A Reminder That Our Imaginary Pals Are Mostly Intolerable People

Posted on September 29th, 2015 by Adam-Troy Castro

First Published on Facebook 29 September 2014.

A key misunderstanding people have about their relationship with fiction is the belief that their favorite characters are people they would like to hang around with.

Tags: A Confederacy of Dunces, Andrea Cort, Barney Miller, Batman, Comic Book Movies, Conan the Barbarian, David Copperfield, Huckleberryt Finn, Ignatius J. Reilly, Les Miserables, M*A*S*H, Mary Tyler Moore, Rocky Balboa, Sherlock Holmes, Star Trek, The Grapes Of Wrath, The Office, The Three Musketeers | Category Books, Comic Books, Commentary, Humor, Life Wisdom, Movies, Science Fiction, TV

In Which I Save The Universe from the Daleks

Posted on September 28th, 2015 by Adam-Troy Castro

First published on Facebook 28 September 2014.

For the second time in the last five years, I’ve had had a coherent dream writing myself, my actual self, into an episode of DOCTOR WHO.

The first dream made an impression on a number of you; it was the one where I conspired to get myself cast in the role, via what amounted to the only real-life circumstance where this could possibly happen – albeit only to deliver the line, “Oh no, this will never do.”

Last night I dreamed myself into an actual DOCTOR WHO episode.

The dream did not give me the same level of detail I am about to give you, but certainly not much less. The sense of it was there, as was the punchline. Wait for it.

The circumstances are that I have gotten mixed up with a Dalek invasion and have been picked up by the Tardis, where I am sternly told to stand aside and mind my own business while the Doctor and just about everybody who’s been a companion since Eccleston tried to deal with the imminent invasion of Earth. The Doctor (the Tennant Doctor) has built a huge Lego monstrosity to blow up the Dalek fleet of millions, and has tried to send the signal to the mothership control room, using Rose’s cell phone; but is appalled to exclaim, “It’s not working! They’re blocking the signal!” He attempts multiple frequencies, but the Daleks have blocked all signals but voice, and that only so they can tell him that he will be exterminated.

For the moment, he is stymied, and stewing in one of those moments of futility that is his lot, as the Daleks count down the ten seconds to Earth’s destruction.

I grab the phone out of his hand. “Hello! May I please speak to the head of the household?”

There is a pause.

“IDENTIFY YOURSELF!”

In the friendliest possible tone, I say, “This is Mr. Castro. If it’s not too much trouble, may I please speak to the head of the household?”

The Doctor tries to grab the phone from me, but Donna Noble points out: the countdown has stopped. I’m the only guy present who even seems to HAVE an idea. They should let me speak.

“EXPLAIN.”

“I believe I can offer you a once-in-a-lifetime service! Please, connect me to the head of the household.”

There is a pause.

“EXPLAIN.”

“Is this the head of the household?”

“THIS IS DALEK PRIME, THE EMPEROR OF ALL DALEKS. YOU WILL EXPLAIN THIS INTERRUPTION.”

“It would be my pleasure, sir. I hope I catch you on a fine day.”

A pause. “WE ARE DALEKS. WE ARE ABOUT TO EXTERMINATE YOUR PLANET.”

“That sounds like a fascinating project, and I wish you nothing but luck in your endeavors. But I believe I can offer you a service that will only enhance your chances of victory.”

“EXPLAIN.”

“I represent the Pleiades Insurance Company and I’m calling to offer your fleet an introductory membership in a brand new protection offered by my firm.”

“WE ARE DALEKS. WE HAVE NO NEED OF PROTECTION.”

“I’m certain you believe that, sir, but my records show that your race has several times been reduced to the very brink of extinction, at times plummeting from a population of billions to only one or two individuals. Surely you must agree that it’s always best to be prepared for all eventualities.”

“WE ARE ONLY SECONDS FROM VICTORY.”

“You have been only seconds from victory, multiple times. It has always left you bereft, when you proved unprepared for sudden changes in your fortunes. Indeed, it’s fair to say that being only seconds from victory has long been your most precarious position. Granted, you’ve been able to recoup your fortunes on multiple occasions, but are you certain that you want to resume your countdown to three, and two, and even to the dreaded one, when all your past experience has established those as the occasions of the most catastrophic reverses of your species?”

“WHAT DO YOU SUGGEST?”

“For a very small fee, my company is willing to underwrite the substantial risk of this venture by assuring the total resurrection of your species following any annihilation caused by last-minute reversal.”

“YOU CANNOT HAVE THIS POWER.”

“The Pleiades Insurance Company not only does have this power, but is able to document that it has this power and is willing to present you with all the proof in a helpful and entertaining video.”

“YOU WILL BE EXTERMINATED!”

“If that is what you believe, then by all means press the button. But can you afford the risk?”

“….YOU HAVE THE PROOF IN A VIDEO?”

“Available in a wide variety of formats. I am absolutely certain that once you see what the Pleiades Insurance Company can do, you will sign up for our service right away, and tell your friends.”

“WE ARE DALEKS! WE HAVE NO FRIENDS!”

“Not even if we offer a substantial discount for referrals?”

“…”

“Mister Dalek Prime, I wish you to notice that I am not asking you to sign a contract now. I am only asking you to take a look at my proposal, and then come back to me with any questions you might have. Is that acceptable?”

“THIS IS ACCEPTABLE. WE WILL PERMIT YOUR TRANSMISSION.”

“Thank you, sir. I am certain that you will not regret this.”

The jamming system is switched off. I say, “Now.”

The Doctor presses his doodad. A wave of fire engulfs the entire Dalek fleet. They all blow up, all the way from near Earth orbit to the moons of Neptune. EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM. They are all gone. They all die.

The sheer pandemonium that follows aboard the Tardis ends with the Doctor, realizing that he has one more mystery still left to solve, walking slowly toward me, while the rest of the cast hangs back in trepidation.

“Hello,” I say. “I’m the Telemarketer.”

Tags: Daleks, Doctor Who, Dreams, Science Fiction | Category Humor, Science Fiction, TV

Writers: The Long-Term Benefits of Not Being An Ass

Posted on September 21st, 2015 by Adam-Troy Castro

From time to time the following comedic trope appears in movies or television: the totally out-of-control ego monster of a prominent author, who abuses everybody who gets within twenty feet of him, who must be tended by a full-time handler from the publisher, to make sure he gets his latest book done.

I have seen any number of writers, addressing this trope, snot that nothing like this has ever existed, in the entire history of publishing.

Not true.

I happen to know four or five cases where problematic grand eminences were treated exactly like that.

The fact that you can name grand eminences who don’t need it — Stephen King and JK. Rowling, for instance — doesn’t mean that there haven’t been some who did, and publishers who weren’t so desperate to receive pages from them that they indulged them in this manner.

I know of one great eminence who was so respected by the magazine that was running installments of his latest opus in composition that they gave him an office and dispatched one of their lesser young things  to take dictation from him, all day long, to then type it up, and in between get him whatever he wanted, while taking his scorn and abuse.

This happened.

However, this guy was an eminence. He was indulged because he was an eminence. (And one of the “respected” sort rather than the bestselling sort.)

The lesser trope, of an author who simply produces popular work while being unpleasant to anybody who ever speaks to him, bears more resemblance to everyday reality. See Jack Nicholson in AS GOOD AS IT GETS. He’s mentally ill, his editor can’t stand him as a person, he reacts to a moment of admiration on the part of a receptionist by slamming her with his scorn, probably driving her to tears.

This exists in real life, but it needs to be noted: Nicholson’s character wrote successful books, one after another, enough to support him in comfort. He was established. The publisher got what it wanted out of him, and tolerated the rest. So, sure, he was an eminence, of a sort, too. Tolerating his awfulness was a business decision.

This happens with TV and movie stars, too; at a certain point, some do exercise their right to become monsters, and the stories of insane entitled behavior and outright abuse of co-workers can be appalling, but what you don’t hear is that many of these guys don’t get away with it in the long run. People stop wanting to work with them. After they destroy one or two movies, they lose their bankability, and find themselves begging for roles and wondering what happened. The guy I’m not making up who won one Oscar, told everybody around him that he was going to become an asshole now, and did, went back to small supporting roles shortly afterward, because he was not as indispensable as he imagined.

For the vast majority of artists, being an asshole to the people who give you money is not a good career move. You are not indispensable unless you’re an eminence of such towering fame that they are willing to bend heaven and Earth to keep you. And sometimes not even then. Fame is fleeting.

So one guy I’m thinking of, who has come out and described himself as one of the greatest writers of his generation, who says that his work is reeking with literary virtues that any number of others would give their left tits to be even shelved next to, who has been abusing his publisher in public and attacking his editors as people and in general making himself a horse pill – I think he’s in for a surprise, sooner or later, probably sooner. Writers who can sell the number of copies he sells, or more, are not exactly thin on the ground, and the vast majority of them will not be rallying their readers to send hate mail.

But this is not about him. This is about you, the struggling artist. And to you I have some strong advice.

Be a sweetheart.

Be the kind of artist who, when dropping by the publishing house, brings cookies. Or if not cookies, then at least a warm smile and a gracious manner.

Thank everybody for all their efforts on behalf of your book. When you have a problem, be courteous about bringing it up. Do not make it personal. Explain what the problem is and thank everybody who helps you with it.

Be the person they fall in love with.

Be the person who, when they are asked what you are really like, leads them to say, “Oh, he’s a dream; he’s great; we all love him, over here.”

Be that way not just because they’re also people doing their jobs, and you should, but because there will come a day when the numbers are borderline and your future is on a bubble and they will have long sad discussions in-house over whether they’re going to give you another chance, and it’s better to have them on your side than not; it’s better for them to believe in you, the person, than not.

Do not be the person who, when that decision has to be made, leads them to make the decision that was made about another writer I know of, the guy of whom they said, “Well, his books are still making money; not as much money as they used to, but money; but their earnings have dipped, he’s bad-mouthing us every chance he gets, and nobody wants to work with the son of a bitch, let’s jettison him.”

Be that way even if you wind up as an eminence of such towering genius they offer you a minder.

Be that way about the minder. Because that minder might write her own book someday, and you really don’t want to leave any ammunition lying around.

Really, folks. It’s not rocket science. You’re not going to help yourself, long-term, by being an ass. You’re honestly not.

Tags: As Good As It Gets, Assholes, J.K. Rowling, Jack Nicholson, Stephen King, writing | Category Books, Commentary, Life Wisdom, Movies, Science Fiction, Sneaky Metaphors, TV, Uncategorized, Writing