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The Scribbler Has Feels..., a.k.a. Some Serious Allegiant Meta

So I was pleasantly surprised. It pays to go in with your expectations on the floor. I received a gorgeous gift story for Yuletide that explored Four post-Allegiant, and it convinced me to finally buy the book, which I read in a couple hours this morning (Friday). Allegiant redeemed Insurgent for me. It brought the world together, painfully perhaps, but well. As for plot holes, I found none large enough to drive a truck through, but then, I've been in comics fandoms where these issues are on a whole other level.

So here goes some meta, hitting point by point the issues I was worried about and the stuff that blew me away in this book. From the beginning, I went looking for spoilers because at the end of Insurgent, I felt there was logic fail, and I have little tolerance for that. Spoilers implied there would be plenty.

Evelyn

When we first met Evelyn in book two, several things were quickly established:

  • Evelyn loved Tobias.
  • As soon as she felt it safe, she reopened communication with him.
  • She felt betrayed by the factions specifically because of how they failed her in her personal relationships with Marcus and Tobias.
  • Every opportunity, she reached out to her son for reconciliation.
  • She was jealous of Tobias' affection and loyalty.

Which is my way of saying, Roth extensively established the background for Evelyn's choosing Tobias over the city. It was beyond believable.

Caleb

When I wrote up my Insurgent reactions, I noted then that I understood how he could get swept into Jeanine's mindset even though I hated him for it. The interactions between Tris and Caleb in Allegiant are spot-on. Caleb felt guilty and terrible but had been willing to sacrifice his family for what he truly believed was the greater good. I get that.

Because of that, the fallout here was perfect. Caleb did need redemption, but the suicide mission wouldn't have given it to him. It would have taken away the time he needed to do the actual hard work of redemption, as it says later in the book of Peter,

"change is difficult, and comes slowly, and that is the work of many days strung together in a long line until the origin of them is forgotten."

That's what Caleb needs and I'm glad Tris gave him the chance to get it. As soon as I read the scene where everyone looks at him and guilts him into "volunteering," all of my insides were screaming this isn't right, this isn't a choice. It's guilt, cold and hard and simple. Tris realized that and finally admitted it and remembered that she promised she wouldn't have walked him to his own execution. If she had allowed Caleb to go through with it, she would have done something horribly despicable and gone against every good part of her there was.

In short, I wasn't sure if the build-up would be well done or not. It was. I believed in the way things played out. It was necessary and not even a little bit. It was downright coldly necessary.

Speaking of...

The Death Scene

So someone remarked about how she fights off the death serum and gets taken down by a bullet. WTF?

Again, I get it. After Nita, there was no way on heaven or earth I would have believed there wasn't someone in there guarding. She would've gotten shot at point blank range in the Weapons Lab or outside of it after she deployed the memory serum. Guards just outside the door, remember? Okay, memory serum might have saved her, but I really wouldn't have believed in it. This was a suicide mission, flat-out. I wouldn't have believed in anyone's survival going into that.

It was beautifully done. I hate the result, but I believed in it. 'Nuff said.

Tobias

So there were also those that thought Four's characterization suffered. I didn't believe that going in and I'm further unimpressed by the sentiment coming out. When you're not reading the thoughts behind his actions, he is just as strong and uncertain and hurting and stoic as portrayed in book number one. When you are reading the thoughts in his head, ignore them for a moment and read what he does and says on the outside. Yep. Still Four.

You don't get abused for sixteen years without getting broken. You don't go through your fear landscape and cringe like a child from a horrific image of your father and have that feeling go away a few months later just because you're in the middle of a war. In short, just because we feel his fear doesn't mean we're not seeing the exact same thing we saw before: someone who is very afraid of what few things he's afraid of, so much he has no room for other fears, and ignores his fear when deciding to act.

I was reminded a lot of the first few scenes in Divergent where Tris looks at him and recognizes the instability in him, the mercurial impulse he often squelches. We see it in Allegiant, and I respect him no less.

The Factions

I always loved the idea of the factions, though obviously they didn't work out well in practice, but they seemed to improve the cities where they were implemented. Think about it. It was focus, something the Bureau had little of. The Faction system pushed GDs to focus on the virtue inherent in their tendencies instead of the weakness. They focused on the good that came from their genes and how to use that good to its best and fullest to better their society and lives. In short, factions maximized the benefit of their genetic tendencies and helped to minimize the side effects.

Genetic Damage—Oh and Peter

Peter was the perfect example of someone who was truly genetically damaged. If he had been born Dauntless, he would have had a chance. That was his aptitude, that was his genetics, and that showed when he took the memory serum.

Allegiant redeemed Peter for me because he described so well the difficulty of himself. He grew up in Candor, which promoted honest living, which would encourage him to do what he wanted to. But what he wanted to do was bad.

"I'm sick of doing bad things and liking it and then wondering what's wrong with me. I want it to be over. I want to start again."

That is genetic damage in a nutshell. He had genetic tendencies that he was not raised to suppress, but he also knew something was wrong with him. So yeah, I buy this world. I buy that there really was an issue which caused the Purity Wars, though it obviously got skewed toward the victors.

And then there's the cities. Do they make logical sense to me? Oddly, yes.

Genetic manipulation took time to "take" so to speak. Generations. So they inserted the corrected/restored DNA into those in the experiments and then had to wait out the generations until that manipulation "took." In the meantime, the struggles GDs went through weren't going to just go away in the waiting, so they gave them cities and then got all high and mighty and forgot it was people they were trying to help, not a faceless "problem."

So yeah, I get it. I get it.

Summary

The book was extraordinarily satisfying and I reread parts and almost bought the hardcover at King Soopers, but I really want all three in paperback. I don't care for hardcover, too bulky, but I adore paperbacks. So there's that.

It's the first book in a long time that made me want to write. It also finally cleared up why I couldn't seriously and deeply fanfic in this world. I apparently needed an entire arc. Now, I've got so many plot bunnies, I expect a monster if I don't keep my head on original fiction.

That's my summary. I can't say I loved the book, but I can say I enjoyed it and was satisfied by it and am very glad I finally read it.

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In Too Deep

This entry is part 7 of 8 in the series December Ramblings

So I finally did an interesting breakdown of "Dowse and Bleed," also known as the story from inferno—so-called because my protagonist drives me batty. She tells her story grudgingly in an interesting raw but very veiled way. Slowly, but surely, I am coming to realize that all those layers are simply part and package of her: she hides things away even from herself; it just makes for a really lousy way to write a story. I have to dig deep, finish laying myself out raw, then look back at the prettyness of it before digging deep again and clawing my way down to the mess of it. Because that's where the story is—the mess.

That said, my breakdown:

INTRODUCTION: 1482 words

  • Scene 1. 1007 words: Killinger calls Rachelle to ask for help.
  • Scene 2. 1475 words: Rachelle visits the scene with Killinger.

INVESTIGATION: 8482 words

  • Scene 3. 3130 words: Special Unit works on the case with the evidence they have.
  • Scene 4. 3005 words: Special Unit works with Manning on the case at the scene.
  • Scene 5. 2352 words: Special Unit determines what happened and develops a plan.

CRISIS: 1252 words

  • Scene 6. 408 words: Special Unit regroups before going in.
  • Scene 7. 844 words: Special Unit takes down Auspin and Rachelle goes down. Climax.

RESOLUTION: 1488 words

  • Scene 8. 1187 words: Rachelle deals with her injuries and separates from Special Unit.
  • Scene 9. 301 words: Justus takes Rachelle home where she deals with the fallout.

The story doesn't have a lot of surprise twists and it seems rather oddly shaped if I think in terms of arcs (which I usually don't, was just curious), but I found it an interesting exercise to poke into this story to figure out how it ticked and why adding another layer is giving me grief.

Then I figured it out from looking at that breakdown and realizing what Rachelle was doing. In this story, you see Rachelle and only because I pried herself out of the surface level and asked her body what was going on and asked her emotions why this assignment was her story, what did it mean to her. But I look at this and I see why she was just so weary and kept side-stepping particular thoughts, feelings, and flashbacks. In short, this snippet from the first scene summed up the problem:

The answering machine clicked on. "Rachelle Winslow. Leave a message."

Her birth name in her own voice jarred her. It wasn't her name.

Who in the world calls herself by a name she doesn't consider hers? Someone who doesn't want to look at the other side of herself, the part she does consider hers. She's disassociating and it shows. What this story doesn't show is the operative. And that's why it keeps leaving little odd threads hanging out that don't quite gel, don't come together, don't make sense. I was in too deep and couldn't see what she was refusing to see because she already knew it was there.

So yeah. Round three.

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Letter to My Former Self

This entry is part 6 of 8 in the series December Ramblings

So, thecatisacritic asked what would you as a writer tell you the writer of five or ten years ago? As an author's note to this, I probably wouldn't. Oddly enough. But put to, here goes:

Dear former self,

I know you always think of yourself as a writer, first and foremost, but I wanted to suggest to you that you start thinking of yourself as a human being. You'll never be able to un-engrain that deep writer-identity from your consciousness; you dug in too deep. Stop trying. God gave you a talent. Use it, hone it, focus it, but give up on trying to get rid of it.

It is important, no matter who tells you otherwise. There is nothing more powerful in this world than an idea except for love.

It's going to get worse. You're going to lose faith for a while, lose heart, forget everything you ever believed in and pretend you never believed in it in the first place—at least with your actions. You're going to go through a valley of hard times and testing, but stay strong. You're going to be okay. You've got a God who loves you even when you don't understand. You aren't a lost soul because you don't know how to find your way. You're a writer and you're His. Cling to that, and you'll be just fine.

Take it from someone who knows, 'kay?

Hugs (you'll need them),

the scribbler

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Five Things to Love, Love, Love about Colorado

This entry is part 4 of 8 in the series December Ramblings

Prompted by in_the_blue, for a change of pace:

  1. Christmas - Don't get me wrong: I take issue with harsh winters and icy roads I have to actually drive or be driven on, icy winds, and the deeply drifted snow. That is, I take issue with having to be out in it. But there's something about deep snow outside and wind wailing around the house when I'm inside and the white Christmas lights are glowing from greenery and Christmas carols fill the house and I'm sipping hot carob with the family. That is what I grew up loving, and that is still perfect.
  2. Dry Summers - There was nothing particularly pleasant about the forest fires that wracked our state, and that's not why I love it dry. It's the humidity. When we went down to San Antonio, I felt like I'd stepped into a swimming pool. That feeling lessened but didn't go away the week I was there. I felt like I'd shed pounds getting back home and the temperature swings didn't bother me as much.
  3. Sunshine - Except for Florida, Colorado gets the lion's share of America's sunshine and this is a very good thing. It's beautiful even when it's freezing outside—though technically I usually take umbrage if the sun tempts me out to my own cold misery.
  4. Swings - Frankly, I don't know that this is a Colorado thing, but I know it's not a New Mexico thing. Green parks with swings. I could swing forever.
  5. Family - My family is here. That makes it home.
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New Arrivals

This entry is part 4 of 8 in the series December Ramblings

Again, nothing prompted, so I picked my own topic to ramble on. :grins:

  • A Samsung Galaxy 3 Tablet in white - You want to see gleeful, shocked scribbler? This was it. I'm thrilled to my toe-tips. Now, I just need to buy a keyboard that can keep up with me, though I'm getting the hang of Polaris office.
  • The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. LeGuin - I have wanted to get my hands on this book for a long time, particularly because I love M.C.A. Hogarth's The Worth of a Shell, and the two get compared a lot relatively. So I have it now due to the Yuletide bookswap and I'm thrilled to my fingertips.
  • An actual pinch-hit I managed to snag for Yuletide the other day. I don't know what I was thinking, seeing as I still have to do my regular assignment, but I can't seem to keep the grin off my face.
  • The Splintered Gates storyworld - This was a total accident, I promise. It arrived after watching too much The Book of Daniel (love that movie) and everything I could get my hands on about the upcoming Divergent movie, then playing too much mentally with the space-version of Vardin. So I could dump the Vardin and keep the clans that arrived and their physiology and their societal structure and the things already interesting me about it and the new ways to combine characters, some old, mostly new, and yeah. This is scary. I have other work to finish first, you know?

What's new with you?

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Grateful For...

This entry is part 3 of 8 in the series December Ramblings

No one prompted for day three, so I just spontaneously decided to do some belated Thanksgiving ramblings.

I am thankful for the God who loves me, no matter how far I stray, whose love is bigger than my biggest sins, who wants me to be His even when I've wandered so far I think I'm lost forever.

I am grateful for my family and their unconditional love. I have been showered with love and blessings this season beyond what I can imagine I deserve. I have been blessed with enough to remove my most urgent debt, a new tablet, and more thanks and praise than I feel I have merited.

I am grateful for my friends in this writing community o' mine. For in_the_blue who is always there for me and always reading and always writing and always understanding. For thecatisacritic who keeps me writing and keeps me thinking and keeps me wanting to hug her all the time. For lithiumlaughter and arliddian and Rabia Gale who are always lovely and kind and write the kind of observations, reflections, and stories that make me want to linger a long, long time. For all of them who put up with my fits and starts and idiosyncracies and love me anyway.

I am thankful for breath in my lungs and sunshine on my face each morning. (I'm not kidding. It wakes me up through my makeshift curtains.)

I am thankful for Christmastime and holidays with family and hugs and feasts and cards that bring tears to your eyes and shoulders to cry on when you need to.

I am grateful in short that I am alive.

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The First Person

This entry is part 2 of 8 in the series December Ramblings

Because naturally, the first person in importance and existence is oneself.

So, prompted by in_the_blue: my thoughts on the first person point of view in fiction.

I have an odd relationship with these sorts of things. Fiction is fiction. It's all a device. It's all a way to convey a story and lock you, the reader, into the moment. Which is a fancy way of saying that I have no opinion on the point of view as a point of view and I often wonder why so many people get up in arms over this.

Divergent by Veronica Roth is in first person. We are told "I" and "we," etc., and that's the narrator/main character, Tris. But once the story gets going, as a reader, I am swept along and forget the point of view, the verb tense, and so forth because I'm lost in the story. When I read a third person point of view story, such as Emma by Jane Austen, the same thing happens. I forget how it's written and get caught up in what is going on. I forget half the words, except as they let me speed faster through the panorama in my mind. If I notice the framing for too long before getting sucked in, then there's a good chance you're doing it wrong. Equally half of my favorite books ever are in first person and the other half mostly in third. The book of poetry, naturally, doesn't count either way. :grins:

There is one thing that I'll admit is difficult to pull off as gracefully in first person—names. You're stuck with self-referential names and thus, Andrew and Natalie, the names of Tris's parents in Divergent, are only mentioned once each. I had to ransack the book to find them for fanficcing. Other than that, they are rightly referred to as Mom and Dad.

So there you have it, the bulk of my opinion on the first person. Though if you think about it, "the first shall be last..." and all that jazz.

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The Perfect Cup of Tea

This entry is part 1 of 8 in the series December Ramblings

So, thecatisacritic asked me to ramble to you all today about the perfect cup of tea.

The perfect cup of tea varies, of course. It depends on my mood. When I was growing up, my grandmother always had a tin full of various Celestial Seasonings flavors and we would boil water and try out a new flavor each time, sometimes go through more than one a night, and even less often, more than one per cup. My favorites growing up were my perennial yerba maté—we were doing Wisdom of the Ancients back then—and Roastaroma, which is essentially chicory tea. I still love chicory and now I use it in my own blends.

Yet and still, I buy those old flavors I loved so much over the years: the holiday teas, Bengal Spice, zinger teas, the new rooibos flavors. Sometimes, I just like the comfort.

Growing up, I often drank cold yerba maté from the fridge (we brewed up pots of it at a time), but after I left my insurance job due to tendonitis, my grandfather would bring me cups of steaming hot maté from time to time, and I was hooked. I'm often cold, so cold tea has completely lost its appeal for me. I'll buy bottled Guayaki if I'm out and about, but I always drink that at room temperature or heat it up. In short, the perfect cup of tea is piping hot and sipped for pleasure, warmth, and whatever additional benefits it may provide.

As mentioned, I make my own blends now. I drink supertea daily for health and it's my standing go-to: equal parts pau d'arco, stevia, thyme, and yerba maté. When I want to get warm and want to save my supertea, I tend towards peppermint chamomile, gingermint, chicory spice tea in various ratios, and rooibos with flavor of the day additions. And every once in a while, I still do pull out tea from the fridge and pour it in a cup to drink it cold—just not often. It's a granddaughter/grandfather thing, this hot tea stuff.

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