True Story

Okay, so a couple hours away from the next year. I'm going to take a quick trip down memory lane.

Back when I was in school, I was in the second from lowest classes for Maths, essentially, I was in with the dunces. One day, I just ask them what year is New Years Eve and New Years Day in the same year. Simple question. They can't figure it out, I tell them, every year. They start taking the piss out of me, for how wrong I am, to an excessive degree and try and figure out which year it is. The teacher enjoyed this chaotic lunacy even as they denied the truth so quickly.

I can't believe how stupid people are.

I am man, hear me winge

It's 1:56 am, my bed is a mountain of clothes and I've ate a third of the pringles in the can on my own. I think it's time to tell you what I think, whilst condensing your opinions into the spam folder.

Everyone thinks next year is their year. Confidence after a day or two of splurging their organs into a vault of decadence that is acceptable in this day and age. I myself am not innocent of these war crimes and will thus be tried at the Hague in a matter of days. We are usually invincible on certain days of the year; our birthdays, halloween, close friends birthdays and work dos. Oh, and that thing called Christmas, not even atheists can escape it's mighty clutches as 'tradition' brings the movement to its very knees and cock slaps it in the face. *

Right now people feel like shit, they will never do it again, until new years eve. Then they shall change, we will all appear a week later as sparkling hopeful souls of the future (except rational people, they know we're going to fail)

All you smokers, look forward to angsty workmates bouncing around like constipated five year olds as you take another toke on them death sticks (fuck it, we're all going to die anyway, it's all painful in the end)

Meanwhile, I am perfectly confident that I can change, because I've been wanting to change since the summer and rational (that's rational-stupid people, it's like the North-East (that is as in cardinal direction, not the North-East of England) of personality traits). My uncle said today he was going to start going to the gym three to four times a week, we'll see how he feels after two weeks of muscle soreness. People take the judgement of todays magazines and advertising as a route to punish themselves by afflicting morals upon themselves.


 If you don't enjoy it, don't change. Find something you might enjoy and do that.

There are plenty of things that won't stick for me, but they're the little things. I won't stay clean shaven for the entire year, I won't make it out of the week. I won't read every book I have. I will never read every Ancient Greek text in history, I won't even get through the first two. Clothes will always be on my floor.

But I will change because I feel unhappy, I'm not where I wanted to be a year ago. I was extremely hopeful for the future (despite it being completely unplanned) but I have learnt with this excess of free time (even the fun things are becoming a chore, these days) that I want something, I can't wait for it to happen. I have to do something and I will. That is why I am starting what I will be doing in advance of everyone else (some people are doing the same, very smart, rational-stupid people). I know I won't be touching alcohol in substantial quantaties for a little while, which is good. I'm not too attached to alcohol, unless you've plugged an I.V drip into my arm (it is cliché, but the other alternative ways of inserting alcohol inside me is pretty gross).

Next year will be bigger for me, but at the same time I am aware that it won't be my biggest year. It is getting the ball rolling, it'll probably take me another three to four years. It might take longer, but I have said I have until 2015 till I wuss out on some stupid suicide threat (I won't do it, anyway). Haters can picket their hate, but I'm going to go far, of course writing about it (in this sense) won't get me far.


I probably leave (for this year) with one thing, idolise peoples achievement not who they are. You won't be disappointed that way, but I find that it is pretty impossible when I listen to Childish Gambino. Because I think Donald Glover is who he wants to be:

I won't stop until they say, "James Franco is the white Donald Glover"

I wouldn't mind being a called the White Donald Glover, he is a rapper, stand-up comedian, comedy writer, actor and this combination should make you wince. But, it doesn't, or at least not to me. His music, his jokes, all his performances come with nuggets of truth behind the tunes, jokes and lines.

I actually love this guys writing, I have no idea why, rapping isn't my thing. He is a master of word play. For some reason he started at my age and I think, why not me? I can do that (not rap, but some of the other things...)

I got a book by Woody Allen for christmas, inside are execerpts of his notebooks (it's weird, he writers his stuff just like I do, not style, but ideas.

Anyway I play you out with Childish Gambino, if you can't get into it, fast forward to 2:59. I don't know how people become master storytellers, anyother way without hard graft. What makes things so masterful, working hard on something and then it comes together as if that person makes it effortless,

Anyway, see you when I see you.

*I suppose that's fine, I've never heard anyone being called a 'Bad Athiest'.

Aim

I've got goals, I have a mission. 2012 is my year, everybody else can fuck off, I call 'shotgun', I've bagsied it.

I have been relatively inactive for seven months, and now I'm going to try my hand at being a polymath. I took a friends thing 'Bucket List' and turned it into my own thing, I'm not going to post my version, I'd prefer it to just be mine. As you can't tell, I'm not very good at sharing, I like doing my own thing.

What I can say is that my aims on this list are all achievable and possible, but there is a slim chance that Bowie, Floyd or Cat Stevens are going to tour ever again.

I have always felt out of touch with my generation, I don't like our music, I don't like how we dress, I don't like how we talk, but I am not sinking in nostalgia at the same time. Just something else. When people in Junior school were into STEPS with 'Tragedy', there was me going 'Have you heard the original, the Bee Gees are way better' (The Bee Gees are way better).

Instead of buying a Nirvana t-shirt in my teens like everyone else, I bought a P.O.D. (Not a great choice) but it worked for me, I guess. Gelled spikey hair.

I've finally got back to reading scripts again, a few weeks ago I read Tarantino's intended version of Natural Born Killers. I saw the first ten minutes of the film by Stone, but it was crap (I don't understand why Stone has to act like a child who has mastered powerpoints and must show off). I liked Platoon, didn't like Salvador or other pieces. Tarantino's script was not great, it didn't interest me at all. But when I read it, I could see David O. Russel directing it.

Yeah, that's pretty much this blog post, pretty aimless.

Writers that I like

Aaron Sorkin, David Mamet, David Milch, Matthew Weiner, David Simon, Peter Berg, Ann Biderman

These aren't all of the writers I enjoy, but a few. They do things that I believe is the most important point of screenwriting, they're characters don't talk like they're in a tv show or a film.

Why aren't there more people like them out there writing quality pieces of work. This is language that flows, that slams and binds. The language can be how people really talk or how the writer would love people to talk, there is no other way around it.

I gravitate to their pieces of work:
The West Wing,
Southland,
Deadwood,
The Wire,
Mad Men,
Friday Night Lights

The actions show us the characters, their words tell us their world. They all different, and most importantly, they know what they are. The same cannot be said for all television as too much depends on templates.

Getting back into the funk

Trying to get back to writing after seven months of not writing anything. Was it tough? Yes and I didn't even write anything new, I just transcribed an old script to get me back into it. Did I enjoy it? No, but I'm thinking I have to drag myself kicking and screaming, which could only be done by the greatest of mime artists (physically).

Hunter S Thompson transcribed  Ulysses, I transcribe my own script.

I hope I start enjoying writing again, it's been too long.

The Barber

Here's a scoop, barbers are the new taxi drivers, true story. By that I don't mean Barbers are cleaning up the scum off the streets. No, no vigilante barbers. Why are barbers the new taxi drivers? Well, because they have a viewpoint or something to say, they are in a place where time goes slow and they have something to say. They have to let IT out, moments on end, all alone, gives them a lot of time to think (which doesn't seem to do them any favours).

I have a very strange thing with barbers, I want to sit in the chair, tell them what I want (I'll never come in with no idea again, that barber got scared). I want them to try and have a conversation, but I don't want a conversation, I want them to try though. It is a very absurd idiosyncracy. It doesn't always work out that way.

Graduation is coming up, so I go up the road to the nearest barbers, haven't been there since I was a kid. I used to go there all the time when I was a kid up until I was 13-14, a nice old man used to run the place and it was nice. Then the barbers was bought out by a greek guy, charming as he was, he dropped the scissors whilst cutting my hair. Never went back there again, until now.  I enter and the place is empty, a scruffy fat fiftysomething looks out from the backroom and tells me to take a seat, he'll be with me in a second. I sit, 4-5 minutes later he comes out in his tracksuit.

I tell the guy what I want, he gets to it, it's been a while since I had my hair cut (june/july) he's surprised and here comes the put downs, then when I tell him I am looking for work, oh boy, how he goes off on one. Telling me, 'no mate, no, you'll never get a job with this' Thus begins the lecture of grooming, and stories of how he helped people get an interview for a job, but the person turned up with scruffy hair in a tracksuit and didn't get the job. It's like looking in the mirror, for this guy. He is the person who holds all the truths of life, the people who have been given my CV and sent application forms with my name on it, they must look at it and go "not at chance, not with that hair". Halfway through, I want out but you've got to stay there, he has the power and I am not walking out with a number 7 on one side and a number 30 on the other. Well played barber.

Taxi driver mentality coupled with a barber is a scary form of crossbreeding and a real one. I should've gone to the other barbers a few miles away who for some erractic reason, started telling me about her three failed marriages.

Things are happening faster

I'm taking steps toward what I mentioned in an earlier post (the one with all the youtube videos). I have a lot more time of prep for whatever I choose to release first.

Why?

New laptop, for the past three years, I have been stuck with a free computer that did it's job. I played music and I could use it to write essays and scripts. I've finally gone and bought a top of the range laptop so it can do a lot more.

This is vague as fuck, but by january I might have something to show for it. If it sucks, then I'll work on it for longer. It's one thing to produce something and release it, it's another thing entirely to do it right.

Hopefully I might get into some scriptwriting at some time. This isn't the blog of the month. Just a little something to write, scrape 'write something' off my to do list.

The Dialogue

I used to love watching Sons of Anarchy, it was an interesting look on the internal struggles of a motorcycle club. The first season was mainly done in one episodes, prior to getting picked up for season two. Season two was called 'Hamlet in leather on motorcycles'. The third season which I finished watching two weeks ago is different than both these seasons, it did what dramas shouldn't do.


They shouldn't move away from their setting, and that is what it did, at the wrong time and made it unbearable. Essentially three quarters of the club go to Northern Ireland, I won't say why. The thing that really rubbed me the wrong way was how the irish characters sounded exactly like the american characters, not so much the accents (despite being some bad ones). That last bit isn't strictly true, they always say 'aye'. Every single line, they say 'aye'.

There's something wrong when the characters start to sound the same, it sounds like the writer, not
characters. Now Americans might say Intel, but I've never heard any irish man in any thing ever say intel like they do in this show. SOA showed its weaknesses and should have been cancelled for it.Also the American perspective leads it to taking a republican side, which is generic of them. It seems like they knew no one Irish, why not hire an irish writer to work with them, for some reason they must've got a plastic paddy. Is there something wrong with even doing as little as watching the Commitments or other Ireland set films, rather than the Boondock Saints.

Write what you know, and don't hire american actors to do Irish accents. Hire James Nesbitt.

The ultimatum

This happens every once in a while. I'm trying to sleep, it's all quiet and dark. Then I'm hit, it's an idea. I've been lying here in the dark for what could be an eternity, a comfy eternity at that. I roll over to try and steal my concousness away. This thing isn't going anywhere, my brain should be slowing down, but it's speeding up with questions about this idea. I know it's a good idea, but I have to steal myself away from my slumber and turn on the light. But I don't want to turn on the light, I'll just use my hands to search for a pen and my notebook. Knocking everything in my way. I'm determined, there shall be no light, for if I do, I will wake up and I really, really want to get some sleep.

I open the notebook, I can't see any writing, through my eyes it's a grainy 16mm view of degrees of darkness. No light shall go on, I use my temporary blindness and inspiration by Matt Murdock to scan the pages with my fingers, feeling out the imprints left by a pen, working my way to an empty page. This is taking a while, how many pages have I filled up already? Fucking hell, I can't see anything, I open the curtains, maybe I'll see better this way, I can barely see anything still. I've got to make sure I don't write over any other notes.

Fine, I'll turn on the bloody light. Jot down my one sentence idea and go to bed. Just one sentence, that's it. This isn't Kubla Khan, it's just ten words.

This is a huge decision, where ever I am, I usually have my notebook, but when I'm in bed, this is the deciding factor of whether I want to write or not. I could be throwing away a defining part of my life if I don't write down whatever has spontaneously caffeinated my mind.
It’s not a conscious decision on my part, it is almost as if I can’t rest until this thing can be archived for future reference. I have let some good ideas go, not anymore, although quite honestly I have no idea if the lost ideas are any good, but wishful thinking and all that.

One step at a time

-This was started months ago, finally decided it was time to get it out there.

One of the most important things to me is running. A simple formula for life.
I don't talk to anyone, I am alone, but I am elated. I have my running earphones on, my nigh destroyed Saucony Grids that I have ran near 600 miles in and walked a quarter of in. I mean my grids are always in a case of falling apart, I've had them since early 2008. All my other trainers lasted about a year, I'd destroyed them big time, running up stoney hills, smacking my heels on the floor as I ran.

Shin splints have been a bane of my running life, they have stopped me for days, weeks and months. I've ran through them, I've been stopped by them. I've hobbled home, I've iced, put deep heat on and rested.

I changed my running style, that is, after I read Born To Run by Christopher McDougall. Good bye shin splints, piss off new "hi-tech" running trainers and I kept my "old trainers". Started landing on the balls of my feet, and slowly progressed. Since then I have been injured, I've damaged my adducters after not stretching for a while. The most annoying thing, on a hot sunny day, going through an 8 mile run, feeling a niggling pain halfway through and walking home from there. That was after doing three runs of a similar distances for a few months. Following a terrible performance at a fun run.

I couldn't run for months, the most depressing thing I can imagine is looking outside on a sunny day and knowing I can't run. Actually, no I can, watching someone run on a sunny day and knowing I can't run. I am a running elitist. I can't stand people who only run on a sunny day, I have ran in terrential rain, ice, snow, cold weather and all that. Not because it was a nice day, but because it is a day when I go running.

Also, charity runners, who the hell do you think you are? Not marathon runners, not 10K'ers, I have nothing against you. But you fun runners who run as little as 1 mile and as far as 3, I've ran past you whilst doing my sunday six miler (not doing this anymore), nearing the end and you've got a towel draped over your shoulder, a bottle of water and a bag of goodies for being charitable and then getting rewarded for it?! Not only are you lazy, you are hypocrites, taking profits from a charity. I ran six miles, with no water, no towel and you think you've done a 5k? Strutting with a strange sense of entitlement and a required reverence by the people that pass them by.

Anyway, moving on. I kept getting injured last year, started running shorter distances. Got faster, better and truly, stronger. Then I got injured again this year, took some time off and started running again as well as stretching. I was the fastest I've probably ever been at the beginning of this year and now I'm building myself up to doing it again.

I have to say, it's hard at the moment. I can feel my shin splints coming back, but sometimes you have to run through the pain. It can't always be a medititation, it has to make you question yourself, it must be a psychological and a physical battle. I've been bullied, called names, beaten up, but that only made me stronger, I've got to the point of my regular distance and pushed myself on for at least two more miles. When I am in this mode it, speed doesn't matter, grit does, a feeling that I'm willing to drop dead rather than give up. I'm in a competition with running and with myself.

I just want to show this from a different medium.

Things are happening

Just got up, set up/renamed my youtube channel. Time to be making use of my ideas for editing.

Why do I want to edit? Well, there is a culture of online editors who can make a compilation of different aspects of one person and join them together, much like the early work of Genghis Con, Machinemen (Hasn't made a video in years), Lookoutawhale and Kahl1one. Note that those four editors are MMA centric, so it won't be to everyone's taste, but the fact is, most MMA highlights are poorly done, the music is nigh identical in most cases with some crap 'gangster rap' or crap 'nu metal' which doesn't sync well with the images shown. The great thing about these four specifically, they all have their own style, something that sets them apart from the crowd.

Of course there are many other great forms of editor, rather than mention just MMA editors.
Gorillaproductions focuses on boxing and has done one extraordinary piece of work.

It takes great use of typography, and who has better one liners than 'The G.O.A.T'

Films are also a huge area that have been covered with such respect for the source material.

And sometimes, playfully ribbing it.

 Or picking away at referential pieces of work.

Or even teach us something we already knew, in a completely different way.

 

Hopefully, I'll have something by January. That gives me enough time to practice, no surprises if it'll take me longer, because I want to show off more than one video on my channel. Much in the same way I told nobody about this blog for a month or so because I wanted to build something up.

Top 4 Most Depressing Films I've Seen

1. The Road
2. Blue Valentine
3. This is England
4. The Mist

Still worth a watch though.

That Magnificent Sound of Britain

I'm accustomed to writing a blogpost a month. This month seems different. I'm listening to The Sensational Alex Harvey Band after watching the Old Whistle Grey Test on friday night with my dad. It occured to me that what I consider the sound of the country is probably radically different to everyone elses and so on, and so forth.

I grew up in a house where sound only counted as music if a guitar was being strummed in it, or the Rocky soundtrack. So I grew up on Beatles and 60s music alongside Queen up to a point. Then Sabbath, Maiden, Floyd, Zepplin and that ilk. The Clash, The Specials, Madness and more. Those are my magnificent sounds of Britain.

I know some people were put more modern music as part of their view on national identity, but to be far, I was never a fan of it in the first place. Kids my age were listening to Steps' 'Tragedy' and I was always the one saying the original was better (and it was). I was the one who knew the song my schoolteacher was singing in class and joined in (This was junior school), the song was Lazy Sunday Afternoon by The Small Faces.

The only two bands from my teenagehood have since split up, the only modern bands I followed. Hell is for Heroes and The Music.

I bet some people place Ultravox in their Sound of Britain... Craig David... Ick.

Hate #2

So, this new blogpost has been in my head since wednesday night. Why? Well, what a difference 6 years make. Just hanging out with my brother and a few of his mates before Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy and I go to the toilet, whilst washing my hands, I turrn to my right and the guy washing his hands was in my english class at school from maybe years 9-11 or 10-11.

I haven't seen many or any of the people who I went to school in 6 years, they all went to a sixth form and I went to a college an hour away to study performing arts. I didn't miss them, there were a few who I was still good mates with and then we all went our seperate ways.

Anyway, this guy, I'm going to call him Mick (that isn't his name, but what does it matter, I doubt he remembered mine).

Me: Alright.
Mick: Oh, alright Badger.
Me: Really??

Right then and there, I thought about landing a right hook on his temple. I don't know why I was ever called it, it didn't bother me too much but to just go out right and call me that? Fucking juvenile is what it is. I wasn't the smartest guy at school, I didn't care for school, I survived it. In between the exams, the fights, skipping classes and feigning sickness. I didn't want to learn anything, and most of the people at school were twats who I never socialised with. I reckon I learnt more outside of school than I ever did in it.

I've come along way since school, a really long way. I am completely different to how I was back then, my year 7-8 self was radically different to my years 9-11 self and so on. I don't even consider my time at school at part of me, it's almost like it happened to somebody else, I put it all behind me, I didn't need it and I never will.

Anyway after a while, we've in the pub talking for a minute about what we're doing and I'm talking like I did in school, not knowing what to say, looking all over the place apart from at him. The whole thing threw me off from what I'm usually like, more importantly, I didn't want to talk to him.

I tell him what I studied at Uni, "oh maybe you can get me to act in one of your films". The amount of pressure exerted by comments like that to me is bad, I hate talking about writing, apart from when I'm with friends because we all understand the process.

People expect the best from me when I tell them I want to be a professional screenwriter. My dad the most always asking when I'm "going to be sending off the script to Spielberg", how I never working on anything. I am just slowly thinking things through.

Anyway, Mick is a twat.

Nothing's happening

Should I be surprised? As soon as I leave university, I guess I had some sort of hope instilled in me. Home drains me and my aspirations, of course I am more to blame than my current surroundings. I am currently living a part of my life all over again. Old friends don't live here anymore, I don't have anything to do and I want a job.

Whinge, whinge, whinge.

The idealised version of myself doesn't exist at the moment. No targets, no goals, no enthusiasm. I miss Uni. Being surrounded by people with the same interests and just talking the things we care about helped me.

The funny thing is, I can't relate to many people back home. I couldn't give a shit about football even if you paid me and that seems like the main things people talk about.

I know where I want to be, I just don't know how to get there. Another thing is, am I ready? Rent, food, laundry, I don't have to worry about these things, whilst some of my friends have to figure out how to suppliment their lifestyle whilst they move towards writing something.

Like the song, every day is exactly the same.  A treadmill of mundanity.

I need a job that makes me want to get write my way out of it. Here's hoping I get something soon, and I'm fairly confident I shall.

On the brightside, it was good to see friends in Brighton last weekend.

This was another self indulgent broadcast.

Moments and lines

I've got a notebook, a nice leathery non-moleskin notebook. It's been written in since May of this year and after three and a bit months, it is half full. It's strange, but I've found an evolution in my notemaking. It started with just film ideas, and has progressed to moments and lines.

Moments and lines that are not anchored by anything, no real relationship. Just minor events and dialogue. Sometimes ideas, stupid inventions. Such as a greenhouse in office space.

One of the things I like to do in my notebook is to pick one of my ideas and it's question and then I keep asking 'Why?' and I can expand a world, a code, regulations, characters, history in a matter of five minutes and onwards.

Wherever I go, I bring my notebook with me if possible. People might have one great idea, but they'd have more if they carried a notebook with them.

Take me to the higher place

Just about time for another blog post.

Funny how my social life has slowed to a stop since Uni. The idea that my friends are all over the place and far away, is a bit odd.

I acheived a 2:1 for my course in Screenwriting. Expectations were met, acheiving a 1st was never going to happen, I had interests in writing scripts but not essays. My grade for my script was somewhat surprising, lower than I expected. The more I reflect on my script, the further I come to realising that I was focusing on writing 112 pages, rather than the substance of the story. That does not make me any less proud of my work, writing that much is fantastic to write, but I can do better and I will do better. I believe I was one of the few people in class when asked if we would send out our scripts to agencies and film companies following our grade didn't put their hands up.

The story was just something I had to get out and it would not be something I would like to be associated with. The story came from a set of events, not characters, not ideals and not emotion. The opposite of what really interests me. I also think that most films do this too much and much, much better than my screenplay.

I'm happy to leave John Fellini, Court Weissberg and the rest of them alone, despite loving Court Weissberg as a name. I don't know what it is but slightly off kilter names are more interesting than Dan Jones or Bill Smith. I almost feel that I wrote the anti-thesis of what I want to write, it was bad but I need to be bad so that I can improve.

It has still been four months since I have written anything creative, apart from jotting down ideas. The process was tough, I have about 35 stories I want to tell if not more. I need to prioritise, one of the first things will be a Sit-com pilot to get comedy out of my system. I am also planning out a novel that I think will be big, and I really mean big. But don't rush, I'm young and I have plenty of years to make failures before I start making the right choices and that is life pretty much.

Finally finished watching seasons 3,4 and 5 of The Wire. Now I've been badgering everyone about how good it is since I started watching it in 2007. Like the Rocky films and the Beverley Hill Cop duology (There is no third film) it will never get tiring. I don't think a television show will ever be bettered, in its little way it is social commentary on the working classes as well as crime and justice. there is a beautiful montage at the end of the finale where the characters roles are changing, all the big players if not dead are done and all the little ones have stepped up into their roles such as Michael becoming the new Omar, Dukie becoming the new Bubs, Carver becoming the new Daniels/Colvin and Sydnor becoming the new McNulty.

Now I'm onto watching seasons 1 of Taxi, Cheers and Seinfeld.

It's just another blogspot

I feel I should do another post, I have numerous other things I should be doing. In my time at home, it's been alright. Reading quite a few books, particularly the second and third books in the Song of Ice and Fire series (I think I'll write and post a scripted version of a chapter from the third book, as an exercise), not going out and every once in a while going out.

Dylan Moran for example, saw him in the city doing some stand-up. All the conventions I thought would stand for comedy didn't. I should point out this was my first time at a stand-up gig. Don't get me wrong, it was alright, but... people we're laughing just to laugh, not because the jokes were funny (some were) but because there was a fear of being left out, as if you are intellectually inferior because everyone else got it. One source of annoyance was that guy to my right, he laughed after everyone else laughed at a joke, as if he is the punchdrunk version of a pothead, a delayed reaction because the cogs in his head are rusty and crap. I think I could do stand-up, I have some material that could be performed for ten-fifteen minutes.

Also saw Foo Fighter, Biffy Clyro and Jimmy Eat World at MILTON KEYNES, MILTON KEYNES. The 65,000 fans of the Foos entered the National Bowl, this was an unplanned thing for me, I was asked to go by my cousin the week before as his mate dropped out. It was interesting, as my cousin referred to it as a mini fest, I don't think I could handle an actual festival, due to hygenie, crap food and all that. The music was great, they opened with two of the guys from Supergrass doing songs from Elvis Costello, The Cure and The Doors, nice opening. Jimmy Eat World was awesome, I've been listening to them ever since, Biffy was more eh to me. As the Foo Fighters came on stage I was feeling crap, dehydrated and all that, I swear I could feel my kidneys hurting. The music was great, and most importantly the best jam between Seasick Steve, John Paul Jones and Grohl on drums.

As for writing, haven't written anything for a while, not for two months. Good thing? Bad thing? I'm jotting down ideas and being excited about old and new ideas, not quite figuring out what I want to write first. I need to pick one thing, devote my writing to it and then move onto the next thing. But mentally, I am unprepared, I need some other challenge as well. Hopefully back to running and more importantly getting a job.

Best spend some time getting a job, money is an important thing at the moment, since I am considering making short films, but we'll see what's what.

Untitled - Revenge of the Working Title

Still alive, still aimless. Moved back home less than two weeks ago. Home comforts make me a lazy person, but I'm slowly winding up to prepare for continuing my writing. Jotting the odd idea in the notebook every now and then. Reading as much as I can. I take away more from books than I do any other medium.

I've started thinking about writing some novellas, I'd never thought I would be interested in it. We shall see how it goes, I have a certain sylisation that I am willing to try.

I've stopped exercising, I've let my facial hair grow. I've noticed a lot of my sentences started with the letter 'I'. Not honing a vocabulary, rather a husk of such a thing. I talk about my aspirations, never really set foot towards meeting them, interesting that.

I'll spend some time enjoying home comforts, I feel like Hoffman in the Graduate lazing around after finishing Uni. To be honest, I have done a lot of DIY. I still have a short film to write for sometime, I only remembered an hour ago. I'd best get to writing that short film, it seems simple enough, a talking heads piece. Could be considered a strength of mine.

Signing off.

Hate #1

Seagulls, you bunch of feathered bastards, squawking at dawn. I wish I had a hunting rifle.

One Step Beyond!

A kid was bit by an adder in the new forest the other week. I feel inclined to go to the new forest and bite an adder now.

It’s been a while since I’ve posted and there is good reason for that. I finally finished Uni, it was alright. We celebrated and all that, had a good final day, I honestly don’t think it could have been better. But now, after a week, I m fed up. I’m aimless; I’ve got nothing to do. I’ve jotted down some things I want to do before I leave Southampton for good. What gives me meaning? My writing. What do I like to talk about? Ideas. I try to challenge myself.

If I think of myself in stages, and for some strange reason, I kind of do. I am at the pinnacle of myself, there is no greater challenge than yourself and besting your past efforts. I could destroy my past iterations. I think of what I’ve done, having the most boring year out, travelling two hours a day, five times a week to go to college. University is more of a lesson for life than it is degrees, and that’s lucky because by degree won’t get me a job. I’ve learnt how to look after myself.  I am smarter, faster, stronger, overall more rounded person.

I’m currently in a limbo, between different steps of life. The next one is familiar and at the same time not, I’ll be back in my old surroundings, but at the same time I cannot go and enjoy all the comforts, because I have to get somewhere. I owe it to myself. I can’t be like people I went to school with, they went through what I’ve been through and now they’ve hit a plateau in life. These are people who are smarter than me, one step ahead, and they just stop and get a job. That’s pretty much it. Why give up? Why now? You have to keep pushing forward to get what you want. That thing between the people who you look up to and the person you are, it’s a barrier, and that is you. I won’t give up.

Three years didn’t end on a whimper. But with a powerful explanation point, for my friends, and the many, many people I feel indifferent about, cheers. You can’t ape the experience.

Nostalgia

Currently, I have got the nostalgia of Uni in my mind, it always comes just as things are about to end

I always think of a song. Take it Easy by The Eagles particularly this part:

'We may lose and we may win,

though we will never be here again' 

And then onto the next part of my life, but not after a scenic sunset and a JD & Coke in my hand.

You know what they say. Red sky at night, shepard's house burning.

Long time, no type

Two weeks at home came to an end several hours ago. Back to the ghost town of Southampton, I'm tired, hot and a third thing I cannot think of right now.

Back home, time, pace. It has a different rhythm to city life, not too quick as the former, nor does it go at a snails pace of a village. Not good, not bad, just home. I weighed the pros and cons between home and uni, I can sleep there but no gym to go to. I got bored, ate terribly, went through three seperate tubs of Ben & Jerrys, had plenty of free pub grub. The first week, I don't know what I was doing but I acheived next to nothing, so much for finishing my second draft of my screenplay and starting my third draft. As I type, I am twelve days away from the hand-in and I didn't even bother doing the other work, yet. But to be honest, that just feels supplementary. My final mark means nothing to me, my screenplay does.

I slowly but surely got around to finishing the second draft over the course of the last week, I luckily got upto 20 pages for two days, but in between slogged to progress but I wasn't feeling it. Sometimes I need to warm myself into it, other times I just know it isn't working and do something constructive like sit in front of the television, eating digestives.

The script slowly came along, tighter than the first draft by a while. If my first draft was a car, the engine would have dropped out after a mile. My second draft, that can get you to the shops, think about calling a taxi back. I created some great moments, I feel it could become a film, and has all the potential in the world to have a sequel.

I finally got around to reading my Cormac McCarthy omnibus, nowhere near finished. The Border Trilogy. I bought it because, I've seen several adaptions of his work, but I didn't want to read The Road or No Country for Old Men. So I got this, It took some time getting used to in the way it was written, abstract description, lack of grammer. I'm used to Ellroys Staccato sentence structure. I love it when writers change the way a novel can be written. Cormac just gives me a clear sense of Mexico in the first of the trilogy (All the Pretty Horses, which I am still reading). Rawlins, and John Grady Cole, two teenage ranchers from Texas travel to Mexico on a sense of adventure in the mid-1900s. Sometimes it is better when a character cannot explain themselves in that of an English Lit postgrad, uses the intelligence of the characters to tell the world through their eyes, yet maintaining a third person perspective all way through. Skipping over conversations with summaries where as another might just be a monologue of several pages. I can tell I am going to regret finishing the book, I don't want it to finish. The book creates a world free of Western movie tropes and just tells a story, a simple one, told well and with style. 

I wrote something pretty cool, where this paragraph currently is. Then I decided, I'd rather one of my characters says it. If you see any typos, fuck you, I'm tired, I thought regret and wrote recreate (edited). You want to read something good? Read the extract below this post.

El Capitan

The captain reached out with one hand and rapped with his knuckles against the door. You didnt have to kill him.
A keyring rattled outside. The door opened. The captain held up one hand to an unseen figure in the partial dark of the corridor.
Momento, he said.
He turned and stood studying them.
I will tell you a story, he said. Because I like you. I was young man like you. You see. And this time I tell you I was always with these older boys because I want to learn every thing. So on this night at the fiesta of San Pedro in the town of Linares in Nuevo León I was with these boys and they have some mescal and everything--- you know what is mescal?--- and there was this woman and all these boys is go out to this woman and they is have this woman. And I am the last one. And I go out to the place where is this woman and she is refuse me because she say I am too young or something like that.
What does a man do? You see. I can no go back because they will all see that I dont go with this woman. Because the truth is always plain. You see. A man cannot go out to do some thing and then he go back. Why he go back? Because he change his mind? A man does not change his mind.
The Captain made a dist and held it up. Maybe they tell her to refuse to me. So they can laugh. They give her some money or something like that. But I dont let whores make trouble for me. When I come back there is no laughing. No one is laughing. You see. That has always been my way in this world. I am the one when I go someplace then there is no laughing. When I go there then they stop laughing.

- Cormac McCarthy, All the Pretty Horses.

Winding down

University is in a state of suspension for three weeks as our easter holidays have begun. I pointed out to my mate earlier that is was only five weeks until we have to hand in our feature film scripts. Since yesterday, I've started working in the library to make some progress on my second draft. Over the weekend, I have spent ten hours in there and it is definitley not wasted time. So much progress, I have done more in the past two days, than I have over the past four months. Losing interest in recent staples of human life, such as Facebook, IMDB and Wikipedia.

The key in getting the work done though is going with another person, just so you're not too constrained to the work. Have a brief chat and continue working. Have something to eat and continue working. Read a magazine, go to the toilet. No worries about leaving your things unatteneded and it is in a very relaxed setting.

On a sidenote, I watched Source Code which whilst good and enjoyable, does not live up to Moon. Cannot say I blme Duncan Jones' choice of film, it was just the ending that took the edge off, he needs a few more films to be a top director. I've been a fan since day one, so I'll probably see whatever he makes.

My entire area has become quiet as students have descended upon their homes to raid the fridges of their parents. It is something else, all the live of the city feels like it has disipitated and every time I step out of my house, I feel like I'm in the beginning of a zombie movie.

I have five more days in the library before I descend on the fridge of my parents. I have no exact expectations but in a writerly sense put one foot in front of the other, or rather one word in front of the other and get it done.

I started rereading The Devils Guide to Hollywood by Joe Eszterhas, the kind of book I love, full of gossip driven anecdotes, something you can pick up and read at any point. It just has a breath of fresh air next to other screenwriting books of any kind. Truly funny and worth picking up every once in a while, just to remind myself that the screenwriter does not have to be a bitch for his/her employers.

"Some screenwriters hate actors.
Author/screenwriter William Saroyan hated Marlon Brando. He had his reasons.

1. When he was a young man, Saroyan discovered that Brando had seduced his wife, Carol.
2. When he was an old man, Saroyan discovered that Brando had seduced his daughter, Lucy."

Well, okay, sometimes. Good night everyone.

What to do...

Quite an eventful week, in between long moments of boredom.

Went to an idependant cinema to watch Submarine by Richard Ayoade, that was a cool experience. Nice to see something different to the usual ilk of British or American films. Had a guest lecture by a woman who focuses on the continuing drama side of the BBC and the BBC Writer's Room. In the first five minutes, she convinced me that my elitism over soaps would hurt my career than do it any good, so many talented people have started there and alongside radio, is the easier way to break in. I felt sorry for her. The first and second years were not so good at realising what she does, putting down soaps, asking about animation or documentary, mingled with talking between themselves.  

Our course leader dragged us to the pub for a drink, instead of staying in Uni and having nothing to do. Got a new pair of glasses, thick frames which help build up my pretentiousness, something that is required if you're a writer.

Handed in the first 24 pages of my tv drama. Man, I barely got it in on time. About two hours before the cut off for handing in work, I decided to do a third draft. There were minimal changes, but the way I operate is: start from scratch, type it up, don't copy and paste. I think I improved it, then legged it to Uni to print it out and hand it in, with 20 minutes to spare. My heart was pounding. This is probably the first time in a long time, that I am happy with what I handed in and almost exactly a year since I've handed in a script to be marked.

Yesterday, we were celebrating birthdays and getting drunk at a house part; there was some live music, a bonfire in a trolley and green paint. I drank a lot, had a good time and then almost automatically at some point, decided to leave. Why? For some reason, I realise when I have drank too much and go home, there I shall go through a routine of throwing up in the sink or toilet, this time both and then I fell asleep in the shower and then threw up there, then went to bed. No hangover! Always a plus. Can't be bothered to go and buy some more food, but I only have two apples and a sandwich to last me until tomorrow, also my room reeks of smoke, can't get rid of it, opened windows and everything.

Now I have three assignments in for May, lots of time to prepare and since I am spending two more weeks before two weeks at home, I think I can get the stuff prepared. Tomorrow will be the continuation of the screenplay's second draft, do that over the next two weeks and then depending if people are around, a read through and then a third draft, another read through. I also have to get round to drawing, I'm planning on some posters for a portfolio of my work. I like that side of it, Mad Men has that affect on me.

I now have a week of uni, without any lectures, go figure. But for now, I'll just go on X-Box Live.

[working title]

I wonder what seperates this blog from other blogs. That is once you exclude spelling mistakes, and grammar that is bludgeoned to death comma after comma. It probably has little difference, Imitation comes first,

Looking over the past week, it's been another slow one. With four hours of lectures, I always think that my loan is going towards lecturers going to their regular lunch of champagne and cavier. I have little to do. Most people average about ten pages a day, and that should only take an hour and a bit, so it is easy to get bored.

Tuesday, I did a readthrough with people in my writing tv drama class. Some people didn't know what they were in for and it was fun, the night before I had been agonising about everything, it would sound terrible when real people say my lines. That was not the case and it was well received, laughs were where I wanted them to be and some people got into it (I got into it more than anyone). There was a byproduct of the read through which I feel never does me any good, and that is being told that something you have done is good and other compliments. Don't feed the ego. I always do or say something stupid because I get a high from it. It is the reason why I write, I suppose, I like to show people what I am capable of. It did remind me that I can make it. Several days later and I am back in my seat, having thoughts of insignificance. Despite knowing I am much better than others.

There were a few things to work on and now I have a few pages until I hit page 20, ready to hand in for this friday. Then I can finally focus on my screenplay, that I have been neglecting like a tramp. I want to write it but I have invested so much of my thoughts to my TV drama, that is just seems stale and I want to work more on the drama. Once I've got the pilot handed in, then I'll roll up my sleeves and get stuck in. Meanwhile, I've gone to writing lines for my characters in the film, to make them more interesting and less run of the mill. Not something that I normally do, but I've exhausted all my plot ideas and it is primarily just the characters that need to be sorted.

Other than that, I've been planning a play and having some more ideas about my sitcom, that will be written over Easter, in time for a read through before Uni breaks up for good.

Spending most of my time watching films as usual, recently watched Dark City which has opened up my mind for a few of my old ideas and flooding me with inspiration.

Writing is going to be a bigger challenge when I move back home, but it has to be done.
In other news, I'm planning on learning how to draw, to prepare for writing and drawing a web comic. Maybe more than one, just to get my name out there. Comic books is an area that I am keen to get into. Less to do with the Marvel and DC superhero stuff and more to do with Powers, Blacksad, Criminal, Hellboy, Conan etc. I just love the art of all of them, differing in styles drastically and the storylines are gripping.

The fourth post

Note: This was composed on the 11th.

Wait a second... where's the third post? Well, I wrote it but my computer crashed on me as I was watching streamed episodes of HIMYM. It was getting me in the mood to start the second draft of my tv drama, but since it buggered up, I spent my time before going off to see Battle: LA (it was okay) working on a beatsheet in order to get my head in the game.


Now, I'm seven pages in of twenty pages. Progress is occuring, good times. A few weeks ago, one of our lecturers at uni asked us how we wrote characters, whether we take aspects of other people or throwing ourselves into the situations our characters go through and taking those thoughts into creating a character, I said the latter. It's true, but I think I will conciously make an effort to include the former as well, particularly of my downstairs neighbours who are ****, they're ******* *****. When they play their club music, loud enough, it  might as well be a club. My room because of the acoustics, means that I hear the crap music and can feel the vibrations from the floor. Battle: LA for anyone who sees this at the cinema, that is how it feels to live where I currently am. In the weeks prior to me moving out and returning home, I am going to give them so much music to moan about, bringing Dragonforce and Disturbed , putting my speakers on the floor and blasting it out. Just to get them to feel what my third year was like, they're at it again. The amount of times they have awoken me from sleep and they've stepped it up by shouting things to each other at night. I tried being nice, but now I don't care if I make enemies. Suffering a bad club remix of a bad song by a bad singer (Mika) from 3am to 8am, is like putting a hex on someone.

Is it fair that they can do this. The short answer: No. The long answer: No. I honestly hope that the person downstairs goes deaf, he's put a lot of work into it. I will eviscerate him in my fiction, not in a good light and I will probably use variations of his name. The funny thing is, I've never met the guy, but if you're using an asda trolley to put all your dirty clothes, it's probably for the best that we don't meet. I've suffered because of this person, and I have a dissertation to hand in. I might bring my other speakers back to Uni and buy a splitter especially for my audio onslaught.

As you can tell, it is something I feel strongly about. Even complaining to the people that lease out the houses.

Anyway, Battle: LA was alright, it had some bad spots, like how it opens with chinooks of the soldiers going into LA and then goes for a 24 hours earlier bit, with a cityscape of LA and California Love blaring out. Ick. It was okay, but they should've thrown the characters in there, I don't really care for exposition in this film. That and the music, I know it's American military and needs all that blaring music, but come on, it would still be powerful without the music. Where were the bloods and crips? No rage against the machine (An album of theirs is Battle for Los Angeles). The action was okay, Michael Pená and the refugees were pretty boring in my opinion. A part that annoyed me was when the alien dissection was taking place, the female refugee said "I'm a veterinarian, not a doctor.", obviously she forgot that she has to be a doctor first, I guess those years just flew by. Also she could say "I'm a veterinarian, not an alien doctor", that wouldn't have worked, but neither did the original line.

It was dumb fun action though. Documentary style camera work is boring now. Everybody does it, what is wrong with the camera techniques of yore. Pan, still camera or using a dolly. The alien designs were just average. What elevated the film was the earthquake and tsunami of Japan, so it already felt like the world was falling apart before I'd sat down, when the V.O. says "We've lost tokyo..." I just thought, you aren't half wrong there. As long as you're interested in something that clinches onto film clichés then you will probably enjoy this. For being a Black Hawk Down, with aliens, it didn't feel that scary. Probably because of all the horns blaring through the speakers for the entire film. If you do go to see the film, imagine it without the music, how much more powerful it would be. I don't see many soldiers going into war with an OST by Brian Tyler.

I watched the film and thought, it would be far more interesting to see the British military fight for survival. We don't see it enough, in any films of the past few decades. At least the soldiers in Dog Soldiers felt real where as the wooping americans just felt like they were without character, it doesn't matter who dies, young virgin, out of the academy leader, nigerian doctor, black, white, latino, asian. It would be fantastic if we learnt a little bit about them on the fly, but the cop out of an opening for me let me down. Seriously, it sets the pace and then they slow down it all in order to characterise these people. One of the Scotts or Neil Marshall should have directed this.

That said, I would still watch a sequel. It had potential, got tangled up in the 'confines' of a studio's guide to screenwriting and the hip cinematography.

Note: Found my third post. Makes the opening a bit null. It might mess with the pace, but I'm not changing it.

Creativity stilted by creativity

Note: This was composed on the 10th.

The latest step in my tv pilot is interesting. I came to a point where I didn't have anything left to write and for what should be fourty to fourty five pages (even though we are only graded on the first twenty). My first (first) draft weighed in at twenty seven pages, not great. Usually I skip over redoing a first draft and leap into a second draft, but this time, I thought unless it is very different, then there is little need to do a second draft yet. So I went over my work, reading it outloud, cutting and throwing in a couple extra ext's and int's whilst coming up with new scenes and figuring out the ad breaks/act breaks.

It is tough trying to keep on this one thing, no matter how many times this week I have told myself this week that I would be working on my final script and the tv drama, I don't think any work has come from it. I look for some sort of way to procrastinate, but I think everyone does that now, too many options. Thanks to some criticism on monday for the opening of my final script, I have got different ways to write scenes from my first (and terrible) draft and making them operate in a more original way.

Still suffering a bit of the cold I had from last week. Making me take a few steps back on everything. I'm growing weary of not being able to go to the gym.


There is a certain mood I have to be in to write well, the only thing I want to do is to write. So far I haven't had that since last week, which was a burst of energy in screenwriting that I haven't had for some time. This hasn't returned. This blog helps my mind prepare to write scripts, a warm-up. None of this is probably interesting.


I have been wondering for a while what person decided to come up with that compliment for writers, the "ear for dialogue" comment, because I've heard this thrown around by ‘critics’ for writers who are very different in their styles of writing dialogue. Tarantino, Sorkin, Mamet and Iannucci have differing styles when it comes to talking heads, but they've defiantly been given this compliment. But none of their styles fit together, so is this just a preference or do people talk like they're constantly popping "pick me ups" in Sorkin's neighbourhood? Tarantino is surrounded by people who like long philosophical conversations that include the odd interest in comics, music or film in order to bring across a person’s views? Mamet's neighbourhood is full of people repeating what they just said two more times?

As far as I am concerned, people write dialogue how they want the world to be, I write because it would be cool to talk like my characters (bar me not being quick witted enough), something exciting, writing something dramatic. We even take pieces of dialogues from films in order to freshen and give our lives some meaning. Possibly, because for some people, the people around them are fucking boring and too similar to them. Thus when they need to understand another person's views, they must have it made sense on the screen. Last night I watched Good Night and Good Luck, and that did the same thing for me, I had an experience because of what the characters had to say and how it is relevant to life today.

"It is my desire if not my duty to try to talk to you journeymen with some candor about what is happening in radio and television, and if what I say is responsible, I alone am responsible for the saying of it. Our history will be what we make of it. And if there are any historians about fifty or a hundred year from now, and there should be preserved the kinescopes of one week of all three networks, they will there find, recorded in black and white and in color, evidence of decadence, escapism, and insulation from the realities of the world in which we live. We are are currently wealthy, fat, comfortable, and complacent. We have a built in allergy to unpleasant or disturbing information; our mass media reflect this. But unless we get up off our fat surpluses, and recognize that television, in the main, is being use to distract, delude, amuse, and insulate us, then television and those who finance it, those who look at it, and those who work at it, may see a totally different picture, too late."