Brand Journalism

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One fascinating thing about the Web is how it continues to redefine how people express ideas and how companies connect to people. Many jobs and roles that have existed for a long time in the “real world” become subtly changed when brought into the Internet environment and many of these jobs have developed their own Net-specific variations and permutations. That’s one reason I find it so fascinating to write for the Web. It is such a dynamic medium and constantly redefines how companies discuss themselves and their products and relate to their potential audience.

One job that has become pivotal in the Internet age is that of brand journalism, which is one of the many hats I wear. Here’s an interesting article analyzing it:

“Brands now have the ability to bypass the traditional press and tell their own story in their own voice in a unique and compelling way. As I see it, good content isn’t about storytelling; it’s about telling a true story well.

Unfortunately, many businesses don’t tell their story well. In our recent survey of more than 1,000 B2B marketers (conducted with the Content Marketing Institute), we found that creating compelling content is the biggest pain point for businesses. Which is why I favor the idea of hiring or contracting content creators who function within your company as embedded brand or corporate journalists….”

For more on this article, see “Seven Reasons Your Content Marketing Needs a Brand Journalist.”

Featured Vendor at the Studio

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I’m the featured vendor for the Studio’s February 2012 newsletter.

Here’s what it says about me:

Vendor of the Month 

Bevan Thomas
webcolor?

Bevan Thomas is a freelance writer and editor who works with numerous clients to present their documents and other text in a clear and engaging format. He has revitalized websites, written press releases and advertisements, and even developed scripts for graphic novels and television shows.

Among his various projects, Bevan has:

* Created and edited copy for numerous clients of Personae Concepts, a Vancouver communications company.

* Wrote the press release for the Viscera Film Festival.

* Scripted a one-page comic strip ad for STUD underwear.

*Developed Cloudscape Comics‘ web content and optimized it for search engines.

* Wrote stories for Cloudscape‘s graphic novel anthologies.

* Developed a television pilot that is currently being optioned by a producer.

* Blogged for Broken Frontier, a comic news site

A consummate storyteller, Bevan devotes much of his free time to writing comic books and teleplays, and engaging in improv acting. He is never happier than when telling tales or building worlds.

Bevan’s wide experience with both copy and storytelling projects has allowed him to combine a crisp and focused writing style with an engaging sense of narrative that keeps the reader interested and involved. He always strives to present his client’s information creatively and compellingly: he has turned advertisements into comic strips, used anecdotes to introduce web content, referenced urban legends in press releases, and incorporated other innovative material to capture the readers’ attention.

“Making sure your writing says what you want it to say.”

 

Interview with Jeff Ellis, part 2

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by Bevan Thomas

(originally appeared on the Cloudscape website)

For the first half of the interview with Jeff Ellis, see part 1

“Who would you call your biggest artistic influences?” I asked Jeff Ellis.

“I used to be totally obsessed with Mark Bagley and John Romita Jr., really impressed by their work ethic,” Jeff replied. “I’m probably the most stylistically influenced by Steve Rolston. I was actually in the comic store when Steve got his acceptance letter from Oni; me and Steve both used to buy our comics from ABC Book & Comic Emporium.”

“It must have been a real coup then, for Steve Rolston to illustrate the cover of Cloudscape’s fifth anthology, 21 Journeys.”

“Yeah, that was awesome.” Jeff grinned.

“Frequently your art reminds me of Phillip Bond, similar energy, visual clarity, and round, expressive figures,” I said. “You know his work? He’s done a lot of stuff with Grant Morrison, such as Kill Your Boyfriend and Invisibles.”

“I know of him, yeah. I think Steve was influenced by Phillip Bond, and I was influenced by Steve. Craig Thompson and Chris Ware are also big influences for my art.” Continue reading »

Interview with Jeff Ellis, part 1

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by Bevan Thomas

(originally appeared on the Cloudscape website)

At one of Cloudscape Comics’ Wednesday meetings, I sat down to chat with Jeff Ellis, the organization’s founder, as around us numerous fellow cartoonists worked on their own projects.

Jeff Ellis

In many ways, Jeff’s appearance captures the archetype of the “geek” in the best possible way; a slim, bespectacled bright-eyed man with a mouth rarely far from a gentle smile. He is approachable and unassuming, even shy, and yet when he speaks, his words are confident, thoughtful, and earnest. Dedicated to his own projects, but always interested in the works of others, welcoming to new associates but always loyal to old ones; perhaps he above anyone else embodies the creativity and openness of Cloudscape.

“You’ve spent most of your life in Vancouver?” I asked.

“Yeah. I grew-up here. Though I did live for two and a half years in Japan, from 2004 to 2007.”

“What made you decide to go to Japan?”

At this question, Jeff dropped his gaze in slight embarrassment. “I wanted a fresh start.”

“A fresh start?”

“I’d graduated from college,” Jeff began, “a three-year program in graphic design, and couldn’t find a job. Any art job, I mean. I was working retail and was sick of it; I wanted a change. A friend of mine had gone to Japan before and had found it easy to get a teaching job; so she suggested I give it a shot.”

Continue reading »

Monster Name Game: Flumph

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Hey, I’m back with another Monster Name Game, where I take a picture and name of a classic Dungeons & Dragons monster and create a totally new monster from it. Because I love a challenge, I’ve decided to go with the flumph, a strange jelly-fish monster who was the only “Lawful Good” creature in the classic Fiend Folio book. The creature has long been derided by D&D fans, both for its strange appearance and for the incongruous alignment. What is so benevolent about these floating jellyfish? Do they rescue maidens? Heal the sick? Always pay their taxes on time? What good deeds do jellyfish perform?

So what direction could I go based on their appearance and their name, which sounds like it’s being spoken by someone with his mouth full of marshmallows? Just to make things extra difficult, how about I keep the “Lawful Good” alignment. Whatever kind of creature my flumph is, it’s benevolent.

Well, what do I think of when I see a bizarre tentacled creature with a peculiar name? Aliens. Now fantasy fiction is not generally big about visitors from another planet, but what about visitors from another universe? Some extraplanar entities who have phased into our reality for some special purpose. What if the flumph is like those benevolent “star-brother” aliens you often get in stories? The ones who show-up to deliver some message of peace to humanity or perhaps to supply use with knowledge that will improve our lot as a species. The flumph look so strange because they are inhabitants of a higher plane of existence, one where our heavy, clumsy bodies would not function. They’re not angels, not servants of a divine power, but simply a more self-aware kind of being than us who has watched us for a long time and sometimes given a helping tentacle. They almost treat us like we were their little siblings to be taught and protected, though they are aware that us mere four-dimensional beings often respond to the strange with fear and hate, so the flumph generally keep their appearance known to only a deserving few.

What’s interesting about them being extra-dimensional beings is that then their strange appearance and goofy name makes sense. Their universe is different from ours, and their views of what’s beautiful are different as well. To each other, the flumph appear handsome and heroic, and their species name is grand and noble. It shows the jarring contrast of the two universes that we have a hard time taking the flumph seriously.

“Do not be afraid, young one. We come in peace. We have much to teach you.”

Hanging-Out with Artists

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Every Wednesday, I hang-out at the local coffee shop with the rest of Cloudscape, a collective of BC comic book creators. These regular meetings are to announce particular Cloudscape events, as well as to work on artwork and chat with other artists. Unlike most of the other members, I’m mainly a writer, and so I don’t spend my time sketching and generally have a hard time focusing on my writing during group meeting. Because of that, I spend most of my time circulating, talking to various members and taking a look at their work.

It’s fascinating to watch art be produced by a variety of artists, to see each one ponder their creations, choose an image, cross that image out, find a new one, move on to part 2 they’re satisfied with part 1. Each artist has his or her own particular style: there’s the Canadian manga artists, the more realistic ones, the graduates of animation school with their simple vibrant designs, the underground artist, the guy who’s style was influenced by Mayan art…. So many styles, so many creations.

I’ve worked with many of them myself, collaborating on various projects. There’s a joy in seeing one’s ideas given form and body thanks to the work of another. Something magical happens, a transmutation, an alchemical marriage, where the combined result is better than the some of its parts.

Monster Name Game: Fairy Dragon

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There’s a game my brother Ian likes to play: he flips through some old role-playing book of monsters, randomly puts his finger on one of the creatures, and then invents a totally new being based only on the existing monster’s appearance and name.

Fairy Dragon

That’s fun. Let’s try it. Flipping through my Advanced Dungeons & Dragons 1st edition Monster Manual II, I come to the Faerie Dragon, a grinning little reptile who unlike other dragons has butterfly instead of bat wings. The normal D&D version is a precocious little pixy who bobs along some sylvan forest, playing magical pranks on any mortals who stumble through and breathing out a fog that knocks people into a euphoric stupor. Certainly that’s one way to interpret a dragon of the fay world, but right now I’d prefer to go a little darker.

Depending upon how you interpret the term, giants can be classified as fairies: they’re nonhuman beings, often with supernatural powers, who inhabit lands away from human civilization. And if so, then the greatest “fairy” dragon was Fafnir from Norse mythology, a giant who murdered his family for their treasure and then turned himself into a huge dragon to be better guard it. In some versions of the story, his transformation was on purpose, but in others it was that the treasure’s curse twisted his own greed and made him into a monster against his will.

So what if that’s a fairy dragon? An ancient fairy lord, some elf king or giant chief or satyr elder whose power, greed, and wickedness become so great that he degenerates into a ravenous monster. He still keeps court in his castle, but now his subjects have to contend with an impatient monster who will swallow them whole if displeased and who desires more and more: more food, more gold, more playthings.

Fafnir breathed fire, but for our fairy dragon, let’s pick something a little more unusual. Fairy powers are frequently illusions, so perhaps the fairy dragon breathes out a gas that causes hallucinations that dance before a person’s eyes so that they believe themselves to be beset by monsters and cannot tell friend from foe. A sadistic trickster, the fairy dragon giggles in glee as its enemies murder each other, each believing themselves to be defeating one of the dragon’s slaves.

The fairy dragon maintains all its power from before its transfiguration: the elf king’s magic, the giant chief’s strength, and as well is a master shape-shifter. It can change its size, become different creatures, even take on the fey form it had before it became a monster. Subtle and manipulative, the dragon often uses its shape-shifting to infiltrate groups, spreading discord and dividing its enemies. However, taking on such forms requires a lot of focus. The moment the monster’s concentration slips, such as when it loses its temper, it becomes a raging dragon again.

The fairy dragon looks more or less the same as how D&D depicted it, except much bigger. Its smile, while originally gentle, is now mocking and sardonic, while its butterfly wings create a hypnotic whirring as it flies through the sky. People look up and can’t take their gaze off the wings’ patterns as the creature descends upon them.

Beware of fairies who become dragons….

Power in Larps

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I’ve played in more than my share of larps. That’s “live-action role-playing” for the layman. Role-playing games where you act things out instead of relaxing around a table, “improv acting with no audience” if you want to explain it to some who doesn’t game. Most larps are based around White Wolf’s popular “World of Darkness” cosmology, a series of interlocking fantasy-horror games set in the modern world, with each game devoted to a particular supernatural creature that has its own special society: be it vampires, werewolves, sorcerers, ghosts, or what-have-you. White Wolf is the only prominent role-playing company who has really marketed larps instead of just table-top rpgs, and so it is not surprising that most larps played in the city involve a “World of Darkness” game.

“World of Darkness” games all have very detailed social structures with numerous political laws and whatnot, for unlike, say, Dungeons & Dragons, the “World of Darkness” are ultimately less games about combat, though that’s certainly there, but are more games about social interaction: about creating a vampire to interact with others vampires or a mage to interact with other mages. This makes sense for larps as though there’s a few non-World of Darkness stuff that involve hitting people with foam weapons, most live-action games involve a bunch of people hanging-out in a room together, maybe with something to snack-on, and spending three or four hours talking with each other as their fictional characters. In some ways, “World of Darkness” seems ideally suited for that, since each game involves characters who are members of a paranormal subspecies united against common enemies and by common interests. What’s more, each character is a member of particular clans and sub-communities, so you can be, say, a beast-vampire of the aristocratic community, and hang-out with other beast-vampires or aristocrats and deride those people who happen to be neither beasts nor aristocrats, or be a necromancer sorcerer who’s part of the community of scholars, and thus uses ghosts for information, far different from the necromancer who’s part of the community of warriors, and uses ghosts to beat people-up. By deciding which groups you belong to, you get ready-made friends and rivals are, easy as that, and so can start playing with a clear idea of where you exist in the social framework.

That said, there are serious problems with “World of Darkness” larps and the biggest one is power. Every character in such games starts with funky powers, and has the ability to buy more. That’s a large amount of the appeal of playing them in the first place. You be a vampire so you can turn into a bat or make the nubile young woman in the low-cut nightie dance to your tune. You be a mage to spew lightning from your nostrils and call spirits from the vasty deep. You be a fairy to conjure hallucinations and spin flax into gold. That’s what’s promised, that’s what it says on the tin. What’s the point of being a vampire if you don’t get any kick-ass vampire powers?

However, a large part of the appeal of larps is that people can keep coming into the games, changing the structure, keeping them fresh. It is much harder for them to do so, or indeed do much of anything, if the people who’ve been playing for a long time have accumulated a buttload of super-powers. It’s all very well to be able to grow talons from your fingers, but if another guy on your team can, with one wiggle of his nose, turn all your enemies’ heads into strawberry jam, then the talon thing no longer seems so cool. Mage is the biggest offender of this, game-wise. Because magical powers are so pivotal to that particular game, you’re playing wizards after all,, someone who’s been in the game a long time and accumulated a lot of Arcana can do all sorts of crazy things, overcoming many obstacles with ease while new players just sit on the sidelines, stare, and occasionally resentfully applaud. Many don’t return to the game, having had their thunder utterly stolen. In order for a larp to be properly welcoming for new players, there should not be the easily accumulation of vast power for the veteran gamers.

If I were designing larp (a full larp game world, not merely a particular larp session), I’d have it so that not every character possesses supernatural powers, and in fact few do. In addition, such powers are subtle and do not completely overshadow non-supernatural actions. A sorcerer all-powered-up can still be afraid of a guy with a gun. New players can then still be potent, and non-magical characters can be as touch as magical ones; they’ve simply channelled their focus into different pursuits. This worked well in the 7th Sea larp I played in, where the magic was actually more compelling due to its subtlety and unexpectedness; as when everyone can do all sorts of crazy things, it is very easy to become blase about the supernatural. And then, of course, new players would feel that they have a much more important role in the game, and wouldn’t be totally overshadowed by the old guard. After all, aren’t larps supposed to be about social activity, taking on roles and interacting with numerous people through them? That’s so much more interesting than high magic power-fantasies.

The Importance of Belief in Fantasy

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In his introduction to The Supernatural Omnibus, an anthology of supernatural stories by various authors, Montague Summers claims “Ghost stories told by one who believes in and is assured of the reality of apparitions and hauntings… will be found to have a sap and savour that the narrative of the writer who is using the supernatural as a mere circumstance to garnish his fiction must inevitable lack and cannot attain.” In other words, the good Mr. Summers argues that in order to write good supernatural fiction, the author in question must believe in the supernatural, or his work will lack the required “oomph.”

Conversely, the horror author H. P. Lovecraft, in his article “Supernatural Horror in Literature,” feels that the genius of fantasy authors such as Algernon Blackwood is sometimes marred by “the flatness of benignant supernaturalisms, and a too free use of the trade jargon of modern ‘occultism.’” Blackwood was indeed an occultist, a member of the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, a secret society that included such luminaries as fellow horror writer Arthur Machen, poet W. B. Yeats, and self-proclaimed prophet Aleister Crowley. Lovecraft goes further to argue that someone who believes in the supernatural has difficulties writing about it in fiction because he is liable to construct supernatural effects based on what the author believes them to be true, and not necessarily what would create the best emotional effect in the story. Furthermore, to an occultist, the supernatural is often perceived as mundane, a normal part of human experience. Though Lovecraft counts such authors as Machen and Blackwood amongst his favourites, he still perceives their spiritual beliefs as flaws in their art.

So, Mr. Summers argues that a fantasy author should be a believer, Mr. Lovecraft argues that he should not. Before we go any further, it must be pointed out that Mr. Summers was a Catholic clergyman who claimed to believe in literal vampires, werewolves, and witches. Mr. Lovecraft, on the other hand, was an atheist of the most virulent sort who denied any possibility of the existence of God or other higher powers and who scoffed at anyone who did believe. So it is likely that neither of the two were quite unbiased about the subject.

Who is correct? As in many things, they are both correct, up to a point. As with all writers of all fiction, a fantasy writer needs to be believe in his world, his characters. Even if they are not literally real, the ideas and emotions behind them need to have a reality behind them. A person need not literally believe in ghosts to write a ghost story, but he must believe in the truth of what the ghosts mean to them: do they embody the coldness of death in contrast with the vibrancy of life? Are they symbols of loss or revenge? Perhaps a hope or love that transcends the grave. Without the author’s belief in the fantastical as a potent symbol, the story falls flat.

As for Lovecraft’s criticisms about authors who are theists – well, certainly some fantasy books have suffered because the author forced his own beliefs upon the world in ways that were not thematically appropriate, but there are numerous supernatural tales by theists that superbly blend together images of pure fancy with things that they actually believe. C. S. Lewis didn’t believe in literal Greek gods anymore than J. R. R. Tolkien believed in elves and ring-wraiths. That didn’t stop them from putting those elements into their fiction; they entwined together their spirituality and their imagination to create powerful stories that would have been much less effective without one of those two elements.

Fantasy fiction, at its best, is the fiction of metaphors and symbols that present ideas in a mythic and emotionally charged fashion. Anyone can explore their beliefs about the universe through stories of the supernatural, though a person’s beliefs certainly affect the result. H. P. Lovecraft created a horror universe in which God is a mindless amoeba at the centre of all reality, the figurehead of a pantheon of cruel, inhuman deities, and a potent metaphor for an atheist’s belief in how little the universe cares about humans and how wrong existing religions are about everything. Likewise, Michael Moorcock’s Eternal Champion series revolves around numerous reincarnations of an immortal warrior dedicated to freeing the universe from the yoke of the gods of Law and Chaos so that humanity can forge its own glorious destiny. Though these two cosmologies are very different from each other, both are powerful, engaging, and ultimately atheistic. Contrast them with the theological science-fantasy of Madeleine L’Engle or C. S. Lewis, in which resplendent angels dance in the glory of a universe that is permeated with the resplendent joy and the love that the Divine Creator has towards all Creation. Or of course there is the occult fiction of Grant Morrison, Alan Moore, or the aforementioned Blackwood or Machen, which draws upon their own very personal, idiosyncratic beliefs. And then there’s Neil Gaiman, a man fascinated by all mythologies, but unable to devote himself to any one faith; and who’s writing explores figures from a multitude of faiths: Christian angels rub shoulders with Norse gods and dream kings, and all are treated with equal respect. The universe of each of these stories is shaped by the author’s beliefs.

The existential horror of H. P. Lovecraft, the transcendent joy of C. S. Lewis, the questing spirit of Neil Gaiman. All of these and more have a place within supernatural fiction. All of them have power.

 

-Bevan Thomas

Intellectual Atheist, Emotional Spiritualist

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I suppose I’m a post-theist. I had a mystic experience in my first year of university, where I felt a presence all around me that permeated my body and connected me to the cosmos. God was within me. I was a pantheist, someone who believed that the universe itself has an underlying sentience, an “aliveness.” The universe is God, God is the universe, neither can be separated. Of course this is not so much a religion as a general statement of belief without any real framework. After a while, I tried to find a framework for it.

I dabbled in Neo-Paganism in my first couple of years of university, as so many other individuals of my demographic have done, though I eventually lost interest in it. As much as I love mythology and supernatural fiction, I’m ultimately unable to believe in a plurality of deities or that people are able to command the universe with a few well-placed chants and arcane gestures. I was a non-denominational pantheist for a while after I left that particular system, with the occasional experience of my soul being entered by the presence of God, like a cup being filled with water. In time, I discovered the Quakers, the Society of Friends; a religion that matched both my spiritual experiences and my personal sensibilities. For a while I happily prayed in silence every Sunday morning with the community of Friends, as we each opened ourselves up to the divine and waited for the Holy Spirit to bid us speak.

And suddenly I stopped going.

It wasn’t because I felt disillusioned with the Quakers, as I still have a lot of respect and love for their beliefs. It wasn’t because I felt the experience wasn’t useful to me, for I felt a great sense of peace attending the ceremonies, and the religion really helped me deal with the sorrow after the death of my maternal grandfather. But I realized that my mystical experience, those feelings of oneness with the universe, those feelings that existence loves me as dearly as a mother and as passionately as a lover, they didn’t prove that God exists. Logically, such feelings were more likely an eccentricity of my brain, an idle musing of my mind, and that to all logical the universe is impersonal and uncaring in a general sense, even if certain particulars could care about you very much. As much as I may respect and even love a belief system, I am unable to attend a religious service if I do not believe in the deity it invokes. It just makes me feel like a fraud.

And here I am today. I do not believe in God. Though I continue to be fascinated by religion, mysticism, all the rest, intellectually I am an agnostic who stands close to the atheist side of the pole. I believe strongly in truth: clean, objective truth, and cannot believe in something unless I feel that it is True. Many people have argued that this is simplistic and unrealistic; that certain things are true in different ways and that we have no way of knowing unconditionally that something is true, and so it’s better to focus on what view of the world is useful, and less what view is “True.” I concede that these people may well be correct, but I cannot bring myself to think like that. It’s not how I view the world. Some things are true, some things are false, and I want to know which ones are which.

Now, if that was all I felt, then I wouldn’t be too different from a lot of other people in the world. However, though intellectually I’m agnostic, emotionally I still react on very spiritual terms. In particular, I believe in the existence of sin, at least with regards to myself. “Sin” is a particular perspective on “badness” as it carries with it the idea of taint. There is a right way to behave, a particular ideal you should aspire to, and when you sin, you move away from that ideal, you damage it like a person chipping away at a marble statue. Even if the chips are small, with enough of them the statue will collapse. I believe there is a particular kind of person I’m supposed to be, something the universe wants me to be, and I continually fall short of it as I waste the time that has been granted me. The really unfortunate result of a non-theist believing this is that I feel judged by reality, but there’s nothing for me to appeal to. A Christian may feel corrupt and sinful, but at least he can pray to Jesus to forgive his sins.

I wish I could believe again. I wish I could believe in the Lord who is father and mother, sibling and lover, who is the whole universe, and who manifests with unconditional love and understanding. “I know everything that you have done and everything that you have failed to do, and I forgive you and give you my love and joy.” But I can’t. I still can’t.

-Bevan Thomas