#There are are comic book writers who I hate from the bottom of my guts. But it's usually bc those people are sex pests or racists.

[scarlet--wiccan]

I have my qualms with Orlando's writing, but have you seen the dumb Twitter outrage that the last issue provoked? The book is obviously open to critique, but the way Twitter Wanda stans behave...

In case anybody's not sure what we're talking about, Orlando periodically engages with readers on twitter, as many creators in the industry do. For a long time, Scarlet Witch has attracted a particularly toxic and obnoxious crowd of "fans" who often speak to Orlando in a rude, inappropriate manner. They're exactly the sort of people you're probably imagining-- entitled, combative "stans" with no boundaries, who are obsessed with power-scaling and "feats," and who appear to have no interest in, or knowledge of, literary devices, plot structure, character development, etc. The particular folks I'm thinking of have a tendency to lash out whenever the series fails to meet their expectations-- and by expectations, I mean whatever indulgent, juvenile fanfic plot they've cooked up in their own head.

Maybe I'm being mean, or maybe I come off as overly defensive of a book that, I'm sure, they'd tell me would be better used as toilet paper. But what I have observed is that most of these people are movie-fandom transplants with grade-school reading levels and a deliberate unwillingness to engage with any narrative in good faith. This week, one twitter user in particular went OFF on Orlando by smearing him, as a person, and loudly insisting that the majority of "Wanda fans" are "praying on his downfall" and want him to lose his job. This person made it fairly clear that they believe Orlando is obligated to tailor his storytelling and his creative vision to consumer demands, which ridiculous. That's not how fiction writing works. Long-running comics are a unique medium, but that level of reader-entitlement has never served anybody-- not the creators, not the fans, and not the characters.

This manner of conduct is not acceptable. It is not an appropriate way to communicate with, frankly, anybody, but especially not on the basis of artistic critique. I've never seen comic fans speak about a book or writer this way, especially not on such a public platform. I think it's shameful behavior, and I think it makes it a lot harder for actual, serious readers to voice legitimate and informed critiques. In this fandom, and with this character in particular, opportunities to lead constructive, meaningful conversations about the text are vital. These illiterate, mean-spirited jackasses ruin those opportunities by creating toxic environments and lowering our collective reputation. On a personal note, it has made my life, and the relationships and career opportunities I have tried to make for myself as a Romani critic, infinitely harder to achieve.

If you think I'm talking about you, or one of your little friends, I probably am. A lot of you would get kicked out conventions for talking to industry folks in person the way you do on Twitter, and if that doesn't mean anything to you, then you are not socialized enough to be speaking to professional adults about their own work in the first place.

[itty-bittle]

I know absolutely no one asked for this, but I was overcome and had to get this out of my brain. and i had to break my 4 months of writer’s block. so here’s this, i might make more! i am selling a product for which there is no demand 😌

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Nursey/Dex, 1500 words (so far)

He knew this road like the back of his hand. All of them, really, the way they sprouted and converged with one another, each leading to a building or a park or a neat row of raccoon-infested dumpsters he’d seen a thousand times. It was easier at night to see them all again, brain on autopilot as one hand worked the steering wheel, the other tucked under his thigh. It made him almost angry, the nostalgia that’d wormed itself into his chest again. He hated this fucking place. 

The only part he liked was the Persian tobacco store owner who’d sold to him since he was a scrawny 16 year old, who saw his shaved head and poorly ace bandage-bound chest, and passed the carton of cigarettes across the counter without even asking for his ID. He smoked half the pack in one sitting the first time, hoping his lungs would just shrivel up on the spot. They didn’t, he just felt sick and lightheaded his entire drive back home. He didn’t stop, though. He almost liked the way they made him feel. The nausea drew him out of his body, clenching his stomach instead of his heart for a few brief minutes. 

He was smoking now, actually. The filter of a fresh dart pinched between his index and middle fingers, stinking smoke into the ceiling of his pickup. Luckily it’d already reeked of ashtray when he bought it, so he didn’t have to feel bad about ruining the upholstery. He shifted his unused hand to steady the bottom of the steering wheel while he took a drag. No one knew he smoked, at least at Samwell. He didn’t live in the Haus so it was easy enough to hide, not that they could do anything about it if they found out. His coaches could tell him to stop, but he did well enough on the ice with black lungs already. He just knew Bitty would be disappointed in him. 

The road was quiet, like it always was after 8pm. In a town full of hicks and the elderly, everyone was busy either snorting pills or resting up for early church service. The night was mild and sweet outside his windows, insects screeching in the foliage framing either side of the road. Dangling his cigarette between his lips, Will dipped his hand outside the window, wind whipping through his fingers like silk. The headlights of the truck barely illuminated the road immediately in front, but it didn’t matter. He knew all the curves were coming before he even had to think about it. He was thinking about going to the shop, Izad was usually there well past closing and would let him in as long as he paid in cash, when his phone started buzzing against his thigh. Glancing down, he saw a facetime request from Nursey, his contact name “annoying shithead” staring back at him. Confused, he spotted a parking lot a little ways down the road and pulled in, heart thumping faster in his chest. He chalked it up to the nicotine buzz.

“What do you want?” He said once he parked, resting his phone on the middle of his steering wheel. The streetlight illuminated him just enough that Nursey couldn’t complain about not seeing his ‘stupid mug’. 

“Hello to you too, sexy Dexy.” Nursey drawled. Behind him, Will could see a gorgeous oak desk covered in every manner of clutter: dishes, books, loose papers and half-finished granola bars. “Is a man not allowed to check in on his favorite little star every once in a while?” 

“Ha ha.” Will said, flicking the ash off his cigarette where it hung out of the window, safely out of frame. “Then to what do I owe the, uh… pleasure?” 

“I missed you.” Nursey said simply, like that wasn’t enough to make Will’s throat tense up with… something. “And I wanted to ask you if you’d quit that awful job yet.” The only decent one he could get in this shitty town, Nursey meant. Will sighed, watching as the ember ate away at his tobacco. 

“No, idiot, because they pay me enough to keep gas in my truck. And it’s… I don’t know. It’s nice to do something. To have like a purpose.” Nursey nodded sagely, and something flickered across his face. He probably had a wealth of time sitting on his ass doing nothing, Will thought, and he definitely didn’t envy him. Nursey liked to keep things moving along as much as him, and Will couldn’t imagine what he’d even do if he didn’t have to worry about putting gas in his car or food in his sibling’s mouths. Nursey was probably going insane with boredom. 

“What about the lobster boat?”

Will sighed, scrubbing a hand across his face. “The hull is fucked. My uncle crashed it into a sandbar that had a few too many rocks in it. It’ll probably take him all fucking year to get around to fixing it.” The news was disappointing, but not shocking when it came. Uncle Matt had a tendency to drink a few too many when the water got still and the stars were out. Will couldn’t say he blamed him, it was lonely out there. Still, sucked that he had to spend eight hours in a sweltering mechanic shop all summer rather than on the ocean. “How’s C?” 

“He’s fine. Cait’s coming to visit him soon.” The scenery behind Nursey changed as he made his way down one of what Will assumed to many long hallways in his house. He’d never actually been, but in his mind Nursey lived in a mansion on top of a skyscraper. “How come you never visit me, babe?” Nursey pouted, little frown replaced by an easy smile when Will scoffed. 

“Because I have a job.” Will replied, deciding he didn’t care if Nursey knew his car and his hands and his breath smelled like an ashtray, he paid eight fucking dollars for the carton and he wasn’t going to waste a cigarette because Nursey liked impromptu facetime calls. Besides, Nursey was a lot of things, but he definitely wasn’t a snitch. He took a mildly shameful drag, flicking his eyes away from the screen as he pulled and exhaled. Nursey didn’t look surprised at all. 

“American Spirits. Didn’t know you were a fuckin’ tree hugger, Dexy.” Despite himself, Will smiled, taking another pull. 

“Fuck off.” Was all he said. There was silence as Nursey reached into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of, oddly enough, white wine. “Whoa there, big shoots. I thought your parents didn’t drink.” 

“They bought it at some fundraiser cus Ma liked the art on the bottle. I’m just going to mix it with cranberry juice, make myself a nice little rose.” Will gagged loudly, scowling at his screen while Nursey laughed. The worst part was knowing he was dead serious. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Will murmured through a mouthful of smoke. 

“Bestie withdrawals.” Nursey sighed dramatically, uncorking the bottle and dumping it into a pint glass. He waved the open neck under his nose, inhaling deeply, eyes comically rolling back in his head. “Mm, I’m getting strong notes of… let’s see… cat piss, vinegar and oh,” he inhaled again, “Hints of rubbing alcohol. Simply splendid.”

Will was giggling despite himself. He hated how much he loved Nurse’s stupid antics. “C only left four days ago, how can you already be having withdrawals?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t seen you for like, two months.” He said, and again the same feeling jumped up into the back of Will’s throat, twisting at his guts. It was weird. It was hard to tell when Nursey was being sincere about this kind of thing. All the flirting, the pet names, all of that was a joke, obviously, it had to be. But sometimes Nursey would say things so easily, like they were true, like he really did capital-m miss Will. It wasn’t that Will didn’t miss him too, of course he did, some days he’d wake up and the first thing he did was mindlessly open his phone to scroll through Nursey’s insanely long Snap stories, just to look at his face. He’d never tell him that, of course, which is why the sweet nothings Nursey would casually admit probably affected him so much. Probably. 

There was silence again as Nursey rooted around in the fridge for the juice, and Will flicked his ash out the window. 

“Y’know…” Will started, hardly believing he was saying what he was about to say. “I do have a Friday off next week. And the shop is closed…” 

“Saturday through Monday. Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Nursey was grinning, the kind that made Will’s ears heat up and he had to turn his eyes to the window again, pretending he was watching something outside. 

“It’s a hell of a drive, though. You better be worth my time, Nurse.” Will said, trying to sound mean but it mostly just came out soft. He stuck his cigarette back in his mouth so he wouldn’t say anything else.

“Oh, I’ll make it worth it, William.” Nursey said, and Will didn’t even need to look to know he was waggling his eyebrows at the screen. 

“You’re paying me gas money.”

“I’ll pay for a new shitty fuckin’ pickup if you bring some of your brother’s hooch with you too.” 

[crisis-aversion]

Welcome to my writing commissions; thank you for checking them out! As much as I dislike writing for others' OCs (because I'm always afraid I'll miswrite them), I need the practice and would like to lend my one natural talent to others' benefit. Please make sure to read all the rules, and use the form included at the end when commenting, thank you!

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Please fill out this form: Prompt: (the more specific the better, but please don't go so specific as to not give me any wriggle room. I don't care what format they are in as long as they give me a character(s) and situation) Beginning offer: Approximate length you'd want: (I can't guarantee length but I can try) Notes: (you can link a song or some images to set the mood, add something about the prompt you don't want me to miss, give me something you absolutely need included, or say whatever the pit you want! Just delete this section if you have nothing to add) Character(s): (please fill out an additional form for each character wanted; you may just name or link the wiki of any canon character you might want)      Name:      Personality: (the more info you can provide the more likely I can write them accurately, jam this section as much as possible)      Powers, abilities, skills, etc.:      Weaknesses etc.:      Visual reference if available:      Role:      Notes:

[mmemiraculous]

Berry Boys: Chapter 2

Last chapter

Learning about the liar.

Marc was hoping that he would get sick today in order to skip school. Unfortunately his health wasn’t on his side that day and he had to go.

‘At least I’m not in his class.’ The writer thought as he ate his waffles;

but he didn’t know if he’d have the guts to go into the art room that day, and having to see Nathaniel again. If he did see him, he didn’t know if he could hold back tears.

He hated the fact that he feels the same way he did when Nathaniel ripped out the pages in his journal: heartbroken and unconfident in himself. But he’ll get through it, hopefully.

But now is not the time. He has to get to school. Him and his mom made their way to the subway together. When it came to his stop his mom gave him a kiss on the cheek, and wish him a good day.

Being at the bottom of the steps of François Dupont made Marc’s nervous meter turn red. He still walked into the school and made his way to Mme. Mendeleiev’s class. His only thoughts were about school the entire throughout the entire day. He feeling alright. Until the end of the day when he was on his way to the art room.

What if he ran into Nathaniel? What will happen when he wants to go to the art room? Will he even be allowed in the art room? When he gets there, what is he supposed to do? If he didn’t go, where else would he go?

Now is not the time to be overthinking. He just needs to swallow this down, and walk into the room.

All he needs to do is open that door.

Any moment now...

He’ll do it when he’s ready.

“Hey Marc,” A voice said behind him. He turned around to see Marinette. “Do you want to walk inside together?”

“Yes please.” Marc said defeated

Marc walked in the room side by side with Marinette, his notebook hugged close to his chest. Alix was working on what she usually was. Rose was nodding her head while writing on a notepad, and other kids were painting.

He looked at the spot where he and Nathaniel would work on comic books, and in his spot was a brunette with weird sausage hair, bragging about how she was personally taught by J.K Rowling. It looked like Nathaniel was actually buying it.

Marc sat next to Marinette leaning over to ask her a question. “Who’s the girl sitting next to Nath?”

Marinette’s face Visibly hardened when she answered, “Lila Rossi.” She gritted out. “Whatever She tells you, don’t believe it. She lies like it's second nature. Just ignore her if you purposely try to get in her way, she will make your life hell.”

She turned to Marc, “Me and my friends are trying to take her down silently to avoid making even bigger problems. Until then, if you don’t pay attention to her or give a reason for her to brag about herself she won’t talk to you.”

Stay away from sausage hair. He can do that.

He spent the rest of the time in the art room writing prompts of ideas for the writing contest, making small talk with Marinette, and blocking out Nathaniel and liar- Lila’s conversation. At least he didn’t have to talk to him the entire time. Marc was glad him and Nathaniel could coexist in the same room without arguing.

Marc walked out with Marinette about an hour after. They both made their way to the Bakery. After greeting the Dupain-Chengs and buying a few sweets for him and his mother, Marc made his way back home.

His mom said hi to him from the couch when he walked in. He sat down next to her and they both shared about what happened during their day. He laughed when she explained that her coworker didn’t know that nightmare before Christmas was a Halloween movie, and it looked like his entire life was a lie.

After that Marc told his mom that he’ll come back during dinner. He put all his stuff away and sat on his bed. He thought about what Mari texted him one night and thought what the heck.

Marc: Hey, this is Marc from a few days

ago marinette gave me your

number I hope you don’t mind.

He wasn’t expecting to get a text back so fast.

Luka: yeah it’s fine. I wanted to

I wanted to get to know you. Marinette

Told me you write?

Marc: yeah it’s just a few stories.

He didn’t feel like mentioning the comic book.

They talked a bit more until they both had to go eat. After saying their goodbyes Marc went back to the dining room smiling like an idiot. His mom asked what happened but he ignored her spinning his spaghetti on his fork. This new friend idea was a good one.

Tags: @vixen-uchiha

Next Chapter

[thewyloren]

Day One - Scream *SPOILERS ABOUND - YOU’VE BEEN WARNED!*

Scream (1996 - Rated R) Directed by Wes Craven.  Starring Neve Campbell, Skeet Ulrich, Courteney Cox, and Drew Barrymore.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

What was once an innocent question is now an iconic line from 1996′s slasher classic, Scream.  While director Wes Craven is known best for A Nightmare on Elm Street where he was also a writer, Craven did not pen Scream.  The story comes from the mind of Kevin Williamson who went on to work on I Know What You Did Last Summer, and The Faculty; also horror films involving teens, so let’s say he’d found his niche.  It’s not too surprising to learn Williamson also created the hit teen series Dawson’s Creek.

If you’ve never seen Scream before, the killer is disguised in a halloween costume which is coined later as “Ghost Face Killer.”  He terrorizes high schoolers of Woodsboro, mainly Sidney Prescott, daughter of a woman brutally murdered a year earlier.  But her killer was put behind bars, so it couldn’t possibly be the same guy.  Right?

Scream grabs you within the first five minutes.  Poor innocent Casey Becker, played by Drew Barrymore, is home alone, about to start a movie and chill, when a phone call disguised as a wrong number turns into a game of cat and mouse, leaving her gutted, hanging from a tree for her parents to find.  One must always remember the killer from Friday the 13th is, in fact, not Jason Voorhees, but his mother.  Better luck next time, Casey.

Killed within ten minutes of the movie, one has to wonder why on earth a star like Barrymore would agree to play that part.  According to Barrymore herself, she wanted that role.  While she was sought out to play the lead role of Sidney Prescott, once reading the script, she asked for the role of Casey.  Writer Williamson originally wanted actress Alicia Silverstone (Clueless) for the role of Casey.  As if!  Barrymore nailed it, solidifying herself as an official Scream Queen with her memorable and iconic scene.

While audiences are recovering from Casey’s shocking death, we’re introduced to the main protagonist, Sidney Prescott, played by fresh faced Neve Cambell, star of The Craft and drama series Party of Five.  Portrayed immediately as young and naive, we see her being pressured to be more sexual by her boyfriend Billy Loomis, played by cutie Skeet Ulrich, donning his best Johnny Depp look.  Depp stars in Nightmare on Elm Street, so maybe Craven figured that “look” was part of some kind of horror film formula for success.  Who knows?

We learn Sidney and Billy have been dating for two years.  My first thought?  Two years and this guy is still whining about her being a virgin?  Dumpppp himmmmm.  But apparently it wasn’t always like this.  The beginning of their relationship started out hot and heavy (but which relationship doesn’t, amirite?) then somewhere it falters... Sidney grows a bit cold as far as physical touch goes.  Ah hah.  That would be when her mom was brutally raped and murdered.  

The quaint (but rather rich... I mean, everyone’s living in these huge fancy farmhouses and none of these kids seem to have jobs, other than Randy, whom I’ll get back to soon) town of Woodsboro is shooketh.  They haven’t seen crime like this since Sid’s mom.  

With Sid’s dad out of town for work, Sid waits around for her best friend Tatum (Rose McGowen) to pick her up for a sleepover.  Sid gets a prank call and assumes its their friend Randy.  Told you I’d come back to him.  Randy works at a video store and makes many references to scary movies.  In fact, the movie itself is very meta.  Lots of name dropping and parallels to other horror classics.  “Randy” gets Sid to chat about scary movies where Sid confesses she hates them because they’re all the same.  “The big breasted actress that can’t act always runs upstairs instead of outside; it’s insulting” (I’m paraphrasing) which is comical because once she learns the voice on the phone is not Randy, and the person calling is actually in the house and attacks her, she can’t get out the front door, forcing her to run upstairs.

Hiding herself in her bedroom, Billy pops into the window and a cell phone falls out of his pocket.  Dun dun dun!  All signs point to Billy!  There’s no way it can’t not be Billy!  But we are so conditioned by Scooby Doo as kids.  It’s never who we think it is.  There’s always a red herring.  There’s always a twist.  So while we believe they want us to think it’s Billy, we’re smarter than that.  We know it can’t really be him.  Because where’s the fun in that?  Giving away the killer so soon?  Nah bruh.  We’ll wait for the big epic “ah HA, I knew it wasn’t Billy” moment.

After a pit stop at the police station where both Sid and Billy are questioned, Sid stays over at Tatum’s house where the killer phones yet again, accusing Sid of “fingering the wrong guy again.”  Whoa, whaaat?  The wrong guy?  AGAIN?

It’s not long after we learn that Sidney testified against her mother’s killer, Cotton Weary, putting him away for good.  Tabloid journalist (think today’s TMZ) Gale Weathers played by Courteney Cox in a horrid neon green dress suit believes in Cotton’s innocence.  She made bank writing a book about the tragic event surrounding Sid’s mom and Sid ain’t too happy about it.  

Running into Billy at school, Sid and Billy chit chat about how the anniversary of the death of her mother is coming up and Billy thinks Sid should just “get over it” already.  Because he got over his father leaving a year ago.  Because that’s totally the same thing.

Boyfriend of the year right there.  What a sociopath.  Here’s where we get back on board thinking “Yeah maybe it’s Billy... who else could it be?”

The town of Woodsboro is put on a curfew until the police can get to the bottom of things.  But kids will be kids and kids will have parties when parents are away and why are the parents always away?  Randy and Stu (Stu would be Tatum’s goofy boyfriend played by over-the-top Matthew Lillard, and Stu just happens to be Billy’s ride or die) chat about Billy.  Randy thinks Billy’s the killer.  Stu laughs, but defends his buddy.  The signs are starting to point more towards Sid’s dad.  The police haven’t been able to get ahold of him.  And when they checked the phone records for the calls made to Sid, they weren’t coming from Billy’s phone, but rather Sid’s dad’s phone.  Uh oh.  Could it be with the anniversary of mom’s death, dad is finally losing it?  

At Stu’s house, teens are drinking beer and watching scary movies, provided by Randy.  The killer’s there and Tatum meets her end, getting stuck in a doggy door and her neck snapping.  Billy shows up to the house after this happens, again, making us believe he’s the killer.  No one cares about Tatum’s whereabouts I guess, and Sidney slips away with Billy, upstairs.  Two high schoolers headed upstairs into a bedroom, what could possibly happen next?  Downstairs, Randy lists off rules for surviving a horror film.

Number one, never have sex. Number two, never drink or do drugs. Number three, never say “I’ll be right back.”

Remember those rules and you too will be around for the sequel.

This film is full of clever bits.  While everyone is watching Halloween, Randy announces “obligatory tit shot” and just as the actress in Halloween bares her breasts, the shot then turns to Sidney taking off her bra but she gets blocked from view by Billy.  Hah!

Yada yada yada, Sid and Billy break rule number one and Billy is next to be killed.  This is when we believe we were right all along.  It wasn’t Billy after all.  The tricky movie makers tricked us but we secretly knew it wasn’t really him.  Sid escapes out the window after being chased around a bit.  The killer goes downstairs where Randy is now all alone on the couch watching Halloween.  Randy is played by Jamie Kennedy and if you remember, Jamie Lee Curtis is the lead in Halloween.  So Randy’s on the couch shouting “Jamie look behind you” as the killer sneaks up behind him.  Thankfully, Randy is saved by Sidney screaming for help outside and the killer leaves him, for now.

More death happens, yada yada, it gets bloody.  Sid ends up back in the house and Randy and Stu fight over who the killer is.  Stu blames Randy and Randy blames Stu.  We’ve seen Randy and the killer in the same room, but we’ve never seen Stu and the killer in the same room.... hmm.  Something to think about.  But not something Sid has time for, so she closes the door on both of them.  Billy comes stumbling down from upstairs, covered in blood.  Now that Sid is positive Billy isn’t the killer, she’s comfortable with him taking the gun from her, to be the protector now, even if he is half dead.

Billy lets Randy in and ends up shooting him.  Whaaat?  Sidney tries to escape, confused as hell, obviously, and bumps into Stu who came in through the kitchen.  Stu pulls out a voice changer and speaks exactly like the killer and everyone is shocked to discover it was THE TWO OF THEM THIS WHOLE TIME!  They admit to framing Cotton, who’d been having an affair with Sid’s mom.  Apparently Sid’s mom had multiple affairs and was the reason Billy’s dad left.  Dun dun dun.

Stu pulls Sid’s dad out of another room, bound and gagged.  He and Billy plan to stab each other, kill Sid, then shoot Sid’s dad, making it look like Sid’s dad went on a killing spree, and then offed himself.  Billy and Stu would be the only survivors.  How convenient!  

But things don’t work out how they hoped.  Billy ends up getting shot.  Then Randy, who isn’t dead, says “This is when the killer comes back for one final scare” and Billy comes back for one final scare before Sidney puts a bullet in his head.

The way the movie is shot, the clever way it pays homage to other horror classics, makes it so lovable.  It’s really revived the horror genre, or at least the slasher portion.  Many sequels have since been filmed, as well as a television series, and comical spoofs.  It’s definitely a film that I would call a masterpiece of story telling and directing.  Definitely add this one to your Halloween and Chill list for October.  It’s available to rent on Amazon.  Also check with your cable provider, as it was free on demand for me.

RATING: 🎃🎃🎃🎃 4 out of 5 pumpkins

[indie-struggle]

The LBGT, Female, and Race issue in Hollywoodland.

Warning: opinion article - oh, no! First, not all of you will agree with me, which is fine. It's what makes this country great: the fact you can have your own opinions and analyze things without interjection by someone else. This is much different than bigotry: the unwillingness to take someone else opinion into consideration is if differs from your own. We come across this everyday, and some of you may be experiencing it right now - so hear me out. "I feel there needs to be less white men calling the shots." - He said. "There isn't enough diversity in movies today." - She said. "Why aren't gays more visible in movies." - They said. This is tough. To give you a general idea of the problem you can simply listen to what comedians tell women about that constant question, "Why aren't there more female comedians?" and the answer is always the same: do the work, and if you're any good you'll be noticed, regardless of what's between your legs. Fantastic. True, to the point. Work hard and shut the fuck up. The same goes for cinema. Let's get one thing fucking clear: no one is keeping any specific group out while giving special treatment to other groups based on gender or skin color. We're all equally stupid in their eyes: “How the fuck did you get into my office?” If that weren't the case, I'd be on a mountain of money. It isn't the case - look around. Well... you can't see what I can, but take my fucking word for it. Maybe in the golden age of Hollywood (20s-50s), sure, that obvious segregation happened. Big studios, big power. McCarthyism bullshit. But not now, no way. You can write a story and make it on your phone with some buddies. It'll suck, but you can do it. I don't want to give a history lesson in film, but frankly, when it was first looked at past the point of "A poorman's cheap entertainment to watch a woman and man kiss for 15 seconds for 2 pennies", people eventually took to it - they saw its potential. In America, these people were primarily white. And the era that they lived in, other races weren't involved, nor cared to be. All the non-white races that were involved were in different countries: Japan, China, Morocco, South Africa, Turkey, Iran, etc, etc. But we're talking about America here. Fun fact: the majority of people who were writers of these first movies of the era, up to about 1940 - were women. Yep. Women used to have a stranglehold on screenwriting. This faded out due to reason why all things fade out: money and power. But today, you cannot walk into a post-house without the owner being female. I dare you to find a place. And in post is where the movie is made. I will be the first to admit that yes, there is a lack of diversity in studio movies in America, in  major areas: writing, directing, and producing. I stress America, because anyone who loves film doesn't just watch American blockbuster movies, and is well aware of the filmmakers around the world who are making astounding films. Our world isn't the black and white franchises that die on a weekend. And whether or not the filmmakers around the world are gay, black, or missing an arm has absolutely zero to do with it. And, it really doesn't have anything to do with it in America, either. The reason there are less gay people in stories is usually because what the story calls for isn't about sexual preference, it isn't about gay life, and it isn't about race. Think about the most recent movie you watched, was it about race or sex? I have a black friend that hates Will Smith and Denzel Washington. Fucking hates their guts. "I'll punch those two niggas in the face," I laugh, but he's dead serious. Why? Because they don't represent actual black people. They represent bringing in black peoples’ money. John Singleton represents black people, but he's been sucked into the Hollywood void. Here's an example of what he means: If the character Billy is a hick, lives in the sticks of Indiana in a trailer, drives a pickup, and drinks Coors with his buddies while shooting fish in the creek - why in the hell would you cast Don Cheadle? Imagine Malcolm X being played by Tom Cruise. Same thing. To cast appropriately is rational thinking - it's keeping realness in film real, or trying to. The part is specific, regardless if the director is a woman, gay, white, black, or arab - they know that anything artificial is immediately rejected by people who know those types of characters. Execs don't think this way. Anything less than truth to character makes that character a token [enter race/sex here] in which is not only dishonest, but it's more than likely there to bring in a certain group for their money (from the studio exec stand point) -- and that's where the real issues lie. Money. Not just making film less real, but money. I've worked in lots of production companies, some teeny-tiny, some quite large. And a widely unknown, yet sad secret is: White heroes bring in more money, especially internationally. Money! In the end that's what they want. It's how they have their jobs and keep them. This isn’t a new tale. And I know, it's fucked up, it's terrible, and it's damn stupid. But, you know, it's two things... their thing: a factory that needs to stay in business. The other thing: it is the people paying the money to watch it. Simple supply versus demand policy of what Hollywood makes: products. It's not a new cycle. You ever wonder why the Adult (30-65) audience is ignored? Think about it. It's always about money and a whole lot of underestimating what the audience wants, where it is, what the artists want, and what people need. Now, let's forget all this sad shit for a moment and pretend we live in a new homogeneous world of America (like Canada), were all races and sex are side by side, "we-are-the-world" perfect society or utopia, or what ever you want to call it. What type of movies will be made? What type of creative interests from a different point of view will be produced? Will those gangster films you love be made? Will they be believable? Is it possible to be creative with cinematic narrative without artists who are scarred? Where will the interests lie or come from? How many happy endings will it take to bore? ... And will drugs still work... Outside of all the bad things Hollywood executives are, they are not stupid when it comes to business. They spend millions on research. Lots and lots of money. They would never in a billion years (not that we'll live past 100) let go of their grip, so that other countries can take over "their" market. And that is exactly what would happen if this type of America existed. This idea of utopian cinema would kill their money, and just as a bonus - interesting, creative cinema would die. That's that, whether you believe it or not. Take that train of thought down the rabbit hole and see what's at the end of it. They know. They spend hundreds of millions of dollars to know. The alternative to it all is a collapse, which is a good thing. But back to that lack of diversity problem which seems a bit more understandable now, doesn't it? There are less gay, bi, trans, lesbian, black, spanish, asian, robot filmmakers in the "bigtime" because of talent, that's the only reason. Talent brings in money, plus, everyone in there has paid their dues. You do not get a free pass or open door simply because you don't have a penis, or you're gay, or you're not white... That isn't how it works - it is not 1940's America. If you want sub-par work, you let the interns run the shop. They know this. You let those who haven't put in the time take over, and you get what you pay for, 100 out of 100. No good. The bottom line is you have to put in your time, take yourself to the edge of your brain, want to die for it, work, and work, and work and work and work and work, and then, maybe, fuck I hope so, just maybe at the end of it all - you've made some progress and are getting better - hell, even get some recognition if possible. Until then, all you'll have is token characters, token movies to exploit people for their money, either because it's a hot "social topic", or because all the ingredients have been thrown in the pot by the non-creatives to make people gravitate towards it (Bohemian Rhapsody comes to mind). It's sad, and people are being used. And until we let loose of this idea that people without experience can give those with experience, a telling, compassionate, thoughtful - shit, even a story with something to say (imagine that) - all that's ever going to happen is more fuel being poured into this big fire of shit. Is that what you want? Because I don't. I love film. I can't wait for the Hollywood franchise comic-book era to collapse - and it will, believe me. But think of the possibilities then - a new 60's revolution of cinema - where that freedom of expression and important things needing to be said are shown that the studios can't ignore. Gay, female, black, whatever. That is the area in which real cinema thrives, not this. And pandering to the system how it is now, is not only a waste of time, but will not end with the results that the people need... and that you want.