Harry Potter and the Studio Tour

Thursday 28th June 2012. Two days after my 17th birthday (as I'm sure you all knew!) and I'm off on a school trip for Media students such as myself. Where is this trip to? None other than the Warner Bros. Harry Potter studio tour. Only one word was in my head for the whole day: Squee! Yes, as an amateur film-maker it is fascinating to see these magnificent sets, with the incredible attention to detail, and imagine cameras and film crews and actors and directors producing eight amazing films in the very space you are standing in. But also, overwhelmingly, it is just an amazing experience as a geeky Harry Potter fan to see the sets, objects and costumes from a world I have completely fallen in love with (not to mention tasting a drink from that world - if you ever have the chance to try butterbeer, then do! It's delicious!). It's that same obsessive Harry Potter fan part of me that I am having to physically stop screaming out in delight when we're told that, as a school trip, we will receive a lesson/talk on costume design and characterisation where we would get to see costumes that weren't on the tour! Costumes the general public didn't get to see! I saw Harry's costume from the very first film (not his robes, which were on display in the Great Hall - the shirt, t-shirt and trousers he wore on the train), Cedric Diggory's robes (which, for some reason, the girls were very eager to touch... and wear...) and Voldemort's robes! All of this, along with the rest of the frankly stunning tour, had the Harry Potter fan side of me bursting with joy! Which leads me on nicely to the other part of me that was left completely in awe - the writer. Yes, the film-maker in me was amazed and transfixed by the breathtaking work that had gone into making the Harry Potter films, and the Potterhead in me was just overjoyed to be walking through the world of one of my favourite works of fiction, but both of those things fed into the sense of wonder and hope that I felt as a writer. When I say hope, I should point out, I don't mean some ridiculous hope of anything I write being quite as big or wide-reaching as the Harry Potter series - success stories like that are... well, on that scale, probably completely unique! But the fact that one story, told in seven books (and, yes, eight films, as I feel I should point out after going on a tour of the film studios), could be so powerful, be transformed so incredibly into a big-screen masterpiece that did so well, could touch and dominate all forms of media and reach such a vast fanbase (there were visitors to the studio from California on the day I went!) is enough to fill anyone who loves writing with hope for fiction and story-telling. The fact that one simple yet genius idea, from the mind of the truly inspirational and amazing JK Rowling, could inspire and enchant so many and truly change lives is fantastic. The fact that so many people can fall so utterly in love with a world of magic and wonder is a true testament to the power of the pen (or, indeed, of the quill). Harry Potter stands on high as a monument, proudly proclaiming to the world the power of fiction - the power of a story made up by one person. For me, at least, it does so better than any other work of fiction. With no other story am I quite as entranced by the world an author has created. With no other story do I feel quite as invited or welcomed into the magical realm of the writer's imagination. The beautiful blend of innocence and darkness, magic and realism, evil and love has enthralled so many so strongly. And it is for that reason that, as I walked around the studios, I saw so many people of all ages smiling and cheerful and seeming so utterly, wonderfully child-like. Children, after all, are the ones with the right idea - big imaginations and living life for fun. Grown-ups are the boring ones, who seem to have forgotten those essential values somewhere along the way. The Harry Potter series is one of those things that restores that brilliant child-like mindset within us, which has the ability to improve people and make all parts of the world a better place. Fiction is that powerful and that important. It's not just a case of making up stories to provide a bit of fun or a form of escapism - it has an impact on us. Fiction can shape us, help us, change our perspectives and improve our lives. Stories aren't just stories - they're realities of their own, shaping ours and presiding over it. In fact, the power stories can have makes these realities of fiction far greater than our own reality and in many ways far more important. I feel that the greatest purpose of our reality is to inspire fiction. It is this incredible power and status that fiction possesses that makes those of us who still love and value the realms of imagination want to use the Cruciatus curse on any muggle who ever dares to utter those dreaded four words: "It's only a story." Only a story? Blasphemy! And with this, I shall return to one last tale of my visit to the world of Harry Potter. It was just after the first half of the tour, where I had been taking as many pictures as possible of the many sets, props and other bits on display (something I ALWAYS do on this sort of day out). We had just been to the outside area of the studios, where I had the pleasure of trying butterbeer and where Privet Drive and the Knight Bus could be found, amongst many other items. All of these I also got a fair few snaps of. Then came the second half of the tour and within a few minutes... the beep of death. The moment we all fear. The camera died. The battery had decided that was quite enough working for the day and went kaput on me. Diagon Alley - a few pictures on my phone, but nothing else. The wonderful pieces of concept art and paper models of Hogwarts - no pics! I had stopped being bothered by this rather quickly and just enjoyed being submerged in a world of magic. I was, after all, walking down Diagon Alley, looking into Ollivander's and Weasley's Wizard Wizard Wheezes! It was after looking at the small paper models of various building and the Durmstrang ship that one of my Media teachers emerged from around a corner up ahead, grinning broadly. "If you think that's a model," he said, "wait until you see this!" I was intrigued to say the least. I walked slowly, a little anxiously, around the corner and was confronted by an enormous, beautifully detailed, unbelievably intricate model of Hogwarts. It was breathtaking - the "miniature" (in inverted commas because there was really nothing miniature about it!) used for exterior shots of Hogwarts in the films. I had honestly never been so much in awe in my life, which may sound odd to you if you're thinking "It's just a model castle...", but I can tell you - not knowing it was going to be there, and then taking in the sheer size and detail and beauty of it... Wow! And my camera was dead. And when my camera dies, it dies. I took it out of pocket in some pointless hope, hating myself for not bringing the spare battery, flipped open the shutter and... two bars. Staring right back at me were two glorious bars of battery power! I managed to take a good few pictures of this incredible model of the greatest school I've both never attended and yet been going to since I was a very young child. And I don't care what anyone says about the camera battery being able to recharge itself slightly, or any sort of scientific or logical explanation - as far as I'm concerned, that camera was revived in a moment of magic. And that is the only explanation I'll ever want or need. Until the day I die, I shall allow myself to believe that as I stood, facing the most magical place on Earth, a place that has inspired me so much and in so many ways, I experienced one small work of magic.

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.