Sunday, 23 December 2012
Saturday, 17 November 2012
It is with crushing inevitability that I have decided to try and resurrect the AlyMondo Review. The only problem being I'm still unsure of it purpose, it's place or even it's favourite Star Wars movie (please be Empire, please be Empire, please by Empire.)
Over the past few months I have moved cities and moved jobs. And although it wasn't my intention, I also shifted focus. This should be my reclaimation of that focus. I do have a few small ideas for possible projects. Hopefully I can turn them into something larger.
Expect a re-design.
Expect a flurry of activity.
Expect that enthusiasm to falter.
Expect I'll need a drink.
I'll get it all down on paper someday...
Tuesday, 23 August 2011
By October, our little writing troupe - Illicit Ink - should be over all the stresses and strains that go along with completing a Masters (or not completing a Masters depending on how Friday's grades go) and will be putting on yet another fantastic evening of Spoken Word.
Come one. Come all. Just cum.
Friday, 12 August 2011
Necrophenia: A Graphic Novel
No, I haven't posted anything on here in a very long time but that's only because I've been hard at work finishing up the first full polished draft of Necrophenia. Too tired to reflect right now on how it's gone but one day soon... Until then:
Wednesday, 8 June 2011
Finally the Going is Got.
It's seems like forever ago that I started writing the second issue of Necrophenia, but I can now say I've gotten the first draft in the bag. For some reason it really got stuck in my throat and took a long time and a lot of notes to spit the phlegm out and onto the page. But this morning there was one final *huch and spit* and Necrophenia, Chapter Two: Day Tripper was done.
You may notice that with only two out of the eight issues complete it would appear that I am now somewhat behind schedule. If my plan of one issue a week was on track I would now be onto issue four as opposed to only issue three, but I'm not panickng just yet.
After a morning of staring at the screen, messing about possible logos and watching Brighton tourist information videos I can say that issue three is already under way and seems to be in full swing. The philosophical part of my brain can see that just like issue two, this was a transitional period in my writing of the project. It was about getting from one place to the other with a clearer view of what might lie ahead. Day Tripper sees Midge, the unassuming hero of the story, travel from the broken and shady streets of London to the once pleasant and oh-so-shiny promenade of Brighton's pebbled beach, only to find more horror and disease. And although there was a few hiccups along the way, he's finally made it.
Chapter three: The Leader of the Pack is already at the halfway point after only a couple of hours of writing and promises to be a doozy. I'm already excited and I haven't even gotten to the Halfdead Girl Guides scene yet. Bring on the rolling pins.
You may notice that with only two out of the eight issues complete it would appear that I am now somewhat behind schedule. If my plan of one issue a week was on track I would now be onto issue four as opposed to only issue three, but I'm not panickng just yet.
After a morning of staring at the screen, messing about possible logos and watching Brighton tourist information videos I can say that issue three is already under way and seems to be in full swing. The philosophical part of my brain can see that just like issue two, this was a transitional period in my writing of the project. It was about getting from one place to the other with a clearer view of what might lie ahead. Day Tripper sees Midge, the unassuming hero of the story, travel from the broken and shady streets of London to the once pleasant and oh-so-shiny promenade of Brighton's pebbled beach, only to find more horror and disease. And although there was a few hiccups along the way, he's finally made it.
Chapter three: The Leader of the Pack is already at the halfway point after only a couple of hours of writing and promises to be a doozy. I'm already excited and I haven't even gotten to the Halfdead Girl Guides scene yet. Bring on the rolling pins.
Thursday, 26 May 2011
Smile At Your Pancreas.
If the AlyMondo Review was a baby, it would still have it's puny fingernails dug deep into the lips it once called home.
It's had a bit of a stop/start conception which seems to have filtered through into the irregularity of my posting, and that's something which I have decided needs to change. After it's recent makeover I had planned on using this blog as an online journal of sorts concerned primarily with the day-to-day writing of my first major work of genius as well as any other writings and ramblings I may be working on.
It does, however, seem quite fitting that posting has until now been fairly haphazard. It reflects quite nicely how I've been working on Necrophenia so far: a page here, a witty piece of dialogue there and the odd aternoon writing interesting panel descriptions. Which is why I am now stating here, for free, that within seven weeks I will have a first draft complete. This leaves me with four whole weeks to whip the full script of eight episode/chapter/issues into something I can be proud to hand over on hand-in day, but also into some sort of marketable piece of work.
As it stands: 70 days until hand-in.
issue one - first draft complete.
issue two - 1/2way.
artwork - no leads yet.
It's had a bit of a stop/start conception which seems to have filtered through into the irregularity of my posting, and that's something which I have decided needs to change. After it's recent makeover I had planned on using this blog as an online journal of sorts concerned primarily with the day-to-day writing of my first major work of genius as well as any other writings and ramblings I may be working on.
It does, however, seem quite fitting that posting has until now been fairly haphazard. It reflects quite nicely how I've been working on Necrophenia so far: a page here, a witty piece of dialogue there and the odd aternoon writing interesting panel descriptions. Which is why I am now stating here, for free, that within seven weeks I will have a first draft complete. This leaves me with four whole weeks to whip the full script of eight episode/chapter/issues into something I can be proud to hand over on hand-in day, but also into some sort of marketable piece of work.
As it stands: 70 days until hand-in.
issue one - first draft complete.
issue two - 1/2way.
artwork - no leads yet.
Tuesday, 3 May 2011
Illicit Ink and Nothing Else.
A lot has happened since my last blog post. I always said that I didn't want the AlyMondo Review to be a diary blog, or the kind of blog that served only to be a soapbox for yours truly to put forward his oh-so-important thoughts and feelings on world events and breaking news...
So I won't be mentioning the Royal wedding, I won't tell you about the end of the second trimester of my Masters course and I wouldn't even dare begin to put forward my thoughts and theories and the death of the world's Most Wanted. And no, although you may be expecting it, I won't get into who I think River Song is or what's up with the Regenerating Girl.
Instead I'm simply going to post a piece I recently performed in public. My first ever public reading went down at Illicit Ink's latest and greatest evening of spoken word in Edinburgh's Cabaret Voltaire Speakeasy.
The Other Side of the Fence
There was a hole on the hill. A little dug out piece of turf that was just the right size to park yourself in if the weather was fine, like an armchair where you could eat your sandwiches surrounded by daisies. It was also, I was told, the entrance to the world of the sprites. To get to it you had to go through the gap in the fence at the back corner of the playground by where the others used to play football. I’d try to sneak out ahead of the rest of the children to make sure no one could follow and get to the hole on hill before me. Not that they ever would. They were more concerned about fighting their way into the queue in the dining hall, or finding a space in the comfy corner of the changing rooms or heading home to see their mothers where they’d get their lunches freshly and lovingly prepared. I was the only one concerned with trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive creatures that allegedly lived amongst the surrounding shrubbery.
I was always happy in the hole on the hill if the weather was fine. I had no interest in sports or talking about girls, or talking about boys for that matter. I didn’t have pocket money to spend at the ice cream van that used to park just up the road from the school’s entrance. I’d make do with a sandwich, a packet of own-brand crisps and a chocolate biscuit and not have to sit in silence with the others.
I sat each day for an hour simply waiting to see if the rumours were true. I had no desire to capture the sprites in jars. I had no dog to feed them to. I didn’t want to photograph them or disturb their way of life in the slightest. I would have been happy just to notice a shimmer of light or a flutter of wings, but every time I sat in the hole in the hill I sat there alone. Well almost.
For a time I had a friend. A man who would spend his lunchtimes on his own too. I don’t remember if he ever told me his name, or what he really looked like but he would stand in the field swinging a golf club, hitting balls back and forth across the park. Every now and then he’d hit the ball so high up into the air that I’d lose it in the glair of the sun. Other times he’d only hit the ball a short distance and it would bounce across the grass in my direction. Wanting to be helpful, I’d get out of my hole on the hill, leave the fairy folk behind for only minute and go and retrieve it for him.
The first couple of days I did this, I didn’t talk to him. He’d call me over but I’d stay far back and only toss the balls back in his direction. But eventually I started chatting to him. He said that when he was my age he used to spend his lunchtimes alone too. And that since moving to his new house, and not having a job to go to he still did. I was not to worry, he said, and that some people don’t always understand you but that that was okay.
I only got to spend a week or so collecting golf balls for him. He said that he spent some evenings in the field playing golf too and that he’d be more than happy for me to come down on those evenings. I asked but I was not allowed.
Soon after that we were told about not going out of the school boundaries at lunchtime; whether it was to go to the ice cream van or for any other reason. If we were heading home for lunch we had to go straight there and back and only if our mums had let the school know that that is what we were going to do. They fixed the gap in the fence at the back corner of the playground where the others played football, and I had to eat my lunch with the rest of the class in the comfy corner of the changing rooms.
I’m used to it now. Being on my own. We all have different interests, different habits… different urges. The school’s not there anymore. It was knocked down and rebuilt only a couple of years ago and I can only assume that the sprites that I never got to see have moved on too. The fence is now a wall and is higher than it used to be, the car park has changed and the last time I was there I didn’t recognise any of the teacher’s faces. I only went down there just in case. In case there was another lost child looking for a friend to spend their lunchtime with but because of the wall I couldn’t get in.
Check out more on the delicious Illicit Ink here.
So I won't be mentioning the Royal wedding, I won't tell you about the end of the second trimester of my Masters course and I wouldn't even dare begin to put forward my thoughts and theories and the death of the world's Most Wanted. And no, although you may be expecting it, I won't get into who I think River Song is or what's up with the Regenerating Girl.
Instead I'm simply going to post a piece I recently performed in public. My first ever public reading went down at Illicit Ink's latest and greatest evening of spoken word in Edinburgh's Cabaret Voltaire Speakeasy.
The Other Side of the Fence
There was a hole on the hill. A little dug out piece of turf that was just the right size to park yourself in if the weather was fine, like an armchair where you could eat your sandwiches surrounded by daisies. It was also, I was told, the entrance to the world of the sprites. To get to it you had to go through the gap in the fence at the back corner of the playground by where the others used to play football. I’d try to sneak out ahead of the rest of the children to make sure no one could follow and get to the hole on hill before me. Not that they ever would. They were more concerned about fighting their way into the queue in the dining hall, or finding a space in the comfy corner of the changing rooms or heading home to see their mothers where they’d get their lunches freshly and lovingly prepared. I was the only one concerned with trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive creatures that allegedly lived amongst the surrounding shrubbery.
I was always happy in the hole on the hill if the weather was fine. I had no interest in sports or talking about girls, or talking about boys for that matter. I didn’t have pocket money to spend at the ice cream van that used to park just up the road from the school’s entrance. I’d make do with a sandwich, a packet of own-brand crisps and a chocolate biscuit and not have to sit in silence with the others.
I sat each day for an hour simply waiting to see if the rumours were true. I had no desire to capture the sprites in jars. I had no dog to feed them to. I didn’t want to photograph them or disturb their way of life in the slightest. I would have been happy just to notice a shimmer of light or a flutter of wings, but every time I sat in the hole in the hill I sat there alone. Well almost.
For a time I had a friend. A man who would spend his lunchtimes on his own too. I don’t remember if he ever told me his name, or what he really looked like but he would stand in the field swinging a golf club, hitting balls back and forth across the park. Every now and then he’d hit the ball so high up into the air that I’d lose it in the glair of the sun. Other times he’d only hit the ball a short distance and it would bounce across the grass in my direction. Wanting to be helpful, I’d get out of my hole on the hill, leave the fairy folk behind for only minute and go and retrieve it for him.
The first couple of days I did this, I didn’t talk to him. He’d call me over but I’d stay far back and only toss the balls back in his direction. But eventually I started chatting to him. He said that when he was my age he used to spend his lunchtimes alone too. And that since moving to his new house, and not having a job to go to he still did. I was not to worry, he said, and that some people don’t always understand you but that that was okay.
I only got to spend a week or so collecting golf balls for him. He said that he spent some evenings in the field playing golf too and that he’d be more than happy for me to come down on those evenings. I asked but I was not allowed.
Soon after that we were told about not going out of the school boundaries at lunchtime; whether it was to go to the ice cream van or for any other reason. If we were heading home for lunch we had to go straight there and back and only if our mums had let the school know that that is what we were going to do. They fixed the gap in the fence at the back corner of the playground where the others played football, and I had to eat my lunch with the rest of the class in the comfy corner of the changing rooms.
I’m used to it now. Being on my own. We all have different interests, different habits… different urges. The school’s not there anymore. It was knocked down and rebuilt only a couple of years ago and I can only assume that the sprites that I never got to see have moved on too. The fence is now a wall and is higher than it used to be, the car park has changed and the last time I was there I didn’t recognise any of the teacher’s faces. I only went down there just in case. In case there was another lost child looking for a friend to spend their lunchtime with but because of the wall I couldn’t get in.
Check out more on the delicious Illicit Ink here.
Thursday, 31 March 2011
A Message From Your Leader:
One of the pieces I've recently been working on is a prequel to my own major project (a little something called Necrophenia that I've mentioned previously). This graphic novel has been circulating in my brainmind since the end of last year, and I am now at the exciting stage of being completely desperate to just get on and write the bloody thing. This prequel (or issue #0, if you like) gave me my first chance to work with a couple of the characters I've been developing, as well as delving into the world I've created. And I have to admit, I loved every bloody second. Not only that but I managed to bash out a complete draft in only 5 hours! And it's a fairly complicated beast, I'll have you know, with three seperate yet overlapping narratives at work.
Anyway, just for the sake of it I'll post below a short extract from that script. And no. You're not getting a context.
THIS IS THE BBC RUNNING ON THE EMERGENCY WAVELENGTH. THE DATE IS THE 16TH OF APRIL, 1964. IT’S 6 O’CLOCK. AFTER NEARLY SIX MONTHS OF AGGRESSIVE RETALIATION AGAINST THE UNFORTUNATE-INFECTED POPULATION OF THE NATION’S CAPITAL, THE BRITISH GOVERNMENT HAS CONFIRMED TODAY THAT THE AREA OF GREATER LONDON HAS BEEN DESIGNATED AN AMBER SAFE ZONE. THEY HAVE ALSO CONFIRMED THAT THIS AMBER SAFE RATING IS DUE TO CONTINUE TO SPREAD INTO THE SURROUNDING AREA WITHIN THE NEXT TWO WEEKS.
FROM TRAFALGAR SQUARE TODAY, ACTING PRIME MINISTER ALEC DOUGLAS-HOME HAD THIS TO SAY:
“THIS LAND IS BRITAIN. IT IS A SMALL COUNTRY CHALLENGED CONSTANTLY BY AN ENCIRCLING SEA THAT BEATS AND CHAFES ON THE ROCKY EDGES OF AN ISLAND.
IT IS A SMALL NATION THAT COVERS LESS LAND THAN ONE AMERICAN STATE AND IT IS SMALLER BY FAR THAN ONE SOVIET REPUBLIC. YET I STAND BEFORE YOU TODAY TO INFORM YOU THAT WE, THE PEOPLE OF GREAT BRITAIN, HAVE BEGUN TO RECLAIM THIS MODEST COUNTRY FROM THOSE UNFORTUNATE MANY WHO SEEK TO RAVAGE US AND OUR NEIGHBOURS.
AND THOUGH IT WILL CONTINUE TO TAKE A GREAT DEAL OF TIME, EFFORT AND RESOURCES WE WILL SOON AGAIN BE SAFE IN OUR HOMES, SAFE IN OUR CIIES AND SAFE ON OUR LAND.
TODAY THE BRITISH REACH ONE MORE PUNCTUATION MARK IN A LONG AND CROWDED STORY. HOW OFTEN HAVE WE BEEN WRITTEN OFF BY ENEMIES? AND HOW OFTEN HAVE WE CONFOUNDED THEM BY CONTINUING TO SURVIVE?”
AND WE WILL SURVIVE, BUT ONLY BY WORKING TOGETHER AND BY REBUILDING THIS COUNTRY WITH OUR BARE HANDS.”
ALHOUGH LONDON CENTRAL HAS NOW BEEN DECLARED AN AMBER SAFE ZONE, GOVERNMENT OFFICALS ARE RECOMMENDING THAT FAMILIES CONTINUE TO REMAIN INDOORS IN THEIR SAFHOUSES UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
CONTINUE TO RATION YOUR FOOD SUPPLY. WATER MUST BE RATIONED, AND ONLY USED ONLY FOR ESSENTIAL DRINKING AND COOKING PURPOSES. IT MUST NOT BE USED FOR FLUSHING LAVATORIES.
WE SHALL BE ON AIR EVERY HOUR, ON THE HOUR. STAY TUNED TO THIS WAVELENGTH, BUT SAVE YOUR BATTERIES AND SWITCH OFF YOUR RADIOS NOW.
THAT IS THE END OF THIS BROADCAST.
THAT IS THE END OF THIS BROADCAST.
THAT IS THE END OF THIS BROA*...
Anyway, just for the sake of it I'll post below a short extract from that script. And no. You're not getting a context.
THIS IS THE BBC RUNNING ON THE EMERGENCY WAVELENGTH. THE DATE IS THE 16TH OF APRIL, 1964. IT’S 6 O’CLOCK. AFTER NEARLY SIX MONTHS OF AGGRESSIVE RETALIATION AGAINST THE UNFORTUNATE-INFECTED POPULATION OF THE NATION’S CAPITAL, THE BRITISH GOVERNMENT HAS CONFIRMED TODAY THAT THE AREA OF GREATER LONDON HAS BEEN DESIGNATED AN AMBER SAFE ZONE. THEY HAVE ALSO CONFIRMED THAT THIS AMBER SAFE RATING IS DUE TO CONTINUE TO SPREAD INTO THE SURROUNDING AREA WITHIN THE NEXT TWO WEEKS.
FROM TRAFALGAR SQUARE TODAY, ACTING PRIME MINISTER ALEC DOUGLAS-HOME HAD THIS TO SAY:
“THIS LAND IS BRITAIN. IT IS A SMALL COUNTRY CHALLENGED CONSTANTLY BY AN ENCIRCLING SEA THAT BEATS AND CHAFES ON THE ROCKY EDGES OF AN ISLAND.
IT IS A SMALL NATION THAT COVERS LESS LAND THAN ONE AMERICAN STATE AND IT IS SMALLER BY FAR THAN ONE SOVIET REPUBLIC. YET I STAND BEFORE YOU TODAY TO INFORM YOU THAT WE, THE PEOPLE OF GREAT BRITAIN, HAVE BEGUN TO RECLAIM THIS MODEST COUNTRY FROM THOSE UNFORTUNATE MANY WHO SEEK TO RAVAGE US AND OUR NEIGHBOURS.
AND THOUGH IT WILL CONTINUE TO TAKE A GREAT DEAL OF TIME, EFFORT AND RESOURCES WE WILL SOON AGAIN BE SAFE IN OUR HOMES, SAFE IN OUR CIIES AND SAFE ON OUR LAND.
TODAY THE BRITISH REACH ONE MORE PUNCTUATION MARK IN A LONG AND CROWDED STORY. HOW OFTEN HAVE WE BEEN WRITTEN OFF BY ENEMIES? AND HOW OFTEN HAVE WE CONFOUNDED THEM BY CONTINUING TO SURVIVE?”
AND WE WILL SURVIVE, BUT ONLY BY WORKING TOGETHER AND BY REBUILDING THIS COUNTRY WITH OUR BARE HANDS.”
ALHOUGH LONDON CENTRAL HAS NOW BEEN DECLARED AN AMBER SAFE ZONE, GOVERNMENT OFFICALS ARE RECOMMENDING THAT FAMILIES CONTINUE TO REMAIN INDOORS IN THEIR SAFHOUSES UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.
CONTINUE TO RATION YOUR FOOD SUPPLY. WATER MUST BE RATIONED, AND ONLY USED ONLY FOR ESSENTIAL DRINKING AND COOKING PURPOSES. IT MUST NOT BE USED FOR FLUSHING LAVATORIES.
WE SHALL BE ON AIR EVERY HOUR, ON THE HOUR. STAY TUNED TO THIS WAVELENGTH, BUT SAVE YOUR BATTERIES AND SWITCH OFF YOUR RADIOS NOW.
THAT IS THE END OF THIS BROADCAST.
THAT IS THE END OF THIS BROADCAST.
THAT IS THE END OF THIS BROA*...
Friday, 18 March 2011
Pixel-tastic
Don't get me wrong, when I'm single-handedly saving the world from the oncoming undead apocalypse I enjoy a fully emersive, stereo surround sound experience as much as the next man; but there will always be a place in my 1-up for some 8-bit action. This video is a most excellent tribute to that.
Quite special:
Quite special:
Uncharacteristically Goodtimes.
Most days that begin with throwing your alarm clock across the room in a fit of general indifference don't tend to get better with time; but it has to be said today turned out swell. So, like pissing by candlelight and finding yourself transfixed by the surprisingly generous shadow on the bathroom wall let me take a little time just to admire my Friday and, quite honestly, boast...
It began when I appeared at university to be met not only by one of my head mentors, but also praise. A collage piece of graphic fiction that I'd handed over only yesterday had gotten a sudden reaction and been passed onto her (her colleague and her family!) and had been much loved. So much so that I was told to do more. It was a piece I'd thrown together from this week's newspaper clippings about the much reported Japanese shitstorm. It wasn't insensitive, honest, more satirical and more about poking fun at the UK's media. Anyway, I got a lovely ego boost from it. Let me just say first of all that that just does not happen to me very often. So that was nice.
After that I had a really good, strong cup of coffee from the uni canteen. Let me just say first of all that that just does not happen to me very often. So that was nice too.
Next I got some genuinely inspirational networking and business-minded advice from Adrian Mead (writer, director and David Morrissey look-a-like) who was in giving us writers a lecture on just that. He not only managed to keep us all entertained for an entire Friday morning (no mean feat, let me tell you) but also present what could only be described as a "motivational talk" which even included heinous crimes against metaphor such as: "swimming in the sea of me" without sounding like a complete and utter cockrot tool.
Some of that networking advice was put to good use with our second guest lecture. The "genuinely nice bloke" and 2000AD artist for the past twenty five years Colin MacNeil came in for a chat about writer/artist collaborations and brought in some gorgeous artwork from one of his latest runs on Judge Dredd for us to drool over (fear not, Kleenex was on hand so there was no smudging). Afterwards, I put my new handshaking skills into practice and promised to buy him a pint at the next comic-con I happen to ee him at. I'd be a fool not to keep to that. He's certainly a contact I shouldn't ignore.I assumed that was where todays greatness would end. We'd finish up, I'd head home, probably have a nap, or a wank, or wait until later in the evening so I could then watch the Red Nose Day Doctor Who skit on repeat and then have a wank over the two Amy Ponds that have been promised by the tv mags and online forums and then have a nap...
But there's one more slice of fried gold.
My mentor's comments on the aforementioned collage came as a bit of a surprise. Even after this mornings compliment I didn't expect: "a Chris Morris level of scathing social commentary and satire..." "a stunning piece of work" "awesome" "ridiculously offensive" or, my personal favourite "if this goes online you better be prepared to be burned at the stake. Only, knowing you, you'd probably just use it to light a cigarette."
So I'll get it online as soon as I can. Stay tuned.
Wednesday, 16 March 2011
Bleugh.
And all of a sudden I find myself starting another blog post with absolutely no idea what it's going to be about...
If I can't use this space for procastination then what can I use it for? It's my blog, and it's not as if anyone else is going to read it. So:
I've only got four weeks before the end of the taught modules of my Masters course, after that I get around four months to work on my first major project: Necrophenia. In these next four weeks I have to churn out a lyrical essay for my Theory and Authorship class, a script for a comic book adaptation of the old murder ballad "Frankie and Johnny" and another graphic script for the prequel to my major project (issue #0 if you will).
Hrrm, got nothing to say for any of these at the moment other than Frankie and Johnny has now become a russian roulette love triangle centred around the misuse of pot and tequila as a chatting up technique, Theory and Authorship may include Statler and Waldorf from the muppets and Necrophenia #0 being a somewhat generic zombie outbreak.
The thing is, I need to get these things out of the way. Not only because without completing these I would not pass the course I have been working hard on since last August, but because I am absolutely desperate to get to work on Necrophenia. I haven't been obsessed with a project like this in a long time and the thought of concentrating on that (and only that) for four months is making me giddy.
The negative, of course, is that I can't get it out of my head enough to get on with the fucking assessments. Oh, circle of cruelty, how I wish you were just a puppy. You would be so much easier to dispose of.
Huh, turns out this is the blog post where I introduce Necrophenia to the world, and all you're getting right now is the name.
If I can't use this space for procastination then what can I use it for? It's my blog, and it's not as if anyone else is going to read it. So:
I've only got four weeks before the end of the taught modules of my Masters course, after that I get around four months to work on my first major project: Necrophenia. In these next four weeks I have to churn out a lyrical essay for my Theory and Authorship class, a script for a comic book adaptation of the old murder ballad "Frankie and Johnny" and another graphic script for the prequel to my major project (issue #0 if you will).
Hrrm, got nothing to say for any of these at the moment other than Frankie and Johnny has now become a russian roulette love triangle centred around the misuse of pot and tequila as a chatting up technique, Theory and Authorship may include Statler and Waldorf from the muppets and Necrophenia #0 being a somewhat generic zombie outbreak.
The thing is, I need to get these things out of the way. Not only because without completing these I would not pass the course I have been working hard on since last August, but because I am absolutely desperate to get to work on Necrophenia. I haven't been obsessed with a project like this in a long time and the thought of concentrating on that (and only that) for four months is making me giddy.
The negative, of course, is that I can't get it out of my head enough to get on with the fucking assessments. Oh, circle of cruelty, how I wish you were just a puppy. You would be so much easier to dispose of.
Huh, turns out this is the blog post where I introduce Necrophenia to the world, and all you're getting right now is the name.
Wednesday, 9 March 2011
Awkward...
Yes, sex can be awkward. It can also be fun, sticky, aggressive, sick, relaxing, enlightening, wrong yet so, so right. But more often than not, it's awkward.
I'm not talking about my own personal bedroom deviations (if I was you would have thrown up by now) rather I am talking about writing sex scenes in fiction. Or, in particular, writing sex scenes in graphic fiction. Maybe there's a secret to it? Maybe it's a skill to be learned and revered, but as far as I can tell there is no way to describe a panel of sexual encounters without sounding a) ridiculously cheesy, or b) downright "readers'-wives".
It was something I attempted this week. While working on an adaptation of the murder ballad "Black Silk Ribbon" for my graphic fiction class (a.k.a - "Homework? Reading Watchmen is not fucking homework it's a privilege?") I had to include two panels of sexy, sexytimes but just couldn't quite pull it off. In the end embarrassment got the better of me and my panel descriptions literally said:
"sexy, sexytimes..."
It was either that or "ruffled hair, ruffled sheets and a nipple caught in the moonlight." HA!
Monday, 7 March 2011
Oh, hello.
December 2008, huh? That was the last time I felt the urge to post on here? Well, let's hope that something has happened since then that's worth writing about...
I can't think of anything right now, but it'll come.
I can't think of anything right now, but it'll come.
Friday, 19 December 2008
Thursday, 24 July 2008
Monday, 14 July 2008
Friday, 20 June 2008
Friday, 6 June 2008
The simplest things...
It's been a quiet day off for me, but one that I've thoroughly enjoyed. After heading into town simply to wonder, no shopping agenda whatsoever I spent money on:
!) A very large black americano (the coffee not the slave).
") The cutest edition of the Dharma Bums by Kerouac I ever did see. I had originally started looking at travel guides, which made me think of touring America which then got me thinking about Kerouac which then led me to it. It's a scruffy and new and even has cartoons.
£) Music, in fact is excellent you know so I bought Seasick Steve, Black Lips and the Scratch Perverts Fabriclive album.
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