Denver Comic Con 2018

While my presentation titledThe Fight Is The Storyhas been a Denver Comic Con mainstay since its inception (often through the academic branch of the DCC, called Page 23), this year I am doing two presentations there, but neither one is The Fight Is The Story.

You will recall, lovely lurkers, my post here about theseven problematic badass female tropes? Well, Page 23 likes the idea, and I will be presenting this concept on one of their panels this year. I’ll let you all know as soon as I know what day/time it will be. Will this be the catalyst for Gamergate 2.0? Time will tell….

Side note on this: Writers HQ is having me write about the first of the 7: The Marion Effect, for their May selections online. I’ll keep you apprised of that too: if I get enough readership, it may turn into a series, which I’ll of course ask you for help with.

DCC proper wants me too: they have accepted me to hold a session on my concept of theThree Rules For Protagonists, which you have read about before right here. Honestly, I don’t recall whether this is a panel presentation or a more hands on workshop, but either way it should be a great time!

Wi-Fi (or indeed, any) online connection is famously absent over at Comic Con. So it’s time to start making some PowerPoints, people! Let’s do this!

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Advanced Stage Combat

Remember a few months back, when I posted a series of pleas, extolling the virtues of my Stage Movement class, so that students at Auraria campus would sign up for it? I ended up with a good number of students in that one, and now I’m beginning a series of pleas about a new, vastly exciting course.

Well it’s not new, exactly, but the last time it was offered was …. gosh 8 years ago? Is that true? Anyway, suffice to say I wasn’t expecting the good folks in charge at Metro’s Theatre department to ever offer it again. But guess what? This Fall, it’s there, with a real course number and everything. It’s called ADVANCED STAGE COMBAT, and I am pleased as punch to be teaching this again. (At least, I’ll be teaching it if enough people sign up.)

I’m planning on putting up a post dedicated to each of the things about this course I’m most looking forward to, so let’s start with what’s the very first and very last fight scene the Advanced Stage Combat students do: the big group fight scene.

Big group fights are challenging, as there’s more that goes into a 3 person or more fight than just orchestrating pairs. For the first assignment in this course, I have the students do a full-class-member fight scene. One year, it was an 8-person fight. Another year? It was 12. One group set the opening scene of Romeo and Juliet on a pirate ship’s port, including cannons, ladders, “water” and grog along with the biting of the thumbs.

If you’re a student at any of the schools on auraria campus, do sign up for Advanced Stage Combat. I need 12 people to join me, or it’ll get cancelled. Plus, it’s a very unusual thing for an undergraduate program to have this robust a Stage Combat training offered to its theatre students. You’ll see it (sometimes) in MFA programs, but this is something special to have on your undergraduate cv. Take advantage of it.

Punching Through a Crystal Wall

Remember that Doctor Who episode, where he was trapped in the nightmare loop? The way he escaped was, each time he got to the end/his death, he punched a thick glass (or rock crystal?) wall, just once, with his bare fist. Turns out that he ends up going through that time loop so many times, that he eventually punches through the thick crystal wall completely. Think of how many millions of times you’d have to punch with a bare fist, to get through a rock wall several feet thick. But he succeeds, and it sets him free.

My life lately has run up against that thick layer of crystal, or so it feels: beautiful, but holding me in a loop. I’m punching it with my bare fist, though, over and over, and will persist until it gives way. Problem is, I also have to rely on others to add their punches to mine, and so am also being forced to wait. I spent a long while musing about this last night: I’m stalled, and it’s frustrating, as I am powerless to move these other people into action. And so I wait.

But here’s the stuff I am indeed actively doing–these things may be interesting to you, lovely lurkers, so here goes:

Wisdom From Everything was a remarkable production, and my scenes of violence were carried out beautifully. This production closes on the 26th, so those of you lurkers who are local, don’t miss it.

My initial writings on the topic of Problematic Female Badasses in lit and pop culture are slowly, painfully, becoming a book. Page 23, the academic branch of Denver Comic Con, has accepted it as part of their panel presentations, and so I will be talking about this project and my 7 Tropes live in front of a roomful of geeks this June. Will I be the catalyst for Gamergate 2.0? Time will tell…

Also this summer, I’ll be trekking back to Longmont to teach the teenaged ballerinas how to fake punch each other in the face, drag each other around by their hairpinned buns, and etc. One of the highlights of that is when they learn the face slam. The initial teaching of it is slamming the face into the floor, but some tutued girl always gets the idea to slam her partner’s face into the ballet barre, which is just such a delightful thing to witness.

Sooner than that, though: Blue Dime Cabaret is having our first show at Full Cycle on April 7th. It’s a bike shop, coffee shop, and bar over on Pearl Street where Penny Lane used to be. This is going to be a really fun show: we’ve got comedians, burlesque, burlesque on roller skates, and an opera singer. I’ll be jiggling my sparkles in a 1920s Charleston inspired burlesque bit that I actually need to finish choreographing… anyway, we’ve also been picked to perform in this summer’s Boulder Fringe Fest, too, so this’ll be a fun way to see how these variety shows will turn out. If you’re local, do come see us, and tip generously. I need the money.

I’ll let you know how Goth Prom goes, too. I have a rather ’80s inspired outfit to honor my early days of gothiness. But anyway.

These are the punches I’m throwing these days. What punches are you throwing into your walls? Add them in the comments, if you’d like to share. Of course, there’s a reason I call you all “lovely lurkers…”

Wisdom From Anything, Therefore Nothing

(If you recognize the quote I remixed for the title of this blog post, say so in the comments, and extra points for you.)

What I’m finally beginning to realize and embrace, lovely lurkers, is that I need to quit worrying about whether or not I have anything “important” to write about, and just write the damn blog. Write. Right? Right.

‘Cause there’s always something. Like for instance: I just turned 45 years old, after having danced burlesque only a couple weeks before such an auspicious anniversary. The play for which I consulted and set the scenes of violence, called Wisdom From Everything, opens soon (in fact its first preview is tonight). I’m helping Friend Monica with her theatre piece, called Aphrodite’s Refugees. Both works speak to the plight of refugees: the play, about Syrian refugees, Monica’s piece, about her father’s experience in the refugee camps (and military) of Cyprus.

Me and Friend Brandy have begun a pop-up cabaret project called Blue Dime, which is an eclectic collection of acts: burlesque, magic, music, comedy, variety, drag, and any etc. you can think of (and some you can’t). We just got accepted into the Boulder International Fringe Fest, and you bet your blue carbuncles I’ll be keeping you apprised of this as we move forward.

But one of the biggest things to occur in my little world is my branching out into the corporate world with my valuable skills. With Front Range unceremoniously dumping me, plus being reminded of the popular business adage that once one turns 45, one needs must change careers, I find myself shilling my stage movement expertise to those who need such coaching in the corporate world. Hence, *everyone* in the corporate world. Right? Of course right.

What I am doing immediately in this direction, in order to collect the necessary endorsements to paint me worthy of a piece of that corporate money pie, is something I’m calling Buy Me A Beer, Help Your Career. How it works is this: take me out for a pint, and give me your pitch/presentation/whatever it is that’s imminent, and I give you pointers on how to maximize your body language, poise, gesture, and voice to best effect. You then, ecstatic with the spectacular results of my coaching, write me a glowing endorsement on LinkedIn. Easy peasy, and win-win.

Neat, eh? I can’t take credit for the idea; that was the SO’s brilliance at work to help yank me up by my bootstraps at this advanced age.

Well, heck. With advanced age comes advanced expertise, right? Right.

The More You Holmes

From: several of the eps 

Line: “The game is on!”–Sherlock, and sometimes Watson, newspaper headlines, and others

Reference: The line in the original canon is, “the game is afoot,” which we come across first in “Abbey Grange,” and which the Victorian Sherlock says in the infamous Christmas special.

But of course the very first time this catchphrase was uttered in English literature was in Shakespeare’s Henry IV, Part I.

The Aged Hero’s Journey

[(Aged) hero’s journey]

I was struck by recollection of Ursula K. LeGuin’s very-important-to-me Earthsea series upon news of her recent passing, and was especially struck by the Hero’s Journey she constructs in The Farthest Shore. Sure, it’s ostensibly young Arren’s Journey, but actually? No. It isn’t. It’s Ged’s. After already living comfortably as Archmage for many years, in middle age, he embarks on another hero’s journey. Arren goes through a classic coming of age adventure, but Ged’s Journey, though the same adventure and path, is at the same time completely different, because of his age (and station). So I was inspired to construct a hero’s journey that’s specifically for us old people.

This is a hero’s journey that isn’t a coming of age story (or at least, it’s not a coming of that particular young age, nor is it a story of becoming an adult). Our hero is already an adult, and even already a hero, before s/he embarks.

I’ve made it into 8 stages, to go with my 8-Stage classic hero’s journey and the villain’s journey I’ve written about here before.

You might want to familiarize yourself with those again before plunging into this one.

———–

1. Break in stasis / call to adventure

I use a term from the beginning of the Freytag’s Pyramid story structure here along with the Hero’s Journey classic “call to adventure” because for our older, experienced hero, the comfort of regular life, the level life of stasis, the “way things is” in normal existence, including the presence of friends and family, is a deeper and higher stakes situation for the older hero. The comforts of home are kinda essential for someone with chronic arthritis in her knees, and her family, in contrast to the young hero running from/rebelling against her parental figures and elders, instead is herself the elder. Her family might be her own children, her home the comfort of a chosen partner. Leaving this behind takes a great, dire, often violent, disturbance.

2. Resisting the call / shutting the door

I’m too old for an adventure; get off my lawn! How dare you disturb me in my retirement—I’m done with all that now. Allow me to milk these island beasts in peace. No, I haven’t tapped into the Force since my nephew went bad, which was my fault, by the way. I can’t harm anyone out here in my retirement, nor am I willing to save the world. Again. Been there done that got the T-shirt and the scars. Go back to your rebellion, kid, and leave me here where I belong.

3. Return to the forest

There’s usually, as stated in stage one, a volatile, vital, and necessary reason to drag the Aged Hero out of her stasis, comfortable or no. Once she realizes her refusal of the call to adventure is to no avail, she’ll embark on her journey, back into the Forbidden Forest. But, unlike when she was young, she knows exactly how to navigate the threshold; in fact, it’s usually her own stubbornness that’s the only thing holding her back. Those fearsome guardians at the gate? They remember her and know her well, or at the very least, our hero knows very well how to move through that gate. It’s familiar territory, as is the Realm itself.

4. Becoming the fae

Once the Aged Hero is back in the Forest/Enchanted Realm/whathaveyou, he doesn’t have to fight anybody, or pit his wits or strength against the magical guides or guards. Both, honestly, are fading at any rate. And boy does that stump look comfy to rest on, just for a minute while he catches his breath. And look at that young hero who just broke through the gate guardians, looking terrified of the path. I wonder if he has any water to spare…

Know how in every old tale, the young hero always should share his meager supplies when he comes across strangers in the Wood? That’s because the strangers (if treated kindly), will help him succeed in his journey. Sometimes the strangers are magical denizens of the Realm. But sometimes….

5. Give up the gifts

The Aged Hero acquired these magical boons long ago, and if she’s a real hero, she already returned with them, using them to benefit her community. They have served her well, and made life a little better for her tribe/family/etc. But now it’s time to give them to somebody who can use them better than she can. Or, it’s time to use them one more time: just once, for the final and most important act.

6. Acknowledge the child/ren

This stage can come simultaneously with Stage 5, with the old hero giving his gifts up to the younger one, or it can be a more symbolic passing of the torch. At any rate, it’s not his story anymore: it belongs to the young ones now, and will continue with them.

7. Last legs / home again

The return-w-boon is usually in this stage the Empty Vessel, from which the Aged Hero has poured out her power in order to save the world, or it’s an empty hand from which the torch was passed, etc. More wisdom, often in the form of deep love, is now the Aged Hero’s boon, and she, tired to death, returns without magic, but all the empty spaces wherein the magic once was. And a deeper, more integrated, quieter, powerful innerstrength withal.

8. Golden years / I’m fucking retired, y’all

No really, kids. This time I mean it. For reals. Get off my lawn, seriously.

This stage can take the form of a disappearance or death, like our elder Jedi in the Star Wars stories, or just going into retirement, or moving on physically, like Tolkien’s old immortal Elves retreating to the western lands, leaving Middle-Earth to the young humans to mind. Maybe the Aged Hero teaches the younger ones now, or (more often) not, but a new stasis is established in any case.

Of course, this new stasis can be broken again at any time.

Ugh, what’s that call I hear? The Call to Adventure? Again? Nope, not this time—my back hurts…

The Archmage is Dead

The magus is dead

Long live the magus

–Anselm Hollo

Only in silence the word

Only in dark the light

Only in dying life

Bright the hawk’s flight

On the empty sky

(The Creation of Éa)

–Ursula K. LeGuin

Better (and certainly more accomplished) writers than me have already written beautiful pieces in tribute to one of our greatest writers in literature (let alone in the much maligned genre of Fantasy), upon the news of her death. What can I possibly add, that Scalzi, Gaiman, King, and the NY Times haven’t already said?

Decades before Harry Potter got his letter to admit him to Hogwarts, upstart Ged chose Roke Island over a rural existence learning from his master Ogion. Like another gifted youth after him, he chose the big conflict and the school for wizards over his backwater mentor who yet had more knowledge and wisdom than any of his big city professors. And, like Skywalker later, he finds his way finally back to accept the last phase of his higher learning, almost too late.

As a headstrong, gifted youth myself, I found Ged’s story profound in a way I can’t describe to you unless you’ve read the Earthsea books. Imagine, then, my astonishment when, in 1991, when I was poised to graduate high school, I saw, more than ten years out, the sequel to what had been only a trilogy since the ’60s: a book called Tehanu. This was something different. An aging widow and a rape survivor girl with unnamed power were the protagonists this time. I won’t spoil this for you, because you NEED to read this whole thing, but the revolution of what love can be, what being gifted really means, which I found in this late sequel, blew my fucking head off.

Later, Ursula K. LeGuin continued her adventures in the land of Earthsea, addressing the innate sexist structures of her patriarchal world, and discovering what death in her world actually was. We had been through the land of death, with her most profound protagonist and a young someone who could do nothing but follow. We knew what the Dry Land was all about. And yet. She had the guts to allow a minor character to come forth in a still later sequel and call bullshit. She questioned the very structure of her worldbuilding, and let her imaginary population say No. And thus the Earthsea series grew. And grew up. Like I did.

I’ve read a couple other works by LeGuin (short story “Buffalo Gals…” is one that reverberated through my old story saturated self) and of course like any young Fantasy writer, attempted to imitate her. But such things are impossible. Her complete concepts, thorough world building, and precisely cut prose, as pared down and beautiful as any expertly cut gem, are all things to catch one’s breath about in awe, not to copy. This was a master that can’t be copied. Many writers rightly talk of Left Hand of Darkness or The Word For World is Forest as sci fi works that speak profoundly to what sci fi normally does: the state of our society and earth as it is. And in the wake of Mr. Potter’s journey through his magical realism school for wizards, who is looking back at a rural Archipelago populated mainly with people of color, and dragons? We should be.

I declare, we all have much to learn from how Ged reacts to rich asshole Jasper, befriends Vetch, what he does about the shadow he unleashes, the lessons about indoctrinated religion we learn when he visits the Tombs of Atuan, and especially what he does with his incredible gifts, in order to save the world. The writers of Last Jedi got this, and got it spot on. LeGuin taught it to us first.

When I saw her read in Seattle, when I thought I’d be going there for grad school in writing, she was in the middle of translating the I Ching.

Ursula K. LeGuin has passed, but we are all fortunate that she not only left her rich worlds behind in immortality, but also her writing instruction. What a gift, even to have a series of writing exercises she feels important (Steering the Craft), and essays in which she expresses her views of grammar, structure, genre, and feminism in language (The Language of the Night), let alone the volumes of this vein of work online…. She may be gone, but we should delay not one moment to (continue to) learn from her.

RIP Ursula K. LeGuin. I hope your experience of death is more like your later Earthsea books than the early ones. Of course it is. You discovered such so long ago.

Sing, O Muse, of a new semester (quarter, session, etc.)…

Well, lovely lurkers, it’s mid-January, and if you’ve been lurking here for awhile, you know what that means: It’s:

/cue Monty Python theme music as the scruffy bearded man runs away/

The Musings Upon A New Semester! And etc. Because every freaking school at which I teach is on a different schedule. Let alone different pay dates….

Front Range has decided they don’t have any classes for me this semester. Which is troubling, as that’s around $800/mo that I am not getting this semester (that means now through May, kids). So. Sigh. I did reach out to their online division, which didn’t help in the short term, but hopefully shall in the long.

At Metro, I’m teaching two online courses: one is the Staging Cultures class you’ve heard me talk about before; the other is (also online) called Theatre History and Criticism II. What makes it different than I, you might ask? No idea–I’ve never taught either before. Luckily I have an esteemed colleague’s version of it to pirate, er, adapt into my own structure and voice. Metro (and FRCC, when I do teach for them) is on the semester system, which means their classes run from next week through early May.

DU is having me teach their Capstone seminar online, which is the course that masters degree students take when they’re working on their culminating projects for their advanced degree in writing. Lots of diverse topics and creative projects this quarter. Yep, quarter. Which means ten weeks (they started last week).

Regis always has me do directed study courses, which means: online, one-on-one with grad students pursuing their masters in writing, and nearly all designed by me. This session (8 weeks there) I have two YA lit/Writing students, and one YA Poetry student.

Professional stuff? I have returned to Boulder Burlesque to choreograph and perform in their upcoming Valentine’s Day themed show, and am still in Bronze Fox Burlesque, but after their calendar debacle, I don’t know what’s up with them. Prolly a 4/20 show. But who knows, indeed…

Friend and fellow dancer Brandy and I are co-creating a vaudeville style variety show called Blue Dime Cabaret, about which I shall keep you informed, as it continues to coalesce with all the acts we’re trying to recruit.

Finally, I’m in charge of choreographing and directing the violence and intimacy scenes in another Local Theatre Company show called The Wisdom of Everything.

Whew! That added to the books I am beginning to write, looks like I’m a busy (and woefully underpaid) little bee. Send beer money…..

The More You Holmes

From: ep. 3.1

Character name: Sebastian Moran

Reference: In the original canon, Sebastian Moran is a colonel, not a peer of the realm, but he shares the distinction in this episode (very nearly named after the original story: “Empty House” = “Empty Hearse”) of being the central villain of the first story after Holmes’ return from his supposedly fatal end at the Reichenbach Fall.

Moran is one of several suspected terrorists Sherlock calls his “rats,” so when we find a bomb set up in a tunnel called Sumatra, we also of course hear the echo of a never-penned, only-mentioned adventure called the “Giant Rat of Sumatra.”