A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms and the Greatest Warrior Fallacy

A Knight of the Seven Kingdom, (AKSK) is HBO’s latest follow up on the blockbuster series Game of Thrones and House of Dragon. Chronologically, AKSK takes place in the 100-ish years between HoD and GoT. All three fantasy shows are based on books by author George R.R. Martin. While the latter two are epic in scope, cast, and plot, AKSK is close and achingly personal.

However, for all the hype, watching both GoT and HoD often felt like a job. Just as often, it was a painful job. Thankfully, AKSK is completely different.

*Spoiler Alert* You know the drill. Continue reading at your own risk.

The story of Dunk, (Peter Claffey) a squire-turned-knight looking to secure his place in a scary world and Egg, (Dexter Sol Ansell) a runaway prince who desperately wants to squire for a real knight, AKSK is television's best buddy-series in at least a decade. 

Egg trying to sort things out.

When Egg, (his Momma named him 'Aegon') asks Dunk if he is real knight, he's not asking for references and work history. To him a “real” knight is not a complete psychotic or a degenerate alcoholic. See, Egg has two brothers with the title but between them there isn’t one real knight. Or much of a decent human being.

Here’s the rub, Dunk (Ser Duncan) is a knight of questionable provenance. As in there are no witnesses to Dunk’s knighting. No one remembers his former lord. Oh, and he’s a bit, um, threadbare even by lordless-knight standards.

'bama: unsophisticated person of modest education/background.

Through a comedy of virtues, Dunk ends up on the wrong side of the ruling family. Namely, Prince Aerion Targaryan, (Finn Bennett) a grandson of the king. Aerion wants blood for Dunk’s offense, (punching and kicking him in the face). 

Prince Aerion, nowhere near as nice as he seems.

But as mighty and formidable as Aerion is, Dunk makes two of him. And this is perhaps George R.R. Martin’s greatest gift. He’s been around enough to know that the toughest tough guy seldom wants to mix it up with anyone big enough to pull a wagon and eat hay.

Most writers (new and otherwise) don’t get that memo. They are moved by the legend of Leonidas and his Spartans (each warrior worth a thousand), Richard the Lionheart–who led from the front against superior forces, the unstoppable Genghis Khan, and last but not least, Alexander the Great and (purportedly) undefeated.

In fiction we have Thor, Achilles, and Aragorn. They’re all fine characters but the trope isn’t. It’s dishonest and worse, it’s boring.

So, who does it right?

For context, this is a graduation ceremony.

Frank Herbert’s Sardaukar are the fiercest fighters in the known universe. They instill terror in anyone facing them—although mostly, they attack from behind/ambush. Then they meet the Fremen who bring the fight to them with a religious frenzy. 

Fought this duel after a sword-tip was removed from his arm.

In Richard Lester’s 1973 version of The Three Musketeers, Athos, (Oliver Reed) is the best swordsman of the group. But swords are swords and a watermill doesn’t care about reputation. Athos’ cloak gets snagged on a watermill and he takes a sword tip to the throat. 

Bonus points for D’Artagnan, who kills the deadly swordsman, Rochefort—with a broken sword. 

FIERCE

In the Netflix Original, Last Samurai Standing, (based on the manga by Shogo Imamura) Saga Kokushu, (Junichi Okada) is a renowned swordsman and samurai, (military leader in feudal Japan). His nom de guerre is “Kokushu, the man slayer.” Unfortunately, in19th century Japan the samurai class is fast approaching extinction. 

In flashback, we (and Kokushu) watch as artillery and rifle companies cut his army to pieces. As a result, Kokushu suffers from PTSD. The mere sound of a sword drawn immobilizes Kokushu as he descends into uncontrollable shakes. 

What’s the problem you ask? Just don’t fight. Well, as previously stated the times, they are a changing. The samurai in service to daimyo (petty nobles) have all been dismissed. The landed samurai, (like Kokushu) struggle to make ends meet. Oh, and a cholera epidemic is sweeping the island. Kokushu’s own child has died and his village is suffering. 

The only option is an organized series of duels. Really, more like brawls conducted under shadowy circumstances no one can really trust. Still, desperate samurai of all stations—even Kokushu—gather to slaughter each other for the promise of a life-saving fortune. 

Except Kokushu still cannot draw his sword, even to defend himself. Yeah, the “compelling,” like the conflict is baked in. Throw in a kid who looks/acts a lot like Kokushu’s late child and you have money in the bank. Which is why the series has already been renewed for a 2nd season by the notoriously fickle Netflix, (seriously, they are the deadliest swordsmen). 

Um, what does this have to do with that big 'bama and bald kid?

Dunk is barely qualified for the tournament he’s begs/barrows/steals his way into. Assaulting the king’s grandson was NOT part of the plan. On top of all that the little twit knows the law.

Aerion has been trained his whole life for single combat. He is the preeminent swordsman of his age. Dunk had to pawn his horse to buy armor. I’m not joking. 

Not as stupid as he looks.

But Aerion knows one thing for sure he does NOT want to fight that big ‘bama all by his onesies. He invokes a challenge of seven. Really the full explanation isn’t worth the typing. Basically, Dunk has to come up with six other schlubs to fight with him or he forfeits his right arm and right leg. 

Who wouldn't trust this guy? Um, just watch his hands.

Long-story-short, Dunk’s drinking buddy and maybe-friend, Lyonel gets a gang of reprobates together. Still, he’s still one man short. Then, as if delivered from the heavens, Prince Baelor Breakspear (Bertie Carvel) heir to the throne, Aerion’s uncle, and the best swordsman in the seven (nine, whatevs) kingdoms pledges to fight alongside Dunk.

 

Yay! Right? 

"Is that my blood? What the actual—" 

Obvs, nothing goes the way you expect. Otherwise, what story? Dunk cleans Aerion’s clock and makes him withdraw his challenge/charge/whatevs. Dunk keeps life and limb. Baelor…doesn’t fare as well. 

Which is the ultimate lesson. 

The ultimate swordsman's greatest adversary isn’t some other swordsman. It’s the time of day, the footing of the battlefield, the guy who showed up with an ax/spear/club instead of a sword. The man determined to take what fate/birth order denied him. Or, the guy who’s scared to his very marrow but harnesses his unbridled terror into the fight because he has something to fight for. 

Who wouldn't risk a right arm and leg for her?

Big hearted, narrow in focus, and earnest as first love, AKSK is an absolute joy to watch. I highly recommend it. Last Samurai Standing is grittier, meaner, and absolutely as captivating as AKSK. Do yourself a favor and check them both out. 

I own none of the images above. All are used for illustrative/educational purposes as covered by the Fair Use Doctrine.

Writing Like Marriage

 

Cute platitude, huh? But really the two are quite similar. Both require more commitment than anyone who hasn’t been married (or written a book) can imagine. Both require more work than is reasonably possible. Both can be more infuriating—and more rewarding—than just about anything else we will ever experience.

 

We begin our romance, our thriller, our cozy, with dreams and high hopes. Whether we start with a scene in our head or a complete beginning/middle/end idea, we can almost see the story stretch out before us. Maybe we have none of that, just an thought that we endeavor to flesh out in the writing.

 

A ceremony is not a book, a routine is

 

Like marriage, the bright-day’s promise that comes with inspiration gives way to the work necessary to shape it into a coherent story. That scene, dialogue, and/or plot is not a story. The outline is not a story.

 

It takes  months, (in my case years) to shape that inspiration into a cogent story with a minimum of plot/logic holes. The process takes attention and the aforementioned commitment. Neglect the work and the story will be weak. Or worse, it will never be finished.

 

If you neglect your spouse, your marriage will atrophy and probably die. Hyperbole? Nah. While divorce has declined from the “Me Generation” 1970s and 80s, 34-40% of all marriages still end in divorce.

 

Like failed (unfinished) books, failed marriages have myriad causes. Money (as in the lack thereof) and kids (usually the reason for the lack of money) rank at the top for both. You can probably name more causes than I can. The only one that really matters to me is people stop trying.

 

When we stop doing the work—a husband, a wife, a writer—when we stop showing up, we stop being a spouse, or a writer.

 

In an NPR profile of acclaimed short-story writer Thom Jones, the presenter stated, (and I paraphrase, badly) Thom would’ve liked to write novels but he had a family…bills to pay, a house to maintain, and bicycles to assemble for the kids.

 

Just as  marriages suffer in the day-to-day struggle of time-demands and tedium, just as love dies in stagnant habits, so does our written work.

 

But only if we allow it.

 

A nation of two becomes a nation of one

 

My wife is a two-time-breast-cancer survivor. That means for the last four-plus years, we have been united in a battle against the second-leading cause of death for women in America. 

Plans to remodel our house went on instant and indefinite hiatus. So did our individual goals. Gaye shelved plans for another degree. I haven’t done any meaningful fiction-writing in four years.

In the absence of family, I am her person. That’s my most important job. If I never publish a word as a result I consider it a fair trade. But “not right now,” doesn’t have to be “never.”

 

“Only when love and need are one…” Robert Frost, Two Tramps in Mud Time

 

As one of Frost’s most beloved poems suggests, work for pay is fine but when the work is both for need and for satisfaction is it meaningful. Which applies as much to marriage as it does to writing.

 

We have a basic division of labor. I handle the kitchen, bathrooms, and the laundry. My wife handles the floors, furniture, and dusting. And there is at least a dozen unlisted/unassigned chores that we fall into as an understanding of this is what we do.

 

The horrific diagnosis we received in 2022 refocused the purpose of the chores. I kept us fed but a steam-cleaning service will have to address my neglect of the grout. Further, I promise that there are spots in our house that have not been dusted since 2022. Nature is taking my garden back. And our yard ranks worst on our block.

 

Most importantly, in the course of our battle, we nearly lost each other. It happens. On my own blog site, I’ve written about cancer and relationship breakdowns.

 

Unwilling to accept losing what we have had for 20-plus years, we’re in therapy. We’re doing the work to move beyond survival-mode and back to our grand adventure. 

 

That’s what’s important: living. She’s alive and we both want to live the life we’ve built. For her that means resuming her academic pursuits. For me it means writing.

 

So, just as I’m doing the work to strengthen my marriage. I’m doing the work to re-establish my writing routine. Rather than an hour in the gym, I’ve whittled it down to 30 minutes. Likewise, my goof-off online time is on the chopping block.

Prioritizing therapy over TV/reading time is what our marriage needs. Prioritizing writing along side my other coping mechanisms is what I need. Mostly, I need crime fiction in my life to counter the absurdity of the "real" world.

So, I’m not giving up on my story or the dozen-others that pester me to “get down” on paper. Like the best part of marriage, the call to write is both love and need. 

I do not own the image above. It is used here for educational/illustrative purposes as covered by the Fair Use Doctrine.

Stick-Figures, Drawings, and Outlines

 

Pencils, pens, and paper have always been my favorite toys. I could (and did) take them everywhere I went. Not appropriate to roll Hot Wheels cars across the restaurant table? No Shogun Warrior robots allowed in class? No room for a Millennium Falcon on the tiny desk in my old man’s office behind the bar?

No problem, I’ll draw them.

But that’s not where I started. Like every other kid who puts pencil to paper to draw their favorite TV/movie/book character, I started with stick figures. My stick-cowboys had hats. The stick-horses had tails. The stick-spacemen had fishbowl helmets.

I forsworn drawing stick-spacewomen after getting into trouble for my first attempt. Different story, different time.

Stick-figure drawings were not simply rudimentary attempts at art, they were fast and allowed me to act out the story—to get to it.

Pantser

(noun)

A scribbler with NO idea what they are doing.

(see also: lost explorer)

I’m pretty sure that most writers start as pantsers for the same reason I drew stick-figures; to get to it. 

The writer seated at the keyboard/typewriter/notepad—flying by the seat of their pants, knocking the story out fast and free—is a compelling image. No notes, no outline, no doubts. Pansters love the freedom of writing in the direction inspiration carries them, listening to their characters and taking direction from, rather than direct them to, a plotted course, toward a plotline goal.

No plan. No outline. Just writer and medium and voilà! Completed book.

Except a lot of writers, (self-included) don’t knock the story out. Rather, most flame out at 20K or 30K words, unsure where to go next. My first efforts didn’t make 15K words.

Upside, just as stick-figures are starting points for 98% of cartoonists and comic-book artists, the failed draft is where writers begin. Just as the artist is the one who disciplines themself to study and practice and develop, the writer is the one who tries again after the failed draft.

Plotter

(noun)

A scribbler with everything they need, neatly organized, to avoid actually writing the story.

(see also: yeah, yeah, the iceberg just let me rearrange these deck chairs… )

What I learned from those failed books, (aside from which genre I should be writing) was that I needed a plan. It also helped that among the flashes of ideas I had for my codeine-addicted car thief was the opening and the ending.

My plan—calling it an outline would be delusional—was more a list of scenes I devised to get from A to B. A stick figure outline. Yet, as ~ahem~ slim as my plan was, it proved useful in ways I could never imagine.

As the meme above conveys, a lot (most?) new writers fall into the backstory trap. The plan allowed me to weigh scenes/turns as a sentence on a list. In more than one instance, I discarded a sentence on its face before committing hours to fleshing out a scene only to realize it didn’t work.

Most importantly, the plan kept me on point when work or school, (don’t ask) or cancer took me away from writing for weeks months. It gave me somewhere to begin and direction forward. I didn’t have to completely re-conceptualize my story. All I had to do was expand the next sentence into a scene.

And then the one after that and then the one after…

PLEASE NOTE: I’ve never had writer’s block. Work-for-pay drudgery, the lack of a just/humane world—the fothermucking evening news—all gives me MUCH to write about. However, I have been completely overwhelmed with doubt and indecision. Again, an outline can help with, “okay, this is the item on the list to write, so I’m writing this item on the list,” clarity.

All that said/typed, it is important to point out what an outline won’t do.

As much as NO amount of inspiration and good ideas will write your book, NO outline will write your book for you or even eliminate wrong turns or faulty logic, flat dialogue or flat characters.

Which brings us to the trap of outlines. First, the outline can become an end to itself. What does that look like?

Oh, I can’t start my book, my outline isn’t finished...

Until my outline is perfect, neither is my book...

My draft is a mess, I need to throw it out and start over…with a new outline...

The book is the objective. Outlines, spreadsheets, vision-boards, spears/magic helmets, are all tools or gimmicks. It either serves the objective or it might as well be cat videos because if it doesn’t serve the objective, it’s a distraction.

Plantser

(noun)

A scribbler who doesn’t know whether they’re coming or going—but knows she’s gonna get there.

(see also: “winging it” is part of the plan… )

Obviously, there’s no sure-fire method that works for every writer. I mean there is that whole writing thingy to contend with.

Find what works for you. Maybe you don’t have a day gig, kids, household responsibilities—or you have all of that but you also have supreme focus, discipline, and the fortitude to ignore stacks of dishes as well as the partner’s disdainful expression that comes with. And if the latter is the case, yay-you! Go balls-to-the-wall pantser. Knock out that book in 6 weeks. Revisions in another 2-3 weeks. Stephen King ain’t got sh—tuff on you.

If, like the rest of us—work, school (don’t ask) and family are necessary parts of your life—you need a plan.

The plan need not be iron-clad. It cannot be perfect. That’s the job of your novel. But it must exist or your book isn’t likely to. Ever.

Mostly, find your way. However you do it, just finish the damned book. We’re waiting over here to read it.

I own the image at the top. Who else would claim it? I own none of the other images. All are used for educational/illustrational purposes as covered by the Fair Use Act.

The Real World and Other Nonsense

 

When you see the script was written by the JV squad...

After a questionable shooting, Federal Marshal Raylan Givens, (Timothy Olyphant) is reassigned from Miami to his childhood home of Harlan County, Kentucky. Further questionable shootings—and some first-rate writing—ensue. 

The Missus and I came late to the FX series, Justified. Based on Elmore Leonard’s neo-western/crime fiction. As with the late-great author’s other work, Justified also addresses socio-economics, race, gender, and even generational poverty. The man made hard subjects easy to read. Sharp dialogue and wry humor helps the harder stuff along. 

And, mostly, the television series followed the model…for a while.

The early seasons benefited from proximity to the source material and from the maestro’s consultation. Unfortunately, the easy-reading stories and whip-crack smart dialogue in the early seasons are built on Leonard’s 50-plus-years of writing excellence. All of the above is gone by season four. Obviously, the television series writers found that it’s not as easy as it looks.

By season four, (premiered the year of Elmore Leonard’s death) the wear is showing. By season five, it was as if the show was written by poor relations. 

Season five, episode two, opens with Raylan, and fellow U.S. Marshal Rachel Brooks, (Erica Tazel) arresting a neo-confederate cretin who persists in making racist comments. The cretin refers to a black man as a “boy,”—in front of two black women—before perpetuating a food stereotype to demean his housekeeper. Oh, the cretin also implies that the black women, (the one who isn’t a U.S. Marshal) is there for a transactional relationship. 

“Once you’ve shown that the character carries a stick, you don’t have to beat the reader over the head with it.” -Eric Miles Williamson, author and educator

So what's wrong with depicting a bad guy as a racist? It makes them especially bad, right? Sure, to a point. Then it's simply repleting hurtful crap and exploiting it for cheap writing.

It’s no secret that Kentucky is full of neo-confederates, (the state declared neutral during the actual conflict). 

I know, I know, McConnell was too old to serve then, too.

Nor is it a secret that some men (white, mostly) will reduce relationships (typically with non-white partners) to quid-pro-quo transactions in compensation for…petty issues.

Food culture as racial epithets are the least clever of all insults. It's not "character accent," it's just backward, inbred, and outdated. 

Worse, when a black woman—perhaps the most maligned, denigrated demographic on earth—is relegated to a racist/misogynistic stereotype, it neither advances the story nor distinguishes the characters. It just hurts black women.

In the example cited from Justified S5 E2, Rachel, (also a black woman) does little more than shrug at the other woman’s mercenary apathy. 

No one expects (or wants) an ABC After School Special monologue. But tacit approval is still approval and it reeks of someone (with no skin in the game) churning out a story, fast and thoughtless.

Cruelty is not what Terry trained us for.

If not clear by this point, it’s not the writers’ job to hurt people who are already hurting. Fiction has a divine purpose. Well, several divine purposes. 

Purists argue that the primary purpose of fiction is to entertain. Others argue fiction is the ultimate way to tell a dangerous or at least unpalatable truth. Still others propose that thoughtful, well-written fiction can elevate the reader above their experiences and circumstances.

As a life-long reader (repeatedly elevated) with an innate love of superheroes and knights, rocketeers and badmen,  I have seen all the purposes fiction serves. Mostly, I believe that our stories, our words, serve the purpose that the reader needs most. 

And fiction works best when rooted in the reality that we all spring from. That shared, bitter root (hungry, lonely, scared, etc) builds the human connection between writer and reader. However, fiction cannot EVER become a slave to reality. Or propped up on reality like a crutch.

When I read my work for the first time to a crit group, I had high hopes. In a lean, ten-page chapter, I took my protagonist-thief from the end of a brutal slog, through a car theft, to a dangerous fence, (buys/sells stolen goods) and then, cash in hand, to food and shelter—all while still struggling with the effects of a horrific beating. I concluded and the group sat in silence, clearly not familiar with crime stories from that side of the game. 

Finally, the group-leader, a respected writer and writing coach spoke, “Once he’s safe and secure in the bed, he should take it out and play with it.”

It was my turn for stunned silence. I mean, obvs, the crit-dude had never been on the receiving end of physical abuse. Nor had he suffered the elements for more than the distance from the store to the car. The last thing you’re thinking about when you still feel the lost fight—three days later—is sex, of any variety.

My face must’ve told the story, because the crit-group-coach guy said, “People masturbate in real life.”

Uh, yeah...

People also pick their nose, evacuate their bowels, and scratch their nethers. One would hope not all at the same time but I digress. The thing is, if none of those actions advance the story or elevate the characters.

Most importantly, if those actions aren’t a central focus of the story, (I don’t judge) none of those actions belong in the story. 

Pretty much like the perpetuation of racist/misogynist stereotypes. Elmore Leonard’s work deserves better. More importantly, the view deserves better. 

I own none of the photos above. All are used for educational/illustrational purposes as covered by the Fair Use Doctrine.