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There is an entire field dedicated to the study of place-based literature (spatial studies) and it is interdisciplinary, but there is less discussion about the draw of particular places for writers. Why do certain writers choose the places they set their stories in? This could be extrapolated out into the examination of how secondary world fantasy and science-fiction draw on mimetic qualities of our real world, or it could be a closer examination of why an author chooses to set their narrative in New York instead of Las Vegas.

There are already a number of authors who have written in the same places, drawing from locales that have personal meaning. It would be interesting to look at the decisions they made around returning to particular settings. For example, Coco Mellows uses New York in both her novels, but in the second also draws on London where she lived for a time. But other authors use locations they have never lived, but perhaps have an affinity with. It would be interesting to explore, from a writer's perspective rather than a theorist's perspective, how writers choose the places that resonate in and across their works.

This article could analyze the recent resurgence of 90s and early 2000s TV shows on streaming platforms, exploring why series like Friends, Sabrina, the Teenage Witch, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and Gilmore Girls—among others—continue to captivate both nostalgic fans and new viewers alike. It could analyze how the thematic elements of these shows—such as friendship, humor, and a focus on "simpler" times—resonate in today’s fast-paced world.
You might also consider discussing how streaming enables a new level of accessibility, allowing these beloved series to find fresh audiences and establish intergenerational appeal. Examining how this nostalgic inclination affects modern media and the potential influence these shows may have on future releases would add another level of complexity.

One of the "hottest" books on Amazon right now is Chain Gang All-Stars, by Nana Kwame Adjel-Brenyah. It's billed as a hard-hitting drama in which American prisoners compete for their freedom on a bloody, Gladiators-style reality show on which "elimination" means actual death. Detractors look askance at the hype and writing style, but despite the book's newness, Adjel-Brenyah already has plenty of fans.

Chain Gang All-Stars brings to mind several other novels with this "reality show" conceit, from more lighthearted examples like Chicken Sisters and Take the Lead to Death Warrant and Cinderella is Dead. Whether or not elimination from these fictional reality competitions means one's life is forfeit, books like these usually offer discussion fodder regarding the deceptive nature of reality TV and social media, the meaning of trust and alliances, and other multifaceted topics.

Examine some examples of "reality literature" from any genre you like (thriller, rom-com, YA, or any combination). You could, of course, include Chain Gang All-Stars. Compare and contrast your examples, looking at character development, depth of themes, use of tropes, and any other issues you like. Examine what this particular subgenre is trying to say to readers, and how writers might keep its messages fresh in a world that continues in saturation of fast-paced reality shows, online influencers, cancel culture, and more.

True crime documentaries and narratives are intensely popular, particularly on streaming services. Many people, particularly women, report watching this type of documentary for relaxation, much to the amusement of social media (e.g., memes, reels, comedy bits). A plethora of true crime podcasts also exist, and these often get listeners talking "in real time" over radio waves when other subjects may not.

However, fictional crime was a popular genre long before true crime, and remains so. Mystery movies, detective television series, and movies centered on the lives, escapes, and even last days of inmates, garner tons of views, reviews, and discussions every day. Some fictional crime stories, such as The Shawshank Redemption or The Great Escape, have taken their place among "classic" films.

With true and fictional crime getting so much attention, many questions arise. Namely, which type attracts what sort of audience, and why? Is there any overlap, and where does that exist? Perhaps most importantly, is there any way to tell whether true or fictional crime is more appealing?

Analyze this last question in light of the other two, as well as factors such as the nature of the crimes (e.g., "cozy mysteries" vs. "harder" crimes), storytelling choices and mechanics, casting choices, or any other factors you choose. If you choose to gear your argument toward one side or the other, choose some examples to prove why that version is the stronger, more appealing one.

The original Jumanji (1995) remains a nostalgic classic almost 30 years after its release. Its technologically updated sequel might have gotten the side-eye from the original film's devotees, but also pulled in a flock of new fans, as evidenced when a third movie invited viewers back to its jungle. Zathura, which featured a space-themed board game, is arguably less beloved than the Jumanji films but has plenty of fans. And the new film Family Pack has thrown players of yet another magical game into 1497 France to face werewolves while grappling with their personal problems, deep emotions, and general dysfunction.

Analyze the presence and appeal of magical board games in family films. What makes magical board games the right catalysts to bring families, siblings, or even strangers (thus, "found family") together in these films, as opposed to say, video games or a game on the sports field or court? Do these films have something special to say to families in today's technology-driven age and if yes, what is it? Do "magical board game" stories have potential as a bigger subgenre, and if yes, what other board game themes, family structures, or themes of the human condition could be explored? Use the mentioned films as a jumping off point, but feel free to explore what as-yet-untapped plots might look like.

With the Wicked movie coming out, it'd be nice to see an analysis of how wildly different the Broadway musical is from the novel it's loosely based on.
Compare characters and their arcs. For example, Fiyero in the musical is like a Disney prince, while the book version was much more serious.
Compare plot details. The musical's ending is quite different from the book's.
Compare themes. The book goes deep into political and ethical questions; does the musical do these ideas justice?

Analyse Hayao Miyazaki's use of picturesque European-inspired aesthetics in his movies. Think "Howl's Moving Castle", "Kiki's Delivery Service", and "Porco Rosso" – all are either inspired by 19th and early 20th century Europe, or in the case of "Porco Rosso" use real countries such as Italy in the 1930s. How does Miyazaki draw on these elements of aesthetic to create beautiful and magical settings? How does the source material, British author Diana Wynne Jones' novel "Howl's Moving Castle", and the real world influences of the time period, World War 1 etc, influence Miyazaki's renditions? What does he include, what does he exclude? What is the affect of these renditions on Japanese and international audiences especially when considering Japan's relationship with the West? You can also compare these European aesthetic/story films with the Ghibli films set in Japan, such as "My Neighbor Totoro" and "Spirited Away". Plenty of questions to ask yourself when doing this article. I recommend potential narrowing down the subject to certain aspects of the aesthetic, such as subject, technology, colour etc.

Uglies on Netflix brings back the dystopian genre, but the trend has been out of the spotlight for a while now. Shows like Snowpiercer and others have thrived by taking advantage of the TV series format, which allows for deeper world-building and character development. In contrast, dystopian films often struggle to fit complex narratives into limited screen time. Could Uglies have benefitted from being a series instead of a standalone movie? Let’s explore how dystopian stories are evolving and why the TV format might be their best future.

The Heads of Cerberus by Francis Stevens is one of those early speculative gems that somehow slipped under the radar, despite its daring blend of dystopia and parallel worlds, predating the genre's mainstream appeal. Written in 1919, Stevens’ work subtly tackles themes of oppression, identity, and resistance—issues that still resonate today. This article could reexamine The Heads of Cerberus through a contemporary feminist lens, making comparisons to modern dystopian and speculative fiction. By doing so, it could highlight how Stevens paved the way for today’s narratives of power and rebellion, and why her work deserves a fresh critical spotlight in our current literary landscape.

Book-to-movie films (and—more regularly, now—shows) are especially common in young adult franchises such as The Maze Runner, The Hunger Games, and Divergent. The first three Harry Potter films are some of the most beloved book-to-movie adaptations in history. The latter movies, while successful in other regards, were criticised (especially by book purists) for cutting out, altering, or ignoring large chunks of the source material. I have heard several fans say that they would watch a Harry Potter reboot if it was a high-budget streaming show that adapted each chapter into an episode, with the dialogue and plots and sub-plots remaining exactly the same as the books. Whether this would ever be done remains to be seen,

Movies face an issue in that they are limited in run-time. While there are long movie adaptations out there (The Lord of the Rings is a prime example), more commonly, they are cut to fit at a little over 2 hours. They prioritise entertainment and a streamlined story. Books can vary in length to a great degree—the first Harry Potter book was around 77,000 words while the fifth (the longest) was around 257,000. Yet the fifth movie (2hrs and 18 minutes long) was actually shorter than the first (2 hours and 32 minutes long). The movie arguably benefited from cutting much of the meat of the book, at least from an entertainment perspective, if not from a story and world perspective.

How important is it for the plot to be accurately represented in films, given that they are, indeed, adaptations of the source material and not direct translations? Is it enough for the characters and world to be represented with care and detail? Are fans right in complaining about inaccuracy and missing scenes in book-to-movie adaptations? What are some examples of book-to-movie adaptations done well, and done poorly?

Uglies on Netflix explores a dystopian society obsessed with physical perfection, a theme that resonates beyond sci-fi. True Beauty, both as an webtoon, anime, and K-drama, also tackles beauty standards, but in a contemporary setting. While Uglies critiques the extremes of cosmetic enhancement in a futuristic world, True Beauty addresses the pressures of social media, self-image, and societal expectations in today’s world. This article could explore how dystopian narratives and modern K-dramas approach the same topic from different perspectives, highlighting the ongoing conversation about appearance and self-worth.

The rapid advancement of artificial intelligence has brought forth a myriad of ethical questions, particularly concerning AI relationships as portrayed in media. "My Wife Has No Emotion" serves as a compelling case study to explore these concerns. The anime delves into the complexities of emotional relationships between humans and robots, raising significant issues primarily centered on consent and the nature of companionship. AI entities lack consciousness and free will, challenging the authenticity of their participation in relationships and questioning whether true consent is possible. This dynamic also prompts ethical considerations about creating beings solely to fulfill human desires, potentially leading to a decline in human-to-human interactions and fostering isolation. The societal implications are profound, as traditional concepts of love, built on mutual understanding and emotional depth, might be redefined by the artificial nature of AI relationships. Moreover, the authenticity of emotions simulated by AI blurs the lines between reality and simulation, forcing us to reconsider our perceptions of genuine emotional connections. "My Wife Has No Emotion" highlights the need for ongoing ethical dialogue as we integrate AI into personal lives, urging careful evaluation of the impact on our understanding of love, companionship, and the essence of human connection.

DON'T LOOK UP was a controversial satire on the climate problem, and while every political satire is bound to divide audiences– this one made a large mistake. It wasn't just a satire, it was a call to action. It was a combination of the greatest forces in entertainment, telling you, the average moviegoer, that we need to solve this problem. Perhaps if the film had given a portion of not all proceeds to climate action, there would be a legitimate attempt at change. However, because of its lack of self-awareness and enormous star-power, whether or you liked the film, nothing is going to change.

Other films have successfully navigated this fine line of educating vs enlisting (Wag the Dog, 1997 comes to mind) but for a giant industry with enough money to solve world hunger to shake their finger at an audience made up of working class moviegoers is both ignorant and somewhat classist.

Makoto Shinkai frequently employs the motif of rain in his films to convey a range of symbolic meanings, enhancing both narrative and emotional depth. In "The Garden of Words," rain symbolizes refuge and emotional healing as the protagonists, Takao and Yukari, find solace in their rainy morning meetings. The shifting rainfall mirrors their evolving relationship and personal growth. In "Weathering With You," incessant rain in Tokyo represents the uncertainties and challenges faced by Hina and Hodaka, with Hina's weather-controlling ability highlighting humanity's complex relationship with nature. The rain in this film explores themes of sacrifice, connection, and environmental impact, reflecting the characters' emotional highs and lows. Across Shinkai's works, rain signifies emotional depth, illustrating feelings of longing, melancholy, and hope. This recurring motif invites viewers to reflect on their own emotional experiences, making the narratives more relatable and immersive. Shinkai's use of rain as a symbolic element captures the ephemeral nature of emotions and the beauty of fleeting moments, blending visual artistry with profound storytelling.

The topic taker should analyze the requirements of some trophy lists to beat games on the "Hard" Difficulty and/or unlock special items or extra difficulties in the game. Examples that come to mind are Final Fantasy Remake and Rebirth, Kingdom Hearts III, DOOM, and the God of War series. The topic taker is free to include other games to the list that they may know about–the list serves as a jumping off point to get the topic taker started. The topic taker should consider the following for their article as well:

– Is completing a game on Hard Mode enjoyable?

– Is requiring finishing a game on a Hard mode restrictive or prohibitive in any way?

– If someone chooses to play at difficulties other than hard mode, does that mean they are more or less of a gamer in the eyes of the game's community?

– Should Hard Mode be a requirement for getting certain items or cutscenes or trophies, or should that content be available regardless of the difficulty?

The topic taker should address these points with research and examples from the games they choose that is relevant to the points. If desired, the topic taker can look at the psychological research done on this subject and how it affects players' self esteem, if the research exists.

Replayability is a measurement of how much fun a game is to play over and over again – how much new content there will be on each playthrough, how much you can vary your playstyle, how many different endings or paths the different quests/stories have for you to explore each time. It is something it is generally considered good for a game to have, especially in certain genres. Many players want to be able to play their favourite games again and again, but with enough variation that it is never boring.

However, replayability is something that cannot be (and isn't) pursued in every game. Many story focused games are not particularly replayable, as their goal is to focus on telling one very good or in-depth story – and to focus on replayability could take away from that. There is also the fact that to make a game very replayable takes a lot of time and effort to code and design all the different playstyles/endings/quests etc. This is time and effort that may be needed elsewhere or would possibly be better spent polishing the main game. Not everyone plays again and again after all, so is it really so crucial to ensure that every single playthrough is entirely unique?

This article would delve into the concept of replayability, exploring whether it is truly important for games to be infinitely replayable or more important to create a good experience the first time round.

Recently, a lot of books have been making it onto the infamous banned books list in America, due to containing such themes as "strong female leader" in the case of Wizard of Oz, "racism", especially with children's books that tend to point to the systemic nature of racism in America, and of course, "sexuality and gender" that basically gets slapped on anything that even remotely hints at an LGBTQ relationship or gender expression outside of the cisgender spectrum. Most of these entries to the ever-growing ban list seem to be coming from conservative areas. It might be good to take a small sample of the banned book list from the past 2 years or so and see how it would compare to, say a European banned books list, if the idea of a banned books list isn't something that is wholly limited to America in the first place, and see if there are any overlapping topics between the lists to see what trends might exist cross-culturally.

If this cross-examination is not possible, the topic taker could instead talk about whether or not book bans should exist, and the reasons why they do, and could choose to take a few selections from the banned books list and make an argument as to whether or not the themes presented in the literature truly merit a spot on a banned books list.

Banned Books list for America: (link)

The idea of an apocalypse has existed in history for hundreds of years, but why in recent times has the idea of an apocalypse become to mainstream? Whether it's zombies, nukes, or anything in between, these stories have taken a deep root in our modern culture. Is it because we feel detached from our primal survivalist selves? Take for example the show The Walking Dead. The show is a massive success, second only to Game Of Thrones during its run time. Apart from the amazing writing and impeccable acting performances, there is a certain allure to the idea of a group of at-first strangers growing into a family through trials and tribulations and lots of zombie guts. It is also interesting to see how these stories are received in different cultures around the world. For example I know that in many parts of Asia, there is a massive love for all things zombie. Why do you think this is?

Whilst the series "Chainsaw Man" has much in common with other shounen action series, it also appears to be trying to make some sort of spiritual point. The frequent invocation of devils and the Four Horsemen, for instance, seems to be drawn from Christian theology. It is also possible to read Denji as a Christ figure (whose friendship with others causes them to become better versions of themselves) and Makima as a Satanic figure (who wants to bend the entire world to her will).

On the other hand, Christianity does not appear to be the only influence in "Chainsaw Man." For instance, Denji may be less a Christ figure per se than a generic "savior" figure, similar to Neo from "The Matrix," who has his roots in multiple religious traditions. Moreover, there are actually some interesting parallels between Makima and the way certain atheists understand the God of the Bible: namely, as a sort of controlling, wicked stepfather.

What spiritual dimensions can be found in the characters and setting of "Chainsaw Man?" Is there any influence of traditional Japanese spirituality, such as Shintoism or Buddhism, and if so, what does it consist of? Are any of the spiritual references in the series deliberate, or are they purely aesthetic?

There is a very interesting blog entry on the Harry Potter Amino Apps page that compares Lord Voldemort (nee Tom Riddle) from the Harry Potter series to Andrew Nehman, the protagonist of Whiplash. The main thrust of this argument is that both characters come from a long line of mediocrities, and develop an obsession with being the best in their chosen fields in order to counter this, even if it costs them their humanity and personality. They also share at least one other similarity that goes unremarked upon in the blog: namely, that both of their mothers died in childbirth.

The question is, does Voldemort have any other traits that make him similar to other obsessed creatives (real or fictional) besides just Nehman? What, if any, artistic talents does he possess, and what are some of the lengths he goes to master them? In terms of his characterization, just how essential a role does creativity play in making him who he is? Is there actually anything to the idea that Tom Riddle/Voldemort's backstory and arc are that of an obsessed artist or creative personality, or does he just happen to have some traits in common with one obsessively artistic character purely by chance?