YA? Why Not?

The inimitable Ferrett Steinmetz, whose list of credits now includes a prestigious Nebula nomination, posted a link to a rather embarrassing New York Times piece that decried The Hunger Games as puerile trash.  Now, I agree with the columnist that The Hunger Games is worth about as much as a Thallid, but I fundamentally disagree with the contention that YA as a genre should be read only by, well, young adults.

This is a thallid, and no, it isn't worth anything.

Unlike the author of the New York Times piece, I've actually read most of the notable YA series, and the reason that Suzanne Collins' meal-ticket is bad is because it is sloppily written melodrama that has an infinitely superior contemporary work to compare to.

Tip of the Day #3

Quick note: For fans disappointed in the lack of longer form content, I hear you, and I have a few things in the works that I think you will really enjoy.  In the meantime, I will be posting another edition of The Road this week, and a writing article should appear on Sunday or Monday.


In the last TotD, I focused on your gameplan when it comes to selecting a deck and executing that plan when it comes time to game at a major tournament (or even FNM, for that matter).  One step I mostly left out was practice, and it's critical that you don't do the same.  Practice is important the way that having air to breathe is important.

If you're still alive then you appreciate what I'm saying.  One thing, I consider practice to be different from playesting.  You do practice while you playtest, but playtesting should also incorporate metagame considerations and developing strategies against specific decks.  When I practice, I'm generating sample hands and figuring out how the starting seven fits into my gameplan.  I even like to think out games in my head, visualizing the action and simulating cards drawn.  If you are thinking about how stupid that sounds, think about how you would imagine a game playing out with your deck.  You'd probably draw a pretty good hand, right?  And more than likely you'd be mise-ing like Budde in his prime, true?

Well, the reason this wish-fulfillment is useful is that it helps you recognize what the best hands for your deck are, which should lead to better mulligan decisions, and help you identify the optimal lines of play for your particular 75.

Speaking of mulligans...

Tip of the Day #2

One mistake that a lot of players make when they start transitioning to the semi-pro and pro-level is to give in to the fish-out-of-water feeling that accompanies sitting down at a Grand Prix for the first time.  Whether Round Four comes along and you find yourself matched up against a future Hall of Famer, or whether the first hand you draw for the tournament is six lands and a five-drop, whatever the situation, you have to clear your mind and, calm down, and focus on what you need to do.

Execute your gameplan.  Of course, that means you have to have a gameplan, so if you don't, well, chalk that up to mistake number two.  It is absolutely amazing how few people can articulate what it is that their deck is supposed to do.  As an example, let's look at what happens when someone picks up Red Deck Wins for a PTQ.

They might have a short answer to the question about their gameplan, something like, "My goal is to deal 20 damage as fast as possible with creatures and burn spells."  Even that limited plan is better than nothing, but if you really want to be playing the deck as well as it can be played, you should be able to explain to your friends and teammates that your plan is to

                  1) Apply early pressure with a combination of one and two drop creatures.
                  2) Control the board using direct damage and by economically trading for value in combat.
                  3) Use more powerful cards to craft an end-game involving a flurry of direct damage, or a massive  
                      swing with powered up creatures.

If it sounds like common sense, it is, and this tip isn't meant for you, but you would be surprised by how often this minor detail gets overlooked.  Mike Flores has written several articles about pre-visualization and the importance of your gameplan, and it never hurts to review the foundations that the rest of your game is built on.

Tip of the Day #1

Reid Duke's win at Grand Prix: Nashville was a wild ride for everyone but the eventual victor.  The new draft format has proven to be a tough nut to crack.  Wizards has been pushing card quality since Shards of Alara, and the new reality is that your drafts are going to play more and more like Constructed matches.  To that end, our first tip comes from Reid's interview with Rich Hagon.

Adjust for real life play by becoming more aware of your draft.  


Reid discussed the transition from online grinding to success at major tournaments, noting especially that the fact that MTGO tracks your picks and can even display your curve can make for awkward situations in live drafting.

Understanding the role that different options can play in your deck can be the difference between a 3-0 or 2-1 and a 1-2 performance.  Practice making the right decision in the moment, but don't fall into the trap of missing out on a curve-filling choice because you are attracted to the shiny rare or uncommon.

Silverchase Fox is probably worse than Smite the Monstrous, but if you've already filled your four-drop slot with Inquisitors, Mausoleum Guards, and Sentries, you might need the body.  Similarly, if your deck is comprised mostly of token generators, having the Fox might get you out of a sticky situation when you face down a surprise Curse of Death's Hold.

To re-iterate, Reid Duke credited his ability to adjust to memorizing the relevant cards in a given draft as one of the most important steps he took in becoming a more complete player.  You can do the same.

"Foiled Again": The Evolution of Comedy Writing

If you read Shakespeare with any regularity, well, you are exactly the type of person I expect enjoys this kind of website.  But more importantly, you're probably frequently struck by how different Shakespearean comedy seems from our own.  Except, of course, for the minor detail that somehow the guy who has managed to stay in print for four centuries included more dick jokes in his plays than appear on the front page of Cracked.  Still, the biggest difference in the comedy is how little of it there actually is.  Acting troupes are forced to fluff it up, using tone and pratfalls to get to the lowest number of jokes per page that a modern audience will accept.  What you think is a hilarious joke about horses just wasn't that funny to someone who actually had to brush lice and shovel hundreds of pounds of equine shit every day.

"You mean to tell me, I don't have to use my hands?"

Candide is a riotously funny book, but the entire thing consists of droll observations and, by at least one count, seven jokes that someone would politely smile at if you were to recite them at a cocktail party.  In fact, as you move closer and closer through history to the current century, you'll find that the jokes start piling up to the point where Saturday Night Live is comprised entirely of pithy one liners and fourth wall breaking giggles.  It's as if we can't enjoy comedy unless we never have a chance to stop laughing.

We stopped laughing about nine years ago.

A page from your sitcom spec script with only one or two jokes is going to be thrown in the trash like invitations to a party at Carrot Top's homeless shelter.  That is, unless you can find a way to throw in another pop culture reference or three that can be mined for laughs.

So why is that?  Novels are much, much longer now in 2012 than they were in 1912, despite what those hefty tomes on your English professor's bookshelf suggest.  Fifty thousand words was plenty a hundred years ago, but now consumers aren't satisfied unless they get at least 1,800 pages.  

Why do we tl;dr our comedy then?  Unfortunately, and I hope I haven't led you on like Tucker Max at a sorority party, I'm not a social psychologist and I have absolutely no evidence for any of the next five hundred words or so.  But I do have ideas.

*Our attention spans are short.  Really short.  Odds are that you have at least three browser tabs open right now.  Even as you read this, you are wondering if your significant other has gone to sleep so you can Facebook stalk your ex.

*We really hate coming down from a high.  If you pick up Les Miserables and sit down to read, you enter with the expectation that you are going to be depressed.  It's in the title.  When you watch a Michael Bay movie, you expect everything to be blowing up all of the time.

So when the talky-bits start, you fidget and look around to catch people playing Words with Friends at the theater.

With comedy, you expect to laugh.  We don't have "very special" episodes any more for the same reason no one gets a colonoscopy from a camera attached to a katana.  It isn't fun, and there is always the threat of rectal bleeding.

*People digest information faster.  Esprit d'escalier was a huge problem for earlier generations.  Now?  That average fifteen year old has at least five comebacks for any given situation thanks to her parents' Adam Sandler films.

She also has terrible taste in movies.

Whereas the Renaissance and medieval audience for comedy could reliably expected to walk out of the dirt, mud, and excrement soaked theatre laughing because they finally got the bit about the goat, modern audiences already knew the punchline before the pudgy friar finished talking.

*In fact, if you haven't noticed, the proliferation of "in-jokes" is exponential.  The rise of viral media and the omnipresence of pop culture virtually ensures that at least a majority of a show's audience knows exactly why it is funny to have the female lead eye a blue plastic cup warily in front of another women while glancing nervously at the camera.

*There are more jokes.  Blame twenty-first century irony for a lot of this, because self-referential humor exploded around the time that Family Guy was brought back from cancellation purgatory.  That isn't to say it didn't exist before, just that you can't buy a pack of smokes without running into nine terrible referential lines any more.

 "Wil-lem. Da-foe. Wil-lem. Da-foe." 

Moreover, it stands to reason that if something was funny to our ancestors, say, someone getting whacked in the head, that it might linger as humorous for most of us today.  Sure, a lot of the comedy from ancient Greece is as unintelligible as George Lucas' dialogue, but just about everyone knows to laugh when Oedipus finds out that he's been sleeping with his mom, right?

*Expectations have been raised.  I'm not bemoaning the death of subtlety in humor.  When I read Christopher Moore, I'm not sad because I think Vonnegut did it better.  In many cases, the trend has produced increasingly clever writers who are forced to work and demonstrate actual talent instead of a thin veneer of sarcasm.  But, more often than not, comedy is now a team effort.  Even the stand-ups, working the wasteland of the washed over nightclub scene, have teams and workshops in order to come up with enough material to fill a ninety minute special they'll probably never perform.

*Of course, some of it is just awful.  I can't stomach the thought of being forced to watch most of NBC's current line-up, and Fox has degenerated to the point that I couldn't find a use for it in the smallest room of my house.

*If you laughed at the last comment, you know why I miss sophisticated humor.  If you didn't, you probably don't know what all the fuss is about.  More than likely, Shakespeare would enjoy most of what we find on television and in the theater.  His ability to adapt to the changing taste of his audience is legen, wait for it.

"Dary.  He's going to say, 'Dary'."

But however much the Bard gets out of Barney, he would rue the day we ever cloned him every time he sees a new Happy Madison release.

Without saying a word, Katie turned and left the room.  She got in her car and drove to the teleportation pad.

Her last words before disappearing were: "I swear, I'll never disagree with an OT again."