The sky was set ablaze in crimson and violet, suspended in eternal twilight. Whether it was dawn or dusk was indeterminable, but Sierra decided it was as you saw it. This was life at the bottom of the Cronus 7 anomaly, stuck in a narrow lifeboat on an infinite, black sea. No beginning, no end and no escape.
I have loved The Rocketeer ever since I saw Joe Johnston’s underrated film adaptation for the first time at the Commack Multiplex. Imagine my surprise when I discovered it was based on a comic book and there was so much more for me to read.
Neil Gaiman’s belief on inspiration is to keep a notebook he refers to as a compost heap. “Everything you read, things that you write, things that you listen to, people you encounter, all go on the compost heap, and will rot down, and produce beautiful stories.” The following is some bits from my own compost heap.
2019 was full of some of the most stunningly creative and brilliant films I’ve seen. But the one I think that really got me was Little Women. It gets the Film-That-Made-My-Heart-Smile award.
After almost a year of scraping by, I had a maxed out credit card, student loans I couldn’t pay, rent I couldn’t afford, five dollars in my bank account, and a box of pasta to last me a week. I would buy expired food at the dollar store on the corner because it was half price, but even that had become too expensive. I sat on the floor of my bedroom, tracing the steps of every decision I’d made and wondered if I would be homeless in a week. I’d dug myself a financial grave. It was time to decide if I wanted to die in it or swallow my pride and ask for help.
Over the last fifteen to twenty years, the quality of storytelling in pop culture has noticeably diminished. While you can’t expect the mainstream to be anywhere close to Dickens, it’s not unfair to ask storytellers to raise the bar. Lately, it seems like they’ve been barely passing under the bar in the world’s worst game of limbo.
