Literature - What is Extended Fiction For?

One of my favorite fandoms, as I have written before, is that of Star Trek. In addition to 6 television series, at least 4 of which were smash hits, 12 movies, video games and comic books, there is the one area of which I seem to have an abundance: books. (Well, I had a few, then people kept buying them for me. Now I have a whole shelf-level of them. Dozens or more.) These books depict the various exploits of the characters in each respective series, also including new series, characters and crossovers. This, of course, is a type of "expanded universe."

After this, I began thinking. "Expanded (extended) universe" is a term (I believe) that originated in describing additional media of the Star Wars universe. One difference between Wars and Trek, however, is the factor of canonicity. Much of the Star Wars extended fiction is a canon continuation of the saga. Star Trek, while having new series and some continuations, has a more nuanced canon mechanic. Doctor Who, with its many novels and audio dramas, seems to function similarly. How is that, you ask? Think of the events of the respective series. In the case of Star Trek: Voyager, there is a very tight constraint for extraneous narratives: the entire journey (with some help from outside individuals and groups) took about 7 years. This is not a lot of time to insert many narratives, considering that much of the time would be taken by television episodes. Additionally, some characters, such as the Ocampan Kes, whose species had a shorter life than humans, or the child Naomi, who grew up during the course of the series, also put restraints on the number of stories that could occur. (Unfortunately, the Pokemon solution - characters simply not aging - cannot be applied.)

With all that in mind, then what is the point of the extended fiction? Why go to all the effort to authorize the different novels, comics, and sundry other media? Yes, they tell good stories, but then, so do the canon television stories. The answer is, in fact, the "episode effect."

An episode, by definition, is any event that occurs in one's life. Most classic literature is not written in this form: they are movie-like in their use of characters and events. Granted, there are things like Shakespeare's history plays, but sequels do not equate to (our definition of) episodes. To my knowledge, the advent of the episode has been aided greatly by newer, faster forms of media. Radio, TV, digital media, internet, etc... are all much faster and more adept at handling smaller narrative units. Hence the birth of radio serials and later television serials. TV episodes weekly engage the viewers with a story about their favorite characters.

And that's the point of the extended fiction: to engage the readers with a story about their favorite characters. It is to show what the characters would do, given a particular set of circumstances. What would Captain Picard do if Scotty stole an old Constitution class starship and a Romulan cloaking device with a mind to rescue? What would Picard do if a TARDIS appeared on his ship? Questions like these can be explored, in full, in the extended fiction. I would be remiss in forgetting to mention the limitless possibilities that books and comics grant: there is no limitation of what can be depicted. Extended fiction is for exploration. What will my characters do?

Literature - What's a Poem, Really?

What is a poem?

Movement

Of letters

On a page?

Sound?

Feeling?

For a few years, even before I was an English major, I wondered: what is the appeal of poetry? It is understandable for things with a concerted structure: either the rhyme, the connection of words through techniques like alliteration or consonance, or by the rhythmic flow. Some poems "flow" off the tongue or "dance off the page." Especially when a fair-voiced maiden is reading them, poems just sound right. However, what about modern poetry? There are some forms that derive their appeal from the visual aspect. Nevertheless, the question is still there: what is the appeal?

One way to think of it is in terms of music. I love hearing my friends sing an aria or duet in Italian, German or whatever other language. My appreciation does not stem entirely from the text itself, no matter how high the quality. Rather, I enjoy the words themselves - how they sound, separately and with the rest of the song - and the delivery of those words. Recently, my college gave an honors recital for those performers that did exceptionally well in previous recitals. One of my favorite pieces was "The Girl from Ipanema." I had always been familiar with the song, and some of its English lyrics. However, these were only added later: the original lyrics were in the melodic Portuguese language. Sitting there, listening, I realized that the sound of the words were really what I was enjoying. They did indeed flow together. Also, the singer's silky tenor added to the effect. "The Girl from Ipanema" illustrates, as do many other foreign language songs, that poetry need not be understood to be enjoyed.

"The Girl from Ipanema" illustrates that appeal can come from beautiful sounds. However, appeal can also come from a lack of beauty. Onomatopoeia (words that sound like what they describe) has always existed in some form or another. In this way, "The Bells" has great appeal. Just last week, our Directing class put on a series of one acts. One director chose to transform the work into a stage piece. One particular section, the alarm bells, illustrates my point. Upon beginning, the actor spoke the lines in a loud and harsh manner. His tone of voice underwrote the text and brought out the ugliness of the alarm bells themselves. Other sections play with vocal dynamics, but none were so apparent as this section. Here, the director's instruction to the actor brought out the appeal of the poetry: "icky" sounds that grab our attention.

Both examples above focus less on the meaning behind the words, and more on the sounds of the words themselves. I'm sure critics have argued this point, that sound is the significant factor of poetry, before. but I would like to issue a challenge. It is this: write poems in, or as if you were writing in, another language. Why do I ask this? Because you would have less knowledge of synonyms and culturally-mandated context. You would chose the word based on how it works within the context of YOUR poem, and nothing else. I'm not arguing that the meaning is completely irrelevant: rather, I am imploring you to also consider the words themselves. By all means, have someone fluent in the language look it over, if you so desire. If you're not comfortable with any other language, still keep my advice in mind as you compose.

A poem, then

Is the flow

Of the words

On the page

In the air

In the soul

Script - "A Gallifreyan Guide to Becoming a Social Butterfly"

Earlier this week, I was required to memorize a certain number of lines of Shakespeare, and also a non-Shakespearean, dramatic monologue. However, the day approached and I was running out of time and options. Therefore, to achieve the fun zaniness I sought, I determined to write my own script. After giving the monologue on Sunday, some of my friends expressed the opinion that it was well-written, or something to that effect. So, by no demand whatsoever, except my own fancy, here is the script for you to enjoy (or not.)

(Outline for a handout/visual aid that never materialized:)
A Gallifreyan’s Guide to Becoming a Social Butterfly (the short-short version)

3: Break the Ice

1: Know Yourself

2: Know the Group

4: Join the Conversation

7: ???

11: Suggest Dinner

12: Introduce Companions

13: Fly to Mars

(Text proper, with some later changes and ad-libs inserted:)

Cast:

Time Lord – Edwardamendario, or “The Bachelor”

Edward: Travelling the worlds of this universe, I've only just arrived in this country. Strange. You’d think I’d have heard of it before! Anyway. After observing what you would call your 21^st, 22^nd, and 23^rd centuries, I see one key problem: socialization. No, I don’t mean any political or governmental nonsense. I mean just sitting down and talking. You've developed these electronic-y gizmos and lost all sense of ... of ... social adventure! For your benefit, I’ll tell you what to do. I’ll give you a sort of “Gallifreyan's Guide to Becoming a Social Butterfly.” Not literally, of course! I did that once, and the results weren't... Anyway! Let me begin.

(Edward:)

Step 1: Know yourself. I, for instance, am a 121 year-old Time Lord, still very young, with a sense of adventure. You can see from my dress that I am still fairly conservative, but have a flair of the dramatic.

Step 2: Know your group. You are all also very young, but Earthlings. It’s good to know about the group before you say anything. I once made an inappropriate crack about Shakespeare’s masculinity in a small London suburb. See, I thought my TARDIS sent me to a historic-literary convention in 2151 (they weren't ... aren't ... won't be so peculiar about things in the 22nd century), but I had actually been sent to a regular-literary convention in 1851. They chased me out of town.

Step 7: No, errm, I mean...

Step 3: Break the ice. This is easy for a suave Time Lord such as myself, but not everyone has it so easy. The key to this is relatability. You've got to figuratively, and sometimes literally, disarm the people around you. I do so by doing zany things, like this: [does some zany things]. The people are then so confused that they have no choice but to accept me into the circle.

Step 4: Join the conversation. This is the dull bit. I don’t even know what you people talk about. Barbecue? Cheese? Imported television programmes? It’s all still a little fuzzy to me.

Step 5: ... Do you hear something? Sort of a "chwhchwhchwh" sound? Wait, now it's a "abdabungabungadundabada..."

[He looks around as if something sounded. Reaches into backpack and pulls out a blank sheath of paper] Of course, my psychic essay! Well, technically a paper, but don't lets be confusing, eh? ... Oh dear! Somebody in the future needs my help! Something about a 500 page paper on the Cybermen invasion of Skaro, before the Cybermen even existed, lead by Benito Mussolini and Richard III, and ... involving me!?! But intervention in history is not my job! That other guy! What was his name... the Professor? The Monk? The Doctor! Call him! ... What's that? He's too busy? He's a time traveler, that doesn't mat- Oh, he's been there before, in different regenerations, and... I know elementary temporal physics! Crossing his own time stream could cause a paradox that would destroy 1/4 of the known universe... [sighs, throws down ] I never asked for this...

(Note, Doctor Who, Daleks, Cybermen, Time Lord, etc... belong to the skilled and glorious writers of BBC, and the other various entities that own the stuff. I equate this to playing in a sandbox. Some of the "toys" are mine, but most belong to whoever else. It's all so confusing anyway. However, who owns what in Doctor Who is a discussion for another time and another place...)