Amazon’s Wheel Of Time Cancelled

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It’s now official: there won’t be a fourth season of The Wheel of Time (source). Amazon has pulled the plug due to a significant drop in viewership. The remaining audience simply doesn’t justify the production costs. This means the series will remain unfinished—essentially rendering the three existing seasons pointless.

After watching the first episode of season one, I already had a feeling this would be yet another streaming misfire. Just like The Rings of Power, the creators seemed convinced they could outdo the original author. Unsurprisingly, they couldn’t.

Why is it so hard to respect the vision of the original creator?

Robert Jordan crafted a rich, immersive world beloved by millions. Why would anyone think they could take that world and improve on it? All they had to do was follow the source material, and the fans would have supported it wholeheartedly. A perfect example of this approach working is Peter Jackson’s adaptation of The Lord of the Rings. He remained faithful to the books, and fans rewarded him for it—both critically and financially.

But no, the “creatives” at Amazon Studios thought they could outshine not only Peter Jackson, but Tolkien himself with their Rings of Power abomination. And now, they’ve done the same to Robert Jordan’s work. What a joke.

The cancellation of The Wheel of Time was well deserved. The Rings of Power should be next.

Maybe—just maybe—these studios will finally learn: if you want to tell YOUR story, then write one from scratch. Don’t hijack someone else’s creation just to piggyback on an existing fanbase.

My Video Essay Channel Is Live

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I’ve always wanted to try this. But for the longest time, I hesitated, procrastinated—and eventually forgot.

A simple rule for life is: if you really want something done, you have to start as soon as possible. And you have to start where you are. Of course, there are exceptions to that rule, but most things grow best when you just begin and allow yourself to make mistakes.

Mistakes will be part of my project—maybe even a big part. But with each video I make, I hope to learn and improve.

My goals for this channel:

  • Improve my English
  • Learn more about video editing
  • Build an audience (and hopefully find some readers for my books)
  • Have fun talking about my favorite stories

The plan is to release a new video every week, diving into the movies, shows, books, and comics I love. Hopefully, I bring some fresh perspectives to the video essay space—ideas that haven’t already been talked to death.

I’ll try to share my progress openly on this blog, showing what worked and what didn’t. If you’d like to check it out, you can find my channel here:

So far, Rumble has actually brought my video to more viewers than YouTube. I’ve seen this before with my tutorial channel—I suspect YouTube has sandboxed my account. Years ago, I talked about German politics on another channel with the same account, back before that sort of content could get you flagged or (shadow-)banned.

It’s out of my hands now. YouTube does shady stuff that I can’t fix. And I’ve long given up trying to fix it. But the good news is: it led me to explore alternative platforms like Rumble. Maybe there’s an audience out there that I wouldn’t find on YouTube anyway. We’ll see.

Whatever the outcome, I’ll be uploading a new video every Tuesday—until either YouTube dies… or I do. Whichever comes first.

Write Better Books | A Lesson From Judge Dredd

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In 1995, a big-budget dystopian comic action movie was released, featuring one of the most iconic characters ever created: Judge Dredd. It starred Sylvester Stallone at the height of his career and boasted an impressive supporting cast including Armand Assante, Jürgen Prochnow, Diane Lane, Joan Chen, and Max von Sydow. The score was awesome. The effects were top-notch for their time. It even featured James Earl Jones as the narrator.

So, what could possibly go wrong?

Apparently, a lot. The movie bombed at the box office, costing the studio at least $60 million. Adjusted for inflation, Judge Dredd may have lost around $130 million—making it not only Stallone’s biggest flop, but also one of the most notorious box office disasters of the 1990s.

Critics and fans didn’t like it either.

When I first saw it as a kid, I actually enjoyed it. It’s a typical ’90s action flick with sci-fi elements. Since I wasn’t familiar with the comic’s lore, I had no expectations and could just enjoy the ride.

Only later did I discover the comics—and that’s when I understood why so many fans disliked Stallone’s version. A general rule in filmmaking is this: when you’re working with great source material, don’t try to “improve” it. Your job is to adapt it faithfully, staying as close to the source as possible.

But there’s another important lesson to be learned from this film. It’s delivered in the very first scene.

So what’s wrong with this opening?

It breaks the most fundamental rule of storytelling: show, don’t tell. And it breaks another major one: it repeats information unnecessarily to make sure the audience “gets it.”

The real opening begins right after James Earl Jones’ narration, where we see Judge Dredd navigating the megacity and sentencing a criminal to prison.

So why include the narration at all if the next scene shows everything we need to understand the world?

The filmmakers didn’t trust the audience to grasp the setting through storytelling alone. So they added narration to explain the world—just in case even the least attentive viewer didn’t miss the point.

That’s not just insulting to the audience—it’s boring. And boring is the ultimate sin in storytelling.

If you feel you need a narration segment to explain your world, chances are you haven’t shown your world well enough. And if your narration simply repeats what is being shown on screen, it sends the message that even you, the storyteller, don’t believe your scene is strong enough to deliver.

If you don’t believe in your own work, why should your reader or viewer?

Why Stories Matter (Video Essay #1 Transcript)

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Stories matter.
They matter so much, we’ve built entire multi-billion-dollar industries around them — movies, shows, books, comics, video games… Even religions are basically just built on stories.

But why do they matter so much to us?

It’s a simple question. We read them. We watch them. We grow up with them. But the real power of a story… is what it does to us.

Because when we read a book or watch a film — We become someone else. We become the characters. We feel their fears. We suffer their losses. We celebrate their triumphs. And without even noticing it, we absorb something layered deeper into the stories — it’s the ideas, perspectives, and beliefs.

Even Jesus spoke in parables — because he knew something fundamental:
Stories stick. They stick much more than simple arguments or opinions.

Jesus Christ and his stories survived for two thousand years and counting. Meanwhile, they created entire civilizations. And the ideas within them shaped the thoughts and behavior of countless people.

The stories of today?

They’re no different. They still carry meaning. They still deliver ideas, perspectives, and beliefs. They still shape who we are — and how we think. They even shape our civilization.

Tell a child that power and responsibility are connected… They’ll forget it by dinner. But show them Spider-Man? They’ll never forget: “With great power comes great responsibility.”

That is the power of storytelling.

If it’s done right, a story can teach you something you’ll carry for the rest of your life.

  • Luke Skywalker taught us that hate leads to the dark side.
  • Frodo showed us how power can corrupt the heart, mind, and soul.
  • And Titanic… well, Titanic taught us that even after decades of marriage, Rose would still rather think about the Chad she hooked up with on a cruise ship than her actual husband. – Man, what a hoe that Rose was.

Every story plants a seed. Not all of them grow. But enough do. And those are the stories that shape who we are.

That’s why we need to be careful about the stories we consume. We need to think critically about what those stories are teaching us — Because every writer, every director, and studio executive… is trying to sell us their ideas as the right ones.

Do we want a positive Star Wars that gives us a new hope — or do we want a nihilistic Disney Star Wars that tells us to let the past die and kill it if we have to?

Do we want stories that inspire us? Challenge us? Ground us? Or ones that numb us?

In the end, it’s up to the viewer. The reader. The gamer.

But the most important thing is this: We must never forget that stories are more than just entertainment. Stories are ideas. Perspectives. Beliefs.

Stories matter. They always have. And they always will.

Write Better Books | A Lesson from Wrestling and the NWO

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When the NWO debuted in WCW, it was one of the most exciting moments in wrestling history. It changed the sport forever. I remember watching it as a kid—Kevin Nash and Scott Hall appeared live on WCW Nitro, and wrestling was never the same again. The moment reached its peak when Hulk Hogan made his heel turn, and fans littered the ring with anything they could throw.

As the NWO storyline progressed, it became too convoluted – I lost interest. And as I grew older, I never returned to watching wrestling.

Yet, twenty years later, I still remember it vividly. But why?

I think it’s because it was the first time for me reality and entertainment blurred so heavily that you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. Looking back, it’s obvious that wrestling was scripted and staged. However, I wanted to believe it was real so badly that I ignored the obvious.

I believe those are the best kinds of stories—the ones that pull you in so deeply that you forget it’s “just” entertainment.

When I found out that James Bond author Ian Fleming had actually worked for British intelligence, it gave his stories a similar effect. Sure, much of what Bond does is fiction, but knowing that Fleming might have been a real spy makes you wonder: what parts are more than just fiction?

That’s what you want to achieve when creating stories. You want your work to be fictional, but only to the extent that readers (or viewers) can believe it might be real—even if it’s not.

Art imitates life. But only if your art feels real enough to be life-like.