Wibbly Wednesday Bits


Just spent the past ten minutes walking behind a man in continuous attempt to whistle. Evidently he’d never been taught to just put his lips together and blow. And blow today did, the wind of Heidelberg causing a wonderful moment where an old lady’s umbrella decided it was done with eternal slavery and made a run for it. Instigating the sight that will haunt me to my grave of an elderly German lady hitching up that polkadot dress and running like a motherbitch after her bouncing brolly.

Wednesday’s are an odd one here in Heidelberg, with very little to do, I am in continuous shock as to how far into this week we are, and yet how much more of it there is to go. To combat this, I spend my time of higher education wisely and doodle imaginary people sitting in front of me at the Mensa. After a quick hop in the car with Dave where we walked down the river, going past what he swears in as much genuine honesty an American is capable of, was a monastery of naked, beer-drinking monks, who (I might add) are just the best dinner partners, I returned to the Mensa to then doodle away. Drawing is one of those therapeutic thingamajigs that is capable of obliterating the outside world into a carved mosaic of scratched outlines and flood-filled colour pans. If I was ever capable of drawing consistently, I might take it up as an actual hobby.

Last night was another one of many in which I decided to give up writing for ever and ever and ever, only to then pick up the hobby again this morning. Scripts are fine, like many a thing, I can bang them out in one sunny evening. Prose is a freaking bitch. The patience, self-belief and genuine, consistent mindset required to write a whole book is enough to almost make me respect Twilight. Almost. When I was a stoic little teen who hid away in his room, writing would pour from my fingertips, now the ideas have run from my reach and no words I write down will ever justify the concepts. Still, brick-lay I do, word after word, in the hope that any of it is worthwhile. Though, perhaps discovering I’m writing the one genre I’m actually sick of has been a slight buzzkill. Ferociously tired of dystopian future novels, I miss the shiny, Apple-styled futures with shiny cars and sliding doors, rather than yet another world where our political and social mindsets that have existed all of 2,000 years have somehow driven us into a hellish future within the space of a couple of years.

Hopefully the fact mine is mostly a comedy makes up for that. If it were funny…


Write and Left


I am as much an English Literature student, as a Fundamentalist is a Christian; I may call myself one, but I sure as hell don’t read the bloody book. Thank God (whichever God you have) that there exists Creative Writing, the ability to apply literature progression into my own creativity is the driving force for why I study a whole hour a week. Though I may mock my course at times, I will defend to the death its importance as a degree. Subjective courses are prone to criticism on behalf of the objective, literal class of degree. It does appear to the outside that something that can be done for leisure, ie. reading, could be kept as thus. Such a view however, is counterproductive to the exact nature of what a degree is.

Thankfully, I’ve never come upon much contention against my degree, especially when people see the standard to which work must be done not to mention the final quantity. The ability to think for oneself and yet, almost conversely, think for oneself correctly is such an intangible concept that it is not only difficult to understand, but near impossible to obtain. The same goes for all language or cultural studies I find. Provide the cushion of culture that makes a house into a home, or a land into a country, humans into people. The balance of subjunctive objectivism matching historical subjectivism to reach a conclusion that can then itself be analysed is an invisible ideal, which is why it always feels out of reach.

Something very much within reach, however, is my dissertation proposal. Due in for tomorrow, I’ve had the same blasé response to everything else to my degree; the last minute is plenty of time. Choosing the creative writing option, I am hoping to… Somehow, combine the historical narrative of religious enlightenment, from blindly following faith down to the unnecessarily contentious militant atheism… Told from the perspective of a character in a video game. You know the drill; an unseen ruler, directing the character through their life, putting them through tests and flippantly doing away with their lives as they have “more to spare”. The character will of course start to question the logic and kindness of his creator, and through allegorically following the historical narrative of religion, begin to revolt. The only question being, is this an act of freedom, or just doomed determinism? The question of one’s place in his universe, is all just part of the programming, he is doomed to autonomously question his free will. Throw in some video game references and a couple of German innuendo and hopefully that’ll be that. I’ll be using Kubrickian cinema as my main thesis of exploration, alongside maybe something easier… Like portal.

Dastardly Disney

One day, I would like to earn money. And given flaunting myself on street corners got funny looks from a passing nunnery, I am hoping that I could get food in exchange for written words. One thing I am terrified writing are children’s films, because I cannot think of a more difficult writing job. Not only do you have an incredibly discerning audience, harshest of censors, the most critical of producers, but also the most explosively responsive parental grading. For this reason I find someone my age or older say that a kid’s film is; “ok because there was still stuff for adults to enjoy”, referencing the occassional adult joke or overhead homage, to be one of the most depressing attitudes to take.

There’s no need to pander to the audience with jokes as an apology for the rest of what they’re being subjected to, if you doubt the enjoyability if your writing, don’t write it. It can feel that if it’s a kid’s film, it is somehow less of a film. If something’s genuinely good, then anyone can draw from it, this is why Pixar, Ghibli, early Disney and multigenerational medias such as Doctor Who, Sherlock, Simpsons and Sitcoms have audiences of all ages, because the multiverse quality of the writing, performance and overall production can appeal to all. I never stopped watching kid’s films, I just started watching more adult mediums as I grew up. We have age restrictions to stop audiences looking forward, avoiding potentially traumatising porn scenes, not to prevent looking back. A “U” should never be a deterrent, if a film is bad, it’s because it’s bad, the target demographic is irrelevant.