JJ Litke

the neural pathways less traveled

Bookmark bits and pieces

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I finally bought a bookmark. I’m not sure I’ve ever paid actual money for one. But this hardcover I’m reading right now (The Emperor’s Blades) really seemed to warrant something nicer than just a scrap of paper. It turned out to be more difficult to find a nice bookmark than I would have thought. I ended up with this dragon one, just because it’s what I could get quickly. Hey, it has nice graphics. And it cost a whopping 49¢.

here there be dragons
Because tassel!

Since I’m a knitter, I could make a lovely bookmark. But I hate thick bookmarks that might press into the pages, and fine lace is too fussy and flimsy for the job. The same issue rules out the metal variety of bookmarks. It can’t be uncoated colored paper that might stain the pages. And all these picky criteria are why I end up using the folded receipt for the book itself. Besides, it’s a cool reminder of when I bought the book.

But there’s one better. The very best bookmark of all is an airline boarding pass.

boarding pass as a bookmark
Trip to Dallas. Okay, so that particular flight wasn’t to an exotic locale.

It didn’t take long of flipping through books to find one. Once I (or my husband) read a book on a flight, that boarding pass will probably live on in that book forever. Boarding passes are the ultimate bookmarks. They meet all the above rules, plus they add a sentimental interest. Any time I open that book again, I’ll remember that trip. Which, come to think of it, isn’t always a fun thing, but then it’s just a different kind of memory.

Still, I’m going to start keeping an eye out for fancy bookmarks that are actually functional. Or else I’ll have to start flying a lot more often.

Immortal characters and the people they know

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If someone lived long enough, they must have met some interesting historical figures, right? Famous names that anyone now would recognize. It just makes sense that it works that way, and it’s big fun to read those bits of alternative history in fiction. It’s even more fun to write them. Which is the only good reason to do it, because it’s definitely not realistic.

It really only makes sense if you don’t look too close or think too much about it. It turns out that many names we recognize as famous now were pretty far from that when they lived. In the novel Hounded, the first of the Iron Druid Chronicles, the main character–who has been around for 21 centuries–mentions knowing Van Gogh. But Van Gogh was virtually unknown during his life. He sold exactly one painting. Only later was his work noticed, and even later to become the widely-known name that he is. But okay, let’s say that his work became famous later because this long-lived character (strictly, he isn’t a true immortal) knew him, and somehow contrived that postmortem fame. So, there we go, still plausible. Though to be honest, I’m not sure that’s really how the author meant it (Kevin Hearne, if you’d like to correct me on this, I’d appreciate it).

So some examples could be explained away. Some others, not so much. The very worst demonstration of this I can think of is from the movie Hancock. Criticizing Hancock is like shooting fish in a barrel, there’s just so much to vilify there. But I’m talking about the bit right at the very end, when Jason Bateman quizzes Charlize Theron about various historical figures: Attila the Hun, Queen Elizabeth (without specifying which Queen Elizabeth, I’m assuming the dead one), and JFK. She personally knows EVERY PERSON WHO EVER EXISTED and she has opinions on all of them.

Now I know what you’re thinking: with everything that went wrong with Hancock, THAT is the thing you chose to pick at? Well, yeah, odds are good you didn’t even notice that particular flaw after the more glaring stuff that came before it, and the lame heart-moon thing after. Besides, it fits today’s subject.

I admit, that pieces of alternate history like this are really enjoyable when done well. In my own writing, I decided to go the other direction. My characters (like Hearne’s, they are not truly immortal) have spent centuries trying to remain hidden. While they’ve interacted and even interfered plenty, they aren’t given to hanging out at the top with big names. That, logically, would ruin anonymity. My fave depiction of this is a young man meeting someone who is more than seven centuries old (I know, that’s a little on the young side). He could ask about anything he wants. Coming back to their conversation later, they’re talking about football. It’s unfortunately realistic; I imagine that, on the spot, you’d quickly run out of questions, especially if you got a number of responses like, “No, I never met him,” or “I wasn’t there, I don’t know any more than a history text would.” Then the conversation would naturally turn to the sorts of things that any two people might talk about. (Though actually, I think someone who’s been in as high a number of wars and conflicts as that character might have a fascinating view of football, and I would totally jump at the chance to find out.)

All that said, I’d like to get some more historical figure references as I continue through the Iron Druid Chronicles. I’m holding out hope that Hearne will fall into the doing-it-right category.

Don’t call me a good girl

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When something sneaks into your awareness, you start seeing it everywhere. That’s happening to me with the good girl tag in pop songs. And every time I hear it, I hate it a little more.

It seems so innocent. It’s supposed to be a compliment, even. How could good be bad? Because it stratifies women into the Madonna-whore divide. The moment a woman slips from her pedestal, she ceases to be worthy of respect and becomes a filthy whore.

This is actually part of a broader problem in people’s black-and-white view. There are good people, and there are bad people. If you see yourself as good (as virtually everyone does) then the things you do are not bad, no matter how far beyond the bounds of standard behavior. This relates to the concept of bounded ethicality, when “good” people twist the definitions of ethics to justify their own wrongdoing. The really insidious thing about this mindset is how it blinds people from their own behavior–if I am a good person, then nothing I do is actually bad. Nothing.

The other side of this–circling all the way back to where I started–is the idea that if a person does something wrong, I can label them as bad. Now I can freely vilify them. They are bad, they don’t deserve respect. I can treat them however I want. It is, in fact, a just thing for good me to punish bad them.

No one believes they’re bad or evil. I’ve seen this in action over and over. Good students cheating. Good people taking advantage of friends. On a higher level, nations attacking preemptively out of a perceived need for self-preservation. It happens all the time, and it is us. There is no them. We are the ones who control morality by twisting our crimes into need. We are the ones who believe the ends justify the means.

Don’t call me a good girl. Right behind that is the implication that if I falter, even a little, you’re going to cast me in the role of bad. I’m not that simple or one-dimensional. And neither are you, no matter how much you desperately want to believe you are one of the good guys.

Four ways to discourage us from reading your review on Goodreads

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I have a pattern with reading reviews on Goodreads. A quick scan through the first ones up (which will conveniently be topped by reviews by anyone I’m friends with). The enthusiasm of those (or lack thereof) leads to whether I should check highest, lowest, or mid-range reviews. Just to get a well-rounded overview.

I don’t always read the full lengths of reviews. There’s got to be something there to entice me to click the More link and read the rest. But there are ways to guarantee that I’ll skip a review, and I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in this.

1. Copy the book blurb into the top of your review. Really? I already saw that. The odds that anyone skips the summary to go straight to reviews is approximately nil. You’re adding zero value with that. Maybe you follow the summary with brilliance, but I highly doubt it, and I won’t bother to find out.

2. Post a link to your review on your own blog. I know, you read somewhere that this is a clever way to drive traffic to your site! But you forgot that there’s a whole lot more reviews here. Why would we waste time going to another site to read only one? You just became Self-Promoter Guy, the person that others edge away from at parties because all you ever do is talk about yourself and try to sell. People hate that guy. Don’t be that guy.

3. Make your review book-length. Scroll, scroll, scroll, tl/dr. It’s lovely that you have so much to say. Learn to edit.

4. Add lots and lots of animated gifs to illustrate your points. I’ve seen added images done well a few times. Very few. I thought about demonstrating the point here, but just suffice it to say, it screams of TRYING!WAY!!TOO!!!HARD!!!!!

Well so what, you say, I don’t care if a few narrow-minded people won’t read my amazing and life-altering reviews. Liar! If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t bother to post a review. Part of the benefit here is potentially finding like-minded people to link up with. If you scare them away, you aren’t doing yourself any favors.

Admission: So far, I have a whopping one review that has any likes, and I suspect it’s more the political aspect of the book itself rather than any real skill on my part. But I do have a few ideas of what not to do—all the things that really annoy me in other reviews. It’s a handy guideline for all kinds of things.

A love of reading

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I got my love of reading from my parents. My mom still reads the entire newspaper every day—her systematic approach to it has always fascinated me. Our house was loaded with books and magazines: fiction, references, encyclopedias, and Time-Life series. We even had large bookshelves in the garage to catch the overflow. That was where my dad kept his collection of Edgar Rice Burroughs paperbacks.

Edgar Rice Burroughs books
Edgar Rice Burroughs paperbacks (and one hardcover, The Son of Tarzan)

Those books were special. My dad told me all about his interpretations of Burroughs’ style and themes. When my parents were downsizing, I asked for the Burroughs books, which I think both surprised and delighted my father.

The funny thing was that until recently, I never read them. In retrospect, I think I didn’t want to taint my dad’s stories about them with reality. I’ve finally dared to start into the Mars series. Now I wish I’d done this sooner so I could talk to my dad about them.

I wonder what Dad would think of my writing. I suspect he’d manage to throw me a curve of a brilliant idea that I’d never even considered. He’d probably also come up with something that would make me roll my eyes real hard. And then later I would realize he has a point, even if I didn’t entirely agree. That was one of the most infuriating things about him. You were NEVER going to win an argument with him, it just wasn’t possible.

Umgawa!
Umgawa!

The Hertzberg Collection and Museum in San Antonio—where the above photo was taken—has an original signed copy of A. A. Milne’s When We Were Very Young, another author that I associate with my dad. He said once that the trick to reading the Winnie the Pooh stories out loud is to do the characters’ voices. And like always, he was right about that, too.