Machibet777 Live<![CDATA[Stories by Zara Miller on Medium]]> http://jeetwincasinos.com/@ZaraMiller2?source=rss-48f22cb71ff5------2 http://cdn-images-1.jeetwincasinos.com/fit/c/150/150/1*zZA2XAGHWR7VYVSnISuMBQ.jpeg Machibet777 Casino<![CDATA[Stories by Zara Miller on Medium]]> http://jeetwincasinos.com/@ZaraMiller2?source=rss-48f22cb71ff5------2 Medium Wed, 28 May 2025 22:40:35 GMT Machibet Live<![CDATA[Stories by Zara Miller on Medium]]> http://jeetwincasinos.com/@ZaraMiller2/folgercest-walked-so-pepsi-could-run-303c8d59ce8f?source=rss-48f22cb71ff5------2 http://jeetwincasinos.com/p/303c8d59ce8f Thu, 22 May 2025 07:24:52 GMT 2025-05-22T07:24:52.212Z đŸŽ” The best part of waking up
 is giving your bro a blowjob. đŸŽ” (Tone is everything, folks.)
Photo by Almaz Nourzhanov on 

My mind is telling me no 
 LOL.

I. Cold Open: “You’re My Present This Year”

Don’t know where you were globetrotting when Saatchi & Saatchi found AO3 in 2009 and decided: Yes. This is the aesthetic for our new holiday commercial. Taboo sex scenarios.

I was still a snot-nosed nine-year-old dreaming of immigrating to the States, but I am sure that if nine-year-old Zara had seen the Folgercest back then, even her precocious self would have found God.

So, picture this:

Snow outside (artificially created in August from what I’ve read). A brother, home from somewhere vague and noble-sounding — “volunteering in West Africa,” one of the largest exporters of coffee coming home and exhaling: “Oh, coffee.” Yeah, buddy, this is the money. Forget West African coffee, Folgers, the cheap stuff your mom buys for unannounced intruders on Sunday — Folger’s the real shit.

There’s a specific kind of wrong that doesn’t punch you in the face and just lingers. Hangs in the air like a fart that just won’t be let out by the AC or a soft breeze.

That commercial didn’t shout incest. It hinted at it. It suggested it in the curl of a smile, the bow she places on his chest, the way they look at each other like they’ve got secrets their parents don’t know about.

It wasn’t what they said. It was how they said it. The tone was off. It tried to be warm and landed in what the fuck territory. It tried for sentimental but came out steamy. It’s the uncanny valley of familial affection: too close, too tender, too shot-like-a-rom-com for comfort.

And that’s the thing: tone is everything.

If you misjudge the emotional register of what you’re saying — if the music swells when it should pull back, if the lighting flatters when it should restrain — then even the most innocent line can curdle. Even coffee can feel incestuous.

Here’s the real tragedy: it worked. It walked. It paved the way.

Because years later, another ad would surface. One that also misunderstood emotion. One that also misread its moment, misjudged its tone, and made all the wrong people smile.

Except this time, they weren’t selling coffee.

They were selling justice.

And they brought a Kardashian to do it.

II. Recapturing Lighting in a Bottle and Catching Incest Instead

In 2009, Folgers sought to rekindle the warmth of their classic 1985 holiday commercial, “Peter Comes Home for Christmas,” where a college student surprises his family on Christmas morning. To achieve this, they enlisted the advertising agency Saatchi & Saatchi, with Doug Pippin penning the script, Jerry Boyle producing, and Ray Dillman directing .

The updated narrative featured a young man returning from volunteering in West Africa, greeted by his teenage sister. The scene aimed to capture a heartfelt sibling reunion. However, the execution introduced elements that muddled the intended familial warmth.

This man was apparently away for so long, he barely recognized his sister. Which 
 yikes. The tone is immediately off. What does this remind you off?

My goodness you’ve grown 
.

So have you. Grown more beautiful, I mean.

No? Just me? Okay, then.

The commercial’s cinematography employed soft lighting and close-up shots, techniques often associated with romantic storytelling. The sister’s gesture of placing a red bow on her brother and declaring, “You’re my present this year,” coupled with their lingering eye contact, inadvertently suggested a romantic undertone.

Viewers took to the internet, coining terms like “Folgerscest” and creating fanfiction that explored the perceived subtext. The actors, Matthew Alan and Catherine Combs, along with the production team, expressed surprise at the audience’s interpretation, maintaining that the intent was purely innocent .

The incident underscores the critical importance of tone in storytelling. While the creators aimed for nostalgia, the combination of directorial choices and narrative elements led to a misalignment between intent and perception. This case serves as a reminder that every aspect of production; from script to cinematography, must cohesively convey the intended message to avoid unintended interpretations.

There are two explanations, really.

Either, everyone was really, really fucking blind to the ‘siblings’ chemistry.

Or they saw what we saw and decided to let this commercial air to stir the pot and get the internet talking.

You see, back in the day, the internet was really young. Stuff like this made rounds.

And yeah, while incest is controversial, neglect of tonal integrity paved the way for something more sinister to be born years later.

III. Enter Pepsi, Stage Right, Waving a Can of Corporate Peace

If Folgers was a gentle nudge into the uncanny, Pepsi cannonballed into the pool of public backlash with a soda in one hand and Kendall Jenner in the other.

It was 2017. The world was very much on fire. Protests were erupting across the U.S. in response to systemic racism and police brutality. The Black Lives Matter movement was in full force, and tensions were high. So, naturally, Pepsi decided this was the perfect time to
 drop a feel-good commercial about how carbonated beverages can end oppression.

A 2.5-minute fever dream produced by in-house ad agency Creators League Studio (Pepsi’s now-defunct attempt to be their own edgy production house), featuring an ethnically diverse cast of smiling protesters holding vague signs that said things like “Join the Conversation” — because nothing says grassroots movement like a boardroom-tested slogan approved by legal.

In the ad, lip-glossed SJW Kendall Jenner dramatically peels off a blonde wig and struts out of a photoshoot to join the protest, and by “protest,” I mean “fashion-forward street party with no clear purpose.

Police state cured. Martin Luther King Jr. wakes up in heaven, whispers “finally,” and disappears in a sparkle of corporate synergy.

Tone-catatonic creation. Where Folgers was too intimate, Pepsi was too oblivious. It looked slick, expensive, globally-minded — but it felt like someone skimmed a news headline, said “let’s make it sexy,” and spent five million dollars proving they’ve never met a Black person outside of a diversity stock photo catalog. And when the backlash came — swift, brutal, righteous — Pepsi pulled the ad, issued a limp apology, and Kendall vanished into a self-care Instagram story.

This is what happens when no writer is in the room. Or rather, when the only writers in the room are too afraid to say, “Hey, maybe let’s not have a Kardashian lead the revolution. It’s 
 tone-deaf. But that would require for corporations to stop taking revenge on employees who speak up, which is a whole nother issue deserving of a separate blog.

Tone isn’t about aesthetics — mostly. It’s about respecting the weight of your subject matter. It’s knowing when not to add a bass drop. It’s understanding that you can’t borrow the visual language of activism to sell sugar water.

Creating incest controversies is fun. Until it slips into creating controversies out of human tragedies.

IV. What Both Ads Get Wrong: The Shared Language of “What Were They Thinking?”

On the surface, the Folgers incest ad and the Pepsi BLM fiasco couldn’t be more different. One is a cozy holiday spot about family. The other is a global soda campaign cosplaying as a social movement. But peel back the layers — just a little — and you’ll find the same fatal flaw pumping blood through both: tone deafness by committee.

Let’s call it what it is: executive storytelling.

neither commercial had real writers at the helm. Not storytellers. Not satirists. Not someone with the intuition to say: “This moment needs less swelling strings and more sense.”

Instead, you get:

  • A Christmas ad that feels like a deleted scene from The Notebook if the leads had the same parents.
  • A protest ad that looks like it was edited by someone whose only interaction with politics was a Hamilton ticket giveaway.

Both ads technically hit their beats. Nice lighting. Pretty people. Message-y messaging.

But tone is not a checklist. Tone is a symphony. And both of these brands handed the baton to a team that only knew how to play the jingle.

Tone isn’t subjective. Tone is legibility. It’s emotional accuracy. It’s what keeps your work from becoming a punchline. And that’s why you need writers. Not brand managers. Not marketing strategists. Not “creatives” who use the word “disrupt”.

People who understand the difference between sweet and seductive, and know that “you’re my present this year” should never come with a close-up and goo-goo eyes.

Because without those people — the ones who know how to craft tone like it’s their job (because it is) — you don’t get moving commercials.

You get cursed ones. Viral, yes. Memorable, absolutely. But not for the right reasons.

V. Why Tone Matters (and How to Not Suck at It)

All right, kids. Let’s learn how to be a master of tonality.

Tone is how you guide the audience to feel something — through word choice, pacing, rhythm, shot composition, music, and what’s not said.

Tone is not what you think you’re doing. Tone is what the audience actually experiences.

So let’s get technical.

V. Tone is the sum of narrative elements

You can’t slap warm lighting on a scene and assume it’s emotionally resonant. If your script reads like a sibling romance novel (Folgers), or your protest signs look like they were designed by Canva interns at brunch (Pepsi), no amount of cinematography is going to save you.

Let’s compare:

  • Dialogue: “You’re my present this year” only works if the rest of the scene has a clear sibling dynamic. But the Folgers ad directs the actors like it’s a Sundance rom-com, so the line lands like a pickup.
  • Framing: In Pepsi’s case, every camera angle treats the protest like a glossy music video. There’s no weight. No stakes. Protesters grin, pose, dance. It’s not activism — it’s activist-themed ambiance.

When every element of production aims for a different emotional register — sincere script, romantic lighting, protest footage shot like a Super Bowl ad — the tone collapses into a pile of contradictions. That’s how you end up with accidental incest and Kendall Jenner solving civil rights. (lmao.)

VI. Tone is context-aware storytelling

If you’re writing a commercial in 2009, right after two wars and an economic collapse, you better know what “coming home” means to people. If you’re writing in 2017, post-Ferguson, post-Eric Garner, post-Trump-election, and you decide to center your ad on a vague protest, your tone better be airtight. Because people are bringing real grief to the screen. They’re watching your commercial with the weight of lived experience.

Tone that fails to acknowledge this — tone that tries to be “universal” by flattening everything into Instagram aesthetics — is not neutral. It’s offensive.

VII. Tone requires intentional constraint

Good tone isn’t about adding things. It’s about restraint. About knowing which tools to leave out.

A good writer asks:

  • “What emotional palette is appropriate here?”
  • “Whose story is this to tell?”
  • “What visual language has already been coded by culture, and how do I use or avoid it?”

No one asked those questions at Folgers or Pepsi.

Because if no one is protecting the tone, the tone will turn on you.

And your nice Christmas ad becomes a cult meme about incest.
And your social justice campaign becomes a joke that people reference every time a brand tries to be “woke” and fails.

It’s how you end up making light of human tragedies like being a victim of incest or police brutality.

I. Cold Open: “You’re My Present This Year”

Don’t know where you were globetrotting when Saatchi & Saatchi found AO3 in 2009 and decided: Yes. This is the aesthetic for our new holiday commercial. Taboo sex scenarios.

I was still a snot-nosed nine-year-old dreaming of immigrating to the States, but I am sure that if nine-year-old Zara had seen the Folgercest back then, even her precocious self would have found God.

So, picture this:

Snow outside (artificially created in August from what I’ve read). A brother, home from somewhere vague and noble-sounding — “volunteering in West Africa,” one of the largest exporters of coffee coming home and exhaling: “Oh, coffee.” Yeah, buddy, this is the money. Forget West African coffee, Folgers, the cheap stuff your mom buys for unannounced intruders on Sunday — Folger’s the real shit.

There’s a specific kind of wrong that doesn’t punch you in the face and just lingers. Hangs in the air like a fart that just won’t be let out by the AC or a soft breeze.

That commercial didn’t shout incest. It hinted at it. It suggested it in the curl of a smile, the bow she places on his chest, the way they look at each other like they’ve got secrets their parents don’t know about.

It wasn’t what they said. It was how they said it. The tone was off. It tried to be warm and landed in what the fuck territory. It tried for sentimental but came out steamy. It’s the uncanny valley of familial affection: too close, too tender, too shot-like-a-rom-com for comfort.

And that’s the thing: tone is everything.

If you misjudge the emotional register of what you’re saying — if the music swells when it should pull back, if the lighting flatters when it should restrain — then even the most innocent line can curdle. Even coffee can feel incestuous.

Here’s the real tragedy: it worked. It walked. It paved the way.

Because years later, another ad would surface. One that also misunderstood emotion. One that also misread its moment, misjudged its tone, and made all the wrong people smile.

Except this time, they weren’t selling coffee.

They were selling justice.

And they brought a Kardashian to do it.

II. Recapturing Lighting in a Bottle and Catching Incest Instead

In 2009, Folgers sought to rekindle the warmth of their classic 1985 holiday commercial, “Peter Comes Home for Christmas,” where a college student surprises his family on Christmas morning. To achieve this, they enlisted the advertising agency Saatchi & Saatchi, with Doug Pippin penning the script, Jerry Boyle producing, and Ray Dillman directing .

The updated narrative featured a young man returning from volunteering in West Africa, greeted by his teenage sister. The scene aimed to capture a heartfelt sibling reunion. However, the execution introduced elements that muddled the intended familial warmth.

This man was apparently away for so long, he barely recognized his sister.

Yikes.

The tone is immediately off. What does this remind you off?

My goodness you’ve grown 
.

So have you. Grown more beautiful, I mean.

No? Just me? Okay, then.

The commercial’s cinematography employed soft lighting and close-up shots, techniques often associated with romantic storytelling. The sister’s gesture of placing a red bow on her brother and declaring, “You’re my present this year,” coupled with their lingering eye contact, inadvertently suggested a romantic undertone.

Viewers took to the internet, coining terms like “Folgerscest” and creating fanfiction that explored the perceived subtext. The actors, Matthew Alan and Catherine Combs, along with the production team, expressed surprise at the audience’s interpretation, maintaining that the intent was purely innocent .

The incident underscores the critical importance of tone in storytelling. While the creators aimed for nostalgia, the combination of directorial choices and narrative elements led to a misalignment between intent and perception. This case serves as a reminder that every aspect of production; from script to cinematography, must cohesively convey the intended message to avoid unintended interpretations.

There are two explanations, really.

Either, everyone was really, really fucking blind to the ‘siblings’ chemistry.

Or they saw what we saw and decided to let this commercial air to stir the pot and get the internet talking.

You see, back in the day, the internet was really young. Stuff like this made rounds.

And yeah, while incest is controversial, neglect of tonal integrity paved the way for something more sinister to be born years later.

III. Enter Pepsi, Stage Right, Waving a Can of Corporate Peace

If Folgers was a gentle nudge into the uncanny, Pepsi cannonballed into the pool of public backlash with a soda in one hand and Kendall Jenner in the other.

It was 2017. The world was very much on fire. Protests were erupting across the U.S. in response to systemic racism and police brutality. The Black Lives Matter movement was in full force, and tensions were high. So, naturally, Pepsi decided this was the perfect time to
 drop a feel-good commercial about how carbonated beverages can end oppression.

A 2.5-minute fever dream produced by in-house ad agency Creators League Studio (Pepsi’s now-defunct attempt to be their own edgy production house), featuring an ethnically diverse cast of smiling protesters holding vague signs that said things like “Join the Conversation” — because nothing says grassroots movement like a boardroom-tested slogan approved by legal.

In the ad, lip-glossed SJW Kendall Jenner dramatically peels off a blonde wig and struts out of a photoshoot to join the protest, and by “protest,” I mean “fashion-forward street party with no clear purpose.

Police state cured. Martin Luther King Jr. wakes up in heaven, whispers “finally,” and disappears in a sparkle of corporate synergy.

Tone-catatonic creation. Where Folgers was too intimate, Pepsi was too oblivious. It looked slick, expensive, globally-minded — but it felt like someone skimmed a news headline, said “let’s make it sexy,” and spent five million dollars proving they’ve never met a Black person outside of a diversity stock photo catalog. And when the backlash came — swift, brutal, righteous — Pepsi pulled the ad, issued a limp apology, and Kendall vanished into a self-care Instagram story.

This is what happens when no writer is in the room. Or rather, when the only writers in the room are too afraid to say, “Hey, maybe let’s not have a Kardashian lead the revolution. It’s 
 tone-deaf. But that would require for corporations to stop taking revenge on employees who speak up, which is a whole ‘nother issue deserving of a separate blog.

Tone isn’t about aesthetics — mostly. It’s about respecting the weight of your subject matter. It’s knowing when not to add a bass drop. It’s understanding that you can’t borrow the visual language of activism to sell sugar water.

Creating incest controversies is fun. Until it slips into creating controversies out of human tragedies.

IV. What Both Ads Get Wrong: The Shared Language of “What Were They Thinking?”

On the surface, the Folgers incest ad and the Pepsi BLM fiasco couldn’t be more different. One is a cozy holiday spot about family. The other is a global soda campaign cosplaying as a social movement. But peel back the layers — just a little — and you’ll find the same fatal flaw pumping blood through both: tone deafness by committee.

Let’s call it what it is: executive storytelling.

neither commercial had real writers at the helm. Not storytellers. Not satirists. Not someone with the intuition to say: “This moment needs less swelling strings and more sense.”

Instead, you get:

  • A Christmas ad that feels like a deleted scene from The Notebook if the leads had the same parents.
  • A protest ad that looks like it was edited by someone whose only interaction with politics was a Hamilton ticket giveaway.

Both ads technically hit their beats. Nice lighting. Pretty people. Message-y messaging.

But tone is not a checklist. Tone is a symphony. And both of these brands handed the baton to a team that only knew how to play the jingle.

Tone isn’t subjective. Tone is legibility. It’s emotional accuracy. It’s what keeps your work from becoming a punchline. And that’s why you need writers. Not brand managers. Not marketing strategists. Not “creatives” who use the word “disrupt”.

People who understand the difference between sweet and seductive, and know that “you’re my present this year” should never come with a close-up and goo-goo eyes.

Because without those people — the ones who know how to craft tone like it’s their job (because it is) — you don’t get moving commercials.

You get cursed ones. Viral, yes. Memorable, absolutely. But not for the right reasons.

V. Why Tone Matters (and How to Not Suck at It)

All right, kids. Let’s learn how to be a master of tonality.

Tone is how you guide the audience to feel something — through word choice, pacing, rhythm, shot composition, music, and what’s not said.

Tone is not what you think you’re doing. Tone is what the audience actually experiences.

So let’s get technical.

V. Tone is the sum of narrative elements

You can’t slap warm lighting on a scene and assume it’s emotionally resonant. If your script reads like a sibling romance novel (Folgers), or your protest signs look like they were designed by Canva interns at brunch (Pepsi), no amount of cinematography is going to save you.

Let’s compare:

  • Dialogue: “You’re my present this year” only works if the rest of the scene has a clear sibling dynamic. But the Folgers ad directs the actors like it’s a Sundance rom-com, so the line lands like a pickup.
  • Framing: In Pepsi’s case, every camera angle treats the protest like a glossy music video. There’s no weight. No stakes. Protesters grin, pose, dance. It’s not activism — it’s activist-themed ambiance.

When every element of production aims for a different emotional register — sincere script, romantic lighting, protest footage shot like a Super Bowl ad — the tone collapses into a pile of contradictions. That’s how you end up with accidental incest and Kendall Jenner solving civil rights. (lmao.)

VI. Tone is context-aware storytelling

If you’re writing a commercial in 2009, right after two wars and an economic collapse, you better know what “coming home” means to people. If you’re writing in 2017, post-Ferguson, post-Eric Garner, post-Trump-election, and you decide to center your ad on a vague protest, your tone better be airtight. Because people are bringing real grief to the screen. They’re watching your commercial with the weight of lived experience.

Tone that fails to acknowledge this — tone that tries to be “universal” by flattening everything into Instagram aesthetics — is not neutral. It’s offensive.

VII. Tone requires intentional constraint

Good tone isn’t about adding things. It’s about restraint. About knowing which tools to leave out.

A good writer asks:

  • “What emotional palette is appropriate here?”
  • “Whose story is this to tell?”
  • “What visual language has already been coded by culture, and how do I use or avoid it?”

No one asked those questions at Folgers or Pepsi.

Because if no one is protecting the tone, the tone will turn on you.

And your nice Christmas ad becomes a cult meme about incest.
And your social justice campaign becomes a joke that people reference every time a brand tries to be “woke” and fails.

It’s how you end up making light of human tragedies like being a victim of incest or police brutality.

]]>
chibet Cricket<![CDATA[Stories by Zara Miller on Medium]]>

Nothing implodes with more glory and pizzazz than a reputation.

]]>
http://jeetwincasinos.com/@ZaraMiller2/deadpool-and-wolverine-is-not-what-you-think-it-is-c61cce07dfb9?source=rss-48f22cb71ff5------2 http://jeetwincasinos.com/p/c61cce07dfb9 Fri, 11 Oct 2024 09:40:21 GMT 2024-10-11T09:40:21.446Z
Machibet Casino<![CDATA[Stories by Zara Miller on Medium]]>

Disney needs to pay for their actors’ and producers’ extensive media training, or at the very least, tell them to just STFU.

]]>
http://jeetwincasinos.com/@ZaraMiller2/star-wars-the-acolyte-marketing-is-doing-a-great-disservice-to-the-show-4bef5ac12f36?source=rss-48f22cb71ff5------2 http://jeetwincasinos.com/p/4bef5ac12f36 Sat, 08 Jun 2024 18:54:52 GMT 2024-06-08T19:11:36.571Z
chibet Cricket<![CDATA[Stories by Zara Miller on Medium]]>

“Family Guy” has been a staple of adult animation since its inception in 1999, a large potty of irreverent humor and boundary-pushing gags…

]]>
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Machibet777 Cricket<![CDATA[Stories by Zara Miller on Medium]]>

People have flaws. And your characters should have them too.

]]>
http://jeetwincasinos.com/technical-excellence/the-purification-of-storytelling-1c6918b3e656?source=rss-48f22cb71ff5------2 http://jeetwincasinos.com/p/1c6918b3e656 Sun, 18 Feb 2024 19:37:37 GMT 2024-02-18T19:37:37.587Z
Machibet777 Login<![CDATA[Stories by Zara Miller on Medium]]>

Publishers can often give you all the logistics; I’m here to provide you with the flair.

]]>
http://long.sweet.pub/from-procrastination-to-publication-mastering-the-art-of-finishing-your-book-5b44946e8e32?source=rss-48f22cb71ff5------2 http://jeetwincasinos.com/p/5b44946e8e32 Mon, 18 Dec 2023 13:41:37 GMT 2023-12-19T19:53:40.890Z
Machibet Login<![CDATA[Stories by Zara Miller on Medium]]> http://jeetwincasinos.com/@ZaraMiller2/the-publishing-industry-is-dying-e7fe00f6c61e?source=rss-48f22cb71ff5------2 http://jeetwincasinos.com/p/e7fe00f6c61e Sun, 15 Oct 2023 16:21:23 GMT 2023-10-15T16:21:23.484Z (but we might have a chance yet.)

Monopolizing, eliminating competition, elitism, and style over substance.

The Big Five ( Hachette Book Group, HarperCollins Publishers, Macmillan Publishers, Penguin Random House, and Simon & Schuster) have wielded power over writers for decades, but if we can say at least one positive thing about Amazon or the Federal courts in the current state of their compromised reputation — the days of the overlords accepting a measly 1% of the submitted manuscripts, often based not on talent but the marketability of the book and the social status of the writer in question, might be at an end.

Yes, the Associated Press reported on November 1st, 2022 that a federal judge foiled the plans to squash even the last shred of diversity in traditional publishing by blocking the merger of Penguin Random House and Simon & Schuester.

It was a big win for indie publishers, small traditional presses, hybrid publishers, and any up-and-coming writer who cannot get signed with an agent or a publisher because the number of likes on their Insta posts is insufficient to generate sales.

I mean, who wants to publish people who can write? That is so 1970s. Let’s instead give all the royalties, advances, and deserved support a writer needs to publish to established names, entrepreneurs who write self-help books about how to sell self-help books, or 
 Actually, that’s it.

If you push people into a corner, they will fight back. And since authors are known for their creativity, the number of different paths they have come up with to beat the corporate overlords is impressive, if not brilliant. And sure, the fact that middle management on the ladder of a totalitarian regime like Barnes & Noble and Waterstone have stood both in solidarity and in action next to them is encouraging as they stopped selling shelf space solely to the Big Five authors and gave more power to regional managers rather than the man at the top, the books of indie authors and banned books surfaced in the bookstores and saved their sales. Did they do it as a knee-jerk response to Amazon crushing them into the ground during the pandemic?

Yes. Did it limit the social impact, rendering it irrelevant? Absolutely not. They have exposed what happens when the little guy’s and the big guy’s interests align — everybody wins.

Except for those who insist on absolute control of the publishing industry. Good thing Stephen King pulled out that one good 1987 suit from his closet and testified in favor of the little guy.

]]>
Machibet777 APP<![CDATA[Stories by Zara Miller on Medium]]> http://long.sweet.pub/the-art-of-naming-your-book-c018cc4a6434?source=rss-48f22cb71ff5------2 http://jeetwincasinos.com/p/c018cc4a6434 Fri, 13 Oct 2023 02:05:53 GMT 2023-11-21T18:08:06.738Z Naming your book is 50 percent intuition, 50 percent strategy.

You should consider the marketing aspect as well as the narrative aspect. Considering historical and contemporary literature is a given, but nailing the balance between inspiration and plagiarism has always been a challenge for artists. (For those who do not live by the motto ‘Great Artists Steal,’ anyway.)

Let Them Know Who The Hero Is (Lesson from the Classics)

Suppose you look at the books written in the distant past. In that case, you notice the names are very straightforward and usually character-driven — Machiavelli®s The Prince — a historical how-to-get-away-with-murder tutorial. But the narrative describes a so-called perfect prince who rules his principality using wit and cunning rather than brute strength. Shakespeare’s plays Romeo and Juliet, Hamlet, Macbeth, and Othello, also fall into that category. Non-fiction is also often characterized by emphasizing a simple summary, such as in Thomas More®s Utopia.

In this case, the main character is a land or a country with unprecedented liberal laws, which is an excellent example for those who write ensemble stories — if you are looking for the protagonist in your book, it does not necessarily have to be a human or even a sentient — sometimes the star of the show if a country or a piece of land, or even a societal struggle, Arthur Miller’s Crucible comes to mind.

If we move into the Regency era, you have Pride and Prejudice, a bit more nuanced title, but if you read the book, you immediately understand that Pride is represented by Mr. Darcy and Prejudice by Lizzy.

There is a pattern in the old classical literature when it comes to naming the books: let the audience know who the hero of the book is. These are very safe, bettable options, and these are not bad adjectives to abide by in certain situations. Although the circulation of content was lighter compared to today, writers didn’t have to think about how to grab a reader’s attention poignantly and in such detail. The only tweak you need now is putting a spin on it — that is, if you want your book to have a character-driven title.

For example, if your heroine is called Elizabeth but the story does not revolve around Elizabeth I. or Elizabeth II., naming your book Elizabeth is a confusing choice that will bury it in the sea of content and make your audience feel betrayed. But, you can look at your Elizabeth and examine who she is. Let’s say she’s an open-minded biologist or a zoologist, and her obsession is catching fireflies.

The book can be called The Midnight Elizabeth. Or The Dark Fluorescence.

Contemporary Inspiration

I have recently read a romance novel by Sonia Hartl. The main protagonist works at an agency called Heartbreak for Hire. It’s a crucial part of the main heroine’s identity. It makes sense for the book to be called Heartbreak for Hire — which brings me directly to plot relevancy when considering the title.

If you want to omit giving away who the book is about, that®s fine, but you do need connective tissue to bind it with the plot in some aspect without, ideally, ‘click-baiting’ an audience into something that has no connection to your story and is only as good as the hook it is supposed to represent.

Imagine if Anne Rice didnŽt put an actual interview with a vampire into the plot of the book called Interview With the Vampire. Or if in DostojevskijŽs Crime and Punishment, Rodion Raskolnikov never suffered any consequences for his crime.

The Name Should Fit the Tone (do not get lazy)

One of my favorite romance authors, Julie Murphy, recently released a new book. She’s on all the best-selling authors’ lists, the USA Today, the New York Times, you name it.

You may be familiar with her book Dumplin’ which was not too long ago adapted by Netflix, starring Jennifer Aniston. Julie’s new book is called If the Shoe Fits. It’s a modern re-telling of a Cinderella story, as you might have guessed. This Cinderella is a shoe designer, the fancy kind, like Ferragamo or Manolo Blahnik. So with the success and notoriety that Julie Murphy has gained, one would think she can allow herself to be a little lazy with the title.

The book is undoubtedly successful, but compared to her previous books, it’s experiencing trouble getting reviews which is honestly the only relevant promo and a true reflection of the quality of your book. Simply because If the Shoe Fits is an overwashed phrase connected to all Cinderella movies and books. In Julie’s version, Cinderella is a contestant on a reality TV dating show, and her evil stepmother is the producer. Imagine how much more creative the marketing department of Julie’s publisher could have been.

They could have named it If the Rose Fits or Royal Bachelorette.

The book is a dramedy, therefore, the title should reflect that which is also something to be conscious of. If you write romance, you should avoid naming your book The Lord of Leviathan. That would be unhinged unless it is a playful, creative wink to the audience hiding in the plot, waiting to be discovered by the readers. *ding — roll credits!*

Long Titles Are In Vogue

Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day is a 1972 Children’s book that pioneered a slow but steady cultural turn from ‘short and sweet’ to ‘distinctive and descriptive .’With the rise of Amazon and the need for creating sub-genres, sub-categories, and even deep dives into already self-explanatory titles, it may seem that the dumb-it-down distinguishing feats of book titles are everything that’s wrong with the current state of the industry.

I say it’s merely a symptom of printed books rising so high the readers cannot afford to invest in a book they are afraid will be disappointing. So although trivial and even silly, the first thing before checking the book descriptions and reviews, even before the word-of-mouth takes effect, people are most affected by is a catching book title.

Long story short, allow yourself to be weird with it. One day a studio may turn your weird-titled book into a movie starring Steve Carell.


was originally published in on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.

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They’re really milking the cow with this one, aren’t they?

Before I get snapped out of existence by the Marvel Gods, hear me out.

I enjoy Marvel movies. I haven’t seen all of them — I stopped at season 34, episode 18 — but those that I have seen I enjoyed for what they are.

Escapism. Superhero flicks with a winning formula — shirtless enhanced super-soldiers + sky beam + quipping = a billion-dollar box office success. And that’s fine.

We all need to put food on the table. Even the Marvel Studios.

I was holding back on reviewing any of the Disney+ Marvel shows because I had not noticed any big idea or a big picture that would warrant an entire Oped. I started watching because WandaVision had promised an interesting concept in the trailers, and I got curious. So I jumped back on the bandwagon. Until eventually, I did notice a common thread.

There is a new trend on the block of Marvel Cinema.

Marvel decided to venture out into “serious writing” and prove the great director Martin Scorsese wrong.

Of course, the number one reason why Marvel’s still going is to keep making bank. Like I said, that’s fine.

Shoving a heavy-handed social commentary down my throat in an attempt to qualify projects about purple aliens from space collecting rainbow glowing rocks that protect the reality as “serious cinema”, is not fine.

In case you missed it, some two and a half years ago, Martin Scorsese described Marvel movies as “not a real cinema” and compared them to “theme parks”. And then instantly backed the statement up with Irishman (2019) to drive the point and Loki’s daggers straight into Marvel’s fragile ego.

Marvel took it so personally that they graced us with the former terminator, one of the most intimidating boss characters aka the Winter Soldier crying around a fire and going to state-mandated occupational health treatment. Then there was the Scarlet Witch enslaving a town because she was sad and now the ruthless Norse God of Mischief talking about his feelings in a prolonged six-episode therapy session with Owen Wilson.

And he never says “Wauuuhw” once, which was like the only hook that I kept waiting and watching for. And it never came. I want my money back, Disney+.

Just a side note, this is not the “ten reasons why I hate you” kind of review. There are some positives to be given credit to, and I will talk about them.

The plot is as follows:

Loki steals the Tesseract aka the blue cube that nobody knows what it really does to this day for the millionth and the third time in the Endgame movie and escapes imprisonment. By doing so, he messes with something called the sacred timeline, disturbing the proper flow of time — so the institution responsible for guarding the sacred timeline, the Time Variance Authority (TVA) that happens to exist in a space that inconspicuously looks like a government office of the Soviet Union Russia with agents dressed in suits from the 1970s Soviet Union Russia, apprehends him.

They strip him shirtless within the first five minutes of the first episode because he is now a Marvel hero and must adhere to the same rules as all Marvel heroes do.

(This is how you do equality, you guys. Instead of quitting objectifying women, we will start objectifying men, too. You go, Hollywood feminism. You go.)

They intend to kill him until one of the agents played by Owen Wilson decides that Loki might in fact land them a hand in arresting a dangerous criminal — a version of himself from a different timeline.

Let us begin.

Thumbs up: Tom Hiddleston

After twelve years, I am still not any closer to deciphering what Tom Hiddleston is doing in these movies. He’s a classically trained actor, has some heavy-hitter theater, (Hamlet, Betrayal) Television (The Night Manager) and Film (War Horse) credits behind his belt, yet he still said yes to this project. Sure, Loki was his big break, he did a tremendous job with it, made the world fall in love with him, including myself


Ehm, that’s not the point.

However, Loki’s profound villain to hero arc ended in Infinity war. Anything else after that is redundant, senseless, and ignorant to the legacy they have built for the character.

But alas, anytime Tom’s on screen, I feel what Loki feels, I cry when Loki cries and laugh whenever his sarcasm pops up. Thank your casting directors, Marvel, if it weren’t for Tom, nobody would be watching your self-indulgent, self-important splashes of psychoanalytical insight bulls**t that nobody asked for.

Thumbs Down: The Plot

There was a huge elephant in the room that tooted really loudly anytime I tried to enjoy the show — and it would have been even if the writers were more subtle and did not remind me of it in almost every line of dialogue Loki has:

We’re dealing with a version of Loki from the first Avengers movie.

He has not experienced the guilt of being responsible for his mom’s death yet. He has not gotten closer to Thor yet, he has not fought alongside Thor to save Asgard yet, he has not felt the need to atone, to re-think his life purpose.

So how do we solve the “twelve-year character development we just flushed down the toilet” problem?

We sit Loki down and have him watch a YouTube video reel of his life.

(Face-palm.)

Wouldn’t it have made a lot more sense to have Wanda split the timeline and then introduce a “redeemed hero Loki” version from another universe we are familiar with now?

Frankly, I’m at a loss as to how I would solve this problem because you really can’t. You can’t rush character development. You can’t have Loki turn on a dime because he sees his death play out in front of him or reads about the destruction of his home planet in a file. It’s stupid, it’s cheap, and it doesn’t work.

Anytime I start to mildly ease into it, the writers have him say stuff like: “They’re going to let all these people die.”

Well, what the hell does he care? He just killed a bunch of people in New York like two days ago.

Thumbs up: Cinematography

Marvel movies always look gorgeous. They get really creative with the planets the protagonists travel to, the mixing of colors, and the set where the story happens. Everything looks real and cool, the transitions between locations are smooth sail.

Episode three where Loki finds himself on a planet called Lamentis-1 is one of the most aesthetically pleasing Marvel works I’ve seen. Hats off to the VFX artists who designed it.

Thumbs Down: the Costumes

So, here’s the thing.

I lived through eighteen years of my life with gray, colorless, ill-fitting Soviet suits and all about them being a mandatory curriculum. I’m over it. And the last thing I want to see in a Marvel show is Loki dressed in one throughout the entirety of the series. Costume designer Christine Wada revealed in the Film School Reject article that they wanted to “strip Loki of his armor”, that’s the reason he wears the same suit all the time.

Okay, if they wanted to keep the armor off and make him more human and sympathetic, how about designing a cool new leather suit that would incorporate his signature greenish/blueish colors like in the Thor: Ragnarök? It did not feel like I was watching Loki fight the TVA, it felt like watching Vladimir Putin in his olden-golden KGB days fight the Nazis. Props to Christine Wada for adjusting Sylvie’s costume so the actress Sophia Di Martino could breastfeed comfortably in between the takes, but that’s as far as the praise goes when it comes to a costume department. This brings me to 


Thumbs Down: Loki is not the star of the show called “Loki”

At the end of episode two, they introduce a female variant of Loki from a different timeline that goes by the name Sylvie. And from that point on, our Loki is just there to play the second fiddle to her storyline. It’s one of the dumbest, most self-destructive, most contradictory creative decisions I have ever seen the Marvel writers make. If you’re really capitalizing on our love for Loki, monetizing the fact that he’s one of the most if not the most popular character in the franchise — why the hell would you give the main storyline to a person we know f**k all about?

I’m fine with giving him a love interest, and honestly, making him fall in love with (technically) himself makes the most sense out of all the options. Especially since the theme of the show is identity and the perception of self.

But Sylvie overtakes the show completely. It destroys the tension, pivots our attention away from what’s important, and creates a terrible slew of continuity issues. One being — our Loki’s powers are more inconsistent than the USPS delivery service.

He is too clever and too powerful, so they up and down the gas on his abilities to fit into whatever the plot requires him to do for Sylvie’s sake instead of him calling the shots and using his wit and magic the way we are used to — consistently and purposefully.

Sure, let’s have Loki get drunk for no reason other than manufacturing an unnecessary conflict in the plot that already makes no sense. Or do we need him to suddenly remember he’s a God? Let’s have him lift a falling building using his telekinesis powers. Ugh.

Image Credit:

Thumbs up: Mobius

I’ve always liked Owen Wilson and recognized that he was a decent actor all the way back when he was the leading man in Midnight in Paris. Coincidentally, Tom Hiddleston was his co-star back then, too. But for anyone who thought that Owen was just a goofball, here’s your proof to state the contrary. Owen Wilson can act.

Mobius is easily my favorite character in the show, he has fantastic buddy-comedy chemistry with Loki, and if the series was just about the two of them going on an adventure and opening up the multiverse of madness, this entire review would not have happened.

Mobius is one of the TVA agents hunting down dangerous time variants. He’s focused, he has a purpose and a moral code, he’s intelligent, funny, and doesn’t make a big deal out of anything. Most importantly — he understands Loki better than he understands himself. It perpetuates amazing back and forth, and it’s generally a lot of fun to watch.

What spoke to me the most is the way they portray a power of thought. Mobius is convinced that the TVA’s incentives are virtuous even though they do atrocious things. He believes he’s right in his mission. To keep everyone safe and for the greater good — the end justifies the means.

But then Loki comes along and makes him ponder whether the TVA are truly the good guys. Loki plants a thought in Mobius® mind which ultimately leads him to uncover all the lies. That’s how you make a character watch a video and change his whole perspective on life — good job, writers.

Thumbs Up: The Humor

Did we need to see President Loki? An alligator Loki? No.

Does it do anything story-wise? No.

Is it the funniest thing I’ve seen all year? Yes.

This is what I’m talking about when I say that I don’t need a psychological thriller that takes itself way too seriously from Marvel. I don’t need a social justice lecture from a man who fights aliens with a Frisbee made of metal that does not exist in real life.

It’s uncalled-for, and it’s silly. Seeing an alligator with a golden-horned helmet bite off President Loki’s hand is not silly in a show about space Gods. It’s exactly what we’ve signed up for.

It shows our version of Loki how incredibly petty he used to be and that a quest for a throne was a tremendous waste of time in the grand scheme of things. He could be more. Fight for something more than himself.

Comic relief and a character development moment all wrapped up in one brilliant scene.

Thumbs Down: The Never-Ending Therapy Sessions

Well, we come full circle and wrap up where we originally started. There.Is.So.Much.Angst.In.This.Show.

And it’s all (not)resolved by talking. The show is so self-aware they state in the first episode how much Loki likes to talk, and that’s somehow supposed to correct the problem. Nevertheless, they never justify why everyone else talks so much. And not in engaging, leading-edge dialogue, but a freaking Taylor Swift diary entries.

They sit, and they talk about their feelings, except it’s not them paying a therapist, it’s me paying a subscription to Disney+.

I’m not saying that characters are not allowed to have quiet moments, but when the fifteen-minute therapy session sequences happen every episode, it puts me to sleep.

Moreover, Loki likes to talk for stalling. When he talks, he talks because it’s strategic, not because he wants to tell strangers he had known for five minutes all about his childhood, his dead mother, and his trauma from being adopted. Even when he was on the precipice of finishing up his original storyline in Infinity War, approaching Thanos to — I don’t know?

Kill him with a butter knife? That part of the plan remains a mystery to me — there was no big, heavy-handed outburst of self-depricating guilt.

He quietly said: “The sun will shine on us again, brother.”

The closest we got to an emotional self-reflecting moment was in Thor: Ragnarök when he subtly hinted at why he went bonkers in the first place: “Hurts, doesn’t it? Being lied to. Being told you’re one thing and then learning it’s all fiction.”

Well, where the hell did that Loki go? Pompeii? Alabama? Lamentis-1?

It’s a fist to the eye every time he opens his mouth and says something out of character for the personality they had been painting for twelve years.

Then we have the finale where they reveal the villain going forward and setting up future movies. And what does the master of time, the conqueror, the instigator of all events, the “He Who Remains” do?

Well, he sits. And then he talks. About his feelings. He’s tired of managing the sacred timeline, you guys.

Someone, take over, please, he’s tired.

Props to Jonathan Majors for acting the hell out of the ambiguous morale of Kang the Conqueror and having a lot of fun with it, but still.

It’s a solid thirty-five minutes of talking.

If you’re asking whether I do recommend watching this series or not, I’m leaning more towards negative rather than affirmative for a simple reason — I could forgive all the flaws if I had fun when I was watching. And I was not having fun.

And do not get me started on that stupid blue cube 


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