three cups later....

See, I read big and epic and oh-so-Biblical fantasies from time to time, primarily because they sell like dime-a-dozen hotcakes on a winter's morning in Siberia, and the curious part of me wonders just what it is about these big, sprawling, cast-of-millions stories that sells so well. They're essentially Tom Clancy in fantasyland -- mind candy with a big moral message. FIGHT EVIL. BE GOOD. ACCEPT YOUR DESTINY IF IT COMES WITH A COOL SWORD OR OTHER ANCIENT AND TASTEFUL ACCESSORY.

See that? Those three sentences up there? That is why I can't be an epic fantasy writer. I have a sense of humor.

If I had a character who found out he/she/it was the Chosen One, he/she/and/or/it would probably wind up making fun of it. That is, after he/she/whatever got over being skeptical and/or scared shitless.

And I'm not saying the writers who write Ye Olde Epics don't have a sense of humor. I'm saying it doesn't come out in their writing. I happen to write songs. They all come out like they were written by Morrissey's illegitimate little sister. I cannot write funny or ironic songs for the life of me. That's just the way the cards fall.

Humor does not belong in epics, not as often as I seek to inject it. But life is funny and personal to me. A great lady named Suz Dodd once told me that life isn't all about tragedies. She delivered that line to me a month after our friend Nora Allen died, and the message has always stuck with me. Especially after Suz passed away long before her meter should have been up.

Especially then.

My grandfather told me a joke the day before he died. Listening to his quavering voice over a thousand miles of telephone wire, I laughed feebly, but I was crying as I stood there, glad that he could only hear my laugh and not see my face. It's the way I wanted his last memory of me to be. I think that's something good.

Even in the face of the Grim Reaper's bag o' tricks, we still laugh. Sometimes that's all you can do. That, and punch the bastard in the throat as he hauls you off.

Anyway.

Where was I?

Maybe someday I can write that epic. If I can ever suppress my need to smirk at prophecy and roll my eyes at destiny, I'm sure I'll whip out something.

Until then -- sarcasm, ho!