Aridi Writes

The new beginning has started to go swimmingly. A bit slow going here and there. Mark is going to be hard to get into his stride again, but I’ll do it. I like the self-conscious little dweeb!

So there are now three projects warring for my attention (beyond Up The Creek):

MINUTE SILENCE: You read it right. Yep. Not satisfied with it, so…scrap, salvage, rework, redo. What kind of an idiot would - oh that’s right. Me. More details on that later.

ESCHATOLOGY: After witnessing a traumatic event, a young man tries to put his life back together, while dealing with hallucinations of the end of the world. The troubling thing is how the hallucinations and his own life start to mesh together…

DAMAGED IN TRANSIT: Wait and see.

…or…well, not. But we cope, don’t we?

Hi. I’m back online again. It’s been two weeks in which I’ve come to the realisation that I am far more of a geek than I would ever want to admit. I felt like I was missing a limb. (I’m posting this from work, but don’t let that ruin the image…)

So, hah. Writing. A writer’s blog that has no writing on it. I’m working on it. I’m still hitting a block; but maybe there is an end in sight to it. I am going to go back to something I was working on not so long ago. You may remember Individuation?

Well, something else along those lines; again first person, again a damaged individual.  Same setting too, Goldsmith Bay. The aspects of his personality that he can’t deal with manifest in the world around him as hallucinatory angels and demons.

No, it’s not like Max Payne, sit down in back.

Anyway. That’s my current project. Not enough people read this blog for me to worry about the idea being stolen. But I’m also working on a script for TJC Martin, who will hopefully turn it into a masterpiece.

Catch you on the wild side.

So I’ve actually moved house - and this is why my net presence is now so sporadic.

It’s a very strange thing. I’ve found it very easy to adapt to being somewhere else, mostly because at the end, I felt incredibly unwelcome and uncomfortable in the place underneath mum’s. I feel a touch guilty about the whole thing, because while she does her best to help me, she’s also incredibly overbearing at times, and it’s a work of will to not get angry and hostile. I mean I do GET angry. I just swallow it. And I put off my best leave-me-alone vibes. Because I can’t turn around to her and say “Look, just leave me the hell alone, I’m not as incompetent as you seem to believe”. That would take balls, something I am currently lacking.

That said. Life is going pretty alright. Despite the lack of net, the new place is taking shape; I need to get a couple of wardrobes and a book case or two. …or three. Cos I am running criminally short. And not everything is out of the old place, just yet. I’m getting there though.

My friends have been absolute fucking heroes for this move. Every last one of them has been so good to me, either by being supportive or by actually helping out. Special mention goes to Pat and Medwards, who did damn near half of the work by themselves, and to Noonoo, whose intervention with Betty got the important boxes where they needed to go safely.

Roll on reconnect day.

In the red corner, weighing in at a hefty xxx pounds, a common-or-garden super-soldier story about what would happen if we had super-soldier technology in this day and age and how it would be used or abused by the intelligence agencies and militaries of today!

In the blue corner, weighing in at an even xxx pounds, a far grittier version of the near future in which an all-pervasive surveillance network becomes sentient and starts to interfere with the security of the nation it is meant to protect!

LET’S GET READY TO RUMBLLEEEEEE!!!!!

I’ve just not been writing. At all.

I can’t. It’s…just a huge block. A writer’s block the size of the national debt. It seems insurmountable, which may be the only thing MAKING it insurmountable, but…

I have new ideas. They just don’t seem to go anywhere.

Oh well. Stay tuned. I may have more soon.

So the resolution didn’t quite work out.

One thing I need to do better is harness my depression as a tool or a driving force. I need to use it, not suffer from it. Or it wins, and I’m too bloody stubborn to accept that.

That said…I think I have found a way to actually harness it, that may make some people a touch uncomfortable.

For some reason the Isle of Wight has a strong literary history. It’s often been recalled fondly by poets in flowery verse talking about how green the fields of Wello are or how peaceful everywhere is after four on a Sunday. And yet, there is precious little in terms of real, reflective poetry - the kind of poetry that tells you the story that actually happens. It doesn’t just gloss over the cracks in the pavement. It tells you who fell between them, and is still there now.

I think I’m going to write a collection of poems. About the Island, about the depression surrounding it.

Watch this space.

Sorry about that. I’ve just had stuff to contend with. You know, life and all that. But I’m here now! With a smattering of interesting news bits.

For one. Minute Silence will shortly be winging its way to agents all over the shop. I’m still not sure on the protocol but I’m sure I can manage. And I’m confident that someone will find it interesting, at least. The money side of things is a loss to me…it’s not something I know terribly well, and frankly, have you seen the best-sellers lists?

Also, I’ve been preening a couple of other projects. Recycling an old idea for one - I love the setting too much to let it die, and I think my Gears Of War-inspired hankering for a future war story fits so neatly into it that it has to be done. I was randomly struck with inspiration at work today, too, for something far more contemporary and lit-ficcy. If anyone’s read (or heard about) Individuation, you’ll know this isn’t my usual thing - but we’ll see. More on that as I develop it.

I’m also having a shot at a podcast - probably with my good friend TJC Martin, whose film career better get a move on, or I’m going to have to start bribing people. Also my fantastically talented artist friend Laura is cranking out the goodies - one of which you’ll see on here soon enough in my Bio if you go look…

I’ll post more often. I promise.

Oh, and my New Year Resolution?

Write.

Every day.

Dear X Factor,

Congratulations. I didn’t think anyone could actually do it, but you’ve achieved what the entire current music industry could not. You’ve crushed my faith that the industry could produce something good by itself.

Oh sure; there’s some quality acts around the periphery. There’s some bands that become big even lacking - or perhaps despite of - your relentless marketing and the incredible ignorance of the general music-buying populace. But if we’re honest, they aren’t the moneymakers, are they? They’re not the people that churn out the classic cash cows, like:

- Horrible, oversampled, uninspiring hip-hop with all the originality of a photocopier and no message AT ALL.
- Pop-trash songs put through a barrage of filters and machinery written by middle-aged men in offices for singers without any talent AT ALL.
- Dance music that I could make in five minutes with my laptop and a complete lack of any creativity AT ALL.

Yes. These are the things that make money. And honestly? That’s fine. That’s why there’s an Alternative music scene. That’s why the quality music will always be considered Alternative - the music that is written by the people that perform it, the music with craft and effort put into its creation, the music that is made with blood, sweat and tears. The music the artist wants to make, regardless of if it will sell.

But when the main stream decides to dip into a song that is for all purposes an Alternative song (in that it is beautiful, well-crafted and not made for a cynical marketing scheme - at odds with the main stream ENTIRELY), then a line has been crossed; Leona Lewis covering Run? That’s not so offensive, despite her version being frankly rubbish, but at least she didn’t butcher say Chasing Cars or The Planets Bend Between Us.

It’s Hallelujah that gets to me.

Hallelujah. If you listen to that song, every time it’s performed, it is a different song - I’ve heard countless versions, all of them performed by talented artists, all of them unique, all of them personal to that artist. The most beautiful version I’ve heard is performed solo by Myles Kennedy of Alter Bridge and the Mayfield Four, but I also have a lot of love for the Rufus Wainright version, and of course, Jeff Buckley.

The song could never be called a hopeful song. If you listen to it…if you listen to it AT ALL then you know it isn’t a hopeful song, or a terribly happy one, or anything else. Trying to make it happy and up-beat would be a little like trying to remove the anger from Jeremy, or the cynicism from Welcome To The Machine - or trying to turn Learn To Fly into a funeral dirge. In short, it fucks up the song.

In short, YOU fucked up the song. I won’t blame the woman that sung it (whoever she is). I blame YOU, X Factor. I blame the gears behind the scenes that have galvanised the industry into force-feeding us dog shit again. I blame YOU for turning a beautiful, touching song into something horrifyingly banal and “family-friendly” and all in the name of sales and the Christmas number one slot. Because in five years, when you talk to young people about Hallelujah, they will remember this over-produced pile of monkey droppings, and not a REAL version of the song.

That’s okay, though. You line your pockets. You sign the record deals and the marketing agreements and make sure you can afford that brand new Lamborghini. Because we fans of music? You know, MUSIC? That stuff that you can believe in? We work behind the scenes. When someone talks about the Christmas number one, we’ll introduce them to a real version of the song, and that will move them to tears - and they will regret you people ever acquiring the rights for Hallelujah.

Enjoy your money. It may not be all yours for long. Change is coming, and the industry is opening up. The dinosaurs in charge that sic the lawyers on everyone that deviates from their current listening plan can’t possibly keep up with the changes in listening habits and the delivery of media. Revolution will come, regardless of how hard you’ll fight.

I’ll delight in watching your house of cards collapse around you.

Signed,

A Music Fan

Overall, I could convince myself that this year wasn’t a total failure - and in truth it wasn’t. I wrote almost 50,000 words this month - unfortunately in something like six different stories, ten to fifteen thousand in three, far less in the other three. I came up with an excellent sci fi setting idea, but couldn’t execute anything with it. I could use that sometime soon…

Why did I fail? Lack of attention. A new relationship that is…frankly, wonderful, but distracting due to it’s newness and unusual agreeable nature. Work and all its little nuances. Gigs, parties, a social life…all things that I should, really, have seen would messed up my word count.

The real crippler was being unable to settle on a story. I had ideas, lots of them; but I didn’t particularly feel like writing any of them. Not like I want to write Minute Silence; a contigious setting that I already know very well, with an overarching plot that I can still tweak and develop. Let’s face it, I also love the characters. Anyone that’s listened to me prattle about Cal, Black Swan or Mark can testify to that.

So the lesson? Make sure I know what I want to write. And if I don’t want to write it…change it. We all have to write things we don’t particularly want to but we can always make it more bearable.

It’s like a good book and a glass of water on a long-haul flight. You’re still in an uncomfortable situation - but it could be worse.