One of the main character arcs that I deal with in my book is letting go.  In spiritual circles letting go means allowing things to come into our lives.  Allowing the things we want to manifest.  Letting go in the context of personal loss allows us to move on, to continue to live and not live in the past.  You see this a lot in cases of lost love or family death.  People tend to look at pictures or read letters of the past.

I think they’re trying to console themselves.  In the immediate moment after the incident it can help.  But if people do this after a significant time has gone by is it healthy?  And what is a significant time?  To a fruit fly whose lifespan is a day, then a few minutes could be pretty damn significant.

In UP by Pixar Carl has to deal with a difficult loss and broken promise.  It’s pretty evident that he can’t move on.  Life all around him represented by high-rise development is being built, life moving forward.  He just sits on his porch all day and sulks.

Then comes a little chubby Asian boy who helps show him the way.  His name is Russell.  Side note…

The movie never states the Asian boy’s last name, so I assume by his slanty eyes and straight black hair that he’s Asian.  Even IMDB has no last name on the chubby boy.  And if he is Asian, man, the boy speaks Engrish good.  I mean he speaks English well.  The writers had the forethought not to put an Asian accent with the Asian boy.  How revolutionary.

In both my book and UP the two concepts of letting go, which is really one, is dealt with.  Because in life you must let go if you are to create what it is you want.  You must let go if you are to move forward.  Isn’t that what we all want?

How do you let go?

I wrote a little about this in my Feel the Anger.

Should there be a mourning period?  Of course.  I think it’s unhealthy not to have one.  But what should it be filled with?

I’ve fallen in love many times.  Deeply.  When those relationships ended, even by my own doing, the pain that followed ripped through me.  I cannot describe how much the pain tore me up, how it made my life impossible to live.  Most of you who’ve loved and lost know.  It sucks.

Aside from filling my time with the good memories of my past girlfriends, I spent a lot of time learning from my mistakes.  I read books, observed other relationships, scrutinize my current behavior to see if I lived in the past or moved toward my future.  I took an honest view of my mistakes.

One of the things I did wrong was wanting to be right all the time.  That it was important to be right.  Another words, my ego got in my way.  Whether I was right or not wasn’t important.  My girlfriend had to understand my point of view.  Because, damn it, my point of view was important.  It’s the source of my happiness.  Well…

I’m the source of my happiness.

The only person who should care about my point of view is me.

Everyone has their own point of view, but it matters little to me.  I cannot be responsible for their happiness.  They can’t be responsible for my happiness.  We as individuals are responsible for our own happiness.

It is here that we find empowerment.

Had I truly learned this, at least half the arguments would have disappeared.

The sad thing is most live through other people’s eyes.  It is the source of so much conflict.

Isn’t the meaning of life to be happy?

Being able to move forward can definitely facilitate that as UP shows us with humor.  The end of the movie shows that when we let go we get what we want and more.  Watch it as it teaches an important lesson.

When I was doing research for my book, I’d read books on Vikings, Native American Indians and Samurais. There was also a lifetime of Chinese period soap operas lurking in my head that made its way on paper. My brother pointed out a common theme that I used without knowing it in my episodes.

Then I ventured down to individuals such as Miyamoto Musashi, Geronimo, and Ibn Fadlan.  I’ve also used Sun Tzu’s Art of War and Robert Greene’s The 33 Strategies of War.  I then obsessed over movies such as Braveheart, the events at the Battle for Thermopile and the History Channel.

The Samurai culture has always interested me.  In my research there was a movie I came across called The Twilight Samurai.  I immediately fell in love with it.  So much so that I bought a copy of it.  Not download it!  Bought.  It stars Hiroyuki Sanada.  If you’ve seen Tom Cruise’s The Last Samurai, then you’ve seen Sanada.  He was the one who taught Cruise’s character how to sword fight.

Twilight won a dozen Japanese awards and was nominated best foreign language film in the 2002 Academy Awards.

Despite the fact that Sanada plays a low ranking Samurai, I fell in love with the character.  The character is widowed, humble to a fault, works a low paying job, loves raising his two daughters, one of the best Samurais, cares nothing for advancement, and dreams of working on his own farm.  Empathy techniques at work?

The romance in the movie works so well, tons of chemistry, and no sex scenes.  I like sex scenes, don’t get me wrong, like in a porno.  But it seems a lot of movies use sex to get the movie goer to come–ahem–instead of using it as a tool to forward the romantic story.

Take The Matrix as an example.  Look at the special effects, which the movie required.  Most of it, if not all, wasn’t terribly advanced or over done for it’s time.  Special effects was used as a tool to forward the plot, never used to get the movie goer to come.

One thing that really caught me about Twilight is there seems to be no real antagonist.  Where’s Darth Samurai?  Then it occurred to me.  The antagonist was society.  The hero struggles with money, raising his daughters, living with his senile mother and the disrespect the other Samurai.  He’s constantly badgered to remarry, to advance, to succumb to everyday standards.

His response?

“I’m too cool for ya’ll.”

Not really.  But he does resist it all.  Then comes his childhood love.  She is the monkey wrench to his well oiled machine.  From there, the story develops well, the romance progresses with all its angst, using the sign of the times to present obstacles, and there’s enough action to help the story along.  Though the sword fighting is not central to the movie.

If you like Samurai movies, rent this.  You’ll love it.

Did J.J. Abrams turn the Star Trek universe on itself?

The problem with remakes, even ones that are considered prequels, is that you have to be loyal to the source material.  James T. Kirk who was captain of the starship Enterprise must become captain again.  Spock must be teamed up with Kirk.  Then all of the prior installments must be observed, so the current prequel plot lines don’t contradict them.

This can limit the storyteller.

What Abrams did was pure genius.  He used the Star Trek universe as means to allow him the freedom to make future Star Trek movies with no ties to the prior movies.  He used time and alternate universes to help free himself from the past.  See the movie and you’ll understand what I’m talking about.

The movie itself was well made.  The dialogue, writing, action was really on par if not better than previous installments.  There was great chemistry among most of the main characters, and there were enough surprises that helped propel the plot.

The characters traits were well defined in the beginning.  And this matches well to young adults who tend to be idealistic in nature.

They even used the odd man out in red in a mission that foreshadowed his quick death.  You remember?  In the old episodes when they beamed down, the one person who no one cared, wearing a red uniform was the one who was going to die.  Saw that a mile away.

I totally recommend the movie.  You don’t need to be a Trekkie to enjoy this.  However, there are plenty of inside jokes for Trekkies of all levels.

The Hugh Jackman movie, X-Men Origins: Wolverine delivered on what it was supposed to deliver.  At the start of the story, there was a bit of action.  The next five minutes or so during the billing, when the names of the actors roll through, is filled with action.  After that more action.  But then a third of the way through there was a lull in action for about a minute, then more action.  A lot of action in the middle, the climax was action-filled, then the movie ended with a bit more action.

In reading reviews, both fans and columns, there are two schools of thought when it comes to the new X-Men movie.  One claims there’s too much action and not enough depth.  The other claims there was too much effort in creating depth, especially in the beginning.

In any story, be it written, film, TV, folk lore, rumor, a connection to the hero has to be made.  Or else the reader/audience won’t care what happens to the hero or supporting characters.  Suspension and conflict won’t matter anymore.  Who would care?  If you’ve watched the documentary Spielberg On Spielberg, he said his main job is to connect the audience to his film.

Let’s not get into how to do that, but David Freeman who teaches techniques in writing covers it well.  Check his website out at www.beyondstructure.com.

The question is, do action movies like X-Men Origins:  Woverine need depth?  Don’t we go to movies to escape?  Isn’t action enough?

Over the weekend I saw Obsessed, starring Beyonce Knowles.  I didn’t know it was a comedy.  But first, let’s start with the review.

The story is basic.  A person get’s obsessed with coworker.  Coworker is happily married.  The obsessed obsessively obsesses over the coworker and chases after him.  Ali Larter plays the obsessed.  Idris Elba plays the loving husband.  But the obvious draw to the movie is Beyonce.  And because she’s a strong woman both in real life and in the movie, she takes care of business.  As expected she kicks Larter’s ass.  Might I say a very nice ass.  Overall, despite being predictive, it was  entertaining.

How is it a comedy?

One of the climatic scenes in the movie is when the wife is led to believe that her husband cheated on her.  Elba, who plays the loyal husband, denies, denies, denies.  And then he denies some more.  Even though we see the movie through the husband’s perspective, and he did everything to thwart Larter’s obsessive obsession, when Knowles accuses her husband of cheating, all of the women in the theater were like:

“You go girl!”

“Oh, hell naw.  He lyin’.  He lyin’!”

“Das right.  Take it to him, girl!”

One lady turn to her friend.  “Mm hmm.  He did it.  He cheated on Miss Knowles.”

I could not stop laughing.  As I said, I didn’t know I was in for a comedy.  The scene continued at home where Beyonce proceeded to kick her husband out.

“Das right.  Das your house.”

“Mm hmm.  Take control.  You deserve better.”

“Oh, girl.  Don’t listen to him.  He did it. Liar!”

The whole theater filled with catcalls and whoops, praising Beyonce for defending her womanhood.  I busted up laughing.  Not only because of the enthusiasm of the theater, which I suddenly felt to be the only guy in attendance.  But because the guy really didn’t do anything.  He actually made no moves, no actions, and wasn’t even tempted.  Still, the estrogen filled theater heckled him as if he committed the ultimate marital sin.

I felt compelled and yelled, “He didn’t do nothin’.”  Which of course fell on deaf ears.

When I was a kid, I loved movies.  But there were certain ones that I’ve always connected to but never knew why.  Now, as I’m wiser, not necessarily more mature, I know why I loved certain movies, why I kept watching them over and over.

One day I was rummaging through a fantasy book store and came across The Neverending Story, by Michael Ende.  The book was first published in 1979 in German.  Ralph Manheim translated it to English.  I must have seen the movie dozens of times.  I loved the characters, I loved the story within the story, and I totally loved the soundtrack.  So when I saw the hardcover, I bought it.

For parents and children, this is totally appropriate.  It’s an allegory on life, and if you watch the movie with your kids, ask them what the movie means.  It’s the one thing that I don’t see parents doing is asking their kids what things mean to them.  Do it and you’ll be surprised by what you find out.

When I mentor students, I always ask what things mean, or how they feel about the experiences they’re going through.  It’s also my main tool in getting them to open up.  Eventually, they spill the beans about anything that I ask.  I need to know what they’re thinking, feeling in order to help them out.  Click here if you want to read more on talking to your children.

If you read to your kids, read The Neverending Story.  If not, then watch the movie.  Don’t have the money to rent movies, well the whole movie is on youtube:  Part 1.

While I was perusing youtube at work, don’t tell my boss, I came across the Karate Kid.  This is an interesting movie.  Not because of the awesome cat-like choreography.  To me the hero is interesting.

A normal underdog story goes something like this:  hero enters new world (town, school, wizard school), is overwhelmed by bad dude (love interest’s ex, bully, the most evilest powerfulest wizard), gets a gift (learns the way of love, learns how to fight, learns he’s a great wizard), and, voila, hero wins.

Most of the times, the bad buy is an actual bad guy.  Not in The Neverending Story or Karate Kid.  The antagonist is the hero’s disbelief in themselves.

When we look at Neverending, Bastian, the hero, must follow his inspiration, his love for books, fantasy, and story.  It isn’t until he fully gives in does he overcome the antagonist, self-doubt.  In Kid, Daniel must believe in himself.  He never got stronger, faster, or learned more karate then the bully.  The bully was never the obstacle, just the opportunity.  His teacher guided him to trust in his ability, to let go of his self-proclaimed weaknesses.  In doing so, Daniel prevailed, or what I like to term kicked ass.

I’ve always loved stories that have this undertone.  When I look at the characters I’ve written in my book, all of them at some level must deal with self-belief.  It’s the one thing I hone in on when I mentor people.   I use stories to open conversations with children, to guide them toward their passions in life, their truth.

Once we had come in, the rain started to layer the Chinatown streets with deep puddles. It was 2 o’clock in the morning. We’d just come from a dark club and our eyes hadn’t adjusted to the florescent lit diner. I threw up two fingers.

“Choose any table,” a waiter said in his fresh off the plane accent.

My close friend and I chose a table by the window. Layers of prior meals washed with soiled napkins and warm tea made the table sticky, dingy. The menus were well worn by repeated usage from drunk bar hoppers. The faint smell of the kitchen and the light clanging of ladles striking woks percolated.

An older waitress strolled to our table and grinned, turning her eyes to slanted slits. Cheeks healthy with the greasy foods the wait staff must eat every night. “Ready to ohdah?”

I nodded and ordered the Hong Kong style noodles, combination. Not the best to keep my girlish figure, but it was late and I was starving. My friend only eats kosher and just drank water.

Just then two men were seated directly behind me. One of them had gelled, brown hair that flared out like he jumped out of a plane. He plopped down and the back of his chair shoved mine forward. I thought I was going to tip over. So I leaned back against his chair. The waiter took their order and left. Crazy hair leaned back against the chair. I pushed back. This went on for five minutes.

Deciding I didn’t want to do this anymore, I turned around in my chair, tapped his shoulder and was about to ask him to move his chair up.

“Why you touching me?” Crazy Hair said. He was Colombian.

“Can you move your–”

Crazy Hair stands up, throws his hands to the side. “Why you touching me? You want to do something?”

“You’re hitting the back of my chair,” I said.

“You hitting, too. It’s not my fault.”

At this point I don’t remember the conversation much. My teacher always taught me to deescalate the situation. But once Crazy stood up, threw his arms to the side, deescalation went out the window. He took a position of power, standing up, and began to antagonize me. He was going to hit me.

My mind became silent. My body wanted to tense up, but it didn’t. I remained calm. I was highly aware of my right arm, ready to launch. My legs were well prepared to leap up. My abs sat on the edge of clenching. I was staring right in to his milky green, brown eyes, watching for a flicker. The flicker that telegraphs movement. My peripheral vision kept a close watch of his hands. Any sudden, sharp movement made, and my body would have exploded. I could feel it edging closer and closer to attacking. My spoken words were broken because I wasn’t listening to what he said.

“I’m just joking, man. I’m not from this country,” Crazy Hair said, waving his hands around my face.

I put my hands on my chin to block anything he may try. “You’re Colombian, right?”

“How do you know?”

“I used to have a close friend who was Colombian.”

“Ah.” He laughs. He looks over at my friend, who happens to be my teacher. “You look bothered.”

I’d totally forgot my friend was there. His 6’2″ frame was imposing. But it’s nothing compared to his stare. When I looked over, my teacher was ready to pounce. “I’m not bothered,” my friend said, and smiled. His eyes didn’t.

“I’m sorry. I’m not from this country,” Crazy repeats. “Sometimes I go crazy cuz of my blood. Come over, sit with us.”

I looked at his friend who seemed calm. Why was he so calm?

“Come sit with us.”

I said no.

“What? I’m apologize for this, but if you want to go to what we do before, let’s do it.”

Tsing Tao beers were served. Crazy’s friend egged him to sit down in Spanish. After a minute, Crazy pulled his chair to the side and sat down. I’ve been in amateur full contact fights, but this was pretty intense. In a tournament fight, I know I’m going to fight. Last night, however, would have been my first real fight. Win or lose, I was ready. My friend/teacher was ready. With their drunken stupor and poor judge of character, I’m sure we would have prevailed and spent the night behind bars for doing so.

When I taught at my old martial arts school, one thing we taught was intensity coupled with kiaing.  For those of you who don’t know, kiaing is a short or long scream or yell while striking.  But let me tell you.  Our school used to kiai at the top of our lungs (one of the reasons I left the school).

First off, no one fights like this.  You’d spend more energy yelling your head off if you did.  The worst part is when a student ends their technique with a five minute kiai, long after the strike has been delivered.  Their philosophy is that in a fight or a life and death situation people tend to forget to breath.  And that’s true.  That’s why when you listen to boxers fight, they breath out crisply with a hiss.  Kinda like a cobra striking.

During belt tests, we would watch students scream as they performed their techniques.  We would then convene and discuss each students’ intensity as if we were judging the taste of wine.

Pure crap! (see my bio)

Then I go to the gym, and I see very little intensity.  I’ll give you an example.

This girl who was doing leg presses caught my eye.  Now, I know what you’re thinking.  She was hot.  Just because she wore tight black ankle pants that showed off her narrow waist, flowing down to her round hips, a bright pink top that accentuated her bust line, showing off her flat stomach, and she pouted her red plush lips and flung long brown hair, doesn’t mean I found her attractive.  What caught my eye was her lacsadaisical leg presses as she leisurely texted on her blackberry.

I don’t think she’s very focused.

Or a guy who does one set of  curls, talks to his friend for twenty minutes, does another set, wipes his forehead, and continues his conversation about the the hot girl doing the leg presses, is not focused on his workout.  Then he complains that whatever he does, he can’t seem to get the definition or size he wants.

I wonder why?

I love working out, but I don’t spend much time at the gym.  Do your workout.  Hit it hard.  Get your heart pumping.  Increase your metabolism.  Then leave.

Is this prevalent in other gyms?

Watchmen.  I saw it.  Didn’t like it.

Chun Li.  Kristin Kreuk.  My Asian sistah!  It’s cool that they made a martial arts movie around a female character.  It gives little girls someone to look up to.  I’ve mentored children, and they all need heroes to admire and model.

But the problem with these movies, movies based on video games, is that they don’t honor the game.  I remember the Street Fighter era.  The worn down ball joystick, the shiny red buttons, and the “Kamehameha” brings memories of getting my butt kicked.  I was never good at it, but when I watched others play, it was like a freakin ballet dance of kicking ass.

And Chun Li kicked ass.  And they tried to keep her powers true to the video game.  But not enough.  Not enough to bring the spirit of the game to the screen.  Directors and screenwriters know the issue.  It was the biggest complaint of the first Street Fighter movie with Jean Claude Van Damme.  Damn it!

But I watched it for Kristin.  I’m a sucker for hazel eyes.