Let’s Talk About Death

So my dad died last week. At the time of writing this we still haven’t had the funeral. So many old people have died that the undertakers, crematoriums and churches are fully booked.

We finally got a date; Monday 28th January at 11:20. We had wanted an afternoon so that people could have time to travel, but what can you do?

So how do I feel? Have I cried? Have I struggled to do my job? Have I sat and gone through all my memories of him?

The answers in order are – I’m not sure. A little; briefly. No. Some.

There is this thing happens when someone dies; in my experience. Colleagues and friends become all ‘mushy’ and ‘ah’ and sympathetic. “So sorry for your loss.” They say, and “Oh, no!” as their head goes to one side and they make a sad face.

Others get all uncomfortable and go silent. The fact of the matter is, we don’t do death very well in the west.

coffin
Image from, Lincoln Heritage Funeral Advantage

How our ancestors handled it.

The Ancient Greeks feared it and attempted to not displease the gods through correct burial services.

The Egyptians were totally obsessed with it, believing in a happy afterlife. Vikings burnt those of high status on a boat pushed out on the water, or buried the whole thing!

death blog vikings
Photo from: Order of the Good Death web page

Around the world.

In a part of Indonesia, the annually dig up the dead and ‘socialise’ with them. In Japan, the family have to put the bones after cremation in an urn themselves – using chopsticks!

While the New Orleans Jazz funerals celebrate the deceased with costume, parade and loud music.

While some of these behaviours might seem odd to us westerners, there is something that the relatives and friends get that we don’t. Closeness to death. Being around the deceased for a length of time allows one to realise, internalise and accept that this person is gone, they will never be coming back – and that is normal.

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Indonesia Custom (Image from, Daily Mail)

We are all going to die.

When I was a child, my mum was a nurse, my aunt was a nurse, my uncle was an ambulance driver, my dad a First Aider. So I grew up surrounded by conversations about the sick and dying, of all ages. As a family, we watched medical programmes. I had conversations about when our parents die, only much later did I understand that this was not a normal thing for British families to do. We seem squeamish about the whole thing.

About ten years ago, my parents said they had made out their wills and me and my brother were the executors. My brother left the room and wouldn’t talk about it. He has a weak stomach for all things emotional and responds by ‘running away’. The result is that I have been making all the arrangements and clearing up dad’s paperwork and helping mum make funeral and reception bookings.

One day, my daughter will have to do the same for me, and her dad, as she is an only child.

 

Practicalities.

I could not believe how much has to be done after a death. When someone dies in hospital in England, someone gives you a Bereavement booklet with information and a list of things to do – this includes: Informing friends and family – yep, you gotta make those calls and say the words, “My dad has died.” Over and over again.

Me and my mum spent six hours on the day he died finding all his documents and sorting through paperwork.

We only get 2 days off work here. So I have been getting phone calls from the funeral director, the printer who is making the Order of Service booklet, and dad’s pension fund whilst I’m in the middle of working. I found it easier to tell all the staff I work with and my students what had happened, so that it was out in the open – but most importantly, normalised.

Death is normal. It happens to every living thing. So why don’t we talk about it more?

Also, why do we feel the need to say only nice things about the dead? Surely every man and woman who ever died was not, “A wonderful human being.” “The light of my life.” and so on.

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Pericles Funeral Oration

In Praise of?

And then, somehow, I am to deliver the eulogy. This is the spoken tribute, a speech given in praise of the deceased person. A close friend told me that she did not contribute to her dad’s ceremony because – “If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all.”

Well, my dad was not the best father in the world. He was not kind, he was not affectionate. He believed in that old British axiom, ‘Spare the rod, Spoil the child.’

I considered a poem, but it made me cry – not for my dad, but because the poem was so beautiful. So I wrote a thing. It doesn’t make me cry when I read it.

Because the truth is, not everyone has perfect parents. Not everyone was, or is, devoted and bound to their family with love. I had a balancing act to perform, not offend or upset my mum, and to tell the truth. My dad would have approved actually.

 

Death Becomes You

Comes to us all. We have no choice, we cannot barter or buy our way out of it. If you believe that cryogenics will help you live again, then you need to revisit your biology lessons. Besides, it is natural. It is natures way of making room for the next lot of life on Earth. We need to talk about it, confront the one and only irrefutable truth – you are going to die one day!

On the one hand, I hope my dad’s funeral goes without a hitch. On the other, I perversely wish something would happen like in the comedy shows. Either way, like death, it’s going to happen.

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Film Review – I Think We’re Alone Now

Official Movie Poster

Genre: Drama/Sci-fi

Starring: Peter Dinklage, Elle Fanning

Released: 21 January 2018

Director: Reed Morano

Production: Automatik Entertainment, Exhibit Entertainment et al.

**SPOILER ALERT**

Synopsis

Del is alone in the world. After the human race is wiped out, he lives in his small, empty town, content in his solitude and the utopia he’s methodically created for himself — until he is discovered by Grace, an interloper whose history and motives are obscure. And to make matters worse, she wants to stay.

Google. https://g.co/kgs/sCh7zM

I watched this on Netflix (UK)

I came to know Peter Dinklage’s work, as so many other have, through Game of Thrones. Then I saw him in Death At A Funeral and Elf, both roles which I thoroughly enjoyed him in. I hadn’t heard of I Think We’re Alone Now; just found it whilst surfing through Netflix.

After watching, I looked up a couple of reviews; they weren’t very positive, and I wondered what critics were expecting when they saw Dinklage was starring in a post-apocalyptic drama. I went in with no expectations.

**SPOILERS**

It’s post-apocalypse America and Del is alone in a small town; believing himself the last man alive after some unspecified event that has caused everyone to die – quite quickly it seems, and some months prior to these events. Del has settled into a routine in the library where he works, still collecting and cataloguing books, as well as cleaning up the deceased and their homes. We see a man who has respect for the dead – or do we? – who quietly enters homes, tidies up, empties fridges of their rotten contents, disinfects around, and then wraps the bodies he finds and takes them on his truck to be buried outside of town.

Del in the homes of the dead

It appears to be a peaceful existence; even in his solitude. He lives in the library and maintains a routine of cooking, eating, washing (he even brushes his teeth), fishing, maintaining the library (for whom?), and burying the dead. It’s a semblance of normalcy, we understand that this is how a man alone can stay sane.

Then Grace arrives. She is young, brash and upsets the routine that Del has built. When Grace accompanies Del on one of his ‘corpse clean-ups’, she watches how he dumps the bodies in the ground and tells him that her father was a preacher, that when she passed bodies on her way here she held her breath. They begin a routine of silence and breath-holding from then on.

Grace

We know next to nothing about Del’s and Grace’s previous lives, only what they choose reveal to each other. Del seems self-contained and content in contrast to Grace’s head-banging restlessness, and I think that’s how it should be; we are watching them through each other’s eyes. However, a tiny glimpse into Del’s previous existence comes in the poignant reply to when Grace asks if Del ever gets lonely, he replies, “You know what? I’ll tell you when I felt lonely. I felt lonely when it was me and 1,600 other people in this town. I was pretty fucking lonely.”

The main oddity is when Grace is sorting her hair looking in a mirror – she has a recent scar on the back of her neck.

And then Grace’s parents turn up. Del, unhappy at the initial intrusion, now exhibits signs of agitation. Grace had told him there was no-one else alive. Grace had told him her parents were dead – Grace lied. Her father finds Del, in his quiet solitude, in the library, and tells him he should join them out on the West Coast, they have doctors who are doing things with the human mind, cutting edge stuff, the loneliness of being outside ‘the fold’. They whisk Grace off,; but not before Grace desperately tell him these people are not really her parents, and Del is alone again.

Peter Dinklage as Del

Predictably, Grace has touched a part of Del that remembers/needs human contact. He sets out to find/rescue her. There is no-one as he drives for days across the country. He swaps his vehicle at each road blockage; where bodies lie desiccating inside cars, in dust-blown towns, until he finally drives over a rise and sees the lights of a large town. Stunned, he locates the house (Grace’s ‘father’ wrote it inside one of the library books) and Grace, who is wired up to some monitor device, filled with tubes and stuff, which Del releases her from.

Downstairs, they are met by the ‘father’, who does little to stop them, but tells Del that in the same way Del is keeping his town clean, they are doing the same here – but with the citizens! “They don’t have to remember what happened before. They don’t have to live in the past. There’s no before. There’s only from now on. Isn’t that beautiful? To not have to remember anything?”

It’s kind of creepy; as is he, so it’s a delight when Grace kills him. As Del and Grace drive off, we get a Stepford Wives moment – slo-mo citizens going about their beautiful lives, in beautiful sunshine; jogging, gardening, drinking beer on the lawn, smiling and content.

I know some people felt cheated that this film turned out to NOT be a last man in the world scenario. But we have seen lots of post-apocalypse stuff, and lots of man/woman alone against the odds and I think this film makes us adjust our attitude to togetherness – it’s not about survival after a disaster, its about connectedness and that, now cliché quote of John Donne’s, ‘No man is an island’. Despite Del thinking he can cope, and has made a lovely little routine, and thinks he is happy – he isn’t really, and Grace reminds him that man cannot live alone.

There were a couple of aspects of the film that didn’t quite ring true for me, but nothing that disrupted the narrative. The dialogue is quite sparse, only the ‘father’ has a chunk of dialogue, and by the time he arrives, I felt settled into Del and Grace’s routine and wanted him to go away. In fact, at the beginning, I did feel like Del when he and Grace went ‘shopping’ in the supermarket, and she asked him what he missed the most, and he replied ‘Quiet.’ He had become so used to his isolation that he was reclusive – and I could relate to that.

Is there an underlying meaning in I Think We’re Alone Now? I think so. It isn’t an action film, there isn’t much dialogue – it’s contemplative. And not only are we being asked to contemplate isolation; initially, but the sharing of our lives with others; even another who is not necessarily, or initially compatible. Grace and Del are dealing with loss in very different ways; he through routine and solitude, she through having her memory wiped. There is a wide gap in their ages, but a little romance does blossom, which is also the reality that bites when Del decides to save her.

The ending, I feel, is almost portrayed like an invitation to join ‘the fold’. You could; like so many people do, choose the easy option and live a life of ‘apparent’ bliss, have a house, a car, a job, hobbies, friendly neighbours, sunshine and lollipops. The film’s ending is the most brightly lit section – throughout it has been blue-tinted greys and dark shadows. Now, as they leave what I presume is meant to be California, we get clear blue skies, palm trees, colourful bicycles and clothing; perfect America? All intensified with an eerie score of suggested discordance. It begins to ‘wind up’ in tension as Del slows the car – is he wishing he could join them? Is life too hard to go on back up North? Does he imagine it would be easier to be one of the herd? His thoughts are interrupted by Grace and the single pronouncement of his name, and they’re moving again. The music rises in pitch and blossoms into a beautiful conclusion as they drive off.

You can take the red pill or the blue pill. Live in a David Lynch-like world of white picket fences and lies – or get on with reality. Utopia is what we make it.

Lonely Days For Del

I’m giving I Think We’re Alone Now

4 stars

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This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is little-star.jpg
This image has an empty alt attribute; its file name is little-star.jpg

Black Javert

David Oyelowo as Inspector Javert

Over the past six weeks the BBC has been showing their latest adaptation of Les Miserables (UK).

It seemed from the start that what a lot of people concerned themselves with was the colour of Inspector Javert’s skin – he was portrayed by David Oyelowo – and whether a black actor should be representing a copper in 19th century France.

Let’s not call anyone racist, as many folk are probably genuinely puzzled by his inclusion into this, perceived, #whiteworld. As a white person myself, I cannot help the world I grew up in – white family, white friends, white neighbourhood. I would guess that over 90% of children in my schools were white, but in my Primary school class there was one girl of Chinese parentage and one boy who was Black British. But overall it was a very white world.

This was not my choice. Children do not choose where they grow up. We are the result of our culture and upbringing. So if the people on social media question David Oyelowo’s casting, then let’s accept it as simply that – questioning.

It’s the naysayers who can make things uncomfortable for the rest of us white folk. “No!” they say, “No way could a black guy become a police officer in that period.”

One of the things Victor Hugo hi-lights in his story, is the way people are born into a class system and, mostly, die in that class they were born to. However, some rise above it. Jean Valjean, a convict, rises at one point to become Mayor of a small town. Inspector Javert was born in a prison to a Fortune-Teller mother, his father is also a prisoner. His beginnings suggest that he may never rise to the top of the class system, but he becomes a law enforcer, and this world has it’s own hierarchy. For one man, change is the force that makes him a better man, for the other it is what breaks him.

Most people will have heard of Alexandre Dumas; author of The Count of Monte Cristo and The Three Musketeers. A similar thing happened when his books were made into films and TV shows – at least in the UK – white actors all. And yet, Dumas was himself a Person of Colour. Are we to believe that he only wrote white characters?

Alexandre Dumas

And what about that claim that black people could not rise to prominence?

Dumas’ own father, became a military General and served with distinction. In 1879, Severiano de Heredia became president of the municipal council of Paris – he was bi-racial. Blaise Diagne was a SenegaleseFrench political leader and the Mayor of Dakar. He was the first black African to hold a position in French government in early 20th century (in 1899 he also became a Freemason!) There are other examples.

In the UK, Norwell Roberts was the first black officer in the Metropolitan Police force – 1967. However, recent research has revealed that actually, one of our first (recorded) black officers was John Kent, who served from 1837 in Carlisle. The point is this –

Yes, a black person could have become a police officer in 19th century France!

We must also remember that this production – Les Miserables by the BBC, is entertainment. And the actors are just that, actors. They aren’t really those things they portray, so some level of flexibility of mind is not a great ask. For my part, I thought Oyelowo portrayed Javert wonderfully. Rigid with indignation, self-satisfaction, obsession and possibly shame, he cannot, he realises, continue after experiencing the self-sacrifice of Jean Valjean. That final moment we see as he determines to commit suicide, the agony of his inability to commit himself to the act – then the clarity of understanding that his life has been wasted – he could have been a better man – and finally truth descends, no more tears, he is ready to die.

Also, in the spirit of Victor Hugo and his representations of the struggles of humanity – might we not come to be less poor of mind and spirit ourselves; as well as physicality and station in life, if we could just be more accepting and open-minded about each other – regardless of skin colour? If we do not open ourselves up to possibilities and change, if we retain and do not question what we learnt in our childhoods, then might we all just be Javerts?

*Three images of David Oyelowo from BBC iPlayer – https://www.bbc.co.uk/iplayer

In With The Old (TV)

New Year, Old You and Happy New Year to you all.

Image result for happy new year vintage black and white
Happy New Year, dahlings.

Being poorly is pretty crap. Being ill over Christmas and New Year is downright shitty. You might think that you could get on with some writing – but no. When the head is full of flu and you ache from top to toe, there’s nothing for it but sleeping and mindless TV consumption.

Then I discovered Talking Pictures TV – (sorry folks, available only in the UK as far as I know) – if you’re a lover of old movies, this is the place for you.

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One of the very first TVs. 

Could there be anything finer than settling down with a cuppa and some ginger nuts to enjoy a golden oldie? I think not.

It really is like stepping back in time, and I have loved and am loving every minute of it. Remember the days when producers told stories? When men were gentlemen and women were ladies? When kids would run away from a copper? It’s all here on Talking Pictures folks – in black and white primarily.

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Saying goodbye to a lover… the British way.

Admittedly things move a lot slower than today’s films. Yesterday, we watched The Lady Vanishes (1938) with Margaret Lockwood and Michael Redgrave. There is a hilarious moment when the two of them are fighting one of the ‘bad guys’ in the baggage carriage. The men tussle and wrestle to the ground, whereupon she jumps on top and gets an elbow in the face for her troubles. The fighting is what I would call realistic. In today’s films it seems like everyone can do martial arts, or at least fight semi-professionally – back in the old days people looked like everyone else, a jumbly, awkward mess of thumps. What we Brits call scrapping.

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Crikey! I’ve been shot!

At some point, films morphed into action-packed, fast-paced, mile-a-minute assaults on the senses. Apparently audiences demand was for instantaneous gratification, move on to the next thing, and the next, quicker, faster – like NOW! Media students will be familiar with the Hypodermic Needle Theory – simply put, the audience is passive and communication goes one way, from the makers to the audience, and suggests that we all watch TV/films in the same way. Later came the Uses and Gratification Model; the audience seeks out what they want and can interact to a degree, to satisfy own personal wants.

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The height of technology in 1952 USA.

The films shown on Talking Picture TV, were all made during the era of the supposed Hypodermic Needle Model. In the late 1940’s not many people actually had TV’s in their homes, they went to the cinemas to watch films. (In 1950 only 9 percent of American households had a television set, in the UK it was less.) So going out to watch a film was a big deal. Now with the advent of DVD’s and online streaming audiences are going out less and the cinemas are struggling.

Talking Pictures TV takes us back to a slower time, when people said things like “What ho?” and “Terribly sorry” in RP – Received Pronunciation. When nurses and nuns were heroines, men wore suits, and everything was tickety-boo at the final scene.

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Talking Pictures TV? Oh, yes please darling.

So I invite you to join me this week for such treasures as Colonel March of Scotland Yard (about a stolen skull), Man in the Moon (finding the perfect man to send to the moon!) and The Monkey’s Paw (a wish granting artefact). Let the story unfold at a sedate pace, relax into nostalgia with your favourite tipple and a slice of tiffin.

Until next time, cheerio!

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Plough on or Chill Out?

We’re fast approaching the end of 2018 – has it been a good one for you? A wild ride? Productive? Or has it been a fallow year, with less accomplished than you had hoped?

I know I definitely tried to accomplish too much this November making me feel, like Bilbo Baggins, “… sort of stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread.” I took on three online courses in one month, completed two. The third hangs in the balance. I tried to be the ‘Little Engine That Could’ – turns out I couldn’t, not quite…

Part of my problem is that I am a dilettante – a dabbler, a tinkerer, a potterer. I have been told on the one hand that I have the mind of a butterfly, on the other, that I am a mine of useless information. I have taken part in NaNoWriMo with a novel planned, and also writing by the seat of the pants. The second works best for me. You’ll have your way of doing stuff.

Don’t despair if you didn’t get to do all the things you’d hoped to, it’s all a learning process and next year is a fresh start. As Professor Albus Dumbledore said, “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”

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Professor Dumbledore

Though I do have to admit to feeling a little miffed when I hear, on the radio, as I did this morning, about someone who began writing five minutes ago and just got their first novel published! What’s that all about? I ask myself, how did anyone even know they had written this little gem? I am by inclination, a combination of melancholic and choleric, and have been trying to train myself to be more pragmatic, so forced myself to feel good for them- sort of, a little bit, maybe. Oh all right, I hate them!

Lyra Belacqua tells her father in Philip Pullman’s The Amber Spyglass, “You told me that was my nature, and I shouldn’t argue with it…you were wrong… I can’t choose my nature, but I can choose what I do. And I will choose, because now I’m free.” She learnt that as a child, I, in my mid-life am just beginning to.
Do you take stock at the end of each year, of your accomplishments? And how do we assess our own accomplishments anyway? Some believe we are too close to give an accurate appraisal of our own selves and work done.

I have met many people who are extraordinarily hard on themselves, they are the perfectionists who can never meet their own high standards – this does not mean all they do is done well, sometimes effort isn’t exerted so as there is an excuse to have not met one’s own exacting standards. Then there are those people who – and this is particularly pertinent in regards to creativity – think what they have made is wonderful, when in fact the rest of us can see the awfulness, or blandness, of it. Self-criticism does not come easy to these folks.

And yet…should we just not try? Real courage is when you know you’re licked before you begin, but you begin anyway and see it through no matter what.Atticus Finch in To Kill A Mockingbird.

As Christmas approaches, will you slow down your production? Will you take a complete break from your current project to frolic with family and friends? Or, will you be the snow plough that keeps on going through the deep mid winter? Will you plough onward, or take time out to chill and recuperate?

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Does Father Christmas write all year round?

One habit to cultivate is taking account of our successes and failures – and do not be afraid to use the word fail, we cannot all be winners in everything we do, if we don’t fail we don’t learn –only ‘snowflakes’ don’t like to fail – some will keep an actual written account, for others it might be a simple check-list, or just a mental run-through. Have a general idea of what you wish to achieve in the coming year. Bloggers are encouraged to plan, keep a calendar of what will be written every week for months – I typically tend to waft from week to week writing whatever takes my fancy. You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You’re on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who’ll decide where to go...” Doctor Seuss.

Here comes the end of the year, approaching fast, like a steam train with the whistle not quite screaming, and the engine driver trying to wave me off the track, because I’m too stupid to move! Each year I make myself promises and set targets and charge headlong into too many projects at once – like I said, too stupid to move off the same track!

 

THAT’S MORTALS FOR YOU, Death continued. THEY’VE ONLY GOT A FEW YEARS IN THE WORLD AND THEY SPEND THEM ALL IN MAKING THINGS COMPLICATED FOR THEMSELVES.

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Death as The Hogfather (Source: https://ani-izzy.com)

What’s Gone Wrong With Doctor Who?

People have been seriously divided by the new Doctor Who series; fans and critics alike.

Regular and long-term viewers will all be aware of the flurry of discussions that went on preceding the revelation that a female would play the titular character – it’s actually the same with each new incarnation –Morgan Jeffrey did a great piece for Digital Spy, last month, about what critics had said over the years about each new Doc; not all complimentary.

But the Twitterverse has been all a-Twitter with things like –

There’s delight and disappointment in equal measure. And thankfully, little of it has to do with having a female lead in the role that has for 55 years had a male lead.

Finally the show took the great leap and Jodie Whittaker took up the mantel. And she’s pretty good, as far as I’m concerned. Her Doctor has passion, energy, a curiosity for the universe, delights in the company of others and gets smarter by the episode; as her Doctor comes to grips with previous incarnations information pile-up. Though I wish she was less ‘gushy’.

My issue is with the writing.

Going back to Seasons 1 through to 4, the writing is strong, the stories gripping and the acting compelling. This block of shows had Russell T. Davies and Steven Moffat as the primary writers, with Davies writing 6 out of the 12 episodes for Season 4.

Season 5 saw the departure of Davies and the arrival of a new Doctor, in the form of Matt Smith – I hated this Doctor from the start. He was childish, impulsive to the point of idiocy, and seemed purposefully designed to appeal to little kids. Of course, some will cry, it’s a kids show!

Although created as a show for children – the audience demographics reveal something else. One brief student research I was party to, suggested the largest group that watches Doctor Who is – women aged 30 to 50-something with an academic background. Others show it males in their 30s working in IT. And then others that it has a target audience of 7 to 14 year olds. Demographics is not the same as target audience – one is the result of who actually watches, the other is who the producers have targeted – obviously with demographic research taken into consideration – the two don’t always match up.

Jump to Season 10,and there were nine writers. I felt that Peter Capaldi could have  been as excellent a Doctor as David Tennant, but for the writing. The tenure of David Tennant as the Doc seemed to be a convergence of all the best things at once – great acting, great lead, newly resurrected series but not first Doctor into the fray, excellent writing team; not too small, not to big – this for me was, to put it in astronomical terms, the Goldilocks phenomenon – not too adult, not too childlike – just right.

The Girl in the Fireplace S2: E4

In this new Season 11, we are only 9 episodes in, and already there have been 6 writers. And I wonder if the issue with this season has been the exact opposite of the David Tennant Goldilocks effect – too many writers, new non-male lead, writing to appeal to too many ages, too many companions!

Too many companions spoil the plot

I don’t know what I expected with a new writer/show-runner; ChrisChibnall. I didn’t feel like the Doctor should need to be a female just to be ‘politically correct’; I have no issue with male leads. But there is something missing, the spark – or darkness –that made Doctor Who so watchable. I feel as though I am sticking with it through some false sense of loyalty built from years of viewing ,and a kind of nostalgia. I want it to be good, I really do,because there have been times when the episodes have been fantastic. But it simply isn’t.

Sometimes it feels like the writers are trying to be clever just for the sake of it. Too many twists and connecting threads, and ‘explanations’ etc, etc, do not a good story make. It’s as though someone has gone – ‘here’s the story, now what if….’ and another person has gone…..’and what if we just add….’

A couple of the episodes have been good, as stand-alones. The Rosa Parks story was beautifully poignant – sometimes you have to watch people fall and not step in. And having political messages isn’t the issue – it’s the writing.

I believe a part of the issue is having three companions. Why are there three? I cannot fathom the need. For starters, there is never enough dialogue to go around and sometimes I watch the non-speaking characters and they’re just standing there, doing nothing! Edgar Wright would never let that happen! Also, if I were to get rid of one, or two of the three, I’m not sure which I’d choose. I think they’re all equally wooden. Some of the voice acting has been like listening to an amateur read lines.

What’s needed is:- Tight-knit writing team. Character development. Simple stories just well written. There must be psychological realism, it doesn’t matter how bizarre, let it make sense.

Will I be sticking with it?

I can’t honestly say I will stop watching – I live in hope. I wonder if they could invite Russell T. Davies to write an episode or two?!

Or, Maybe I should write something myself…hmm…

https://graphicpolicy.com/2013/09/16/facebook-fandom-spotlight-doctor-who-fans-50-women/

https://georgeakcm.wordpress.com/2016/10/17/doctor-who-target-audience/

http://bethkirkbyunit1media.blogspot.com/2014/02/audiance-demographics-and-profile-of.html

NaNoWriMo 18 – What Now?

Apologies for the huge gap between my last post and this – it’s been a busy time.

NaNo-2018-Writer-Badge
NaNoWriMo 2018

We haven’t quite reached the end of the month – but – I have hit the 50,000 target with five days to spare.

It’s an odd sensation, a combination of exhilaration; I did it! I finally did it! And, What now?

I am sure that if you have been following my blog for any length of time, you will be aware of NaNoWriMo – National Novel Writing Month. There are around 400,000 writers taking part, it’s a wonderful image isn’t it? People from all over the world, from all walks of life, busy beavering away at their stories.

To describe it as a race doesn’t quite do it justice. To talk about competitiveness only grazes the surface.

When you take part in NaNoWriMo, you can, if you wish to, award yourself Personal Achievement Badges; Planner/Pantser/Procrastinator/Word Sprinter and so on. You also gain Earned Badges; Word Count/Update/Winner. You can also add Buddies. I know, it’s tres American, but it can be a device that helps you get through the difficult times.

my NaNoWriMo Badges
My NaNoWriMo Badges

I have eight Buddies, I don’t get in touch with all of them, but this year three in particular have been on this journey with me – and that’s the point of having Buddies. Three of mine are based in America, one in France, two in the UK and the others haven’t posted their locations. Amy, David and Kristi and I have, this year, mailed each other throughout the event. Congratulating each other on reaching benchmarks, 10,000, 30,000 etc. We have spoken of time – not enough, word counts – falling behind, and emotional barriers – varied.

It reminds me of a tribe I once read about, and watched on TV many years ago – ‘Millennium: Tribal Wisdom and the Modern World’ by David Maybury-Lewis. (The Xavante of South America I think it was, but I cannot be absolutely sure.)

This community held a race each year. Everyone took part who wanted to – from the smallest kid to the oldest tribal member. An exciting event where everyone gathered at the starting line amidst cheers and joyful shouts. And off they went, running. I remember watching this really elderly man fall midway. The race slowed down. A couple of others came and raised him up and continued to run alongside him, everyone, every single participant crossed in a muddled lump of laughing and cheering.

The point was, the race was symbolic. They were sort of competing against each other, but more importantly – they were running the race together, as one. It was an analogy of life.

In the NaNo writing event, we all compete against ourselves. We push to reach that Finish Line ahead of others, but at the same time we are supportive of each other. Should someone not make it, then that is okay, they have written something and that’s what matters. We all begin with different skills at different levels and that is to be expected and appreciated.

So it is never an ‘In your face!’ moment. It’s a kind of ‘Phew! I made it. And you can too.’ moment. It’s not only about the individual; you, but about interconnectedness.

Image result for helping others
Helping Hand

Last year I did not reach the Word Count goal – but I had never intended to. It was a 30,000 word novella. The previous year, my first NaNo, I hit the goal in good time – but – and this is important to remember for all participants – I am still writing it! When NaNo ends, the writing doesn’t. 50,000 words does not a novel make. And it will depend greatly on which genre one is writing in. Just over that word count might be a YA fiction story, but if it’s fantasy your writing, which is what I am doing this year, then I’m only half way there.

So a goal was reached. Now there is a new one – finish the novel. After that there will be another goal – edit the novel. After that another – re-edit/re-write.

And so on and so forth.

As with life in general.

Good luck to all those still working at their word counts, but remember, that reaching it is only one stage in the life of a novel.

Image result for crossing the finish line
Finishing. Not the end.