So the part of my Muse that I call my sense of structure has apparently been on vacation for the last 8 months, a fact I noticed when it returned this morning at 6:15 to whisper vicious nothings in my ear.
M: “Psst Kelly, I’ve got a question.”
K :”Go ‘way.”
M: “No, really, there’s something I’ve been wondering about.”
K: “No, really, go ‘way.”
M: “You know that bit right at the end….”
K: “Sleeping here.”
M: “Yeah, I heard you the first time. Still gonna ask my question.”
K: “So ask, then go ‘way.”
M: “Right, so that bit at the end where you introduce the thing and that other thing that fixes the first thing.” (Redacted for spoilers)
K: “Yes.”
M: “Well, I can’t help but noticing that the way things are structured now you really do introduce them right at the end even though they’re really important. Do you think that’s such a good idea?”
K: “Sure. I’ve been planning it since I wrote chapter 6. Yes, I introduce them late, but the one solves the other, so it’s not like I’m just pulling a rabbit out of my hat to solve a problem.”
M: “No, more like you’re pulling a carrot out of your sleeve to feed the starving rabbit that just came out of the hat. You’re okay with that?”
K: (waking up more) “Shouldn’t I be?”
M: “I’m sure it’ll be fine. You just go back to sleep.”
K: “All right then.” (Pulls covers over head, just like when there are bats in the room)
M: “Oh, I almost forgot….”
K: Pokes head out again. “What!”
M: “That character you introduce in chapter 8, the one who’s going to be really important in book 2?”
K: “Yes.”
M: “Well, since the character’s familiar is going to be really important at some point don’t you think you should introduce a place to put it?”
K: “Go ‘way!”
M: “Sleep tight.”
K: “I will, thanks. Now to get back to…Oh hell.”
Stupid Muse.
And that’s why at 6:20 this AM I got up and scrawled a note on a post-it note that said:
LIBRARY
RIVER
THINGXXXXXX (redacted for spoilers)
and stuck it to my cell phone. No, I don’t know why I put it there either. I was mostly asleep.
And then, when Laura woke up a couple of minutes later and headed off to do things, I asked her to add EXSANGUINATION TABLE to the note stuck to my cell phone and pulled the covers back over my head. Laura, having lived with a writer for 20+ plus years, just asked where the phone was and let me go back to sleep, which I did. Wonderful lady I’m married to.
Now, I don’t really believe in the Muse as an external force so much as I think of it as a collection of story processing techniques that my brain uses at a level below the conscious, often while I’m dreaming, and all of which make my job enormously less difficult. The sense of structure is really the latest major upgrade to the system, having come along in the middle of my tenth novel. So, it’s the one I rely on the least (I can plot perfectly well without it, thank you very much), which is why I didn’t notice its absence until it returned. But, like all the other bits of Muse I’ve built over the years, I know that when it does show up I’d damn well better listen.
As it turns out, I have strong feelings about this movie and the bloody stupid waste it makes of great storytelling opportunities.
I watched about two thirds of How to Train Your Dragon II last night with my wife. When we hit the lovely reunion scene we decided the story was about to go to hell in a terribly predictable manner because older people aren’t allowed to have happily ever afters in this sort of movie. So, I went and looked up the rest of the plot online and we stopped the movie at that point and put it back on the shelf. This is because we were quite happy with the movie up to that point and didn’t feel any need to go on to the unnecessary cost scene that we had both seen coming. While I’m sure that the rest of the movie is lovely, I have no desire to see any of it.
I have zero patience for the whole: It’s a cartoon movie, some beloved parent/mentor/older person must die or sacrifice their happiness for the young protagonists to learn the true meaning of sacrifice/responsibility thing. It’s sloppy, lazy storytelling and doubly so in this instance.
Hiccup doesn’t have a responsibility problem with being chief—he’s plenty willing to take responsibility in dangerous circumstances. We’ve seen that time and again. What he’s got is a scatterbrained creative personality problem. I’m an author, I know dozens of scatterbrained creatives. Tragedy does not magically transform them into decisive organized leader types. It just transforms them into _heartbroken_ scatterbrained creative types. Dad’s death will not magically make Hiccup an appropriate choice for the next chief.
Compound this with the fact that there’s a natural successor on hand, one who has even been identified as someone who is going to become part of the chief’s family in the near future—in the first minutes of the movie we see Stoic identifying Astrid as his future-daughter-in-law—and the argh factor goes through the roof. I’m not a huge fan of leadership transfer by heredity, but if you have to do it, Astrid fits that bill, as well as the much more important one of being a natural leader.
Astrid is decisive, smart, adaptable, understands how to manage people (Hiccup included), willing to listen… She’s a perfect candidate to be the next chief. How much better would the movie have been if Astrid had rescued Hiccup (safely), instead of having the stupid sacrifice scene, and, this had caused dad to realize it was his future daughter-in-law who ought to become the next chief, and not his entirely unsuitable son?
Not only would that have made a less cheaply predictable story, it would have given Hiccup the chance to continue to roam and do the things that made him happy without feeling guilty about the fact that Astrid is running the village—because, let’s be honest, she’s the one who’s going to be doing the job anyway. Astrid would have the title as well as the workload, Hiccup would continue to do what he’s best at, and it would be much easier to justify a sequel. Wins all around.
It’s the sheer laziness of the writing there that gets to me. Sigh. Deep breaths.