Warning: The following includes spoilers for The Empire Strikes Back, Sixth Sense, and the following TV series: Beauty and the Beast, M*A*S*H, Cheers, Soap, That 70's Show, Xena, Forever Knight, Quantum Leap, Sopranos, St. Elsewhere, Angel, and The Ghost Whisperer (through this season).

Anyone else here remember the dark-ages? I'm talking that barbaric period before the late 70's, when you could only save a television show with an audio-cassette recorder and a good imagination. To quote Jeff Foxworthy: "We didn't have 700 channels growing up, we had three channels when I was a kid, and if the president was on, your night was shot."

It's funny because it's true. And because we now have 700 channels. We survived.

But for all the TV-watching wonders that have come along since then—cable and then satellite television, videos and then DVDs, remote controls! For all of them, a wonder that doesn't get enough credit is our access to the plot spoiler.

I'm not saying the spoiler itself is always fun. The first memory I have of a spoiler is a kid walking up our high-school hall the day after The Empire Strikes Back premiered shouting, "Darth Vader is Luke Skywalker's dad!"

I cannot defend that kind of, well, spoilsport.

No, what I applaud as a wonder is our access to spoilers—with the appropriate spoiler warnings. Spoiler warnings are magnificent! Like R-ratings at the movies or those plastic cards some supermarkets put in front of the Cosmopolitan magazine covers, spoiler warnings protect the innocence of most, but make wonders available to others who are of a certain persuasion.

I am fervently of the spoiler persuasion. Whether online (spoilerfix.com, or moviepooper.com) or in magazines like TV Guide and the aforementioned EW, spoilers have done more to either warn me off of heartbreak or to assure me that I can wallow in sentimentality than, well… anything.

Warn me off heartbreak? Darn tootin'! Who else watched the old, 1987 series Beauty and the Beast, with Hellboy's Ron Perlman as the romantic beast, Vincent? It was wonderfully lush and romantic… and in the third season, Vincent's love Catherine (Terminator I & II's Linda Hamilton) was kidnapped and then murdered! Is that what people watching lush, romantic fantasy really want to see? It's not what I wanted to see! It broke my heart.

How about Henry Blake dying on M*A*S*H? Diane leaving Sam at the altar on Cheers? Hyde never ending up with Jackie on That 70's Show? A newly reformed Elaine dying in Danny's arms on season 2 of Soap? (Like on Beauty & the Beast, the writers gave us that twist after several episodes in which protagonists tried to rescue their kidnapped loved one while audience members tried to figure out, how will they manage it? Trick question—they don't!) How about the endings of Xena (she dies), and Forever Knight (almost all of them die), and Quantum Leap ("Dr. Sam Beckett never returned home")?

Yes, heartbreak. And I don't watch TV for heartbreak.

A friend's friend once wowed me by explaining that, following Myers-Briggs indicators, thinkers and feelers watch for completely different reasons. Thinkers want to know what's going to happen. As soon as they figure it out, they're done. For them, I'm sure the endings of all the shows listed above, as well as surprises like St. Elsewhere (it was all a fantasy!) and Sopranos or Angel (you don't get to know!) were wonderful.

More power to them. As long as I don't have to suffer.

See, Feelers want to submerge ourselves in the emotions of the show—and that means feeling safe enough to lower our emotional shields. If we like the feeling, we can re-watch a good show again, and again, and again, which makes us good customers. But trick us into falsely lowering our shields (you thought it was a comedy? Think again!) and we hurt for a long, long time… and we don't forget it. See: above list. 

But here's the thing. Spoilers aren't just about warning viewers like me off imminent heartbreak. They're about giving us the all's clear—the green flag at the beach—telling us that it's safe to go back into the water. That's a powerful, and often forgotten, benefit.

Take my most recent example of the wonders of spoilers this season: Season 4 of Ghost Whisperer.

I like Ghost Whisperer, but I haven't loved it since Season 1. Remember the end of season one, when a plane crashed outside Grandview and Melinda's best friend, Andrea, feared her brother was on it? Great episode! But at the end, we learned that the plane had crashed on Andrea. She'd been a ghost the whole episode without knowing it, ala Sixth Sense. That kinda sucked, although the Sixth Sense rocked, and why? Because a TV show continues! We had to watch Melinda grieve. We had to get used to a new business partner. We had to face future seasons without Andrea.

Once burned, twice shy.

I stopped watching the show for awhile, but it really does have a cool premise, and I didn't watch it for Andrea, and then they got Jay Mohr to do guest spots as Professor Payne, so I came back to the show. But it was kind of like getting back together with someone who cheated on you. This time, I had my guard up. Once I started hearing hints of "big changes" this season, I deliberately looked into them. Turns out, TPTB would be killing Melinda's beloved husband, Jim.

Sort of.

Trust them, they said. This is Ghost Whisperer… death needn't be final.

This? This was a problem for me. Andrea had been a nice character, but Jim was central—central—to Melinda's happiness. He and Melinda were also one of the healthier married couples on TV today. Even if he hung around as a ghost, it wouldn't be the same, because the whole ethos of GW is that those who die must cross over! The countdown would have started. And frankly, I get enough sorrow—and countdowns—in real life to want them in my escapist entertainment. So then and there, I cancelled my season's pass to Ghost Whisperer, and I merely kept track of it every few weeks, checking out what other viewers were saying online. Sure enough, Jim died. Sure enough, his ghost lingered to help give Melinda closure. And then—

Holy crap! He jumped into the body of someone who'd just crossed over, and woke up with amnesia, and he's played by the actor who played Jim most of the time because that's how Melinda sees him, except when he looks in mirrors and stuff, and that's COOL! Hokey, yes, but who watches this show for its verisimilitude?

Many would argue that a spoiler violates the creator's right to have his work seen in a certain way. As a writer myself, I sympathize. As a viewer? Not at all. So maybe the TV world needs to create a category for work that can be spoiled, and work that cannot—kind of like in bookstores. In bookstores, most of the genre fiction—Mystery, Romance, SF/Fantasy—will end happily. The sleuth discovers the killer. The couple commits to each other. And then there's the section marked either "Fiction" or "Literature," as if the genre works didn't count as both. What "Fiction/Literature" really means in Barnes & Noble or Borders is, "All bets are off. Be surprised." And that's okay.

That's also why I rarely read from that section without heavy recommendations. So sure, try to create such a category for television. I won't watch until the seasons are over, the shows have gone to DVD, and someone—a friend, a student, a stranger eyeing the cover of Cosmo at the supermarket—can fill me in. I don't need a lot of details, only some basics.

The biggest one is: Will this break my heart?

This actually consists of more details—does an animal (or, what the hell, a child) die in the story? Does the romantic couple end up together or with the solid hope of being together? Does the protagonist end the story with a sense of relief, or horror? But most TV-philes, frankly, already know that.

Did I rob the creators of Ghost Whisperer of their big surprise because I read it first? I don't think so. What I did was come back to a show that I've enjoyed before. I caught up on missed episodes, and I reset my season's pass, and I'm watching it again. Happily. Safely.

I know everything in TV comes down to money, so think of it this way. Creators, writers, and producers want us to care about their show, right? They want us to care enough to tune in regularly, care enough to blog about the show, care enough to buy the seasons on DVD and rewatch. Fine.

If you want us to care, don't punish us for caring.

'Nuff said.

I've been struggling with this gaping hole in my vocabulary for a long time--maybe someone here can help. I want a word that means "absolutely, positively true," and applies to fictitious worlds, characters, and events.

Does the actual word, "true," work for that?  

On the one hand, I'd think not. If you tell your mom that Tom Sawyer is the one who broke the window, and she says, "Is that true?" what she means--whether she knows it or not--is, "Is that reality, as dictated by the constraints of the world in which we live?" It could very well be that you were imagining a game, running around with an imaginary Tom Sawyer, and when you chucked the rock to him he neglected to catch it (being imaginary) and the rock broke the window. Or you could have been pretending you were Tom Sawyer, and behaved in a way you never would have, but Tom--that little troublemaker--most certainly would. In which case, Tom broke the window.

I'm thinking Mom would say, no.  To her and most "adults" (in mind if not body), it is not true that Tom Sawyer broke her window. In that way, the word "true" doesn't quite work.

The word "real" is equally tricky. Is there a Santa? Why yes, Virginia, there really is, and not just for the reasons first put forth in the New York Sun. Santa is a thought-form agreed upon with enough universality that millions of people can consistently answer the same questions about him in the same way. What color does he tend to wear? Where does he live? What vehicle is he famous for driving? There is a reality inherent in this consistency. If someone walked into your house wearing a red suit trimmed with white fur and carrying a sack of toys, you'd probably ask, "Who do you think you are, Santa Claus?" (Or you might dive, screaming, for the phone. Who can say, with hypotheticals?) 

And yet, by all accounts, Santa has no fingerprints, no DNA, no income base. Dictated by th constraints of the world in which we live, is he either real or true?

Or consider the way we really respond to some fictions. The way our pulse increases, the way our serontonin flows happily in our brain chemistry, is absolutely real, no matter how "fictitious" the TV show or movie or book that prompted those real-life responses. But does our probably measurable adrenaline at seeing that creepy girl on The Ring mean she's real? (I kind of hope not, in that case, but I'm willing to accept it if Spike and Angel and Edward Cullen and Robin Hood and Phineas Bogg and Malcolm Reynolds and so many others can also be real).

I listened to my Mother Tongue CD--This Winter's Night--a lot during the holiday season, and one piece, called "The First Song," includes this line at the start:  "It is a true story, as all stories are, if you believe in them." 

That kind of line really works for me, at a bone deep, soul-deep level. The level where nobody can convince me otherwise (like my belief that animals have souls). It accepts that some truth can be ephemeral, and that's okay. Kind of like this storyteller saying, which I've never found proper citation for: 

"Let stillness be upon your thoughts, and silence upon your tongue. For I tell you a tale as it was told in the beginning. The one story worth the telling."

A cynic may ask, how can different stories take the role of "the one story worth the telling?" But to me, it's obvious: the one you're currently telling is, in that moment, the one story worth the telling. And that's all that matters.

Truth is equally flexible--especially when we're talking fictions. That's why we're able to label different degrees of truth, canon and fanon and retroactive continuity and whatnot. Santa is married? True. Santa speaks many languages? True. Santa is a mass murderer? False (except maybe in Weird Al Yankovic's "The Night Santa Went Crazy," especially if you count reindeer... but that song's an outlier, not part of the standard mythos).

Maybe it should be enough for me to know it, bone deep, soul deep. But I wish I had a way to help me communicate the concept? If it's not shared, after all, does it need words at all?

It's usually sneered at an enthusiastic fandom. Sometimes it's the romance readers, who are quite capable of reading a book a day while working a fulltime job. Other times, it's the people who dress up to watch movies or buy new release books. Twilighters. Browncoats. Potterites. Leapers.

"Get a life," someone trolls.

Heaven help the next person who utters those words in my hearing… unless they're a student, in which case they can plead ignorance (once) and must merely withstand a gentle lecture. Otherwise? Release the Attack Academic!

Get a LIFE? I suggest several comebacks to this line.

Comeback #1 - "I've got a life, thanks. Get some original material."

Some folks don't even realize that "Get a life" is derivative. It was funny when William Shatner said it to faux Trekkies on a Saturday Night Live skit on Dec. 20, 1986.  John Lovitz was in this skit, and Dana Carvey (the one who did such a good job mimicking the first President Bush) and the late, lamented Phil Hartman.

Snobs may parrot the comment, but they're no William Shatner (unless Bill himself is reading, in which case—WHOA! Captain Kirk's actor-surrogate is reading my blog? Seriously? SQUEE!!!) And even Shatner has since written a book—by the title Get a Life--in which he embraces Trek fandom. 
 

So quoting Shatner's mockery of fandom is like quoting young Aurelius Augustinus Hipponensis' mockery of the Catholic Church. The later conversion (in the latter's case, to become Saint Augustine) kinda weakens the power of his earlier words.

Comeback #2 - "I've got a life, thanks. So what's with the imperative?" 

I like this one for two reasons. First, it's a smarmy way of saying, "Oh, you think you're so smart!" (WARNING: Only use it if you know the difference between the four standard sentence types, or it'll come back and burn you.)  Second, because it points out one of the biggest problems with the "Get a life," statement, which is that it is an imperative instead of a declarative sentence type--and who is the other person to start acting all imperious around you? Is this entertainment snob your king? Your boss? Your father? Your Orion slave owner (you being the slave)? No? Then s/he can damn well drop the implied "should" (You should get a life) and retreat to the less argumentative declarative sentence types, preferrably leading with an "I" statement -- "I do not understand why you love that show," or even "I think you're weird." 

In short, "What's with the imperative?" is the more mature way of saying, "Who do you think you are, telling me what to do?" The question is valid, but it sounds stronger without the connotation of foot stomping or fist shaking.

Comeback #3 – "I've got a life, thanks. Who says I don't…? YOU?!" Then laugh your best, most derisive laugh.

The laugh shouldn't be hard to pull off, once you consider the contrast between you, the Loyal Fan, and the trollish snob who's peeing on your parade.

On the one hand, we fans care about something and share our interests with others, whether leaving feedback on fanfiction.net or camping in line for a first showing of Indiana Jones, or Twilight, or Return of the Jedi (yes, I am that old). Are we a little silly about it? Sometimes, but when was that a crime? Fans of the Green Bay Packers sometimes paint themselves green and wear plastic cheese wedges on their head—are they told to get a life? People who sell Amway or Mary Kay Cosmetics carry around merchandise in their bumper-stickered cars, wear pins to mark their status, attend conventions and, in the case of the latter, wear an unnerving amount of pink. Are they told to get a life?

By the way, I'm not dissing either group. Anyone who thinks I am doing so, just by comparing them to fans, merely highlights the double-standard. The individuals in all these examples are actively embracing something in their life and sharing that enjoyment with others. As long as they can do so without becoming a burden on or danger to society, more power to them!

On the other hand, the snobs who say "Get a life" apparently have so few of their own interests that they have to seek out others and criticize them. Seriously? They have nothing to read, nothing to watch, nothing to write, nothing to do that they find more satisfying than mocking someone else? Doesn't that sound a little energy-vampiric?

It would be sad, if they weren't so obnoxious. So very, very obnoxious.

The best possible comeback, however? (IMNSHO)

Comeback #4– Simply, "I've got a life, thanks." And then ignore them! Absolutely. Completely.

Because like most trolls and rabble rousers, the snobs who ridicule our interests are after attention. Yes, sometimes their attitude begs too loudly for a slap-down, so go for it--you're only human (I assume). But if you've got the self control, you really do the most damage by acknowledging they spoke (so that they can't pull the "too scared to answer?" silliness) but afterward, dismissing them as the annoying gnats of insignificance that they are.

These are people who do not know any of the Dr. Who's. Who do not understand the joy of exploring strange new worlds and seeking out new lives and new civilizations. Who have never 'shipped a single TV pairing or, apparently, screamed at the end of a really well-done cliffhanger and dove for their computer to connect with others to discuss the magic of that experience and what might happen next! If they choose not to assimilate, it's hardly our job to entertain them.

For they are mundane. In more ways than one. And we, thank heavens, are not.

By the way, I came up with a few shorter, sillier comebacks to "Get a Life"

• "And exactly whose life should I take? Heh, heh."
• "Jealous, much?" 
• "Get an imagination."
• "Wow—and you took time from your heart-surgery, international diplomacy, Fortune 500 company management just to tell me that? Or… did you?"
• "I've got so many of them—but there's always room for more!"

 Please suggest more!

• I've Got a Life, Thanks: Why Entertainment Snobs Can Just S(TF)U
• When "Spoiled" is Good: Thinkers, Feelers, Spoilers, and The Ghost Whisperer