Frozen: A Revised Review

(Disclaimer: this review contains spoilers.)

A long while back I wrote a critical review of Frozen.  Since then, I've talked to a lot of people about the opinions expressed in that review—my thoughts on “Let It Go”, for instance, or the pent-up potential of the characters' development.

All of this discussion led me to rewatch the movie, so that I could examine the plot and character a little more closely.  I was surprised how much more I liked it the second time—and so I decided to overhaul my review, clarifying the points that people often get wrong and modifying the parts where my opinion changed.

To start out with, what impressed me the most is the theme of Frozen.  In my first review, I noted the ideals: the idea that love is not just romantic, but is bigger and more powerful than that.  Seeing it again, the themes felt larger and more powerful.

Anna has “ice in her heart” that is “put there by her sister”—you can easily see the analogy to the figurative “ice” that comes about in sibling relationships.  Sometimes you get hurt by the people you love.

What's incredible is that Frozen implies that the way to get rid of that ice in your heart is to love all the more.  Anna's sacrifice melts her heart.  If you follow the analogy, the way to heal a relationship where you've been hurt is not to love the other person less, but to love them more.  It's remarkable is just how “Christian” that idea is, especially coming from a secular studio that often emphasizes romantic love and feel-good tropes.  It's “love your enemy” wrapped up in a Disney fairy tale.

I still hold that the first ten or fifteen minutes were the best of the movie.  (My favorite song of the movie is the one that opens the credits, followed by “Frozen Heart”.)  There's a huge amount of character development from there to the end of “Do You Want To Build A Snowman?”  In some ways, I wish the rest of the movie had followed the trend—especially the focus on Elsa, and the emotional punch that her isolation brought to the movie.

Yet the emotional punch only went as far as twenty minutes.  I was under the impression that the use of Elsa's gift could kill Anna, if Anna remembered.  When Elsa revealed her gift and nothing happened to Anna, a potentially explosive twist was erased. 

Then Elsa runs away and sings (as “Honest Trailers” puts it), the “YOLO song”, Let It Go.

(Disclaimer: this section is very long, because it is the most controversial, and I took a lot of time to explain my position.  Feel free to skim!)

My original perception of the song was that Elsa was abandoning her sister and her kingdom to live alone, a “Who cares about them, anyway?” mentality.  There are still some hints of that in the song, but in order to analyze it, I split it into two parts.  (One reason why this song has so many facets is that Elsa was originally conceived as a villain, and Let It Go was her villain song.)

Why split it up?  Well, I really don't mind one message of the song.  The first and second verse are mostly about her “letting go” of her failures and seeing what her powers can do when she unleashes her creative potential.  There are still some iffy parts, but it's not nearly as bad as my first assumption.

But the second half of the song, combined with certain phrases from the chorus, is where it strays into a gray zone.  The song shifts gears: it's no longer about letting her potential out, but more about letting go of everyone else.  (“I'm alone, but I'm alone and free,” she says later in the movie.)  Her solitude became less and less a sacrifice, and more and more an affirmation of “I don't need them.  I can be myself here, alone,” which is ultimately a destructive ideal. 

The first half of the song says, “Since I can't be with them, I might as well let it go.”  Her “kingdom of isolation” isn't self-imposed; she says it “looks like” she's the queen.  The second half says, “I'm going to let it go in spite of them all.”   Who needs them?  Slam the door!

Instead of accepting her isolation as a necessary evil, she accepts it as a necessary good.  “Let the storm rage on,” “you'll never see me cry,”  and “the perfect girl is gone”; she overcompensates for all those pent-up years by letting go of all of her fear and bitterness—towards her powers.  The cold never bothered her anyway. 

But she lets go of all of her responsibilities and, more importantly, her sister, and that's where the song goes wrong.  “I'm never going back – the past is in the past!”

This is fine—in the context of the story.  Later on, she finally realizes that this “freedom”, which is really isolation, hurts her just as much as her first isolation did. (“Nobody wants to be alone,” Anna says.)   But the problem is, the song has now become a phenomenon —so I'm wondering if people missed the point.  Elsa goes through two extremes: isolating her powers and being with others, or isolating herself and freeing her powers.  Both eventually harm her.

By the end of the movie, she learns that it's love that will make her really free.  That's how she controls her powers—and her isolation, of all sorts, ends.

Let It Go is the song that deals with Elsa's swing to the other extreme.  As such, it shouldn't be trumpeted as a great cry for independence and creativity.  Because it's not – or half the song isn't.  The rest of the song promotes a mentality prevalent in our culture: you don't need anyone.  Just be true to yourself.  And that's not what Frozen is saying.

(Okay.  Rant over.  Thanks for listening.)

This brings me to the three major contradictions of the movie.

First up.  Elsa sings that her fears that “once controlled her, can't get to me at all”.  Except in her next scene, she says, “There's so much fear.”  So which is right?  Either the movie contradicted itself, and the writers of Let It Go were in a hurry to make it a feel-good single, or Elsa contradicted herself.  (I'm leaning toward the latter.  As it turns out, isolation can't solve your fear – but “Perfect love casts out all fear”, which is exactly what happens later in the movie.  Another strike against Let It Go.)

Then, Anna exhibits a few symptoms of bitterness when she tells Elsa that she's been shut out for so long, an understandable and human reaction.  Those dissolve, however, and never surface again—which means that we lose some realism and character potential.

Finally, despite Disney's previous treatment of “true love”, Anna and Kristoff are romantically interested.  “Sure,” says Disney, “True love can't be forged in a day – but it might happen in two days, if you go on a snowy trek with an attractive fellow.” 

Plotwise, the story lacked a satisfying and even arc.  The pacing had problems.  After the first ten minutes, which were heavy in character development, Elsa's character came to a virtual standstill, and Anna accomplished almost nothing to do with the plot till she got herself stabbed with an icicle.  It definitely felt rushed, like the filmmakers hadn't marinated the story long enough. 

This is most clearly seen if you contrast the first and second halves of the movie.  The first half introduces the characters, and for the most part has good development and smooth dialogue.  The second half slacks off – once Anna finds her sister, the goal of the story becomes uncertain and the plot meanders. 

Then we have Kristoff's sudden fondness for Anna, culminating in breathing her name when he sees a random tornado thing over Arindel.  Because that line has never been done before.  To top it off, we have Hans, who recycles so many bad villain lines that he ought to be sued for plagiarism.

Combined, this creates a movie with some really good parts and some really sloppy parts.  The humor's great and the theme is surprisingly deep.  But unfortunately, the symptoms of rushed production are evident: character contradictions, irregular pacing, and cliché lines.  It had a lot of potential—but only some of it was used.  However, the philosophical shift that has taken place through Frozen is remarkable, and gives me hope for future Disney movies.

What do you think?  Did I hit closer to the mark this time?  I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Progress in Pictures

So yeah, six hundred words in a week isn't that great.  It's all six hundred words of blood and sweat, however.  Creating cultures isn't easy.

I did, however, finish this.

This is the "resource" I mentioned several posts ago to help writers to develop vibrant and real cultures.  It was pretty fun to make—now I'm not quite sure what to do with it.  Any ideas?  Put it in DropBox, maybe, and let you guys download it?

I'm open to suggestions!

Now—for some procrastination and, hopefully, some more culture development.

Worldbuilding and Revision

After three minutes of intense thought, I have come to the conclusion that my least favorite part of writing is the actual writing.

Believe it or not, I love revision.  I love getting knee deep in plot strands and character arcs.  I love brainstorming.  But when it comes down to the nitty-gritty work of actually writing down my ideas, well, things get hairy.  It's like slogging through mud.  Sometimes there are patches of sunlight, where the story shines out clearly and gloriously to the fog of my muddled mind.  Unfortunately, they are just patches; and after they fade I have to work through the mess that they leave behind.

That isn't to say that I dislike writing.  I love it.  It's just that I love it the least of all of the stages of writing a novel.

This soliloquy does have a point.  If writing is my least favorite part of writing, I must say that worldbuilding is my favorite part.  Histories and cultures and sweeping mountain ranges and far-off plains of green; worldbuilding is delicious.

Right now, my consuming project is to tidy up the world where my story was born.  Two years ago I wrote a 24,000 word history that dealt with the major turning points of this world.  This year I'm working on overhauling that and adding detail to the world that it became.

The point of all this is to create a richer and more detailed world for my novel, stuff that I can add into the revisions that are coming in the near future.

However, I'm getting a little carried away.  For instance, I have three main areas of worldbuilding that I'm working on: political geography, ethno-linguistic geography, and religious geography.  It's not nearly as complicated as it sounds—that just means that I'm working on governments, cultures, and religions.  Each of these has a map that I drew to illustrate my points.

The issue is, maps alone cannot hold all of the information I need to remember.  I've got political maneuverings in my head that are just two fiefs on the paper.

So I was like, "Hey, I know!  I'll create a document in which to store all this information!"

Four hours later, I had three thousand words, and, well, this.

And lest you think that those three thousand words are the whole of this treatise, let it be known that I have only finished the political section.  The cultural and religious sections have yet to be written.

After awhile I start getting snarky, and stuff like this starts to happen.  (Pardon the rough writing style.  I haven't edited this at all.)

So maybe my worldbuilding isn't exactly conducive to getting to my revisions really quickly.  But hey, it's a boatload of fun!

The Delicate Art of Sleep Deprivation

As the title says, my sleep schedule has been less than stellar of late.  Mostly I get eight hours where I can, despite being a homeschooled highschooler with no job to speak of.  Thus, I go to sleep sometime between ten in the evening and three in the morning, and I wake up sometime between seven in the morning and noon.

It's a long story, but life has been interesting.

My writing life is a different story.  (Get it?  Different story?  Eheheheh...uh, yeah.  Never mind.) I have been updating Reflecting the Mirror semi-regularly, however.  If you want a more consistent blog, feel free to drop on over there.  I write about anything from roosters to hand soap to theology.  (My personal favorite is a wistful ramble about afternoons.)

Besides that, the two main writing things I've been working on are tied together.

First, I'm working on Tornado C's world-building.  (Yes, I DID spend three months back in 2012 doing that...but you know how it is.  Writing the novel exposed some holes in my world that need to be filled before I do my revisions.  And also I just love working with story guts and all of the little details that make up a world.  I get knee-deep in history.)  I'd give you a scan of the fruit of my labors (a crisply penciled map) but unfortunately our printer throws fits.  You'll have to wait.

The other thing I'm working on is developing a resource for fantasy writers (and myself) for creating unique cultures.  Of course, since I never do things simply, I'm first creating a whole model of culture that will allow me to predict changes in culture when new factors are introduced.  If the result doesn't flop, it should work very well for creating colorful and unique cultures.

If it does turn out, then maybe I'll share some of it here!  Sound good?

One more thing.  I'm finished with all of my Will Vullerman revisions, so a chance to read the newly revised versions for free is coming up soon.  Keep your potatoes peeled!  (That's the correct phrase, right?)

Till next time, how are your writing endeavors coming along?  Read any good books lately? (I recently read Outcasts by Jill Williamson; before that, I read The Staff and the Sword series, which was the best fantasy series I've read in several years.)

See you soon!

Review: Frozen (2013)

(Disclaimer: in order to give a thorough analysis, this review contains spoilers. Normally I'd keep it spoiler-free, but this review is primarily directed towards people who have already seen Frozen. Also, it's been awhile since I've seen the movie; so forgive me if I get any details wrong.)

When I first saw Frozen, I knew very little about the plot. Three pieces of information had leaked through the social networks: one, that Olaf is apparently a cool name; two, that pretty much everybody loved Frozen; and three, that “Let It Go” was supposed to be the most incredible song in the history of ever.

As a result, I watched Frozen with almost no idea of what was going to happen.

Just like every movie, Frozen had its ups and downs. I'll leave off aesthetic details like animation style and song tunes and focus instead on theme and story.

First, the positives! Frozen marked a departure from some of the typical clichés of the “Disney” genre. The most obvious is that Disney finally refuted the idea that true love can be forged in a day. (For some reason, however, “Love Is An Open Door” remains a popular song, despite the fact that one of the singers ends up being a lying traitor and effectively nullifies the song's message.)

More importantly, the sort of love dealt with in the movie is, for once, not romantic. It is instead the story of sisterly love—a much more powerful and relevant theme in a culture that tends to neglect family relationships.

Other highlights of the movie included humor and originality. In terms of humor, Olaf had the monopoly. He had more good lines than anyone else in the movie, I think; my only disappointment is that he didn't melt at the end. (I'm one of those people who love bittersweet endings – don't hate me.)

One of my friends once told me, “Yeah, humor doesn't really get better as you get older—it just gets more vulgar.” Frozen illustrated this very well, especially when compared to shows for older audiences such as Sherlock. The banter was clean, without losing any of its potency.

Something Frozen also did well was creating a unique concept. I've told many people before, I love Frozen in concept. Elsa's ability and the danger she brings to her family as a result are perfect story-starters. Inadvertently causing everlasting winter but being unable to find a way to reverse it is another concept that is incredible fodder for a good story.

And yes, in terms of story, there was a huge amount of potential. The first ten or fifteen minutes were the best of the movie, as they provided a slew of character development, background, and emotion in a very condensed amount of time. Here is where Elsa received most of her development, and it made her (by far) the best character of the movie.

Here is a good place to transition into the drawbacks of Frozen. Yes, there was a lot of potential—but sadly, a lot of it was unused. The dilemma Elsa had was excellent—whether to maintain contact with her sister and risk hurting her again, or to refuse to see her in order to protect her.

Yet the emotional punch only went as far as twenty minutes. I was under the impression that the use of Elsa's gift could kill Anna, if Anna remembered. (Think Doctor Who and the Doctor-Donna.) When Elsa revealed her gift and nothing happened to Anna, I felt cheated of the story's tension. Before, the cost of revealing her gift was to kill Anna; now it was only the potential of hurting her, which was hardly as potent. Elsa's nobility in hiding herself from the world became, instead of a sacrifice, a self-imposed independence.

Which brings me to my next point: the contradictory nature of “Let It Go” and how it lessened my respect for Elsa. (In clarification: I have no qualms with it, musically.)

My reservations about the song could be summarized in one line: “The cold never bothered me anyway.” If the song had been about letting go of fear and hurt, then perhaps I would have liked it. But the bent of the song was not towards letting go of the negative things that her gift has given her. It was letting go of other people so that she could be by herself with her gift. It represented a rejection of her self-sacrifice, a rejection of her responsibility. (“No right, no wrong, no rules for me,” she says in the song.)

Her solitude became less and less a sacrifice, and more and more an affirmation of “I don't need them. I can be myself here, alone,” which is ultimately a destructive ideal.

That's what it says in the context of the story. But it seems like the writer half-wanted to relate the song to the story, and half-wanted to create a single all by itself. In context it is a negative song—but taken alone, it seems more like a positive cry for independence and the fearless use of her gift, which completely contradicts where Elsa's character is at that point in the movie. (The use of her gift in later scenes is anything but fearless.)

The end of the movie dealt with this fear well, and yet the song is still written and interpreted positively, rather than in the negative context. It's a contradiction that bothered me the whole movie.

This could have been solved fairly easily. If Elsa's choices, motivations, and the prices for her actions had been clearly defined, then there would be no contradiction, and the story would be stronger. Instead her character was static and the potential emotion that comes with self-sacrifice was wasted.

It's not the only contradiction, either. Anna, too, was contradictory at times. While her impulsiveness never changed, the way she related to her sister did. She exhibited bitterness at her sister's isolation, which is the natural, human reaction.

Yet she pursued her sister, sang a duet about not living in isolation—what happened to all those years where she never saw her sister? Did she harbor no lasting character change as a result? Her motivations were vague and confused.

The movie suffered from other issues. There was no real villain character until Anna was betrayed at the end—and from the first time the prince saw her, I knew that he was going to turn traitor. And the conversation that ensued when he did was so rife with clichés and wooden dialogue that it made me wince. Some of the songs also had problems with being bland and overused—and everyone saw that Anna and Christophe were “shipped” by the writers. (That is to say, they would be a couple by the end of the movie.)

Plotwise, the story lacked a satisfying and even arc. The pacing had problems. After the first ten minutes, which were heavy in character development, Elsa's character came to a virtual standstill, and Anna accomplished almost nothing to do with the plot till she got herself stabbed with an icicle.

You see, good stories rely on raising the stakes progressively higher to keep the tension high; for half the movie, the stakes remained the same. The tension only grew once the “ice” began to chill Anna's heart. Raising the stakes too slowly or too quickly either cause a movie to feel dragging or rushed. A good movie plot might progress by developing the plots and raising the stakes thus: two, four, six, eight, ten. It felt like Frozen went like this: one, two, seven, eight, ten.

In summary: Frozen had a lot of potential, and a lot of highlights. The theme was wonderful and sorely needed. But unfortunately, it was tainted by irregular pacing, some generic subplots, and sloppy character development. It was great in concept, poor in execution.

What do you think? What was your opinion on Frozen?

Getting a Little Too Familiar With Your Writing

They say familiarity breeds contempt. This may not be true of writing, but it is true that familiarity breeds all sorts of problems.

Yes, it can be a problem when you know your writing backwards and forwards. Being objective is the best way to make your revisions effective—it means you can honestly point out flaws and delete those dear little scenes that you love but really serve no use. But being too familiar with your work creates a bias, and that makes it hard for you to polish your prose.

This happens a lot in revisions. People like me tend to write their novels without looking back. But when it comes to revision, my methods require reading and rereading and rereading yet again. With all that reading, I practically memorize the important parts of my story. With The War Horn alone, I've completely rewritten the opening pages three or four times, in addition to rereading them dozens of times.

It's a problem. Your eyes get all glazed over, and your mind starts skipping ahead because you've read it all before. As a result, you miss out on a missing word here or there, or a structural problem, or a bad spot of passive voice.

Recently I had this problem with my Will Vullerman revisions. One story in particular has given me some trouble, and as a result I've reread it as many as ten times in the last two weeks, in addition to rewriting half a dozen key scenes.

Luckily, I'm coming back to the stories after nearly a year and a half of letting them sit on the shelf. Because of that, the first time I reread them, the stories were fresh. And since these are the final revisions, this familiarity isn't as much of a problem.

But when familiarity gets really bad, I suggest doing one of several things.

One, it's a good idea to leave your story on the shelf for a while. Don't use this as an excuse for procrastination, but also recognize your limits. Giving your story some space allows you to be fresh and critical when you do happen to pick it up again.

Never underestimate the power of a long hiatus. After taking a long break from Tornado C back in 2012 (long before completion) I reread the first six chapters several months later. Guess what? The story had a gravity and power that took me by surprise. It was actually good!

I'm currently taking the hiatus approach for my Tornado C revisions. I finished it last October and I haven't touched it since. I'm taking it slow; hopefully, come March, I'll pick it up again and revise it nonstop till August. (Being my biggest novel at 90,000 words, it seems appropriate to go slow and steady. There are few things worse than rushed revisions.)

Two, try printing it out or putting it on an e-reader. I did this for my Will Vullerman story; seeing it on my Kindle allowed me to see a lot of technical mistakes that I had overlooked on my computer screen.

Three, read it out loud and see what happens. You can read it to yourself or to somebody else, whatever works. You'll be surprised at how many mistakes and awkward phrases you'll find! Badly constructed sentences will jump out at you like the stroke of a red pen. (It's always awkward when this happens to you when you're reading it aloud—to a critique group. Oops!)

Fourth, send the story off to other people to read. Sure, that doesn't solve your own familiarity problem, but a great critique is worth a dozen of your own revisions. It'll allow you to revise your blind spots.

And, of course, there's always the possibility that you should stop revising altogether. Sometimes enough is enough. Your story will never be perfect, although perfection should always be your goal. Eventually you'll have to let it go and declare it finished.

Whatever happens, try your best to view your writing from the reader's point of view. That's the most important thing, in the end!

The Journal (My Letters to a Post-Apocalyptic Generation)

Here's a confession: I've always had trouble with journals.

Some people have trouble journaling because they don't have enough imagination; I have trouble because I have too much. Inevitably, in the course of detailing my everyday life, I get the notion that I'm narrating my quaint and historic story to a future generation. This future generation is nearly always post-apocalyptic, and since they don't know the slightest about their past, it is my solemn and noble duty to inform them, not only of my own life, but of every fact of relevance in today's world.

Then, someday my charred and yellowed journal shall be found, and the inhabitants of that future world will gather round in wonder as their history is unveiled before their eyes.

This gives my journals the weight of bored historian. My life is interesting; otherwise I wouldn't be living it. Things outside of my life, things that would be considered important to a post-apocalyptic generation, are the things that I find boring—and those are the things I find myself writing down.

I've gone through this process many times. The weight of mankind's history always brings my pen to an awful stillness, and the journal is put on a secluded shelf or in a dusty drawer, and I never look at it again. School assignments have gone to this dreary death; even self-imposed journals bow beneath this weight.

My perspective changed a year back when I started a journal—not out of a sense of duty to a post-holocaust race, but because I felt I needed a way to keep track of when and where I did the significant things in my life. When I did that, I wrote down only the things that I found important or notable, and as a result, I was actually interested in what I was writing.

Even this journal fizzled out, however—even the weight of the everyday was too much. It took me a half hour or an hour to write down the events of the day, and soon the days began to pile up. I couldn't find the time for it all.

By that time I had resigned myself to an existence devoid of journals—I didn't have the time, energy, or responsibility to write consistently.

Come October, I went and had a birthday. I received two bound notebooks: one brown and black with yellowed pages, one gray and brown with white pages, and both with all sorts of useful information—in Chinese.

Now, in spite of all the complaints I have lodged against journals, I have nothing against notebooks. They are among the most wonderful things of the world, full of blank pages waiting to be filled with anything you like—with lined paper to guide you and covers that smell like fake leather and office stores. There are few things in the world as magical as an empty page and a pen.

I sat on my gift for several days. What might I do with these great and marvelous gifts? The trouble with the blank page is that it ought to be filled, and I didn't know what to fill it with.

I got rid of one notebook easily enough: I decided to consign my poetry to this yellow-bound wilderness. (It worked out quite well; nearly all the poems I write today are first written in the notebook with my favorite extra-bold gel pen.) The second one gave me more trouble. After a long while, I decided to give journaling another go—but with a twist.

You see, I have a page on my blog devoted to a list of my projects. I give the date on which they were started, the date on which they were finished, their current status, and so on. This page has never ceased to fascinate me, because time to my consciousness is like an alarm set for some early hour—it goes in one ear and out the other. Dates and figures never seem to stick in my head like they ought to.

This means that every time I visit that page, I get to rediscover all of my own writing statistics. June 2009, you say? Marvelous! If I had followed my gut, I would have felt sure that I wrote that particular piece three years back, give or take a year.

I decided to apply this principle to the concept of journals. What if I did a sort of auto-biography, where I kept all of my writing statistics in one place? I would compile all that I knew about the time, place, and circumstances under which I wrote my novels into one notebook, in the form of a mildly sarcastic narrative. (If you want to know, the writing style of my notebook is very similar to the writing style of this post.)

The idea took off. It required some research; to this day I can't recall if my mom bought OYAN in summer of '08 or '09, since all I can remember are snapshots of warm stone, the Wild West, and downtown Wichita all running together like hot molasses. Keeping all that information in one place was an excellent idea, because otherwise I'd forget it all. This way, I get to rediscover it once or twice a week, and enjoy how my extra bold ink looks on the crisp white paper.

I started out narrating my past successes and failures, with a humorous and objective eye. Twenty-five handwritten pages and dozens of heartwarming statistics later, I brought my notebook up to date, and I thought it good.

My notebook and my favorite pen.

To keep my notebook current, I established a custom. Every time I finished writing, I would write of my exploits in the notebook. Sometimes I just wrote the date and what I did, how many words I wrote, and so on; sometimes I talked at length about this or that character and my personal opinion on how the story is coming along.

And really, it's an invaluable resource. In the future, I will be able to find the exact date on which I finished a particular novel or short story, how many words I had written, how long it took me, and so on. It's miles better than forgetting everything or keeping it up on a blog page.

If you're cursed with perpetual absentmindedness, like I am, or you just wish to keep track of your work, I'd suggest you try it. At the very least, write down the dates and numbers in one place.  

And since it's the only method of journaling that's stuck with me, I think I'll keep it.

Top Ten Greatest Soundtrack Songs

Soundtracks are often important to writers. For many of us, songs with lyrics tend to be distracting; instrumental songs, on the other hand, have the ability to inspire us and shape our work.

There are a number of soundtracks that inspire me. And because I love analyzing things, I compiled a list of my favorites, numbered them, and wrote down why I loved them so much.

If anything, it's something fun to read; and perhaps you'll find some stunning new soundtracks you had never listened to before. I hope they inspire you the way they have inspired me. 

There are some songs that are not included in this list; first, because there are just so many good soundtracks; and second, because the main purpose of this list is not only to find awesome soundtracks, but moving ones. Accordingly, I have left out some awesome songs, such as “Battle” from Narnia, which was my number thirteen pick, and “He's a Pirate” from Pirates of the Caribbean, which was right behind.

The other disclaimer I have is that, unlike my list of favorite stories, this list is subject to much more fluctuation.  This list is true for the time being: I have no idea whether all of it will be true next month.

Now presenting...my Top Ten Greatest Soundtrack Songs!

10. “Song of Freedom” by Murray Gold

This one made it to number ten for a number of reasons. One of them is because it's a great piece of composing.

But what makes it really wonderful is the Doctor Who episode it comes from. I won't spoil anything, but it comes from one of the show's highest and happiest points. (My sister cried all the way through the scene.) In a way, it embodies the joy of that moment, and that is what makes it so beautiful.

9. “Rise” by Hans Zimmer

“Rise” is a track that starts out remixing some of the earlier themes from the soundtrack of The Dark Knight trilogy, including the main theme right off the bat. (Pun intended.)

Just after two minutes in, however, the track is catapulted from good to great. One of the things about great soundtracks is that they embody an ideal or emotion. That particular theme embodies Bruce Wayne's struggle for justice and his paradoxical relationship with fear. He “rises” above his fear and becomes it, one last time.

This “struggle” soundtrack fit well with the climax of Tornado C. I was sitting at the floor at the time, and wrote for an hour straight with this song on repeat—and not only did this soundtrack fuel my writing, it shaped it. The struggle of the song became the struggle of my character, and without this song I don't think the climax would have been half as good.

8. “Concerning Hobbits” by Howard Shore

“Peace, quiet, and good tilled earth.” “Concerning Hobbits” evokes this feel very well, and every time I watch The Lord of the Rings and come to this scene, it makes me feel wistful and nostalgic. “Concerning Hobbits” captures the wonderful simplicity of the Shire that Frodo left to save.

And it's just plain beautiful stuff, too.

7. “Day of the Doctor Theme” by Murray Gold

(Disclaimer: the soundtrack I posted above is not the exact soundtrack that I had in mind when I listed this song, but a variation of it.)

One of the trademarks of Doctor Who is dazzling twists, hints and strands of plot that eventually bear fruit later in the episodes. And that's what this song evokes: the final scenes where the last strand is unraveled and the Doctor triumphs.

This soundtrack also comes in my favorite part of Day of the Doctor, where the Doctor flies in to the Tower of London hanging from the bottom of the TARDIS. Ridiculously triumphant and confident, cocky and laughable. It captures the spirit of the Eleventh Doctor excellently.

6. “The Doctor's Theme” by Murray Gold

Eerie and haunting. Alien and otherworldly. This is the theme of the Tenth Doctor—heavy and lonely, but nevertheless hopeful and soaring.

It sends chills down my spine.

This is also my tribute to “Vale Decem”, which I didn't put on the list. It contains much of the same tune, but as the last song of the Tenth Doctor shortly before he regenerated. It's heartbreaking and sad—I don't listen to it so that I don't spoil the episode. That contributed, at last partially, to the placement of this song.

5. “This is Gallifrey” by Murray Gold

In “The Sound of Drums”, there is a scene in which the Doctor talks of his home planet, destroyed long ago. It's rich in nostalgia, haunting and bittersweet and poetic. This is the soundtrack of that scene, and it fits like a glove.

It is haunting. It is bittersweet. It is nostalgic. It's a unique song—no soundtrack that I know of has captured that same sort of soaring nostalgia. Sad and wonderful, a fitting song for Doctor Who.

A bit of a personal note here; I remember listening to it for the first time while driving through a massive windmill farm in western Kansas. The windmills, lonely and framed against the setting sun, seemed to fit the haunting tune perfectly.

4. “Strength of a Thousand Men” by Two Steps from Hell

There are a lot of excellent Two Steps from Hell songs, but this one is definitely my favorite. It's dark and deep and epic in the best sense of the word. Then it rises to a climax in the middle and simply flies from there, makes me shiver.

And like someone fighting with the strength of a thousand men, it does have a sort of intense and fierce quality about it that characterizes a desperate conflict where good beats all odds and prevails in the end. It's a feat of composing, that's for sure. My dream is to get someone to haul a large portable speaker along behind me and play this song whenever I do something awesome.

3. “The Greatest Story Never Told” by Murray Gold

There are a lot of Doctor Who soundtracks that could be called bittersweet, but this one can claim the description more than most. Indeed, this is a song that, perhaps, describes Doctor Who the best. Perhaps it is more sweet than bitter—the beginning is beautiful and soaring. Then it gets quieter and darker, with a mix of the “All the Strange, Strange Creatures” theme thrown in. Then it reaches back up into the heights with another soaring part, and then goes into the Tenth Doctor's theme. Then it flies one last time and goes out with a bang.

This song is perhaps more personal than all the rest. I put this on repeat when I wrote a short story called Dreamtreader. Besides Tornado C, Dreamtreader is a personal favorite of all the stories I've written, novels included. It's bittersweet and wonderful. I'm not sure if the story simply fit the song or if the song shaped the story; but either way, Dreamtreader and “The Greatest Story Never Told” are tied together.

2. “The Breaking of the Fellowship” by Howard Shore

My favorite part in all the Lord of the Rings trilogy is the scene at the end of the Fellowship of the Ring. Frodo decides to leave his companions and go out alone, but Sam finds him out and swims after him into the river. I've run out of adjectives to describe things, so pardon me if I say, one last time, that it's a beautiful scene.

And likewise, it's a beautiful soundtrack. It captures the emotion in a way that few songs do, and as the flute plays alone, I can almost hear them saying, “Don't you leave him, Samwise Gamgee. And I don't mean to.”

Besides The End of Time, no movie has ever come closer to making me cry, and the soundtrack never fails to move me. It's wonderful, it's touching, it's inspiring.

1. “Coming Back Around” by John Powell

Why this track, you might ask? Why is it number one?

Not necessarily because I love the movie (although I do) or that it's my favorite movie ever (it isn't). But judging the soundtrack on its own merits, it's positively incredible. John Powell has the ability to write a theme and manage to make it big and majestic without drowning out the other instruments. And my goodness, the drums!

And this one is marvelous. I've used the word soaring before, but I'll use it again: this soundtrack soars. It's almost made of the stuff. It's happy and sweeping and moving, and then it kicks into another gear entirely, leaving you nearly breathless at the end.

This soundtrack also, in some ways, represents the entire How To Train Your Dragon soundtrack. The whole thing is a work of art. (I'm particularly fond of “This is Berk”.)  Although I've not listened to the whole album yet, I'm getting it in a package in the next week or two.

--

Well, there you have it—some of my favorite soundtracks. What are some of your favorite instrumental songs? Any you think I missed that ought to be on this list?

I hope you enjoyed hearing a few new songs—and, perhaps, revisited a few old ones.

Some Select Poems from the Secret Notebook

I write in a special Chinese notebook; it's not special because it is Chinese (that's the only brand of notebook we could find that had any decency), but because it houses some of my most precious literary creations.

That is, my poetry.

I'm mainly a novelist, but I must admit that I'm partial to a good poem.  Depending on my mood, there are times where I'd rather write poetry than prose.  (There are also times where I'd rather write theology than either.)

The poems have been accumulating lately, and I really don't know what I ought to do with them.  But writing is meant to be shared, and it cannot be shared unless it is read, and it cannot be read unless it is published.

So I'll park my poems here to ease my mind.  Take them or leave them; but if you do happen to read them, let me know what you think.

--

Don't Forget to Remember

I stood at the edge of an old mountain ledge

And the western wind tugged at my heart;

The sunset was red with dusky orange spread

And I wondered if I should depart.

But standing still there I felt in the air

A heaviness like saying goodbye;

I closed my eyes tight and around me the night

Drew the stars gently into the sky.

You'll find me there, you'll find me there,

Between reality, and memory

Trying to be what I could see

In everywhere, you'll find me there

In trying to meet what I had met

I remembered...that I forget.

I lay on the ground listening to the sound

Of the wind whispering in the trees;

There I was, at the brink, of a vast sea of ink

And from that sky came a chill midnight breeze.

I dug my hand in the dirt as cold clung to my shirt

It was that night in late December;

As I heard distant cars, I swore to the stars

I would never forget to remember.

You'll find me there, you'll find me there,

Between reality, and memory

Trying to be what I could see

In everywhere, you'll find me there

In trying to meet what I had met

I remembered...that I forget.

It was a night in late December;

As I heard distant cars, I swore to the stars

I would never forget to remember.

--

Pine Needles

I ran to the basement
And opened the door
And felt the pavement
Through linoleum floor
I fell to my knees
And crawled to the back
Behind Christmas trees
My reflection stared back.

The mirror was wide
And covered the wall
But as I looked inside
I saw something small
There was reflected
In the crook of the tree
Something unexpected—
You were waving at me.

I jumped to my feet
And stepped through the glass
And fell to a seat
Of knitted bluegrass
I blinked several times
And I looked around
The air smelled like limes
And wet earthy ground.

I stood and found you
In a huge Christmas tree
Ornaments around you
Far bigger than me
The wind swept you from
Your lofty green perch
And made my cheeks numb
The air white like a birch.

The wind came and brought
Me into the sky
The pine needles fought
Around me and I
Sailed above a wood
Of conifer and ash
And saw what I could
Through the pine needle mash.

I flew through a cloud
And the pine needles cleared
The wind whistled loud
Through a snowy white beard
And dropped me right through
The misty cloud floor
To a mountain all blue
With legend and lore.

You waited for me where
The water, cold and meek
Is tucked between the air
And craggy mountain peak
I saw my reflection
And looked from side to side
What greeted my inspection
Was home, and I sighed.

I'll move the mirror to
My room, and gaze inside
To stop and think of you
And me, side by side.
And sometimes in the night,
I'll hear the quiet sound
Of pine needles in flight
And dreams all around.  

--

Glassy Glory

The ocean is blue and clear as a bell
The waves are rising and crashing pell-mell
I look out for rocks, and since none can I find
I pick up from the sand a tiny sea-shell
It sinks through the waves and pays me no mind.

The white foam sparks on the surface of the sea
And floats and swirls on the waves around me
The high tide throws waves up over the shore
To empty in a lagoon the color of tea
And disturbs the crabs on the pond's sandy floor.

The underwater rocks are slick with slime
The submerged plants are covered in grime
I stand on the rock, look out at the banks
The sea's glassy glory as endless as time;
Life is too wonderful not to give thanks.

--  

Daydream Sails

When the music soars in your ears
And the lyrics rise in your heart
When you're tired and ready for sleeping
But your mind won't let you start;

When the sea breeze like fog surrounds you
And the moon's face is veiled by clouds
When the ocean's call gives you grounds to
Take leave of the world's empty crowds;

When your heavy thoughts disturb the night
And your gaze moves beyond this world
When your weary eyes close and sight
The white sails of daydream unfurled;

Sail the moon across the star-strewn sky
Find me there, in almost-waking
Let the clouds go wandering by
While the stars are magic-making;

For there is a half-asleep realm
Far-flung across the briny blue
There, in the shade of a silver elm
I will close my eyes and wait for you.

--

Homesick

Familiar dirt roads push me up on rocky arms

To touch the sky, to taste the wind with a taste like freedom

I spread my arms out like a cross—and open

My eyes to a rusty fan stirring the humid air

And the hanging white of my mosquito net. I sigh—

Look about me, at dust and dirty tile. I love

This place, dirt and all, but not like my home. My home

Stirs my heart like the Kansas wind in the pine needles

The arms of the bent old soldiers keeping vigil.

I love it. I miss it. My heart hurts for it.

The still small voice whispers, Was it worth this?

Yes, I say—if not in my heart, in my mind.

Would you do it again? Yes, with both heart and mind.

Will I follow still further? Yes, a million times yes,

Till my strength gives out, with my heart and soul and mind.

But I can't help but return, it still hurts. It was

Worth every illness and trial to follow—but it still aches.

The still small voice is quiet, and then I hear it like

The distant waves on a nearby shore, carried on the winds

Of my home; I know, my child. I hurt with you.

And I remain silent, and let the sea breeze carry me to

My bed, and my heart is satisfied. It is enough.

The Great Writer's Dilemma: What Route Shall I Take?

So maybe I could say that I'm busy, but the fact that nobody outside of Facebook knows that I finished NaNoWriMo is my fault. Sorry, folks. Have a screenshot:

And okay, I'll admit it: every year, I promise myself that I won't flag after NaNoWriMo, and every year, I succumb to post-NaNoWriMo laziness.

So as of right now, I still haven't finished The King of Three, although I'm five to ten thousand words away from completion. But victory is near, and with the last week of school coming up, my schedule will be freed to finally wrap up the novel. All going well, I should have it done before January at the latest.

With the completion of The King of Three also comes the completion of the series as a whole. And Tornado C is finished, too. Having those two novels off my back will allow me to start on new projects, which is a huge amount of fun.

But here's the problem...I don't know where to start.

Right now, I have somewhere between five and six incubating ideas ranging from sci-fi to time travel to epic fantasy. And since my self-imposed rule is to never do more than one major project at a time, this means that I have to choose. Choosing is awful.

So, with that in mind, I'm going to lay out some of my ideas and have you choose—or, rather, advise me on what to choose.

Route #1: Publish ALL the stories!

Well, not really. But this is the more publishing-heavy idea of the three that I'm outlining here.

If I chose this route, my schedule would look like this:

As soon as I finish the King of Three, I return to my long-neglected Will Vullerman stories, revise the three remaining ones, polish all five, get them some spiffy covers, and publish them on Kindle for $0.99 each, and $2.99 collectively.

Then, after I finish that, I'll write the sequel to The War Horn, tentatively titled “The King's Coffin”. I'll probably take a break after finishing to fiddle with some other stories, but after a while I'll revise it like crazy and send it to pre-readers to critique. After that, I'll format, get a cover, and publish it on Kindle for $2.99.

Since that work will take up quite a bit of the year, by the time The King's Coffin is published, I'll probably start working on my massive Tornado C overhaul and see what I can do to find it an actual name. (I STILL don't have the foggiest what I'm going to name it. Titles have never been my forte.)

The main idea behind this one is twofold: first, to get my work out there so that when I have a “big” novel, one that I'll try to get traditionally published, I'll already have a reader base and some published works. Second, I have this crazy idea that my novels will become runaway bestsellers and I'll raise enough money to go to the 2014 OYAN Workshop.

The big drawback of this route is that raising enough money for an international plane ticket is improbable at best and impossible at worst. And if I knew for sure that I wasn't going, I probably wouldn't invest my time in publishing.

But there is this little thing of mine called hope...

Route #2: Become a publishing hermit!

That is to say, take the absolute opposite of my previous idea and publish nothing at all.

Under this route, I would mostly ignore my Will Vullerman stories (again) and focus on new projects, rather than working with old ones. First up would be a new novel completed with the OYAN supplement “Other Worlds”. It would be a sort-of sequel to Tornado C, but with less emphasis on “epic and dramatic” and more on “small and structured”.

Depending on how long that project takes, I'll either work on The King's Coffin (putting the publication date somewhere between Fall 2014 and Spring 2015) or go straight to Tornado C to start my revisions. (As you can see, I'm serious about getting my Tornado C revisions done.)

The main issue with this route is that Will Vullerman has been ruminating in my head for awhile. It would be nice to get it to the point where I can be done with it.

Route #3: The Great Compromise

My final route will take a middle road in between these two options, giving me a foot in both trenches. I'd start out with publishing Will Vullerman and then go on to work with my “Other Worlds” novel. After all this, I'd work on Tornado C revisions. This would put the writing of “The King's Coffin” somewhere between Fall 2014 and Spring 2015.

The biggest issue with this one is that, if I was to give my foolish hope a chance, I would want to go all in, rather than just publish some short stories in hopes that I'll get thousands of downloads.

And Route #4 is to ditch school to write and publish all of the above. Needless to say, route four is not an option, as much as I'd like it to be.

So there you have it! It's a choice between lots of publication, some publication, and no publication; little chance for the Workshop, even less chance for the Workshop, and no chance for the Workshop.

What do you think? I admit that I'm a little tied up about it. Spare me some wisdom!

Why I Write

There is always something that fuels a person's writing. If I had no reason for writing, I would not be writing at all.

I've written a lot about a lot of things. There have been multiple times where I have set forth the reason why I write—the source of my writing, the point of my writing, and so on. Sometimes I feel that I have to rediscover the “why” of writing, and the resulting posts are similar in many ways and different in other ways, like different sides of the same cube.

And so I'd like to clarify what I mean by “why” I write. I'm expanding on what I've already written on this subject. The source of my writing is, as always, Christ and what he has done for me. The ultimate point of my writing is to portray the truth that God has revealed. Those are the several “sides” of this cube.

So let me make it clear, lest I am misunderstood, that in this post I am not replacing God in “why” I write, but giving a different take on it. I'm turning the cube over to look at a different side. This side is, seemingly, more “secular”. (Really, there is nothing in this world that is truly secular, since my faith affects everything I do—even the things that don't appear to be spiritual.)

With that disclaimer, let me begin.

In a nutshell, I write to let other people feel what I feel.

When I feel something, when I learn something, when I see something, when I believe something, I want to share it with other people so much that I feel like I could burst. When I am moved, I want to move other people; when my moods are deep and thoughtful, I want to write in such a way that makes other people feel introspective. I coined a term specifically for the sort of poetry I love—if it's a good piece of poetry, it gives me “deep feelings”, that sort of good ache in your chest that makes you let out a deep breath and think of stars and moonlight and the secrets of the universe.

I'm a very, very intellectual type of person. I tend to process everything through my sense of logic and order, analyzing and organizing my thoughts. Debate is my forte, geometry is the only kind of math I like, and a good argument is my brain candy.

That means that “feeling” is not usually something that happens to me. Maybe my brain overcompensates, then, because what I do feel, I feel in a way that is almost violent. When something affects me, it affects me so much that it has to have an overflow, some way that it can escape.

Except I don't talk. And I don't let many of my moods escape to my appearance—they stay hidden beneath a normal face.

That makes it so that my only overflow, then, is in what I write. I am not emotional; but when I have an emotion, it overflows. I write. My moods spawn poetry, my beliefs are born onto paper. Feelings become words, thoughts become poems, struggles become novels.

This isn't just restricted to the emotional side of things, however. This sort of thing happens to me intellectually too. When I learn something and it “clicks”, I want to share it with other people so that it can “click” for them too. When I understand something, I want to write so that other people understand it too. What I know, I want to articulate.

Obviously, the most common outlet for my “intellectual” side is nonfiction. This is why I enjoy debates, why I write articles, why I take notes. But this also makes it into my novels—The Voice of God is a good example. While my main themes were a mix of ideas, there was one theme in particular that was very intellectual. I wanted to show what the reality of hell looks like with people who had never heard of Christ. The dilemma revolved around how fair it was to condemn people for not believing in something they had never heard.

Of course, I didn't treat it like I would treat a debate, and I certainly didn't pause the novel to give a theological treatise. I did, however, embed it in the fabric of the story so that it came out organically. Faceless “people who had never heard” became actual characters who actually did die, leaving someone who thought he believed to struggle with the idea of them going to hell. What he chose to do and say was crucial with how the story would go and how it would resolve.

The main point of that example is how a concept can become easier to understand in the context of a story. Stories are how I show other people what I feel and see and learn. An actual character is easier to picture than a vague description of “those people”. It is one of the many tools I use to have the reader feel how I felt—by feeling how the character felt.

That is why I write: I use what I write to help people understand what I understand, and to feel what I feel.

Articulating the inarticulate is the job of the writer, and it's not an exact science. “Inarticulate”, by definition, means that you can't put it into words. But that doesn't stop us from trying. The test of good writing is how close you get to saying what you wanted to say—how close the reader gets to feeling what you wanted them to feel.

And that's why I keep writing, and perhaps why all writers keep writing.

We have felt the indescribable...and we want to describe it.

How to Storyboard in Four Easy Steps

(The title of this post may or may not be mildly sarcastic.)

At one time or another, we've all faced the same question: do I outline my novel, or do I wing it?

For years I was a staunch SOP writer—seat of the pants.  I wrote four of my novels in that way. I prided myself in keeping myself from being "saddled" with a "constrictive" outline.

As it turns out, my first four novels were junk, mainly because they were my first four novels.  My seat-of-the-pants writing style changed, however, when I was require to outline with OYAN.  The result was The War Horn.  It had a generic plot, but pacing was good, and I figured that outlining wasn't so bad after all.

Fast forward.  I got to the point where I couldn't function without an rough outline.  As much as I hated to admit it, SOP writing wasn't working out for me.  I reluctantly laid down my arms and surrendered to the devil—er, outlining.

Now, before you throw up your hands in horror, let me say that I'm not insulting SOP writing.  It can work, but it's not the most efficient way to write.

In the last year, however, I discovered a marvelous compromise—it gave me the open-ended freedom to do what I want with the tightly plotted structure of an outline.  

It's called the Storyboard.

It goes by other names, too.  Timeline is a popular word for it.  You can do it on a computer or on paper—personally, I prefer the delicious inkiness of my Pilot G-2 Extra Bold. 

But how do you do it, and how do you do it in a way that is the most effective?

Glad you asked.  I'll show you.  I plotted out a storyboard just for you guys, my illustrious blog-followers, with me and my Pilot G-2.  (Pardon the blurriness of the scanned papers.  This IS Africa, you know.)

I present to you: How to Storyboard in Four Easy Steps!

STEP ONE.  Draw a line on paper, with two endpoints in the form of vertical lines.  Also, title it, if you feel so inclined.

This is the easiest part of the Storyboard.  (Although it seems that even a straight line was too much for me to ask.  My line looks more drunk than sober.)

This is also a good place to find out how much your storyboard is going to cover.  Point A is the first vertical line, and Point B is the second one.  These represent separate events.  All of the content in your storyboard should take place between these two events.

Sometimes I brainstorm two or three chapters in one storyboard; sometimes I brainstorm an entire novel.  This year I wrote three storyboards for my NaNoWriMo novel, one for each POV.

STEP TWO.  List the main plot points between Point A and Point B, indicated by smaller vertical marks spaced throughout the line.

As you can see, that's exactly what I did below.  The main plot points of the story are summarized.  If you're doing a storyboard for an entire novel, then you should take careful note.  

There are four crucial moments that your novel storyboard should include.  The first one is the event that sets the novel in motion ("Turkey's brother is brutally eaten").  The second is the moment of decision where the main plot of the novel starts ("Turkey turns to the dark side").  The third is the black moment, the point at which everything goes wrong just before the climax ("Saves his sister by sending her to another dimension").  The last one is the climax of the novel ("Has a change of heart and sacrifices himself").  If any of you have done OYAN, you should be familiar with these concepts already.

If you're simply mapping out a scene or group of scenes, then just summarize the main developments in the story.  None of this is set in stone, which is the beauty of the Storyboard.  Random ideas are welcome.

The point of this part is to map everything out so that you know the general direction of your story.  Having the end in sight helps in two ways: first, it'll give you the opportunity to foreshadow and have the beginning make sense in light of the end; second, it'll help you know what you're going to write next.

STEP THREE. Expand your plot points, giving them more detail and direction.  Specifically, focus on visualizing where the story is going.

This is probably the hardest part of the Storyboard.  There are two objectives here. 

First, give detail to the summaries that you wrote in Step Two.  In the "Turkey's brother is brutally eaten" section, for instance, I gave a number of details: the turkey sobs, buries him in corn, and when the turkey priest stands up to give a few words, he talks about non-violence.  All of these are a consequence of the plot point and expand it. This part of the Storyboard will require some brainstorming.

Second, visualize the summaries.  Visualizing where the story is going to go is a huge advantage when you sit down to write it.  If you can follow the "movie" of your story in your mind, you're going to be able to follow it with your keyboard.

Sobbing is a great visual; burying him in corn is a poignant and unexpected detail.  (Apparently I had neglected to remember that since the turkey was eaten, there wouldn't be a body to bury.)

Another thing that this step does is to flesh out the practical consequences of your plot points.  As a result of Turkey's sister being a target for someone's Thanksgiving dinner, Turkey has a pretty awful decision to make.  Does he save his sister and kill the humans, or does he stand by while his sister dies?  Luckily, there was a wise buzzard priest walking by at the time and informed him of the concept of inter-dimensional travel.

Where would we be without random priests?

This is also the point where I had an epiphany about the ending of the novel.  You may find that the same sort of thing happens to you.  If you're poring over your story details, new ideas are bound to come.

There's another great side-effect of seeing all of your ideas in one place: it becomes possible to connect them together in a way that you hadn't thought of before.  You'll find a prime example of this in the "Saves his sister" column where I wrote Circularity in big underlined letters.

STEP FOUR.  Finish expanding your columns and jot down any ideas that may come to you, whether or not you will actually use them.

This one is pretty straightforward, although it may take a little bit to brainstorm.

Ideas are often seen with a question mark, and sometimes they get crossed out.  My killing spree idea, for instance, got nixed about five seconds later.  However, this establishes the fact that Turkey is struggling with nonviolence and his need for revenge, so it was still an integral part of brainstorming.

The nice thing about blank space is that it motivates you to brainstorm something to fill it, and as a result I got a few ideas that I wouldn't have otherwise thought of.

Once your blank page is filled with notes and scribbles, lean back and give yourself a high-five, if no one's watching.   You've written a Storyboard, and a page full of inky ideas isn't a bad day's work.

And this way, you won't forget everything you brainstormed when you wake up tomorrow morning.  I've had it happen, and it's not pretty.