could: The Nobody and the first volume of Sweet Tooth. I enjoyed both, but it was Sweet Tooth that I couldn’t stop thinking about. Unfortunately for me, the library did not have the newer volumes, and my lack of funds kept me from purchasing them. Luckily for me, I happened upon the graphic novel section of the library the other day and was happy to discover that they’d finally acquired the next three volumes of the series.

In short, I devoured them. I read all three within the span of an hour or two and wished and wished that volume five was available. (This one, I have, in fact, preordered. Broke or not, I need this stuff.) 

These books are amazing. Where I wasn’t 100 percent sold with the first volume, I had no idea that this story would build into something that would piss me off. And these books have angered me to no end, with their amazing characters, ugly—albeit fitting art style—and page layouts to melt the face.

The series has been compared to Mad Max, and it's an apt comparison, as these are set in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. But then you have to toss in the hybrid kids—all of the children since a plague ravaged the world have been born half-human, half-animal. We follow the exploits of one of these offspring, Gus, a.k.a. Sweet Tooth. There's what's left of the government, turned militia, who stops at nothing to find a cure for the mysterious plague. A large chunk of the population has a religious devotion to the hybrid kids, figuring that they're the next step in evolution. And there are the survivors, simply trying to scrape out a living in this decimated world. If it sounds bizarre, that's because it is. However, odd as the premise may be, the characters are what carry you through this stark and violent world.

Lemire has this way of humanizing everyone and everything in his stories. It doesn’t matter if he’s writing about the titular deer-boy child stumbling through the apocalyptic world in his naïveté or if he’s writing about the gruff and brutal anti-hero of the lot or if he’s writing about the doctor forced into unethical experimentation in order to find a cure. Each one of these folks exemplifies everything that is wonderful and horrible in each of us. Even if you don’t like these people, you can’t help but care about them, want them to make the right choice, to keep their moral compasses intact, and—above all—you want them to survive. They can’t give up, because it would simply be too heartbreaking, and the outlook for the future too grim. Besides, the art has already painted a grim enough picture...

The rough lines and misshapen proportions and oversized heads and other defects most artists would erase and rework until they looked right, these imperfections Lemire leaves intact. But they compliment the story perfectly. It gives the whole series this honest and raw feel that not only reflects the world that Lemire has created, but it also shows who these characters are. They’re imperfect, and Lemire isn’t trying to hide that fact. At all. And those that tend to look like monsters, often are. To the casual viewer, the art might look childish or even unskilled, but you’d be fooled. All you have to do is look to his layouts to understand that there is a genius at work here.

The layouts, you say? Yes. Mother. Fucking. Layouts. This guy is a genius. I’ve never freaked out about a page’s design, but these books do some of the coolest things that I’ve ever seen in any comic to date. Most are very untraditional, and most are a reflection of the arc/theme of that particular issue. For example, one issue is modeled after a children’s picture book and even has to be turned sideways in order to read the thing. Another issue has HUGE panels that fill up almost the entire page, but there is a small bar that runs across the bottom with one of the characters dictating into his tape recorder, which—of course—compliments what’s happening in the larger panels. I would say more, but it’s best if you simply see these things for yourself. In short, Lemire creates the best possible ways to tell his story, stepping WAY outside of the traditional comic panels and ultimately producing one of the most interesting story presentations that I’ve seen.

In the end, these books aren’t for everyone. And many might take a look at them and think I’ve lost my mind. But give them a chance, take the time to inhabit this ugly and beautiful world that Lemire has created, and I have a feeling that it’s a dreamscape that you’ll be just as angry about as I am.

Anger Rating (out of 5)

Dissecting Dory

With its recent re-release in 3-D—and, yes, I'll be one of the first to admit that this is simply a way to make a quick buck—I couldn't help but go see Finding Nemo. (Really, animation is my vice. Even if the movie looks horrible, I'll still shell out $10.00 to watch it in the theatre.) And, like I remember first being all those years ago, the film caught me off guard. It's one of those films that I rarely think about and have, maybe, watched it six or seven times since its initial release in 2003, but anyone would be hard-pressed to say that it isn't a good bit of storytelling. Even if you don't always—or ever—like Pixar's films, those guys know their elements of a narrative and have that shit down to a science.

What I realized this time around, though, is that it's one thing, and one thing alone, that makes the film: Dory. The combination of spectacular animation, spot-on dialogue, and Ellen DeGeneres's outstanding voice-acting blend into one of the best characters in recent years—and the driving force for the film.

In all honesty, I could care less about Marlin, the little lost Nemo, and even the tank full of escape-obsessed fish, but Dory punches me in the heart every time. She may be the best argument for ignorance is bliss that I've ever seen, as her good humor and unwavering optimism stem from her lack of focus or being able to remember, or be aware of, the current plight. But that's what makes her so special. Nothing can get her down. She finds the fun and life in every moment, from bouncing on jellyfish tops to spiraling along with the water inside the whale's mouth. And she's always willing to help, regardless of what she's doing—seeing as she probably has no idea what she's doing—but she's always, always putting others before herself. She's a perfect picture of selflessness, something you so rarely see in anyone or anything these days—real life or in the fictional world.

The only time you see her "selfishness"  (please note my lack of punning that could've been) leak through is when Marlin is about to abandon her. (If this doesn't tear you up or, bare minimum, choke you up, then I'd start checking yourself for a "Manufactured by Skynet" label somewhere.) Even then, it's not truly selfishness, which is why I put it in quotes. She doesn't want him to leave because he makes her a better version of herself. She remembers things more easily. With him, she feels "home."  And isn't that something we shouldn't begrudge anyone for wanting? Shouldn't it be okay to want to be with someone that makes you better than you would be alone—or even with another?

Even at the end of that scene, she doesn't begrudge Marlin for leaving, or even like him any less. If anything, it just makes you think that Marlin really is just an orange and white-striped dicknose.

It amazes me that one character can have such an affect on a story. That they can make or break the entire thing. Which goes to show why it's better to focus on your characters over the action. Sure, plotting is good. Action needs to happen. But in the end, if we don't have characters that our readers and viewers will click with on an emotional level—or simply fall in love with them—then what's the point of the story in first place?