Comedies and Tragedies

Hello, I'm funny! Ha ha ha! Well, okay, to just assume I'm funny like that is probably very arrogant. But then I know a lot of people might say I'm an arrogant person - I know in some corners of the internet, I've gained something of a reputation for hating all signs modesty. But, when talking to people, I do take the anti-modesty view to extremes that I don't really believe in. I use the whole super-arrogant thing as a way of making jokes of many things and life in general! So I'm being arrogant to be funny, which makes me arrogant. Okay, got it. Sort of.

So, how is acting like a big-headed buffoon funny? Well, strictly speaking, it's not. But it makes it easier to have a laugh. I mean, you'll find you enjoy yourself more if you take up an "I am so awesome" attitude rather than sitting around, being depressed and moody. Everyone can get depressed or doubtful about things, especially us teenagers. Especially us slightly mad, pretty intelligent, super imaginative teenagers. Especially especially us slightly mad, pretty intelligent, super imaginative, single teenagers.

But, going back to wherever it was this mad rambling rant started, by taking a generally joking/funny viewpoint on these things, it makes it all a lot easier. That's why the 'Forever Alone' meme was created on the internet (I imagine). It will keep you in much higher spirits to make jokes like that about being single rather than getting depressed, worried or stressed about it - and let's be honest, we've all done that at some point. Or some points.

Yes, there is the worry that you can joke too much about these things and may just end up with the reputation as the comedy guy. Which isn't that bad, really, honestly, I would be perfectly happy to have people think I was funny - but you don't want people just to see you as the joker who never really takes anything seriously. And this is where I shall cleverly link this whole rambling post back to the subject this blog is supposed to be about!

So! Writing! Remember that? The thing I seem to spend most of my life doing? If you read this blog often (then thank you, so much!) you will probably be wondering what everything I have been saying has to do with writing. And if you're not, I certainly am, so that's what I'm going to talk about!

It struck me the other day that I've never really written anything particularly funny, other than the odd joke thrown into a more serious piece of writing. I've never touched upon the comedy genre that much, save for one short script I wrote for a BBC competition (didn't win, oh well, always next time). I've thought about it before. I've talked with my friends about doing sketch shows after our Doctor Who fan series and the million other things we were meant to be doing. And like those million other things, the sketch shows sort of got forgotten. But when it comes to planning filming projects, I always think of them in terms of the finished film, I never really view them as writing projects, even though script-writing is one of my favourite parts of the process. So, I have never really considered doing any comical writing. And even then, when this thought struck me, the idea of writing something funny seemed all right, but still didn't make me think "Yes! I must do that!"

I thought about this for a little bit. I usually seize any opportunity to have a laugh or make a joke, even if it's a really pathetic one. Especially if it's a really pathetic one! But the idea of writing something funny just didn't appeal as much as I thought it would. And then, I realised why. Writing, for me, is a very emotionally-inspired process. Hang on... did I just say 'process'? That sounds horribly technical and like something out of the real, grown-up world - let's call it an emotionally-inspired art form. Arty-farty as that may sound, that is honestly how I see writing.

Like I said before, I make jokes about a lot of things because it's easier and nicer to have a laugh rather than get depressed and upset. I'm not saying every time I make a pathetic attempt to be funny or tell a joke, I'm suppressing some dark, depressing secret - if so that would make me a very dark, depressing, secretive person (the sort that would appear in my writing)! But, if we let our real feelings get the better of us all the time - especially us slightly mad, pretty intelligent, super imaginative, single teenagers - it would turn us into wrecks. Writing is the one time I allow myself to do that. I give in to all the depressing things that go on in my head, but also the bright, amazing joyful things that go on in my head. Not to mention the exciting, the scary, the insane and the impossible things. Writing is how I use all those big emotions that go on inside every one of us.

I'm not saying we should keep those emotions secret, just to save them for writing (or whatever your 'emotionally-inspired art form' of choice may be). Sure, we should talk to friends or family about them at times. But there's far too much stuff going on in my head for me to ever really talk about it all with friends, and I would imagine the scenario is the same for anyone who qualifies as a human being! Besides, I struggle to make sense of a lot of it myself, so I don't know what chance anyone else would have!

Writing helps me get these feelings out, helps me understand them, helps me make use of them, rather than bottling them up and letting them drive me insane. I can save the joking around for when I'm with friends or family. And any times when I am honest with them about how I really feel, they can simply consider as teasers for my writing. If they really want to know the truth, they'll have to read the stuff I make up.

Life, the Universe and Writing...

Hello once again, dear readers and internet-dwellers! Long time no posts, sorry about that. I've been really rather distracted of late.

So, where do I begin? GCSEs done and dusted, still awaiting results. Work Experience starts tomorrow at some arty-centre place and I have been reading and writing like mad! Four scripts are now nice and neatly written up for Doctor Who, the fourth of which is the first part of a two part episode. Still being very ambitious with the plans for this series, with lots of plans to film in city centres and up in the woods and lots of other all-over-the-place places too! Hmm, what's that? The stories? Oh, don't you worry... the stories are brilliant! I think. I hope...

Anyway, moving on from the frankly rather exhausting world of script writing, there is the novel, "Changing", which I keep banging on about on here. All goes well(ish) on that front too! Up to the fourth chapter of the book (four chapters of the book, four episodes of Doctor Who - coincidence? I think... yes). Of course I could go into more detail and stupidly give away the plot so far, but I don't want to spoil it for whenever I manage to get this thing finished and published!

Now then, in other news, I recently turned sixteen! Aaagh, scary, I know! The "under-age" excuse is no longer available, you can get a lottery ticket, you can leave home, but you can't drink. Yes, we live in a nation where you can *ahem* with someone, but not have alcohol. Wrong way round? Possibly. Anyway, sixteenth birthday, amongst many other amazing items and a nice wad of cash, I got a creative writing study kit. Which, as you readers will know, is the sort of thing that's quite handy for me. Once I've told myself to listen to its advice and not ignore it going "No! Ridiculous! Wrong!" as though I know best! And I have to say, it has come in very helpful with my writing!

And then there's the reading I've been getting done. I believe I am currently reading three or four books at the same time! See, with my lovely birthday money, I chose to ignore the fact I was already reading The Hunger Games (very good book so far, being turned into a film) and Apollo 23 (a Doctor Who novel I got for my birthday), and went out and bought four lovely new books! One of which is a Sherlock Holmes book. I did limit myself, I said only one Sherlock Holmes book... that one just happened to be every Sherlock Holmes story ever written! So I've got about sixty of those to get through. Then there is Neil Gaiman's (who is amazing) Fragile Things - a collection of poems and short stories written by the great man; Hunger, the sequel to Gone, one of my all-time favourite books; and The End Of Eternity by Isaac Asimov, a sci-fi timey wimey novel, which I am yet to start reading.

So! Yes! Been busy reading and writing my life away. No real reason behind this post, other than the recurring thought "I should update the blog". So here it is, updated. Admire its updatedness... if you like. You can tell I'm tired... see you all soon, when I actually have something to blog about!

I'm still here!

Yes, hello! I've not written anything up here in a while, so I thought I should just confirm I do still exist. Or at least I did the last time I checked.

So, the big wide world of writing! It's all still there, buzzing away in my head and in a million different Word documents! And now, a bit of it's on paper for once. I did something horribly frightening that I would never normally do, the other day - I wrote a plan for my novel! A plan? Someone as spontaneous and mad as me, PLANNING something? Has the world gone mad? Well, yes, but that happened a while ago and is completely unrelated to me writing a plan.

The reason I decided to grab a pen and notebook and do some old fashioned note-making, was because I was slowly starting to realise that the story I was writing may not be a story at all. I had certain scenes and elements all forming themselves and ready in my head, but I didn't know how I was going to get from one scene to another and I didn't know where this whole story was going. And so, lo and behold, three and a half pages of bullet points, to guide me through my writing! I'll admit, writing out a massive list of bullet points and then realising you're only on the second one is a tad daunting, but at least I know where I'm going with this story now. I have a rough beginning, middle and end, I have big dramatic scenes in the right places, and hopefully it will all work out wonderfully!

So, with my trusty plan and my story now into its second chapter, I think I can give you all a good plot summary! This is the sort of thing I would write in a blurb for the book (and will probably have to write when I come to doing a blurb) and should hopefully give you all a better understanding into the twisted ways of my mind...

On the night that Drake Strider wakes up, screaming, from a nightmare, he doesn't know that across town all of his friends have experienced the exact same dream. Nor does he know that his life is about to change forever.

Drake and his friends quickly start to discover that they are developing supernatural abilities. Powers to move, control and destroy objects within the world around them. Powers that prove to be a danger both to themselves and to others. Powers that have attracted the interest of a sinister organisation.

Soon, Drake and the others find themselves victims, on the run from people who would happily see them all dead if it meant they could harness the abilities the teenagers have gained. In a desperate struggle for survival, the teens must face both the threat from their pursuers and their ever-changing, conflicting feelings for each other. Life isn't easy when everything's changing.

RIP Elisabeth Sladen

I'm sure that just about all of you out there will have heard the sad news of the death of Elisabeth Sladen, who played Sarah Jane Smith in Doctor Who. After the story I wrote as a tribute to Nicholas Courtney and the Brigadier, it seemed only right and fitting that I do the same for Sarah Jane. But, I could not bring myself to write "Sarah Jane's Funeral". Sorry, it just wasn't going to happen. So, here instead, is a short story about the amazing Sarah Jane Smith, who will never truly die.

--

In Memory of Sarah Jane

Sarah Jane Smith was sat in her attic, kindly regarding a gift she had recently been left by a visiting Star Poet. The small, beautifully carved metallic item whispered out poetry in a sweet, sing-song voice. The poem depended on the mood of whoever was holding it, and so far it had only spoken words of joy.

Sarah Jane looked down at her watch – it was almost midnight. She should be off to bed, really. Luke was visiting and she had already forced him to get to sleep in his old room, leaving K9 to rest overnight in the living room. As the Star Poet’s gift finished another verse, Sarah Jane placed it gently back on top of her cluttered desk and got to her feet, stretching out her arms in a long yawn. She froze. Arms still outstretched, mouth still half open, she had heard something. From outside. At first it had sounded like nothing more than a gust of wind, but after all these years she couldn’t mistake it. She rushed to the window, throwing it open and looking down on the darkened garden. Sat there, visible by the light from its roof and windows, sat that ancient blue police box. The TARDIS.

Having slipped her boots on and run down her house’s many stairs, Sarah Jane burst through the back door into the garden. As soon as she had crossed the threshold, her pace slowed and she stood, staring in wonder at the time machine she had known for so long, unable to describe the warmth the sight of it brought to her.

With a rickety wooden sound, one of the doors swung open and the Doctor appeared in the doorway – he looked exactly the same as when Sarah had last seen him. She gave a silent sigh of relief at the fact he hadn’t had to suffer another death. She barely knew this Doctor yet.

“Doctor!” she beamed.

“Sarah! Hello! Fancy seeing you here!” he was grinning broadly as he stepped into the garden, closing the TARDIS door behind him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, running over to the Time Lord.

“Well, you know, just came to check up on you… in the middle of the night… Actually, if I’m honest, bit of a mistake. You know what the TARDIS is like. But, still, a sort of good mistake! I’ve ended up in much worse places!”

A happy laugh escaped Sarah’s mouth, as he listened to her old friend.

“Yes, you have!” she said with a smile. “Like Metebilis Three…”

“And Skaro…” he recalled quietly, his tone drifting somewhat as he reminisced of days long since gone.

“And Aberdeen.” Sarah Jane stated firmly, at which the Doctor looked around the garden, a little sheepishly.

“Ah, yes… erm, sorry, about that. Again.”

But Sarah was laughing, happy to see the Doctor again and to remember her past with him. And the Doctor was laughing happily with her, regarding his former companion with his kind emerald eyes.

“Master!” came the cry of a small, robotic voice. Sarah Jane looked back at the doorway, the Doctor’s gaze following hers and they both laid eyes on K9, trundling out of the house.

“K9! Hello!” the Doctor called out, his face fixed in a broad, beaming grin. He dashed over to the metal dog, laying his hand on the back of its box-like head, while looking over his shoulder at Sarah. “What’s he doing here? Is Luke visiting?”

“Yes, but he’s asleep at the minute. Maybe if you came back in the morning…”

“Nah, it’s alright. I’m sure I’ll bump into him at some other point. So, what have you been up to, protecting the world from your attic in Ealing?”

Letting out a long, happy sigh, Sarah took a seat on the bench, the Doctor slumping into the seat beside her.

“Same old busy life! Saw off a lone Slitheen last week, then helped a lost star fleet find its way home, had a visit from a Star Poet…”

“Ah! Star Poets! Lovely bunch. Visited their home world a few times – you would love it! They have towers carved from mountains of shining crystals and the queen’s palace is one of the greatest sights in the universe! I met four of their queens – and I may have accidentally married one.”

Sarah’s eyes drifted up towards the sky as the Doctor spoke, and she sat, gazing out into the vast ocean of glimmering stars. K9 slowly moved over to the bench where the two time travellers were sat, raising his head at the Doctor, who looked back down at his old dog.

“So, K9, how’s Luke been doing at uni? Working hard?”

“Master Luke’s work at university has been produced at his maximum capacity.”

Both the Doctor and Sarah Jane laughed at that. K9 had never quite grasped normal human speech, but that metal dog was a friend that had served them both well in the past. Looking back from his former pet to his former companion, the Doctor noticed Sarah’s gaze was still resting on the stars that shone down on them from the swirling darkness of the night sky.

“You’ve seen your fair share of them up close, I’d say.” the Doctor whispered, his attention now slowly being absorbed by the view of space.

“Yeah… funny, though, how rarely we just stop and admire the beauty of it. All of it. Space. The universe. Time.”

“Mmm.” The Doctor nodded his agreement. “It is beautiful. All of time and space – it’s just… incredible. But, sometimes, not as incredible as the wonders I find here on Earth. All those times, places… people. Like you, Sarah.”

Sarah Jane just smiled and whispered a quiet “Thank you.”

The Doctor tore his gaze away from the sky above, looking instead at his dear friend.

“I mean it, Sarah. All that time we spent travelling, and now this, all these years on, you’re still protecting the Earth, saving the human race, finding the best in people – very few people have quite the claim to greatness that you do. My Sarah Jane Smith, shining brighter than any star!”

A small smile remained on Sarah’s lips as she looked back into the Doctor’s eyes. She paused, speechless for a moment, before speaking again, slowly asking her friend a question she wasn’t sure she wanted the answer to.

“All these years, doing what I do, doing what we did... sometimes, Doctor, sometimes I wonder – how many years do I have left? How much longer can I carry on?”

The Doctor smiled reassuringly, his green eyes twinkling like the stars as he spoke.

“Sarah. There are some things that can never end. No matter what the universe throws at you, no matter what happens, you will go on forever. In hundreds of thousands of years to come, people will still remember you. They’ll sing songs and tell stories of the noble and valiant Sarah Jane Smith, and how she was the perfect example of the best that humanity could ever be. Your work, your memory, your legacy will live on forever, Sarah, never ever forgotten. Life can come and go so quickly, but real life – that lasts forever. And, in centuries and millennia to come, people will be looking up to the stars and seeing a universe that is so much better than it once was, thanks to you, Sarah Jane.”

Sarah was sat with the echoes of tears shining in her eyes, a smile brushing over her lips. The Doctor returned her gaze in that funny way he had of being both sad and incredibly happy.

After taking one final look up at the stars, the Doctor got to his feet and walked back over to the TARDIS, opening the doors with a click of his fingers, and stepping inside.

Stopping on the threshold before he made another trip through time, he looked back into the garden, proudly regarding his friend.

“Goodbye, Sarah Jane.”

Ch-ch-ch-changes!

Okay, sorry, couldn't resist that title! As you may know, if you are one of the very few people that pays attention to my ramblings over here, I've recently started working on a novel entitled "Changing". Yes, I have stuck with that title - it fits rather nicely, in more ways than one! And, as you won't know even if you have been mad enough to pay attention to the blog, I recently completely restarted it! Shock! Horror! Well, not really shock and horror, considering I was still in the early stages of writing it. But now, on draft 2, I've got a version I'm much happier with and is going, I feel, really rather well!

So what inspired my radical, insane moment of changing Changing (see what I did there)? Well, to be honest, it was another book. Wait! Don't sharpen your pitchforks just yet! I'm not copying or stealing ideas - I've just been given a bit of a wake-up slap! The book responsible is "Gone" by Michael Grant. The book begins with a teacher disappearing in the second sentence. It starts right at the moment everything goes wibbly! And so, I decided, I needed to do the same, because the book I was writing was just too boring before. It started with the main character having just cut his hand open, which is a little out of the ordinary, yes, but then it just felt too slow, too childish. It needed to start at the very point where normality says "Well, this is my stop!". So that's what I've done!

Before I delve any further into my writing, now that I've mentioned Michael Grant's Gone I'll have to talk about it briefly. It's about what happens when everyone in a Californian town over the age of 14 disappears. The town is cut off from the outside world by a barrier and some of the kids left behind start to develop strange, mutant powers. It is brilliantly, beautifully, perfectly written - there is some horrifically dark stuff in there and you can really empathise with the characters. But I'm not saying any more - go out, buy it, read it! It's an excellent book; especially if you're a teenager!

Now then, back to my stuff. I've been saying for a while now that I would post a preview of it, and to delay any longer might make me feel slightly a little bit bad. So, here is the opening to Changing, Chapter One:

An anguished yell burst from Drake Strider’s mouth as he woke, sitting bolt upright. Cold beads of sweat were trickling across his forehead and down his back. His breath had broken into heavy, trembling gasps and his heartbeat was fiercely evident against his ribs. Staring around the darkened room, he tried to find his clock, though his vision was blurred and desperately struggling to adjust to the darkness.

Pushing the tangled mess of bed sheets aside, Drake got to his feet, a little unsteadily. He brushed over his bleary eyes with the tips of his fingers and stumbled slightly, as he stepped towards the squat cupboard that sat in his room. An old analogue clock was stood on top of it and the teenager picked it up, squinting to make out the time. Three in the morning. With a slight groan, he placed the clock back where it had been standing and went to the window, pulling the curtain aside and peering out.

The sky was a vast, rolling ocean of darkness, a few stars just visible through the thick tides of clouds. A drizzle of rain obscured the street below, so that all that could be seen was the gentle glow of streetlamps. Drake stood still, watching, his thoughts starting to wonder in all sorts of directions as his gaze passed over the abandoned street. At least, he had thought it was abandoned.

Suddenly, something caught his eye. It was a figure, stood on the pavement below – a man, by the looks of it, and he was powerfully built. Drake stood, staring. The figure was remaining perfectly still, perched on the street corner, facing Drake’s house. A thought suddenly crossed the teenager’s mind. Is he looking at me?

A triumphant return!

To be precise, the return of my computer! Well, not exactly. I got a new one - but the important thing is it means I can get writing again, and gotten writing I have! Yes, 'Changing' is slowly but steadily getting going, there's been work on 'Consulting Detective' (work which largely involves me taking control of episode one from Adam!) and work on poetry. Yes, you read that correctly, I said poetry. What am I talking about? Poetry, not prose or stories? Have I gone insane? Well, stay right there and I'll explain everything for you, dear reader! It all started a few weeks back when, as part of my school's 'Big Read' week (which ended in an amazing 24-hour Readathon - I'll have to put up a post about it at some point), I was one the lucky people that got to attend a poetry reading and Q/A session, with a poet (whose name escapes me at the minute!), as well as a workshop session with him in the afternoon. Now, he was a really rather inspiring fellow and the whole poetry theme of the day reminded me of the recent school trip to 'GCSE Poetry Live' that I had attended. When we were there we heard from the truly amazing John Agard, as well as Simon Armitage. One of Armitage's poems, called "Kid" was based on the old 1960s Batman TV series, written from Robin's point of view. One of the things he had said in relation to the poem was that it was a way of showing that poems about heroic figures don't have to be written about ancient, mythical heroes and Gods, but can be about... well, whatever you want! So, I almost inevitably ended up writing poems about whatever I wanted - things that really interest me. I currently have two quite nice, light-hearted poems, one about Sherlock Holmes and one about the Daleks! I have recently, however, written one on a more serious issue that I really do have strong feelings about - soldiers and the army. More specifically, the "kill or be killed" mentality of soldiers, which I despise. Many of you might think I'm being ridiculous, and that way of thinking is fine, but one of the greatest and most inspirational people to have ever lived, in my opinion, was Mohandas Gandhi. Some of the quotes I have found from that one man show a greater wisdom than I think all the people of Earth today could ever manage. One of the best examples, which supports my point, comes from during WWII, when Gandhi said: "I would like you to lay down the arms you have as being useless for saving you or humanity. You will invite Herr Hitler and Signor Mussolini to take what they want of the countries you call your possessions...If these gentlemen choose to occupy your homes, you will vacate them. If they do not give you free passage out, you will allow yourselves, man, woman, and child, to be slaughtered, but you will refuse to owe allegiance to them." This is a belief and way of thinking that I honestly think we should all adopt and would make us all much greater people. The utter refusal to use weapons or to kill and to be willing to accept death instead of acting as though murder is acceptable. It is this way of thinking I am trying to promote through my most recent piece of writing. And that's one of the reasons I love writing so much. It's a way to spread your message, your feelings, your opinions through so many avenues of the imagination. Through new characters, or new worlds in stories and novels. Poetry, I find, allows you to directly give a message to your reader that they may not normally hear out - it allows you to give your argument with more power than simple, on-the-spot speech ever could. Writing spreads and contains your thoughts, keeping them alive forever. Long after you've left this life, your words can live on and continue to show your thoughts and emotions. That cannot be stopped by anything. And that, my dear reader, is truly why the keyboard is mightier than the machine gun.

Picking, choosing and losing

So! Last time I posted here (before the Nicholas Courtney tribute) I was going mad with ideas for writing projects! Now I've managed to boil them down to a few good ones. I've got a new novel project (I know I should focus on the old one, but I'm 'feeling' this one more!) called "Changing" - it's partly based on real life stuff and partly supernatural. I could never ever write anything based solely on reality! The second I'm still not sure on - I know I want to do something sort of Sherlock Holmes meets Inidiana Jones, but I've not gotten much further than that! I've had ideas for a race between detectives and ideas of incorporating the Illuminati, just because they're cool to play around with - especially when you're given the freedom to imagine they really are a significant organisation. Speaking or Mr. Holmes, I'm back on the scripts for "Consulting Detective". Adam has conceded defeat at the hand of his first script and I've taken over - for now, anyway! So I'm busy pottering away on episode one, explaining Sherlock's impossible deductions. It's actually incredibly fun when you know how he did it! So, I've picked and chosen the best bits from my ideas to form my two new novel ideas (I've already started writing Changing - will post an extract soon!) and that brings me to the other part of this post title - losing. Nothing too major, but my lovely PC has decided to die. This means I'm confined to using my dad's laptop, whenever I can and is generally restricting on the amount of time I can spend writing. Oh well, hopefully all will be sorted soon and I'll be word-weaving away again! I'll post again as soon as possible, with an extract from my latest work - and the few of you who read this blog will be lucky enough to see it!

RIP Nicholas Courtney

As the Doctor Who fans amongst you may know, Nicholas Courtney, who played the prestigious role of the Brigadier, died last week. This short story is my tribute to the amazing actor and the amazing character he played.

--

The Brigadier’s Funeral

Another tear rolled slowly down the face of Sarah Jane Smith. She was stood in silence, near the front of the gathered congregation, watching the funeral proceedings. Clyde, Rani, Luke and even K-9 were by her side, all sharing in the deep sadness that adorned the hearts of everyone present. Brigadier Sir Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart had died.
Soldiers stood still, upright as always, displaying the respect of the military. Many of them looked far too young to have ever known the Brigadier in his prime, but they all knew the stories, the legends, of his work. Looking across the room, Clyde noticed Jo Jones and her grandson, Santiago, along with a mix of people he did not recognise, though Sarah Jane had seemed to know most of them; old UNIT soldiers and companions to the Doctor who had been fortunate enough to meet the Brigadier. All stood silently, all deeply saddened by the loss the world had suffered. There was not a single face that hadn’t felt the brush of tears that day. As the reverend, at the front of the church, stepped aside to allow someone to say a few words, Clyde turned his attention back to the altar.
The coffin sat atop a beautifully decorated table, adorned with flowers of every kind and what seemed like a thousand medals. In place of a table cloth was a broad, shining flag, bearing the emblem of UNIT. On top of the coffin’s polished surface sat, neatly folded, the Brigadier’s old uniform, his hat tidily perched there, displaying his gleaming, golden badge.
A smartly dressed, balding man, UNIT Colonel Mace, stepped up to one of the church’s altars, taking a moment to silently regard that lavishly decorated wooden tomb. Clearing his throat a little, he turned to the mass of people stood in the pews, feeling the same pain and grievance as them.
“I cannot say I knew Sir Alistair very well.” He began, slowly, treating every word with delicate respect. “But to have known him at all is a great honour. He was a brave man, one of the bravest the human race has ever had to offer. Needless to say, I’m sure, that we all owe him so much more than we ourselves could ever know. The cases in which our dearest Brigadier had involved himself were some of the most impressive to ever enter UNIT’s records. He was there at UNIT’s formation and had since seen some of the greatest threats to our survival that have ever dared set foot upon this planet. Every one of them, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart stood against with his unerring courage and determination. A fighter, a brave man, and a hero, to the end.” Mace paused, allowing the memories and thoughts of Sir Alistair to settle in his mind, before continuing. “After all his years of service to UNIT and to the human race, it was no extraterrestrial threat, or violent aggressor that ended Sir Alistair’s life. No, he was, in the end, defeated by the one opponent none of us could ever escape – time. And he accepted it with more grace and peace than many would ever have had the bravery, or the soul, to do. He will be dearly missed, by us and by everyone.”
With a final nod and a few, almost silent, words to the Brigadier, Colonel Mace walked back to his place amongst the assembly, resuming his own silent sorrow.
As the day swept on, there were a few more speeches, before a final few words from the church’s reverend, after which, people started to make their departures. For some, it was the first time they had seen each other in many long years, but hardly any of them spoke to each other. Instead, as they all slowly, gradually, made their way from the church, one by one different attendants of the service would travel to the coffin, paying their own respects to the man who had meant so much.
Sarah Jane did so herself, when most of the others had left. Luke, Rani and Clyde went with her, K-9 quietly trundling along behind. Wiping another tear from her eye, Sarah Jane placed her hand on the cold wooden casket, speaking to her old friend.
“Goodbye, Sir Alistair. And thank you.”
She was unable to manage any more, and walked away, towards the heavy oak doors at the other end of the church, the others all with her, offering her their support. As they entered the churchyard, the cold breeze washed over them, the February weather providing a bitter welcome. Sarah Jane had seen so many familiar faces, but was in no mood to talk. Instead, she walked straight to her car, the other three and K-9 in tow. The Brigadier had been the best human she had ever known and the loss of him was so terrible that she did not even stop at the familiar sound of ancient, groaning engines.

The large blue shape of the TARDIS stood in the church’s graveyard, where Sir Alistair’s body would soon be laid to rest. The door opened and a single, solitary figure stepped out, wearing a tweed jacket and black bowtie. Locking the wooden police box’s doors behind him, the Doctor silently made his way into the now empty church.
Every footstep he made echoed emptily against the building’s stone walls, as he approached the elaborate coffin, where his old friend lay at rest. Coming to a stop by its side, the Doctor laid his hand on the box, his head bowed in solemn respect.
“Alistair. I always wished this day would never come. Always wished it would be another one of those dates I could run away from. But I could never run away from this.”
The Time Lord dropped his hand to his side, slowly starting to walk around the coffin, admiring the Brigadier’s extensive array of medals.
“All the things we did, Alistair, all the things we saw! All those creatures we faced together. The Daleks, the Cybermen, Zygons, Silurians, the Master, the Autons – remember the Autons?” Coming to a halt, a grin broke out on the Doctor’s face, as he reminisced with his friend, though sadness was still potent in his eyes. The expression faded, only an echo of a smile left on his features as he spoke, more quietly now, to the man who had helped him so many times in so many ways. “I owe you my life, Alistair. We might have had our disagreements over the years, but I can honestly say you were the best man I ever knew. Truly, the greatest example of what humanity is capable of.”
Regarding the coffin with a sad smile, remembering one of his greatest friends and one of Earth’s greatest heroes, the Doctor spoke with the air, authority and manner of every one of his eleven lives, every one of them wanting to wish Sir Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart a final farewell.
“Goodbye, Alistair. Goodbye; Brigadier.”

Ideas, ideas everywhere...

I've gone into over-creative mode and I haven't got a clue why! Maybe it's my leg injury - physical weakness must make me stronger mentally! Like Davros, or Stephen Hawking (who I secretly suspect are the same person...). Alternatively it could be some complex psychological doo-hickey, due to being at my grandparents house, where I used to spend ages drawing, listening to stories, reading books and playing games when I was young, so some element of that has reawakened, or... I need Derren Brown to explain this properly. (In case you're wondering, the Doctor Who villain I suspect him of secretly being is the Master. Aimon Holmes is a Slitheen, Rick Astley is a Time Lord and wheelie bins are Daleks)!
So, creativity - good! Well, mostly good. When I have too many ideas on the go at once, it becomes hard to keep track and deal with them all! In this rush of new thoughts, I haven't given any thought to the book I'm writing (superhero novel, "Legion X") - in fact I seem to have thought about everything I'm writing and more, except the book! Unfortunately, this also includes new book ideas, which I'm going to want to work on. I know that I should focus on one thing at a time, if I want to get anything published, but now I'm having wonderful ideas of sci-fi and fantasy and writing like the amazing H.G. Wells! Like I said, I have no idea why! Although, for a while now I've been wanting to get hold of Wells' "The Time Machine". There's a whole beautiful atmosphere to older works of science fiction that isn't there with newer stuff. I mean, I love Doctor Who to no end, but there's a whole different style in the original "War of the Worlds". Science Fiction has changed into an almost completely different genre.
Also, I feel like writing something in an older era - maybe a more Dickensian setting, the sort of era "A Christmas Carol" was set in. Or just before WWI. There's certainly a nicer, sometimes much more exciting, atmosphere to these time eras in comparison with modern day. A more stylized feel, rather than cold electronics. For once, I do know where this feeling has come from! It's not so much one source of inspiration, but lots of little things. My recent obsession with Sherlock Holmes, the H.G. Wells books I've been wanting to read, period dramas being fired at us from left, right and centre, the old-fashioned 'steam-punk' style of Doctor Who's last Christmas special and the general brilliance of classical works of literature.
So! After all this, you're either bored out of your mind, wondering why you bothered to read this, or wanting to know what these amazing ideas of mine are! I'm going to imagine you've chosen the latter. In fact, could you please at leasr try to choose the latter?
Now, obviously I hate giving a lot away, because it ruins the surprise (shall I end the post there?), but I shall attempt to say something. This is where I test how formed my ideas really are - I find you never really know how strong an idea is until you write it out. I've been trying to pull together all of these elements I've been talking about into one - something new, creative, science fiction and set in an olden era. I'm particularly drawn to the pre-WWI era, because of a recently-made dramatization I saw a while ago of the book "The Thirty Nine Steps". If you've not seen it, I would thoroughly recommend it - it's action-packed, really exciting stuff! I've never read the book, but now it's another one on my wish list... Anyway, yes, the drama of that is one of my inspirations. "Where does the science fiction come into this diabolical scheme of story-writing which you have concocted?" I hear you ask! Well, I've had the idea of a conspiracy cover-up, probably from listening to my Dad too much (don't worry Dad, I'm sure that indisputable evidence for Global Warming isn't important at all...) and government cover-ups lend themselves beautifully to sci-fi. For example, there are real theories that the Queen is an alien space lizard. No, really...
So, the government are covering up something to do with our little green friends from other worlds. Not so creative and new yet is it? Been done before, you say? Don't worry, I'm working on it! This isn't going to be the same old "UFO Crashes, government stops people from knowing" type storyline. Like all good ideas, this one is taking its time to grow and develop in my head, but I've had a few good thoughts on it. Like I said, I don't want to give too much away, but once some of it is written, or I've got a whole storyline, I may post an extract or a blurb right here on this very blog!
As I said, I am in a very creative mindset and, as if to prove it to you, I have had many other little ideas floating around in the warped labyrinth of my mind. I still love the idea of a Dickensian setting and I'm feeling particularly attracted to a fantasy storyline. Vampires, perhaps? A chance to do Vampires properly, after the saga of "names based on periods of time involving certain stages of the sun and the moon" embarassment. And then there are various ideas of Romance and Insanity on my mind, which will hopefully all be woven into my writing at some point. Also, what do you people of the internet think of the name "Supervillain" for a drama series. It's one of my early ideas for the BBC! My incredible plan is to start writing a script for them now, spend a couple of years getting it perfect and then send it in to the beeb, via their Writersroom website!
Anyway, now I'll have to wrap up this post as it's humungous, I need to knock all these ideas into some sort of tangible shape and order and my brother has just handed me a fez, which I will need to try on. Fezzes are cool!

Holmes is where the heart is...

So! Long time no post, but I'm back - at last! :)

Okay, the biggest news going on in my strange isolated script-writing world is that mine and my friends' Doctor Who series has officially been put on hold. Hopefully filiming will resume/begin during the summertime. The other bit of very big news, though, is that a new series is going into production very soon. Not Doctor Who this time, but, as the title to this post suggests, Sherlock Holmes!
To be precise, a modernisation of Sherlock Holmes, currently entitled "Consulting Detective", which sees Holmes and Watson as students at Baker Street university, currently sharing a room in one of the university's provided flats for students (flat 221b, of course)! The series also stars a range of other detectives, some brand new, some from the original stories, including a certain Miss Adler...
Obviously, I can't give too much away about the series but, if all goes well script-wise, filming should commence this weekend, on episode one - A Study In Black! Unusually for one of the films my crazy lot produce, the script for this one isn't being written by me, but instead, by my friend Adam Lawson, who has starred in and helped write episodes for our past YouTube series. The role of script-editor is the one that has befallen me for episode one, which basically means I have lots of long email exchanges with Adam, talking about which parts get changed, what would work better from the audience's point of view, etc. And I must say it is enormous fun discussing all theses wonderful scripty things with someone!
Little has been decided about episodes three and four yet (except which books they might be based on - but we don't want to spoil that for you!), but three is another of Adam's and, hopefully, we will work together as much as possible on four. Episode two, however, is being written by yours truly! Without giving too much away, think "Sherlock Holmes vs. the EDL"...
Anyway, now I'm going to have to start editing and writing these scripts, like I should be right now, instead of posting on this blog. See you all soon!