Reading Log and Writing Updates

Yo! 

I noticed a year and a half or so ago that Goodreads allowed users to set book goals for themselves. Now, I no longer use Goodreads, but I do still keep a record of the media I consume. Yet I've never done it monthly, nor had goals to hit. 

This year is different, though! I don't have a "goal," per se, but I am going to keep track of all the books I read per month. I'll make a blog post on the ones I have most to say about every trimester of the year. So on the last day of April, I'll come back and write about the books I've read in my time from January to then. I'll do this again in August and December, so if you're interested, stay tuned.

In other news, I queried my first agent! I haven't heard back yet, but any news is good news here. If I get rejected, It's another motivator in bettering myself, my writing, and finding ways to improve. And it goes without saying why a manuscript request would be a good thing. 

I've been normally pretty quiet on this blog, but I don't mean to be -- I'm just working on things right now. That includes a few MS's that I intend to finish by this year or early next year. One of them is 2/3rds of the way done, but I've sat on it for a bit to roll out the kinks in my biggest project. The other two I started within the same week, and write in every day. The fantasy-adventure I began this month is a project I write during the day, and the fantasy comedy/drama thingy I work on exclusively after 1 a.m. It's part of the flow, bro.

I'm calling them Oddity Collection Service, Where Sky Meets Sea, and Robin's Books respectively. I normally have a bit of discomfort in revealing my titles, but I think that insecurity is a little unfounded after seeing so many writers talk about their projects openly online. And even if it's taken, a title is a title. Many books have similar-or-same titles.

I've outlined all these books differently. Oddity Collection Service has a very detailed, three-part outline with bullet points on all major events coded in various bolds, underlines, and colors. Where Sky Meets Sea is a book in which I have outlined each chapter, but I go more by the theme of each chapter instead of the events, and let the story go where it needs to. Robin's Books is the closest I can get to being a Pants writer. I'm a Plotter at heart, so I always leave myself notes when I'm done with a section in Robin's Books on what I want the story to cover next, but other than that I just let whatever happens happen. It attributes to the tone as well, a kind of tongue-in-cheek sort of thing with solid direction but not much consistency. 

I can't say which one I enjoy writing more. Oddity Collection Service is a bit of a chore because I created extensive vocabulary the narrative adheres too. It's also set in our world, which is not my strong suit nor my preference. But the idea captured my imagination and I have big plans for the story, so I can't just not do it. 

Where Sky Meets Sea is set in a world unlike other fantasy worlds, but I'll keep the twist to myself for now. I have a clear vision of the moral and themes in that story, but characterizing is a bit of a challenge, especially with the "circumstances" of the lore, if you will. 

Robin's Books is honestly just an experiment. I love it to death, and I have no intentions of putting it on hold simply because of how I write it -- but I'm keeping realistic expectations. I know people out there would love it, I know it... but for now it's gonna stay my little secret. That includes the premise.

I hope I didn't bore anyone. I don't have many readers either way, but I'm a writer who rarely blogs about actual writing, which I have realized is not in my best interest. Regardless, I'm gonna keep chugging along, and this blog will be here to record my progress. 

Until next time. Goood bye.

I Just Read a Book: Manga in Theory and Practice

For a long time I've battled with myself on whether to talk about books. It may seem silly, but as an aspiring author (published author, that is -- I'm definitely already a writer) I didn't want to start critiquing other people's works. Recently, however, I decided I'd offer up my feelings on something I had just read in a new series to better-hone my own craft of writing. I'm convinced, after seeing Chris Stuckmann decide to shift to directing after previously being a film critic, that I can still offer valuable insight and share my point of view on writing without having to be afraid of what others would think. 

To start off this series, I'll begin with, of course, the book I most recently finished. In this case, it's Hirohiko Araki's Manga in Theory and Practice: The Craft of Creating Manga.

My love of manga is no secret. Once upon a time, I wanted to create graphic novels -- but I've since shoved that dream deep down into the very recesses of my being. I'm happier in prose, thank you very much. But manga is still a big part of my life. Many unique stories are told within that medium, and I wished more people would give it a chance. 

One manga (and anime) I haven't actually read (or seen), however, is Jojo's Bizarre Adventure. A more than wacky Shonen Jump action series, the presence it has in memes and online communities cannot be understated. From my understanding, it's primarily a story about passing the torch, with each new installment taking place in the future and following the previous installment's successor. I'm pretty sure most of these protagonists are the children of the previous installment's protagonist... but I'm not gonna pretend to know things I don't.

Regardless, the mangaka (manga artist), Hirohiko Araki, is a very prolific creator. His art is instantly recognizable with its bold lines, striking visual style, and the ever-present "Jojo poses," wherein his characters bend and stretch like noodles. 

I picked up his book, Manga in Theory and Practice, out of pure intrigue. There isn't a manga industry in the United States like there is in Japan, where the popularity of it is unparalleled and weekly/monthly magazines publish new titles every few weeks. Here, manga is delegated to being bound only in the tankobon volumes. They come out the same way overseas too, but they're published as serials first.

Anyway, I thought it was interesting that Araki's manga-making guide would get brought over here because of this. How would this information benefit an American? 

But I had to remind myself of the value of knowledge in general. Anything a creator like this can impart is something worth taking a peek at. So I bought it, and have finished it with an overall positive opinion, but with still a few remarks. 

My first impression, having not read the man's fiction, is as such: the likelihood that meanings were lost in translation is inescapable.  I've taken two college semesters of Japanese, and can tell you from even as small of an experience as that, that the way English and Japanese work cannot be further apart. Japanese handles nuanced meaning and wordplay in a much, much different light. Grammatically, the languages are essentially swapped. And culturally -- as my friend Takahiro described it -- Japanese is like one is surrounded by what they describe, whereas English is like one is looking down at what they describe. So knowing this, I can only help but feel a little lost in translation myself. 

Araki describes several integral parts of the manga-creating process as "The Four Fundamentals of Manga Structure." These things are characters, story, setting, and themes. To him, characters are the most important part of any manga, and I believe this wisdom is applicable to all forms of narrative art. Characters encompass the soul of the story. They're the people. We're also people, and naturally we'd be captivated by people more strongly than other elements.

But then he goes on to say that a character should never be moving backward. He gave examples with the films Kick Ass and Kick Ass 2, citing the character of Hit-Girl and how, to him, her giving up crime fighting in the second film is an example of negative character progression, and makes for bad writing.

I haven't seen the Kick Ass films, but I can only disagree. Characters moving negatively can make for really engaging drama. Characters don't just exist to get better and more worldly. People can fall away to depravity -- or in much less extreme examples, give up fighting crime. Retirement, whether literal or metaphorical, is just as useful a device as anything else. 

He says other things regarding story I don't agree with, but again I have to remember just how many things are possibly lost on the Japanese to English translation. I noted some typos in the book beyond actual concepts he conveyed, and could only think; could greater care have been put into translating this? 

His tips on artistry, however, are very good. He mentioned that drawing water needs the presence of gravity, drawing fire needs the presence of wind, and drawing things like stones (or any solid surface, really), need a definite light source. Practical experience also helps one with shape and scale. In one of the arcs of his manga, he portrays a chase across the American midwest. He remarks on the ease of hiding in Japan due to its condensed nature, and the contrast of just how large America truly is. On a train trip he noted that land could look the same for miles on end, and running from an adversary here could make one feel hopeless. He translated that sense of scale to his art, and therefore made it genuine. 

This spoke to me, because a writer (or artist's) experience is a primary source of fuel in their work. You can read all the books you want, but you'll never understand the sense of scale presented by the pyramids until you truly visit Egypt.

At the end of the book he says, "some readers may interpret what I've written in a matter I didn't intend," and while that definitely plays into my expectations of translation troubles, I can't help but also apply this to my own current experience. The first novel I finished, as having been read by a few of my friends now, is currently being read by someone new. Hardly a page into the story, she already had gripes that none of my other readers presented to me, citing a character's dialogue as feeling "forced," painting the character an archetype moreso than someone I had fleshed out. 

Obviously this was never my intention, but it has a lot to do with interpretation. She thought this character's line made her pathetic. She interpreted it as painting the character one way, when what I really meant was for something else entirely. This happens all the time with books and people; some will interpret one message, and others will come away with something else in mind. Encapsulating that, Araki goes on to say that he doesn't want readers to go on creating manga exactly how he outlined it in the book. He simply wants to offer his knowledge as a roadmap, and realizes the difference in opinion that people may have upon finishing. I think that's very wise, and really helped me recognize the man's talent. I respect his work much more than I did before, and have learned something about writing and how others interpret one's work. 

So I very much appreciate the book. 

Until next time, keep writing, keep reading, and keep on keeping on.

LEGO Minifigures: The Perfect Character Design

In recent years the trend of the Funko Pop has skyrocketed. In their documentary, Making Fun: The Story of Funko, we see the actual story of the toy getting its start as a single mascot created and sold by one man. Since then, his empire has become one of the largest collectible manufacturers in the world, with a signature style and a scathingly large list of franchise licenses. From Game of Thrones to Pokemon, DC Comics, Marvel, and even things like The Simpsons and The Breakfast Club, Funko Pops have littered the shelves of bookstores, geek culture outlets, and subculture clothing stores like popcorn in the aisles at the local theater. As much of a trend as they first appeared to be, they've amassed a huge following, and seem to be here to stay.

I think the idea of taking recognizable and beloved genre characters from many separate franchises, and assembling them into a single visual style is noble and charming. I don't quite know what else to say--when you've got Sora from Kingdom Hearts standing beside Darth Vader from Star Wars and even the writer George R.R. Martin himself, the geek in me squeals. I love these things and these characters, so to have them together, looking like they all belong in the same universe, is a collector's dream. 

But if I may be a bit frank, I'm not the biggest fan of Funko pops. They're a great idea, and I hold no opinions of mine with snobbish or malicious intent to the creators (who, by the way, I am very happy for). But I don't like how they look. They're kind of... ugly. Big box head. Round, lifeless eyes. Most don't even have a mouth, unless the mouth is essential to the character design. Their enormous craniums sitting on their tiny bodies is eponymous of anime and the "super deformed" style of chibi, but they're not charming. They're just... plastic. Or vinyl, I suppose. 

I own a total of one (Batman in his 1989 suit--number 144) and I haven't even taken it out of the box. 

Yet the core idea of taking characters from fiction and imposing their looks and designs into a single style--and having them be physical things, things us nerds can collect and fiddle with--is still very appealing to me. I would argue that the Nendoroid collectibles are everything Funko Pops should be, with their impeccable quality--but yes, $45 is quite a bit more than $11. Figma are also a contender, but they don't use a uniform design philosophy. While staying true to the character, the novelty is a little faded. 

That's where LEGO comes in. 

I've spoken of LEGO on this blog before, and I make no effort to hide it. I love it. The brand is one that's been in my life since I could walk, and I've grown up with it and haven't grown out of it. Eventually, pushing around cars and making zooming noises goes away, but when you're like me and still enjoy the presence of the object, it now becomes, "How can I change the design of this car?" and "What else can I add to it?" 

It's a common thing. the LEGO hobby is very popular with adults, with us enthusiasts known as "AFOL's," or Adult Fans of LEGO. You better bet this stuff isn't just for kids, with that $400 - $800 price tag on some of the larger sets (lookin' at you, UCS Millenium Falcon). 

But what does LEGO have to do with Funko? Well, besides both of them being toys, not much--but there exists an entity within the LEGOsphere that captures character design in a uniform style quite a bit better than the boxy-drabness of Funko. At least, if you ask me, that is. 

The Minifigure.

You all know these little guys. The buildable men, women, aliens, and robots of the brand, with their yellow skin (or normal skintones for licensed themes), claw hands, and posable legs. Their charm is unparalleled. 

Now, you may be thinking, but that's just the character that comes in the set. The real LEGO is the bricks you use to build your spaceships, tanks, and moon bases with. 

And I can't dispute that. I don't want to. LEGO has always been about creativity and what it is one can do with its bricks, but LEGO has also recently taken to adapting pop culture in their sets. If you're a fan of the company, you may know that in the 90's, The LEGO Group (abbreviated TLG) was failing, and losing money big. If they didn't do something that would ensure the longevity of their brand, they were likely to bite it. So, being that Star Wars: The Phantom Menace was releasing in theaters at the time, they snatched up the license to the franchise. LEGO has had a long history of being "pacifist," but they decided that, because Star Wars was fantasy, it would be okay. 

And it was. It was more than okay. To this day, they have produced hundreds of Star Wars sets, with dozens each year, and the theme continues to be a top selling one in their product line. Since then, they've taken licenses like Harry Potter, DC Comics, Marvel, Disney, Lord of the Rings, and many others. 

It's caused a bit of controversy with older fans, and I also can't dispute that. Some say making sets on movies, games, or comics takes creativity out of it. To that, I say, bah-humbug. I call BS. No one is telling you not to recreate whatever you want with the sets pieces.

But there is some discord among supporters too. Desirable characters are placed in large, expensive sets, so when the minifigures are a big selling point for the target audience (children, of course), it can seem a bit scummy. I agree in a sense, but I don't have a problem with the practice. Companies are companies, and companies have to make money. They aren't obligated to put Darth Vader in a $5 set. 

But we're getting off topic! What is it that makes the minifigure so good? Allow me to tell you! For one, LEGO works in a design parameter called "The System." In fact, conventional sets, made with classic bricks and minifigures, are called "System sets." This means that everything is created to be able to interact and be compatible with everything else. Bricks from 1954 can still fit with (and still look like) bricks from today, and the same goes for minifigures. They each can be taken apart, from the head, the body, the legs, and other things like beards/backpacks/hair/helmets. (You can also swap arms and hands, but doing so forcefully is dangerous. Minifigures come with their hands and arms already assembled). 

Their legs, both the bottoms of their feet and the backs of their legs, have anti-studs, which are the tubes LEGO bricks use to connect with one another. This means they can be placed on studded surfaces and stay standing, or be sat down and stay sitting. Their hands are the perfect shape to not only hold bricks, but grasp tubing that's commonly used in the sets as well.

The shape of the minifigure is welcoming and friendly. It's also a decently blank canvas for a variety of outfits, body types, and ranges of height. Usually, people who are 5'4 are quite a bit shorter than those who are 6'2, but in LEGO, the height difference isn't a big problem because the ratio of leg-to body-to head is just the right amount to where the character's look is captured anyway (They do have three sizes of leg, though).

With both practicality and simplicity, the design of the minifigure can make the character "cute" while still keeping the essence of the character's presence. While smaller details like shoes, rings, or earrings aren't always included, the toy itself is still a good representation of the actor or animated model. While the minifigure's detail has seriously grown in recent years, the likeness of the character is usually always preserved. 

Not only does their small size make them easy to rearrange and endearing, but it also leaves collectors with easier spacial management. While a single shelf can hold maybe five to ten Funkos, the minfigure can take up far less space with more than twice the units. 

And yes, minifigures largely come in the sets, but with the advent of the Collectible Minifigures line, getting desirable characters has never been cheaper. They do come in blind bags, but with a little practice and patience, it is not hard to feel out the elements of a character you want if you know what they look like. Getting that one figure you want online is still expensive (and no easier thanks to scalpers; looking at you, you two horrible people from Barnes and Noble), but 'tis the hardships that come with the hobby.

And, well, sure, we won't be getting Game of Thrones, Blade Runner, The Witcher, or any other R/M rated characters in LEGO form, but that doesn't mean we can't make them with pieces we already have. That's the joy of their functionality as building toys! Customization is a huge bonus.

And, yes, there are some stinkers. But that isnt the fault of the model's design, it's a combination of resource management (how well LEGO can justify making new parts) and lack of information on behalf of the licensees. But I'm not here to make too many excuses. I think I've done my part. These little guys are a perfect thing for the geek-culture collector and I have yet to find anyone that doesn't at least find them cute. Maybe I'm just gushing (I'm definitely gushing), but these dudes have helped me through a lot, and I think it's important for one to know why one likes something.

Here's a little army of em' I have at my computer desk--

(From left to right - Chell (Portal), The Doctor (Doctor Who), Luna Lovegood (Harry Potter), Peter Pan (Disney), Wonder Woman (DC Comics))

If it's not for you, that's okay too. More for me. 

Love letters to some of my favorite things are a great way of catharsis, and this blog of mine has really helped me out. In closing out this year, however, I vow to complain more, as my blogs are usually pretty positive, and everyone does enjoy a bit of a rant. Thank you for staying with me my first year of blogging, I look forward to a lot more in the future!

Keeping reading, keep writing--and in this case, keep building. Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, and a Happy New year! 

Scary.

The dark.Snakes.
Ghosts.
Failure. 
Death.

What scares you? 

Fear is an interesting thing. Perhaps the oldest of human emotions, should those be put on a scale. Nothing has the power of forcing compliance like fear. Both a tool and a weapon, this feeling of stiff hairs, gooseflesh, and icy sweat is something that is supposed to keep us safe. We're alerted in such a way when we perceive danger, and thanks to the little amygdala in our brains, we're able to run, or fight. We see a snake in the grass and feel fear, enabling us to flee -- or kill it. We hear a noise outside and grab the phone, ready to call the police. Or, we may draw a weapon, and fight for our lives ourselves. But all of these reactions are united by one feeling.

Considering this context, it's interesting that we've created a whole genre of fiction that revolves around scaring us.

There are many different sub-genres of horror. The classic monster movie, like Godzilla; the torture-filled gore fest that is Saw, and the psychological mind-screw of Psycho, just to name a few. They can be sociopolitical, like The Purge -- or isolated, like The Blair Witch Project. And much like the fight or flight response, they're united under the kingdom of fear as things that are meant to scare us. But why? Why do we like things that bring out such an intense, and negative feeling? 

Not all of us do. I, however, do like the idea of horror -- the concept of creating a story that's meant to disturb or unsettle someone, I think, is actually sort of powerful. It's like saying, "I know how you work, and I know how to draw forth your emotions." I don't mean to discount an entire genre when I say this, but despite the novelty of the idea, a lot of modern horror is just drivel. I believe this has to do with investment, consequences, and scope -- because to me, horror is well presented in the context of implications. What I mean by this, is that I think true horror has to be structured and meaningful. 

Let me give you a little bit of insight. 

This is may sound like I'm bragging of sorts, and I don't mean it to, but it's important that I demonstrate my point, even if using specific examples will seriously out me as a sensitive child and generate some kind of plot to harass me. (That's fine, honestly. I'm 20 years old, as of the time of writing this, and no longer feel the things I felt some sixteen years ago). 

When I was very young, probably around four or five, I had a LEGO Minifigure of a vampire. Here he is. 

This dashing gentleman comes in a Studios LEGO set -- a theme that was meant to represent the production of films. His, of course, was Dracula. I've been a LEGO fan all my life, and still collect to this day -- but the important thing about me talking about this little dude is that he used to terrify me. Make fun of little five year old me all you want, but there was something upsetting about him, and I remember exactly what it was. 

The blood. 

If you turn around his head, he has a face smiling with vicious joy, baring bloodied fangs. He also has a bloody handkerchief hanging out of his coat pocket, right on his torso print. I was an insanely sensitive child for years, and the smallest of things would scare me. This is one of them. You see, the blood on this character implied things that I was able to somewhat understand. He'd had to have killed someone to get that blood on his face, because vampires drink blood. That meant that he was an evil person, someone willing to hurt someone else. 

This rhetoric applied to all vampires. Around the same time as this, during Halloween, my mother brought home a red Devil, a green Frankenstein, and a purple Vampire masks for all of us to wear. The Devil and Frankenstein didn't really bother me at all, but the vampire had such sharp fangs; fangs for biting, and tearing. I wanted her to put it away, so she did. Then, a few weeks later, I was looking through the drawers for who knows what, and found the mask near a pile of cards and paper. I was so startled that legitimately ran out of the room and hid behind the couch.

I did get over this, but in second grade I checked out a book called Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark. Oh yeah, you definitely know what book I'm talking about. I was not the first child to be scared by this book, nor will I be the last. And it wasn't so much the stories; those alone are a bit dark, but not quite that scary. It was certainly the pictures. 

I don't feel the need to post them here, as you've all seen them and, to be honest, they're still a little uncomfortable to look at to this day. The art is definitely beautiful, and it is so wonderfully capable of creating unease -- that the day I read The White Wolf, a story about a wolf that kills a farmer and his sheep, I couldn't go to sleep for weeks. 

This time, it really was about the story, and how the art added to it. You see, the illustration of the wolf is just... I looked it up again to remember it, and audibly "eughh'd." It's uncanny. If you so wish to see it for yourself, just look up "white wolf scary story." I don't even feel like providing a link. 

In the story, a farmer's sheep keeps going missing after every night. I forget the details, but one night he decides to stay outside and catch the wolf he believes is doing it. In he morning, however, he's found dead, with his throat torn open. 

The implications -- that a wolf as vicious and ugly as what was shown in the picture -- tore open the throat of a man, was just awful. I dreamt of it for so long that I'll never forget how it made me feel, sitting against the wall of the classroom during free reading time, and imagining the horror the monster inflicted upon his final victim. 

I don't need to keep going with examples to persuade you any longer. You get my point; it wasn't just the imagery, it was about the implications. But now, that isn't enough. For whatever reason, modern horror is awful at exercising this idea. You can't give me a character for a movie and then kill them. I just don't care, because the implications aren't effective enough to alter my perception in any meaningful way.

Unless the horror is with those we care for.

Long term stories, with stakes, and established settings and characters, do well with darker elements. This is because it creates depth of tone, as I call it. When we're with a cast and a narrative for long enough to make us care, introducing the power of horror really has the ability to make us uncomfortable, as well as strengthen the tone of the story. And almost every time, these narratives I'm talking about aren't even horror at all. One of the greatest examples of this I can think of is a chapter in Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince where Harry and Dumbledore visit a seaside cave where Voldemort has, supposedly, hidden one of his Horcruxes. 

It's enclosed and flooded, with no sources of light and no ways in or out unless one pays a toll with their own blood. This sets an expectation by introducing uncertainty. Soon after Harry and Dumbledore make their way to the rock formation in the middle of the water, Dumbledore must drink the potion in the basin, and be forced to relive his most painful memories and endure a horrible, physical torment. Now, we have a dark setting and a dire consequence. Our mentor character, who has been a large part of comfort withing the story, is writhing in agony and sobbing. Harry, our eyes within the narrative, has to cope with being in such a place and witnessing the horror firsthand. As Dumbledore begs for something else to drink, begs for his palate to be cleansed, Harry moves toward the water...

...where instantly, he's grabbed. By one of these.

Suddenly, these... things start emerging from the water. Soon Harry realizes that they're not just things, but people. 

Dead people. 

While not quite zombies, we learn later that the creatures that dwell in such large numbers within the watery depths of Voldemort's Horcrux cave are called Inferi, which is to say, corpses bewitched by a dark wizard to do his bidding. These people are implied to be an assortment of individuals, from men and women that turned on the Dark Lord, to random muggles, likely tortured, murdered, and placed within the cave to wait silently in stagnant, freezing water until someone else comes by and tries to take the treasure within. 

Now we have our third piece of the "Depth of Tone" cake. A dark setting, a dire consequence, and a disturbing implication. The darkness and isolation of the cave, the torment of the basin's poison, and the implications of innocent people murdered and made into puppets to kill others create worthwhile horror; but it only works because we care about the well-beings of Harry and Dumbledore. We're with a set of characters for long enough for their world and their lives to have quite a bit of scope, which gives us something to care about. When horror is implemented, and implemented correctly, we can be truly terrified.

That's also why I like Stephen King. His stories are about the horror, but they're about the people, too. Pet Sematary and It are perfect examples of this. You're given a threat, but you're also given complex, multifaceted characters that represent more than just archetypes to get killed off by a man in a mask or a big white wolf. It helps that his books usually run large too, because even padding can give us more to like about a character and their story. 

Not all horror has to be sandwiched into an existing story, but my point is that it's more effective when we're invested in some way, which is the main shortcoming of modern horror. Not all of the audience is children, who can be scared by toys and masks. Much of us need more.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk. Happy Halloween.

The Collectibility of Dice

It's been a while since I visited the world of Dungeons and Dragons. Had a bit of a rough patch with it, but found a new group and the game has since become just as fun as it used to be.

Perhaps the most defining mechanic of Dungeons and Dragons, and many other tabletop Role-Playing games, is the use of polyhedral dice. Sure, the usual cubic six-siders are in this world of castles and elves as well, but many of the dice we use to roll for Strength, Wisdom, Perception, and what have you, are these uniquely shaped ones that have more than six sides.

There's the d8, used for martial weapon damage (mostly), the d10 and d100, used together to decide on many types of template rolls (picking a ratio for something, deciding on the name of a tavern or dungeon, etc.), and the classic d20, used to roll various "checks" within the game so that interacting with the world is even possible. Typically, a player will have a single set of dice, with one of each that are required for the game, or seven in total.

But there's a lot that can go into the arrangement and collection of game dice. You'd be hard-pressed to find a player with only one set -- many of us have dozens, if not hundreds of these little guys laying around, and an almost equal amount of players have fancy little bags to put them in. 

Some players like to use specific combinations of dice to roll for specific things. For example, the Dungeon Master may call for a roll with advantage (roll two d20's and take the highest number) on your Dexterity check for, let's say, checking to see if a rickety bridge is safe to cross. The casual player may roll their d20 twice for this. However, another player may pass the dice they're to use around the table and have the other players give it a sort of good luck blessing, and then roll it. Others may pick a lucky die of a specific color for what they want to be the higher roll and another for the lower roll, and roll both at the same time. They could have a different die for each kind of check, one for combat rolls and one for interaction rolls, one for dealing with Goblins as opposed to Orcs, the list can go on and on. Many of the players I know even paint the 20 on their die green, and the 1 on it red for added simulation.

I personally like having dice that immerse myself a little bit more. I'm one who appreciates uniformity, and my characters usually wear very specific, linear color schemes. My Rogue, Narlan, wears all black with highlights of dark gray (as is normal for a character that's supposed to hide in shadows). My Fighter, Aladdar, wears shawls of gold and white, with ornaments of pearly yellow, gems of topaz, and other bright hues to show off his Pirate royalty. My Sorcerer/Warlock hybrid, Gideon (who also happens to be a character in my various writings), wears draping coats of blue with boots and gloves of navy. In these situations, I like having dice that represent the look of the characters, so I have a distinctly colored set for each of them that fit their outfits. For example if I'm playing a Druid in green (as seen below);

Then I would like to have a set of dice that represent the kind of stuff he would wear, or equipment he would carry. 

It can swing a number of other ways as well. Maybe someone would have the mini pictured above and the same set of dice, but with a brown d6 to represent the wooden staff, or a blue d20 to represent his magic powers. Or the other way around, if they prefer. Or any other way, really. Dungeons and Dragons is a game about loose guidelines and adventure, so it can be basically whatever you want it to be, and hopefully behavior of such is encouraged.

I recommend the game to basically everyone. RPG groups are normally held at your LGS (Local Game Store) and I can't stress enough how important it is to support these places if they provide you with a comfortable place to play and amazing customer service.

Kingdom Hearts: My Favorite Game I've Never Played

There's been some hype recently surrounding the newest installment in the Kingdom Hearts franchise -- Kingdom Hearts III, that is -- the third main game in the series (that means, of course, not counting the numerous side games that, while adding to the story, aren't titled with flat digits like their predecessors).

What is Kingdom Hearts, you ask? For the sake of consistency I'll explain it in my own words here, but if you already know, feel free to skip this paragraph. Kingdom Hearts, released in 2002 for the PS2, is an action adventure role playing game that combines elements of various Disney and Square Enix properties, telling the story of Sora, a teenage boy, that comes to harness the power of the Keyblade; a key-shaped sword that has the power to light the darkness by releasing "hearts" from beings called "heartless," which are essentially shells of shadow made from the soul of a person who's heart has been stolen. He teams up with Disney's very own Donald and Goofy, (King Mickey's knights), to travel across various Disney, Pixar, and Final Fantasy worlds, killing heartless and saving the inhabitants of each adventure. The games include everything from Cinderella to Tron, Pirates of the Caribbean to Aladdin, and even Toy Story, Final Fantasy VII, Winnie the Pooh, and The World Ends with You, amongst many more. The franchise has spawned numerous installments across many different platforms (much to the dismay of fans), but generally has a very positive critical and commercial consensus. It's definitely a strange mix -- Disney and Final Fantasy? Those things are just so... different. Entirely separate demographics and ideas. How could a game like this, which is licensed, no less, be any good? Well, I've heard it put this way before, and I think it works well to summarize; "Most of the time ideas that sound good on paper are hit or miss. And then, there's ideas that sound awful on paper, like Kingdom Hearts -- that when executed, succeed entirely. It (Kingdom Hearts) was one of those ideas."

Gameplay of Kingdom Hearts III (which has been in development since 2013) was available to a select few recently at some kind of Square Enix conference, or something of the sort. I don't really know what it was. What I do know, however, is that interest in the franchise has started to blossom again, and I thought it appropriate to share my personal story with Sora, Donald, and Goofy, and explain why I love this game that I have never actually played. 

That's right. I love Kingdom Hearts. And no -- I've never played it. 

Well... that isn't quite true. I have played every Kingdom Hearts game saved for Re:Coded and Birth by Sleep, but I have only ever played Kingdom Hearts and Kingdom Hearts II at my friend's house, for hardly an hour... and that was in fifth grade! I can hardly call myself a fan of the main series games, because I never owned a Play Station console in my life, and I honestly just don't remember much of what I played at his place anyway. 

So why do I like it, you ask? Let me start at the beginning.

Fourth grade. Late in the year -- I remember it was raining for some reason, despite being a month off of summer break (weather in this place has always been strange). We camped out under the overhang in front of our classroom door to stay away from the rain and eat lunch, "we" being three of my childhood friends. One of which (who's name will stay anonymous) pulled a funny little paperback book out of his lunch pail and started reading.

"What's that?" I asked. 

"One of my brother's books," he said. "It's like my brother's game." 

At this point in the conversation, one of my other friends brought out his LEGO Indiana Jones sets and minifigures, so my attention was quickly stolen. But I remembered that book, and I remembered the pictures inside -- not because they were black and white, as most manga tends to be, but because Disney was inside, alongside other characters that looked so interesting, had such unique designs, that I was interested for quite a while and couldn't get it out of my head. 

It was around this point that the school was pushing kids to read hard enough to take us to the city library more than once. I liked reading as a kid (and obviously still do), so I had plenty to look at there. Mostly R.L. Stine and Judy Blume, but somehow I found the manga and stumbled across Kingdom Hearts once again. I checked out a volume (I don't even know if it was volume one), and read it. 

I enjoyed every minute. 

Soon 2009 rolled around. Fifth grade. I remember talking to my friend about that Kingdom Hearts book he read, and like he said back then, he explained to me that it was also a video game. 

Now, my  childhood experience with video games has been thoroughly bashed and beaten for various reasons (which I will probably write another post about one day), so I definitely didn't have this esteemed "Play Station 2" that the games could be played on. I was shit outa luck. No Kingdom Hearts for me. Then, sitting at home, I saw a commercial for Kingdom Hearts: 358/2 Days. Thanks to the power of the Internet, I can show it to you.

In the months beforehand, I had bought a Nintendo DS so I could finally play Pokemon Platinum with my friends, who all had Diamond. This was a Kingdom Hearts game for a system I owned! Oh how excited I was. If I'm being honest, I don't remember how I acquired it -- be it gift or purchase, but somehow I got my hands on it and I poured a solid 65 hours into it. It was great. The combat was totally new to me, and the characters (Roxas, Xion, and Axel for those of you that are familiar) captured my childhood heart. There was something infinitely cool about Organization XIII. Probably the long black coats.

Though I played it constantly and loved it quite enough to get my dad to help me build duct-tape and PVC pipe keyblades, eventually I hit a boss I couldn't get past. Some of these levels were very difficult, especially for a kid, but this guy was just the pits, man. It was a giant plant heartless that had some kind of coffin chained to its underside, with legs that dug through the ground and popped up around the area, sometimes swallowing you up. Get too close to the boss, and a giant tentacle would lash out of the coffin and 1 hit KO your player character. Get too far away, and the boss would shoot poison at you. Anything in between would deem your worthy dinner for it's tentacle legs.

God. Remembering it is giving me nightmares already. 

Long story short, I was stuck on this bastard for eight years. Eight. Years. In fact, I JUST recently beat it, with the revival of the franchise fresh on my mind I pulled the game out after eight long years of defeat, tried and failed several times, but finally killed it. (Now I'm stuck on another boss, one that's considerably harder, and I'm debating on genuinely giving up again).

But in between all of this, I managed to order a volume of the manga from the school reader's catalogue in sixth grade, played Kingdom Hearts: Chain of Memories for the Gameboy Advance, and just recently bought Kingdom Hearts 3D: Dream Drop Distance for my New 2DS XL. Those games are okay, but I don't have memories with them the way I remember 358/2 Days.

But where am I going with this? Why am I just detailing out a history with this game? Why is it my "favorite game I've never played?"

Just wait a minute -- let me puzzle you further.

While I do like the Pixar movies, I genuinely don't care too much for the Disney classics. I've seen a few, and generally find them pretty monotonous. So despite the love I show, a whole half of this game's concept is pretty lost on me. So back when I was a kid, what was it that fascinated me so much? 

*deep breath*

It was the art style.

It's the first time I experienced that anime style outside of Pokemon, and Bakugan a year or so later. The way Kingdom Hearts's original characters looked was just so unique. Huge colorful eyes, and a spectrum of hair that would give any barber a heart attack. A lot of people don't like the Japanese style of cartooning, but I am not one of those people.

It helped that my first actual Kingdom Hearts game was the one that seriously downplayed the Disney aspect of the story, so when I think of the my memories with the franchise, I don't think of the adventures Sora has with Donald and Goofy in Kingdom Hearts one or two, I think of the black robed Roxas sitting on the clock tower in Twilight Town with Axel and Xion, the three of them eating sea salt ice cream, and wondering about life with emotions. Nowadays I've involved myself with the franchise enough to enjoy the other parts of the story and characters a lot more, and have always wanted to finally play through one and two entirely on a home console. But alas, a Play Station I had not, and still don't.

But finally, finally finally finally, a Kingdom Hearts game is coming to a console I actually own for once. Announced at E3, Square Enix later confirmed that Kingdom Hearts III would actually be coming to the Xbox One as well as the initially planned PS4.

I had always had the Xbox 360, and not even because my parent's got one for me, but because my uncle told my dad that if he could fix their spare console, I could have it. My dad, being the tech genius that he is, fixed it up and promptly gave it to me, but told me he would not buy me another if it broke. My friends (who usually had most of the household systems) could play with me on 360, and this attitude migrated to the Xbox One when it later released and we still wanted to play games together. (Nowadays I sit at it and get angry because no one I played with before plays online anymore, and all the exclusives I actually want are for the PS4).

Now that I'm older and have a bit more money, I'm looking into possibly getting other consoles and games and such, and you can bet your Disney tooshie that Kingdom Hearts is at the top of the priority list. I don't know if other people have such feelings toward a franchise, but despite my limited play experience I still love it to death.

Objective Criticism is Pointless (and Impossible!)

"I prefer a reviewer to be objective in their criticisms."

There's little else I hate hearing. Okay... there are some things that are worse (maybe a lot of things), but I need to make one thing clear as day -- there is no such thing as "objective criticism."

Have people covered this topic before? Yes. Do I care? No. I have too many things to say about it.

A little while ago, I got a text from my friend, asking, "What is a review? Of a game, movie, book, etc. Can you define for me?"

I said yes, of course. Who couldn't?

What I replied back was, and I quote, "A review is an oversight of the overall product, it's faults, and its triumphs, as a way of communicating to others the value as perceived by the reviewer."

I asked him why he wanted this from me and he told me that he was in a debate with his friend about how entertainment reviews (in this case, video games) should be handled. His friend said that all reviews should be "objective," and should detail the objective faults and achievements of the product (game).

I sighed. 

This biggest issue with this type of thinking is the fallacy that any single product has an established, impartial value. This is false. Write this down, kids -- value can only be determined by the standards of the people who obtain and distribute the product, how they utilize it, and what it means to them. All of these things are inherently subjective matters.

A good example of this is how our currency works. Our United States dollar is backed by nothing. Nothing. It used to have an equivalence in value to gold, with the paper dollar functioning sort of like an IOU. It was meant to represent the promise of gold in exchange for goods, and now that we aren't on the gold standard any longer, all that paper we have in our wallets is exactly what it looks like. Just paper. 

This system is able to work because our culture functions on the trade and circulation of product for currency. We assigned value to the money based on how we valued gold, and we only really ever valued gold based on preformed assumptions about it's magic power and rarity long long ago. So in a sense, our money was never truly worth anything.

And that's just it -- nothing is. Nature does not produce "worth" -- worth is something that is perceived. To put it simply, if you have long hair, then hair ties are likely worth something to you because you can use them. If you have short hair, then, well, why would you need a hair tie? The same can be said about literally anything. How many times have you thought to yourself, "I don't want that, that isn't useful to me." It's important to remember that whatever that "thing" was, it's useful to someone else. Now, how many times have you thought "I want that. No... I need it." This works both ways, people.

Taking this into account, we can understand better how human art functions. Art is intrinsically a human creation. Anything produced by people from external resources can be considered art. Therefore, art is very much a consequence of culture, and the people creating the art -- Pablo Picasso made grotesque, strangely-angled paintings that reflected his emotional well-being (or lack thereof). Fransisco Goya created The Black Paintings after years of conflict in his home country and suffering from deafness. Today they're still widely revered and respected as forms of the highest art. However, they still came from subjective sources. Objectively, all these paintings are, are chemicals and compounds mixed onto a canvas in patterns that resemble imagery. We project meaning onto it because the artist designed it that way. This means that the standards with which we judge the art do not exist innately -- they were conceived in our minds. 

My friend said this to me on the topic of music snobs; "If you go to a different culture and hear their music, you'd probably be shocked at how strange it sounds, and it could be hard to appreciate it. But to them, your own culture's music would be just as weird." 

Yet that culture's music is what they listen to. It's what they create, and what they see value in. It has no objective value, only objective traits. Those traits could be dependency on deer-hide drums, or choir chanting and the jawbone. Does that make it bad? Likewise, does autotune have any less value than acoustic guitar? Or are they simply different traits?

No art can actually, objectively, fail at presentation, because we judge presentation by our own preconceived, individual standards. These things don't grow on trees -- we have to think them up. They change over time because they come from our culture, which is fluid. What was acceptable in film thirty years ago doesn't reflect how we think of the medium today. The same can be said for how it will look in the future as well. So if I were to sit here and give you an "objective" review of a video game, I would give you;

1. The name of the game and the plot synopsis 

2. The gameplay mechanics

3. The type of graphics, age rating, and estimated playtime

4. The name of the studio that created it

None of that is my opinion. It would be pure fact. 

But it wouldn't be a review, or any type of criticism. Criticism has to involve a level of deeper thought, some kind of critical thinking...

However, as we know, the critical thought would be entirely based around our own subjective standards, expectations, and tastes. So, any criticisms we come up with would be creations of our own projection, and therefore don't reflect an objective truth about the thing we've criticized -- only that it appeals to us for various reasons, or not.

This is not to say we shouldn't ever have standards -- heavens, no. I just want people to understand that there is no "good" or "bad" piece of art or entertainment. It may be that way to you, and for the ease of communication, it usually makes more sense to refer to it as such. But until you can prove to me that character development is inherently less important that setting, I'm going to keep the opinion I have now.

Thank you for staying with me through this rant, if you did. As always, keep watching, keep writing, and most importantly, keep reading.