#i don't think i can pull an animorphs and do both in this case

[planeoftheeclectic]

How well would your OCs do against a cockroach tag game

tagged by @angry-kid-with-no-money

Rules: rate your OCs by how well they'd do against a cockroach. Bonus: write an entire scene out of it if you want!

Oh man it's been ages and ages since I thought about these guys, but I do want to get back to them at some point, so this was a fun exercise!

Kernn: Doesn't care about the cockroach so much as where it is. If it's in an inn, he'll look at it askance, probably see if he can haggle the innkeeper down as a result, but he doesn't mind it too much. (Bedbugs are another story.) BUT if he finds one in amongst the supplies he's exceptionally paranoid and won't relax until it's been like a month since he's seen any. Honestly, there's probably some low-level paranoia about the supplies at all times - comes from being a merchant's son. So he's not afraid of the cockroach so much as what it represents!

Alira: Couldn't care less one way or the other. She gets why Kernn's upset about them, and she'll squash them if she needs to, but there's no hard feelings involved. Everyone's just trying to live and eat, and if they didn't secure their supplies enough, that's on them. This drives Kernn nuts, but when there's roaches near the supplies he's nuts anyway, so she's not likely to change much because of him. Frankly, she finds it a little endearing, at least in moderation.

Amethyst: Literally beneath her notice, but they made good hunting practice as a hatchling, so her partner makes sure to seek out dens with good roach populations.

And finally, the only OC that's actually been published anywhere:

Portia La Keefe: She hates them, but in her own apartment she's resigned and pragmatic in her disgust. It's just One More Thing. She'll have to put out some bait since she can't justify calling an exterminator. If she ever saw one in Kristoph's home though, it'd be an entirely different story. She'd freak out to high heaven, hire an exterminator without telling him to come when he's at work, and live in a constant nervous sweat until they came. Kristoph probably wouldn't fire her, but she can't afford to take that chance.

This was fun! Thanks! No pressure tagging @stonemaskedtaliesin because I love hearing about your little guys!

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

I don't know how much this adds to the discussion regarding Animorphs being children's lit, but I think it's important to keep in mind that kids' books can get away with heavier themes than kids' shows tend to, so if someone's coming into the discussion with the framework of "for children" they may need to keep in mind that as a book it can cover more ground than a tv show that grownups just have to glance at to decide if it's "too much" for their kiddos (whether it is too much or not).

This definitely adds to the discussion of Animorphs as children’s lit!  I think you’re hitting the nail right on the head.  Many people don’t realize this (I didn’t realize this until I was in college and had a class on the subject) but television shows have to justify themselves to a metric shitton of people before they’re allowed to go on the air.  Books only have to justify themselves to a moderate-sized committee, if that.

People who have the power to veto content on TV shows include (but are not limited to): individual writers who have a particular idea, head writers who don’t like the idea, script editors who might take it out, directors who refuse to film what they don’t like, videographers or artists who add their own creative vision to ideas, visual effects teams who can cut things based on budget, voice actors who can protest decisions they don’t like, episode editors who might take an idea out, producers who won’t back anything that might cause controversy, studio executives who can pull content that’s not “on brand,” national network crews that can decide not to air certain content, local network crews that can also decide not to air certain content, and future “backers” who might decide not to invest in a show based on its content.

People who have the power to veto content in books include: the author with the idea, the agent who publicizes it, the editor who polishes it, and the publishing agent who sells the idea.  At most.

Nowadays, one can self-publish one’s own work with ZERO outside input, or else very little.  The Martian was read by exactly two (2!) people before Andy Weir put it on the internet, and it became an international bestseller.  It would be possible to make a self-published TV show with that little outside input… but most platforms wouldn’t promote it, and would probably take it down if it got hate-reported or had content violations.  Not only that, but (as Cates pointed out) books get edited as content that has already been written, in a story that already exists.  Shows get edited in the context of deciding whether it’s worth the trouble to write an idea that’s still hypothetical.

Television is ultra-conservative (in the sense of never rocking any boats in any direction) because it has to please hundreds of people with creative input and to justify its multi-million-dollar budgets.  Books can reach the minimum production value necessary to be good with the influence of one person (okay, lbr, two people) and fifty bucks for printing or web-hosting fees.  That’s the reason that only 42% of non-animated roles and 39% of animated roles go to women on TV, including only 12% of non-animated roles and 4% of animated roles going to women of color.  By contrast, 63% of children’s lit on The Atlantic’s bestsellers list is written by women, about female protagonists; that’s not counting books by men about female protagonists.  (They didn’t collect data on authors’ ethnicity; if anyone has this stat, HMU.)

It’s the reason that Arthur just made national news THIS FUCKING YEAR by depicting a same-sex (traditional) (Christian-coded) wedding ceremony, one that local networks in Alabama chose not to air.  Meanwhile, in 2015 Cates presented a conference paper about the history of kids’ picture books with queer protagonists, a history that goes back to 1981 (Jenny Lives with Eric and Martin) and covers such mainstream 1990s series as Bruce Coville’s Magic Shop and Dav Pilkey’s Captain Underpants.  We see the importance of the lack of gatekeepers: for instance, the author of Heather Has Two Mommies struggled to get a mainstream children’s press to pick up her book, so she went to a lesbian publisher, which ended up creating an entirely new branch for children’s books.  (Apparently there were entire publishing houses just for lesbian books in 1987?  The more you know.)  One other interesting case study for queer content is Gore Vidal: in 1948 he published what would today be classified as a YA gay romance novel (The City and the Pillar) but in 1959 he had to “code” and hide the queer content in the Hollywood film (Ben-Hur) that he also wrote.  Television to this day uses queer-coding in lieu of actual romance, especially when it’s kids’ TV (see: Legend of Korra or Adventure Time), while children’s literature has already made the push all the way into demanding that the queer romances in Grasshopper Jungle and Geography Club be more intersectional.

To be clear, it’s not like children’s books have carte blanche in this regard — Applegate and Grant have both apologized for having to code Mertil and Gafinilan rather than just marrying them off, and have expressed regret over not getting to write an openly bisexual Marco or openly trans Tobias.  But kids’ books can still fly under the radar of the wowsers in a way that kids’ shows often cannot.

Anyway.  Queer representation is obviously just one of a plethora of issues that get very different treatment in children’s books vs. children’s shows.  There are plenty of others.  Children’s shows can depict violence, but have to treat it as silly or inconsequential and avoid showing blood.  (Because that’s a great way to teach kids about not harming others!!!)  Children’s books can have as much blood — and, apparently, as many spilled entrails — as they would like, as long as those things don’t happen in the first couple of pages or make the cover summary.  Neal Shusterman is responsible for some of the most cringe-inducingly silly AniTV episodes, and also some of the most brutally unflinching works of children’s literature I’ve ever read.  American screen media are no longer subject to the Hays Code, but its marks still remain.  American literature has pretty much always been the Wild West, and with the advent of online self-publishing, the west is getting wilder.

Don’t judge a book by its movie.  And don’t judge a book by its show.  AniTV is tame and silly, treating its violence as inconsequential and its characters’ mental health struggles as harmlessly or innocent.  Animorphs has the courage to show that when you shoot a man he doesn’t just silently fall over and disappear but bleeds and screams and dies, that being a victim or a perpetrator of such violence can leave even “innocent kids” fighting for their lives against PTSD and depression.  It has the courage… but it also has the freedom to do so.  That’s an extremely important distinction that should not be overlooked.