Why I Love “Daredevil”

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catholicism, christianity, daredevil, g.k. chesterton, marvel, marvel's daredevil, religion, story dynamics, writing

Lately, I’ve been watching Daredevil on a free trial of Netflix that I was forced to get in order to complete a different class. I might as well milk it for all it’s worth while I’ve got it.

It’s pretty different, watching Netflix shows. They tend to be written much more tightly and be more hard-hitting than TV shows. Since it’s sort of a “view at your own discretion” situation, they can also deal with things that most channels would shy away from discussing.

I love the way Daredevil is written. The dialogue is tight and loaded. Not a single word is wasted. Each character has a distinct voice, or even multiple voices–Matt has his “lawyer” voice, which is reasoned and comes across as almost stilted but very well put-together; his “informal” voice–his natural way of talking; and his “Daredevil” voice, which is much more terse than either of the others. The very choice of words builds into the characters.

At one point, Matt asks Karen if she believes; she replies that she doesn’t. In return, she asks him if he does. He replies “Catholic.” The reply is so textured, so many-faceted, not least because of his word choice.

It implies so much. Matt sees his faith as part of who he is, fundamentally; to him, it’s the thing that motivates him to take a stand and not back down; to get up again when he gets knocked down. It’s both a motivation and an example. For him, his faith is something concrete.

But it’s not just part of Matt’s identity that his word choice hints at.

It implies that Matt also believes that it doesn’t just matter that you believe; your exact beliefs matter too. That’s rather an unpopular opinion to hold in these days of watered-down Christianity, where hounded Christians greet any fellow Christian of any denomination as a friend in a world that seems to hate their guts. But that’s just a symptom–a welcome one, though–of a bigger problem.

A lot of people seem to think that it doesn’t matter what you believe, just that you do. Still more appear to be of the opinion that you can believe whatever you like, so long as you follow the nebulous call of “the right thing”–but no one seems to quite know what the right thing is.

But you see… people with all their beliefs laid out clearly on the table do.

The modern school of thought on “the right thing” grows out of a set of damaging beliefs from religions that people don’t dare to call out individually. And thus, they water down beliefs that common thought understands to be hurtful. Christianity gets watered down right along with them, even though it shouldn’t.

As a result, we get a series of feel-good philosophies that are, once you’ve lived them out for a while, hollow and dingy, and when they don’t feel fulfilled people just move on and try the next one, or they throw their hopes into exercise or yoga or things that have much more potential for harm.

That is not what religion is meant to be.

Let me repeat myself: that is not what religion is meant to be!

Religion is hard-hitting. It doesn’t pull its punches. As G.K. Chesterton once said, “Christianity has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found difficult and left untried.”

Either you believe it all, or you put your faith in nothing. It’s as simple as that.

Personally, I believe that there is God and the devil. I believe in Heaven and Hell; I believe in the Bible, and I believe in the Savior. I can’t compromise. This is, as it is for Matt Murdoch, part of who I am.

I won’t apologize (as in, say I’m sorry.) But I will apologize (as in, live out my faith for everyone to see, and defend it if it’s attacked.)

Another thing about the zeitgeist; anything is permissible as long as “it’s just who I am!” Well, this is just who I am. Are you offended?

If you are, I recommend that you look really closely at the reasons why.

(I also recommend that you watch Daredevil. There’s some language, and it’s very violent, graphic and even gory in parts, but it’s also a very good show, both writing and morality-wise.)

Thanks for reading, and God Bless!

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Mocked Guardian Meaning

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c.s. lewis, disney, g.k. chesterton, j.r.r. tolkien, lord of the rings, pixar, poetry, star wars, the chronicles of narnia, wreck-it ralph

Fairy tales do not tell children that dragons exist. Children already know that the dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children that the dragons can be slain.

~~~~G.K. Chesterton

Two days ago, I posted a poem I called Mocked Guardian, and I asked people to guess its inspiration and its meaning. Some guessed it was situations from stories (specifically involving Obi-Wan). No. Others guessed it was a life experience, or a dream. Not quite.

Mocked Guardian, in essence, is a collection of themes from nightmares, certain stories I’ve read, and life experiences, but there is a broader message. Mocked Guardian is a commentary on a trend in popular culture, something that is all too common today; the destruction of all safeguards against evil, and the defamation and vile slander of all childhood heroes. You could say it was the outcry of a man’s silent, boxed-away conscience; it could be the ignored guardian angel whose existence is denied. It could be the lament of an Aragorn whose necessity is denied, along with the existence of real, present, vicious evil. It is also the cry of pain of a child whose heroes are cruelly ripped away and defaced, while the villains are glorified. It is a nightmare in which all the heroes have been removed, all the protectors have been banished, allowing the myriad evils of the world to come down in shrieking hordes, ripping, tearing away like harpies, bringing fear, while the undefended children have not so much as a Rosary to fall back on.

But it is also a ringing cry of defiance, a rallying cry, a lament with a background message of hope.

To me, storytellers! To me, lovers of art, literature, and fiction! To me, lovers of history and lore! Don’t let them take away our heroes. Keep fighting. Because if we don’t protect our heroes, who will?

If you don’t agree with this message, if you feel attacked, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to attack you. Like Galadriel, I’m not dangerous myself. You brought your own danger along with you. And if you feel attacked… this is some friendly advice… maybe it’s time to drop the baggage?

And to those who don’t believe in moral absolutes, no offense, but your ideas are a boatload of eggsy moonshine!

About the picture: The above drawing is sort of related to the poem. Only sort of. Depending on your point of view, it’s either a nightmare Obi-Wan had a few months after his master’s death on Naboo… or it could be a Star Wars and Wreck-it Ralph crossover fanfiction that I haven’t written yet. You decide. 😉

I know that the proportions are wrong, and the line thickness is somewhat distracting and also a bit too variable, but compared to some of my other art, it’s pretty good. I still need to practice my poses, and drawing shouting people and crying people and people in despair, etc., though. 🙂

Beginnings: Camp Nanowrimo

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baronness emma orczy, c.s. lewis, camp nanowrimo april 2014, camping, candles, g.k. chesterton, j.r.r. tolkien, madeleine l'engle, nanowrimo, national novel writing month, sherlock holmes, sir arthur conan doyle, story dynamics, t.h. white, the scarlet pimpernel, twysdrns, writing

This gallery contains 2 photos.

All right, I finished Day One of camp with enough words to cover today (though I still plan on working …

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A Random Story

Tags

alice in wonderland, alligators, author, bagels, bbc sherlock, disney, doug, dragons, dug, editor, electronics, funerals, g.k. chesterton, hilary clinton, iris, j.r.r. tolkien, john h. watson, justin beiber, lewis carrol, lord of the rings, madeleine l'engle, moriarty, paratroopers, pixar, sherlock holmes, social networking sites, the hobbit, united nations, up, venus flytraps

This is what happens when three writers on the way back from Washington, DC get bored. They begin a randomly-jumping-in-and-writing game of Story Round! And this is what results. Bask in the random awepicness!

Bold: Erin

Italics: Iris

Underline: Our other friend (who in real life shares a first name with me!)

Once upon a time, there was a dragon. He had nothing to read, and so he picked up a book by G.K. Chesterton, and his [the dragon’s] name was Fred.

However, the book turned out to be the wrong dust jacket on the wrong book, and he found himself reading “The Hobbit.” Caesar and Napoleon put all their genius into being heard of, and they WERE heard of, with a loud snore like a clap of thunder. And he [Fred] had a chicken as an uncle.

iPods and iPhones fought the other MP3 players, CD players, tape players, and radios, while Facebook bad-mouthed Twitter and Instagram and Tumblr hid. Instagram kissed Pinterest, who fainted. Touchpads and iPads fought the other tablets, who were led by General Samsung Galaxy. The authors studiously ignored them all with a tea-drinking contest. The computers got tired of the authors procrastinating and revolted. His [Fred’s] life was ended when a tomahawk came down and through the door he [Fred] entered.

Aliens came down from Camazotz and fought a marvelous battle with the Hobbits, and Bilbo, Frodo, Merry, Sam, and Pippin whopped them spectacularly and sent them packing. They [the aliens] hid in a rabbit hole and were lost forever in Wonderland. They ran into Cyrus and Alice as the two were on their adventures, and our intrepid heroes slaughtered them all.

The squirrel fell off the balcony and into Doug [from “Up”]’s mouth. Dug died of imaginary tuberculosis (so he wasn’t really dead) and was sent to Camazotz, where he turned into IT. Meanwhile, Moriarty snored up a storm, so Sherlock stuffed a biscuit in his mouth and escaped over the back fence. Meanwhile, Meg Murry defeated IT and IT turned back into nice, friendly Doug. [She made me spell it like this and not like Dug, which is how it was spelled on the back of the movie case. Gah.] They all went back to Earth, where Doug became friends with Fortinbras.

A dog dressed in a military uniform walked up the aisle beside the casket at the funeral for the squirrel, which [the casket] was empty because, of course, the squirrel had been eaten. Meanwhile, Twitter and the United Nations texted disrespectfully in the background. Then Sherlock ran in, shouting that the coffin was NOT really empty. Hilary Clinton gawked. Justin Beiber screamed like a fangirl and fainted. John Watson stepped over his inert body and opened the coffin, which contained a bagel. The entire funeral dissolved into a brawl as to who got the bagel. Sherlock told Clinton to shut her mouth. It snapped shut like an alligator or a Venus Flytrap. Doug tried to bury the bagel for later as Facebook ran in and screamed that Twitter was cheating on him. He laid Twitter out with a punch and ran out the door with Sherlock and John in hot pursuit.

Meanwhile, tablet paratroopers dropped in and carried off the bagel for their general’s breakfast, so everyone else went back to the funeral. They buried Moriarty in the grave with the tomahawk and now-empty casket, Facebook went to jail, everyone cried buckets, and they all lived happily ever after.

The End.

Author’s note: Being the scribe, I got to embellish wherever I liked. I also added notes in the hopes that it would help you, my readers, understand the complete craziness that happened on that trip. Here’s hoping that you enjoyed the story! Thanks for reading, and God Bless!

 

Comes a Time

Tags

battlefield of the soul, c.s. lewis, completed stories, completely random posts, confusing nonsense, contrast, g.k. chesterton, insanity, j.r.r. tolkein, long rants, military, nanowrimo 2013, national novel writing month, poetry, politics, rambling musings, shifting tides series, short stories, small rants, story dynamics, the age old debate, the hero's dream

Yes! Erin is back at last from her long jaunt into Nanowrimo Nation. Did you miss me? 😉 Late happy Thanksgiving, everyone. 🙂

I have some news for all my beloved readers in this post. I have finished a concept drawing for The Hero’s Dream and other stories in the Shifting Tides series, as well as parts of the next installment of the series, Battlefield of the Soul. The concept drawing will be posted once I scan it into the computer (unfortunately, it’s black and white… sigh… Does anyone know how to use the program to color it in? *hint hint wink wink*), and the story will be posted as soon as I can type it up.

Also, I have a bunch of original short stories to post–I worked on them during Nano, sort of to fill up the gaps. 😉 I hope you all enjoy them!

Then, on Nano, I did not win… didn’t even make my wordcount goal. I do have two valid excuses, though: Jewel’s Birthday (Friday), and taking out the trash. Surprisingly, Thanksgiving wasn’t that much of a problem. Anyway, so I spent Jewel’s birthday with her, and the next day (the last day of Nano!) I was taking out the trash, and the garbage barrel lid came down and bopped me a good one across the back of the head, and my glasses fell off and landed in the trash can, and when I reached for them I cut myself on some broken glass, in the soft skin between my first and second fingers, at the knuckle. Ouch. So then I was bleeding like no one’s business, and it just hurt too freakin’ much to hold a pencil, much less type.

Soooo, here I am, 12k short, and still completely happy. Frankly, I’m not sure how this is even possible…

And I now have a cold. Figures…

And now, for the real juicy bit. Warning: Intense Christian doctrine and evangelization ahead! If some of you don’t like overtly Christian and/or Catholic writings, it might be best for you to simply avoid the rest of this post. However, if you are a lover of philosophy or C.S. Lewis or a fan of G.K. Chesterton (or simply just plain stubborn), you might just enjoy this (though of course my lowly work simply can not compare to either Lewis or Chesterton… or Tolkien for that matter.) That much said, enjoy or avoid at will! 😉

Comes a Time

                Arinna pulled the kettle off the stove, pouring the boiling water into a chipped, earth-toned ceramic carafe and tossing some tea leaves in on top. “What do you mean?” she asked, frowning slightly to herself.

“You’re going to die in this holy war and it isn’t even yours.” Lexi said. “How is that not…” She paused. Arinna sighed and put down the earthenware carafe.

“Do you mean to say that I’m going to die for a cause that is, in your opinion, both worthless, and already doomed to failure?” she asked bluntly. Lexi turned away, probably unused to such blunt, brash, plain honesty. It took her a moment—a very long moment—to regain her composure.

“Yes. I do.” she said at last.

“Well, let me ask you a question then,” Arinna said softly. “What do you believe in?” Startled again, especially since Arinna had broken the social rules twice in as many paragraphs, Lexi took a moment before she replied.

“I’m a Christian, too, just like you, you know that!” she protested.

“That means nothing,” Arinna said. “There are too many denominations nowadays for us to know for certain that we hold any common ground whatsoever. Besides, many people who say they believe in Christ don’t really love Him. If they did, then they would act like it. What do you believe in? What are you willing to fight and die for? If not Christ, then what?”

“I don’t know!” Lexi burst out, frustrated. “You keep asking questions without any answers!” she fumed.

“Oh, they have answers,” Arinna assured her. “You’re just afraid of the answers. So am I. So is everyone else, for that matter.” Arinna picked up the pitcher of hot tea and poured it out into two mugs. She handed one to Lexi and sipped slowly out of the other, looking at her friend over the rim. “I’m your friend. It’s my business to ask the hard questions, Lexi. I only do it because I care.” Slowly, she lowered her mug. “Do you want to go on?” she asked softly. Lexi shrugged.

“Yes. I guess. If you want to.” Arinna nodded slowly as she went on with her apology.

“All of us have something we’re willing to fight to the death for, Lexi. Something we believe in—something we believe is worth believing in. It’s part of what makes us human. Someday, Lexi, you will live, and fight, and die for something—and you’ll do it willingly, too. I can promise you that. It’s your destiny—it’s inevitable. You can’t change it, but you can decide what it is you will believe in. Put God out of your life, and you will find yourself trying to fill that void in your heart—you’ll catch yourself filling it with less desirable things. The catch, is to ask yourself what you’re willing to die for. Power? Money? Pleasure? Goods? Your home? Your possessions? Your friends? Your family? If any of that comes first—before God does—in your life, you’re no better than a pagan. You’re an idolater if you put any of those… material things before God.” Arinna looked down at her mug; for the first time her voice sounded unsure. “You may not like to hear this, Lexi, but I only say it because I care. I can’t soften this for you, without losing the message. It’s uncompromising, as hard as nails. You have to choose what you will fight for. He who will fight for nothing is no pacifist, but a coward indeed. You must choose—now—whom you will serve. No one can do it for you.” She took a deep breath. “That’s why I am here—in this camp—in this army—today, Lexi. I said to myself, ‘No more hesitation! I am going to commit—today!’ We both know that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions—if you even believe in Hell.” The evangelist’s voice was tinged with heavy bitterness. “I am willing to die for my Heavenly King. I decided that He was worth fighting for. I regret all the lives lost in this war, but there comes a time when one can no longer stand idly by. There comes a time when one must make a stand. I decided Whom I am going to serve. So what if I’m not perfect? Perfection isn’t possible for any human being. It doesn’t come until Heaven. It’s the times I worked—hard—that matter. I know my cause is worth dying for. Is yours?” Arinna looked up at Lexi with pleading eyes. The other woman was silent. She knew would have to think about it; Arinna knew it too. And while Lexi thought, Arinna would pray.

“I’ll think about it, ‘Rin. I… I promise.” Lexi said. Then, she left the tent, as evening fell over the Crusaders’ camp.

Evangelist

Let the past lie where it’s buried

By the gravestone, on the hill,

Wind wanders wild across the wastelands,

They say the spirit moves at will.

Each sad tear-fall lies there buried

In the garden, by the rill,

Every laughter a rose has planted,

They say the roses bloom there still.

Where one rose blights, sad and mournful

One by one, the petals fall,

In the garden by the rill-side

Back to the womb whence it was called.

Hold tight to what you’re given.

Hold tight to those you love.

These little blessings that we seek

Are our anchors, from above.

Ask again what you now live for

Question your heart’s desire

Many things we are attached to

Pass, straw-like, in the fire.

With the light, morning arises

A new dawn casts the night away

Each day builds on the one before it,

The future’s fragments are at play.

Congratulations go to those who actually made it to the end of this post! Oh, and please tell me… did you like the poem? 😉 It’s originally from my April/July Nanowrimo project Angels’ Reflections. Which, incidentally, I have new ideas for now. Cheers!

As always, thanks for reading and may God bless you and keep you in all your days!

“It’s a faith worth fighting for.” –Anonymous (okay, maybe not ANONYMOUS, but I still can’t remember who I’m quoting. X-P)