Clean Slate

Aaaannnnd we’re back. I took a few weeks off mostly out of laziness. It’s not so easy coming up with new topics week after week. I don’t know how newspaper columnists do it. Oh, right, they get a paycheck.

I’ve decided to kick off the new year with a confession. In fact, the topic is why it took me all week to write and post this, when I’d intended to post on Monday. Deep breath and here we go:

I am an addict. I’m addicted to video games.

This is not a joke. It’s not the start of a rant. For me, it’s a serious problem. Moreso in recent months, because it’s started to interfere with the paying work. I almost missed a couple of deadlines because I got playing games when I should have been doing the freelance stuff that pays my bills. I did miss a couple of postings on this and my other blog last year, because I played games instead of writing. It’s one of the reasons I don’t get stories out faster. Again, that’s money I need that I’m missing out on because I’m playing computer solitaire. Not exactly the best use of my time.

How bad has it gotten? Well, ever heard those stories about people playing games well into the early morning hours? Or around the clock? They’re true. I’ve averaged eight to twelve hour marathons just on one game alone. I think the longest I ever went was over sixteen hours. I’ve started playing during the morning and gone on to two or three a.m. Then sleep for maybe three-four hours and get up. And sometimes start over.

During those hours I don’t eat or move around or go to the bathroom. For some reason I don’t feel tired. I get the feeling the game activity is messing with my brain chemistry. It’s certainly messing with my physical well-being. I haven’t gained weight, but I’ve definitely lost endurance. I can tell that just by walking around the house.

I once followed this pattern for roughly a week. Little food, less sleep, no exercise. Then I woke from a nap light-headed and unable to focus my eyes. I didn’t know if it was me or a gas leak (I have no sense of smell). I ended up calling the local volunteer fire department and had them come out to check my furnace and propane tanks and scan for carbon monoxide. Turns out everything was fine, except for me. The firemen checked my blood pressure and asked if I wanted them to call an ambulance. I turned them down because I knew what the problem was. I’d done it to myself. After some food and a decent night’s sleep I was okay.

That should have been my rock bottom, my turning point. It wasn’t. I think I quit for a while after that, but pretty soon I was back at it. Not continuously, but days here and there, for longer and longer stretches. The kind that interfere with life and the paying work, as noted above.

I’m not talking about World of Warcraft or any of the other games found on the Internet. These are the simple games that came with my laptop: Freecell, Solitaire, Spider Solitaire, Mah Jong. Those are the dangerous ones. I found others on the Net, before Yahoo discontinued their Games program. I once played Jewel Quest in the library lobby for nine hours. That was well after the incident with the fire department.

I’ve known for years I have a problem with OCDish behavior. I learned decades ago I don’t dare keep a deck of cards in the house. I used to buy those Sudoku magazines and compulsively work the puzzles until I ended up ripping up the magazine and throwing it out. That was the only way I could stop.

I don’t know what to do about these games. I don’t have home Internet, so in that respect I’m restricted by the library’s hours. The ones I’m having trouble with are on the laptop’s hard drive. I can’t block them (I tried). I can’t delete them. I asked the guys at the computer repair place to do that and they said they couldn’t without wrecking the hard drive. I can’t get rid of the laptop because I need it for writing and work. It’s not like keeping booze or drugs or junk food out of the house. As far as removing temptation goes, I’m pretty much up the creek.

Even worse, I don’t think this addiction is itself the real problem. I suspect it’s a symptom of some deeper problem, namely procrastination/work avoidance. I’ve stopped in the past. I was “clean” for nearly all of 2016. During my gameless phase I noticed I tended to watch mindless stuff on TV or read excessively or even do housework. Anything rather than write. I’d also just started the freelance job back then, so I was motivated by bills and a paycheck to stay productive.

Then one day I clicked on the Games program and decided to play “just one game.” That was my downfall. That was when I started getting into the longer-than-eight-hour sessions, usually when I was supposed to be working on paid stuff.

That’s the part that finally scared me. I don’t have a regular job, and at my age in this economy I’m not likely to find one that pays a living wage. If I screw up this freelance gig, I’ll be down to just my savings for financial resources, and that won’t last forever. At this rate, that won’t even last two years.

So I need to work, and I need to be more productive. Instead I turn to the games, then beat myself up afterward. And downward the spiral goes.

Before anyone asks, I haven’t worked a “traditional” job for about five years now, so I’m not doing this in the workplace. There’s no family involved, so no one else is affected by my slacker ways. That means there’s no support system, either. Most of the time I’m pretty isolated, which may be part of the problem. Does FaceBook have a page for gaming addicts? Is it helpful? Because I haven’t been doing so well on my own.

I was going to call it quits at Christmas. Go cold turkey. Didn’t work. I stopped “for good this time, I mean it” New Year’s Eve. I fell back into the habit three days later. I was playing as recently as last night. I put off paid work because the urge to play games was just that strong.

And yet … this morning I woke up with no compulsion at all. That’s happened to me before. I’ll go through a phase where I can’t stay away from the games, and then it just … goes away. It’s like a switch gets thrown in my head. The switch must have clicked overnight because I’m okay now. I’ve been working on the laptop all morning with no inclinations to play at all. This could last for today, or a week, or maybe a couple of months. I’m taking advantage of the break to confess to the world in this blog.

What I should be doing is using this time to root around in my head and figure out what the real problem is, why I play in the first place. Dr. Phil says, “People do what works,” but how is repetitively playing the same game for twelve or more hours giving me a positive payoff? I’m sure it has to do with self-sabotage. This is the point where a normal person would seek professional help, but video game addiction isn’t considered a real problem by the medical community so my health insurance won’t pay for it. Fair enough. If I don’t work because I’m playing games all the time, soon I won’t have money to pay for the health insurance. That’ll teach ‘em.

So instead of playing games, or working, or writing, I can lie down somewhere and stare into space and examine my motivations, or lack thereof. People who do this call it “meditation.” Sounds like a prime time-waster to me, marginally healthier than what I’ve been doing. Maybe I’ll give it a go.

Feats of Derring-Do

Being a homeowner, I’ve discovered, isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sure, you’ve got a roof over your head and a chance to build equity. You’ve also got property taxes, yardwork, and home repairs. Back when I was renting and the furnace cut out on me, I could just call the landlord. Now I have to get it fixed and pay for it. And since I live in a mobile home park, I’m still paying rent anyway. Show me the advantage of that.

And every fall, when the trees have finished shedding their leaves, I have to go out and clean the gutters.

This is not a fun thing for me. I have a stepladder, so I can get to the gutter that lines the awning. That’s not a problem. The problem is, the ladder’s about ten feet and the roof is twelve. I’m a short woman. Between the ladder’s and my own lack of height, we’re both just a couple inches too short to let me safely climb onto the roof so I can get to the main gutters.

Why didn’t I buy a taller ladder? Because I got this one from some neighbors who were moving and had it for sale at a bargain price. The neighbor was a guy and didn’t have to worry about height issues. Why aren’t I taller? Blame genetics.

I can clean the house gutters with my ladder, in spite of our shortcomings. I can safely climb the ladder high enough to reach them. I did this last year. That was roughly an hour’s worth of: 1) set up ladder; 2) climb ladder; 3) clean about two feet of gutter (as far as I can reach in either direction; 4) climb down ladder; 5) move ladder a few feet and set it up again. Lather, rinse, repeat.

I don’t enjoy doing it. That flippin’ ladder’s heavy and not easy to lug around, and all that climbing wreaks havoc with my out-of-shape leg muscles. There has to be an easier way.

There is, of course. Get on the roof and clean the gutters from there. I could probably do it on my ladder if I climb all the way to the top, and  risk falling and breaking something, like an arm, or a leg, or my neck. Remember the word “safely,” quoted above?

Luckily my neighbors are all in the same leafy boat, and some of them do have ladders that will reach the roof. This year I borrowed one for the task before me.

I’ve been on my roof before this, using a neighbor’s ladder. However, that was several years and almost forty pounds ago. I’m older, heavier and in worse physical shape. Also, that time the neighbor held the ladder for me, while another neighbor stood by to call an ambulance in case I didn’t make it to the top. This time I had the ladder and that was it. I was on my own.

Another problem: that other time the ladder was one of those sturdy wooden ones. This time I had an aluminum model, easier to carry and set up but tending to wobble when two-hundred-some pounds of nervous human being starts scrambling around on it. As I discovered on my first attempt once I was halfway up. All of a sudden that roof looked ten miles away. Ditto for the ground. I would have kept going had someone else been there, but it was just me and the leaves.

I came down. Thought about it. Tried again. Panicked again. Went in the house to gather my courage. On my next attempt I tried repositioning the ladder. If I leaned it on the awning where it joined to the house, I could grab onto both for support if I had to, and use the awning as an extra foothold to get me onto the roof.

This worked. Had a couple tense moments the closer I got to the top, but when I ran out of rungs the awning was there for me to push myself onto the roof from. The ladder trembled but didn’t fall over, and neither did I. Yay for me!

From there it was a breeze. I had full access to the gutters from end to end of the house, along with the top of the awning where leaves had accumulated. The roof allowed me to reach spots I couldn’t get to the previous year using the move-the-stepladder method. I even found the guts to stand up a time or two. Mostly I kind of crab-scuttled along on my butt and dug leaves out by hand. Wet leaves in some spots, decomposing into loam. I probably should have just left the whole moldy mess and planted crops up there next spring. But I got the gutters cleaned. Took about an hour, with less effort and strain on my legs than last year.

That part of the job was a breeze. The big problem arose when I got done, and had to climb back down the ladder. That’s when I discovered the ladder’s position, which had gotten me onto the roof, wasn’t the best for letting me back down again. I’d have to either balance on the awning, which might not take my weight, for figure some way to get at least one leg over the edge and onto a rung so I could swing the rest of me down, while hoping the ladder didn’t shake or tip. My weight had worked to my advantage, holding me steady against the house while I climbed. Plus I could see where I was going. Going down backwards, not such a good deal. This is why you should always have somebody around to hold the ladder for you. Or better still, for you to hold the ladder for while they go up on the damn roof.

Fortunately, I wasn’t trapped for long. One of my neighbors across the street came out to rake. I got her attention and she came over, repositioned the ladder, held it steady and guided me down until I was back on solid ground again. She says she never goes up on her roof. She leaves that to her 16-year-old son, who’s probably taller, in far better shape, and a lot more courageous than I am. It’s my own fault; I forgot to have kids. What the hell was I thinking?

But that’s it for this fall season, at least. The gutters are clean for another year. And I am never doing that again, not unless someone lends me a cherry-picker or airlifts me up there or something. Next year I’m hiring a guy. Let some macho male dirty up his jeans, scrape his palms on the shingles and risk life and limb climbing a ladder. I’m done.

Or, better still … don’t clean the gutters at all. Let the leaves dissolve into soil and plant marijuana up there. Then the cops will clean the gutters for me. I won’t have to do housework either, because I’ll be in jail. Sounds like a plan to me.

Business as Usual

It’s been over a week since the election, and I’ve had a chance to process the results. With the advantage of twenty-twenty hindsight, it’s clear now what happened: once again everyone courted the minority vote and ignored the average American. You know him. He’s the blue-collar working man, usually white, who may or may not have a college degree, who at one time was or might have become middle class before the factory jobs that paid living wages went overseas. Now he and his family are struggling to stay afloat, or else they’re unemployed through no fault of their own, and justifiably pissed about it. That’s who Trump went after, and that’s who turned out in droves to support him. Because Trump’s not a career politician. He’s not part of the system that wrecked the American Dream. He thinks the way they do, believes what they believe in, and says what they’re secretly thinking. That right there should scare the bejeezus out of a rational person.

Hillary? I don’t think she lost because she was a woman. She just wasn’t the right woman, just as Jesse Jackson wasn’t the right man to become our first black President. That should have been Colin Powell, and I’m still kind of sorry it wasn’t. Also, Hillary is the poster person for The System. America didn’t want another Slick Willy (Slick Hilly?) and they voted in droves to prove it.

The final nail in her coffin was probably driven home by a man-in-the-street interview I saw on our local news station. The middle-aged woman with the mic in her face said of Hillary, “She’s sly.” Yep, that’ll do it. It’s okay to joke about sexual assault, publicly make fun of the handicapped, vow to abolish women’s rights and be openly bigoted in regards to race or sexual preference, but “sly” is the kiss of death.

As someone who’s been laid off at least five times in four different professions, twice when a job went to India, I probably should have voted for Trump. I was just too scared he’d grab my pussy. This was a frying pan/fire election. Or the giant turd vs. the shit sandwich, as South Park so aptly termed it. America chose the President it wanted. God help us all.

Well, folks, good luck with that. You put Trump in office. Cookie for you. We’ve survived total morons in the White House before (Bush Jr. being the most recent example). Because it’s not the President we have to worry about. The real threat is Congress, our elected House and Senate. They’re the ones who make the laws. They can override Presidential vetoes. If they don’t like Trump’s policies, they’ll find ways to block him. And now we’ve got a House and Senate run by conservative, rights-repressive, woman-hating Republicans, possibly soon to be joined by a similar Supreme Court. All politicians, members of The System. That’s who’s going to be running the country for the next four years.

No matter what Trump’s intentions, good, bad, or hideous, I suspect he’s going to run head-on into the same brick wall Jesse Ventura hit when he was Governor of Minnesota. Ventura was the outsider-elect there too, and his Congress thwarted him at every turn. Wait’ll Trump finds out he can’t fire anybody. The drawbacks of a democracy. Well, at least Trump isn’t sly. He’s got that in his favor.

Be interesting to see how this all shakes out, though “interesting” may be too bland a word for it. Fasten your seatbelts, America, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.

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Meanwhile, out here in the everyday world, business also continues as usual. My cable provider is switching over to all digital broadcasting, so we the customers now have to attach a converter box to our TVs in order to receive the new signals. I got mine and hooked it up and even got it and the new remote running. Everything was fine until one of my channels went Spanish. Efforts to fix it fouled up the other channels. So I took the box and remote back and got replacements. This time when I hooked up the box, the power light started blinking red and green. The other one hadn’t done that. This meant a call to the helpful 800 number provided by the cable company, for some needed customer service.

I explained to the girl what the problem was. She attempted to send a signal to the box. Nope, still blinking away. “Did you get letters from the company?” she asked me. Not beyond the initial “we’re changing our system” announcement. “We don’t have the new signal yet,” the girl on the line said. “Unhook the box and wait until you get the letters. Then you can hook it up.”

This sounded odd to me, since when I took the malfunctioning box back the woman at the office advised me to hook the new one up immediately, otherwise I’d start getting phone calls. Not to mention the annoying crawl that had started appearing at the top of my screen—“If you can see this, you haven’t hooked your box up yet”—every hour on the hour. Luckily I live within walking distance of the cable office, so I went up for a second opinion.

The woman behind the counter had no idea what the girl on the phone had been talking about. She scheduled me for a free service visit, have a tech hook the damn thing up.

That worked out better. The tech came by and had my set up and running in about ten minutes. The blinking that prompted my call was the box processing its software. It stopped after about five minutes, just as the tech told me it would. He also had no idea where the girl on the phone got her info. The customer service handling box-related issues comes from an out-of-town call center. No telling how long, or if, any of them were adequately trained.

Either the girl got a dose of misinformation from a similarly-clueless instructor or, as I suspect, when confronted with a question she couldn’t answer she made up something to get me off the phone and out of her hair. Doesn’t matter that she was totally wrong. Doesn’t matter that she would have left me waiting for a letter that wasn’t ever coming. Her problem was solved. People do whatever’s easiest for them. Life among the minimum-waged.

So the more things change, the more they stay the same. I’d like to see more bucks in my wallet. Bush Senior promised us “no new taxes” and then reneged. But he was sly. You get what you pay for, and sometimes what you vote for. Wishing you a pleasant good day …

Be Afraid. Be Very Afraid.

Here we are, finally, at election day. I've already voted. Mostly it's the old and the unemployed who are out at the polls at this hour. Since I'm both, do I get to vote twice?

Frankly, I'd rather not have voted at all. This has been one ugly election season.

That's not even counting the usual electoral shenanigans. Example: In my area we've got a referendum on the ballot. They want to raise the mandatory retirement age for judges from 70 to 75. That isn't how it's worded, though. The question on the ballot is, "Should judges be forced to retire at age 75?" If you vote "yes," you just voted to raise the retirement age. Voting "no" keeps the cutoff at 70. I wouldn't have known that if I hadn't heard it explained on the radio this morning. Welcome to the devious world of politics. No wonder no one trusts politicians.

Which brings us to the presidential contest.

Quick: tell me where either candidate stands on one of the major issues. Taxes. Immigration. Women's rights. Health care. Don't know? Me either. Most of their speeches and all the commercials were centered around the reprehensible actions taken by their Unworthy Opponent. Hillary's taking money from terrorists and sending emails to the Kremlin. Trump's managed to offend damn near everybody, in between grabbing women by the crotch. Even before election day, he was claiming the system was rigged.

I recall seeing an ad for the second debate on CNBC that presented the candidates like two contenders for the WWE world title. I'm surprised they didn't promise us Pence and Kaine in a ladder match.

This is what we've come to. Two little kids shoving each other on the playground, going, "You're a poopie head." "No, you are!"

And one of them's going to be President. Our public face to the rest of the world.

A devious liar and a man who's demonstrated borderline psychotic behavior. Both with horrendous hair. Seriously, this was the best we could do?

When Bush Junior got in, I used to tell people, "I never thought I'd look on the Clinton years as the good old days." When Obama ran the first time, I couldn't in good conscience vote for either him or his opponent. That was the year I wrote in the ticket of Jesse Ventura and Hulk Hogan. Now it's 2016 and all of a sudden Barack doesn't look too bad. Why couldn't his wife have run for President? I'd have voted for Michelle in a second.

I've been a registered Republican all my life, but I can no longer support the Republican Party. I swear to God, a deep and abiding hatred of women must be one of the party platforms. Trump was a joke and a moron long before he announced his candidacy and everybody knew it. Yet here we are. I keep wondering at what point Earth was replaced by Bizarro World, that the Donald got as far as he has.

And Hillary's no prize either. It's less about me disliking her than it is I don't want to see Bill back in the White House in any capacity. (What would his title be, should she win? First Gentleman? Will he be expected to bake cookies and give tours of the White House to civic groups? They'd better keep him far away from the Girl Scouts troops. Trump too. Just sayin'.)

So what are we, the American people, supposed to do? Vote Libertarian? You know, we really should. Maybe this will be the year everybody says Screw It and abandons the two major parties and votes in a third-party candidate. I recall one of the Triple Crown races years back, where some unknown nags shot to the forefront and came in first, second and third. The favorites didn't even make the top five. I'd love to see that happen. Some man or woman nobody's been paying attention to suddenly gets elected by the people and ends up running the country. It would serve all the poopie heads right.

My personal choice would be that woman in the city where riots and protests were happening, and she saw her son looting on TV, so she went out and got him, read him the riot act, and dragged him home, all on camera. That's a woman who won't take shit but will take action. That's who we need to be President.

She's not running, alas. We're stuck with Humpty and Dumpty. By tomorrow morning we'll be living in a brand-new universe. I may not get out of bed.

C'est Cheese

This is another in my series of “Things that Cheese Me Off,” road-trip division. Early in life I was introduced to the joys of the Sunday drive. As with any activity, it comes with its share of cheese-inducing possibilities. I was out on the road last Sunday. Along with the sought-for relaxation, I encountered a few mild cheeses along the way.

I left home early, armed with a bottle of water and a map, even though I knew where I was going. My destinations were two shopping malls about thirty miles from the home base, and around twenty miles from each other, along with a used bookstore near the first mall. By using the right roads I could travel in a circle for maximum sightseeing.

All started well. I took the four-lane Rt. 222 to Shillington, then opted to follow a back route to Pottstown, site of the Coventry Mall. More stuff to look at, less traffic. So I assumed. Even on secondary roads, on a Sunday, I encountered “Mr. Hurry.” You know the guy (or gal): they’re the ones who hang on your bumper because, even though you’re doing ten miles over the posted speed limit, that’s still too slow for them.

I ran into two of these on a stretch of secondary road barely a half hour into my trip. It makes it tough to cruise around and sightsee. I can only imagine the language they’re using regarding my driving habits.

This especially drives me nuts when I go Sunday-driving around home. I live in a county crisscrossed with two-lane back roads and all sorts of Nature to look at. There are always two drivers out on these roads: me, and the guy on my tail. And there’s nowhere to pull over and let them pass, which is how I usually deal with the Mr. Hurrys I encounter. It makes me nervous, always having to glance in the rearview and calculate how far into my back seat they’re going to penetrate if I’m forced to slam on the brake.

Fortunately, on this particular road I was able to slow down and pull over onto the shoulder so they could zoom around me. Ten minutes later I came to a red light and lo and behold, there were both drivers who’d passed me. I pulled in behind them and had myself a quiet laugh while we waited for the light to turn green.

My favorite example of this type of karmic retribution happened years ago. Same situation—twisty two-lane back road, guy on my bumper, no way for him to pass. I finally pulled off into somebody’s driveway, and he roared away toward the horizon, vanishing from sight within seconds. I continued on at my leisurely pace. About twenty minutes later, about thirty miles away, I once again came to a red light. You know who was already sitting there. For all his lead-footing and reckless driving, there we were, together again. Speeding doesn’t necessarily get you there any faster, so you might as well slow down and enjoy the scenery.

Which I did, following a stop at the first mall. Rather than backtrack, I went twisting around on some country lanes, in the hopes of hooking up with the state road upon which the used bookstore was situated. I came across a couple other drivers back here, but none behind me, so I was able to cruise and enjoy the fall leaves. Good thing I was going slow—I rounded one sharp bend and there was some guy taking his Sunday stroll along the side of the road. In the road, in fact. Nor did he get over onto the berm when he saw me coming at him. I was forced to pull into the oncoming lane (another curse, which I couldn't see around) in order to give him space. Luckily no one was coming. The pedestrian was probably one of those people I’ve talked about, who ignores Do Not Enter, No Trespassing and Closed signs, too. Had I ended up in a head-on collision, I’m sure Mr. I Own the Road would have glared at me and pronounced, “Stupid woman driver.”

I did make it to the used bookstore without crashing, however, and found a couple volumes at great prices. Then it was on to the Exton Mall. I stuck to highways for that leg of the trip. More available lanes removed the threat of Mr. Hurry. It’s a game I like to play on three- and four-lanes: stick to the speed limit and see who passes me. Today, as always, it was everybody. I’m content to stay at the back of the pack, seeing what’s by the side of the road.

Here in Pennsylvania it appeared to be signs supporting Trump. The whole time I was out, all the roads I was on, I did not see a single Hillary sign. I guess we’re all solid Republicans here in Dutch Country. Either that, or the Clinton supporters are lying low, and will make their presence known at the voting booth. Guess we’ll know in a week or so.

On the way home Karma decided to get cute with me and deliver a taste of my own medicine. Since the trip was now over and all sights seen, I felt okay with speeding on Rt. 322. So of course I ended up behind a family of tourists, out for their own Sunday drive. I could tell because they slowed down to wave to the Amish in their buggies, and the kid in the back seat took pictures. At one point they put on the brakes because omigod look, there are horses in a field. I sucked it up and held back and tried to keep an acceptable distance between us. This was one of those no-passing roads, so the tourists had accumulated quite a line behind them by the time they finally turned off.

And that’s what I do on my Sundays off: drive around aimlessly, look at stuff, and complain about other people. With winter coming on, I’ll be staying in and, I hope, writing more. Then from the proceeds I can hire somebody to drive me around and we can both complain. Enjoy your slices of cheese.

Formulaic

This is my review of the Throne of Glass series. Sort of. Eventually. First I want to talk about a related issue.

There’s this writer. They write genre. They’ve written over a hundred books. I have to stay vague here because I came across this in my freelance work and I don’t want to offend a client. I still have bills to pay.

But in my proofreading, I noticed something. Every single book of this writer’s that I read contained the same plot point: with about ten-to-twenty pages left in the story, the female lead gets abducted. Every time. Like clockwork. Things are going fine and suddenly the Evil Bad Guy pops up in the next-to-last chapter and nabs her. Then the heroes search frantically and save her right at the very last minute. Then it’s happy ending time. I’ve proofed at least half a dozen of these books and the formula remains unshakable.

This writer is wildly popular in their genre, a consistent number-one bestseller who’s making big bucks for their publisher. The readers don’t appear to mind the repetitive plots. Maybe they’re comfortable with it.

It’s like McDonald’s. You can walk into any McDonald’s in the country at any time on any day of the week, and you know exactly what to expect. There are no surprises. I thought readers wanted surprises in their stories. Perhaps I was mistaken.

Back in the ‘70s-‘80s, if you were a fan of romance novels, Barbara Cartland was huge. Her niche was historical romance. She wrote a ton of books. I never read any, but it’s my understanding she also used the same plot repeatedly. Arrogant older man, dewy young maiden, Victorian hijinks ensue. She also sold in mass quantities, and had a loyal, rabid fanbase. Even though, from what I’ve heard, if you read one of her books, you’ve read all of them. Literary comfort food? Is there such a thing?

Just to prove this doesn’t only happen in romance, there was one author I did read, in the science fiction genre. After a promising start to his career, he also developed a formula. He began writing what I dubbed “travelogue” fiction. The plots consisted of a group of characters moving from Point A to Point B, and having largely-forgettable adventures along the way. I discovered I could read the first three chapters and the last three chapters, skip the middle, and still get the gist of the book. That’s a shame, because I liked his writing style and enjoyed his earlier work. However, it was the later, formulaic works that started appearing on the New York Times best-seller list. Go figure.

Which brings us, finally, back to Throne of Glass. I’ve now binge-read the five books available, and I’ve noticed this writer, too, has developed a winning formula. Essentially, the bulk of any given book in the series is filler. Sometimes boring, sometimes entertaining, but filler nonetheless. The characters have adventures, have romances, yadda yadda yadda. Then, somewhere near the end, there’s a Big Reveal. The book’s "holy shit" moment. Nothing’s what you thought it was. The plot spins off in a new direction, to be explored in the next volume. After about 300 pages of filler.

Hey, it’s working for her. The series is a best-seller. If it ain’t broke …

I always thought the point of writing was to entertain the reader. Make them laugh, make them cry, make them think without realizing it. Surprise them. Granted, there are some genres—romance, mystery—that require a formula. But you can still play around inside the formula and have a little fun. Or can you?

Maybe what I see as tedious repetition, the market sees as reassuring familiarity. It’s certainly popular, and profitable. Maybe I should forget about surprising readers and find myself a formula and start churning out predictable books that don’t upset readers by messing with their expectations. Finally get me enough money to buy that newer car I’m going to need next year.

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Overview of Throne of Glass: go ahead and read the series, if YA fantasy’s your thing. You may or may not be disappointed. Opinions on Goodreads are evenly split between This is the Greatest Series Ever and This is Boring and Sucks. Personally I enjoyed it, even though I ended up skimming large chunks here and there. The writer has an engaging style and knows how to tell a story. I recommend you skip the first one, Throne of Glass, and start with the second, Crown of Midnight. That’s the novel where she hits her stride. It’s like the early Star Trek movies. Avoid Star Trek: The Motion Picture and go straight to Wrath of Khan. The difference in quality is astounding.

Although at this point in the TOG series, I’ve become more invested in the story of Manon the witch and couldn’t care less about Celaena/Aelin and what happens to her. Manon’s story is like an antihero version of Anne McCaffrey’s Dragonriders of Pern, my all-time favorite series. And she probably should have been a lesbian, and spared us all that forced, awkward hook-up with the prince. But that would have messed up the formula, and probably cost the writer sales. Or so I’ve concluded. Your mileage may vary.

Not the Time or Place

I’ve finished my binge reading of the Throne of Glass series, with the most recent book, Empire of Storms, currently out on the shelves. Damn thing ended on a cliffhanger. Now I’ll have to wait an entire year for the grand finale. I should have read more slowly, but I was getting these books from the library and only had two weeks each. Even free comes with a price.

I was going to write a book review of the series so far, but a couple of reviews on Goodreads sent me off in the direction that follows. Overall the series has been getting rave reviews from the Young Adult-reading audience it’s aimed at. There have been dissenters. Some I agreed with, some I didn’t. Everyone’s entitled to their opinion.

I don’t agree that an author is required to put some particular element, either overt or subtle, into his/her novels, just because a reader thinks it should be there.

What prompted this were the couple of negative reviews where the readers complained that the author hadn’t put enough people of color, or LGBT characters, into her story. It was strongly implied one major character was black, from this fantasy world’s equivalent of Africa. Two walk-on minor characters were gay. One lead character came out in dialogue as bisexual. That was pretty much it. The other characters, male and female, were depicted as white, straight, and oh so very physically attractive. As far as I can tell, this world doesn’t have any fat people of any age, race or orientation. Maybe magic really burns off the calories.

I think what may have brought on the gripes was the way the last book played out. At the end of the 700 or so pages, every major character had been paired up with a lover of the opposite sex. (Including the one main character from the first four books who doesn’t even appear.) Even the bi guy falls for a woman. One character who might possibly have been lesbian, or at the very least asexual, has a sex scene (admittedly an awkward, forced-feeling one) with a lusty, unbelievably handsome male. I can see where readers who support the gay cause would feel like heterosexuality is being crammed down their throats.

As a woman who waved bye-bye to 40 quite a while ago, I get a mite peeved at all the books with women barely into their twenties calling all the shots. Especially because they’re all thinner than I ever was or will be. Like real life, fiction is not fair.

And y’know what? Too frikkin’ bad. To me, and to the complainers. This isn’t my book, or yours. It’s the writer’s. This is how she chose to tell her story. If it doesn’t fall in line with your personal agenda, you’ll just have to suck it up.

Yes, inclusion of other races, peoples, and sexual orientations is a good thing. “Infinite diversity in infinite combinations.” That was part of the philosophy behind Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek. He put blacks and Asians and women on the bridge with all the white guys. And a gay guy (George Takai), even if we didn’t know it back then. The most popular character on the show turned out to be the biracial alien. That was Gene’s vision. He fought for racial and sexual inclusiveness (and for Spock’s pointed ears). That was the story he wanted to tell.

But now that society has finally caught up with Roddenberry, it’s reached the point of getting out of hand. Now everything needs to be racially and sexually diverse. Whether it's logical in story terms or not.

Thor did this quite well. The inclusion of black and Asian Norse gods worked because they were people, not races. I notice from the commercials the remake of The Magnificent Seven is racially diverse. This is historically accurate. There were more black and Hispanic than white cowboys back in the real Old West, and a large Chinese population. But World War II movies? Sorry. The armed forces weren’t desegregated until 1948, by order of President Harry Truman. (Even then, actual desegregation didn’t happen until the 1950s, under Eisenhower.) Not to mention it’s totally ludicrous. The covert spy team sneaks into Nazi Germany, and they don’t think the black guy’s going to stand out? Gimme a break.

Here in my neck of the country we’ve had complaints that Valley Forge has no monuments to the Asians who fought in the American Revolution. That’s because none did. If it makes you feel better, there is a monument at Gettysburg to Stand Watie, the Cherokee leader who commanded the Confederate Indian Cavalry in the Civil War. Happy now?

Harry Potter didn’t have any gay characters. (Dumbledore wasn’t outed until after the series ended.) Neither did Twilight. Nobody seemed to mind. Twilight had a teenage girl lusting for a dead guy a hundred years older than she was. Nobody minded that either. Hunger Games described Rhu as dark-skinned, yet people were pissed when a black actress played her in the movie. You just can’t win.

As for me, I write M/M romances. That’s guy-on-guy, for those of you not up on the terminology. Should I be chastised for not including more women and straights in my gay love stories?

Here’s the deal: Sarah J. Maas has the right to write her series any way she wants to. If she includes—or doesn’t—peoples of varying races, religions, sexual orientations, ages, weight classes, eye color, left-handedness, or anything else you think she should have, that’s her decision to make. If what she writes doesn’t jive with your personal expectations, don’t read her next book. It’s as simple as that. If you’re really that pissed at her lack of inclusiveness, then I suggest you balance the scales by writing your own book, and make the characters as diverse as you think they should be. This is why writers write: to read the books we want to read. If the book you want to read isn’t out there, then go write it yourself.

As for me, I’ve got a WIP I expect will stir up a fuss. It’s about a circus run by shapeshifters. Since, in my view, the animal form’s continent of origin determines the human form’s race (shifters have to blend in with the majority population, after all), and most circus animals come from Africa and Asia, most of my characters are going to be non-Caucasian. Except for the hero, who’s white. Oh wait, he’s a gay guy. But the woman who owns the circus is straight. Looks like I’m not off the hook. We’ll just have to wait and see what the readers say.