It has been an interesting weekend and I'm actually very glad that I was visiting with family somewhere Nick and I refer to as "Pennsyltucky" - no internet access and only roaming cell phone range. I missed out on a few things that would have had me ranting in a much more vitriolic sense, though I intend to still be rather pointed. So, today, I'm including several of my favorite quotes and conversations from two very different universes that are a bit philosophic in nature. The one universe, Star Wars, I'm sure everyone has heard of. Boba Fett is my favorite character, outside the main cast, and I'm just stating for the record that I've erased episodes one through three from my memory banks so Boba Fett is not a clone and never will be. After that is a few bits from the book series by Orson Scott Card known as the Ender Saga, or the Ender Quartet since there are four books sequenced together. It's futuristic, two other alien species known to date, and I borrowed some of their conversations with one another since they were relevant to the point I'd like to make.
Actually, there are several points. The subtle one is covered by the philosophy bits.
But the main point that isn't covered by philosophy is this: Never put yourself on a pedestal, acting superior to others, unless you're prepared for people to shake the column beneath your feet. When someone insults a writer for the choices they make for their character without any actual subjective analyzing, empathy, or even basic understanding of the character themselves and where the writer is coming from, you are asking for someone to turn their sights and do the same to you.
Who is this about? I'll give you one word just to keep this moderately civil and not have people jump in who don't know the situation. "Prozac"
Also, pardon my crudeness but the ether tweeting shit is really old. The last time someone pulled that on me, and my account wasn't blocked from responding, I called them out on it. If you can't handle confrontation like a rational human being and instead have to hurl insults indirectly because you can't bother putting words together into sentences to actually discuss whatever it is you might disagree with and have some inane urge to make the disagreement public, keep it to yourself. It's childish. Really. Shame on you.
And shame on anyone who defended it. Differing opinions between writers are simply that. It shouldn't get brought out in public.
The real issue boils down to this, folks: Your character is your own and no one will ever know them better than you. If someone on the team of people you play with disagrees with you on something you choose to have your character do, that's perfectly fine. But that means the people having the disagreement should sit down as writers to discuss how to work through the problem rationally. If the issue down neither side being able to budge the other side's opinion, the simplest solution is to just start treating it as fact and find ways to deal with it both in character and out. The people you play with will sometimes do things you disagree with, but if you enjoy writing with them and want to keep them around then you find ways to move forward. A neutral opinion can sometimes be useful in cases like that, if the writers can't disconnect themselves enough from the disagreement, or defer to whomever might be the authority for the team. If anyone is disappointed with how things turn out then you have some more decisions to make, but no one should ever fault someone else for standing firm, even if you don't necessarily agree with them on the what or why.
Here's some food for thought: There are always multiple versions of your characters, different ways people look at you. Thinking outside the box, seeing things from another viewpoint; I'm good at that. There's the version of your character that you want others to see, and then there are the flaws that require some suspension of disbelief. Without any of the dressing regarding a character's personality or any of the things that they are and do that make you want to overlook the flaws and just accept things as fact, you can easily find fault with another's role-play in an academic, unsympathetic sense.
If a character is going through the loss of their own husband, floundering, having to move forward on her own with emotional turmoil, self-doubt, and possibly making irrational decisions, those responses that should be easy to empathize with because it's basic psychology. If you disagree with what their writer is having them do under emotional duress, then that is where you should step in and have a rational discussion. But even if you can't, if there is an honest to goodness opinion head-butt, then at least you can both keep your dignity and keep it between yourselves, and figure out what to do in private to move forward or move on.
Stories within stories. What do people see and what do you want them to see? It can change merely with a twist of thought. Does it make any version less true? Absolutely. But people can choose not to see it your way. Academic and completely unsympathetic, finding flaws in the design. I'm good at that, too.
Those who live in glass houses should not throw stones. Someone might throw a stone back.
It's all just a matter of perception and opinion.
Enjoy the excerpts.
From:
The Last One Standing: The Tale of Boba Fett
by Daniel Keys Moran (published in the short story collection Tales of the Bounty Hunters)
The last statement of the Journeyman Protector Jaster Mereel, known later as the Hunter Boba Fett, before exile from the world of Concord Dawn:
Everyone dies.
It's the final and only lasting Justice. Evil exists; it is intelligence in the service of entropy. When the side of a mountain slides down to kill a village, this is not evil, for evil requires intent. Should a sentient being cause that landslide, there is evil; and requires Justice as a consequence, so that civilization can exist.
There is no greater good than Justice; and only if law serves Justice is it good law. It is said correctly that law exists not for the Just but for the unjust, for the Just carry the law in their hearts, and do not need to call it from afar.
I bow to no one and I give service only for cause.
From:
Xenocide - conversations between a fathertree named Human and the Hive Queen
by Orson Scott Card
{{The strangest thing about humans is the way they pair up, males and females. Constantly at war with each other, never content to leave each other alone. They never seem to grasp the idea that males and females are separate species with completely different needs and desires, forced to come together only to reproduce.}}
{{Of course you feel that way. Your mates are nothing but mindless drones, extensions of yourself, without their own identity.}}
{{We know our lovers with perfect understanding. Humans invent an imaginary lover and put that mask over the face of the body in their bed.}}
{{That is the tragedy of language, my friend. Those who know each other only through symbolic representations are forced to imagine each other. And because their imagination is imperfect, they are often wrong.}}
{{That is the source of their misery.}}
{{And some of their strength, I think. Your people and each for our own evolutionary reasons, mate with vastly unequal partners. Our mates are always, hopelessly, our intellectual inferiors. Humans mate with beings who challenge their supremacy. They have conflict between mates not because their communication is inferior to ours, but because they commune with each other at all.}}
{{The most unpleasant thing about human beings is that they don't metamorphose. Your people and mine are born as grubs, but we transform ourselves into a higher form before we reproduce. Human beings remain grubs all their lives.}}
{{Human beings do metamorphose. They change their identity constantly. However, each new identity thrives on the delusion that it was always in possession of the body it has just conquered.}}
{{Such changes are superficial. The nature of the organism remains the same. Humans are very proud of their changes, but every imagined transformation turns out to be a new set of excuses for behaving exactly as the individual has always behaved.}}
{{You are too different from humans ever to understand them.}}
{{You are too similar to humans for you ever to be able to see them clearly.}}
{{I've been talking to Ender and his sister, Valentine. She's a historian.}}
{{Explain this.}}
{{She searches through the books to find out the stories of humans, then writes stories about what she finds and gives them to all the other humans.}}
{{If the stories are already written down, why does she write them again?}}
{{Because they aren't well understood. She helps people understand them.}}
{{If the people closer to that time didn't understand them, how can she, coming later, understand them better?}}
{{I've asked this myself, and Valentine said that she doesn't always understand them better. But the old writers understood what the stories meant to the people of their time, and she understands what the stories mean to the people of her time.}}
{{So the story changes.}}
{[Yes.}}
And yet each time they still think of the story as a true memory?}}
{{Valentine explained something about some stories being true and others being truthful. I didn't understand any of it.}}
{{Why don't they just remember their stories accurately in the first place? Then they wouldn't have to keep lying to each other.}}
{{Ender's coming to see us.}}
{{He comes and talks to me all the time.}}
{{And we can talk directly into his mind. But he insists on coming. He doesn't feel like he's talking to us unless he sees us. He has a harder time distinguishing between his own thoughts and the ones we put in his mind, when we converse from a distance. So he's coming.}}
{{And you don't like this?}}
{{He wants us to tell him answers and we don't know any answers.}}
{{You know everything that the humans know. You got into space, didn't you?}}
{{They're so hungry for answers, these humans. They have so many questions.}}
{{We have questions, too, you know.}}
{{They want to know why, why, why. Or how. Everything all tied up into a nice neat bundle like a cocoon. The only time we do this is when we're metamorphosing a queen.}}
{{They like to understand everything. But so do we, you know.}}
{{Yes, you'd like to think you're just like the humans, wouldn't you? But you're not like Ender. Not like the humans. He has to know the cause of everything, he has to make a story about everything and we don't know any stories. We know memories. We know things that happen. But we don't know why they happen, not the way he wants us to.}}
{{Of course you do.}}
{{We don't even care why, the way these humans do. We find out as much as we need to know to accomplish something, but they always want to know more than they need to know. After they get something to work, they're still hungry to know why it works and why the cause of its working works.}}
{{Aren't we like that?}}
{{Maybe you will be, when the descolada stops interfering with you.}}
{{Or maybe we'll be like your workers.}}
{{If you are, you won't care. They're all very happy. It's intelligence that makes you unhappy. The workers are either hungry or not hungry. In pain or not in pain. They're never curious or disappointed or anguished or ashamed. And when it comes to things like that, these humans make you and me look like workers.}}
{{I think you just don't know us well enough to compare.}}
{{We've been inside your head and we've been inside Ender's head and we've been inside our own heads for a thousand generations and these humans make us look like we're asleep. Even when they're asleep they're not asleep. Earthborn animals do this thing, inside their brains - a sort of mad firing-off of synapses, controlled insanity. The part of their brain that records sight or sound, it's firing off every hour or two. While they sleep; even when all the sights and sounds are complete random nonsense, their brains keep on trying to assemble it into something sensible. They try to make stories out of it. It's complete random nonsense with no possible correlation to the real world, and yet they turn it into these crazy stories. And then they forget them. All that work, coming up with these stories, and when they wake up they forget almost all of them. But when they do remember, then they try to make stories about those crazy stories, trying to fit them into their real lives.}}
{{We know about their dreaming.}}
{{Maybe without the descolada, you'll dream, too.}}
{{Why would we want to? As you say, it's meaningless. Random firings of the synapses of the neurons in their brains.}}
{{They're practicing. They're doing it all the time. Coming up with stories. Making connections. Making sense out of nonsense.}}
{{What good is it, when it means nothing?}}
{{That's just it. They have a hunger we know nothing about. The hunger for answers. The hunger for making sense. The hunger for stories.}}
{{We have stories.}}
{{You remember deeds. They make up deeds. They change what their stories mean. They transform things so that the same memory can mean a thousand different things. Even from their dreams, sometimes they make up out of that randomness something that illuminates everything. Not one human being has anything like the kind of mind you have. The kind we have. Nothing as powerful. And their lives are so short, they die so fast. But in their century or so they come up with ten thousand meanings fro every one that we discover.}}
{{Most of them are wrong.}}
{{Even if the vast majority of them are wrong, even if ninety-nine of every hundred is stupid and wrong, out of then thousand ideas that still leaves them with a hundred good ones. That's how they make up for being so stupid and having such short lives and small memories.}}
{{Dreams and madness.}}
{{Magic and mystery and philosophy.}}
{{You can't say that you never think of stories. What you've just been telling me is a story.}}
{{I know.}}
{{See? Humans do nothing you can't do.}}
{{Don't you understand? I got even this story from Ender's mind. It's his. And he got the seed of something else, something he read, and combined it with things he thought of until it made sense to him. It's all there in his head. While we are like you. We have a clear view of the world. I have no trouble finding my way through your mind. everything orderly and sensible and clear. You'd be as much at ease in mine. What's in your head is reality, more or less, as best you understand it. But in Ender's mind, madness. Thousands of competing contradictory impossible visions that make no sense at all because they can't all fit together but they do fit together, he makes them fit together, this way today, that way tomorrow, as they're needed. As if he can make a new idea-machine inside his head for every new problem he faces. As if he conceives of a new universe to live in, every hour a new one, often hopelessly wrong and he ends up making mistakes and bad judgments, but sometimes so perfectly right that it opens things up like a miracle and I look through his eyes and see the world his new way and it changes everything. Madness, and then illumination. We knew everything there was to know before we met these humans, before we built our connection with Ender's mind. Now we discover that there are so many ways of knowing the same things that we'll never find them all.}}
{[Unless the humans teach you.}}
{{You see? We are scavengers also.}}
{{You're a scavenger. We're supplicants.}}
{{If only they were worthy of their own mental abilities.}}
{{Aren't they?}}
{{They are planning to blow you up, you remember. There's so much possibility in their minds, but they are still, after all, individually stupid and small-minded and half-blind and half-mad. There's still ninety-nine percent of their stories that are hideously wrong and lead them to terrible errors. Sometimes we wish we could tame them, like the workers. We tried to, you know, with Ender. But we couldn't do it. Couldn't make a worker of him.}}
{{Why not?}}
{{Too stupid. Can't pay attention long enough. Human minds lack focus. They get bored and wander off. We had to build a bridge outside him, using the computer that he was most closely bonded with. Computers, now - those things can pay attention. And their memory is neat, orderly, everything organized and findable.}}
{{But they don't dream.}}
From:
Children of the Mind - The God Whispers of Han Qing-jao
by Orson Scott Card
When I follow the path of the gods through the wood,
My eyes take every twisting turn of the grain,
But my body moves straight along the planking,
So those who watch me see that the path of the gods is straight,
While I dwell in a world with no straightness in it.
My father once told me
that there are no gods,
only the cruel manipulations
of evil people
who pretended that their power was good
and their exploitation was love.
My father often told me,
We have servants and machines
in order that our will may be carried out beyond the reach of our own arms.
Machines are more powerful than servants
and more obedient and less rebellious,
but machines have no judgement
and will not remonstrate with us
when our will is foolish,
and will not disobey us
when our will is evil.
In times and places where people despise the gods,
those most in need of servants have machines,
or choose servants who will behave like machines.
I believe this will continue
until the gods stop laughing.