Answers served with a smile and a raised eyebrow
Kate Kearney searched: Why are superhero movies currently popular?
Because the superhero films currently coming out are good fun, make us laugh, and are written by people who generally know how to tell a satisfying story.
Because sometimes, no matter what someone says, they just want to watch something blow up from time to time.
Because we like to see a fight over something worthwhile. And we like to see the good guys win.
Because the films currently coming out are gently discussing what a hero is. What ideals are worth reaching for. What loyalty, duty and responsibility really are. What kindness, goodness, and grace really are. What redemption is, and who deserves it. Whether we can call someone a hero, who is not always heroic. Whether vulnerability and strength are actually opposites. What we should protect. What we should celebrate. What we should discard.
Because we have been sitting inside a world that grows grayer by the moment, and superhero films point out that a few things – right, wrong, friendship, hope – are still black and white.
Sandieandieandie searched: If you were a superhero what powers would you have?
There is a wide array of excellent options – super-strength, super-speed, flight, extreme intelligence, telepathy, telekinesis, phasing, atmospheric manipulation – but the only one I’ve ever wanted was invulnerability.
I don’t care if it’s unlimited ability to regenerate, or just an inability to ever be damaged, but I want to be able to run into any situation and know that, physically, I can take any hit someone cares to land on me.
But, I’m pretty sure, if I fell into a vat toxic waste, the rules of good literature would demand that I didn’t get what I asked for.
Kate Kearney searched: Why can’t I work with my back to the door?
For the same reason that you lock and double lock your door before you leave your body behind to walk the astral plane. You don’t want something to walk in unexpected when your mind has gone to another world.
HermioneGreater searched: Can you solve a rubix cube?
Of course. All writers can. Watch:
Sarah glared lightly at the chess board, still idly turning the rubix cube over in her hands. She flicked her wrist once, twice, slid the colors around, glanced down at the cube in her lap, and glared at the board again.
“You have to move your king,” Eddie said.
Sarah flicked her wrist again, turned the cube without looking, rolling her tongue along the inside of her teeth.
“It’s in check,” Eddie said.
“I know,” Sarah said. “Give me a minute.” Flick. Flick. Click, clack, slide. She looked down, back up, and slowly reached for her king. Touching it lightly, she slid her fingers down the crown, held still. Then she moved it one space to the right.
Eddie cocked his head as soon as she took her hand away, clicked his tongue. Rocking forward, he moved his rook two spaces forward, and leaned back with a smile. “Checkmate. Really, you’re no good at this game.”
Sarah shook her head. Flick. Clack.
“I’m sorry I made you play,” he said. “I thought you had to have gotten better than last time.”
“Yeah. Well.” Click, slip, slide. Flick. Flick. Sarah dropped the rubix cube in the middle of the board, each side squared away as a clean wash of color. It rocked up on one side, and teetered back down, spinning a little, as if it wanted to show off. “Do that, I dare you.” Cocking an eyebrow, she pushed her chair back, and strode straight for the kitchen and a tall drink of water.
Gingerly, Eddie picked up the rubix cube. He turned it over, half on a hope that one side would come up imperfect. Then, he winced, considering how easily she had done it, and how many nights he’d burn trying.
(But no. I’ve never solved one in real life.)
Mason S. searched: What was your last dream about?
Blogging, actually. I think I wrote a bit too much yesterday, stuck my mind in that gear for too many hours, then went to bed and dreamed that I was writing the world’s longest blog post.
Not, that I had in any way contacted the Guinness Book of World Records, or that I was in any way aware during this dream that my blog post was longer than it ought to have been. But I was sitting in a pile of pillows (or something squishy), typing away, and my blog post was printing itself on a piece of canvas that was slowly hoisting itself up to a very, very high ceiling. There were other people around, but don’t remember who, or what we were talking about, just that it was a comfortably social setting, and I was content in my long work.
Then I realized that I had made a mistake very close to the top of my blog post. And that I had no way to climb that high on the canvas to correct it. And I sat around trying to figure out how to climb a blog post.
I think I fixed it before I woke up. But I’m not sure.
Kate Kearney searched: Will you show me three cute gifs?
And here I stand, realizing that my definition of cute has some strange edges to it. But I’ll do my best:
Kate Kearney searched: Otters?
Three cute otters?
Kate Kearney searched: Scoundrels?
Three cute scoundrels?
Heh heh. Yeah. I got this.
WICKANINNISH searched: If you could ask your future self one question, what would it be?
On a good day, I imagine I’d smile and ask if she had fun. On a bad day, I’d still smile, but ask if it was worth it. And since I would be talking to myself, I’m sure she’d understand that either one was a quiet request to know that life was good.
I might consider asking something else, but I don’t want any details. As prideful and absurd it is, I want to be free from any prophecy she might give me. I want to be free to make my own choices, to live, to make my mistakes, and to risk, and succeed, without anything but hope pointing me toward what might come next.
I like the rush and sweetness of hope.
Rivkah searched: What’s the farthest you’ve ever been from home?
When I was nineteen, I took my very first plane flight, crossed the Atlantic ocean, and landed in Athens, Greece. It was a fourteen hour trip, and it landed me 5,200 miles from home.
Walking through the airport, I had to stop walking to read every sign, because I could read the language, but not quickly. Listening to the general chatter of the crowd was like trying to tune a radio in the middle of the mountains. I could only catch a few words, and got excited when I could understand three or four in a row. The money in my hand had faces I didn’t know. Outside the airport, the air smelled like beaches and orchards, and nothing like the sterile cold January that I’d woken to that morning. The trees were small, bright, twisty things. The cars were tiny. And I suddenly realized that I had memorized how to ask for directions, but I had no idea if I’d understand any response someone gave me.
That was the first, and probably the only time, I have felt far from home.
It’s also the one place I daydream most about getting back to.
Have a question for Gwendoogle? Leave it in comments below and I’ll be back next week to answer it.
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