Star Wars: The Force Awakens – Counterpoint to the idea that Rey is a Mary-Sue.

(Contains Spoilers)

Since the announcement of Star Wars Episode VII some people have been decrying the movie as a piece of social justice propaganda. The two lead characters are a woman and a black man, Heaven forbid.

The movie came out to receive a generally positive reception but one argument that I continue to see is that the character of Rey, played by Daisy Ridley, is a Mary-Sue. Mary-Sue is a character trope that shows an idealized fictional character, a young or low-rank person who saves the day through unrealistic abilities, a woman who is good at everything and everyone important likes.

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New Gaming Site

Hey all, just a quick update to let you know that all of my game related content will now be posted at http://www.gamerwolves.wordpress.com. If you have read and enjoyed any of my posts about video games then check out the new site. I’ve just released my review of Fallout 4 so check it out: https://gamerwolves.wordpress.com/2015/11/23/review-fallout-4/

Thanks.

Price Reduction

Hey guys. I am really struggling to get any sales for my book so I have decided to lower the price across all mediums. Paperbacks bought through my site are now only £5 with free P&P, physical audiobooks are now £15 and ebooks on Amazon and elsewhere is down to just £1.50.

For 350 pages or 14 hours of audio content, you can’t complain at those prices. I am actually losing money on them but I need some sales. You could say that I am cutting my own throat to bring you these prices.

Thanks.

Wonderland Blues

Just like Alice had to awaken from Wonderland

So too do we find ourselves torn from the pleasant fantasy

Of our dearest conventions.

We the weirdos and oddballs who find no peace in life

Who are beaten down and left alone in a sea of reality

Come together to indulge in the make-believe worlds

And form bonds of family that none outside can grasp.

For days we have laughed, loved and lived,

We have belonged.

The music and the voices and the costumes filled our souls

And we donned the masks of heroes and madmen

To patch the holes in our own personalities,

To set aside our own deficiencies and become something more.

The alcohol flowed and we sang together,

Dancing to the tunes of our youth with tears in our eyes

And friends surrounding us in the warm embrace of acceptance.

Our time came.

But,

Now our time has gone.

The halls where we cheered and laughed have closed their doors

They stand empty and grow smaller as we are drawn away from our Wonderland,

By the incessant call of life.

Now the costumes have gone, as have the beautiful bubbles of bliss

That we formed around ourselves to ward away the coldness of the outside world.

We shiver as we remember.

Back we return to being the outcasts.

Back to the judgement of those who do not understand.

Back to the jobs that drain our spirit

And to the all too normal streets.

We will catch glimpses for a while,

People in the corner of our eyes who spark hope.

We turn expecting No Face but instead it is a burkha clad mother.

A flash of colour and strangeness is a man in a sports uniform

And a funny hat and strange clothes is a jacked-up hipster.

Our colours seem to drain as our memories fade.

Another year to persevere,

Another year

Another year,

My dear, dear friends

Another year to keep ourselves alive to once more live again,

A year until these dying embers can once more rise like a phoenix

And blaze in all the colours of our perfect world.

Words of Fate: Of Quills and Swords. (Issue 1)

City walls of pale stone stood proudly on the horizon ahead. Around it rougher stone structures clung together in a hodge-podge of designs and materials like a cancer. Farmland covered the ground between the settlement and a lone hilltop many miles from it where a young man stood taking in the sight of the legendary city. Dense forests made a ring around it all.

It was early in the morning and the young man hoped to be within those walls come nightfall. He wiped an arm across his face to remove a trickle of sweat and grimaced at the smell that rose from his sleeve. He had been travelling by foot for over two weeks now without a single change of clothes. Washes had been few and far between and the summer’s heat had been like the innards of an oven for the entire time.

“If I intend to rejoin society today then I’d best make myself presentable. I smell worse than the old man’s attempt at cooking,” he said to himself.

Humming lightly, he made his way down the hill and veered toward a small stream that he had spotted from his vantage point. He found an area that was out of the way of the working men that dotted the surroundings and stripped off. The water was refreshingly cool but the man wasted no time with relaxing. He scrubbed himself clean then applied a flowery scented lotion from a bottle to himself until his entire body smelt faintly of roses.

He left the water then waited until the heat had dried him. The filthy clothes that he had worn were shoved into his pack and a fresh outfit of clean, well made wool was carefully donned. The clothes marked him above a peasant but they were still cheap and basic by any nobleman’s standard. He needed a shave but the slight beard and slightly too long brown hair did not detract from his handsomeness, simply adding a charming ruggedness to his already pleasant appearance. He would not be thrown out of any respectable establishment and that was all that the man needed.
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Drunk in the Amber Moonlight

I sit here in the amber darkness, pleasantly drunk on fruity toxins that tug on my thoughts like children on their mother’s skirts. Two decades and more have not immunised me of that harsh orange glow that outlines my midnight world.

I stare from my window, my portal from comfort to the outside world. All that I am rests at my back while nature’s shaded husk greets me through the glass. There are no stars, only an indistinct blur of civilisation that consumes the heavens like oil on water. What was once fields, woods and marshes now stand in regimented rows of brick and plastic watched over by tall guardians of fluorescent light. Darkness is but a ghoulish shade of our minds.

Before me, blocking my view and blinding my jaded eyes like God upon Mount Sinai stands one such guardian. It fills my mind and my world with amber imaginings even through closed curtains and eyelids. All that it truly protects is my insomnia. My insanity. This beacon of society surveying my sovereign kingdom, as foreign as the square sun that rises in my dreams, as familiar as the eyes that have looked upon it their every damned day.