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Priest
Okay, so it’s hardly news that I’m a sucker for post-apocalyptic genre fodder. After the so-so Legion, the latest movie from the grim-and-bare-it combination of actor Paul Bettany and director Scott Stewart is Priest. The movie is set in a grim gothika of a future where humans have been plagued for centuries by vampires of the none-beautiful variety. Enter Bettany, one of a league of warrior priests who is forced to turn against his own kind and reap personal revenge on the evil bloodsuckers…so far so excellent. And while the trailer leans towards the bleaker end of the stake-em-up genre, it promises to be a welcome addition to the post-apocalyptic cannon.
The Birth, Death and Resurrection of the American Muscle Car
When it comes to muscle car action, it doesn’t get much more iconic than Steve McQueen as Bullitt in a 1968 Ford Mustang GT 390 CID Fastback chasing two hit-men in a 1968 Dodge Charger R/T 440 Magnum. From the guttural roar of the engines as experienced from inside the cars to the jaw-jarring seesaw of suspension up and over the hills of San Francisco, the chase encapsulates the muscle car experience – and it’s fast, mean and dirty.
To truly understand the appeal of the muscle car is to admire their unique combination of style and substance. Yes, it’s about red hot rides over comfort or practicality. Most importantly though, it’s about power and speed wrapped up in a die-hard body kit.
What is, and what is not, a ‘muscle car’ remains a matter of debate among enthusiasts. The June 1967 issue of Road Test magazine stated a “muscle car is exactly what the name implies. It is a product of the American car industry adhering to the hot rodder’s philosophy of taking a small car and putting a BIG engine in it.” Likewise, for me, the term will always refer to a stylised range of high performance, mid-size cars born of America’s drag racing ethos and which enjoyed their heyday in the late 1960s and 70s. No other period in US car history has seen such an emphasis on power, speed, affordability, and style. New breeds emerged in South Africa, the UK, and, most successfully, Australia. But the US was the originator, and set the standard for an industry based around the muscle behind the machine.
Ever since the automobile was invented in late 1800s, folk have wanted to know how fast their vehicles could really go. Henry Ford was the original speed demon. He developed the 999 (named after a New York Central Railway Train that set records in 1893). In 1902, Ford’s driver, Barney Oldfield, reached the previously unimaginable top speed of 60 mph (95km).
The race was on, quite literally as cars became larger, stronger and more powerful, advancing from 5 horsepower to the 150 horsepower in many modern cars.
In his book, Muscle Cars, Jeffrey Zuehlke cites the widespread opinion that the muscle car was invented in 1936, the year Buick put a huge 8-cylinder engine into a mid-sized Buick body. The new car was called the Century and it had a 320 cubic inch engine that produced 120 horsepower.
Alternatively, thirteen years later, a new contender for the title of ‘first muscle car’ came into being. As public interest in speed and power grew, Oldsmobile brought out the Rocket 88. It featured America’s first high-compression overhead valve V8 in a light coupe body. Writing in Driving Today, Jack Nerad stated, “The Rocket V-8 set the standard for every American V-8 engine that would follow it for at least three decades.” A 303 cubic inch engine produced 135 horsepower, and ensured the Rocket 88 came to dominate the racing circuit and the new group known as the National Association for Stock Car Auto Racing (NASCAR).
The 40s and 50s saw a massive growth in popularity for NASCAR. Speed was the ultimate goal. One of the fastest on the track was the 1955 Chrysler C-300. It was big and expensive, a luxury car with tremendous power under the hood. Advertised as ‘America’s Most Powerful Car,’ it was capable of accelerating from 0 to 60 mph (97 km/h) in 9.8 seconds and reaching 130 miles per hour (209 km/h). It was also excellent at handling.
But the C-300 didn’t target the true muscle car market for precisely the reason that it was too high-end. The early 1960s saw a new generation of young people reaching driving age. In the aftermath of the Second World War, the US baby boom resulted in the largest generation in history – kids who hung out at the dirt tracks of the hot rod races and who soaked up rebellion via movies, pin ups and rock ‘n’ roll. These teenagers were also solvent, the US economy having blossomed since the war. It didn’t take long for the automakers to realise there was a market for cool, fast cars.
1964 saw the development of a true muscle car icon, the Ford Mustang (named after a World War II fighter plane.) Lee Iacoccoa, general manager of Ford, was the driving force behind the car’s development. He recognised what this new generation of auto buying public wanted, namely cool, affordable good looking cars. But the mustang was missing speed.
Engineer John Delorean and his team at Pontiac responded with the Pontiac Tempest GTO, nicknamed the Goat and yet another contender in some folks’ eyes for the title of first true muscle car. Now buyers were being offered a 389 cubic inch V8 engine producing 350 horsepower alongside a sleek look and affordability.
Manufacturers were in stiff competition, great news for the buyers who found a greater choice of models and increasingly powerful engines. This horsepower tug-of-war peaked in 1970 when models were capable of 450 hp and more over their rating. Except, as size and luxury increased, so cars became more expensive. Hence the birth of the ‘budget’ muscle car.
The original budget muscle car was Plymouth Road Runner (1968). Plymouth already had a performance car in the GTX, but designers decided to reincarnate the original muscle car concept. Plymouth wanted a car able to run 14-second times in the quarter mile (402 m) and sell for less than US$3000.
Alongside the larger incarnations, the Ford Mustang had also inspired a new class of automobile – the pony car. The term originated from the equestrian sounding Ford Mustang and referred to a new breed of compact, affordable, highly styled cars. Rear wheel drive, these smaller, sportier versions were nonetheless driven by V8 engines and ridiculously powerful.
The 1970 Plymouth Duster was one of these smaller, more affordable cars. Based on the compact Plymouth Valiant and priced at US $2547, the 340 Duster achieved a 6 second 0-60 mph (97 km/h) time. In patriotic red, white and blue, American Motors’ mid-sized 1970 Rebel Machine was marketed for everyday use and featured a 390 cubic inch engine and 340 hp. Jack Nerad of Driving Today even went so far as to state ‘somehow, someway (the Rebel Machine) deserves to be considered among the Greatest Cars of All Time.’
As is always the case when the youth are having way too much fun, it didn’t take long for the grown ups to step in and spoil the party. Led by Ralph Nader, the automotive safety lobby began to petition against powerful cars for public sale, particularly those targeted at young buyers. The lobby’s argument was partly valid, the power of many muscle cars contravening their weak braking, poor handling, and tire adhesion. The automobile insurance industry responded by levying surcharges on all high-powered vehicles, which effectively put many muscle cars out of the financial reach of their young buyers. At the same time, efforts to combat air pollution put a new focus on emissions control. The passage of the Clean Air Act in 1970 meant octane ratings were lowered to 91 and unleaded gasoline was gradually introduced. Horsepower dropped as engine compression ratios were reduced.
The production of muscle cars tailed off, with many series discontinued or remodelled into personal luxury cars. Pontiac’s Trans Am SD455 scrabbled for survival and was dubbed ‘The Last of the Fast Ones’ by Car and Driver magazine.
Recently, there has been a spate of muscle car revival, the most successful models being those that embrace their retro appeal – the V6 Ford Mustang, Daimler-Chrysler’s Dodge Challenger complete with hood stripes, and Chevrolet’s Camaro Convertible. Although, while the original Mustang for example came in at a very affordable $2368, it now retails at around a far less comfortable $43200 base price.
Years on, and the surviving original muscle cars are collectors’ items. The AMC Machine, Buick Gran Sport, Dodge Charger R/T, Ford Mustang, Plymouth Roadrunner, etc, all attract high prices depending on condition and availability. Consequently, reproduction muscle-car sheet metal parts and even complete body shells are now available.
One thing’s for certain. Muscle cars may have become the domain of the wealthy or the enthusiast. But at heart, they’ll always be the rebels of the road – grazed-kneed, dirt-track tested, and fashioned in the image of the American teenage dream.
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Cross posted at WordPunk
The Sorcerer’s Apprentice
I’ve got one thing to say about the trailers for The Sorcerer’s Apprentice which I’ve caught so far. It’s all about the cars, man. And to all intents and purposes, the crew knew it; two accidents involving cars have already lent the film it’s very own ‘cursed movie set’ legend. But if you’re going to spotlight a very rare 1935 Rolls-Royce Phantom, you’ve got to expect some ghosts!
Casting Nicolas Cage as the magician? Hmmm, I’m not sure. I love Cage – he’s excellent as the habitual dark soul in movies such as Ghost Rider, Leaving Las Vegas and Face/Off. But his dry monotone and morose expression seems a little kilter for this Disney juggernaut. All the same, I like the look of the effects – the metallic stylings of the dragon ring and a generous splurge of blue flames.
And the cars…Did I mention the cars?
Suckerpunch. ‘Alice in Wonderland’ with machine guns’
Here’s the blurb:
“A young girl is institutionalized by her wicked stepfather. Retreating to an alternative reality as a coping strategy, she envisions a plan which will help her escape from the facility.”
Any movie that has the tagline ‘Alice in Wonderland’ with machine guns’ gets my vote!
The Roadrunner – BEEP BEEP
Lakin’s Lycanthrope
The full lunar cycle in June was dedicated to werewolves over at the Dark Fiction Review. I chose to review Angela Carter’s short story ‘Peter and the Wolf’.
“As a child, I was petrified of two pieces of classical music. The first was Edvard Grieg’s In The Hall Of The Mountain King, its creepy accelerando diluted somewhat thanks to recent Alton Towers ads. The second was Sergei Prokofiev’s Peter And The Wolf…” read more…
Thirst for the Undead
July 2010 is Vampire Awareness Month over at the blog of writer, editor, publisher, reviewer, filmmaker, and self-confessed cad, Mark Deniz.
Read my article on the link between vampirism and rock ‘n’ roll – ‘Love Song For A Vampire: Rock ‘n’ Roll’s Thirst For The Undead’ over at http://markdeniz.wordpress.com/2010/07/23/love-song-for-a-vampire-rock-‘n’-roll’s-thirst-for-the-undead/
“Rain pours down in an endless baptism. The lone figure in the alley is oblivious, water steaming offa him like sin. He wears a beaten up leather trench and knee-length New Rock boots festooned with every sort of buckle, lace and strap. His hair is a Mohawk, his t-shirt, a threadbare original from Guns N’ Roses’ Use Your Illusion world tour….” read more
The Thaw
“How do you feel?” my husband asked me last night when I told him I had finished writing my novel, Autodrome. “Not sure,” I answered truthfully, fully aware the answer should’ve been excited, euphoric, nervous, or enthusiastic. In fact, my strongest emotion was relief. Relief that I had somehow wound up at the end of that complex ball of word strings. Relief that the seemingly insurmountable list of ‘notes’ had somehow condensed itself into a few simple sentence insertions. Relief that, if nothing else, I had a start, middle and an end.
About time too. I am a slow writer. There is no getting away from it. I am obsessed with the minutia. Yes, I have a thing for the bubblegum feel of action adventure and stylistics, but my greatest dread is someone catching me out on mechanical details or historical accuracy. Perhaps this is why the writing of Autodrome has really hurt my head!
I remember a period of feeling utterly lost. The last quarter of the novel refused to be written and despite my having plotted the story in detail. I realised it was all in danger of ‘going on a bit.’ Rather than plough on until the bugger gave in, I found myself at a stalemate, unable to convince myself to write words for the sake of it. Writer’s block? I don’t think so. I don’t really believe in the thing. More a case of needing time to sift ideas and resift and resift.
In the meantime, I took solace in that great social tradition, the writers’ convention – or, as it turned out, three of them. Last September, Fantasycon gave Del and I our yearly excuse to return to our spiritual home of Nottingham and sink a beer or several with friends, old and new. November brought a Saturday night at Novacon, featuring an angry robot, free Champagne, and Ian Watson birthing a banana through his jumper. And in-between came Ian Con as it was affectionately named – the birthday extravaganza of writer, publisher and editor, Ian Whates.
Not that writing slunk away on its belly entirely. Instead, I started work on a new novella, a sister piece to Black Sunday, written in May 2009. While Black Sunday is set in the 1930s dustbowl, the new novella emerged as a New Weird-tinged story taking place on a desiccated planet. And it was all going swimmingly well…until the ideas for the last quarter of Autodrome started to fall into some sort of meaningful tea-leaf pattern.
Placing the new novella into the cryogenic sleep pod otherwise known as ‘on the back burner’, I took another shot at Autodrome. And this time, it gave me a way in. Seeing those startling, wondrous words ‘THE END’ after my final round of edits, I couldn’t help but feel relieved. And the thing is I’m pleased with the ending. It came out right in the end…And what does make me feel excited, euphoric, nervous, and enthusiastic is the thought of others reading it now. For me, that’s what this whole writing game is about, hoping others enjoy the world you’ve shaped and want you to shape some more.
Talking of which, its time to defrost the new novella.
The Great Idea
Maybe twice a week I get it. The Great Idea. In my case, I’m usually thinking in terms of a short story. I have very little in the way of plot, just a genesis of a setting, a character, or a title. It niggles at me, this Great Idea, like a distantly glimpsed nirvana. A golden land set on top of a mountain. A really big mountain. With a ladder at the summit that leads into cloud, and beyond that, some of those extra wide pyramidal steps you get on Gladiators. Part of me thinks ‘This could be the best story I’ve ever written.’ Part of me thinks ‘I must get around to writing it sometime.’
Without fail, I shelve all of my story ideas for a period. But I must admit to failing in one of the most cherished of writer traditions, namely, the Sacred Notebook of Scribbles. While I’m in awe of writers who detail dreams, thoughts, conversations, all the odds and ends of everyday life, I have a quite frankly peculiar view on the writing down of such. Call it a defence mechanism if you like, but for me, if the idea does not survive a few weeks being tossed to and fro in the slurry of my mind, it was never mine to write in the first place.
Occasionally though, I do engage a Great Idea in mortal combat – and, yes, I do see it as a battle because the writing process is brutal and bloody. Not because I’m some sort of emotional goddess, imparting hard won wisdoms on the lowly reader. Nothing as jaw-achingly pretentious, I hope. No, what I’m talking about is refusing to give in when the story decides it’s in it for the kill. Sometimes a story can stay closed to me for years, but if I make the decision that that particular plot really suits a solicited market, I load up the big guns. For me, this is one of the examples of how a writer really has to bloody love what they do in order to survive it. And every time I do survive it, I still have this sense I just got a lucky punch in.
I was at a party recently when one reveller uttered those oft repeated lines. ‘Wow, you write? That’s my perfect job. I’d love to sit at home and write for a living.’ Times like that, I remember the Great Idea and I get a cold sweat on. Yet at the same time, despite all those times I’ve stared at a screen and willed a story to play dead, I also know that I am at heart a bloodthirsty word warrior.
So, just as soon as I’ve finished writing the finale of my new book, I’m taking on one or two of the Great Ideas that’ve survived the quagmire. And this time I’m taking no prisoners.
Feed Your Head – Research and Realism in Genre Fiction
Writers are eternal students. Our minds play host to a rich variety of subjects, albeit for the time period necessary to complete any given project – after which we file away that mess of knowledge under the heading, ‘Useless Facts’, only to be exhumed for the purposes of future story threads and pub quizzes.
Research is temporal to a degree then but none the less essential. How can you enslave your readers with a believable story unless you ground it in reality? Yet all too often, a new writer will make the fatal error of embarking on a story without any real knowledge of setting, plot or characters. In short, they opt for the ‘easy’ route.
Earlier this year, I attended a QandA session featuring some of the UK’s foremost fantasy authors. Towards the end of the session, an erstwhile audience member stated that he was making a conscious decision to write fantasy and SF because ‘You get to make shit up’. The appeal of the genre, he claimed, was a writer’s ability to get away with little or no research…or as I interpreted it, blue murder. Because here’s the rub. A writer needs imagination, needs it bubbling over like an effervescing witch’s vat. But forgo the research necessary to ground an idea and the writer’s imagination is as intangible as frog’s breath.
Let’s take a writer of unholy genius, Clive Barker (‘Weaveworld’), and his epic fantasy series for children ‘Abarat’. The land of Abarat is a strange world populated by queerly fantastical creatures. Given the imaginative nature of this work, is it really likely that Barker paid any attention to research? Wasn’t his Clive Barkerdom sufficient? Not so. In fact, Barker dedicated a serious chunk of energy to the groundwork supporting the novel. In his words, “I made a list…(of) really important influences: Terry Gilliam books; ‘Time Bandits’; ‘Fantasia’; the ‘Cirque du Soleil’; Ray Harryhausen movies; ‘A Midsummer Night’s Dream’…the joy for me, when I got to the book, was I could see where all those were – I could see, I could smell ‘Wizard of Oz’ around the book and ‘Cirque du Soleil’ and ‘Fantasia’.”
It may be argued that what Barker is describing is not research but influence. In this instance at least, Barker’s work ethic focuses less on his enslavement to the internet or local library than preparation of the mind. But this is still self-analysis undertaken in the name of research – i.e. if a writer does not take the time to pull apart his/her creative minds and unearth the influences with which they wish to shape a story, all they are left with is a lonely idea – and to quote that ghastly truism, an idea does not a story make.
Other writers take their research to a more physical level. Nicholas Royle (‘Antwerp’) explores abandoned buildings as a means of creeping under the skin of contemporary urbanism. Mark Chadbourn (‘Jack of Raven’) worked two hundred feet under ground so that he could get a feel for the conditions endured by coal miners for his debut novel ‘Underground’.
But to return to the question of intellectual research, Chadbourn also says, “I’ve studied and read about archetypes for years…I’ve had a real interest in psychology and philosophy and there’s lots of areas I dabble in that I think are all linked” to the extent that “I’ve absorbed so much of the archetype information so deeply that I don’t have to think too hard.” The key then is achieving a fine balance between knowledge of your story’s physicality, its setting and soft furnishings, and the detailed research of any aspect you are not already familiar with, something so crucial in the development of plot and characters.
And there we touch on a fundamental element of good quality fiction: character development. To illustrate how this relates to research, lets take a story about a vet and his wife who has Multiple Sclerosis. Disenchanted by her husband’s inability to deal with her condition, the wife has come to the practice to tell the vet she is leaving him. The vet is preparing for surgery on a very old dog; in his mind he assimilates the supposed pointlessness of operating on the dog with his feelings of inadequacy when it comes to giving his wife the physical and emotional support she needs. So here we have a number of the ingredients necessary to render an effective story: a wife’s anger towards her husband (displaced frustration at the limitations of her failing body), a husband’s sense of impotence, and his decision as a vet to fight for the life of a dying animal when he does not have the strength to fight for his marriage. Now what? Forge ahead with the story, pouring out every last trace of empathy and inner emotion? The wiser option is to step back and explore the key questions which will make a difference between life or death for the story. What does the vet’s working environment look like and how does he prepare for surgery? (Watching episodes of Animal Hospital does not guarantee authenticity.)
What is wrong with the dog? What language would a vet use to describe the dog’s condition – this will differ according to whether he is addressing the dog’s owner or his colleagues. What about the wife? The portrayal of an MS sufferer is paramount to the story’s integrity. In other words, how can a reader ever hope to relate if the fabric of the story is poorly constructed and thus floored? The answer is to avoid clichés by taking the time to research a story and its characters, even if the wife is a green-skinned octopus from Planet Droig and the dog an android.
But the notion of characters is a tricky one. No amount of research can teach you how to get at the bleeding core of a character, their ‘humanness’ unless you are willing to open yourself up as a person first and a writer second. Admittedly, you have the option to leave your characters un-fleshed, join the plot-hard ranks of Dan Brown and rake in the green. (Be warned, character superficiality is a trick in itself.) But for those who want their characters to demonstrate depth, another type of research is essential, namely personal insight – and since we cannot relate to every single given scenario, this is where the development of a research ethic is so crucial.
At the opposite end of the writing spectrum, there is the danger to over-feast on stimuli and procrastinate. After all, it is very tempting to convince ourselves that we have not done enough research to start a story. The key here, as to everything else in life, is balance. Flesh out the skeleton of your plot, breathe life into your characters, give them a believable setting in which to interact, and then let your imagination do the rest. It’s a simple recipe.
