A two week gap. Not quite what I was planning.

Life intruded in the second week of writing, and it’s kept intruding. There was something very seductive and very welcome about those first few days, when I was genuinely able to seal everything off and just put life on hold. Trouble is, it’s the kind of thing that’s very difficult to do for very long, and I’ve got a very busy week ahead of me. I keep saying yes to stuff that’s going to mean a scary amount of work, and I’ve got another 5,000 word article to do, another shorter article to plan, a handful of reviews, a series of screenings (including another Sunday morning one), and a couple of days back at IPC doing some subbing. I can’t wait until this is over. I’m going to try and wake up tomorrow and go straight into some writing. It won’t be all day- hell, I don’t have time for all day, but I also don’t have time to wait around until my life gets easier to handle, and more convenient. I’m getting the impression that life doesn’t.

George and I have been having some difficult moments- it’s the winter, a time she always finds difficult to cope with, and there’s a whole selection of things we’ve been clashing over, but we managed to have a decent talk earlier in the week, and everything is feeling an awful lot better. It’s an unsettling feeling when it doesn’t work- like a mathematical formula that you know should work, but just won’t- but the 99% of good times make up for that lousy 1%.

The world has gone cold, and I’m being re-introduced to the truly shocking nature of the heating in our flat. The place is an icebox, to put it mildly, and almost impossible to heat with only three storage heaters (one of which is in the bedroom, where we hardly go). Nights are heavily enhanced with hot water bottles, and the fact that I’ve been spending most of my time here hasn’t really helped. Combined with the fact that life just seems to be accelerating towards Christmas at a quite appalling pace. It also doesn’t help that working in Movie Journalism means you’re always at least two months ahead. I’m already lined up for screenings of movies that aren’t out until February 2006, and it’s just going to get worse.

I re-watched another episode of the new series of Doctor Who again today, which is more of a clinical exercise for me than actual enjoyment. The thirteen weeks of the series was a weirdly painful experience for me (even more so for poor George, who had to put up with me incoherently shouting “Why, for god’s sake?!? WHY?!?”)- when a series has played as much of a part in your growing up as Doctor Who did in mine, the last thing you expect is for it to (a) get a high profile relaunch, (b) become one of the most talked about successes on British TV, and (c) end up as a programme that you don’t actually like that much. And I don’t. Even the episodes that I really enjoyed, like the Dalek one, there’s still so much wrong with the actual approach to the storytelling and the structure of the show that it’s very difficult for me to watch.

Today, I was watching “Father’s Day”, the episode where Rose goes back to see her dad die in a hit-and-run, and (SHOCK HORROR!) stops him from dying, meaning that time is out of joint, and suddenly big spiny flying creatures start turning up and eating everyone for no readily discernible reason. The thing which struck me more than the incessant heart-string plucking, the emotional manipulation, the cor-blimey-guvnor sub Eastenders characters and the fact that virtually none of the mechanics of the time-paradox plot actually work… the thing which struck me was that the new Doctor Who, for the most part, is the exact opposite of escapism. It’s about making the rest of the universe as shallow and ordinary as everything else- the incessant celebration of ordinary people as the most amazing things in the universe. You can go into the future, as long as it’s still basically the same as now, except with bigger sets and slightly more complicated effects. Oh, I could go on and on, very easily, but essentially, they’ve gutted the show. They’ve taken Who’s fantastic B-movie energy and its pulp storytelling, and replaced it with crap gags and farting aliens. It’s going to be a while before I watch another episode. I’d like to think that things may improve with David Tennant, but by the looks of things (the Children in Need ‘mini-episode’ that leads into the Christmas special) I really don’t think it will. Almost everything I hear about the new series makes my heart sink- but not in an upset fashion, more in just a world-weary “What the hell are they going to throw at me next?” way. It’s one of the reasons why I need to get on with this book- I need to get writing, and get the stories that are in my head out there. It’s just frustrating, because I know that it’s going to be seriously large, and it’s going to take a long time.

Gulp.

Talking of fantasy and escapism, I saw The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe this week, and was actually rather impressed with what I saw. It’s an incredibly faithful version of the book, a little long and slow to begin, but very enjoyably put together and with some great moments. There are major problems, but they’re actually to do with Lewis’ writing, and the kind of fantasy world that Narnia is. Where Middle Earth was a major research project and thought out to be a fully functional historical-style world, Narnia is an entertaining hodge-podge of different mythological sources thrown together and made to fit as best it can. It’s not a movie for the cynical- if you start asking questions or wondering why something is happening, the whole thing falls apart. It asks the audience to take a lot on faith (Lewis’ Christian allegory riding once again), and some of the plot devices are fantastically unwieldy- I think kids will love it, but I don’t know that it’s going to be a cross-audience hit in the way that Rings was. It’s very strange comparing them- Narnia lacks the real sense of edge and demented focus that Rings had, and it’s also exactly the kind of Fantasy movie I was worried they might make Lord of the Rings into, until I finally saw some pictures and saw they were going for a darker and grittier style. It’s bright and colourful and shiny, like a 1940s Disney flick, and I actually realised that this is what some people see when they look at Lord of the Rings and think “I don’t get it!”

Also saw Goblet of Fire, which has a couple of fantastic moments and Ralph Fiennes makes a truly fantastic and thoroughly scary Voldermort, but it’s actually my least favourite since the first movie- with 500 pages to get through, it feels more like a digest version than an adaptation, and Mike Newell tends to let some of the actors (especially Brendan Gleeson as Mad-Eye Moody) go a little too wild. The central trio are a little creaky compared to their work in Prisoner of Azkaban, with Emma Watson especially slipping from her position as best kid actor in the series with a bit too much over-emphatic shouting and eyebrow-acting. Despite the big Tri-Wizard setpieces, it’s still not as gripping as it should be, and I’m amazed that people aren’t yet seeing through Rowling’s plotting method of “Lots of strange unexplained things happen throughout the year, and then something terribly dramatic happens around April/May!” I’m amazed Harry hasn’t caught on and just asked to skip a couple of months of study, or even gone on the run, considering the kind of pant-wettingly scary stuff that tends to happen in final term. And the whole “Ron/Hermione” budding relationship is rather torpedoed by the fact that anyone who hadn’t read the books would be absolutely certain that Hermione and Harry are destined to end up together- they’ve got much more chemistry together than between EW and the floppy-haired Grint. One of those things that happens when you cast characters in a series that’s still being written. It’ll be interesting to see if they stick with the kid who’s playing Ginny for the slightly overblown romantic sub-plot of Number 6- certainly, seeing if they can get away with the ridiculous “It’s too dangerous for us to be together” line will be educational, if nothing else.

Right- I’m going to try and crack the first level of Jedi Knight II on the Xbox, a final burst of fun before I go to bed, and suddenly the world gets a load more complicated.

Night night…

Okay- I’ll admit it. I’ve ended up having a weekend.

Finally ground to a halt on Day Five after fourteen pages- the total for the week is currently just over 40,000 words. Which ain’t bad. I’ve had a stack of DVDs to watch today (including Blaxploitation classic Sweet Sweetback’s Badaaassss Song), so I’m trying to get them out of the way fast, so tomorrow I can write the reviews and then spend time on doing a decent plot breakdown for the book. Which is something I really have to do, as it’s actually going quite well, and I need to know where I’m going. The kind of stuff my brain comes up with when I’m writing intensively is kind of shocking, weird, entertaining and I know there’s nothing like it being done at the moment. I actually want to write this book, I want to follow this through to wherever it takes me, which is rather a refreshing feeling.

Finished Anansi Boys, which was really, really good fun- a bonkers mix of myth and screwball comedy. Also watched The Cave, which was quite spectacularly uninteresting, for a variety of not particularly stimulating reasons.

Need to get myself back in the groove for Monday morning. I think this could become a regular thing…

I was going to grind to a halt at some point- I guess it had to be now.

It’s been one of those days when nothing worked right- got up at the wrong time, George and I were a bit spiky with each other (something I felt very bad about), I went for a walk (bad move), got back, realised that i needed to send some reminders about unpaid invoices now rather than later, and then ended up in a 90 minute E-mail session of tracking down invoices, which was exactly why I made the comittment to keep the E-mail switched off in the first place.

Anyway, after a couple of calls that I need to make, I’ve decided that the rest of today will be an official relaxation day, and I will recommence tomorrow.

Having faith in yourself is a tricky thing sometimes, but I’m not going to let one setback stop me.

More writing. Today wasn’t quite as productive as yesterday, but I still manaed to generate 8,500 words, which is kind of impressive. Also, the story is acheiving a life of its own- which is always a good sign.

Cabin fever may sink in soon.

Can’t type too much- spending the entire day in front of a keyboard makes me not want to do too much of that kind of stuff at other times.

Cautiously upbeat is probably the phrase to use.

Twenty five pages today.

Also went to a book launch tonight, and met Neil Gaiman, who turned out to be very nice bloke. Result!

Currently tired and bleary, and have sat at this computer for way too long today.

More tomorrow.

The skies are grey, and the countryside around has that wonderfully damp, lush quality that England only gets as a result of serious weather. I’m down in Hampshire, and last night we had a major fireworks party. George’s family takes fireworks very seriously- for our wedding, we had an absolutely gigantic fireworks display that went on for ages, and last night was almost as large- huge, epic, and a nice big bonfire that got me in a very “Wicker Man” state of mind. Anyway, I’m here for another couple of hours, and then it’s back into the metropolis, and the time that has been sitting on the calendar and staring at me in a kind of “Yeah? What are you going to make of it?” way has finally arrived.

Tomorrow morning is the first day of my two weeks. Writing approximately 8 hours a day- essentially trying to generate as much material as possible, and treating this like a professional endeavour, rather than just a rather strange habit that I only do occasionally and use to make myself feel guilty. I’m going to try and detail as much of this as possible here- although it’s very possible that by the end of the first week, my brain will be totally fried. For better, or for worse, the project begins tomorrow morning.

Other than that, it’s been writing all the way. I’ve got an article to check, and two reviews to finish tonight, and I’ve also been comissioned for another big article next month, and I’ve got six days of subbing coming up- which will actually be rather a nice change. I’m glad I’m balancing them out with other stuff, rather than spending too much time subbing and wishing I wasn’t.

Also saw the trailer for King Kong- which looks very, very good. Much better than the original trailer- this actually looks like a Peter Jackson flick, and the CG seems to have massibvely increased in quality just in a couple of months. Missed a screening of Potter on Friday night, simply because the PR people wouldn’t let me in- something that’s been happening a little too much lately, and really needs to stop. Once I get this two weeks out the way, I need to do some work to get back up with the screenings.

Onwards…

That was the breaking point, when the Harp started playing.

Up until then, I’d been doing okay with the curveballs that were being thrown at me. One of the things you have to get used to when doing film related interviews is that plans change. Times are altered. What’s arranged one day can be de-arranged the next. So, when I turned up at 3.05, expecting to interview Dave McKean (Sandman cover artist and director of MIRRORMASK, amongst very many other things) for half an hour between 3.30 and 4.00, and the PR person told me it was actually going to be ten minutes, and would be happening in ten minutes time, I rolled with the punch. I was led through the monumentally posh lobby, and left in “the Pink Room”, so named for its shocking, eye-searing pinkness. I sat on a sofa for a few minutes before an Asian waitress came along and started asking me if I wanted Afternoon Tea. No, I said, I didn’t. Then she asked me again. No, I replied, I didn’t. And then, finally I managed to work out that actually she wanted me to move because apparently only people who are having afternoon tea are allowed to sit on the gigantic pink sofa. This is one of the things they don’t tell you about expensive hotels, that they always seem to have more fiddly rules and regulations than the cheap ones. You pay exorbiant amounts of money, simply so that you have nice furniture to look at and you know none of the proletariat are going to be cluttering up the Pink Room when you amble through for afternoon tea.

Anyway, I shuffled myself into the corner, and was just scribbling down some random doodles and trying to ignore the conversations that were going on around me- when suddenly the sound of Harp music started coming from nowhere. For a moment, I thought I was having a non-acid-related flashback to Tris’s wedding, which had also had a reasonably strong Harp quotient, and then I realised that the Pink Room actually came with its own resident Harpist. And me, armed with a humble tape recorder with a minimal range, and which didn’t care for too much background noise.

Roll with the punches, you tell yourself. Well, after fifteen minutes waiting had slid past, I was getting a litt;e vexxed, and just trying to think of strategies for coping with this (most of them involved brandishing the tape recorder in Dave McKean’s face- an idea I didn’t really like that much…), the PR and Dave McKean turned up- and the gods were finally smiling upon me. We got moved downstairs into a faintly intimidating conference style “meeting room”, with a couple of big Mirrormask posters that I would have nicked if given the opportunity, sat down, and proceeded to race through the questions that I’d plotted originally thinking I was going to have thirty minutes. Getting the salient facts seemed to be the important thing, and it all went great- very nice bloke, very chatty, very honest about some of his misgivings about the final product. So, we’re going great guns, I’m getting enough footage, I get to the end of the questions that I’ve highlighted as important, the ten minutes is just about up, Dave Mckean finishes answering my most recent question…

… and nothing happens.

So, we carry on talking. Turns out, we get almost twenty minutes before the PR returns, plus I manage to get Dave Mckean to sign my copies of VIOLENT CASES and ARKHAM ASYLUM. I dash out of the hotel, and immediately call George and excitedly tell her that everything went well in a slightly excessive amount of detail. Sometimes, I feel sorry for her. As do others…

I may have another article to do soon. It also occurred to me that it might be wise to stop complaining about being so busy, as I’m doing it an awful lot, and am probably in danger of becoming exceedingly boring. The trouble is, I’ve expected this busy spell to end virtually from the moment it started (I mean- it’s getting on for two months!), and it feels like the moment i start actually accepting it, it’s going to stop, something that both scares me and actually sounds quite nice. You can’t please all the people all the time, I guess.

Today was mainly sorting out stuff. George was home, and it’s nice to spend a day hanging out with her, even if I had a brief spell this morning when a shelf collapsed on me which, as you can understand, put me in a bit of a funny mood. As a result, I chilled out this afternoon and did some painting on some of the vehicles for Dark Future, the game which i still haven’t had a chance to play yet. Hmmm. The screening tonight was NIAGRA HOTEL, which was a small indie ensemble drama that occasionally got a little silly and theatrical, and yet had enough energy and likability so that it was great fun to watch. Hardly a classic, but a film where you happily sit back and say “Let’s see what happens”- which hasn’t happenned for a while.

The next three days have to be fairly well planned if they’re going to work. There’s a bank manager to see, things to buy, and lists to be made. No rest for the wicked.

As promised, another Mash-up:

Adamski Vs The Killers Vs Basment Jaxx- Somebody Kill Me

These are currently my e-mail signatures. More soon…

“Well, it’s the second one I’ve had, but they’re both the same. They start out that I’m in here, but it’s not day or night. It’s kind of half-night, you know? But it looks just like this, except for the light. And I’m scared like I can’t tell you. Of all people, you’re standing right over there, by that counter. You’re in both dreams and you’re scared. I get even more frightened when I see how afraid you are and then I realize what it is. There’s a man, in back of this place. He’s the one who’s doing it. I can see him through the wall. I can see his face. I hope that I will never see that face ever outside of a dream. ”

from MULHOLLAND DRIVE

Grotty weather, but feeling good. Also don’t have much time to post, as I’m about to speed off into the heart of London to interview Dave McKean about Mirrormask. The tidal wave of work has slowed down a little, but it hasn’t stopped. George is also back from work early, and looking forward to doing very little for the rest of the day.

Lots to do…

Plus- have a listen here to more mash-ups courtesy of CCC.

Apologising for not having updated would just be weird, considering how many times I end up doing this. Let’s just say, it’s been a spectacularly busy week. This was supposed to be my time of going off to see the London Film Festival- I mean, I’ve got Press Accreditation, I’ve got the right to go to any press screening, any afternoon screening, and request anything i want to get access to- and instead, I’ve spent the last week and a half writing my ass off. Writing, writing and more writing. I swear, I don’t know what’s happenned since Edinburgh. It’s definitely a good thing to be flattenned under a gigantic pile of work, it’s just bizarre. Two months for now, I’ll probably be desperate for work and looking on these as the Halcyon Days, but for the moment, I’m just glad to have gotten through the last few days. The oncoming week is pretty damn busy too, and I’ve got to try and get through as much as possible as a week on Monday, I start the “Writing for Two Weeks” mission that I will attempt to document on here- that is, if I don’t go stark, staring mad. Which is possible.

Got a copy of Movies from Fifteen Minutes written by cleolinda, which I was intially absolutely certain fell under the description of yet another of those god-awful humour books that always come out at Christmas simply because it’s the only time they would ever get bought by people desperate to buy some kind of a present for someone. I said some mean things about it to George, and now I have to take them all back because it’s actually bloody funny. Go check out m15m and you may find some of her spoofs. Very funny, in a quite delicious way.

I’ve also been discovering the world of Mash-ups. If you don’t know what a Mash-up is, it’s essentially where enterprising DJs are mixing two (or more) records together in order to create something completely new. Some of them don’t work, and some of them work so well it’s rather difficult to listen to the original.

Here’s a great site to start- Mashup Town

And here’s an example- Blondie Vs The Doors with RapRiders

There’s hundreds of others on the net. I’ll try and post them as I find them.

I’ll also try and do this a little more regularly.

And we end today with a quote:

“There’s an old joke – um… two elderly women are at a Catskill mountain resort, and one of ’em says, “Boy, the food at this place is really terrible.” The other one says, “Yeah, I know; and such small portions.” Well, that’s essentially how I feel about life – full of loneliness, and misery, and suffering, and unhappiness, and it’s all over much too quickly. The… the other important joke, for me, is one that’s usually attributed to Groucho Marx; but, I think it appears originally in Freud’s “Wit and Its Relation to the Unconscious,” and it goes like this – I’m paraphrasing – um, “I would never want to belong to any club that would have someone like me for a member.” That’s the key joke of my adult life, in terms of my relationships with women. ”

from ANNIE HALL