So this is how May ends -- not with a bang, but a whimper.

It's a tough week to write the Beat. If you're very attentive to my publishing schedule (and I forgive you if you aren't), you might have noticed that last week came and went without an installment. The day you normally find me slaving over a computer for your reading pleasure found me instead avoiding snakes, spiders, and other such swampy critters on the set of Jonah Hex. Of course, I can't say anything more about that. But now you can thank the Powers That Be that nothing poisonous bit me (and oh, how it was a possibility -- if you follow my Twitter, you know exactly what I'm talking about) so that you can hear about it someday.

I mention all that not to brag, but because it's connected to the only two things I can really write about this week. For the first time in my short career, I now find myself in the awkward position that lies between fandom and professionalism. When you read my rantings about Star Trek, Wolverine, comic conventions, Marvel movies, and collectibles, they come purely from my heart. (How mushy!) I still pay to get into every movie I write about. I buy my own action figures, posters and comic books. I receive no swag. No perks. Just some beer money from Cinematical and the comments of my readers. But it's difficult to convince people of that. For one, I'm already in a weird and privileged position of being paid for doing what others happily do for free, and that immediately makes the playing ground uneven and awkward. But now I'm moving into a whole new territory of access. I know that it makes me immediately suspect -- I know this because I immediately suspect anyone who has enjoyed free access, perks and junkets. It's a painful thing to realize that people might stop believing or trusting in me because I'm given a nebulous access.
categories Cinematical