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Does Every Story Need a Villain? Exploring a Narrative Without an Antagonist

You would be relatively hard pressed, especially within the topic spaces of science fiction and fantasy, to find narratives that do NOT hinge around the actions of a villain. The Lord of the Rings has Sauron. Harry Potter and the [ALL OF THEM] have Voldemor…He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Star Wars has Darth Vader, the Emperor, Kylo Ren (sorta), and Snoke (for roughly 8.2 seconds). The Lion King has Scar. The Little Mermaid has Ursula. I could, quite literally, go on for days. We often judge a story on the quality of its villain. For example, the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s most recurring critique (at least in the circles I frequent) is its lack of good, engaging villains. And I agree with that wholeheartedly.

We remember their songs (“Be Prepared,” “Poor, Unfortunate Souls,” “The Hounds,” etc.) and sing them wickedly at one another. Surely, by every bit of evidence we can muster, villains are crucial parts of their stories. I’ve been sticking with more fantastical and whimsical narratives with my examples, but for the sake of the exercise, I’ll provide a brief list of more “realistic” villains as well:

  • Nurse Ratched, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest
  • Anton Chigurh, No Country for Old Men
  • Keyser Soze, The Usual Suspects
  • Moriarty, [Take Your Pick of Sherlock Holmes Adaptations]
  • Commodus, Gladiator
  • Iago, Othello
  • Big Brother, 1984
  • and countless more.

Most writers pride themselves on the villains they’ve created. I see posts on a weekly basis with people detailing the gleevil (that’s gleeful+evil) activities of their antagonist. Many of the writing prompts that circle Writer Twitter revolve around these devilish dastards as well.

All of this goes to say, WE LOVE VILLAINS. We love having someone to hate. Someone to root against. Someone to despise.

So I wrote a novel without one.

Yes, you read that correctly. My most recently created novel, the one I’ve been describing in my recent posts about my Indigenous ancestry and diversity, has no villain at all.

Stop, for a moment, to think about what that means to you. When you read that a story has no villain, what is your immediate response?

If you’re anything like me, I would guess that you may immediately suspect that the story has no real tension or conflict. That a series of gray, murky happenings occur from beginning to end. You may even believe that the story will be unremarkable altogether. After all, what would Star Wars be with Darth Vader? What would Batman be without the Joker or any of his other panoply of evildoers? Would Harry Potter’s adventures have been anywhere near as interesting if Voldemort had never existed? If he had gone to school in the wizarding world as normal and that was that?

A story without a villain can’t be as driving or meaningful as one without; you may be thinking.

And, my dear friend, you would be wrong. The most important part of a villain–any villain–is the hero they oppose. The best villains define their heroes. In Darth Vader, we catalyze the narrative of Luke. In Voldemort, Harry. And so on. Without their villains, these characters would not exist as they are.

But what of a hero conceived without a villain at all? What if the primary conflict of the novel, beyond stunning adventures and overcoming a world of primordial spirits, came from the hero’s struggle to find herself? If a villain’s primary purpose is to challenge and define the hero throughout the story, why couldn’t we remove the villain and use the entire story to achieve the same?

Of course, doing so requires a hero capable of standing alone: bearing the entire weight of the reader’s attention unceasingly without withering into shallow 2D affectations. It takes a character who feels real.

Because what’s more real than an adventure without a villain?

I cannot speak for everyone (and wouldn’t try to), but I believe it’s safe to assume that most of us do not have a personal Sauron, Joker, or Darth Vader. Antagonists come and go through our lives, but none that persist in defining us throughout our entire existence. Instead, we define ourselves across this longer journey. We make choices, mistakes, and efforts to improve. We succeed and fail. We grow. We falter.

In the story of our lives, the greatest “villain” we ever face comes from within: our fears, insecurities, and failings. We use art to conjure faces and catchy names (“Dr. Doom,” “Sinestro,” “Venom”) for these pervasive battles. We create villains to embody our struggles. But this once…just this once, I wanted to create something fantastical that allows a character to face her fears and insecurities without attaching a brooding intellect to them. I wanted a hero who overcame herself, just like we all do as we grow into better people.

And that’s why Iri and the Spirit World is my favorite thing I’ve yet written. Because it’s strange and weird and wonderful.

Because it’s real.

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The Sun’s on the Side of the Road (A Poem)

The idea for this came from something simple: a piece of broken mirror on the side of the highway that nearly blinded me while driving. Pained, I exclaimed, “Ugh, it’s like the sun’s on the side of the road!” And something about the rhythm of that phrase stuck with me. As I thought more about it, I recognized an opportunity to write something less self-serious than most of the poems that I’ve been doing lately. I mean, poetry acts primarily as my outlet for thoughts and emotions about what’s happening around me in the world. I use them to process. This became something more fun, though not without its own point by the end.

I hope you enjoy!

The Sun’s on the Side of the Road

The sun’s
on the
side
of the
road.
I’m not sure
which one
of us dropped
it
but it’s there,
blazing to high heaven
off the shoulder
of I43.
In my day,
stars
stayed up in the sky,
but now,
folks’re finding’em
in every culvert
and parking lane
from here
to Black Earth.
Still, thos’re just stars;
this is the sun
on the side of the road.
It’s not every day
you see a piece of the heavens
on Earth.
Probably every third day
at most,
so this is mighty special.
Y’know, some say
that all these stars crashing
down
means something’s gone real wrong;
that we broke the sky
and soon
the night won’t be aught but darkness
split
wide
like a mouth looking to swallow.
But I think it’s fine.
Who’s to say
this ain’t how it’s meant to be
with stars falling
and the sun on
the side of
the road?
I took a picture as I drove by.
Turned out nice.

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Make Believe (Poem)

First: it’s been far too long since my last post, and for that I apologize. This new novel I’ve been working on has really been gobbling up my time (in the best possible way). Still, I wanted to ensure that some of my writing consistently finds it way into the world, so here’s a new poem for the day.

With my new novel being an exploration of the kind of story I’ve always wanted to write (while ignoring the insecurity that leads artists to hedge bets instead of committing to their vision), I’ve been ruminating on why I write and what I hope my stories can achieve.

Ultimately, I want my work to spark conversations, challenge, and inspire. But most of all, I want my writing to offer hope. Though Milton said that hopes springs eternal, I feel like we’ve been running low of late. With that, here’s a poetic Ars Poetica of sorts. Make sure to let me know what you think in the comments here or on Twitter (@Dreamertide).

Make Believe

Stories live in me.
I didn’t expect
everyday spent scribbling
out a better world than this one,
but, God, it’s fun
to make believe,
finding some reprieve
from imaginations gone rogue.
They say it’s old-fashioned
to double down on hope,
that cynicism reigns
and many praise the refrain
that echoes “Pain to all,”
but I say “No.”

I rest on secrets never told,
a million journeys on distant roads,
on magic rings and pirate gold,
I will stake my claim.
By ships among the sea or stars,
potato farms and queens of Mars,
in war-torn heroes, seedy bars,
I can find a way
to remind you all
with words and deeds,
regardless of colors, kinds, or creeds,
that best we have
and all we need
is to make believe.

So give up lies and come alive,
set down your torch, take up as scribes
that sacred duty here advised:
to say something worth saying–
not words of hate or empty rhetoric
that try to find the zealot or heretic.
I want your stories
for love
for glory
just say something worth saying.

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Deep End (Poem)

Another day, another heavily rhythmic poem exploring the themes I find most frustrating in the current national debates. We need conversations; not yelling matches. We need understanding; not “agree to disagree.” The longer this goes on (and it’s already been going on for quite a long time), the farther we’ll get into the:

Deep End

We have enough villains
without making more
or pretending that facts
like rich or poor
can define
whether you, I, or them
have any value in this system.
Stop and listen–
or don’t, frankly I don’t care–
I’m writing this to keep
from drowning in air
on the rich oxygen filling
each lung to bursting.
You know the worst thing?
Conversation cures all
but you won’t have one,
short of more rage
you refuse the salve.
Gun in hand,
you proclaim
this your age of freedom
but I think you know
that’s sad.
One question:
what if you didn’t talk down
to people unlike you,
unsubscribed to the false truths,
and left your comments in your head
rather than anywhere
the future’s soothsayers will see and judge?
I prefer words I can see and touch:
the ones still dangling with emotion
like a tooth pulled hard and soon.
But the way you talk…
I can’t tell if anything
means something
or nothing.
Hell, you could offer me everything,
and I still think you’d be a liar.
The fire you’re burning
ran out of fuel
long ago,
short of the shit you’re piling
made from the gruel of easy falsehoods
you want to be true.
I get where you’re going,
or at least where you’d like to,
a safe place unified against
those unlike you:
strawmen and snowmen and costumes
rigged on mannequins
to usher in again
some illusion that safety
comes to those who fortify,
but you can’t deny
that richness in life
comes in the variety
of mes, yous, and thems;
the colors of eyes
that can smile
in every language,
tongue,
and tribe.
Even you celebrate the sight
of family, but real kinship
comes from knowledge,
not blood,
and in the quiet,
I think you know
we all share the same blood anyway.
So concede your way–
screaming or not–
but know that concession’s
the only end of this rodeo.
Your bull ran out of muscle
back before I ever took breath
and only artificial ties
keep its limbs hustling
and lithe in death.
I’m not saying your voice doesn’t matter,
far from it;
most can’t hear a thing
over your clattering demands,
but we want to talk, not prattle
or battle in petty words
that, by next week, won’t stand
for much besides a waste of time.
Here’s the line–
an offering of communion,
bonding over bodies broken,
to take up this token of friendship
not brinksmanship
because loose lips sink,
you know where I’m going.
So get rowing.
This ain’t the Delaware,
and God knows we don’t have a captain
yet out there
to stand at the bow,
but still we start now.
You take one oar,
we the other,
and together
maybe
we can keep this boat from spinning
until we sink
because if we fail,
no one will get the chance
to swim.

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Middle Ground (Poem)

As promised, I’ve returned with another poem to share. Like the last, this work is driven by my ongoing heartache and frustration with the way many prominent political leaders have responded to the tragedy in Parkland. More than that, though, today’s poem takes a stab at the breakdowns in communication that have been ongoing with these issues for years.

Unlike yesterday’s piece, today’s fits into a category I call rhythmic poems: best when read aloud, this type of poem is built around combining meaning with an accelerated flow of language to pull you from the start to the finish like a snowball, gaining speed and mass all the time.

Middle Ground

What’s left after outrage,
when the moment, cold and vacant,
sublimates under our gaze
and we’ve still not been placated?

Will their thoughts and prayers find answers
for interrogations old and new?
Will we find some ground to share
or dare to stand accusing
those who in care of self recuse
our words of air?

We say “enough’s enough”
and stuff ourselves with platitudes
meant to smooth the rough
discussions sloughing
to the wayside–
giving up to pride, on either side,
the notion that only our opinion matters;
but God, I see the same words
sputter and cough from lungs burned
black by repetition,
digging into fiction that there is no middle ground,
backed by our decision
to sanitize those found
abounding in conviction.
Where’s the interdiction?–
the questions of the answers
of the queries of our time–
the sensible souls between
emotions, words, and lies
who, with unveiled eyes,
parry the notion that we’ve got too much
or little to say,
standing on the ground of the slain.
Have you seen the graves?
Not the tombstones, no;
rocks never gave a woman, child, or man
a damn–they just carry on.
I mean the actions of their hands,
the things these kids can and can’t:
the unbound love of life,
the beauty, the fight,
that made each one shine?
Do you know their names?
I admit I don’t;
I’m more afraid to make this more real
than to sit in shame that I have a voice
but have said nothing.

So I’m saying this:
staking a claim on empathy
beyond me,
a heartache too big to hide
but we compartmentalize
it anyway.
Even if you don’t agree
with the cause–
and I pause here
to say that I understand
fear
of
change
or rearranging the paradigms,
you know those things we find
when we interrogate ourselves–
agree with the hurt,
hurting, and scared.
Repair some element
of this bridge between us all,
not “giving up your right
to stand tall,”
but admitting that right now
no one’s attacked you,
only asked you why your right to have
can outweigh a right to live.
I’m not demanding you give
“yourself” away
or betray some iron credo
you repeat at sunrise each day,
merely that your intent
shift from zealously cemented
defense of an amendment
to a question of what we mean
and meant when we declared
this nation a safe place for any child
to face tomorrow.

I don’t intend this to change your mind,
God knows better speakers than I
have already started to bring
all sides to a middle ground.
I’ve just found my fill of silence
broken by more violence
that we could have brought
to an end long ago.
Again, I know, you have your own fears
held dearly,
often sincerely, with a good heart,
but so do the rest of us,
and until we find a place
for the best of us to agree,
we’ll repeat this conversation
with rising frequency.
We need less questions
of who’s behind
this or that line;
less time paid away
to those who only want to say
what they’ve been paid to.

Real people settle grievances,
bonding over beliefs and instances
of shared community,
not accusing or using these tragedies for gain:
let no malice remain.
Let voices resound
that though we cannot claim peace
we’ve at least aimed
for middle ground.

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Ad Nauseam (Poem)

It’s been over a week, now, since the tragedy at Parkland. If you are at all like me, you were devastated that such horror could happen again…and again…and again over these last years.

Though I cannot imagine how those directly affected feel, in the days that followed I read the burgeoning crop of stances, responses, and outrage with heartache. For me, heartache means writing. Especially heartache on a topic so vast as this. Thus, I started drafting poems and after rereading them separate from the emotion in which they were written, I’ve decided that they’re worth sharing. Each day this week, I hope to share some new piece of writing with you, starting today with a poem titled, “Ad Nauseam”.

The first of the pieces I put together based on my feelings in these last two weeks, “Ad Nauseam” focuses on those who–in response to the terrible pain these teachers, parents, and children have endured–want to fight “righteously” by degrading, denigrating, and seeking to trivialize/ignore those who are in pain. Most specifically, it’s aimed at those who have the most direct power to make a difference, but have written this situation off like countless others without truly having even a conversation about why. This is a heavily metered, rhyming poem; very archaic in style and inspired by my favorite poem of all time “Dulce Et Decorum Est” by Wilfred Owen.

Ad Nauseam

There are no glorious battles,
though there are causes worth our lives.
Every fight begun unravels
the goals for which we strive.
Yes, there may be times
when, in defense of our ideals,
we set aside our pencils
to take up our swords and shields,
but there are no glorious battles,
despite whatever you have read.

We pay by incremental lot
a tariff on the soul
for every battle fought
that we could not avoid.
And that’s not even speaking
of that direst of crimes–
letting others suffer
because you could not grow a spine.

So do not claim in gladness
the righteous cause that you stand for,
if you are not prepared
to march and fight your own damned war.
Children should not suffer–
whether fear or something worse–
merely for the preference of some,
and others, for their purse.

There are no glorious battles,
though each true hero earns their place,
through strife and courage persevering
in hope to make us safe.
Sadly, most such heroes
go forgotten but by few
who will remember when we fail again
as we seem content to do.

There are no glorious battles,
despite whatever you have read.
There are no glorious battles;
only tragic dead.

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Syntax (A Poem)

Thought I would share another poem that I put together. Lately, I’ve been meditating on myself and what gives my strength. Naturally, love–both God’s and my family’s–sits foremost on that list, but writing comes very close after. With that in mind, I wrote this:

Syntax

Phonemes crisscross
my injuries,
binding ragged-edged hopes
fraying into doubt.
My self fluctuates,
brave and cowardly,
forgetting and forgotten,
much and nothing.
I cannot see tomorrow,
hidden amongst definitions I have not learned,
but I can find amongst the world’s tongues
syllables enough to render it in my voice.
A canvas of my imagining
wrought by every letter
I have ever learned,
arranged a hundred
million
billion
ways–
once for each of us
and then once again for who each of us wish to be.
I cannot explain tomorrow,
but I know enough eternal words–
hope, love, faith–
that I can believe tomorrow
will be a day I write
I speak
I sing.
That when I do, tomorrow will listen.

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Tapestry (Or How I Came This Far)

As I believe I have mentioned in the past, much of my writing time has been focused on finishing prep on my newest novel (RUNNER) as I will be querying it within the next few days.

Nonetheless, I’ve found an itch to do something that I haven’t done in quite some time (i.e. years): write poetry.

For a very, very long time, poetry was the only kind of creative writing to which I subscribed. I have spent years studying it and even used my college senior honors project in English to write an Ars Poetica. By the time I largely stopped writing poetry (a few months before I took up novel writing), I’d already created several books’ worth of poems divided by topics and inspiration, etc. I don’t say that to brag; my point is that poetry came more naturally to me than any other kind of writing, so it’s rather remarkable that I stopped for as long as I did. And probably equally remarkable that I’ve come back to it.

Frankly, my thoughts on poetry have changed, and while I largely wrote in my earlier youth with the goal of putting together and publishing books of poetry, I’ve now taken to writing down poems as an expression of my thoughts. The last two years have involved some incredibly difficult and stupendously wonderful changes in my life, which means that sometimes my head gets so full of words that I need to export some of them to paper such that I can better understand where I am and where I’m going.

Today, I’d like to share one such poem. Not because I think it’s great or terrific or what have you but because I think it provides a window into me. After giving it a read, feel free to share your thoughts in the comments or over on Twitter (@Dreamertide). The smaller hope is that it offers you some insight into me; my greater hope is that it sparks a conversation with you about yourself.

—

Tapestry (Or How I Came This Far)

Every loose thread–
the frizzy tangle
by which I recognized my life–
has come together
as one;
a knot bigger than me,
that seeks, in its vastness,
to consume.
What a stupid and superb question is
“Who am I?”
For so long, I couldn’t claim to know.
I could lie, yes.
I could weave a fine tale from each of those threads,
pulled together by an imagination
that has always sought to make the best
of little or nothing.
But even now that I know
who I am,
I still feel the gravity of each quantum string:
dangling from the core of myself,
begging to be re-analyzed
re-thought
re-examined.
I still feel the fear that I will unbecome–
the sweeping narrative
cut
short
by the subsummation of my soul
into gnashing madness.
It frightens me,
terrifies me,
and yet is powerless.
The Lord God once said,
“I Am Who I Am,”
and while I am certainly not
God
or anything approaching him,
I can’t help but find solace in those words.
I, too, am who I am.
No one person or force made me this way.
I am an amalgam of all that has come before this moment;
a gestalt
of memories, feelings, and thoughts.
I used to think I was a ghost,
barely seen, wrongly remembered,
but now I see that I’ve never been more alive.
The world scares me,
but I’ve used these loose threads
as an anchor.
I am imperfectly perfect.
I am afraid.
I am happy.
I am sad.
I am loved.
I am confused
encouraged
remembered
forgotten
more
more
more.
God once said, “Let there be light.”
I am.

 

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Top 10 Writing Songs of 2017

Hello, friends! It has been a while since my last post…

BUT THAT’S BECAUSE I FINISHED ANOTHER BOOK!

Truth be told, I had the option of setting aside blog posts for a time to focus on finishing RUNNER or keep doing what I was doing, pushing completion further out. Ultimately, we all know what I chose.

As I’m still happily at work on the query process for that novel and the preceding CONDUIT, I won’t be posting as often as I once did. Spotify saw fit to inspire me, however, so today I’ve put together something entertaining.

MY TOP 10 WRITING SONGS OF 2017

1: Lotus Land – Philter

I’ve already written about how this is my favorite writing song of all time. I’ve listened to it hundreds of times, and plan to hundreds more. Just listen to it. Seriously. Please.

IT’S SO GOOD.

2. Monolith – pg.lost

Gritty. Brooding. Intense.

This track, well described by any (or all) of those adjectives, got nearly all of its plays when I was in the midst of writing tense scenes. Arguments? Rising passion (fighting, not loving)? Violence? “Monolith” is one of my oldest tracks for that.

3. Watchtower – Michael McCann

Oh, “Watchtower.”  By the time I finish each book, there’s a song that aligns with it in my mind. Generally, it’s the song I’ve listened to the most while writing it. CONDUIT was “Lotus Land,” for example. RUNNER is this track. The grim intensity bleeds into soaring melody, lifting the bleak into the optimistic. More than any other track, “Watchtower” captures the spirit of my newest novel. I could not be happier.

4. Song for Bob – Nick Cave, Andrew Ellis

Here’s another one I’ve already written loads about, so I won’t write loads more. For poignant, sad, quiet instances, this track stands out. It tells its own story as you listen…

And no, I haven’t seen the movie this is from.

5. Blindscape Theme – Gavin Brown

I’ll openly admit that I did not expect this song to be in my Top 10 for the year. But as I listened to it again, I remember the long drafting sessions for CONDUIT earlier in the year that were driven by this beat.

A song best used, in my opinion, when drafting long journeys, definitely check it out.

6. Old Story – Jizue

I love this song so much. It’s one of my favorite tracks in general, from an altogether INCREDIBLE album (aptly named Story).

If you haven’t checked this group out, please do. They are superb. You can find my raving about them in other music posts on this blog or on Twitter.

7. Believe in the Kingdom – King Arthur

Here’s another one I’ve spoken about a lot in the past. Beautiful. Thoughtful. Inspiring. Give this track a shot if you want music to mirror the deep thinking of a protagonist, or the soul-searching of an antihero.

Trust me.

8. Final Blast – Zabutom

Seemingly out of place in this list, “Final Blast” is chiptune: a type of music I often enjoy, but rarely while writing. That said, the upbeat excitement this song brings to life whenever I put it on have helped me through some challenging bits of writer’s block. Not to mention plain old fatigue.

9. Stuck in Dreams – Nightcall

If you couldn’t tell from the header, my Twitter handle, or the name of my second novel: I like dreams. This song really reflects that second novel to me, though I didn’t find it until well after I’d completed that work. Nonetheless, the fusion of piano with electronic instrumentation creates a song that inspires creativity as effectively as driving you forward in the process.

10. Robeast – Dance With the Dead

This song is fun. Period. End-stop. Put it on and rock out to it. Air drum to it. Dance (With the Dead) to it.

Or write to it. That would be good, too.

Conclusion

That’s all for today, friends, but know that you can always catch me on Twitter making observations, cracking puns, and trying to support my fellow writers. Feel free to throw me a follow and let me know what your top writing songs are for 2017!

See you soon:

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Hall-Who-Ween Episode List: Night 2

Hello again, wandering purveyors of the spooky, unusual, and strange. Also, everyone else. Continuing what we started last week, it’s time to reveal the second week of Hall-Who-Ween episodes.  I generally try to create basic themes for each showing, which vary year over year. For example, last year I did zombies, vampires, and ghost themes, wherein each episode related to those creatures. This year, I’ve gone more toward stylistic themes, and the week two showing was (with a small exception), ALL ANIMATED.

By focusing all of the animated episodes into one block, you can keep from weirding out people who aren’t big into animated shows. For those folks, it can be a one-off gimmick. For everyone else, it’s awesome. (Pro-tip: invite more of the latter type.)

Of course, this being Hall-Who-Ween, it has to have an episode of Doctor Who. And that, in fact, is where we start:

First Episode: Forest of the Dead (Doctor Who Season 4, Episode 9)

Given that Hall-Who-Ween always starts with the first half of this two-parter, it only makes sense to finish it off in the second week. I did seriously consider order-breaking things to do a different episode first, but ultimately couldn’t. This episode is incredible. It’s premise is terrific, it’s twists lovely, and the new character it finishes introducing, Professor River Song, is a legend. Quite honestly, I don’t believe the interplay of River and the Doctor is ever better than it is in this episode. Every actor is on point, and there’s even some good, truly creepy moments.

Can’t not watch this episode.

Second Episode: Scaryoke (Gravity Falls Season 2, Episode 1)

I love Gravity Falls.

I consider it to be one of the best shows to have come out of the last decade. Not just animated. I mean TV shows in general. It’s also one of the best animated series ever as well.

Anyhoo, given that it deals with a town populated by the supernatural and paranormal in its entirety, there are LOADS of great episodes to show for Hall-Who-Ween. In fact, I had two different sets of Gravity Falls episodes queued up depending on who attended the second showing. Ultimately, I was able to go with this episode, a wonderful parody of Night of the Living Dead and the next episode in this list.

Both are spoileriffic, so only watch them with people who’ve seen the series through (or at least up to this point). Otherwise, it ruins cool stuff.

“Scaryoke” is full of zombie jokes, homages, and downright hilarious moments. Honestly, I’m not even going to tell you anything else about it. Just watch it. Go. Now.

Third Episode: Into the Bunker (Gravity Falls Season 2, Episode 2)

I love that these episodes come back to back. Again, to avoid revealing too much for a show that I believe to be criminally slept on, this episode details Dipper and friend’s adventure into a secretive bunker they’ve found. Where a shapeshifter, long trapped, awaits…

It’s terrific. And legitimately horrifying at times. Perfect for this event.

Fourth Episode: Fear Itself (Teen Titans Season 2, Episode 5)

A classic, the original Teen Titans TV show had to have a place on this list. Full of good character moments, and endearing hilarity/drama, most of the Raven-centric episodes could have fit on this list. “Fear Itself,” however, in which a night goes horribly wrong after the team watches a horror movie, takes the cake. Featuring countless horror movie tropes, excellent pacing, and a wonderful reveal that not only teaches Raven a valuable lesson but the watcher as well, it’s Teen Titans at its best.

Azarath Metrion Zinthos.

Fifth (Final) Episode: Halloween II (Brooklyn Nine-Nine Season 2, Episode 4)

As there are enough episodes from B99 (all of which build on one another) to be shown one a week, that’s what I’ve been doing! This episode raises the stakes over the first season’s contest between Peralta and Holt. Who wins? That’s the fun of watching 🙂

Conclusion

It’s easy to watch awesome episodes of your favorite shows to celebrate an inherently silly holiday. SO DO IT!

See you next week for the third showing’s episode list!