Love, Hate, and Publishing

Being Valentine’s Day, I was going to blog about how Disney’s Tangled is the perfect romance (maybe next week), but this week I have something else on my mind.

I just learned about the debacle on Goodreads last month, where YA authors or friends of YA authors commented on what were perceived as snarky reviews (a detailed overview can be found here).

This whole thing reminded me of the YA Mafia incident a few years ago (countered here by Holly Black and here by Justine Larbalestier) where an author and book blogger clashed, and the whole thing resulted in a misconception that YA authors were threatening the careers of aspiring writers/book bloggers who gave their books scathing reviews. Clearly no good comes from authors responding to reviews.

I love Goodreads. I have an account that I never update. I think I’ve written one review, two at the most. I don’t really use Goodreads the way it was intended. But every time I finish a book the first thing I do is go to Goodreads and read through a page or so of reviews. I like to see how other people felt about the book I just read. It’s kind of a way to gage what other readers feel is important in a book. I think of it as research. :)

For the most part, I’ve always found the reviewers at Goodreads to be fair. People are entitled to their own opinions, and as long as there are no personal attacks, I think it is all good. Some reviewers are a little snarky and ranty, and honestly, I think a little lesser of these reviews than I do of those that are more respectful and well-thought out. And the Tempest review that started one of the fiascos was honest and intelligent, in my opinion. The reviewer had an issue with a character, and she clearly demonstrated her point. And whether someone agrees with her or not, she made her point very clear without demonizing the author.

But I have seen some pretty scathing reviews at other sites and on blogs. Some bloggers and reviewers make personal attacks on the authors with some pretty bold claims about who the author is and what the author believes in, like you can really know who someone is from a brief biography and reading one of their novels. Writer John Scalzi wrote an interesting post on being fictionalized.

This to me is the dark side of being published, and the more successful you are, the more people are going to pick on you. And I know there are some writers looking down from their huge piles of money, but that comes at a price. I have to say, I feel kind of bad for Stephenie Meyers. So many people who don’t know her are so mean to her (not her books, but her, personally).

Sometimes when I dare to dream that I could actually be successful at this writing thing, I think about how I’d feel if those things were written about me. Would I still think those negative reviews on Goodreads are fair? Would I grind my teeth when people try to psychoanalyze me or claim I’m anti-feminist because my MC doesn’t fit their idea of a strong, independent woman (only a true Mary Sue would be that perfect)? Will my skin be thick enough for this plugged-in culture where everyone has an opinion and the means to share it, and some do so without any regards at all to common courtesy?

I do know that I’ll need a good plan to deal with it. So this is a note to me if my dream ever comes true and I actually get published. I know, dare to dream. :)

1. Don’t read reviews. Reviews are for readers not the author.
2. If you do read a review (cause I know you will), do not respond. I repeat, do not ever respond, ever.
3. If you are so dying to respond that you can’t contain yourself, type it up in word, share it with your friends and family, sleep on it, then delete it in the morning.
4. Remember that tastes vary. Not everyone is going to love your stories, hopefully some will.
5. Remember that some people on the internet do not see other people as people only a faceless mass. This gives them permission to be meaner and ruder than they really are.
6. Surround yourself by supportive friends and family who know the real you and will share in your outrage, but will repeatedly remind you not to break rule number two.
7. Always remember what really matters.

That is my plan of attack. I know it is a little of putting the cart before the horse, but I can’t help indulge in the fantasy every once and a while.

So how about you? How would you deal with the negativity once you are published?

Oh yeah, and Happy Valentine’s Day.


~MaryAnn

Sun Tzu's The Art of War

I’ve been reading Sun Tzu’s The Art of War.

Happy Valentine's Day.

It's been interesting. As a writer, I'm used to putting two armies at war, (good and evil, love and conflict, humor verses dread), and I've learned more than I expected.

But the thing that taught me the most was on the very first page of the introduction. This is a biography of Sun Tzu by Ssu-ma Chien...

Sun Tzu Wu was a native of the Ch'i Stat. His ART OF WAR brought him to the notice of Ho Lu, King of Wu.

 Lu said to him: " I have carefully perused your 13 chapters. May I submit your theory of managing soldiers to a slight test?" 

Sun Tzu replied: "You may."

 Ho Lu asked: "May the test be applied to women?" The answer was Yes, again in the affirmative, so arrangements were made to bring 180 ladies out of the Palace. 

Sun Tzu divided them into two companies, and placed on of the King's favorite concubines at the head of each.

He then bade them all take spears in their hands, and addressed them thus: "I presume you know the difference between front and back, right hand and left hand?" The girls replied :Yes.

 Sun Tzu went on: "When I say "Eyes front," you must look straight ahead. When I say "Left turn," you must face towards your left hand. When I say "Right turn," you must face towards your right hand. When I say, "About turn," you must face right round towards your back." Again the girls assented.

 The words of command having been thus explained, he set up the halberds and battle-axes in order to begin the drill. Then, to the sound of drums, he gave the order "Right turn."

 But the girls only burst out laughing. 

Sun Tzu said: "If words of comment are clear and distinct, if orders are not thoroughly understood, then the general is to blame."

 So he started drilling them again, and this time gave the order "Left turn," whereupon the girls once more burst into fits of laughter. 

Sun Tzu: "If words of command are not clear and distinct, if orders are not thoroughly understood, the general is to blame. But if his orders ARE clear, and the soldiers nevertheless disobey, then it is the fault of their officers."

See...
 love letter...Valentines Day...
it all makes sense.

 So saying, he ordered the leaders of the two companies to be beheaded.

 Now the king of Wu was watching the scene from the top of a raised pavilion; and when he saw that his favorite concubines were about to be executed, he was greatly alarmed and hurriedly sent down the following message: "We are now quite satisfied as to our general's ability to handle troops. If We are bereft of these two concubines, our meat and drink will lose their savor. It is our wish that they shall not be beheaded." 

Sun Tzu replied: "Having once received His Majesties commission to be the general of his forces, there are certain commands of His Majesty which, acting in that capacity, I am unable to accept." 

Love letter...Denied.

Accordingly, he had the two leaders beheaded, and straightway installed the pair next in order as leaders in their place. 

When this had been done, the drum was sounded for the drill once more; and the girls went through all the revolutions, turning to the right or to the left, marching ahead or wheeling back, kneeling or standing, with perfect accuracy and precision, not venturing to utter a sound. 

Then Sun Tzu sent a messenger to the King saying: "Your soldiers, Sire, are now properly drilled and disciplined, and ready for your majesties inspection. They can be put to any use that their sovereign may desire; bid them to go through fire and water, and they will not disobey."

...

I find that fascinating. So often I've read books that spend a ton of words watching a soldier learn how to use the sword, or a gun, or train physically for whatever task they must accomplish. I think that can be a waste of words. I think anyone anywhere could kill another person, with anything, if they have the correct mindset.

Writer Warrior

We’ve been talking a lot about focus here at The Prosers, and this story really struck me. I feel like one of those women sometimes. Embarrassed, like I’m dressed up to be a writer, but really I’m just a giggly young girl. Whenever I feel unfocused, it’s because, I now realize, it’s not a life or death thing if I become a writer. 

My family won’t suffer if I don’t, the world won’t even notice if my name is never on a spine of a library book that some fourteen year old girl will pull down. It’s not life and death for me.

But it might be for that young girl.

 I can remember several books that saved my life when I was a teenager, and several more that just distracted me from how hard my life was. And I lived a privileged and simple life, with no great tragedy.

But, even that isn’t enough to really change my focus, and turn me into a soldier.

The truth is...It is a life and death thing. Everyone of us are going to die someday. I’m going to die someday.

 I refuse to die with my stories still inside me.

With the publishing world the way it is right now, anyone can publish a book and get a few readers. Anyone anywhere can find an audience IF the have the correct mindset, and push through till the sound of the drum.

I need to stop being embarrassed, or weak, or scared, or too busy, or not dedicated. Because someone needs to write the stories in my head, and no one else is going to write them, except for me.

I wonder now, what happened to those concubines, those one hundred, and...now seventy eight women, who were trained as soldiers. What happened next? There's a story there, a cool story, and if I'm not going to tell it, then who will? 

I don't want to be forgotten, and I don't want those girls, and the other characters who show up in my head, to become forgotten either.

And I'm the only one who can protect them.

Romantic Subplots Part 3: Equal and Opposite Forces

(from: whitegadget.com/pc-wallpapers/140319-love.html)

In the gripping new novel by Melanie Crouse, all Abby really wants is to fall in love and get married. 

There's this guy at church--they've been friends since they were young, but she never really thought about him that way before. Lately though, the way he's been looking at her makes her feel all bubbly inside, and she can't stop thinking about him. His name is Jake. Isn't that a gorgeous name? She starts doodling it on random papers at the office, and finally gets up the nerve to ask him on a date. 

As Abby gets to know Jake better, she realizes he is just as amazing as she always thought he was. They seem to have all the same views on important subjects. After several weeks of dating, he asks her to marry him and they live happily ever after. Ta da!! Instant bestseller, no?

No. 

Welcome to Rule #3: A story without internal and external conflict isn't really a story at all. To make a love story sizzle, forces should combine to keep your characters apart, BUT other forces should combine to compel them to be together. 

Authors have to be sadists. So, instead of blissful romance, Abby and Jake get this:

Abby's sister Katie has been missing for weeks. The police won't help her, her parents won't even mention Kate's name, and Kate's old friends are completely ignoring Abby. Finally, Abby decides to take matters into her own hands. Before Kate disappeared, she had started attending this church down on Fifth Street, and Katie hopes she can find the answer there. Instead she finds even more secrets, and every one of them seem to lead her to Jake, the spoiled, rich kid in her Calculus class--the one who used to torment her in high school...

Poor Abby and Jake. 

There are two types of conflict in a love story, and they should play off each other like a ricocheting bullet.

Internal Conflict

Internal conflict is the emotional baggage the characters bring to the story. It's the walls and scars, prejudices and value systems, and even the dreams built up from their backstory. It's the causes they fight for and their crazy phobias.

“The boy never cried again, and he never forgot what he'd learned: that to love is to destroy, and to be loved is to be the one destroyed.”  (Jace Wayland, City of Bones, by: Cassandra Clare)

"I keep trying," he said with great sadness, "But I brought it on myself by making a bargain some years ago, and I know I shall never be able to love anyone properly now." (Howl Jenkins, Howl's Moving Castle, Dianna Wynne Jones)

External Conflict
External conflict refers to the circumstances your characters find themselves in, especially ones that force them to confront their internal issues. The more forces you've got working on your characters, the more believable your love story will be.

"I know I announced to the entire track team that your bikini top came off, but most girls would just get over that, not call upon magical forces to toss somebody back into the Middle Ages." (Tristan, My Fair Godmother by: Janette Rallison) 

"Ron," said Hermione in a dignified voice, dipping the point of her quill into her ink pot, "you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet." (Hemione Granger, Order of the Pheonix by: JK Rowling)

The push and the pull
In my pretend story about Abby and Jake, any reader will be looking for the answers to two questions: What happened to Kate? and Do Jake and Abby ever get together? The first question is by far the most important, and so Jake and Abby's story becomes a subplot.

There are lots of things keeping Jake and Abby apart--Abby thinks Jake is a spoiled, rich kid. He used to make her life miserable. In fact, he still does, she's just gotten better at not letting it bother her. Jake knows that Abby is the only person he's ever wanted, but his family life is such a dangerous mess that he constantly pushes her away to keep her safe. Basically, these are the forces that keep them apart.

We know that an object in motion tends to stay in motion unless there is an opposing force. So unless there is an opposing force, Abby and Jake aren't going to get together. Luckily, there are plenty of opposing forces pushing them together. They have Calculus class together. This particular class meets 4 days a week. Jake is a whiz at Calculus, and although Abby has straight A's in every other subject, this is her second time taking Calculus because she just doesn't get it. Even more important, all the secrets about Kate lead her to Jake. And Jake, for all his wanting to push Abby away, can't make himself push her away permanently. These are the forces that are keeping them together.

Some more examples from books: 

Forces keeping people apart:

1. A curse has changed her in some way (Howl's Moving Castle)

2. He's not rich or respectable enough for her family.(Persuasion)

3. She's pretending to be a boy. (The Lioness Quartet)

4. She thinks she's his sister.(The City of Ashes)

5. The bad guys will hurt her if they know he loves her.(Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows)

6. She's pretending to be royalty.(The Book of A Thousand Days)

7. He is going to be put to death (The Perilous Gard)

Forces keeping people together

1. He kidnapped her, and now they are travelling across the desert together. (Girl of Fire and Thorns)

2. They work together (All's Fair in Love, War and High School)

3. He just can't stay away (unfortunately, this one is very popular. Pick your own book.

4. Her sister is ill and they are forced to stay in the same house until she gets better.(Pride and Prejudice)

5. They are working on the same air-ship.(Behemoth)

6. They are both stuck in the middle ages until he becomes a prince. (My Fair Godmother)

7. They are on the same sport's team. (Harry Potter)

Can you think of more romantic forces in books or movies?

Then, just mix and match, and you've got yourself a story.

Helpful Links:
Romantic Subplots part 2

Romantic Subplots part 1

I Have A Fever Dream: Making peace with limits

Illness brings out
my inner child.

I am blogging with a moderately high fever. This should be illegal.

I recently finished The Lotus Blossom, by D.M. Kenyon. It was a wonderful read that planted thoughts in my mind like seeds—images and ideas that have kept growing beyond the last page. One of those seeds was a scene in which Madison (now called Lhamo) endures a grueling test at her dojo. She has to fight off a continual onslaught of attackers as long as possible before collapsing into unconsciousness.

Rinchen says that most people never know failure because they quit way before they fail. Quitting is choosing to surrender. It is the choice to stop before you are at the end of yourself. Failure is letting go of a need to reach the end, giving it your all and accepting whatever happens. It is a beautiful place, failure. Almost nobody ever really knows it.

-D. M. Kenyon, The Lotus Blossom                                    

I read this and thought: Have I ever pushed myself to my physical limit? I don't think so.

Growing up, I believed I was the kid who wasn't strong enough to really push herself, and I thought my character must be as weak as my body.

I was the kid who ended up gasping for air in the nurse’s office every time she had to run a mile in gym class. I was the kid who would be out for two weeks because of a cold, with doctors shrugging and saying, “That’s just you, kiddo.” I was the kid whose sister named her Kermit for the color of her snot.

I was the kid who fell out of the raft not once, but twice, on a Class I river.

I was the adult who slowly worked her way up from being a walker to a runner over the course of three months, only to end up with an angry sciatic nerve that, four years after the return to walking, still holds a grudge.

I'm a walker. That's me.
I'm a walker. Yippee.

I was the adult who finally found out she had asthma, then learned to stand up to doctors while she searched for the great ones who would take her seriously and help her take care of herself.

I am the adult who has been wanting to join a paranormal YA book club, but just had to cancel for the fourth month in a row (the second time for illness). I had to admit defeat, again, and all I can do is hope that the friend who invited me doesn't think I'm a freak, or a liar, or both.

Above all else, I am the adult who has to be an adult about her limits, because if I push past them, the aftermath affects my kids and my husband and anyone else who counts on me.

There’s a woman in my Pilates class who broke her knee from repetitive stress by running twenty miles on a treadmill.  She’s that kind of athlete—one who pushes on no matter what. She said she’d torn an achilles tendon on a mountain bike the same way, pushing through. It healed in six months and she went right back to training hard.

I’ve always believed that’s the kind of person you need to be if you want to be successful in life. If I were that kind of person, I’d probably have gone to medical school. I’d be thinner. I’d be richer. I’d be closer to perfect in every way. I should be like her… but I'm not.

Yesterday, at Kid #1’s baseball practice, I sat in the grass with Kid #2, feeling sorry for myself because I was short of breath and Kid #2 wanted to do something active and I just wanted to go to bed. I saw something move on my hand and stifled a little scream, and Kid #2 freaked out. He has inherited my fear of bugs. I forced myself to calm down and let the bug stay on my hand. I showed it to him. He scooted away from me, but he kept his eyes trained on the critter inching its way across my wrist. It looked a little like a caterpillar, but shorter and not very cute.

I Googled and found out it was a lady beetle larva, basically the juvenile form of the most beloved bug of all time. But I didn't know that! I was totally bluffing when I told Kid #2 it wasn't going to bite me. BLUFFING, I say!

Photo By Sanjay Acharya

Kid #2 didn’t get over his fear of bugs in one afternoon, nor did I. Eventually we had to move if I wanted him to sit in the grass again. Still, we had shared a moment.

In the grand scheme of things, I get disappointed in what my body can do, but I also don't take my good-enough health for granted. Maybe I really do need 8 hours of sleep. Maybe while my kids are young and acting as germ mules, I’ll end up canceling a lot of social events and feeling lame every time.

Maybe I accomplish things more slowly than I’d like. Maybe fighting that head-on is like trying to move the tide back out with a bucket.

We celebrate people who push themselves physically, but maybe I need to start thinking about other ways to push myself. I want to let go of my need to reach the end. To give it my all and accept whatever happens. To reach that beautiful place that Lhamo planted in my mind.

I want to take my kids camping and teach them not to be afraid of the creepy crawlies. I want to hear my husband’s worries or a child’s sadness and swallow my own feelings long enough to be their rock the way they are mine. I want to open my Scrivener file, panic that I have no idea what I’m doing and this writing thing was a huge mistake, and keep working anyway. And then I want to send it to my critique partner and say: This is me. This is the best I could do, but I’m not giving up.


After I get my full night’s rest, take two Sudafed, do my sinus rinse, steam my lungs, and sip chicken broth… I will still have choices. There will still be limits worth pushing and victories worth claiming.

But first, I need more soup.

~Sarah

On Being Without a Computer

Remember that computer virus I was complaining about last week?  Well, cleaning the computer has turned out to be a long and painful process.  Not because there are lots of steps (which there are), but because some of the scans can take hours, locking up my computer entirely.  And others have temporary side effects, like the twenty four hours where the mouse and the keyboard weren’t functional.  I had to attach a separate keyboard and mouse through USB drives.  I’ll let you envision me in my recliner, computer on my knees, keyboard on my lap, mouse precariously balanced on a notebook on the arm of the chair.

So I’ve basically had limited computer use for a whole week.  Tonight has been the worst - my computer is currently completely inoperational. I have to wait until tomorrow for the next step to fix it. (This post is brought to you by Work Computer, which I’m really not supposed to use for personal business. Oops).

This whole situation  is not conducive to focus.  I was supposed to be writing a post about focus, but it’ll have to wait until next week when I’m not in such an irritable mood.  Yes, appreciate the irony – I can’t focus on my focus post.

I use my computer for everything: watching TV (we don’t own an actual TV with screen), chatting with friends on the other side of the country, looking at hilarious captioned pictures of cats, listening to music, organizing photos. And, of course, writing.

Since we haven’t had a list yet in this post, here are the things I would save in a fire, in order of importance:

1)      My cat

2)      My computer

3)      Family heirlooms

4)      My IPod.

5)      My roommate

Just kidding, Louis! You would be at least third.

I suppose that a balanced, well-adjusted person would have something meditative to say about not being able to use their computer. Probably something about how our increasingly computer dependent society is, how we spend so much time chained to these impersonal machines, our eyes losing focus, our wrists cramping, pulled increasingly away from reality.

I’m not a well-adjusted person. I drink too much coffee in the morning, I watch too much TV when I’m depressed, and I’d rather scrub the shower with a toothbrush than attend a party with more than ten strangers. And I get flustered if I’m at home without computer use for more than twelve hours.

Worst of all, I’ve barely been able to write all week. As a person whose mood often depends on the success of my writing the night before, this has not been good for me. And I don’t care how much of a neurotic technology addict it makes me seem.

I just want my computer to work again.

A Writer's Point of View

Springtime in my garden

As I mentioned in my last post, my netbook used to be very portable. I wrote wherever I felt like, on a couch, in the car, outside in a lounge chair. Since my battery is now defunct and my netbook is jury rigged into a permanent position with duct tape, I have only one place to write, and one view to see. It’s a pretty view out my back window with birch and spruce and cherry trees (that will blossom soon – I demand it! I’m tired of gray). But it got me thinking about where people choose to do their writing. And that got me to thinking about how, with everyone's crazy schedules, people can carve out space and time to write. I think I’m trying to give myself a pep talk here that writing and life together are possible, so I hope you don’t mind if I share a few anecdotes and observations about such things (in no particular order).

Jane Austen

Jane Austen composed many her masterpieces on the original kind of laptop, a portable slanted writing desk with an interior area to hold papers and writing supplies. I suppose I’d always imagined her working on her brilliantly witty dialogues undisturbed in a quiet room, but according to this website, she was anything but alone when she wrote.

Courtesy of the Jane Austen Museum

“[S]he had no separate study to retire to, and most of the work must have been done in the general sitting-room, subject to all kinds of casual interruptions. She was careful that her occupation should not be suspected by servants, or visitors, or any persons beyond her own family party. She wrote upon small sheets of paper which could easily be put away, or covered with a piece of blotting paper. There was, between the front door and the offices, a swing door which creaked when it was opened; but she objected to having this little inconvenience remedied, because it gave her notice when anyone was coming.”

Who knew that Jane Austen faced interruptions just like so many of us? And who knew that she was so secretive about her writing? Do any of you Austen aficionados know if this was because of the impropriety of a woman writing, a reticence for anyone to see early drafts or something else?

My Family

For over 50 years my grandmother wrote and published delightful children’s stories both in books and children’s magazines (she was a regular contributor to Highlights for Children). Later in life she was honored as a poet laureate of her state. I’ve always found it interesting that she did her best writing of these sweet stories in the dead of night in a little pitch-roofed attic room overlooking a golf course and a cemetery.

Food of the gods

My sister is a playwright. Each year she writes, choreographs, produces and directs an elementary school Broadway-like musical with over 100 children participating (she is simply, unbelievably amazing). She writes most of her plays in her car in between shuttling her kids from one sports practice to another. When she finds a (rare) few hours free she locks herself in the spare bedroom with a supply of chocolate covered cinnamon bears (if you haven’t tried these, you must – pure ambrosia) and binge writes.

Even though my sister and my grandmother’s writing schedules are about as opposite as can be, I’m inspired because they each found what worked for them and ran with it.

Shannon Hale

One of my favorite authors, Shannon Hale, has not only written some fabulous books (just finished Midnight in Austenland – superb), but on her blog she has also been very candid about what it takes for her to juggle life, motherhood, and writing.  As a mother of four (including twin toddlers) she’s so busy that she probably couldn’t find the time to write if she wanted to, so instead she makes the time. From her blog:

Oh man, I am so sapped. I am a Vermont maple in winter... Finding time to bathe and feed myself is an uphill battle every day. I had a couple of visitors coming over this morning, so I worked so hard to clean my kitchen and living room, trying to keep kiddos entertained for 3 hours while I cleaned non-stop between caring for their needs. And when my visitors came in, I looked around and realized that I had achieved Normal Messy, no more.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, I'm in no shape to be dolling out advice. I barely survive. I'm sure you know what I mean. This marvelous, marvelous chaos. But my center is my creative time. For 2 1/2 hours four times a week, I have a babysitter, and I close my door and write. Turn off the mommy craziness, turn on Writer Woman. It's not an easy transition, but I have to do it. I just have to.

Wow, she sounds so – human. And yet because of her discipline, in those mere ten hours of writing a week, she publishes at least one book every year (oh, and the movie for Austenland is in post production – squee!).

Wrap Up
 

 Henry David Thoreau said,  "I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.”

I used to think that there would be a magical point in my life where I would suddenly be endowed with time to accomplish Important Things. Maybe I could go on a pilgrimage of enlightenment like Thoreau (I like trees, after all, and cute little cabins in the woods). The conclusion I’ve come to, though, is that the choices I’ve made over the years have put me on a path where the essential things of my life aren’t found in solitude, but in the here and now of everyday life with family and friends. And that if I want to live deliberately in my goals to be a writer (or whatever else), it’ll have to be with them along for the ride. With Jane Austen and Shannon Hale and Sheena and MaryAnn and Sabrina and Sarah and Melanie, I think I’m in some pretty good company, in trying to figure out this balancing act.

~ Susan

The Loveable Rogue

Since it is February with Valentine’s Day rapidly approaching, I’d thought I’d talk about the first fictional character I ever fell in love with.

I don’t remember when I first saw Star Wars. I’m guessing I was pretty young, but I do remember watching it again at somewhere between ages ten and thirteen, and just loving Han Solo. Can you blame me?

What a scoundrel
Han Solo epitomizes the loveable rogue. The charming, funny, handsome, only in it for the money scoundrel type that still makes your heart beat faster against your better judgment.

“Look, I ain't in this for your revolution, and I'm not in it for you, princess. I expect to be well paid. I'm in it for the money.” Han Solo, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope

Some of my other favorites in this trope are Captain Jack Sparrow (Pirates of the Caribbean), Flynn Rider (Tangled), Captain Malcolm Reynolds (Firefly, Serenity), and Sawyer (Lost). All pretty awesome characters.

They always start out morally grey as pirates, thieves, or smugglers, but with some sense of a moral code (although sometimes not much of one). But we forgive them for their unseemly behavior because we understand their motives. They are not cruel or malicious, but just in it for the money (and who doesn’t want more money) or (in Captain Jack Sparrow’s case) they are trying to get something back that was lost or stolen. And they are usually sticking it to a greater evil like, in Han’s case, the evil Empire. We don’t see them conning a little old woman out of her savings or a single mom with a couple of kids she can’t feed (okay maybe we do in Sawyer’s case; he was a little darker than most loveable rogues).

But really it is their humor and charm that wins our hearts. Oh and their rugged good looks. :)

In the end, they usually either become a full-fledged hero or end up at least doing something noble, like for Captain Jack Sparrow giving up immortality or control over the ocean to save Will’s life, or in Han’s case blowing up Darth Vader’s ship to save Luke.

I honestly think it is that transition that is so appealing. To see the guy go from self-centered to self-sacrificing. To go from scoundrel to something noble. I don’t know why, but I love seeing a guy change even though I never expect it in real life. Come on guys, it’s fantasy.

But really I think this trope may go deeper than that. I think we like to believe that there is something noble in everyone, and given the right circumstances, even the most questionable of us will rise up to the challenge when it really matters.

Every scoundrel needs a princess

“Wonderful girl. Either I'm going to kill her or I'm beginning to like her.” Han Solo, Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope.

Every great guy needs an awesome girl, and you don’t get more awesome than Princess Leia. Honestly, would Han Solo be so attractive if he hadn’t been paired with a strong, confident woman that challenges him in every way?

How can you not love a girl who takes control of her own rescue?

Han Solo: [after Leia blasts a vent] What the hell are you doing?
Princess Leia: Well somebody has to save our skins. Into the garbage, fly-boy!

Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope

Princess Leia is the opposite of Han. She is rebel leader, who is willing to sacrifice everything including her life for her cause. While he only looks out for himself (and Chewie), she is dedicated to a higher purpose.

They clash from the second they meet, and I’m sold. I really want to see these crazy kids get together.

Princess Leia: Looks like you've managed to cut off our only escape route.
Han Solo: [sarcastically] Maybe you'd like it back in your cell, your highness.

Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope

No matter how awesome the romantic hero is, he needs to be paired with the right girl, or the whole thing will fall flat. And Princess Leia is the perfect girl for Han Solo.

Reality Bites

I have to say that in real life I don’t want a Han Solo. In real life, you can’t count on a guy changing for you. Change is hard and slow and people really only change for themselves. In other words, what you see is what you get, and I don’t really want a scoundrel, even a charming, intelligent, kick-butt one that looks like a young Harrison Ford.

In real life Han Solo would be racking up Leia’s credit cards and doling out the charm to sweet talk her when the bills come in. Good thing she’s rich. :)

But in fiction, I love, love, love those scoundrels. So if you got a story with a good one, send it my way. Seriously, I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of this trope.

~MaryAnn