Short Story Challenge - Notes on weeks 6-10

       So here is the a little behind the scenes peak at the creative process behind the Short Story Challenges of weeks 5-10, (For weeks 1-4, click HERE).

6 – Children of the Seasons

Opening Line: Four Children were left on Martha’s doorstep, one each for the four seasons. Winter’s baby came last, wrapped in night and gazing at the stars…

       This one was a beautifully written and intriguing opening sentence. Writing a story about each of the four different children was a given for me – the challenge here was to condense each one to the appropriate amount to keep the story at a reasonable length.

       I chose to distance the narrator of the story from the events somewhat, in order to give it a fairytale-like feel - but then again, of course a story where four babies are left consecutively on one woman’s doorstep is unlikely to exist in a real world setting.

       I liked the idea of each child having different temperaments that end up defining their personalities and their respective future’s, all foreshadowed by the characteristics that we sometimes attribute (northern hemisphere-wise) to each season. If I were to have had more time with this story, I definitely would have spent more time exploring the upbringing and later lives of each child, perhaps delving more into specific events that show their personality traits in action rather than having just stated them.

       This story stood out as a highlight for me personally for its poetic and bittersweet quality.

7 – Hanging Around With Abergast and TheProfessor

Opening Line: A few seconds, that was all it took; the camera was gone, and my only chance of success with it…

       This was probably the most rushed and the least favourite of my stories – just because the style comes across as a bit glib and inconsequential. But if it elicits a chuckle or two then I am happy with that.

       I was reading a lot of Cracked around that time and wanted to write a slightly silly and humourous piece in the style of Soren Bowie, one of the regular columnists there. I also wanted to explore the idea of doing a whole story of someone just literally hanging from a cliff – kind of the complete opposite in terms of the focus and time frame of the previous short story.

       The tone I was going for was that of an adventure serial or spy pulp – complete with silly names - Luther Dexter actually being an amalgamation of the names of two friends' babies!).

       The 'boot-sock-foot-fake leg' idea bizarrely came to me late at night and was recorded as a voice memo on my iPhone in the dark – hey, it happens.

       If I was ever to write another short story in this style I would like to revisit these characters again but again in some other ridiculous situation.

8 – The Pig King

Opening Line: Some people might ask me the reasons I constructed a throne made entirely of bacon, but they’ll never understand…

       This story was another example of trying to make sense of an initially ridiculous sounding opening sentence and giving it context through the story rather than to treat it merely as a non-sequitur opening.

       Although the ideas surrounding what constitutes ‘art’ are explored here, this is not an indictment of modern art or indeed successful artists such as Damien Hirst and Tracey Emin etc… Its more just an observation of the intention behind it all and how ‘accidental success’ (also inspired by Brian from Spaced) can simply spiral out of just being in the right place at the right time.

       There is also the thinly veiled allegory of making a deal with the devil; and also the returning theme of the search for meaning that everyone craves in their life. With this character, it is through his artistic expression – he wants so desperately to make a mark even though he doesn't quite know what he wants to say – he just wants to say something. It reminds me of some of the douchebaggery encountered in my first year at uni: overheard from a random student “I want to be political about something – I just don't know what to be political about…”.

       Sigh.

9 – Barry Barnado – Ventriloquist Extraordinaire

Opening Line: He put the shock puppet over his hand and threw back the curtains…

       Again, back to a more detached style for this one – an overview of one man’s rise and fall. The eeriness is present in this story as it taps into that age-old creepy feeling we always have about puppets (aside from the ‘uncanny valley’) of what if the puppet was controlling the man and not the other way around?

       In this story it was taken to the furthest extreme in that it was the most basic kind of puppet (just a sock) – and that's also what made his ‘act’ so amazing for all those that watched it.

       I personally liked the Parky bit the best – I could hear his voice and interview style when I was writing it.

       I felt the ending could have been fleshed out a bit more if it was a longer story but I just felt I had to bring it full circle, which ended the story nicely.

10 – The Breakup

Opening Line: Time seemed to turn into slow motion as it toppled unsteadily…

       I always like the idea of playing with the reader’s expectations and this story was pretty much just totally about to do that. It's all kept purposefully vague – on the surface it’s really just a description of a sequence of different emotions and its up to the reader to infer their own meaning to what’s going on. Most people would automatically assume it's a description of a couple in a relationship splitting up (due to the title) - however this is also spelled ambiguously (no hyphen? one word?) and reading it over you could also interpret the story as a simple tale of a girl pushing a boy (perhaps even just playfully) which results in an embarrassing accident.

       It was intriguing to ponder, if time slowed down and you had the time to think whilst it was all happening – what would you do? How would you feel?

       So that's it for weeks 6-10. Hope you enjoyed reading them. There won’t be any more for a while, just because I want to focus on other projects, but I feel it has been a worthwhile exercise.

       Until then, dear reader!

27 Sept 2012

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Short Story Challenge 10 - The Breakup

 

       Time seemed to turn into slow motion as it toppled unsteadily. By then it was too late – things were set in motion. I had already stumbled and started to fall before I really knew what was going on. Looking back, I guess it was my own fault for not treading carefully enough (or perhaps I was treading toolightly?), but in that moment of freefall, I felt a confusing mix of emotions rush through me.

       First there was panic. Was this really happening? Was it a cruel joke? Had I been pushed too far? These thoughts flashed through my head faster than I had time to truly contemplate them. Pitching forward, the panic had overwhelmed my senses, causing me to reach out for a support – anything to grasp on to.

       Alas, there was none, and my outstretched form, arms flailing wildly, must have looked particularly comical to any onlookers. But how could I even think about that right now? Sure, I had fallen before – but not like this. I had also been hurt before – but again, not like this. They say ‘what doesn't kill you makes you stronger’ and that things like this ‘help build character’. Such clichés can only exist because they are continually proven to be true, right? But that realisation always comes after the fact – it doesn't help you much during.

       I was pretty much headfirst now – my legs a good distance behind me. A point comes when you realise you are just too far gone. You can’t do anything to stop it. You are a slave to the earth’s unrelenting pull. There is no fighting it.

       That's when the panic gives way to anger. How dare this happen? To me? And at a time like this? What possible worse luck can a man have in this world? What fates had set me on this cruel collision course? In that moment I was so angry – angry for being pushed, angry for allowingto be pushed, for being caught off-guard like this. Angry at the weak will that had manifested itself in the form of my wobbly legs. My arms flailed even more wildly, for all the good that it did me.

       I guess ultimately, I was angry at the feeling of utter powerlessness that I felt in my situation. Nothing that I could do would divert me from this path I was on. No way of slowing my fall – no way to avoid the catastrophe that was coming my way.

       That's when finally, a strange sense of calm takes over. It’s funny - when you have exhausted all the (admittedly limited) options you have – it all changes. You accept there isn’t actually anything you can do. So I resigned myself to my fate, accepting it – no, embracingit. If this was going to happen to me then I would meet it head on. Go out with a bang and damn the consequences!

       My arms stopped flailing and rested calmly at my side, my eyes closed in quiet acceptance. There was no prevention. No escape. This was to be my fate.

       I crashed headlong into the antique vase – my full body weight knocking it clean off its stand. Upon meeting the ground, there could be no other outcome. The priceless object shattered into hundreds of pieces, skidding out across the museum floor like a shotgun burst of china. In the suddenly hushed room, all eyes were on me. I lay motionless amongst the debris, feigning death.

       That’ll teach her.

22th September 2011

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Dredd - How to Correctly Adapt a Comic Book Character

 

       Watched Dreddthe other night – the whole time I was thinking now this is how to properly adapt a comic book into a film!

       Here are my thoughts…

       Don't change what's essential to ‘Judge Dredd’– Ok, this one is kind of obvious and needs to be addressed since 1995’s Judge Dredd starring Sylvester Stallone botched it horribly. In the long running British comic series 2000AD, you never see Dredd take off his helmet. He was supposed to be a faceless bastard – that was kind of the whole point. In this film, true to the comics, he keeps his helmet on the entire time. Mad props to Karl Urban for acting without showing his eyes at all in his film. He also managed to keep the trademark Dredd grimace throughout. If there was an Oscar available for best chin acting…. Just sayin’…

       Similarly, the portrayal of Dredd’s character in this film is also spot on. He’s a hard, ruthless, efficient S.O.B who upholds the law to the letter. There’s no character arc, no revealing of a secret inner soft spot, no origin story, nothing – just like in the comics! Once again this was somewhat compromised in the Stallone version. In Dredd, it’s really up to the character of Anderson to act as a counterpoint to “’Old Stony Face”, and it is her character arc that the audience follows. Dredd may be the main character, but it’s her journey that completes the story (which may also explain why they chose a younger, ’rookie’ portrayal of Anderson in this film, in order to allow for her character growth).

       Finally, Judge Dredd in the comics is notoriously violent and harsh on criminals. This film certainly doesn't shy away from that – an 18 certificate is definitely called for and justified here. Again, the 1995 version was watered down to appeal to a wider audience and it turn loses the grim and uncompromising stance of the judges when it comes to dispensing justice, often consisting of on-the-spot sentencing and executions.

       There is also plenty of fan service with numerous references to the comics including those that play a big part: Anderson’s psychic abilities, the voice activated Lawgiver that fires different types of bullets, the existence of corrupt judges, mega blocks… but also more subtle ones such as references to ‘Iso Cubes’, ‘Meat Wagons’, ‘Recyc’, a jacket with “Drokk” sprayed on it, etc…

       So yeah – pretty faithful so far, right? But also there were some things that just wouldn't translate as well to the big screen, which leads us on to…

       Change what needs to be changed – A prime example of this is the slight tonal shift of the world of Dredd and Mega City One to a more real and gritty portrayal. The comics are known to be very stylized in their depictions of their futuristic world and in truth, transposing this as is from the page to the screen would result in something that would look a bit too cartoony and ridiculous.

       This was also a smart move due to budgetary constraints ($45m is modest for a film of this type – the Stallone version was $70m and that was 17 years ago!). This way they could CG augment vistas of Johannesburg to bring Mega City One to life rather than attempting to build a futuristic city from the ground up. The budget also made sense for the filmmakers to constrict the majority of the film to one location – also leading to the added bonus of making the film feel episodic in nature (much like how the Judge Dredd stories were often presented in 2000AD). It’s unfortunate that the film The Raid featured a very similar set-up (they were actually only a few months apart in production), which kind of detracts from the freshness of Dredd if you had seen The Raid first.

       Another change they made was how they (quite rightly) adapted the Judge’s uniform to one that resembles a more practical riot gear look rather than the huge golden shoulder pads and chains of the comic (again, compare this to the 1995 version which frankly looks a bit tacky). In Dredd it works because it looks real, believable, practical for the job and yet still instantly recognizable as being Judge Dredd.

       Another point that some fans brought up was the lack of 'custom' swear words used in 2000AD such as 'drokk', 'Grud' and 'stomm' in the film - the usual f-bombs and female-dog-name-calling being featured instead. Personally, I didn't see this as a problem as I felt it lends more to the gritty and real-world portrayal of Dredd and the inclusion of them in this film would have perhaps felt a bit forced. Battlestar Galactica can get away with using 'frakk' as it had many many episodes for you to get immersed into their world and way of speaking - and besides the whole reason 2000AD used it in the first place was because they weren't allowed to publish swear words, but still wanted to stand out as a 'mature' comic.

       I guess that's the most important thing then – staying true to the source material without slavishly trying to recreate all the superfluous details that don't really matter but end up looking (or sounding) kind of silly on the big screen – something that the 1995 Judge Dredd did wrong both ways. Dredd isn’t a perfect movie by any means, nor a perfect adaptation of the comic (personally, I felt their rendition of the Lawmaster bikes did look a little crappy) but it does its job pretty damn well.

       And Rob Schneider as comic relief is nowhere to be seen…

       Any fans of 2000AD need to go see this now!

12 Sept 2012

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Short Story Challenge 9 - Barry Barnado - Ventriloquist Extraordinaire

      He put the sock puppet over his hand and threw back the curtains. Today was a new day, full of promise and endless possibilities. This new ventriloquist act would be the best he had done yet – forget all those jumped up, over-complicated, hinge-jawed, wood crafted puppets – with this sock he would take it back to basics. It would be raw, unfettered and effective through its sheer simplicity. The voice – the voice would be the sole focus and the selling point of the act. No flashiness, no constant maintenance, just pure talent.

      Barry smiled as he bathed in the warm glow of the morning sun. Today was going to be a good day - he just knew it.

      PLAYING TONIGHT: BARRY BARNADO - VENTRILOQUIST EXTRAORDINAIRE screamed the oversized, lit up banner outside the The Grand Theatre. Under that: SOLD OUT. Not something that was added later or put over the posters but printed intothe posters, over all the dates. They had been sold out for a long time – a remarkable achievement for a one-man ventriloquist show.

      The doors opened, streams of people slowly drifted out. But something seemed odd. No one was talking. People milled about on the street outside as usual but this time an eerie hush hung over them all. They just stared at each other, dumbfounded. Some looked confused, others shocked even. Brows were furrowed and some jaws still hung agape. What had they just witnessed?

      A few moments passed before the first person spoke. Somehow breaking the spell, the crowd erupted into avid conversation. How the hell did he do that? I’ve never seen anything like it… He didn't even move at all! Not his mouth, his throat, nothing! It was just a sock but…it looked…alive? In the end the ushers were forced to disperse the crowd and herd people off of the pavement.

      For many months this continued. Sell out show followed sell out show. One man and his sock – nothing else. Every person who was lucky enough to get tickets couldn't stop talking about it. News about it spread fast. Barry even got a slot on Parkinson. Many people who watched that TV interview noted how strange it was that he didn't break character once. He walked in with the sock puppet held out in front of him, his whole body stiff and expressionless. Not once did he speak as himself. It was all the puppet.

      “So Barry, what’s it like finding fame and becoming so successful this early in your career?”

      “Well it’s still a very exciting prospect…”, The puppet moved with unnerving accuracy, perfectly mouthing each syllable, “…Everyday feels like such as thrill. I can truly say I’ve never felt more alive…”

      Parky paused for a second.

      “I must say - that’s… quite a talent.”

      “That’s very kind of you to say, Michael. But for me, I don't really see it as a talent as such. I just see it as being natural. This was I can just express myself. Being like this, I feel like I can just …be free. Waddaya say, Michael - wanna try me on?”

      The audience laughed nervously.

      It came as a bit of a shock then, when the career of Barry Barnado was cut tragically short. His body was found fallen from the balcony of a hotel in the West End, the contorted features on his bloodied face ironically being the most expressive it had ever been since he had entered the public eye. The police had ruled it a suicide as no evidence of foul play had been discovered. However, what was strange was that despite many journalists, detectives and fans in search of morbid collectors items having carefully combed the scene of his death, and even having searched through Barry’s personal possessions, no trace of the sock puppet was found.

      Months later, on a beach in Perros Guirec, Brittany, 15-year-old Gilles de Bousies was taking his dog for an early morning walk when he spotted a dirty sock washed up on the shore. Against all reason, something compelled him to pick it up and put it onto his hand.

      He smiled. Today was a new day, full of promise and endless possibilities.

11th September 2011

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Short Story Challenge 8 - The Pig King

       Some people might ask me the reasons I constructed a throne made entirely of bacon, but they’ll never understand. Not really. Nor should they. Sure, the piece was entitled ‘The Pig King’, and people would undoubtedly read some superfluous meaning into it like ‘oh, its an allegory about how our empires are obtained by being built on the carcasses of those we have destroyed…’ or some such similar bullshit.

       You want to know the truth? It’s meaningless. It all is really. Everything I do, everything that I am going to do from now on. You know how crazy that is? To have people laud anything and everything you do. To praise it as ‘high art’ - elevating it above and beyond anything that it really is or deserves to be.

       It started innocently enough. I was a young artist, struggling to pay my way, wanting to express something… anything, to make a statement of some kind, to make a mark on this world. I guess in hindsight I just wanted to excuse my relative poverty and lack of success – to justify how I was living my life.

       That all changed when I sneaked into an art installation for upcoming young talent at the Crossroads Gallery situated up in the affluent area of the city. Drunk and overcome with jealousy and frustration at those who had been afforded this opportunity, I just lost it and lashed out in one of the empty booths that was being used for storage. The commotion caused people to gather around and they discovered me lying there in a crumpled heap amongst the wrecked canvases and leaking paint cans sobbing uncontrollably. That's when I first met Fenech.

       Lying there in the rubble, drained from having poured out all the emotions, I heard a loud clap. Once, twice, three times. Looking up through bleary eyes I saw a man standing there, front and centre of the crowd, staring at me, slowly clapping his hands together. It felt dreamlike, unreal - but slowly another person started to clap, then another and another – until the whole room was applauding. Confused, I looked back up at him, my eyes meeting his. He stared intensely at me, his gaze seemingly urging me to act. Somehow I knew what he wanted.

       Smile… Smile, damn you.

       Slowly I rose to my feet, a weak smile spread across my face. I took a bow. The crowd started to cheer.

       And so that was it. I had managed to fake my way into the art world. The only one who knew I was a fraud was Fenech and he always seemed to know what was best for me and what direction I ought to take next. Having proposed to become my agent there and then, he issued a press release of what had happened that night explaining my ‘performance’ and my reputation spread like wildfire.

       Once it started, there was no stopping it. I continually created pieces under his suggestion – the tree of bones, the flayed torture mannequins made from cuts of meat, the giant ant sculptures peering down into a perspex box that people could walk into… it went on and on. Each piece was met with critical acclaim, even when I had tried to produce something meaningless and random, the fans made every detail of it meaningful and significant.

       It was great at first, getting all this praise and recognition. But as the years went by, the haunting feeling of my sheer undeservedness festered in the back of my mind. Despite my growing wealth, I felt worthless. Once or twice I even thought of giving it all up and disappearing somewhere, but Fenech was always there, carefully watching over me, prodding and egging me on. He was too powerful and I too weak. He would always speak for me, make my creative decisions for me – I don't think I could escape his grasp even if I wanted to. If anything hewas the true artist – one that deals in PR, marketing and manipulation - the art of bullshit. I was just his pawn in all of this. I had often pondered that perhaps I really had made a deal with the devil.

       And now I found myself, 18 years later at my own gallery, currently showcasing ‘The Pig King’. It was shut for the evening but I had let myself in and wondered through the darkness amongst the various pieces from my life that were laid out on show. The grand opening was supposed to be tomorrow but I felt no excitement or pride. None of this was mine – not really. Fenech usually was careful to limit me reading about myself in the press, but recently I had come across a story on an online blog that detailed a leaked memo showing how the money that was used to set up this gallery and exhibition was originally meant for the renovation of the city hospital, but was diverted at the last minute. What can I say? The mayor was a huge fan.

       Making my way through the exhibition, I only felt numb. You must think I sound like a total cliché – the ‘tortured artist’. In reality I was just bored. When you get to the point where you can get away with any kind of bullshit without even trying – none of it has any real worth.

       I toyed with the idea of ending it all, hanging myself right in the middle of this gallery and putting an end to this charade. Giving the finger to this career-long joke. But there was always the nagging possibility that people would just take it as my final work of art – the ultimate sacrifice of the artist. People would always ascribe meaning to everything I did from now on - there was no escape from it. I sighed loudly. Unbelievable - they had even robbed me of that.

       Making my way to the centre of the room I approached the bacon throne. It seemed so ridiculous I couldn't help but let out a dry laugh. Carefully, I ascended the steps, sat down and waited for the dawn.

5th September 2012

 

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