“The world is more like a living creature than a machine, and so too are stories. In fact stories exist in a bewildering number of adaptations…some of them might even look a little like a fish.”
Some time ago, in a younger life that seems far, far away, I decided I wanted to write. I was going to write speculative fiction, like the sci-fi and fantasy books I’d spent so much of my younger life reading. I was going to be a PoC writing awesome speculative fiction that no one had seen before, away from the run-of-the mill elves, dwarves and what-not. And the very novelty of my work would gain accolades and applause.
Then I woke up.
A minor kerfuffle on race and representation was kicked up following last Sunday’s season finale of HBO’s Game of Thrones.
Another Sunday, and it’s the last episode of Game of Thrones for the season–wherein we see the aftermath of the Red Wedding, plots-a-plenty take place in Westeros, and in some far-off swarthy land, Daenerys does her “great white emancipator” thing.
And so he spoke, and so he spoke, that Lord of Castamere, But now the rains weep o’er his hall, with no one there to hear.–The Rains of Castamere
So last night, Game of Thrones happened… I know. I know. It’s hard to get up and deal with life this morning after that episode. People are gnashing their teeth. Walking around in a daze. Asking WTFu-Schnickens just happened!? You wanna know what just happened? George RR Martin just happened! That’s what! The old man giveth, and he taketh away! So c’mon, let’s talk about it already…before someone puts up one of those inappropriate “Hitler Reacts” memes. Oooh, too late.
