Notes on Synthesis

I frequently joke about writing thinly veiled fanfiction. It's kind of a funny thing to say about creative influences when you wear them on your sleeve. Until it isn't, of course, because now apparently everything is fanfiction according to Twitter, but I digress. To me, discussing your influences is part of the process of being an artist in public. We're all borrowing, stealing, transforming, remixing. Whatever you want to call it. Nothing is new and everything is a copy of a copy of a copy. That isn't bad, of course. That's how we learn to write as children, you know? Copying blocks of text on a page until the handwriting becomes our own. Then we make it into something else that is totally unique to us, while still retaining the necessary utility.

The communication of thoughts and ideas.

Whenever I have a few moments alone with my thoughts these days, which I don't recommend, I contemplate how I'm engaging with my influences and inspirations. I'm not writing fanfiction, after all. These are my stories, turning these ideas into my copies of copies. My synthesis. Loosely paraphrasing the Oxford Dictionary, synthesis is the combination of disparate ideas to form a new, unified concept. Taking in something and turning it into something else. 

This is important to me and something I worry about a lot, because I don't simply want to regurgitate. Input converted to output. Your story in, my story out. Like converting oxygen into carbon dioxide.

And it does cause me to worry because…I feel like I see a lot of regurgitation these days. Or discussions about creativity and art framed as regurgitation. You see the story, you put the story into your brain, and a new story comes out in a smooth process. The story beats and character archetypes are the same, just with some of the aesthetics and surface details changed out. X but if Y. X but really, really Y, actually. Skinner box stories where everything's the same yet different, but mostly the same. 

A copy of a copy of a copy.

A story that intimates but does not incorporate.

This is not to say that there's nothing new or interesting going on, because there very much is. But homogeneity is rampant in a way that makes me nervous. It's the way that I say "I don't just want to write the Queer Version of X" or "I don't want to write a story that doesn't say anything ," and someone chimes in to console me with a tittering "Oh, but it's okay if you did." 

"It's all fanfic anyway." 

"You don't have to try, just have fun."

But didn't I just say I wasn't okay with that? Didn't I just say that I want to do more? To tell stories I'm proud of? That I want to try? Because I want to offer heterogenous stories. To tell stories that are very much me, Magen Cubed, not simply someone else's story in my voice.

But therein lies the question: what is a Magen Cubed book?

What is the function of a Magen Cubed book? What is it saying? What is it doing?

What interests me as a writer? As an audience member? What am I drawn to ? Why am I interested in it? What elements am I taking from another person's work? How am I expanding on them? What am I adding? Subtracting? What about this is now mine, disassembled and reassembled at the atomic level?

If I don't have answers to those questions, then I don't have a story. I have input converted to output. A fun idea that may or may not eventually turn into something tangible, but is nothing worth pursuing right now. Right now, it's just someone else's story, because it isn't mine yet.

And I think about that a lot these days, because I'm balancing two different projects with vastly different sources of inspiration. On one side, The Southern Gothic Series, on the other, my novella serial A Coffin For Sparrows. 

Southern Gothic is a queer urban fantasy paranormal romantic dramedy about a pair of incredibly charming (and not at all bright) monster-hunting best friends-turned-lovers, a vampire and a human respectively. Together, they navigate the margins of monster society and try to make it work in a strange and bloody world. It sprouted from a specific confluence of ideas and aesthetics in 2017, the core of which include but are not solely limited to:

• Neon Genesis Evangelion (TV Series) 

• Supernatural (TV Series)

• Hannibal (TV Series)

• Preacher (TV Series/Comic Book Series)

• Legion (TV Series)

• Umbrella Academy (Comic Book Series)

• Being Human US (TV Series)

• Leather and Lace, Stevie Nicks & Don Henley (Song)

• Hunter x Hunter (TV Series)

• Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator (Game)

• Near Dark (Film)

• Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust (Film)

Meanwhile, A Coffin For Sparrows comes from a different aesthetic lineage. It's a second world fantasy set in an alternate history 1990s about the doomed marriage of an assassin and a spy. Their globe-trotting, ill-conceived love affair produces a child they probably shouldn't have had but dearly love, whose entire existence threatens the status quo of their respective social orders. It's a story of falling in love, falling apart, and learning how to be the people they lost along the way. The series was born out of my brain in this year of our Lord, 2022, with a lineage primarily consists of the following:

• JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Diamond is Unbreakable (Manga/TV Series)

• JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Golden Wind (Manga/TV Series)

• JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Stone Ocean  (Manga/TV Series)

• Paradise Again, Swedish House Mafia (Album)

• Return of the Mack, Mark Morrison (Song)

• Leon: The Professional (Film)

• The Handmaiden (Film)

• Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro (Novel)

• Durarara!! (Television Series)

• Old Boy (Film)

• John Wick 1 &2 (Films)

• The Rhythm of the Night, Corona (Song)

When you read those lists, it doesn't make sense, right? I know that it doesn't. These are the puzzle pieces all laid out on the table. So, then what about these stories shaped my stories? What did I take from them? What did they say to me? How do the pieces fit together to create a unified new whole?

Here is what makes up Southern Gothic:

• Neon Genesis Evangelion: The relationship dynamic between Shinji Ikari and Kaworu Nagisa and themes of overcoming one's lack of self-worth to accept the love of others

• Supernatural: The character aesthetics of and relationship dynamic between Dean Winchester and Castiel

• Hannibal: Procedural investigation narratives and monstrous deer imagery

• Preacher: Mood, world-building, settings

• Legion: Visual aesthetics, musicality, characterization, dialogue

• Umbrella Academy: Pacing, tone

• Being Human US: Complex personal and domestic relationships among monsters and humans

• Leather and Lace, Stevie Nicks & Don Henley: The negotiation between seemingly opposing values or attributes as the framework for a romantic relationship

• Hunter x Hunter: The framework of a hunting class and culture intersecting with other social elements

• Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator: The character aesthetics of Robert Small and Damien Bloodmarch

• Near Dark: The framework for rural, transient, and impoverished vampires

• Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust: The framework for a monster hunting society, the opposition between humans and monsters, and the interpersonal dynamics between humans and vampires

And here is what will make up A Coffin For Sparrows when everything is said and done: 

• JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Diamond is Unbreakable: The familial dynamics between Josuke Higashikata and Jotaro Kujo, the friendship dynamics between the larger cast, the complexities of absent fathers and the mentor figures that appear to fill the void they leave behind

• JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Golden Wind: Setting, character designs, the frameworks presented for organized crime and underworld politics

• JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Stone Ocean: The complex child/parent relationship dynamic between Jolyne Cujoh and Jotaro Kujo, themes of familial loss, grief, and regret, themes of children wanting to know their parents and coming to understand the reasoning for their parents' mistakes through shared intergenerational hardship

• Paradise Again, Swedish House Mafia: Themes of Heaven/Christian faith/spiritual redemption, time, going/coming home, loss, second chances at romantic relationships

• Return of the Mack, Mark Morrison: Fashion aesthetics, themes of betrayal, grief, and resurgence in the face of abandonment

• Leon: The Professional: Setting, tone, aesthetics, themes of violent men stepping in as caretakers for young girls (I am very aware of the context of the production and the director’s original intent, but this is very much not something I was aware of upon my earlier viewings of the film.)

• The Handmaiden: The use of vignettes, alternating perspectives, non-linear narrative progression, tone, the desperate and frenetic presentation of the romantic and erotic elements

• Durarara!!: The use of multiple points of view in a slowly unfolding, intersecting narrative, the blending of different genre elements and tones (crime, supernatural, slice of life)

• Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro: The framework of a subaltern class created by the state and the complexities of growing up inside of a system of seemingly benevolent caretakers to serve a specific, life-terminating purpose from which there is no escape

• Old Boy: Aesthetics, tone, pacing, the presentation of violence and criminality.

• John Wick 1 & 2: Aesthetics, tone, pacing, themes of returning to the spiritual underworld after ascending to the mortal plane of common life

• The Rhythm of the Night, Corona: Aesthetics, vibes, pure vibes, absolute '90s club vibes

So, all of that said, have I succeeded in synthesizing these strange elements? Have I managed to step beyond rip-off or homage to create something new? The answer is...I don't know. It's an ongoing process. I'm doing art in public, trying to create something meaningful out of a thousand different ideas tugging me in every direction. I can tell you that I'm probably the only person you know who is writing a book about spies and assassins inspired by JoJo's Bizarre Adventure and The Handmaiden that uses Never Let Me Go as the basis for a spy program.

Because, at the end of the day, I like to think that what I took from those stories was personal. They said something to me that only I heard. What I took from them to put in my own work was personal, too, because only I know how they made me feel.

Copies of copies, with fingerprints smeared on the edges to tell you that I was there.

Notes on Unforgetting

So, as I'm sure long-time readers know at this point, I put out a bit of personal writing this year. In May, I published the first of two essays about my relationship with the Evangelion franchise, called Made with Human Hands: The Rebuild of Evangelion. In August, I published the second piece, a massive undertaking about Neon Genesis Evangelion called Stories, Like Houses, Grow. Naturally, I've been doing a lot of self-reflection and pondering how I engage with art and media from my youth today.

Which means I've been thinking about Star Trek, of course.

(Bear with me, I promise this is going to circle back around and make sense.)

I really like Star Trek. Well, Star Trek: The Original Series. When I was little, The Next Generation was broadcasting weekly so I knew that type of Trek. Then Deep Space Nine, Voyager, and eventually Enterprise. I used to watch these shows, but I always preferred the movies from the 1980s starring the original cast. When I was a tween, episodes of The Original Series were broadcasted daily in blocks on syndication. That was how I fell in love with the campy outfits, corny plots, and cheap set pieces. It was all gogo boots and winged eyeliner, dogs in bad costumes and fake mustaches. This is the only Trek for me, until the Nu Trek of JJ Abrams in 2009, which gave my love of all things Kirk, Spock, and McCoy a shot in the arm.

Then eventually, just as it did in the 1960s and again in the 1980s, Trek moved on. There are new shows now, like Discovery, Lower Decks, and Strange New Worlds. I don't care about these shows, because I don't care about the current flavor of Trek. My Trek is old and clunky, with rough edges and plenty of cheese but a good heart holding it all together like tape. This isn't to say that there's nothing interesting about the new shows, and the shows that were on when I was a kid. But they don't just interest someone whose preferred flavor of Trek expired in 1969. 

It seems that every week or so, I see people talking online about the current iterations of Trek. It prompts me to think about how odd it is that I'm so disconnected from it. I've tweeted something to that effect once or twice, because it feels necessary to do every so often. And then I see other people tweet something to that effect. And so on, and so on.

And then it occurs to me how strange that impulse is.

Franchises, remakes, reboots, reimaginings, remasterings and rereleases have always been a part of my understanding of media. These aren't new ideas. As we so often whine about on the internet, it seems to be quite the moment for media that promise more of the same. I don't think that's inherently an evil thing, regardless of what my crankier tweets might indicate. The nature of corporate media, who owns what, who gets their say, what gets made, whose salaries get slashed, and what gets axed for the tax write-off complicates the matter a fair bit, of course. But, from the position of the person on the street, we are flooded in big name IP and franchise media, and there's only blue on the horizon.

To me, that's getting a bit strange to think about, because…I don't actually have strong feelings either way about most franchises or their perpetuation into infinity. The Matrix was resurrected? Ghostbusters again? Even more Star Wars? Another game from my childhood remastered for the Nintendo Switch? Avengers spin-offs? Batmen? It's hard to say that I don't care because I don't even really notice. But then there's more Star Trek, and there's backlash to more Star Trek, and then there's backlash to the backlash.

It's always…right there these days. Before, I had to seek it out. It took a bit of effort to procure and engage with Star Trek. Now, I just open up Twitter. Someone is talking about how terrible or progressive or regressive or disappointing or uplifting it is. I don't care, because it isn't for me, but it worms its way into my brain. It makes me reevaluate my relationship to Star Trek. As we know, it's very important to tell everyone about our complicated relationships to media. Especially the media we watched as children. It's very important to keep relitigating all the media we ever consumed.  Because I definitely have a complicated relationship to Star Trek, and you need to know about it.

You know.

For posterity. Or something. Or to prove we did the work and put the thought into it? I guess? Honestly, I don't really know. 

That said, well, I mean. I just published nearly twenty thousand words on Neon Genesis Evangelion and the Rebuild of Evangelion films for essentially that exact reason. To discuss my complicated relationship to all things Eva. I've worked on these pieces for a year, since I first watched the American streaming premiere of Evangelion 3.0+1.0: Thrice Upon a Time. Watching the film triggered a completely random domino effect that led to me spending the last year uncorking and processing traumatic memories of my childhood and teens -- the turbulent years I spent with Evangelion -- that I had buried.

That was genuine. 

Everything I wrote in those essays was true, for better and for worse.

But Star Trek? It's just…nice. It's fun. I like it. I had a great time with it. It's a series that meant a lot to me, but didn't leave a scar. That's fine. This is my simple, uncomplicated relationship to Star Trek. 

But it's always there now, the same way Evangelion seems to be everywhere these days. Digging into my connection with Evangelion wouldn't have happened if I hadn't seen the last movie, in a decade-long process of rebooting Evangelion for the purpose of funding Studio Khara with the profits and properly paying animators. That was Hideaki Anno's stated goal, after all. To turn Eva into content, and so content it has become.

I can't let go of Evangelion, even as I understand the commercial reasons for its enduring place in the world around me. And yet I feel like I'm being coerced into creating a relationship that isn't there with other stories. If not out of FOMO, then the ubiquitous cultural push. 

Was it easier to let stories go before the digital age? Maybe? Probably? If not the generations before me, at the risk of rhapsodizing the past, then at least for myself. I feel like I could let things go more readily -- not dismiss them, but to sit with stories, get what I'm going to get, then just…pass through them, if that makes sense. Collect the things that mattered to me and let everything else fall away. It made things feel more special, like they belonged to me and not the sea of chatter and discourse.

Perhaps that's what gets to me, at the end of the day. Star Trek: The Original Series exists. No amount of franchise installments will burn the prints or wipe their contents from my memory. But what I do feel about it just feels cheap now, the way our loves and likes are weaponized to keep us watching and buying and arguing online. I don't like that. I don't know what to do about it, but I don't like the idea that I can be swayed so easily by text on a screen.

I want to enjoy art authentically, not because an algorithm told me it's time to reevaluate the way it makes me feel. And that's the rub with this stuff. What does an authentic emotional response mean when there's a buck to be made off of it? Content to produce and streaming subscriptions to sell?

I wish I knew for sure.

Guess I'll go watch robot cartoons instead.

Amendment: I accidentally credited Mark Morrison as Mark Robinson in the first version of this post. I don't know how because I read this three times before posting, but there you go.