Good News:
1. I get to do the C project I wanted to do.
2. I got full marks (which is supposedly impossible) on two of my assignments.
3. Also, despite thinking, "Aaagh, but it's so bad!" on Cinematography Script Submission Day, I submitted "Out On My Own" (a nearly complete offbeat semi-musical about self-loathing) anyway, then talked to a potential producer who skimrad / skamread it and said yea, looks good, shall help as best I can.
4. Have been made key grip for "Henry: Portrait Of A Psychotic Vacuum Cleaner" (working title). Have Scriptwriting Guild's blessing to feature, gripping a key.
5. Have received Christmas present. Tis a stereo. w00t, for I shall be able to make mix tapes once more and listen to Dutch people speaking v. fast.

Scary News:
1. Will have to replace toilet seat if I can't get the hair dye dye off it, and I've tried everything.
2. Me and my two potential co-producers are being interviewed on Monday re: why we want Cinematography society to make "Out On My Own". Meep!

Bad News:
1. Have become addicted to "The Sims Unleashed".
2. For no apparent reason, the lead won't plug into said stereo.


Saturday 22 November 2003

I have reached Masters Student Psychosis Stage 4: Writing A Really Stupid And Not Especially Funny Story, Attempting To Read It Out, And Finding Yourself Sobbing Hysterically After The First Two Sentences.

I know I’ve always been fairly bad at this, since Ibid and I laughed our heads off for at least fifteen minutes after our decision that the town in The Chronicles Of Walter Winterbottom should be called Kirkthorpe On The Spleen. But I managed to do no more than wheeze while writing this piece. Reading it out was another matter entirely . . .

The story in question was written at Creative Writing meeting, during a writing game, in which everyone wrote down two words, then passed one left and one right. You had to write a paragraph containing the two words, pass them on in the same fashion, write a paragraph containing your new words, and so forth until you got your own words back. I started off by writing unconnected paragraphs for each pair of words, then decided to link them.

Pairs of words
Soap and monster
Vermillion and arrow
Critical and alcohol
Burn and bone
Aquamarine and fireplace
Stained and blossom
Apples and bored
Shoes and toothpaste

Once upon a time there was a soap monster. He lived on the edge of a giant bathtub and spent his days sliding back and forth across it, plotting how to kill the bubble monster, who lived in the plug hole, without getting wet. The soap monster didn’t like getting wet. It brought back bad memories of being used to clean bathing people’s armpits. His life was not very interesting, but it was the only one he’d ever known.

Joan stood in the dark smelly dungeon, contemplating whether or not to drink the sparkling vermillion potion she’d just found. On the one hand, it might her see dangerous invisible monsters like the aforementioned ones. On the other, it might turn out to be a potion of acid, which would make her see invisible monsters that weren’t really there. She sighed. It was no fun being a dungeon explorer, especially not one called Joan. They laughed at her at the adventurers’ guild. Lost in confusion and misery, she got killed by an arrow. Bloody invisible monsters.

Harry, slightly luckier than Joan, was merely in critical condition. He’d just drunk ten gallons of pure alcohol. The worst thing about it was he was completely surrounded by journalists, asking “Why aren’t you dead yet?” Did they really expect an answer? It was most annoying. He just wanted a kebab. Why didn’t anyone understand?

Next to him lay a man called Dave who had spontaneously combusted. Now he was just a mass of burnt bone. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt very much. It was actually quite pleasant. Sadly, all the kids on the streets liked to torment him, so here he was, back in hospital, due to having a skateboard shoved up the remainder of one of his nostrils. He wasn’t very happy because it smelled terrible. He had no idea why. Why did things have to smell so bad?

Back at Dave’s home, a burglar was stealing his prized aquamarine fireplace. Dave was very proud of it, since it had taken him years to find a furnishing that matched his aquamarine toothbrush holder. The burglar, however, did not think the fireplace would earn him anything – after all, it was too distinctive to sell. He just wanted to improve his own odds of spontaneous combustion. Since it had become the latest subject of chav torment, all the cool rebellious kids were trying to spontaneously combust too.

The burglar’s girlfriend had dumped him on account of this, though. She was trying to make a living staining blossom, since stained blossom had been advised on an ideal home programme. And since they lived in a shed, the aquamarine fireplace was going to get in the way of her livelihood.

Sadly, without her boyfriend, she got rather bored. There was only yea much staining blossom a girl could stand. She decided to eat some apples, which were also bored.

After this, her teeth were so healthy that she renounced toothpaste. In the time she would have normally spent buying it, she found Joan’s old shoes. How did they get out of the dungeon? The soap monster spirited them away because he was bored. Better to be bored than unhappy though, innit? Dave would have nodded, but he no longer had a chin. He still had legs though, which was more than Harry could say.

(There are illustrations too; just be glad my scanner doesn't work.)


Sunday 23 November 2003

You know you've been spending too much time reading livejournal, when you're writing a story and in the morning you feel inclined to check whether it's been updated overnight.

(Or that could just be not getting enough sleep. Or Masters Student Psychosis Stage 5. Or all of the above.)

The other night, I dreamed I was front-woman of a Swarf-like band and we were playing in a festival at the school in my hometown, but I was an hour late for my performance because I had a Data Analysis lecture immediately beforehand. How blatantly symbolic of my "slave cannot serve two masters" dilemma! Last night's was sufficiently random for my tastes, though: I was shooting holes in the wall of my uncle's house.


Monday 24 November 2003

Hurrah! I had Deeds Of The Soap Monster And Other Poor Sods read out at Creative Writing and there was laughter. Clearly, I am not completely loopy.

Alas! During my first lecture this morning, I kept thinking about stained blossom and giggling, so I am still clearly somewhat mad.

Hurrah! The Cinematography folk en masse decided they liked "Out On My Own" well enough that they're willing to make it into a film next year, opportunity permitting, providing I do some heavy editing and rewriting.

Alas! Heavy editing and rewriting!