The Hunger Games: What's Not to Love

Since I just did a knock-down-drag-out about Watchmen and adaptation, I'm going to take a more emotional turn in this exploration of The Hunger Games.  Yes, it's adapted from a book, but I came away from this action flick aimed at teenaged girls feeling so damn sad that I figured there was more gold in them thar hills than in the dry flats of critical analysis.

Is the Past Tense of "Snit" Snoot or Snot?

I caught the preview for The Hunger Games when it was in the second-run theater I frequent and was most intrigued. Then I missed it because I "frequent" the movies only in comparison to the dentist. I got in a snit about how I'd heard it was a rip-off of Battle Royale, which it isn't. Then I got in a bigger snit about Shirley Jackson's The Lottery. Then I had a lot of laundry to fold, so I checked it out on Netflix. Along the lines of Watchmen, the trailer had looked so good that I was dreading the disappointment, (in this case) of seeing the concept bloated to feature length. That is to say, despite the bunch I'd gotten my snooty panties in for no real reason, I was still invested enough to be concerned as to whether it would be good. So, props to that trailer editing; it truly is an art form in itself.

At the time I saw the film, I hadn't read the book, though I have since. I haven't read the other two, wanting to enjoy the forthcoming sequel in a situation as close to my viewing of the first as possible. To restate: I don't know what's going to happen in the rest of the series. Possibly, this will result in a number of my points being rendered irrelevant predictive, in which case, I win at stories. And by I, I mean we, since mega-kudos will be due to Suzanne Collins for being equally as perceptive about the potential of her own work. On the other hand, I may actually be exploring the material on another level, in which case there's a little more content in the world to spark conversation and I am again duly fulfilled. Also, snoot-snoot-I'm-smarter-than-the-author/no-you're-not-she-intended-to-do-something-else.

And for those of you to whom this will matter, though I think it should be obvious... Team Peeta.

The Male POV

I used to worry a lot about writing things that I hadn't experienced. The "agony of release" that is the male orgasm, for example. That is until I received some mind-changing perspective on the matter (of writing, not orgasm): No one feels anything the exact same way. If a story/description/idea resonates with one person, it may not with another, no matter if I crib the whole thing word for word from life. This wisdom freed me to rethink the way I gauge my own inspiration, and I do a lot more work with my full conviction.

My fiction is my domain. If it resonates because I've managed to reveal and portray some sliver of genuine human experience, then it doesn't matter if I have a cock or not.

Credo

When the weather changes, sometimes it's time for a little "poetry." Poetry without the caveat is how I started writing, after all. True fact.

It's going to rain again
Get grey
Monday's the new Friday, but Tuesday's always next
It's raining again
Don't think too much about it
Gut punch, fever-pitch
Swallow back the snot
I must not stop.

Girl Power

I said ladies. Ladies.

It can be super-hard to be a woman writer. Hell, it can be hard to be a woman fill-in-the-blank. I'm so proud to be a part of SHE, the new division at Creative Entertainment Management. Check out this noise.