the ramble dump
Wednesday, November 30, 2005
And Some More...
plaid says:
you should blog
Chris says:
nothing to blog
plaid says:
nothing?
Chris says:
no
plaid says:
just make up something then
Chris says:
like what?
plaid says:
you could blog this:
plaid says:
melia is taking way too long to finish the design of fmit. i hate her. i'm going to buy a new pet monkey and throw her to the sharks.
Chris says:
i would, but your name is clearly plaidy
plaid says:
:: kicks chris twice ::
Chris says:
was that once with each foot?
plaid says:
no
plaid says:
twice with one foot
Chris says:
oh
you should blog
Chris says:
nothing to blog
plaid says:
nothing?
Chris says:
no
plaid says:
just make up something then
Chris says:
like what?
plaid says:
you could blog this:
plaid says:
melia is taking way too long to finish the design of fmit. i hate her. i'm going to buy a new pet monkey and throw her to the sharks.
Chris says:
i would, but your name is clearly plaidy
plaid says:
:: kicks chris twice ::
Chris says:
was that once with each foot?
plaid says:
no
plaid says:
twice with one foot
Chris says:
oh
Labels: alien conversations
Monday, November 28, 2005
A Fragment of Passion
Chris says:
character depth!
Chris says:
our protagonist shall not be a mere vessel for the reader to witness our world
Chris says:
*triumphant pose*
plaid says:
mhm
character depth!
Chris says:
our protagonist shall not be a mere vessel for the reader to witness our world
Chris says:
*triumphant pose*
plaid says:
mhm
Labels: alien conversations, starcustard
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Arrival
I have the Hepthazard concept art open on the screen in front of me and I'm trying to put it into narrative in an interesting way, from the point of view of Gen, who's watching it as they approach. It's bloody difficult. I'm probably going to need help from that girl I'm writing this whole thing with, whatever her name was.
Also, can anyone think of a good synonym for 'cylinder'?
Also, can anyone think of a good synonym for 'cylinder'?
Labels: starcustard
Saturday, November 26, 2005
Excerpt #003
The helicopter propellors came to a stop. Two appropriately crisp and austere-looking bodyguards carrying big guns climbed out, and Mayor Mawgly and a woman in a plum-purple suit followed them.
The bodyguards seperated like sliding doors to flank the women. They marched importantly towards a door that protruded from the rooftop, the woman in purple reading the day's busy schedule off a clipboard in her arms. Still reading, a bunch of keys appeared by some professionally efficient sleight of hand, the correct key already poised for the lock. The door was opened and a grille was pulled back to reveal an elevator, which the four of them stepped into, the women first, followed by the guards.
Mawgly yawned.
From City of Anarchy Chapter 3.
The bodyguards seperated like sliding doors to flank the women. They marched importantly towards a door that protruded from the rooftop, the woman in purple reading the day's busy schedule off a clipboard in her arms. Still reading, a bunch of keys appeared by some professionally efficient sleight of hand, the correct key already poised for the lock. The door was opened and a grille was pulled back to reveal an elevator, which the four of them stepped into, the women first, followed by the guards.
Mawgly yawned.
From City of Anarchy Chapter 3.
Labels: city of anarchy, excerpts
Friday, November 25, 2005
Agaffa
Agaffa will not be appearing in the Fat Man In Tweed launch, and Gnome Milk has gone into hibernation indefinitely. Nothing's been happening. I can only assume nothing will.
Labels: agaffa
Saturday, November 19, 2005
The Big Birthday Card
As I was making my way through my birthday post yesterday, one of them was slightly larger than all the others. On the front it said, 'Mr. C. Jordon', and I wondered which relative it was who had spelt my name wrong. I opened it, saw the Athenaeum logo, and thought, 'Wow, I didn't expect them to send me a birthday card.' Then I read it.
'Dear Christopher,'
I hated it already.
'We regret that you did not make the final six this year. Thank you for trying, yours like them all was a super effort. The standard was very high with only half marks prevailing, for the final choices. These made after much deliberation.'
Told you so. I love how rejection letters are always filled with such blatant lies. They totally make me feel good about putting all that time and effort into it. I also love how they included a thing filled with photos and such captions as 'the splendid dining room' and 'the impressive newsroom' to show me what I didn't win.
There's no way I'm going to try again next year. Misspelling my name was unforgivable enough (especially for a place that prides itself on being so academic), but the fact that they sent it on my birthday, my birthday, despite them saying the judging would happen on the 22nd (FILTHY WHOREBRED LIARS) was just evil of them.
Being a bad loser is so much fun. :P At least now that I have my first rejection letter, I can officially call myself a writer.
'Dear Christopher,'
I hated it already.
'We regret that you did not make the final six this year. Thank you for trying, yours like them all was a super effort. The standard was very high with only half marks prevailing, for the final choices. These made after much deliberation.'
Told you so. I love how rejection letters are always filled with such blatant lies. They totally make me feel good about putting all that time and effort into it. I also love how they included a thing filled with photos and such captions as 'the splendid dining room' and 'the impressive newsroom' to show me what I didn't win.
There's no way I'm going to try again next year. Misspelling my name was unforgivable enough (especially for a place that prides itself on being so academic), but the fact that they sent it on my birthday, my birthday, despite them saying the judging would happen on the 22nd (FILTHY WHOREBRED LIARS) was just evil of them.
Being a bad loser is so much fun. :P At least now that I have my first rejection letter, I can officially call myself a writer.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Box
SCENE 1. EXT. STREET - DAY.
A POSTMAN walks down the left side of the street, which is lined with aging terrace houses. The sky above is white and wintery. The postman carries a box in his hands. He stops outside one of the houses, where a black Mini Cooper is parked, pushes open the gate, walks up to the house and attempts to cram the box through the letterbox, even though it obviously won't fit. After several attempts at this, he decides to leave it on the steps.
SCENE 2. INT. HALLWAY.
WOMAN'S VOICE (somewhere off-screen):
Charlie, I think someone's at the door! Could you answer it, please?
A student-aged boy makes his way down the stairs. He pulls open the door, notices the slightly battered box, looks up and down the street but sees no one, and bends down to pick it up. It feels quite heavy, and has holes punched along the top. CHARLIE is written in marker on the front. He places it to his ear. It issues an irritated growl. He almost drops it.
WOMAN'S VOICE:
Who is it, Charlie?
CHARLIE:
Er...no one.
SCENE 3. INT. KITCHEN.
He carries it through to the kitchen, where a middle-aged woman wearing a dressing gown and shower cap is standing, preparing a fry-up. He places the box on the table, sitting himself down, and staring dumbly at it, contemplating whether or not it's safe to open.
The woman, Charlie's mother, scoops the eggs and bacon onto a plate and places it on the table by Charlie, pushing the box out of the way.
CHARLIE'S MUM:
Happy birthday, love. What's in the box?
CHARLIE:
I don't know.
CHARLIE'S MUM:
Well, can you take it off the table, please? It's manky.
SCENE 4. INT. CHARLIE'S ROOM.
The room is filled with clutter and old posters. Charlie is sat on the bed, the box sat at the opposite end. He's still staring at it, a slight frown on his face.
Not taking his eyes off it, he picks up his mobile phone, manages to select the right number and waits while it rings.
CHARLIE:
Hi John, it's Charlie. Did you send me this box?
SCENE 5. INT. CHARLIE'S ROOM.
JOHN:
Manky. Think someone sent it as a joke?
CHARLIE:
That's why I don't want to open it. Could be anything.
JOHN:
And you said it growled?
Charlie nods.
JOHN:
But it hasn't made a noise since?
CHARLIE:
Nope.
Tentatively, John picks up the box and holds it to his ear. For a while he hears nothing. Then the box meows.
JOHN:
It's a bloody cat!
CHARLIE:
What?
JOHN:
A cat. Let's open it.
CHARLIE:
No! It could be one of them Schrödinger cats!
JOHN:
What?
CHARLIE:
The cat might die as soon as we open the box!
JOHN:
What are you on about? Why would it do that?
CHARLIE:
I dunno. Maybe it gets electrocuted, or has its insides sucked out. Or maybe Schrödinger cats explode in daylight.
JOHN:
And who'd send you a cat in a box that did that?
CHARLIE:
You get some real bastards out there.
There is a pause while John stares at Charlie in bemusement. Charlie then patiently begins to explain.
CHARLIE:
It's quantum physics. Right now, that cat is both alive and dead AT THE SAME TIME, until we open the box, when it will most certainly be dead due to one of the events I just described, because the POSSIBILITY of it being alive will collapse.
JOHN:
If there's one thing this world could do without, it's physics. Just open the box.
CHARLIE:
The cat will die.
JOHN:
This isn't a Schrödinger cat!
CHARLIE:
Then why is it that until the box is opened, we do not know if it is alive or dead?
JOHN:
Charlie, it meowed!
CHARLIE:
Or did it?!
JOHN:
Gah!
John, now well and truly exasperated, tears open the box. The cat inside is bedraggled and old looking, with patches of missing fur.
JOHN:
Ew, manky.
CHARLIE:
It's diseased! Throw it out the window!
John slides the window pane open, grabs the box and hurls it outside. There is a shriek from the cat, and then a thump as it hits the ground.
A POSTMAN walks down the left side of the street, which is lined with aging terrace houses. The sky above is white and wintery. The postman carries a box in his hands. He stops outside one of the houses, where a black Mini Cooper is parked, pushes open the gate, walks up to the house and attempts to cram the box through the letterbox, even though it obviously won't fit. After several attempts at this, he decides to leave it on the steps.
SCENE 2. INT. HALLWAY.
Charlie, I think someone's at the door! Could you answer it, please?
A student-aged boy makes his way down the stairs. He pulls open the door, notices the slightly battered box, looks up and down the street but sees no one, and bends down to pick it up. It feels quite heavy, and has holes punched along the top. CHARLIE is written in marker on the front. He places it to his ear. It issues an irritated growl. He almost drops it.
Who is it, Charlie?
Er...no one.
SCENE 3. INT. KITCHEN.
He carries it through to the kitchen, where a middle-aged woman wearing a dressing gown and shower cap is standing, preparing a fry-up. He places the box on the table, sitting himself down, and staring dumbly at it, contemplating whether or not it's safe to open.
The woman, Charlie's mother, scoops the eggs and bacon onto a plate and places it on the table by Charlie, pushing the box out of the way.
Happy birthday, love. What's in the box?
I don't know.
Well, can you take it off the table, please? It's manky.
SCENE 4. INT. CHARLIE'S ROOM.
The room is filled with clutter and old posters. Charlie is sat on the bed, the box sat at the opposite end. He's still staring at it, a slight frown on his face.
Not taking his eyes off it, he picks up his mobile phone, manages to select the right number and waits while it rings.
Hi John, it's Charlie. Did you send me this box?
SCENE 5. INT. CHARLIE'S ROOM.
Manky. Think someone sent it as a joke?
That's why I don't want to open it. Could be anything.
And you said it growled?
Charlie nods.
But it hasn't made a noise since?
Nope.
Tentatively, John picks up the box and holds it to his ear. For a while he hears nothing. Then the box meows.
It's a bloody cat!
What?
A cat. Let's open it.
No! It could be one of them Schrödinger cats!
What?
The cat might die as soon as we open the box!
What are you on about? Why would it do that?
I dunno. Maybe it gets electrocuted, or has its insides sucked out. Or maybe Schrödinger cats explode in daylight.
And who'd send you a cat in a box that did that?
You get some real bastards out there.
There is a pause while John stares at Charlie in bemusement. Charlie then patiently begins to explain.
It's quantum physics. Right now, that cat is both alive and dead AT THE SAME TIME, until we open the box, when it will most certainly be dead due to one of the events I just described, because the POSSIBILITY of it being alive will collapse.
If there's one thing this world could do without, it's physics. Just open the box.
The cat will die.
This isn't a Schrödinger cat!
Then why is it that until the box is opened, we do not know if it is alive or dead?
Charlie, it meowed!
Or did it?!
Gah!
John, now well and truly exasperated, tears open the box. The cat inside is bedraggled and old looking, with patches of missing fur.
Ew, manky.
It's diseased! Throw it out the window!
John slides the window pane open, grabs the box and hurls it outside. There is a shriek from the cat, and then a thump as it hits the ground.
Monday, November 14, 2005
SCENE 58. EXT. BLOG - NIGHT.
So, I went ahead and wrote my own sitcom episode. It's very short, so it's probably more of a sketch. I might post it if anyone's interested. I really like the script format, though. It's much quicker than regular prose. It's also strangely addictive. I'm now trying out making another coursework idea, already typed up as a short story, into a script. It isn't really the right type of story to translate directly (i.e. without making any changes to it), so I don't really know how it's going to turn out, but so far it's working quite well.
But it made me think... it'd be great to write a proper film script one day. To direct it too would be even better, only I know next to nothing about that.
Coming soon to this here blog...
Excerpts! Of previously unseen material! (See, I'm getting the hang of this film business already.) Agaffa, Starcustard, City of Anarchy and The Aberration!
And a few months ago I mentioned these ideas for a novel I've been having. More info on that is on its way.
But it made me think... it'd be great to write a proper film script one day. To direct it too would be even better, only I know next to nothing about that.
Coming soon to this here blog...
Excerpts! Of previously unseen material! (See, I'm getting the hang of this film business already.) Agaffa, Starcustard, City of Anarchy and The Aberration!
And a few months ago I mentioned these ideas for a novel I've been having. More info on that is on its way.
Labels: agaffa, city of anarchy, starcustard, the aberration
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
We Are Not Alone
People write stories. Did you know that? Other people. People you wouldn't expect. This week, two people in my year have been revealed as writers of stories. One's writing a novel, the other has crazyrandom stories posted on some website. Whether they take it seriously or not, the fact is, they're spending their free time writing them. The closet writers are coming out...
Not I, of course. People I've been good friends with for over five years still don't know that I write stuff. I don't really know why. In earlier school years, it would have been because it just wasn't 'cool', but it's not really like that now.
Sitcoms.
Assignment: pick a sitcom and write a few scenes for it. A very difficult task.
Now, I've had this idea for a sitcom episode for about a year. And this assignment is just another one to get us to try different styles of writing, which doing my own would also do. Should I just scrap the assignment and do my own?
Not I, of course. People I've been good friends with for over five years still don't know that I write stuff. I don't really know why. In earlier school years, it would have been because it just wasn't 'cool', but it's not really like that now.
Sitcoms.
Assignment: pick a sitcom and write a few scenes for it. A very difficult task.
Now, I've had this idea for a sitcom episode for about a year. And this assignment is just another one to get us to try different styles of writing, which doing my own would also do. Should I just scrap the assignment and do my own?
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Month the Eleventh
I got a very brief confirmation letter from the Athenaeum on Friday. Meh. That's probably the last I'll hear of it.
I told Avgi to remind me to get City of Anarchy Chapter 3 done by the end of last week. Thankfully, she appears to have forgotten. I have made some progress, though. I plan to make more sooner rather than later, but I really need to work on Starcustard and The Aberration.
I failed to complete everything in my October to-do list, which just goes to show that to-do lists are useless.
I told Avgi to remind me to get City of Anarchy Chapter 3 done by the end of last week. Thankfully, she appears to have forgotten. I have made some progress, though. I plan to make more sooner rather than later, but I really need to work on Starcustard and The Aberration.
I failed to complete everything in my October to-do list, which just goes to show that to-do lists are useless.
Labels: city of anarchy, starcustard, the aberration
