Michaelbrent Collings's Blog
October 20, 2023
Update on Grimmworld from AASL
Just got word from the publisher of Grimmworld: The Witch in the Woods...there was a massive conference for the American Association of School Librarians this week, and my book was BY FAR their hottest ticket. And not just the book, but the poster, and just generally the vibe was "holy cow gimme gimme!"Sweet!
The Witch in the Woods: Volume 1
March 28, 2016
The Huffington Post Says I Shouldn't Publish a Lot - Should I?
Recently, The Huffington Post published an article titled "Dear Self-Published Author: Do NOT Write Four Books a Year." In it, the author stated, among other things, "no one" can write as many as four books a year and have them actually be good; that "Our most highly esteemed, widely applauded, prodigiously awarded, read and revered authors know this to be true"; that "first tier" authors aren't told to publish lots, but to publish quality stuff; and implying (fairly explicitly) that if you do achieve success in conjunction to publishing lots and focusing on marketing, it isn't something to be proud of and isn't even warranted.
This is a load of crap. A lot of it. Like, there's a massive poop truck on the highway of life, and the author not only crashed into it headfirst, she refused to be pulled out of the piles of dung that nearly drowned her, and instead insisted on staying there because "this is the only right way to live a full and happy life."
First of all, how does the author define success? Undoubtedly in some way that fits her purpose - a tautological argument. "What about James Patterson?" "Sure, he writes LOTS, but he doesn't win awards, does he? His work is dreck." "What about Stephen King? He's won just about every award there is, including the Bram Stoker, the Edgar, the British Fantasy Award, and a little thing called the National Medal for the Arts." "No, no, everyone knows he just writes hacky stuff for the masses." The definition will shift to exclude the authors -- the huge number of them that don't fit her premise.
Beyond that, her argument is ignorant on its face at best, outright stupid at worst. See this study of the world's bestselling authors: http://www.thisismoney.co.uk/money/ce...
MOST of them have several things in common:
1) Recognized as the top in their field, and multiple award winners.
2) Extremely prolific OVER TIME (meaning lots of books for their entire career).
Should people learn their craft? Of course. Should they hold off publishing until they've learned their craft? It goes without saying. And, indeed, it often does go without saying: I suspect that many people who encourage authors to publish as many books as possible don't mention improving craft because they assume that's already been done, the same way that a marketing class for doctors won't start with "get your M.D." -- not worth talking about it, because if you're in the class in the first place, the assumption is that you belong there. But to equate "lots of books" with an automatic "they don't know how to write" is like saying increased ice cream sales cause higher crime rates: correlation is not causation. And even if causation is there, it isn't always because of the end product, but because of something that necessarily happens first: maybe it's milk that causes the increase in crime, rather than the ice cream itself. (For the record, it's the heat that causes the increase in the crime rate.)
I will note, also, that the author of the piece I'm talking about spends quite of a bit of time tooting her own horn, and the horn related to her own book -- which at the time of this writing is sitting comfortably in the five hundred thousands as far as Amazon's sales rankings go -- which I would calculate puts her at roughly one sale every few months in the largest bookstore on the planet. I hate ad hominem attacks, but please understand that I'm not attacking her, I'm attacking her method: she says she follows her own advice, and also states that that is the way to success and greatness.
Well, the proof is in the pudding. Or, as the case may be, in the big pile of poop the author is now not only living in, but blogging from about the Awesomeness of Turd City.
Sigh.
Additionally, anyone who cites an author who writes one book after eleven years (and has written a total of three in her career) does not understand how the publishing world works. It's fine and dandy to write one amazing book. But do you want to be able to do this full-tme? To not only write, but write for a living? Then one book is not going to be enough for almost anyone - to conclude otherwise has as much validity as saying "The key to success is to write a single, seven-book fantasy series for kids. After all, that's what J.K. Rowling did, so it must be the only way to do it." Not a great way to go into publishing, since you're setting yourself up for a rude awakening when your seven-book series never even gets PICKED UP, let alone making you buttloads of money.
In sum: the best way to succeed is to:
1) PRACTICE
2) WRITE*
3) PUBLISH
4) MARKET**
The reason I footnote writing is because it not only is a critical part of the process, but people who PRACTICE INCESSANTLY are more likely to WRITE A LOT. I.e., you learn your craft, and for most of us the volume will come as a necessary side effect. The reason I double footnote marketing is because the author of the HuffPost piece states that publishing houses nurture and encourage their writers to write "good" work, the kind of thing that will be enjoyed and become a classic.
This, again, shows a stunning misunderstanding of how the publishing industry works. Would publishing houses like all their work to be award winners, to win accolade and achieve the highest level of literary recognition? Sure. But ask if they are pushing for that over sales. No way. And any publishing house that does is not going to be a publishing house for very long.
Write. Write, write, write. The more you write the better. And doing so is the best chance at success. But without publishing after you've learned your craft -- practice a lot, publish a lot -- you have less and less chance to achieve your dreams.
###
Michaelbrent Collings is an internationally bestselling novelist and screenwriter. You can find him on Facebook at facebook.com/MichaelbrentCollings, on Twitter @mbcollings, or you can sign up for his mailing list here.
This is a load of crap. A lot of it. Like, there's a massive poop truck on the highway of life, and the author not only crashed into it headfirst, she refused to be pulled out of the piles of dung that nearly drowned her, and instead insisted on staying there because "this is the only right way to live a full and happy life."
First of all, how does the author define success? Undoubtedly in some way that fits her purpose - a tautological argument. "What about James Patterson?" "Sure, he writes LOTS, but he doesn't win awards, does he? His work is dreck." "What about Stephen King? He's won just about every award there is, including the Bram Stoker, the Edgar, the British Fantasy Award, and a little thing called the National Medal for the Arts." "No, no, everyone knows he just writes hacky stuff for the masses." The definition will shift to exclude the authors -- the huge number of them that don't fit her premise.
Beyond that, her argument is ignorant on its face at best, outright stupid at worst. See this study of the world's bestselling authors: http://www.thisismoney.co.uk/money/ce...
MOST of them have several things in common:
1) Recognized as the top in their field, and multiple award winners.
2) Extremely prolific OVER TIME (meaning lots of books for their entire career).
Should people learn their craft? Of course. Should they hold off publishing until they've learned their craft? It goes without saying. And, indeed, it often does go without saying: I suspect that many people who encourage authors to publish as many books as possible don't mention improving craft because they assume that's already been done, the same way that a marketing class for doctors won't start with "get your M.D." -- not worth talking about it, because if you're in the class in the first place, the assumption is that you belong there. But to equate "lots of books" with an automatic "they don't know how to write" is like saying increased ice cream sales cause higher crime rates: correlation is not causation. And even if causation is there, it isn't always because of the end product, but because of something that necessarily happens first: maybe it's milk that causes the increase in crime, rather than the ice cream itself. (For the record, it's the heat that causes the increase in the crime rate.)
I will note, also, that the author of the piece I'm talking about spends quite of a bit of time tooting her own horn, and the horn related to her own book -- which at the time of this writing is sitting comfortably in the five hundred thousands as far as Amazon's sales rankings go -- which I would calculate puts her at roughly one sale every few months in the largest bookstore on the planet. I hate ad hominem attacks, but please understand that I'm not attacking her, I'm attacking her method: she says she follows her own advice, and also states that that is the way to success and greatness.
Well, the proof is in the pudding. Or, as the case may be, in the big pile of poop the author is now not only living in, but blogging from about the Awesomeness of Turd City.
Sigh.
Additionally, anyone who cites an author who writes one book after eleven years (and has written a total of three in her career) does not understand how the publishing world works. It's fine and dandy to write one amazing book. But do you want to be able to do this full-tme? To not only write, but write for a living? Then one book is not going to be enough for almost anyone - to conclude otherwise has as much validity as saying "The key to success is to write a single, seven-book fantasy series for kids. After all, that's what J.K. Rowling did, so it must be the only way to do it." Not a great way to go into publishing, since you're setting yourself up for a rude awakening when your seven-book series never even gets PICKED UP, let alone making you buttloads of money.
In sum: the best way to succeed is to:
1) PRACTICE
2) WRITE*
3) PUBLISH
4) MARKET**
The reason I footnote writing is because it not only is a critical part of the process, but people who PRACTICE INCESSANTLY are more likely to WRITE A LOT. I.e., you learn your craft, and for most of us the volume will come as a necessary side effect. The reason I double footnote marketing is because the author of the HuffPost piece states that publishing houses nurture and encourage their writers to write "good" work, the kind of thing that will be enjoyed and become a classic.
This, again, shows a stunning misunderstanding of how the publishing industry works. Would publishing houses like all their work to be award winners, to win accolade and achieve the highest level of literary recognition? Sure. But ask if they are pushing for that over sales. No way. And any publishing house that does is not going to be a publishing house for very long.
Write. Write, write, write. The more you write the better. And doing so is the best chance at success. But without publishing after you've learned your craft -- practice a lot, publish a lot -- you have less and less chance to achieve your dreams.
###
Michaelbrent Collings is an internationally bestselling novelist and screenwriter. You can find him on Facebook at facebook.com/MichaelbrentCollings, on Twitter @mbcollings, or you can sign up for his mailing list here.
January 19, 2016
Avoiding Cliches - And Why That is Dumb as a Rock
Like many people, I went to school. For literally years. Sometimes it was awesome (days when I wasn't pantsed or threatened by that big douchebag of a bully), sometimes it wasn't (pantsed!). But through it all, there was a constant: I took writing classes. The very first year I could, I made sure to pick up creative writing electives, to work toward my ultimate goal of being one of the biggest dorks on the planet.
Looking back, I suppose the pantsing shouldn't have come as such a shock.
But anyway, back to my story:
I took a lot of different creative writing classes from a lot of different teachers. They all had different theories of the best ways to tell a story, the best way to introduce character, the weirdest clothes to wear.*
But one thing they all shared, one thing they uniformly agreed on was this: clichés are bad.**
And a lot of teachers still believe that. A random search for "writing advice on clichés" on the 'net turns up such gems as:
"10 Tips to Avoid Clichés in Writing"
"Avoiding Clichés in Writing"
A University of North Carolina handout discussing why you should avoid clichés.
"Tips to Avoid Clichés and Weak Writing"
And these are not buried in loads of other writing advice pieces, these are the top search returns! With more -- many more -- to follow.
Upshot: cliché bad. Finding other words good.***
But here's the upshot to the upshot: these people have no froikin' clue what they're talking about, or what they should be talking about.
The fact is that clichés are actually very useful when used properly. A cliché, when used properly, is simply this: the fastest, clearest way to communicate an idea.
Clichés are clichés because they have entered the public vocabulary -- no, not just entered it, they've saturated it. You say "raining cats and dogs" or "the cloud had a silver lining" or "nose hairs like a hipster who's lost his Philips Unwanted Hair Remover," everyone knows instantly what you are talking about.**** And not only that, but they know it faster than they could -- that is, in fewer words -- without using the cliché.
"The silver lining was that, now that he'd been fired, Reggie could finally call his boss what he really was: the enema in the rectal exam of life."
Isn't that faster -- and better -- than:
"The upside which was better than the downside of the situation, or at least made the bad situation slightly better was, now that he'd been fired (etc.)."
Answer: yes. It is. Cliché didn't weaken this sentence or this concept, it strengthened it. And note, the second sentence is an unwieldy pile of goo that your professor (yes, the same one who told you to write sentences like this in the guise of "avoiding cliché") would probably give a failing grade to.
Now, there is a problem attendant to clichés: they have the tendency to be used thoughtlessly.
In other words, they become a substitute for thought on the part of the author. "Easy" often translates to "I can do this part on autopilot" -- much the same way I change my one-year-old's diaper. And I am really good at changing that diaper, but no matter how quickly or efficiently I perform that task, I inevitably end up with a bunch of crap at the end of the day.
I also end up with a clean little baby, but that doesn't fit my metaphor, so let's forget that part.
Cliché, in other words, is susceptible to misuse when not used intentionally and thoughtfully. But that's the trap waiting for someone who uses any words at all. A good writer should be aware not just of an overall story or concept, but each individual word choice. A good writer should never simply type-vomit whatever drivel comes to mind -- be that a cliché or a passage or a single word. Writers should be expert craftspeople, in control of every microscopic bit of their work.
Clichés are not the enemy. Laziness of thought is.
And I know that as sure as shootin'.
* Seriously. People involved in the writing life have a disturbing tendency to dress with all the fashion sense of a colorblind hobo who just went dumpster diving behind Lady Gaga's house. And yes, I am including myself in that group.
** They also thought that writing was sexy and would actually attract girls/boys in and of itself. I can't go into how wrong that is for most people, because there aren't enough ones and zeros on the internet to capture that sentiment. Though I did end up with a smart, nice, hot wife. So SUCK IT GIRL WHO WOULDN'T DATE ME IN HIGH SCHOOL. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!
*** Yes, I'm really a writer, no matter how much "writer" looks like "caveman scratching mad scrawls with a thick black Crayola."
**** Maybe that last one hasn't really "hit it." Yet. But it will. Oh yes. It. Will.
###
Michaelbrent Collings is an internationally bestselling novelist and screenwriter. You can find him on Facebook at facebook.com/MichaelbrentCollings, on Twitter @mbcollings.
Looking back, I suppose the pantsing shouldn't have come as such a shock.
But anyway, back to my story:
I took a lot of different creative writing classes from a lot of different teachers. They all had different theories of the best ways to tell a story, the best way to introduce character, the weirdest clothes to wear.*
But one thing they all shared, one thing they uniformly agreed on was this: clichés are bad.**
And a lot of teachers still believe that. A random search for "writing advice on clichés" on the 'net turns up such gems as:
"10 Tips to Avoid Clichés in Writing"
"Avoiding Clichés in Writing"
A University of North Carolina handout discussing why you should avoid clichés.
"Tips to Avoid Clichés and Weak Writing"
And these are not buried in loads of other writing advice pieces, these are the top search returns! With more -- many more -- to follow.
Upshot: cliché bad. Finding other words good.***
But here's the upshot to the upshot: these people have no froikin' clue what they're talking about, or what they should be talking about.
The fact is that clichés are actually very useful when used properly. A cliché, when used properly, is simply this: the fastest, clearest way to communicate an idea.
Clichés are clichés because they have entered the public vocabulary -- no, not just entered it, they've saturated it. You say "raining cats and dogs" or "the cloud had a silver lining" or "nose hairs like a hipster who's lost his Philips Unwanted Hair Remover," everyone knows instantly what you are talking about.**** And not only that, but they know it faster than they could -- that is, in fewer words -- without using the cliché.
"The silver lining was that, now that he'd been fired, Reggie could finally call his boss what he really was: the enema in the rectal exam of life."
Isn't that faster -- and better -- than:
"The upside which was better than the downside of the situation, or at least made the bad situation slightly better was, now that he'd been fired (etc.)."
Answer: yes. It is. Cliché didn't weaken this sentence or this concept, it strengthened it. And note, the second sentence is an unwieldy pile of goo that your professor (yes, the same one who told you to write sentences like this in the guise of "avoiding cliché") would probably give a failing grade to.
Now, there is a problem attendant to clichés: they have the tendency to be used thoughtlessly.
In other words, they become a substitute for thought on the part of the author. "Easy" often translates to "I can do this part on autopilot" -- much the same way I change my one-year-old's diaper. And I am really good at changing that diaper, but no matter how quickly or efficiently I perform that task, I inevitably end up with a bunch of crap at the end of the day.
I also end up with a clean little baby, but that doesn't fit my metaphor, so let's forget that part.
Cliché, in other words, is susceptible to misuse when not used intentionally and thoughtfully. But that's the trap waiting for someone who uses any words at all. A good writer should be aware not just of an overall story or concept, but each individual word choice. A good writer should never simply type-vomit whatever drivel comes to mind -- be that a cliché or a passage or a single word. Writers should be expert craftspeople, in control of every microscopic bit of their work.
Clichés are not the enemy. Laziness of thought is.
And I know that as sure as shootin'.
* Seriously. People involved in the writing life have a disturbing tendency to dress with all the fashion sense of a colorblind hobo who just went dumpster diving behind Lady Gaga's house. And yes, I am including myself in that group.
** They also thought that writing was sexy and would actually attract girls/boys in and of itself. I can't go into how wrong that is for most people, because there aren't enough ones and zeros on the internet to capture that sentiment. Though I did end up with a smart, nice, hot wife. So SUCK IT GIRL WHO WOULDN'T DATE ME IN HIGH SCHOOL. YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE!
*** Yes, I'm really a writer, no matter how much "writer" looks like "caveman scratching mad scrawls with a thick black Crayola."
**** Maybe that last one hasn't really "hit it." Yet. But it will. Oh yes. It. Will.
###
Michaelbrent Collings is an internationally bestselling novelist and screenwriter. You can find him on Facebook at facebook.com/MichaelbrentCollings, on Twitter @mbcollings.
January 13, 2016
On Finding Miracles
People ask me sometimes how a horror writer can believe - and write - about things like Good and Evil, God and Devil. Here's an example:
Yesterday my wife was cooking lunch for the kids. She opened the oven door, and my infant son - less than a year old, just learning to pull himself up things - came around the kitchen corner. He'd been playing "tag" with his VERY good older brothers and sisters.
He saw the oven.
He pulled himself up onto the inside of the oven door. Both hands planted on a 500-degree surface.
I saw it all, and panicked. I could only scream.
He was in my wife's blind spot, so she didn't know what was happening for a long moment. Long enough for his scream to finally get through. Both hands on the inside of the oven door. Him shrieking, me shrieking.
She yanked him away. Doused his hands in water from the sink. Filled a bowl. I forced his little hands in the bowl, him shrieking all the while. We screamed at the children to get in the car get in the car we're going to the hospital get in the car NOW!
We started to the car.
He stopped crying.
We dared look at his hands.
There was not a mark. They weren't even red.
The people who were marked the worst by the event were the kids - who felt terrible for letting him get away from them - and my wife and I, who had SEEN what happened, and KNEW what the outcome should be.
Do I believe in God?
Yes.
Do I believe He steps in from time to time?
Yes.
Do I believe in miracles?
Absolutely.
This isn't to say I believe life is meant to be happy in all ways - or even most. It's a trial, it's a test. But sometimes...
Sometimes...
We are blessed to See.
This isn't meant to convince anyone. I respect those who believe differently, who choose to look at a different world than mine.
But this IS my world.
A world of small, unmarked hands. A baby who sleeps content.
A world of miracles.
###
Michaelbrent Collings is an internationally bestselling novelist and screenwriter. You can find him on Facebook at facebook.com/MichaelbrentCollings, on Twitter @mbcollings, or you can sign up for his mailing list here.
Yesterday my wife was cooking lunch for the kids. She opened the oven door, and my infant son - less than a year old, just learning to pull himself up things - came around the kitchen corner. He'd been playing "tag" with his VERY good older brothers and sisters.
He saw the oven.
He pulled himself up onto the inside of the oven door. Both hands planted on a 500-degree surface.
I saw it all, and panicked. I could only scream.
He was in my wife's blind spot, so she didn't know what was happening for a long moment. Long enough for his scream to finally get through. Both hands on the inside of the oven door. Him shrieking, me shrieking.
She yanked him away. Doused his hands in water from the sink. Filled a bowl. I forced his little hands in the bowl, him shrieking all the while. We screamed at the children to get in the car get in the car we're going to the hospital get in the car NOW!
We started to the car.
He stopped crying.
We dared look at his hands.
There was not a mark. They weren't even red.
The people who were marked the worst by the event were the kids - who felt terrible for letting him get away from them - and my wife and I, who had SEEN what happened, and KNEW what the outcome should be.
Do I believe in God?
Yes.
Do I believe He steps in from time to time?
Yes.
Do I believe in miracles?
Absolutely.
This isn't to say I believe life is meant to be happy in all ways - or even most. It's a trial, it's a test. But sometimes...
Sometimes...
We are blessed to See.
This isn't meant to convince anyone. I respect those who believe differently, who choose to look at a different world than mine.
But this IS my world.
A world of small, unmarked hands. A baby who sleeps content.
A world of miracles.
###
Michaelbrent Collings is an internationally bestselling novelist and screenwriter. You can find him on Facebook at facebook.com/MichaelbrentCollings, on Twitter @mbcollings, or you can sign up for his mailing list here.
December 24, 2015
The Dangers of Collective Thinking
I grow concerned at the way we as a culture are seeking forward growth.
For a long time we were hunters and gatherers: the ultimate individualists, with some of the greatest limitations built into our way of life. With no cooperation there could be no chance of any one person growing beyond his or her skills; there could be none (or far fewer, at least) of the great leaps forward that we now think of as one of the hallmarks of humanity.
Eventually this way of life was supplanted by an agrarian culture: people who grew their food, who stationed themselves in one place and made that place give of her bounty. That metamorphosed into villages and towns and cities, with the specialization that allowed men and women to focus their lives on one thing -- and to come up with amazing inventions and innovations that led to our current way of life, and a standard of living that would seem nothing short of magic to any generation that came before.
Now, a new culture is beginning to arise. Not the hunters, not the farmers, not even the specialized city dwellers. This culture is a single many-headed beast. A collective that seeks to consume all that come before it. To make their skills and abilities its own while at the same time purging them of any knowledge or viewpoints that run contrary to that of the beast. The collective allows for no dissent, no contrary opinions. There are many heads, but only one mind -- only one rationale -- is allowed.
Some laud this. Some say that this will make the world a safer place -- and there is a logic to this. If everyone agrees, if everyone is forced to toe the same line, will there be any conflict? CAN there be any danger to anyone if EVERYONE is forced to be silent rather than voicing any views that run contrary to that of the collective?
The problem, though, is that the beast, being a single creature, stifles all creativity and creates a single mind that can rise no further than its own self-imposed ignorance. The collective can never create, only destroy. It can never open vistas of understanding, only define boundaries of permitted action. Because it relies on concepts of "what hurts me" rather than "what is good for me," it inevitably takes steps that cause it self-harm: like an infant who refuses medicine because it tastes bad, the collective will refuse dissent and so will refuse to allow the very ideas that are the very basis of forward progress.
The collective is, at heart, the ultimate hunter-gatherer. Only because of its bloated, self-policed mass, it will ever be limited to the lowest-hanging fruits of human knowledge, the easiest accomplishments of negligible value.
We as humans must be more. Ben Franklin (a man who would have been consumed by the beast -- if not outright destroyed), said, "They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety." In recent days, months, and years we have seen more and more willingness not only to GIVE UP essential liberties -- freedoms of speech, of religion, of THOUGHT -- but to actively quash them in others. And in Franklin's words we see then that this is a far greater danger to liberty and safety than any external threat.
Yesterday was the Fourth of July. A holiday meant to celebrate freedom, liberty, and the sacrifice of those who provided them. For many it still is. For others it is a day to skip work, to get drunk, to shoot fire at the sky without thought for the reasons WHY we do such things.
For others it is a day as any other. Because there is no sleeping for the collective. There is no day off for the beast. Every day is as any other, every day is a day wherein plans are made to stop speech, to whittle away at others' beliefs, to chip away at values to which brave men have committed "our Lives, our Fortunes, and our Sacred Honor" (Declaration of Independence).
This article first appeared on the Fifth of July. A day that is, for the country, a new year. It is, for us, a time to choose. To choose whether we will be a part of a team -- a group of men and women who seek common goals, but who bring their own individual talents and passions and abilities to that search -- or to be a collective, willing to destroy under the guise of creating not a "more perfect union" but the ONLY real utopia… and never mind if it is built on the bones of our once-sacred liberties, our once-holy beliefs.
Happy Fourth of July. And Happy Fifth, too. May we hold every day as a day to create. To add voices to the public discourse. To treat all men (and women) as equal before their Creator, and of inherent value for this fact.
###
Michaelbrent Collings is an internationally bestselling novelist and screenwriter. You can find him on Facebook at facebook.com/MichaelbrentCollings, on Twitter @mbcollings, or you can sign up for his mailing list here.
For a long time we were hunters and gatherers: the ultimate individualists, with some of the greatest limitations built into our way of life. With no cooperation there could be no chance of any one person growing beyond his or her skills; there could be none (or far fewer, at least) of the great leaps forward that we now think of as one of the hallmarks of humanity.
Eventually this way of life was supplanted by an agrarian culture: people who grew their food, who stationed themselves in one place and made that place give of her bounty. That metamorphosed into villages and towns and cities, with the specialization that allowed men and women to focus their lives on one thing -- and to come up with amazing inventions and innovations that led to our current way of life, and a standard of living that would seem nothing short of magic to any generation that came before.
Now, a new culture is beginning to arise. Not the hunters, not the farmers, not even the specialized city dwellers. This culture is a single many-headed beast. A collective that seeks to consume all that come before it. To make their skills and abilities its own while at the same time purging them of any knowledge or viewpoints that run contrary to that of the beast. The collective allows for no dissent, no contrary opinions. There are many heads, but only one mind -- only one rationale -- is allowed.
Some laud this. Some say that this will make the world a safer place -- and there is a logic to this. If everyone agrees, if everyone is forced to toe the same line, will there be any conflict? CAN there be any danger to anyone if EVERYONE is forced to be silent rather than voicing any views that run contrary to that of the collective?
The problem, though, is that the beast, being a single creature, stifles all creativity and creates a single mind that can rise no further than its own self-imposed ignorance. The collective can never create, only destroy. It can never open vistas of understanding, only define boundaries of permitted action. Because it relies on concepts of "what hurts me" rather than "what is good for me," it inevitably takes steps that cause it self-harm: like an infant who refuses medicine because it tastes bad, the collective will refuse dissent and so will refuse to allow the very ideas that are the very basis of forward progress.
The collective is, at heart, the ultimate hunter-gatherer. Only because of its bloated, self-policed mass, it will ever be limited to the lowest-hanging fruits of human knowledge, the easiest accomplishments of negligible value.
We as humans must be more. Ben Franklin (a man who would have been consumed by the beast -- if not outright destroyed), said, "They that can give up essential liberty to obtain a little temporary safety deserve neither liberty nor safety." In recent days, months, and years we have seen more and more willingness not only to GIVE UP essential liberties -- freedoms of speech, of religion, of THOUGHT -- but to actively quash them in others. And in Franklin's words we see then that this is a far greater danger to liberty and safety than any external threat.
Yesterday was the Fourth of July. A holiday meant to celebrate freedom, liberty, and the sacrifice of those who provided them. For many it still is. For others it is a day to skip work, to get drunk, to shoot fire at the sky without thought for the reasons WHY we do such things.
For others it is a day as any other. Because there is no sleeping for the collective. There is no day off for the beast. Every day is as any other, every day is a day wherein plans are made to stop speech, to whittle away at others' beliefs, to chip away at values to which brave men have committed "our Lives, our Fortunes, and our Sacred Honor" (Declaration of Independence).
This article first appeared on the Fifth of July. A day that is, for the country, a new year. It is, for us, a time to choose. To choose whether we will be a part of a team -- a group of men and women who seek common goals, but who bring their own individual talents and passions and abilities to that search -- or to be a collective, willing to destroy under the guise of creating not a "more perfect union" but the ONLY real utopia… and never mind if it is built on the bones of our once-sacred liberties, our once-holy beliefs.
Happy Fourth of July. And Happy Fifth, too. May we hold every day as a day to create. To add voices to the public discourse. To treat all men (and women) as equal before their Creator, and of inherent value for this fact.
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Michaelbrent Collings is an internationally bestselling novelist and screenwriter. You can find him on Facebook at facebook.com/MichaelbrentCollings, on Twitter @mbcollings, or you can sign up for his mailing list here.
December 21, 2015
Santa Claus - Murderer?
It's my favorite time of the year. The wind is blowing, I look absolutely fabulous in a variety of amusing sweaters, and the tiny children who ride past my window on their bicycles have gone into hibernation for the winter. Also, I had most of them killed for riding past my window.
The other thing I like about this time of year is obvious: it's coming up on Christmas. Now, for those of you who don't understand why I like Christmas so much, all I can say is that you've obviously never had the opportunity to go Christmas caroling with my family. And for those of you who have had that opportunity, all I can say is I'm sorry. And ask you to please re-think the restraining order.
Tempering my enjoyment of the time of year, though, is the fact that I'm away from my family. Not far away, or even away for a super-duper long time. Just far away enough to make me realize how sad I would be if I were farther from them. And how happy I would be to be closer to them. And how much the same I would be if I were exactly the same distance from them as I am right now.
Because Christmas is a time for family. For friends. For presents.
Ah, presents. The reason for the season. I mean, what says Christmas like a bunch of shrieking middle-aged yahoos* body-checking each other like members of the Federal Prison Hockey League** in order to save thirty dollars on an Xbox 360? What says Christmas like folks going to office parties where they will proceed to get completely blasted and act like shmucks in front of the people whose respect they depend on in order to function on a daily basis?
When did Christmas become more about Black Friday than about Silent Night? When did Christmas become more a day to grab-grab-grab than a day to give-give-give?
Of course, there are obvious culprits. People or entities*** who have become easy scapegoats to blame for the commercialization and denigration of "the most wonderful time of the year." Like Walmart, or the "liberal media," or Selena Gomez.
But it's not Walmart's fault. And it's not the fault of the "liberal media." It's probably at least somewhat the fault of Selena Gomez, but that conspiracy is so deep that I dare not speak more of it, for fear that hordes of Disney Channel Security Minions will appear at my door to drag me away and bury me next to Walt's cryogenically frozen head.
So whose fault is it (other than Selena Gomez's)?
Simple: it's Santa's fault.
I mean, think of it: we teach our children to wait with baited breath for a giggling fat guy who sneaks into people's houses while they sleep and rearranges stuff. Don't get me started on the fact that he clearly suffers from some kind of weird reverse discrimination ("You must be 'this' short to work here"), and that he ranks up there with the cruelest of all pet owners ("Yes? ASPCA? Is it a problem if I force my animals to drag my way-heavy toosh to several billion locations on a single night?").
Excited for Santa? This sounds like the kind of person we should teach them to call 911 about.
But worst of all is the simple fact that Santa teaches us to wait for presents to come. The first Christmas wasn't about people waiting for a guy with a thing for fur-lined crushed velvet outfits to come along and drop things underneath a tree we killed for the occasion.
The first Christmas was about a group of shepherds, who left their livelihoods behind to take a trip that would improve their lives.
The first Christmas was about a small family making do in a horrible situation, and somehow finding a way to make it all work.
The first Christmas was about a boy who left his father's home and went to a strange and hostile place where he would be taunted, tortured, and eventually killed... and did it on the off chance that he could make the people there better.
Christmas isn't about Santa. It isn't about presents. It isn't about waiting for the gifts to come. It is and always has been about going out and finding what needs doing, and doing it. About finding beauty, and elevating it. About giving of our selves instead of our stuff.
Christmas is my favorite time of the year. Because it reminds me how far I have to go. But leaves a star behind to light the way.
* Not to be confused with "Yahoo!" Please don't sue me, internet giant!
** I would totally watch those games.
*** Entities is a funny word. It makes me think of an alien making love to a Sasquatch. Because that's the way my mind rolls.
The other thing I like about this time of year is obvious: it's coming up on Christmas. Now, for those of you who don't understand why I like Christmas so much, all I can say is that you've obviously never had the opportunity to go Christmas caroling with my family. And for those of you who have had that opportunity, all I can say is I'm sorry. And ask you to please re-think the restraining order.
Tempering my enjoyment of the time of year, though, is the fact that I'm away from my family. Not far away, or even away for a super-duper long time. Just far away enough to make me realize how sad I would be if I were farther from them. And how happy I would be to be closer to them. And how much the same I would be if I were exactly the same distance from them as I am right now.
Because Christmas is a time for family. For friends. For presents.
Ah, presents. The reason for the season. I mean, what says Christmas like a bunch of shrieking middle-aged yahoos* body-checking each other like members of the Federal Prison Hockey League** in order to save thirty dollars on an Xbox 360? What says Christmas like folks going to office parties where they will proceed to get completely blasted and act like shmucks in front of the people whose respect they depend on in order to function on a daily basis?
When did Christmas become more about Black Friday than about Silent Night? When did Christmas become more a day to grab-grab-grab than a day to give-give-give?
Of course, there are obvious culprits. People or entities*** who have become easy scapegoats to blame for the commercialization and denigration of "the most wonderful time of the year." Like Walmart, or the "liberal media," or Selena Gomez.
But it's not Walmart's fault. And it's not the fault of the "liberal media." It's probably at least somewhat the fault of Selena Gomez, but that conspiracy is so deep that I dare not speak more of it, for fear that hordes of Disney Channel Security Minions will appear at my door to drag me away and bury me next to Walt's cryogenically frozen head.
So whose fault is it (other than Selena Gomez's)?
Simple: it's Santa's fault.
I mean, think of it: we teach our children to wait with baited breath for a giggling fat guy who sneaks into people's houses while they sleep and rearranges stuff. Don't get me started on the fact that he clearly suffers from some kind of weird reverse discrimination ("You must be 'this' short to work here"), and that he ranks up there with the cruelest of all pet owners ("Yes? ASPCA? Is it a problem if I force my animals to drag my way-heavy toosh to several billion locations on a single night?").
Excited for Santa? This sounds like the kind of person we should teach them to call 911 about.
But worst of all is the simple fact that Santa teaches us to wait for presents to come. The first Christmas wasn't about people waiting for a guy with a thing for fur-lined crushed velvet outfits to come along and drop things underneath a tree we killed for the occasion.
The first Christmas was about a group of shepherds, who left their livelihoods behind to take a trip that would improve their lives.
The first Christmas was about a small family making do in a horrible situation, and somehow finding a way to make it all work.
The first Christmas was about a boy who left his father's home and went to a strange and hostile place where he would be taunted, tortured, and eventually killed... and did it on the off chance that he could make the people there better.
Christmas isn't about Santa. It isn't about presents. It isn't about waiting for the gifts to come. It is and always has been about going out and finding what needs doing, and doing it. About finding beauty, and elevating it. About giving of our selves instead of our stuff.
Christmas is my favorite time of the year. Because it reminds me how far I have to go. But leaves a star behind to light the way.
* Not to be confused with "Yahoo!" Please don't sue me, internet giant!
** I would totally watch those games.
*** Entities is a funny word. It makes me think of an alien making love to a Sasquatch. Because that's the way my mind rolls.
March 26, 2015
Thoughts on a Suicide
I saw a man kill himself last night.
No, this is not a joke, and no, I will not provide details other than that it was incredibly tragic. And it led me to a thought or two.
Many of you know that I suffer from major depressive disorder. There are days where I just want to end it all, where I wonder why God put me on this earth and what possible good I can do for anyone. It's a terrible disease, and one that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.
And yet, at the same time... I sometimes think it is a gift. Because I have learned to live without hope, and sometimes that is a great ability. Only people with suicidal tendencies can truly understand hope, I think, because it is the promise of hope - not hope itself, that's much too much to ask for when you're looking at a rafter and wondering if it will hold your weight - that gets you through the darkness. The IDEA that one day things may improve. The lie that you whisper that, "One day this will change. One day this will get better. One day I'll be... happy."
And of course, it isn't a lie. Things do change. Things do get better. Happiness is found if you go through enough doors and walk enough miles. You just have to go through some dark patches along the way.
So people who believe that hopelessness is their reality... we can lie to ourselves. We have a disease that keeps us from believing anything good will ever happen, but more often than not we keep on going. Why? Because we hope for hope. We don't set our sights high, we hope not for feasts but for the scraps that fall from the table.
And that is enough. It has to be. Because if you can sustain yourself long enough on those scraps... again... things change. Things get better. Things become GOOD.
That's a large part of why I write horror: because it's a genre that allows me to explore the utmost terror... in order to find the greatest grace. Stories that permit me to continue lying to myself. "It'll be better. It'll change. I'll be happy." Because even in the horror, even in the darkness... there is light.
There is goodness.
There is hope.
I don't know why the man did what he did last night.
My prayers go out to him and to his family and loved ones.
If you hurt. If you are ill. If you look at the rafters and think which one will support your weight... Hold on. Keep lying to yourself. Keep telling yourself that if you just keep moving forward, things WILL change, things WILL get better, you WILL be happy.
Because, as this storyteller will tell you, sometimes the greatest truths can be found when we tell ourselves wonderful lies. Of hope.
God bless. Hug your families. Be good to each other. Never hurt yourselves.
Hope.
No, this is not a joke, and no, I will not provide details other than that it was incredibly tragic. And it led me to a thought or two.
Many of you know that I suffer from major depressive disorder. There are days where I just want to end it all, where I wonder why God put me on this earth and what possible good I can do for anyone. It's a terrible disease, and one that I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy.
And yet, at the same time... I sometimes think it is a gift. Because I have learned to live without hope, and sometimes that is a great ability. Only people with suicidal tendencies can truly understand hope, I think, because it is the promise of hope - not hope itself, that's much too much to ask for when you're looking at a rafter and wondering if it will hold your weight - that gets you through the darkness. The IDEA that one day things may improve. The lie that you whisper that, "One day this will change. One day this will get better. One day I'll be... happy."
And of course, it isn't a lie. Things do change. Things do get better. Happiness is found if you go through enough doors and walk enough miles. You just have to go through some dark patches along the way.
So people who believe that hopelessness is their reality... we can lie to ourselves. We have a disease that keeps us from believing anything good will ever happen, but more often than not we keep on going. Why? Because we hope for hope. We don't set our sights high, we hope not for feasts but for the scraps that fall from the table.
And that is enough. It has to be. Because if you can sustain yourself long enough on those scraps... again... things change. Things get better. Things become GOOD.
That's a large part of why I write horror: because it's a genre that allows me to explore the utmost terror... in order to find the greatest grace. Stories that permit me to continue lying to myself. "It'll be better. It'll change. I'll be happy." Because even in the horror, even in the darkness... there is light.
There is goodness.
There is hope.
I don't know why the man did what he did last night.
My prayers go out to him and to his family and loved ones.
If you hurt. If you are ill. If you look at the rafters and think which one will support your weight... Hold on. Keep lying to yourself. Keep telling yourself that if you just keep moving forward, things WILL change, things WILL get better, you WILL be happy.
Because, as this storyteller will tell you, sometimes the greatest truths can be found when we tell ourselves wonderful lies. Of hope.
God bless. Hug your families. Be good to each other. Never hurt yourselves.
Hope.
