The hardest thing to write is the first sentence of the first paragraph of the first chapter.
Today I think I’ve cracked it. Over 600 words, just like that. Admittedly, mostly tortured metaphor, but it gets the idea across.
you didn’t steal it from anyone neither made it look 99.9% similar to someone to get followers.
All my Tumblr URLs are original.
i hate that feeling when you actually really do want to be involved with all the fun stuff people are doing but you’re too utterly terrified to ask anyone if you can join in because you dont want to to impose or seem pushy
Seconded. Of the many whackadoo merchandising tie-ins associated with Catching Fire (Subway comes to mind), the CoverGirl campaign may be the worst. There were plenty of ways to create cosmetic tie-ins that didn’t fetishize poverty or so thoroughly embrace and sanitize the barbarity of the Capitol. (via lbardugo)
I mean, naturally, you have a book series that indicts American culture (specifically the military industrial complex, see also: the author was watching footage of US soldiers’ bodies coming home from Iraq to be buried when she thought of the idea) and excess at the expense of underlings, so OF COURSE when they make it into a movie, there’s going to be a painfully un-self-aware merch tie-in. I actually find the Subway ad campaign a bit more sinister: “Where the victors eat.” It’s a book about people who are going hungry needlessly and a fast-food sandwich chain is making money off of it, because obviously.
We - our culture - we are the Capitol. (You too, Canada and most of Europe and every other industrialized nation who emulates Westernness.) To me, the books weren’t about the trauma of hyperconsumption so much as they were a mirror in which we can look at ourselves and go, wow, we have poor kids fighting our wars as their only means of economic advancement for the amusement and financial gain of the upper upper class, and we have enough homes and food to feed and house everyone but we still have hunger and homelessness, and we have enough money in the government to fix that, but it has to go toward those wars we’re still fighting, OH SHIT, THE CAPITOL IS US.
Most of the people in the Capitol weren’t evil. They’re just complacent. Their lives are great and they don’t have to fight anyone for food, and they purposefully look away when confronted with the ugly reality of where their wealth comes from. The system of government works well enough for them so they go with it. Sound familiar? A makeup tie-in to a movie franchise is the least of our concerns.
Apparently it’s Thanksgiving in the United States, when families all over that third world pre-fascist country reunite, in a parody of the ideal TV-standard happy family, to be superficially thankful for their ancestors turning up and basically saying, “Nice country. We’ll take it!”; then gorging themselves on artificially inseminated, chemical-sodden and probably genetically modified food; and finally collapsing into various forms of acrimony and unsupressible hatred before fragmenting again.
Years ago, I landed a night fill job for a branch of the national red shed outfit, which was moving to new and improved premises. One of the items made by Chinese prison slaves and imported for the cost-conscious? Turkey platters.
This is New Zealand. I didn’t think the local Yank population was large enough. Oh, I know that there’ll be a few nostalgic for a country where you can’t walk down the street because a) there are no sidewalks, since true patriots drive everywhere, and b) you’ll be shot dead for looking like either a poor person, a homeless bum, or a criminal. We don’t get that many turkeys around here, do we?
Anyway, as I was stacking these overlarge ceramics on the shelf, I found myself spoonerising the name. And you know something? It works. Come Thanksgiving, out comes the turkey platter, loaded with deep fried or roast carcinogens on a meat base. Afterwards, the plurkey tatters are wrapped up and put in the fridge en route to their inevitable destination in the rubbish.
And there’s probably plenty of other uses for a plurkey tatter. They were a good size. You could assemble a cheese plate, for one; arrange a nice salad, that sort of thing. Or you could get drunk, finally express your frustration and rage, and break it over your family’s head. Now there’s versatility for you.
Maria Konnikova looks at the psychology of first-person shooter games, and why their appeal is unlikely to disappear any time soon: http://nyr.kr/If1pOF
[First]-person shooters can create a sense of community and solidarity that some people may be unable to find in their day-to-day lives—and a sense of effectiveness and control that may, in turn, spill over into non-virtual life.
Above: Call of Duty: Ghosts. Courtesy of Activision/Infinity Ward/AP.
My bolding, my pull quote.