"Art is not a mirror with which to reflect the world; it is a hammer with which to shape it"

Saturday, 2 November 2013

Son of the Return to the Curse of the Revenge has Risen from the Grave: The Final Chapter: A New Beginning. Pt. II

The time has come, the Walrus said, to talk of many things but mainly films, TV and writing stuff. And my circumlocutious aquatic friend is right. Or maybe it’s a quote. Or a dream. I’m still on a lot of medication. Him’s still right though.

It’s been a very long time: where to begin? Possibly the beginning. Then again, starting at the end might be more fun. Or confusing. Be warned there will be excessive use of the perpendicular pronoun.

I have been somewhat unwell for the last couple of years – this was annoying. I am better than I was but nowhere near as good as I’d like to be – this is also annoying. The biggest irritation is the continuing effects of the paralysis down my right hand side. The other biggest irritation (apart from having forgotten how superlatives work) is that the nerves in my spine have failed to re-grow properly: this was their sole task and they have failed miserably. Very naughty of them. This, unsurprisingly, is also rather annoying. So, I’m swallowing a lot of tablets, rather tired and incredibly bored...

Which is why I’ve come back to this blog-thing: I also need the practice with the hand. I’ve not a clue what I’m going to put here: I suspect I’ll mainly just talk narcissistically about myself – isn’t that what the internet exists for? If you’ve come here for screenwriting advice, I’d say you’re out of luck, here’s my only piece of advice – stop reading this and go write stuff.

So, to the more recent past: over the last few months or so, I’ve started jotting down thoughts, plot points, snatches of dialogue, character-snippets – the usual writery-stuff – started compiling those notes - sorting, sifting, arranging, re-arranging, crossing out, uncrossing... it’s a start.

There’s rather a lot of things I want to write: maybe they’ll be terrible, maybe clichéd, maybe terribly clichéd; may probably never get made or bought or even read; I might just tuck them away in a drawer somewhere to moulder. But I won’t know until I’ve scratched them down. There’s so many things I want to say: I think it’s time to get on and say them.

I’ve already made a small start by putting in a sample script to 4Talent’s Screenwriting Course. I’m under no illusions that there’ll be an acceptance. However, there is nothing to lose. What’s the worst they can say? No?

Well... actually, the worst they can do is inform me they’ve referred my case to the ultra-secretive League Against Bad Writing for imminent elimination so as to cleanse the ink-pool. But they probably wouldn’t warn me in advance. I’d just be found with a sharpened quill pierced through my jugular. We shall see.

So, here I am, back from the dead, nearly literally, I just wish it was slightly less...

And slightly more...