In the Blood

My boss has gone away for four days and left me to run the shop. This would be fine, but he only left enough money to cover my wages for one day. Grrr.... As I'm paid less than minimum wage you'd think he could sort this out.

This is where I work:

http://www.fossilcavern.co.uk/

If anyone is in the market for a nest of oviraptor eggs lemme know. I can hook you up...

I always take a notebook and pen with me to work. During quiet periods I make drafts of synopses or character studies. Today I'm going to try to finalise the synopsis for the WW2 story (still untitled) and then get back to my novel, 'In the Blood'.

I initially came up with this idea as a tv series. 'Demonheart' is a fantasy/horror series along the same lines as Buffy. I set it on the Isle of Wight in the hopes of boosting local tourism if the tv series was a success.

In the Blood is the pilot episode of thirteen. It became clear that I was being very naive expecting it to get made, so I am in the process of rewriting Demonheart as a set of books for young adults.

I love this story. I love the characters. The end of the book is in sight. I hope it gets somewhere.

Here's the opening chapter. Enjoy!
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Demonheart book 1: In the Blood
Chapter 1.

Miller’s Lane was long and winding, flanked on both sides by a dense and eclectic woodland of birch and pine, oak and ash, chestnut and sycamore trees. The winter chill had stripped most to the bark leaving the roadside littered with dank, rotting debris. Deep brown leaves swirled in the wake of the passing car, releasing an odour of damp decay. Their glittering veins, painted silver by evening frost, sparkled briefly in the red taillights before darkness claimed them once more.

Seventeen year old Eleanor Fry checked her make-up in the mirror as she drove. Her dark eyes smouldered above chiselled cheekbones and ruby lips. She pouted seductively, turning her head from side to side. Irresistible. Isaac Hunter hadn’t stood a chance.

Icy rain began to pelt the windscreen, forcing her attention back to the road. Ellie flicked on the wipers and turned up the radio. Christmas tunes blared loud and cheerful. Keeping her eyes on the winding lane she reached across to the passenger seat and felt in her handbag for a lip gloss. One handed, she twisted the lid and applied the shine. Ellie glanced in the mirror once more as she rounded a bend.

‘Gorgeous.’ She purred.

The man seemed to come out of nowhere. His bright yellow parka screamed in the headlights as Ellie slammed on the brakes. He dived to one side as the car swerved and came to a stop with the engine running.

Heart pounding, Ellie turned to look over her shoulder. The rear window was spattered with rain making it impossible to see. Had she hit him?

‘Oh shit,’ she muttered. ‘Shit. Shit. Shit!’ She turned on the rear wipers and killed the radio. Ellie grabbed her handbag and rummaged for her mobile phone. No signal. Typical!

A hammering on the side door made her jump. Yellow parka man was standing right outside. Ellie hesitated for a second before buzzing the window down just a fraction. She was surprised to see a young man in his twenties. Fit. Hot, even. He was holding the hood of his jacket protectively over his head, hunched and squinting as the rain ran down his face. He smiled.
‘Battery’s dead and so is my phone. Got any leads?’
He jerked a thumb, and Ellie noticed a car at the side of the road. Its dark paintwork rendered it all but invisible through the downpour. She looked back to the man. Shook her head.

‘Don’t suppose…?’ he left the sentence hanging.

Ellie faltered. She glanced at the jumble of blankets on the back seat, then back to the stranger. If she left him here it could be hours before another car came by, and it was only a twenty minute drive to the next town. He would have to sit in the front, of course. It might be nice to have someone to talk to. After all, she was dressed to kill, and a little flirting might make the journey seem shorter. What could happen in twenty minutes? She tossed her handbag into the back, and unlocked the door.

The man climbed gratefully into the passenger seat. He removed his hood and extended a wet hand, which she ignored.

‘Dan Taylor. I really appreciate this,’ he said, withdrawing his hand and wiping rain from his face.

Ellie slid the car smoothly into first and began to drive. ‘I can take you as far as Collingwood.’ She stretched her fingers on the wheel, wondering if he had noticed the glistening polish that she had so painstakingly applied.

‘Great. Thanks.’ He wasn’t even looking. Ungrateful bastard. Ellie wriggled a little in the seat, allowing her skirt to raise a fraction. She pressed the clutch with a high heeled sandal and moved up through the gears, acutely aware of how this simple action flexed the muscles in her shapely legs.

‘Nice car.’ Dan smoothed the dashboard with an appreciative hand. ‘You’re lucky. My parents didn’t let me borrow theirs until I was… actually I don’t think they ever let me use their car.’

Ellie rolled her eyes. If he started talking about sport she was pulling over and he could get out – rain or not! ‘It’s mine,’ she countered brusquely. ‘Early Christmas present.’

Dan whistled. ‘Nice,’ he said again. ‘You know Taylor Automotives in Collingwood? The garage on River Street. That’s ours. You get any trouble just bring it straight in. I’ll get you a discount.’

‘Thanks,’ Ellie muttered, making a mental note to avoid the place like the plague.

‘So… you live on the island, or just down for the Christmas holidays?’

Ellie smirked. It made her laugh how the people here referred to the Isle of Wight as ‘the island’. As if it was the only one in the world. ‘Just moved here,’ she replied.

‘Yeah? How do you like it so far?’

‘It doesn’t suck. I guess.’

They drove in silence for a while. The rain had eased a little, and the rhythmic to and fro of the wipers became almost hypnotic. A cold, full moon shone white and strong above the treetops. It seemed impossibly large tonight, as if the Earth herself had reached out and pulled it close. Dark storm clouds rolled across the sky, blocking out the stars.

‘I’m surprised you pulled over.’ The man seemed to dislike the quiet and was struggling to make conversation. ‘Personally I’d never pick up a stranger. Especially at night.’

An icy shiver ran down Ellie’s spine. She glanced at Dan and saw that she had his full attention now. Unnerved, she plucked at her skirt, trying her cover her legs a little. He seemed not to notice.

‘Ever see that movie The Hitcher?’ he asked. Ellie shook her head. Dan laughed. ‘Scared the crap outta me! Not the remake. I mean the eighties version with Rutger Hauer.’ He gave an exaggerated shudder. ‘This kid pulls over to help a guy whose car has broken down. Right? Turns out the hitcher is really a serial killer who murders everyone that picks him up.’

Ellie’s knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. Why had she let him in? Stupid! She should have known that this would happen. Twenty minutes suddenly seemed like an awfully long time…

Ellie glanced in the rear view mirror.

She knew that Dan saw the look of horror that crossed her face, as his eyes widened. ‘I’m sorry!’ he said, and his face grew red. ‘I’m such an arse. I didn’t mean to scare you.’ He reached across to put a placatory hand on her arm.

Ellie screamed as a beast lunged at Dan from the back seat. It was covered in thick wiry hair, with the head and claws of a wolf, and the body of a man. The creature buried its teeth in Dan’s throat and began to savagely tear him apart. Blood splattered Ellie’s face and covered the windscreen, obscuring the road from view. She cried out in terror as the car left the road, crashed through the trees and slammed to a halt.

Dan’s arm fluttered feebly and then remained still. The snarling stopped. Blood dribbled down the windscreen and onto the dash as all fell silent.

Shaking uncontrollably, Ellie stared at the beast. Its fetid breath rose as hot mist on the icy air.

WHAM!! Ellie punched it in the face. ’Don’t you ever do that again,’ she raged. ‘Look what you did to my car!’

Slowly the creature morphed into a dark haired youth, naked and bathed in blood. Scott Fry calmly licked his fingers. His green eyes sparkled in the light of the full moon as he looked at his cousin.

‘I was hungry,’ he said.

Done and nearly done.

I am still working on research for the WW2 story (untitled as yet - ideas?), but have managed to complete a synopsis for my half hour sitcom, 'The Bad Apple', and sent it off.

Getting there...  =)

Unemployed writer: Will write for chocolate.

It's a full moon tonight. I'm supposed to be all bouncy and optimistic.

Meh.

It is hard not to get despondent when you fill your days and nights pouring your life's blood onto the page, knowing full well that no-one will ever give a damn. I'm tired. I'm broke. I'm working my ass off for a pay day that never comes.

I don't need fame and fortune, but a little taste of success would be nice. Just a morsel. A crumb. Will write for chocolate...

It would be so nice to think that someone out there even knew who I was. That I actually exist outside of the endless pages I write.

Maybe the simple truth is that I'm just not good enough. Maybe I don't have what it takes. Maybe I did... but it shrivelled up and died.

Gods, I sound jaded. I probably am jaded. *sigh*

Lazy ass researchers... how I loathe thee!

I'm reading 'American Gods' by Neil Gaiman as part of the 'One book, one tweet' book club on Twitter (#1b1t). This is, without doubt, one of the best books I have ever read. Needless to say all of Mr Gaiman's other scribings have been added to my long, long, long Amazon wish list. One day I shall actually make some money and be able to BUY something from that list. Wouldn't that be cool?

But I digress...

Most of the characters are ancient gods who have fallen on hard times and now live as caretakers, fortune tellers,etc. It is a wonderfully well researched book, incorporating mythology and religious practices from around the globe. Some less palatable than others.

Mr Gaiman also took certain liberties. He 'invented' a few facts to fit the narrative. Nothing wrong with that. It's a writers' job.

However, some lazy ass researcher has since written a reference book that includes these 'facts'. (Apparently they thought a work of fiction was a credible source!) Other writers have copied this in their reference books, and we now have a situation where fiction is quoted as fact by several independent authors.

I thought this was amusing until I encountered similar idle work this week.

I spent several days writing and perfecting a synopsis for the WW2 story I previously mentioned. I based this on information from a documentary. (Documentaries are my idea of a good time. That and pizza...) But, when I started to do a bit of research of my own, I discovered that a lot of the 'facts' in this programme were either incorrect or blatant lies!

How are people allowed to get away with this? How come someone can make a documentary when they haven't even bothered to check their info? Now I have to scrap the synopsis that I worked so hard on and start again.

It frustrates me that such indolent people can get jobs in tv, and I can't.

*Shakes fist at the Universe* Bah! Humbug!

Square one... again.

I had an email on Friday. Island Pictures have not officially discussed my idea yet, but the genre I chose is outside their comfort zone. So far, so not good.

The trouble is, in order to write something more 'acceptable' I have to do more than simply step outside my personal comfort zone... I have to take a giant leap.

I'm not comfortable with reality. I'll be honest - I don't like it. In order to write - and write well - you need to have a passion for your subject. So it would appear I am screwed.

Wrong.

What I AM passionate about is having a writing career. I wasted so many years doubting myself and not having the courage to at least TRY! I'll be damned if I am going to run whimpering into a corner and whinge about defeat. Not me. I want this too much.

So... I've come up with two ideas that I hope are more their style. Both based in real life. One is a true story from WW2. The other is a half hour sitcom.

If they don't like these I'll come up with something else. And I'll keep doing that until I succeed.

Can I go back to bed now, please?

I woke up with no voice today. It's starting to come back now - slowly, painfully - three hours later. I hate having a cold. My head is full of fluff and I need to write.

I managed to complete a synopsis for Henge on Friday and got that sent off to Island Pictures.

This was stupid.

What I should have done is waited until today... checked it through again... then ammended the mistake that is glaringly obvious to me now. eg. I have written it like the blurb on the back of a book. I've left questions as to what happens next. Not clearly identified the bad guys.

This is fine for a book. But when writing a synopsis you have to be clear on everything. They neither want nor like surprises. Ugh. I need my brain back. And a gizmo to rewind time...

I am happy with the premise though. 'A lazy cop and a dead Druid battle the forces of darkness in rural Wiltshire.' What do you think? Does it say 'scary but amusing'? I hope so.

In other news I am onto chapter seven of American Gods. This is one of the best books I have ever read. And I have read a LOT. Highly recommend it.

Can I wake up now, please?

It's a dark moon. I'm always funky around the dark moon.

Yesterday was a total disaster. I woke with a headache and sore throat, and my day went downhill from there. Nothing I wrote came out right. I gave up on After Dark and tried Henge instead. Rewrote it four times and still managed to make it sound like it had been written by a twelve year old.

Oy. Must try harder.

Add to that the fact that this 'government' is getting creepier by the day. They seem to be split into two groups... those who *have* jobs in the government, and just keep smiling and telling everyone what a wonderful time they are having... and those who *don't* have government jobs, who feel free to snipe at each other and admit this coalition is shit and will never work!

I want it to work. We as a country need it to work. But I'm not buying the grins and buddy talk. Rewind three weeks and recall what these parties were saying about each others policies. You really think they can move past that and reach an agreement? Really?

And what if they do? What kind of government is built on compromise? How did the Lib/Dems, who actually LOST seats I believe, end up with their leader as Deputy PM??

I feel as though we have a 'Stepford' parliament. No-one is real. They are all pretending to be perfect. And the changes they are trying to push through are downright terrifying!

Can I wake up now?

B is for Beautiful...

It's a beautiful day out there today. The sun is shining, the sky is a cloudless blue... I want to grab my coat and go walking in the wood.

Borthwood Copse is breathtaking at the moment. A lush carpet of scented bluebells interspersed with yellow primroses. Tiny forget-me-nots peek out along the path, and here and there are great seas of delicate white stitchwort. The hawthorn and cherry trees are in blossom, and vibrant spring greenery lifts the spirits.

I could live there. I truly could. If it wasn't for the spiders, of course... =)

Unfortunately I have to stay in and work on these two tv series ideas. They are pretty much complete in my head, but getting my thoughts down onto paper (or screen) adequately is proving difficult. I just can't seem to find the correct words. Must read more! My vocabulary is shrinking.

I am adapting one of my previous ideas to make it more adult. Although I am happy with the way it eventually turned out I am also mournful for the 'loss' of my previous script. It is hard to put so much of yourself into something and then tear it apart. Hopefully the peeps at Island Pictures will like the changes and make it worthwhile. 'After Dark' is now much darker...

The other idea - the new one - is called 'Henge' and is set in the village of Avebury. I was going to tie it in with the legend of King Arthur, but worry that the no-one will touch it due to the popular series 'Merlin'. Shame, as it all fit together perfectly. I have alternative antagonists, but no dastardly plan as yet.

Must go write. Wish me adjectives!

The politics of politics.

I'm afraid for my country. I really am.

When did this election all become about one issue? Proportional Representation. That seems to be THE debate right now. Forget schools, the NHS, tax credits... No. They are yesterday's news. What matters now is PR, a policy only fought for by the party who came third in our election.

Cameron and Brown are falling over themselves to offer up precious policies as sacrifice to Clegg, each hoping to win his favour and claim the keys to Number 10. A prize that should have been awarded by us, the public, but which is now in the hands of one man.

If this is what happens when we have a hung parliament - a weakening of government and diluting of policies - why are so many people clamouring for PR? It makes no sense!

As an idealistic seventeen year old studying politics I was all for Proportional Representation. To my teenage brain it seemed only fair. Vive la Revolution! But then I grew up, and I lived, and I realised that human beings are not lovely people who want to help each other. We are arrogant and selfish and we look out for our own best interests.

PR is an unworkable dream, however appealing the 'idea' of it may sound. So please... Mr Cameron, Mr Clegg, Mr Brown... may we move past it and get back to governing the country please?

Never satisfied... it's a woman thing.

I know I said I was tired of Daleks, but alien fish vampires? People, puh-lease! Only consolation was that Matt Smith was brilliant as usual.
Retweeted by Dominic Minghella today. Was so thrilled! I have GOT to get a life....

Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark

My kids are both in the Army Cadets. Yesterday my sixteen year old daughter went on her first 'camp' for the weekend. She wasn't feeling well, but she was excited and you know how stubborn teenagers can be...

Half past one in the morning we get a barely coherent phonecall from her - she is lost in the woods in the dark, feels really ill, and can't find her troop.

I don't need to tell you how frantic I was.

My husband drove out to Porchfield to try and find her. I stayed here with scenes from 'Deliverance' running through my head, talking to her on the phone and trying to keep her calm. When she told me that she had found somebody but didn't know who it was... I didn't know whether to be relieved or start screaming 'Run! Run!'

Steve brought her home about half two, the house returned to normal and everyone went to sleep. Except me. I could still hear that banjo. Da-da-DING-ding-DING-ding-DING-ding. *shudder*

I finally dropped off about five o'clock, only to be woken by the alarm a couple of hours later. I look like crap. I'm exhausted. And I have to be at work in less than an hour.

Think I'll just tack a note to my forehead saying 'Wake me if you want to buy anything.'

My country is screwed

The Isle of Wight has the highest electorate of any seat in the country. I was appalled, therefore, to wake this morning and find that over 2% of islanders voted BNP. That's TWICE as many people as voted for the Green Party.

What the f**k?!! <-- eloquence well and truly failed.

Sadly the Conservatives won locally. Now I'm feeling guilty for not voting tactically when I had the chance. As if my one vote would have made all the difference...

National results not in as yet, but it looks like we're heading for a hung Parliament. Aye Carumba.

Daleks and tactical voting (or not..)

What is it with the writers of Doctor Who and their curious obsession with Daleks? I'm all for recycling but this is beyond a joke! We've had mad ones, bad ones, sad ones, armies and solitary ones, human Daleks, uber Daleks, Daleks brought forward in time, Daleks gone backwards in time, Nazi-fighting camo-gear-wearing soldier Daleks, and now shiny primary coloured Daleks. The only type we haven't had yet...? Ones that stay bloody dead!


That having been said, I absolutely loved the recent 'Weeping Angels' scripts. Sumptuous dialogue. Fabulous one liners. Insane Doctor. And 'spoilers' galore. How wonderful it must be to be a part of that creative team. I can only dream of such heady heights.

I was fully prepared to loathe Matt Smith. After all, he isn't David Tennant, and that in itself is a punishable crime (or at least it should be). However, thanks to some fine acting, superb lines and a frankly fantastic introduction, I have to admit that he is shaping up to be a great doctor! And I - weak fool that I am  - am already falling in love with him.

On a more serious note I have just voted in the election. Ashamed to say that we actually have a BNP candidate on the Isle of Wight now. *sigh* There's never a Dalek when you need one...

I decided against tactical voting. Was that wrong? Labour can't possibly win on the island so perhaps I should have voted Liberal instead. Nervously awaiting the results.

Eureka moments and the tendency of tempus to fugit.

It was supposed to be simple - take a tv series idea and make it more 'adult'. No problem. I'll have it done by the weekend...

But as I worked on making the theme scarier, creating more tension, and introducing more adult scenes, I realised that the characters themselves were now wrong. Originally they were in their late teens and early twenties. Far too young (if statistics are to be believed) to capture the hearts and imagination of older viewers.

Damn.

So I made them ten years older. Much better. Only now their dialogue sounded immature and their character traits didn't fit. How would those extra ten years of life have affected them? Did they learn and grow, or hide from their problems? Were their insecurities overcome or accentuated? Who were they now?

I love creating people. I truly do. I find it the most enjoyable part of writing a script. But I could not find a way to make those characters mesh once I had added ten years. I tried getting rid of one of them, adding another, starting over with new characters and only the keeping original premise intact... I just couldn't make it work.

Somehow two months passed and I was nowhere near a solution. I got dispondant. What the hell was I thinking trying to make it as a writer anyway? I started work on a new book instead and told myself I was being pro-active.

Then this morning I had a Eureka moment in the bath. (What better place?) I started to 'see' the opening scenes in my head. I realised that the focus needed to shift to one of the other characters. I watched, fascinated, as the entire first act was played out in my mind. FINALLY I know who they are!

It is probably too late to submit this idea now, but I'm going to complete it anyway. I'm excited about it again. Hopefully that passion will show through.