Wedding Professionals

This is me and my friend Syafiq. Both of us are DJs. He’s a dance instructor and choreographer who’s just started officially working as a day-of coordinator. I’m a licensed minister. Naturally, our skill sets place us in the same universe. If you ask my teenage daughter, she’ll tell you Syafiq and I have the same vibe.

selfie courtesy Syafiq Fuller

We live in the world of weddings. If you’re getting married and need an officiant? We got you covered. Need a DJ for the reception? That’s us. Need someone to teach you to dance so you look like you know what you’re doing during your first dance? Syafiq is your man. Want help writing custom wedding vows? I can do that. Need someone to keep everything moving and organized? We’re available for hire. Taking it a step further - we both take pictures during our gigs which we give our clients for free as an added little bonus.

There’s something about the public display of love and commitment that fuels us and the music we play heals us. We love celebrating love. And that’s what we do at Fuller Entertainment. (Shameless plug: you should follow us on Facebook and Instagram.) If you or someone dependent on you is getting married, we’d love to hear from you.

It’s more than a wedding thing though. We are also available to play music for school dances, corporate events, private parties, religious celebrations, family reunions, bars, and coffee shops. As for the ministry side of things, if you want someone to officiate a comic book or ren faire themed wedding I’d be happy to help. Because I’m a geek and us nerds deserve love too.

And it’s still more than that. The real reason I’m writing this is because Syafiq is a great dude. He’s was the best man at my wedding and is one of the best men I’ve ever known. If it wasn’t for him, I wouldn’t be a DJ. Working with him over the years, I’ve learned a lot about his heart and what makes him tick. The compassion he possesses bleeds into everything he does. His goal as a DJ has also become my goal - to lift up and encourage others. We look for clients who ooze positivity. When we recommend photographers, stylists, and caterers, we suggest people who also believe in hope and promote humanity’s better nature. We aim to work with clients, venues, and other vendors with a spirit of collaboration. When a gig is over, we want to be able to tell everyone involved we look forward to working with them again - and be sincere in that statement.

This world is ugly and bitter enough as it is. Neither of us wants to contribute to the proliferation of selfishness and greed rampant in our culture. It might be the harder path to take but we would rather be a light in the darkness. This ideal has been hardwired into Syafiq’s fiber ever since the day I met him. He’s an amazing friend and I’m honored to share his business adventures.

For real though, we’d love to be the DJ and/or minister at your next event.

Stolen

The veneration of soldiers as heroes is an honor reserved for military members who served - especially those who sacrificed their lives, health, safety, and sanity.

To be clear, I’ve never been a soldier. I’ve never served in any branch of the military. The Army recruiting office I visited as a 17 year old told me I was too underweight to join - which is funny now considering how chunky I’ve become as an adult. Regardless, the experiences of our armed forces is something I’ll never fully understand no matter how many stories I hear from people who actually served in combat. I can read history books, play Call of Duty, or watch war movies and none of it will compare to the horrors real soldiers endured.

The greatest insult to our veterans is the way this nation treats them. Our government is eager to send our soldiers off to war but hesitant to help those soldiers when they return home physically, emotionally, and mentally broken. War is hell, or so I’ve been told. But a greater hell awaits when the fighting is over and these warriors are abandoned to civilian life with missing limbs, bullet wounds, damaged hearing, traumatic brain injuries, and PTSD. They’re expected to figure it out alone in a country with shortages of mental health professionals and understaffed VA hospitals. We broke them then refuse to fix them. They need our help and we’ve turned a blind eye to their needs. That, in my opinion, is a bigger middle finger to our military personnel than any anti-war protest.

And for years I thought this is the worst we could do to those who served in the armed forces. I was wrong.

Then a draft dodging con-artist wormed his way into the presidency and championed himself as the only true hero the military needed while maligning POWs, families of soldiers killed in combat, and anyone wounded in the line of duty. Trump claimed avoiding STDs was his Vietnam. The man made repeated attempts to make it harder for veterans to qualify for benefits and tried to gut the Veteran Affairs Department budget every year he was in office. The VA staff shrank under Trump’s administration as 50,000 vacancies went unfilled creating severe staffing shortages and closures of clinics meant to help our veterans. When 100 soldiers reported concussion symptoms after an Iranian air strike, the former president brushed it off as mere headaches and said they were not significant injuries. He routinely skipped traditional visits to military ceremonies and battlefield memorials to play golf instead of honoring America’s fallen warriors. His Memorial Day and Veterans Day posts of social media were (and continue to be) abhorrent attacks against his perceived enemies while ignoring the real sacrifices made by our true military heroes.

Somehow this asshole who called our soldiers losers and suckers is lauded as the biggest supporter of the US military. How? Because this is the most insulting thing I could imagine.

This is stolen valor. Someone got confused because he never served. Donald was granted deferments thanks to a combination of his rich daddy’s money and a fake claim of bone spurs. His disdain for American soldiers is thoroughly documented. His face should never be associated with any form of military action.

It is my desire no one ever photoshops my face onto the body of a real soldier or prompts an AI generated image of me in military uniform. I hope no one conflates my respect for members of our military as my membership within their ranks. I’m just a civilian and that is all I’ll ever be. No matter how heroic I might someday become or the capacity to which I may contribute to the betterment of society, I will never be a soldier. I will never understand what it’s like to walk in their combat boots. I will never experience their commitment and sacrifice. If you want to celebrate a soldier, celebrate them - not me.

While we’re here, regardless of your feelings of the military and war, our veterans need and deserve support. There are ample opportunities for you to use your time and resources to help those in your community by reaching out to your local American Legion or VA.

Everything Counts

Depeche Mode has been around for nearly as long as I have. I say nearly because their debut album was released in 1981, so I have a couple years on them.

Despite them being huge in the 80s, I didn’t get into them until I was in high school. I became a fan somewhere between “Songs of Faith and Devotion” in ‘93 and my senior year when “Ultra” was released. I became obsessed. I collected their entire back catalog and sought out all of the remixes I could find. I started collecting cover versions of their music - everything from Johnny Cash’s “Personal Jesus” to The Cure’s “World in My Eyes” to Anberlin’s “Enjoy the Silence.” Veruca Salt has version of “Somebody” both devastating and hauntingly beautiful.

I’m still a fan of Depeche Mode, just not quite as obsessive as I used to be. They released Memento Mori last year and it’s a brilliant album but I still only listened to it once and haven’t gone back. They’ll always be a band I respect and admire but they’ll never appeal to me like they did through the mid to late 90s. That said, one of my favorite songs of theirs remains a single recorded over 40 years ago: “Everything Counts.”

This song popped in my head this morning. It’s been years since I last listened to it - or even thought about it. Then while waiting on a colleague to show up this morning, the words popped into my head. “Everything counts in large amounts,” the refrain repeating in my internal jukebox.

“The grabbing hands grab all they can

All for themselves after all

It’s a competitive world

Everything counts in large amounts

Everything counts in large amounts

Everything counts in large amounts”

Where did this song on my mind come from? The last music I listened to was Matt Osowski’s background beats on the Hood Politics podcast. And the last actual songs I intentionally listened to was a Jelly Roll tune my wife sent me last night and Chance the Rapper’s new track I stumbled into while falling into a YouTube hole. Beyond that, I’ve been playing a lot of Jay-Z, a far cry from DM’s synthy new wave dance pop. So why are the voices in my head suddenly vibing to Everything Counts?

If you assume I spent way too much time pondering the answer to this question, you’re correct. I’m the type of person who believes everything happens for a reason. Even if that reason is bad. Even if that reason is my own stupidity. I am a big believer in cause and effect. The rules of physics enforce it. Newton’s third law demands for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. But there was no corporeal inciting incident. I haven’t played Depeche Mode at a DJ gig or while chilling at home. There’s been no recent radio airplay or Spotify listens. I cannot conceive a literal physical cause where “Everything Counts” is the tangible reaction.

That leaves the metaphysical. Whatever it is you want to call it - God, the universe, gut level instincts … I’m compelled to believe that divine source plumbed the darkest recesses of my musical obsessions to make me pay attention. There are a lot of grabbing hands in my life grabbing all they can. That’s just a natural side effect of parenting teenagers - they will always take more than you allow. But it’s more than just my kids being kids.

The second verse is aptly relevant to the complex and sprawling narrative of this current phase in my life. In it, Dave Gahan sings “Picture it now, see just how, the lies and deceit gained a little more power.”

If that ain’t the damn truth. I’ve been watching (and suffering the effects) of a person who has been steadily gaining power through a web of lies and deceit. It’s been soul crushing to observe, especially when every attempt I’ve made to challenge or expose it has only solidified their amassing power. For years I’ve felt powerless against this dishonest and abusive force.

But everything counts, right?

I don’t really believe in karma but if there was ever a time to hope for it, it’s now. And in large amounts. When I was a kid, I was frequently taught the verse from the Bible that says it’s God’s role to avenge and the Lord will repay. These days, a different piece of scripture is my heart’s cry, “let justice flow like a river, and let goodness flow like a never-ending stream.” Because justice counts in large amounts. As Francis Bacon once said “to delay justice is injustice.” Martin Luther King Jr paraphrased the same concept, “justice too long delayed is justice denied.” Over the last couple years, I’ve held an unfortunate front row seat to recurring perversion of justice. But tides are slowly turning.

Perhaps this is the reason I got Depeche Mode stuck on intracranial replay. Because grabbing hands grab what they can. Everything counts in large amounts. Karma counts in large amounts. Justice counts in large amounts.

Or maybe I just need to listen to more Depeche Mode.

Oh to Be a Writer

During a recent dinner date, my wife and I talked about some of my recent work - primarily my fanfic suggestions for a Christmas special in the MCU along with Marvel's upcoming Deadpool and Fantastic Four movies. I admitted to Annie how all my blog posts and tweets about things I wish to see in the MCU are really auditions to be a member of Disney/Marvel’s writing team. After all, I’m just a big fan with a fondness for storytelling and thorough understanding of comic book lore. She let me know I should be careful which dreams I share with her because she might just find a way to make it happen.

Then she asked, “How does one become a writer at Marvel?”

I explained in terms I know best: music. “These behind-the-scenes roles like writers and directors, it’s like the Drake song - started from the bottom now we here. Started from the bottom now my whole team here.”

Disney is an empire. Marvel is a behemoth. The people who tell their stories don’t just show up out of nowhere. They did something small. Then more small stuff until one of those projects got attention allowing them to do bigger things. Then they make a good impression through those bigger projects until the decision makers at Marvel Studios asks “Hey, do you want to do that, but with us?”

To prove my point (because I have autism and constantly feel the need to prove myself) I did a deep dive into the writers of the MCU.

First up: Iron Man. Before writing this script Mark Fergus and Hawk Ostby wrote the critically adored Children of Men.

Zak Penn, writer for The Incredible Hulk, worked on Men in Black, Behind Enemy Lines, and Reign of Fire before penning the MCU’s second film.

The writer of Zoolander and American Psycho was selected for Iron Man 2. The two movies he did before joining the MCU were Tropic Thunder and Megamind.

Two of the three writers for Thor got noticed for their work on Agent Cody Banks.

The script team for Captain America: The First Avenger wrote five movies before working for Marvel. Three of those films were Narnia adaptations: The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, Prince Caspian, and Voyage of the Dawn Treader.

2012’s The Avengers was written by Joss Whedon who had a prolific career before working with Marvel. He’s most well known for two things - writing, directing, and producing Buffy the Vampire Slayer; and for being a terrible and toxic person to practically everyone who’s worked with him.

And that’s just the first phase of the MCU. They’re now in the fifth phase with phase six starting in the spring of 2025. Marvel is still using people that proved themselves elsewhere like taking a dude that wrote for Rick & Morty, The Onion News, and Jimmy Kimmel to pen the script for last year’s Quantumania.

The same is true with the MCU TV shows. Before Moon Knight, Jeremy Slater wrote for The Umbrella Academy. Michael Waldron did scripts for Rick & Morty before helming the first season of Loki.

All of these screenwriters wrote cool things, got noticed, and then joined the Marvel fold. Writing for Marvel isn’t a stepping stone, it’s the destination.

One that note ...

Hi Marvel, I’m Nicholas Casey. Author, nerd, and cinephile. I wrote a book and hope to get it published soon. I’m also a fan. Hire me. Please?

Once a Poet …

My brother graduated high school in 1992 which was the end of my seventh grade classes. It’s also the year grunge broke big. Pearl Jam’s Ten was released right before school started, Nivana’s Nevermind followed a month later, and by October Soundgarden unleashed Badmotorfinger. I was immune to grunge though. Aaron was a heavy metal fan which strongly influenced my musical preferences. A year earlier, most of the kids my age listened to George Michael and MC Hammer. Thanks to my conservative religious upbringing, I was led to believe grunge was inherently evil.

That all changed when I entered eighth grade. Two big albums were dropped in the fall of 92: Core from Stone Temple Pilots and Dirt by Alice In Chains. When my math teacher offered the class permission to select background music, my friend Matt nominated Dirt. “It’s brand new, just came out.” Class lasted 40 minutes so we didn’t have time to play the whole record yet those first few tracks blew me away. Them Bones, Dam That River, Rain When I Die, Down in a Hole. Whatever worksheets we were supposed to be doing is lost to my memory. Mathematic exercises were instantly irrelevant. I spent the remainder of class staring absently at the numbers on the paper in front of me, devoting all of my attention to the driving drum beats, low bass growl, and distorted guitars. My ears clung to every lyric as the vocals alternated between Layne’s manic howl and Jerry’s moody harmonies.

Within the next year, nearly all of my school friends were starting their own bands, including Matt who brought his brand new Alice In Chains tape with him to math class. I was not a good singer and I couldn’t play any instruments but I still loved the world of creating music. Matt suggested I start writing songs. If they were good, his band might use them. I had never written a song before so I asked him for tips. His advice was to pick a random word then write about how that word made me feel. A couple nights later, while bored and sitting in the back row pew of a Sunday night church service, I used the blank space of an offering envelope to write my first song: Reach.

This was the birth of my writing journey. Those first few songs I wrote were nothing more than poetry with a repeating refrain. We lived in the Seattle suburbs, Kurt Cobain was still alive (at least for a few months longer), and I was all in with grunge. The songs I wrote never got used but I kept writing. The song structure became looser until I was writing straight poetry and (according to friends of mine) I was prolific. I continued this habit into my early twenties.

Fear, anger, and pain fueled my prose. A lot of my poetry also contained themes of unrequited love. Loss. Regret. It was the essence of all the stereotypical teenage angst you’d expect from the mid-90s.

Then I fell in love at 23 and discovered I couldn’t write a romantic poem even if my life depended on it. I’d never compose a decent love song. My poetic output decreased, eventually dwindling into nothing. By the time I was 24, I was no longer a poet.

My creative outlets shifted to essays. For twenty years I’ve maintained the storytelling tradition through both fiction and non-fiction. You can’t kill an inner poet though. In the wake of divorce, I penned a couple new poems - an act of pure catharsis. Grief and turmoil were always my greatest muses. Over the years after, I’d unearth my poetic mindset and compose something new. Then put it away and move on.

When the question of women choosing between a bear and a man recently started trending, my wife told me I should write a poem about it. I balked at the idea. I couldn’t do it - it’s been years since I’ve been a poet. I don’t have it in me anymore. Even in the middle of denying my wife’s suggestion, I already had a couple lines swimming in my cranium. Within 24 hours, I wrote a new poem: Choose the Bear.

In the days that followed, my inner poet re-emerged. Two more poems were scribed in quick succession. Annie recorded me reading Choose the Bear and you can find it on TikTok. The next poem, A Weird Combination I Know, will be shared soon but the other, Early Onset Alcoholism will remain hidden for another year. Annie is also pushing me to try out some open mic nights to share my poetry with a larger audience.

Through this process, I’m rediscovering something I knew to be true when I was a teenager: poetry has the power to divulge those feelings you can’t describe in simple conversation. Since my autistic brain has difficulty expressing my emotions, poetry is giving me a chance to process trauma and release all this grief I’ve never been able to grieve.

My wife and I have been dragged through hell the last couple years. Outside forces have been doing all they can to tear us apart but their efforts have only bound us closer together. Somehow it feels the poems I write have more power because I’m speaking for both of us.

This new creative muse is providing more than just catharsis, it’s also healing. Because there’s shit from my childhood I’ve still not processed. There’s shit from my first marriage that I’ve never talked about. And there’s shit flung at my wife and I that I’ve kept quiet.

Until now.

Annie and I have full custody of our younger two children. We only had to split custody with my older three kids. The first is 19 and lives independently. My next daughter is 17 and in the going-to-do-whatever-she-wants-to-do phase and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. My son is in jail and will be until he’s almost 18. This era of co-parenting is coming to an end.

For the last 11 years, I’ve tried as hard as I can to keep my mouth shut and take the high road. My ex-wife continues to violate our custody order and makes every attempt to stir up chaos in my life. Her reasons are unknown to me but my happiness seems to offend her. With these factors at play, my gloves are off. I have nothing to lose. We need peace and I’m finding it in poetry.

Ps: I’ve kept everything I wrote in the decade between the ages of 14 and 24. It’s all squirreled away in a box somewhere in the garage. Perhaps I’ll need to revive them and re-write them, transform them into something a little less angsty and juvenile.

Civil War

When I worked as a corporate trainer, I was taught to use a four quadrant model of facilitation. It graded the effectiveness of a class by measuring how well students know, comprehend, enjoy, and recall class content. We used paper tests and hands-on exams to quantify the first two quadrants, opinion surveys for the third, and the final quadrant was determined by how well the employees performed in production after graduating training.

The Q4 model is just a simplified version of Bloom’s Taxonomy. This teaching structure (created by Benjamin S Bloom in the 60s) divided a student’s retention into six categories: knowledge, comprehension, application, analysis, synthesis, and evaluation.

Click to enlarge

I learned about Bloom’s Taxonomy in second grade. Was it the primary teaching method in the Marysville school district? Nope. They clung to the pattern of teacher led presentations and rote memorization. I was a special kid though. In second grade, my parents subjected me to IQ testing to figure out what was wrong with me. Apparently, my defect was being really smart. For all I knew, people asked me questions and I answered them. The result placed me in the top five percent of all students my age. As a reward, I got to leave my class one day a week to attend Enhanced Learning.

In enhanced learning, we studied topics not taught in any normal elementary school curriculum, like bridge engineering and Greek mythology. One other feature setting Enhanced Learning apart from typical grade school classes: it used Bloom’s Taxonomy. For every year long study, we had to demonstrate that we knew the topic and comprehended it. The we had to apply what we learned, analyze it, and synthesize it into our own remixed creation. Finally, at the end of the year, the teacher submitted us to evaluation - not just her own testing but also to the judgment of our peers as we had to evaluate each other.

The first topic our class studied during my tenure was all about American geography. We learned about the Highway system, the fifty states, and the national parks. We had a race on paper where our team’s “car” could move across a giant map every time we completed specific tasks. In addition, we had to calculate traveling times between destinations - all in the era before Google Maps existed. I created a board game about Mt Rainier for the synthesis section of our class, foreshadowing the love of mountains I discovered as a teenager. My game was the final solo project my classmates judged for evaluation.

The other solo project in class came during the analysis section. Our teacher took a pair of scissors to a map of the United States, slicing America into puzzle pieces. Each of us students were given a section of map and instructed “it’s a new country.” Ms Wilson told us the USA broke apart and these bits distributed between us became independent nations. There was no rhyme or reason to the shapes. She didn’t cut lines based on cultural, regional, or ideological divisions. Her obligation was to split the American map into a number of sections equal to the amount of kids in the class.

Once we had our individual maps, we had to research - analyze - the area to know what jobs existed in our borders. We compiled lists of industries done there: forestry, agriculture, tourism, manufacturing, etc. We added up the populations of the metropolitan areas to estimate how many people lived in our nations. We determined which city would become the capital. My country contained parts of Northern California, western Nevada, and Eastern Oregon. This project helped feed my lifelong obsession with maps. I loved it.

There was another lesson I learned during this analysis project, even if unintentional: the United States of America wasn’t permanent. This land of ours was something different before we got here and it could just as easily become something different again. Our borders could change. Our neighbors could change. Our anthems could change. Despite not having any frame of reference for military conflict (it was the mid 80’s before the first Gulf War) this was the first time the idea of a civil war formed in my brain.

These are not normal concepts for a seven year old to ponder but I wasn’t a normal kid.

Then I got older and school classes taught us about the real Civil War. I realized if it happened once, it could happen again. Then I got older and saw the news about the bombing that destroyed the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building. I learned the culprit and his co-conspirator were American citizens and military veterans. I realized if Americans could attack America, it could happen again. Then I got older and studied political science and statistics and saw the accelerating political divisions steering this nation. I realized if it could happen in government, it could happen with the wider populace. Then I got older and watched the rise of the Tea Party and the alt right, the endless mass shootings, the proliferation of conspiracy theories and hate groups, and the riots intending to overthrow our government. I realized we are on the brink of another civil war.

I am saddened to see how many of my fellow Americans, including many who have worked their way into elected positions, have embraced ignorance as a virtue. I am heartbroken so many adhere to the doctrine declaring anyone who disagrees with you to be an enemy.

I’m not a prophet. I’m not psychic. I’m not a fortune teller. I don’t know what the future holds. What I do know is our existence is fragile. I know the freedoms and luxuries we enjoy could vanish at any moment. I know the same thing I’ve known since second grade: the United States of America isn’t permanent.

This is the perspective I carried with me into the theater this week when I finally got a chance to watch Alex Garland’s Civil War. The movie follows a small group of journalists trying to capture photos of the front line and secure an interview with the president before the opposition forces conquer Washington DC.

Image courtesy of A24

The movie doesn’t explain why the separatists seceded or how the civil war started. It doesn’t identify the politics of either side of the war. It doesn’t even ask the audience to pick a side. The heroes are the journalists - incredible performances from Kirsten Dunst, Wagner Moura, Cailee Spaeny, and Stephen McKinley Henderson. You see the conflict through their eyes and camera lenses. You feel their fear and their grief.


In one scene, Moura’s character screams in anguish (although his audio is muted) and for that moment, the filmmakers tell you everything you need to know about civil wars - real or cinematic: everyone thinks they’re fighting for the right side. No matter who wins, there are no winners.

Image courtesy of A24

Civil War gave me a lot of feelings. As a father, as a writer who married a photographer, as a minister, as a pacifist observing the genocidal war between Israel and Palestine, as an American who hates seeing what is happening in my real-life country, as a storyteller, as a cinephile … Civil War was an emotional ride. It’s also the first time I’ve cried in the theater since the death of Tony Stark. It’s a difficult movie to watch but a master-class presentation in scriptwriting, acting, and cinematography. Considering our current political climate, it’s also probably one of the most important movies released in the last few years.

The movie also brought me back to the seven year old kid I once was, realizing for the first time that the unifying bonds of our nation are fragile. Alex Garland provided most realistic demonstration of the facts I’ve known for twenty some odd years. It’s happened before, it could easily happen again. If we can’t learn from the mistakes of our past, Civil War might not just be a movie; it could be a warning of things to come.

A swing and a ...

It is baseball season. Which means my brother is probably recording for his First Pitch Strike podcast. And if he’s not working on the podcast, he’s probably watching baseball. I know for a fact he was in Denver yesterday to watch the Mariners annihilate the Rockies in their home stadium.

Baseball runs in my family. My dad was a pitcher in high school. Growing up, the Mariners were broadcasted somewhere in our home, either on TV or the radio - sometimes both. The voice of Dave Niehaus is the sound of my childhood. Even though I didn’t play baseball, there was nothing more special than a trip to the Kingdome to watch the boys of summer play, fireworks ignited every time one of the M’s hit a home run. During my nephew’s high school days in Cheyenne, he was a star pitcher and he’s now returned to join his old team’s coaching staff. So far, two of my five kids have entered the world of America’s past time. Last summer, my eleven year old’s softball team took first place in their league.

Peewee baseball/softball is a bizarre creature. I’d call it organized chaos but there is very little organization present. I’ve observed this curiosity twice now and it wouldn’t surprise me if our youngest follows her older siblings’ footsteps.

First there’s t-ball: everybody swings and everybody runs. Sometimes they run even when they don’t get a hit. This phase is pure comedy. There are kids who don’t know what to do when they hit the ball so they stand at home plate until one of the adults drags them to first base. Other kids run the wrong direction after the hit. Inevitably, the helmets are far too big for some players, permanently obscuring their vision. Once on base, nearly every kid will keep on running until they reach home.

Years later they have it figured out. Uniforms fit and teams are sponsored by local businesses. There are strike outs and line drives. Fielders dive for balls and runners slide into bases. Kids stop swinging at every pitch, they make fewer errors, and teams become more competitive. Wins and losses suddenly matter.

Between these two stages there is another form of the game, one where the rules don’t matter and the goal is giving players experience. This is the transition time, the first year without a batting T. Coaches pitch for their own team and batters are up until they get a hit. Strike one? Cool. Keep going. Strike 13? It’ll happen eventually. Keep trying. Batters at this age are given infinite strikes. The moment their bat makes contact, everyone cheers - even if it’s a foul ball.

In the creation of a novel, there are phases. First is the raw work: plotting and planning, researching, drafting, editing, rewriting, beta readers, and more editing. Eventually you figure it out. There’s a contract signed with a publisher - perhaps with one of the big five or a small regional press or you decide to self publish. Then one day, an author walks into their favorite book store and finds their novel under new releases, debut authors, or local writers. There are no real wrong paths here. Publishing a book is a gargantuan task.

But somewhere between those two stages is something different and a million times more chaotic. Publishers don’t accept submissions from authors but they will accept them from agents. If an author hopes to get traditionally published, they need to find an agent who will sell the book to a publishing house. To secure an agent, authors submit queries to various agents. It is time consuming because every agent wants something different. If you’re not prepared for rejection, it can also be a little soul crushing.

Writers on social media jokingly call this period the query trenches as if we’re dug in for battle and we must be careful not to lift our head above ground at the wrong time.

But for me, it feels a little like peewee baseball - that first year after the batting T is removed. I get infinite pitches. I send agents information about me and my book. That’s the pitch. I’m swinging every time. I’m aiming for the fences. If your query isn’t a good fit for an agent, or they’re just not interested, they send you a rejection letter - usually a form email. That’s a strike. However, don’t despair - just like little leagues, there are no strikeouts. I get another pitch. I get another chance to swing. If it’s another strike, I’m still up to bat.

The writing community is a lot like those little league teams. As soon as an author gets a hit - an agent request for a full or partial copy of their book, or makes an offer of representation, everyone cheers. We don’t care if that author is a friend or a stranger or a competitor. A success for them means we have a chance when it’s our turn to bat. That’s what we do in the trenches. We root for other writers while we swing at pitch after pitch after pitch. From the first rejection to the fiftieth, the only way we can strike out is if we quit playing. As long as our heart is in the game, there’s always another agent.

I’m not a big baseball person. Not like my dad, brother, and nephew. I’ll attend an occasional Spokane Indians game and make it to as many of my kids’ little league games as possible. The only time I’ll watch baseball on TV is if the Mariners are playing. Being an M’s fan is a labor of love. It is truly a practice of long suffering. Perhaps being a fan of the best team to never win the World Series prepared me for the query trenches. At the end of every season, Mariners fans confidently declare “next year will be our year.” In a similar fashion, after every rejection, I tell myself “here’s to the next one.” I step back into the batter’s box ready to take another swing.

Home, Away, and the Weirdness of Being

During our last trip to Hawaii, my wife and I went on a late night walk along Waikiki beach. We stopped to dance when passing by a bar with a musician playing music on an out door stage, watched some fire dancers practice free from the massive daytime crowds, and lingered along the shore while the sound of waves filled the silence around us. Backlit by the vibrance of skyscrapers and hotels with the expanse of starry skies and endless ocean before us, we soaked up all we could get. There was a life giving energy to the moment, a breath to revive our weary souls.

With my arms wrapped around Annie’s shoulders she told me how the time we spent there felt more real to her than anything else. We conversed about how important these trips were to both of us to connect with each other. It was a reminder of why we work so hard and love the way we live. We both have wandering spirits, a wanderlust hardwired into our being. It’s more than existing as soulmates, it’s as if we were created to see the world together.

We know there is life after kids, a life approaching faster that we could ever prepare. When we travel, whether it is a weeklong journey or a quick weekend excursion, we get glimpses of the way life could be, or the way it was meant to be. It’s a preview of a future when we no longer have the worry of homework, softball schedules, school dances, and convincing kids the importance of personal hygiene and household chores. Our bucket list is perpetually growing and it is our hearts desire to continually find each other through chasing destinations.

Thing is, we are not wealthy people. At least, not financially speaking. We eat cheap. We don’t maintain expensive smoking and drinking habits. We pursue affordable entertainment options. If free is an option, it’s our preferred choice. When we leave town, we stay in low cost hotels. We get the the cheap interior rooms on cruise boats. We look for bargain flights. We pack snacks for road trips. Mock us for our thriftiness but our budget consciousness enables our ability to pursue our dreams.

We also know we are blessed. We understand our traveling hobbies are not options available to everyone. We are aware we live, work, and travel to places impacted by addiction and poverty. Annie is better at it than I am, yet we both endeavor to use our privilege to benefit others. Life is fragile and there is no knowledge more present than the fact nothing is promised. We enjoy these opportunities while we can as frequently as possible because we might not be able to do this forever.

We escaped home again this last weekend for a family road trip to Boise. Saturday was one of the best days I’ve had I a long time. We visited a zoo and a historical site. We stayed in a cheap hotel. I introduced them to my favorite Mexican restaurant. My eleven year old daughter begged me to take her to more museums. We learned new things, bonded over fresh experiences, found joy together, bought souvenirs, took goofy photos, and refreshed our weary souls.

photo courtesy of Andria Casey

Now we are home again. We have resumed the regular routines of day jobs and school. My body is worn but my heart is full. Walking around downtown Spokane this morning, I had a revelation similar to the sentiments my wife expressed in Honolulu roughly this time last year.

Our time away seems more real than our time at home. Walking around downtown Spokane this morning, I sensed this oddness deep in my bones. Real life feels weird. Road trips to Seattle, Portland, Boise, and Cheyenne; flying away to Florida and Hawaii; cruises to Alaska and the Bahamas - these trips tire is out but fill our hearts. When we go we are closer to who we are to who we are than the daily grind of earning paychecks of conversing with colleagues. Our family’s heartbeat is found in miles traversed. Granted, we must return. The income of day jobs and weekend gigs fund our dream life away from home. Still, every time we go somewhere it becomes harder to readjust to normal life.

Then again, I’ve been weird my whole life. It’s time to embrace the weird until we can go away again. And again. And again.

The Disconnect and Ties that Bind Part Two

My maternal grandfather was genealogist. He started while he was still a teacher but his hobby became his passion after retirement. Not only did he track his own heritage as far back as he could go, he also studied the family trees of his kids’ spouses. He was fascinated by the family lineages of everyone he met. Thanks to his efforts, and the stories told by my paternal grandmother, I know as much about my family as possible.

I know my roots. I feel it in the lyrics of My Culture when Maxi Jazz raps, “Like a lifeline, I light lines ‘cause my compassion is deep for the people who fashioned me, my soul to keep and this is who I happen to be. If I don't see that I'm strong, then I won't be. This is what my Daddy told me, I wished he would hold me a little more than he did. But he taught me my culture and how to live positive. I never want to shame the blood in my veins and bring pain to my sweet grandfather's face in his resting place. I made haste to learn and not waste everything my forefathers earned in tears for my culture.”

From a passenger on the Mayflower, to Norwegian immigrants joining early settlers in Minnesota. The German, Irish, and Scottish ancestors. My distant Samoan cousins. Forefathers (and foremothers) who were farmers and pastors, advocates and survivors. Their stories twist my DNA and flow through my blood.

I know who I am. And yet, I don’t.

Comprehension of names, birthdays, occupations don’t tell a complete story. There is a limited amount to be learned from marriage licenses, immigration papers, and death certificates. I strive to leave a legacy worthy of my family but they are not my tribe. When my parents got married in the early 70s, they began a westward migration. I grew up completely disconnected from my heritage. Between my dad being a workaholic and our family living below the poverty line I barely knew my aunts, uncles, and cousins. I rarely saw my grandparents. My familial tribe had communities in Cheyenne and Oklahoma while I was the left coast stranger in the Emerald City suburbs.

image courtesy of the City of Marysville

My being is more defined by coming of age as a Seattleite during the grunge era than by my heritage. There’s a playlist in Spotify serving as the soundtrack to my life which will tell you more about who I am than you could learn from anyone sharing my surname or my mom’s maiden name. Separated from those clans, I had to find my own tribes.

I’ve been pretty open about the state of my childhood. It was not an enjoyable experience. I am still struggling with the trauma of being a bullied kid, of poverty, of undiagnosed mental illness, of religious fundamentalism. Finding my tribe was not an easy task.

On a five hour road trip with my dad last summer, he admitted his greatest fear while I was a kid was that he’d lose me. Which brings me back to the 1 Giant Leap song. In the second verse, Robbie Williams sang, “Hello Dad, remember me? I'm the man you thought I'd never be.” Then continued, “I'm the one who you told look don't touch. I'm the kid who wouldn't amount too much.” My parents didn’t think I’d ever be much of anything because they didn’t know if I’d survive long enough.

My father is a smart man. He could see my symptoms of depression before I recognized them myself. He knew the degree of which I was bullied and abused by my peers and didn’t know how to help. He watched as I slowly faded into the background and was terrified I’d become a suicide statistic.

I was raised in the boys will be boys era. When the kids who got their asses kicked were given the same punishment as the kid who dealt the ass kicking. When autism and neurodivergence were woefully misunderstood and under-diagnosed. When kids with learning disabilities were treated like bad students. When kids were better seen and not heard. When terms like nerd and geek were still vindictive insults. And I suffered all of it. If you ask my wife, I bear the scars and some of the wounds have yet to heal.

The saddest aspect of my lonely story is how the one place that should have been safe for me, the place that should have been most welcoming was just like everywhere else. My church should have loved me the way I was, the way God created me, but they could be just as hostile and ostracizing as the kids at school. Nowhere was safe.

So I found my tribe with the freaks and geeks, the outcasts and underdogs, the athletically un-gifted, the last ones picked, the tortured geniuses, artists and music makers, agents of chaos, the misunderstood wanderers, and anyone who never fit in or felt like they belonged.

A funny thing about life stories: they don’t always follow the hero’s journey. Life isn’t a three act play hitting all of the beats of plot and structure. There are unexpected turns warping our expectations. As the adage says: truth is stranger than fiction.

The church youth group of my youth wasn’t the happy home it should have been, but it was still home. No matter how desperately I tried, it was clear I was never going to be a part of the in crowd. However I was still in the crowd. Years, distance, and education have provided me a new perspective on this weird little tribe of teens inside our religious subculture. I am much more forgiving these days and a lot less desperate to fit in.

Because humans are tribal by nature, we always look to the best and strongest and bravest to lead and protect. In our strange tribe, that bigger stronger leader was never going to be me. It was a sociological impossibility. I was short, uncoordinated, poor, not conventionally attractive, and socially awkward. I was a weird little dork. Through time and space I’ve also come to realize the teasing they foisted on me wasn’t all mean spirited. Obviously some of it was, but some of it was good natured too.

I no longer blame them for their cruelty. It’s hard being a teenager. While I wasn’t like them, according to science we were identical. We were undergoing physical and neurological changes, our brain chemistry and hormone levels were constantly in flux, the rules transitioned from how we were treated as children to the way we would be treated as adults, culture around us was shifting throughout the 90s. We were all trying to find our place while figuring out who we were and how we related to each other all at the same time. It would be unrealistic to expect any of us to navigate such a confusing era with grace and perfect kindness.

Looking at that time of my life in the rear view mirror, once again I feel disconnected. Because I left. I got out. I moved away. All of those kids who were once my church family are practically strangers. They’re now pastors, teachers, missionaries, community leaders, realtors, mechanics, engineers, and doing their own things with their own families.

I don’t miss being the weird kid. I don’t miss the way my peers treated me like I was a second class citizen. I don’t miss being overlooked and maltreated. But I miss them. I miss the community we had. Despite the pain they caused me, I love these people dearly. In the midst of what was a tumultuous time of my life, my happiest memories all involve my youth group tribe. I will forever be bound to them through the shared experiences of our formative years.

Every now and then, I wonder if it would be feasible to get the old gang back together again. For us to collect in one place one last time. Jimmy and Sue. Kari and Dan. Shane. The twins. Megan. Nikolai. Pike. Nettles. Jennifer. Travis. Erin. Marcus. The younger siblings (Chris, Nathan, Adam, and Chad). Perhaps we could gather together a Dennys, order coffee and fries, chat for hours, then leave our tip among the avant-garde displays made from salt, pepper, ketchup, and coffee creamer. Like we used to do.

Sure, such a reunion is logistically impossible. But it could be fun. I am curious what it would be like to see them all again. If for no other reason, I’d want to do it for my culture.

The Disconnect and Ties that Bind Part One

In the earliest records of human history, people formed in tribalistic cultures. Families, tribes, sects, and clans. Every ancient society on every continent has documented their beginnings in small groups warring over limited resources of food, water, clothing, and shelter. Whether nomadic or settled, humans coalesced into factions based on shared values and lineage.

For thousands of years, humanity flourished in tribalism. This gave us the epic tales of folklore. In them we find the gods and legends of Egypt and Greece; tales of heroes and dragons; adventures, explorers, Vikings, and warriors. The earth experienced plagues and cataclysms, but its inhabitants endured because their tribes were united with common purpose.

Neighboring populations didn’t always get along so the survival of our clans depended on the biggest, the bravest, and the strongest among us to lead, guide, and protect us from those who wish to do us harm. We looked to the smartest and most beautiful to continue our bloodlines. We created popularity contests out of necessity because their success meant we could live and hopefully thrive.

From the indigenous populations of Australia and America, to the biblical Israelites, to the Chinese dynasties, to the feudalism of Western Europe, we found our identities, our health, and safety in the numbers and proximity of our people. Over time, these sects grew. They became villages and hamlets, then cities and nations. Divisions and culture formed around heritage, religion, geography, language, mythology, tragedies, kings, and lords.

Then something funny happened. The Industrial Revolution made life easier. Citizens of industrialized countries migrated from agrarian lifestyles to urban developments. As culture modernized, we lost the need for strength and courage to survive. We no longer needed the muscles and calluses of manual labor to tend to our own crops. The talent and focus needed to stitch fabrics together became a hobby instead of a mandatory skill. We could get the food and clothing we needed from markets and mercantiles.

Who needs to build their own hoses when specialized laborers could do it for you? Who needs giants to protect us when the government has armies? Who needs a bodyguard when you can buy your own weapons? Why protect your outskirts with roving bands armed with spears and swords when walls and secure border crossings will work more efficiently?

The neighboring towns were no longer rival clans, they were fellow countrymen. Our enemies were further away. The ever-present dangers and perils of pre-industrialization was a thing of the past. We were new people with modern needs and worries.

However, our tribalism was still hardwired into the human brain. Our communities might not need to bond they way we once did to survive, yet the human spirit still craves the bonds of community. Without the impetus for a tribe that lives together and fights together, we created new tribes with different purposes. The popularity contests continued in different domains.

Middle school cliques, political parties, college alumni, fraternal organizations, religious denominations, athletic franchises, MMORGPs, artist co-ops, book clubs, chosen families, and countless other ways we can find a way to say “these are my people, this is my tribe.” Our clans are bigger than they used to be. We can find kinship with strangers thousands of miles away. We can bond with individuals we may never meet in ways completed foreign to our ancestors.

Image courtesy of Lukas Zischke

Even though we no longer need the smartest and strongest to lead us, we still seek them out - even if we don’t know them personally. We find our leaders in hero worship, celebrity gossip, reality TV, social media influencers, and ballot boxes.

Modern civilization is completely disconnected from how we functioned for millennia. At the same time, we are bound to the ways historical cultures shaped our brains. Try as hard as we might to escape our past, the past is never truly dead.

Because my brain thinks through a filter of movie quotes and song lyrics, it is music which helped me comprehend our anthropology. My Culture by 1 Giant Leap featuring Maxi Jazz and Robbie Williams specifically speaks of this connection between our heritage, our biology, and the functions of modernity.

“I am the sum total of my ancestors, I carry their DNA. We are representatives of a long line of people and we cart them around everywhere: this long line of people that goes back to the beginning of time. And when we meet - they meet other lines of people. And we say: bring together the lines of me.”

I will remember.

Fantastic Four: A Proposal

With a cast announced less than a month ago and roughly 16 months to film, edit, reshoot, score, and add special effects, Marvel has a lot to do in a short timeframe. Fantastic Four are some of the most popular and recognizable characters from Marvel Comics. Expectations are high especially since fans have been disappointed in previous cinematic attempts ranging anywhere from lackluster to what one critic described as “woefully misguided.”

The upcoming F4 movie has to accomplish the following:
1. Be consistent, coherent, funny, and better than anything Fox put into theaters.
2. Create the effects of elasticity, invisibility, flaming flight, and rock hard invulnerability without looking like obvious CGI.
3. Avoid over reliance on CGI (one of the biggest criticisms against recent MCU entries).
4. Not break the sacred timeline. The MCU has had some minor continuity errors lately.
5. Bring this team from the 1960s to the present.
6. Explain how Fantastic Four existed in the MCU timeline as heroes in the 1960s but no one remembers them in the current era.
7. Connect to both the past and the future of the MCU.
8. Avoid the origin story. We got it in two other movies already. Fans are sick of origin stories.
9. Make every one love H.E.R.B.I.E.
10. For fan service - give Pedro Pascal a special kid to protect.

Image courtesy Marvel Studios

What if I told you I had an idea to satisfy all of these demands? (Yes, I realize the scrip is already written and since I’m not psychic, I’m aware the actual movie will be different than my proposal. A boy can dream right?)

Side note: my idea sets the movie several years after the team had been blasted with cosmic rays on the first American mission to space, giving them their powers. By the early 60’s when the movie begins, Fantastic Four are already world famous and active superheroes.

Cold open in the middle of Fantastic Four doing heroics - perhaps fighting a retro villain or something cosmic which would lean into Ben Grimm’s career as an astronaut. After the title card, we see the heroes in Washington DC receiving commendations from President Lyndon B. Johnson. Franklin and Valeria watch their family from the side of the stage under H.E.R.B.I.E.’s supervision. At the dinner gala following the award ceremony, Hank Pym (Michael Douglas) approaches Reed to congratulate him and they discuss the creation and use of pym particles.

Image courtesy Marvel Studios

Back at the Baxter Building, Sue puts Franklin and Valeria to bed. Because they’re young, they still share a bedroom. After lights out, the two kids start discussing pym particles with excitement. Due to Valeria’s superior intellect, she deduces the element could be used for time travel. They spend the next few days constructing their own time machine with spare parts from their father’s laboratory. There’s only one problem: Hank Pym possesses all of the pym particles and doesn’t like to share. This forces the children to invent their own version of the element.

Once the machine and particles are complete, they test it out. Valeria steps inside and activates it. She’s transported to what she thinks is the future but is actually an alternate universe. There she sees Sue eating dinner inside their Baxter Building apartment with someone other than Reed. Sue calls this man Victor. Valeria tries to interrupt but is scolded and Victor tells her she’s supposed to be working on her homework. Sue gets up and escorts Valeria back to her bedroom where school books and assignments are littered on her desk. Valeria finds a pair of Doom gauntlets, a cape, and armor on the bed. She puts on the gauntlets and is surprised to find they’re a perfect fit. Valeria sits down at the desk and sees her name written on one of her school papers as Valeria Von Doom. She panics and suddenly gets transported back to her reality where Johnny and Sue are frustrated with Franklin as he tries to explain where Valeria disappeared.

Valeria, still wearing the gauntlets, announces her presence. Reed and Ben return as they had been searching the building to find Valeria. Demanding an explanation, the adults listen to the child’s testimony of events. When she mentions Victor and describes him, Reed gets angry. Von Doom was a childhood friend of Reed’s who immigrated to the US after World War II and was a member of the space mission that gave the Fantastic Four powers. Sue and Reed begin arguing with accusations of affairs. Reed wants to know why she’d choose Von Doom, Johnny tries to defend her sister, and Franklin pleads with them to stop. To end the fight, Franklin accidentally uses his latent psionic powers pushing Johnny, Sue, and Valeria into the time machine and sends them 60 years into the future.

The force of the psionic blast damages the machine. Ben panics and tries to deactivate it but the controls are not designed for his big hands and he breaks it more. As the machine grows unstable Franklin and Reed scramble to depower it and avert disaster. Unfortunately, they can’t prevent the time machine from exploding, all they can do is contain the blast to minimize damage. At the last possible moment, Thing positions himself to take the brunt of impact so the shockwave doesn’t destroy Manhattan. Reed grabs Franklin, running for the balcony, and leaps into the abyss. Mr Fantastic stretches his body to form a parachute and wraps his hands and feet into a harness around Franklin so the two can float to safety together.

Behind them, the Baxter Building shakes and a ball of flames blow out the windows of the upper floors. The building implodes and crumbles, damaging neighboring buildings as it collapses with Thing and H.E.R.B.I.E. inside. Thankfully, Ben Grimm is nearly indestructible and is able to crawl his way out of the rubble.

They are devastated. Reed’s wife and daughter are gone, Ben lost his friend Johnny, and Franklin is filled with guilt. They want to find the other half of their family and bring them home but don’t know where to look or how to recreate the machine Valeria helped build. Hank Pym, Janet Van Dyne (Michelle Pfeiffer), and Dr. Bill Foster (Laurence Fishburne) show up to help those affected by the Baxter disaster. Reed begs Hank to help build a new time machine to help them rescue Johnny, Sue, and Valeria. Hank refuses because it’s too dangerous, doesn’t believe pym particles could be used for time travel, and wouldn’t know where to find the missing people even if time travel was possible.

Meanwhile, Sue and Johnny struggle to make sense of the changes to Manhattan and new technologies. No one recognizes them or remembers them. Due to superior intellect, Valeria adapts quickly. Their sudden appearance also causes a disruption, sensed by Wong (Benedict Wong) who takes Sam Wilson (Anthony Mackie) with him to intercept the heroes from the past. Johnny and Sue demonstrate their powers, believing Wong and Wilson are members of hydra. In the brief fight, Wong subdues them with magic.

Image courtesy Marvel Studios

Sue, Johnny, and Valeria are brought to a holding cell at the new Avengers headquarters and Wong sling rings his way out leaving Sam to interrogate the newcomers. During the interrogation, a news story provides an update on Victor Von Doom founding the Kingdom of Latveria after rebuilding the ruins of his homeland, Sokovia. Sue is stunned but Valeria doesn’t recognize him because Dr Doom is wearing a mask. Wilson offers them transport to Latveria on the condition they stay there.

Back in 1964, Reed reaches out to the only person he can think to help: the Sorcerer Supreme. At the Sanctum Sanctorum, they find the Ancient One (Tilda Swinton) repair the mansion because it had minor damages from the collapse of the Baxter Building. Reed explains their predicament to the Ancient One. She meditates for a while, and though her meditation she learns where the others had gone.

Image courtesy Marvel Studios

Ancient One agrees to help but with sacrificial consequences. First, she can send them into the future timeline but it is a one way trip, they will not be able to return home. If they agree, the future will become their home. The second condition is an agreement for the Ancient One to undo the damages they caused to Manhattan, but in doing so she will erase the knowledge of their existence from everyone’s memory. No one will remember the Fantastic Four, no one will know they are heroes, no one will remember their missions to space leaving NASA’s space program to start over without them. Their timeline will move on as if they never existed. When they arrive in the future, they will have to begin a completely new life from nothing.

Reed, Ben, and Franklin all agree. Ancient One works her magic, the collapse of the Baxter Building is undone in reverse, damages to Manhattan are repaired, the photo of Ben Grimm disappears from the halls of NASA, a newspaper clipping showing Hank shaking hands with Reed changes to show Hank shaking hands with Howard Stark (John Slattery), and the remaining heroes vanish from 1964.

In modern times, Reed, Ben, and Franklin appear in Sanctum Sanctorum the same place they just left. However, they’re now standing behind Wong who is binge watching Game of Thrones with Madisynn (Patty Guggenheim). Wong jumps up ready to fight but is disarmed when Reed asks “Where is the Ancient One?” The story of why and how they arrived in Sanctum Sanctorum is relayed and Wong agrees to help.

Image courtesy Marvel Studios

In Latveria, Dr Doom is suspicious of Sue and Johnny, imprisoning them. Inside captivity, their powers are inert. This frustrates Johnny who keeps throwing himself into the walls trying to ignite himself. However, curious how Valeria got a hold of gauntlets he designed, Von Doom treats the girl like a princess.

Wong learns from Sam where Reed’s family was taken. Wong’s students learn Johnny and Sue are being held captive. Madison researches social media and finds pictures of Victor with Valeria, and she is dressed in royal Latverian clothing to match Doom’s costume. Reed and Ben demand to mount a rescue mission. Sam declined to assist them as his participation would be a violation of UN treaties protecting Latveria’s sovereignty.

To complete the rescue, Wong sends a few of his students to accompany Reed and Ben to storm Doom’s castle. Wong remains behind to manage the New York sanctum and baby sit Franklin.

In Latveria, the heroes are confronted with dozens of doombots. As Thing smashes the robots and Mr Fantastic uses his rubbery arms to launch the bots every direction, the students use their magic to break the doombots apart. Unfortunately, for every robot destroyed, more appear.

Inside the castle, Dr Doom is eating a meal with Valeria. His mask is off, revealing scars and disfiguration. Seeing the commotion on his security feed, he excuses himself and dons the mask. He joins the melee and orders his doombots to stop fighting. Doom asks the heroes for their reason to enter Latveria. Franklin explains he came to retrieve his family. Feigning cordiality, Doom invites them inside the castle. Once inside, Reed and Ben lose their powers, reverting Thing back to his original human appearance. Without warning, the doombots swarm and overpower the de-powered heroes and escort them to detainment cells. While being dragged away, Reed asks Victor “What happened to you?”

The question confounds Doom. Due to the spell Ancient One used to undo the damages to Manhattan in the 60s, Victor doesn’t remember any of the Fantastic Four. In the 60s, Franklin has a vision of Valeria filled with rage and smashing electric components. He tells Wong how Valeria might be in danger. Wong responds with a grunt, “hmm” and tells the boy to go watch cartoons.

Back in the dining hall, Valeria is watching everything on the security feed Doom left on. Seeing her father mistreated angers her. She gets her gauntlets and uses telepathy to deduce the location of the castle’s security controls. Once there, she uses the gauntlets to smash everything which deactivates the castle’s defenses, including the technology Doom uses to repress magic and superpower abilities. In an instant, Johnny is ablaze and Thing turns into stone. They bust out of their cells. Wong’s students regain their magic and escape.

A new battle resumes between the heroes and doombots. This time, with two additional fighters, progress seems easier. Because the security system is damaged, the bots are easier to fight and Von Doom lost his ability to control them. They quickly subdue Victor Von Doom but are stopped from hurting him by Valeria. She explains he is this nation’s king and the people of Latveria depend on him. Their status as an independent nation is recognized by the United Nations and protected by the European Union. Franklin advises Doom to rule his people and remain in his country. Should Doom ever cause harm outside of his borders, the Fantastic Four would be there to stop him.

The students use the sling rings to open portals allowing the team to return to the Sanctum Sanctorum. Before she leaves, Valeria removes the cape and armor Victor gifted her. She turns to exit but pauses again, drops the gauntlets then steps through the portal.

Back in New York, Sue and Reed find Franklin watching The Simpsons with Madisynn. With the team reunited, Reed says it’s time to find a new home. Franklin says he has a few ideas. Begin credits.

In a mid credit scene, in the basement of the old Baxter Building, a tarp covers a strange form. Small lights turn on, illuminating the tarp from the inside. The form inside wiggles and wrestles itself free revealing H.E.R.B.I.E. reactivated for the first time in 60 years.

In a post credit scene, Sue and Reed are on a date at a fancy restaurant. Doctor Strange (Benedict Cumberbatch) approaches, who they think is their waiter. Strange uses magic to make their drink order appear. He introduces himself and invites Reed to join the Illuminati.

Image courtesy Marvel Studios

Just think what my version of the film accomplishes. It introduces the Fantastic Four, brings them from the 60s into the present without disturbing the sacred timeline, explains why no one in modern times remembers them, sets up Dr Doom as a future big baddie, connects the Fantastic Four to other MCU characters, and maintains the Pedro protects a kid trope. It’s perfect.

Of course, Disney has their own plans. The script has been written and production should begin soon. We’ll see what Marvel Studios creates when the movie releases next year.

Fantastic Four: A Refresher

The leader of the team can stretch absurd lengths and flex his body into any shape. His wife can turn herself invisible at will and project force fields around herself any anyone next to her. The youngest can ignite his body in a ball of flames and fly while he’s on fire. The last member is the only one who can’t pass for normal, his body built of orange rocks making him super strong and nearly indestructible. Aside from their powers, who are the Fantastic Four?

Reed Richards is known as the smartest man in the Marvel universe. He is slightly arrogant but in a way he doesn’t realize he’s arrogant because he literally is so much more intelligent than everyone else. He’s a workaholic and can often be emotionally distant.

Image courtesy of Marvel Comics

Johnny Storm has a massive ego and is eager to flaunt his powers. He’s charismatic, braggadocios, an adrenaline junky, and enjoys attention. Despite his hot temper, he wants everyone to like him and is willing to team up with almost anyone.

Image courtesy of Marvel Comics

Ben Grimm has a soft heart under his rough exterior. He used his football scholarship to escape his impoverished and violent childhood. Not the smartest dude around but he makes up for it with a jovial personality and uses humor to hide his emotional turmoil.

Image courtesy of Marvel Comics

Sue Storm lost her mom at a young age and her father struggled with alcoholism, leaving her to take care of her younger brother Johnny. Even as adults, she is still a motherly figure to those around her. She is the soul of the team, being their voice of reason and emotional support. She is also incredibly powerful and is often underestimated.

Image courtesy of Marvel Comics

Combined, they are Fantastic Four. This is the first superhero team in Marvel Comics and Marvel’s first family. However, their family is bigger than the four of them.

Reed and Sue are married and have two kids - Franklin and Valeria. As children of super-powered parents, these kids also have abilities. Franklin inherited his father’s intelligence but also possesses the ability to manipulate reality and experiences minor precognitive visions. Valeria didn’t acquire Reed’s intelligence, she superseded it. She mastered several fields of science at a young age including multidimensional physics. She also got her mom’s gift of invisibility and developed the power to project energy. Both kids have limited ability to travel through time. Franklin does so with his psionic powers and Valeria uses a method she calls time-dancing.

Image courtesy of Marvel Comics

Johnny is uncle to the Richards kids. His best friend, Wyatt Wingfoot doesn’t have any superpowers but is an athletic marksman and has occasionally saved the Four from potentially bad situations by showing up at the right place at the right time. Johnny has also dated a Skrull alien, a member of the Inhumans, and a couple ladies in the X-Men.

The only member of the team not in the family is Ben. However he is Franklin and Valeria’s godfather and the kids treat him like an uncle. While he tends to be a loner, afraid people won’t accept his appearance, he did develop a relationship with a blind artist named Alicia Masters, who happens to be the daughter of Puppet Master, one of the F4’s foes.

Then there are the robots. H.E.R.B.I.E. was originally a substitute for the missing Human Torch then became a lab assistant to Reed, butler for the family, and a babysitter for Franklin and Valeria. Roberta was the Baxter Building receptionist. She looked human but didn’t have legs and is attached to her desk. She often outwits hackers and trespassers attempting to access the Fantastic Four’s home.

While Fantastic Four’s stories are filled with action and adventure, it is the family drama that endeared them to readers. Fans could see themselves in the rivalry and occasional pranks between Ben and Johnny. They could relate to the marital disputes between Sue and Reed. They longed for the loving bond between brother and sister or the mentorship Reed provided Johnny. Everyone wanted a devoted friend like Ben. They laughed together, often quarreled, and adore each other deeply.

This is the charm Marvel Studios needs to capture that was missing from the previous movies. A family that doesn’t always get along but love each other through crisis and conflict. Individuals who think that can do anything alone but realize they are better together. And heroes who genuinely enjoy a good joke.

Fantastic Four: A Timeline

November 1961: The Fantastic Four debuted with issue #1 for Marvel Comics. This is the first team of heroes created by the collaboration between Jack Kirby and Stan Lee. Due to their popularity among readers and their status of being an actual family in fictional continuity, the Four quickly became known as the first family of Marvel.

Image courtesy Marvel Comics

While superhero teams were not a new concept in the world of comic books, Fantastic Four were unique because they were a family. The first issues introduced Reed Richards (Mr Fantastic) as a man with an elastic body and his girlfriend Sue Storm (Invisible Woman) who could become invisible and project an invisible force field around her. The two would later get married. Also on the team was Johnny Storm (Human Torch), Sue’s brother who could fly and light himself on fire. The last member was Ben Grimm (Thing) who was Reed’s college room mate and possessed a body made or rock. Like all families, this one bickered a lot adding their family drama into the tension of fighting supervillains and anti-heroes like Namor, Dr Doom, Annihilation, and the Silver Surfer.

July 1963: with issue #16, Marvel dropped the The. The Fantastic Four officially became Fantastic Four.

1975: Fantastic Four is released as a radio show starring Bill Murray as Human Torch. It doesn’t last long.

1977: Bill Murray joined the cast of Saturday Night Live, completely redeeming his role as Human Torch.

September 1967: Hannah-Barbera produces a cartoon Fantastic Four series. It lasts for a rear. The cartoon is revived in 1978 with a different producer. The revival does not include Human Torch, instead they have a robot servant named H.E.R.B.I.E who is incorporated into the comics.

Image courtesy Hannah-Barbera

1979: another cartoon broadcasts titled Fred and Barney Meet the Thing. Thing is the only F4 character featured in the series and gave us the catch phrase “Thing-rings, do your thing!” We’ll pretend this doesn’t exist.

Image courtesy Hannah-Barbera

1985: Questprobe 3 was released as an 8 bit game on the Atari. It only featured Human Torch and Thing.

Image courtesy of Adventure International

1986: Constantin Film purchases film rights to Fantastic Four. Those rights were set to expire 12/31/92 if a movie isn’t produced.

1992: Constantin Film teams up with Roger Corman (known for creating countless B-movies) to produce the first Fantastic Four movie on a $1 million budget. Constantin Film had to make this movie to prevent film rights from being reverted back to Marvel. It was set to be in theaters Labor Day weekend of 1993 but that never happened because it was so terrible. It was never officially released but can be pirated online.

Image courtesy of New Concorde

October 1997: Fantastic Four was released as a beat ‘em up style video game on the original PlayStation.

Image courtesy Acclaim Entertainment

2004: 20th Century Fox acquired the film rights to Fantastic Four.

July 2005: 20th Century Fox releases Fantastic Four starring Ioan Gruffudd as Mr Fantastic, Jessica Alba as Invisible Woman, Chris Evans as Human Torch, and Michael Chiklis as Thing. It got mixed reviews. I thought it was just OK. Not bad but not good either.

Image courtesy 20th Century Fox

September 2006: debut of the cartoon series Fantastic Four: World's Greatest Heroes.

Image courtesy Taffy Entertainment

October 2006: The Fantastic Four we’re playable characters in the game Ultimate Alliance. A month later it was released on the PlayStation2, then on the Wii another month later. They appeared in the sequel but not playable, and they were playable again as DLC in the third game of the series.

Image courtesy Activision

June 2007: Fox premiers the movie sequel. Fantastic Four: Rise of the Silver Surfer debuts to more mixed reviews. While I don’t think it was a great movie, I enjoyed it more than its predecessor. There were plans for a third movie that never materialized.

Image courtesy 20th Century Fox

September 2009: Debut of the cartoon Super Hero Squad. This show features a wide variety of marvel characters and frequently includes members of Fantastic Four. My older three kids were obsessed with this show when it came out.

Image courtesy Marvel Animation

2011: Chris Evans is cast as Captain America in the MCU, completely redeeming his role as Human Torch.

August 20015: Fox released the Josh Trank Fant4stic starring stars Miles Teller as Mr Fantastic, Kate Mara as Invisible Woman, Michael B. Jordan as Human Torch, Jamie Bell as Thing. This movie was created for the same reason as the unreleased Fantastic Four movie - to prevent the film rights from expiring and reverting back to Marvel. And just like the 90s F4 movie, it sucked. It was trashed by critics, ignored by fans, and won two golden raspberry awards (worst director and worst picture).

Image courtesy 20th Century Fox

2018: Michael B. Jordan was cast as Killmanger in Black Panther, completely redeeming his role as Human Torch.

March 2019: Disney bought 21st Century Fox, returning Fantastic Film rights to Marvel Studios.

July 2019: Kevin Feige appeared at San Diego Comic-Con to announce the slate of upcoming MCU projects in production, which included Fantastic Four.

Image courtesy Marvel Studios

May 2022: Mr Fantastic has a brief appearance in Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness as a member of The Illuminati. He’s portrayed by fan casting favorite John Krasinski.

Image courtesy Marvel Studios

September 2022: At the D23 Expo, Kevin Feige announced a director (Matt Shakman) and a release date (11/8/24). The release has since been pushed back to 7/25/25.

November 2023: It is heavily rumored then confirmed Pedro Pascal was cast to play Mr Fantastic in the MCU. This is a disappointment to many (including me) who wanted to see John Krasinski continue this character. Since Pascal perfected his geek chops as a loner escorting a special child to safety in The Mandalorian and as a loner escorting a special child to safety in The Last Of Us, jokes started circulating social media asking which special child he would escort to safety in Fantastic Four.

February 2024: For Valentine’s Day, Marvel Studios released a teaser image for Fantastic Four confirming the cast. Pedro Pascal as Mr Fantastic, Vanessa Kirby as Invisible Woman, Joseph Quinn as Human Torch, and Ebon Moss-Bachrach as Thing. Easter eggs in the announcement confirm rumors that the movie would be set in the sixties.

Image courtesy Marvel Studios