The Week Reviewed
This week I was invited - thanks to those nice people at Working Title Films - to a cast and crew (plus invited guests) screening of Paul Greengrass's new film The Green Zone. These screenings are always a treat, because you're sitting in the cinema with the people who actually made the film. There's not the usual rush to leave when the credits appear; in fact, applause breaks out every time a new crew member's credit appears. And to cap it all, Paul Greengrass made an impressive and heartfelt speech at the start.
The film is a KNOCKOUT. It really is astonishing. And its themes resonate strongly with me. Greengrass is a man who is actively engaged in the Battle Between Good and Evil (see the Category on your left for my own blogs on this theme.) And this film is essentially a deeply political expose of one of the greatest lies ever told: WMD. The astonishing opening sequence has Matt Damon and his team of soldiers risking their lives to find WMDs in Iraq where the intel says they are - only to draw a blank.
That's because they never existed! The whole war in Iraq was launched on the basis of outrageous deception; it's one of the worst scandals of modern history. But, you know, politicians bank on the fact that WE FORGET THESE THINGS.
So Greengrass has come along to remind us...
This powerful political film also functions as perhaps the most exciting action movie I've ever seen; my God, Greengrass can really move that camera...as can his Oscar winning DOP Barry Ackroyd. My one reservation is that to make this movie work as an action thriller Greengrass and his writer Brian Helgeland (who also wrote LA Confidential) have had to create a fictional story at the heart of the true story. And that's a slightly awkward fit.
But even so, for me this is one of the best films of this, or any year.
The rest of my time this week has been taken up with this pesky little bugger:
Yes, it's the novel that Orbit are publishing this October; and not only did they force me to actually write it, they've now had the goddam temerity to ask me to do some REWRITES. Polishes no less! And that's been my week's work really.
It's strange when you revise a novel you haven't looked at for some months. It kind of felt like someone else's book. I kept thinking - Ooh, I don't remember THAT happening. And it's subtly different to my first two books, Debatable Space and Red Claw; there's more of a single focus, and the style is less baroque. It is however still within the 'Debatable Space' universe; the three books together constitute what I call a 'triptych' (pretentous moi? un peu!) - not a trilogy in other words, and you can read them in any order. But if you read all three they should connect up in various (and hopefully interesting) ways.
I've also been looking at cvs for cinematographers whose work I love...yes, it's that stage in the on-going saga of the movie (Inferno) wot I am producing, with the aid and inspiration of a gang of film people who actually DO know what they are doing...Hope to have more news on that front soon.
I finished Jesse Bullington's fab The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart, a full-blooded, blood-thirsty, witty and erudite medieval thriller with supernatural elements. And I'm currently lost in the embrace of John Scalzi's splendid first novel Old Man's War, a hommage to Heinlein, and a great piece of storytelling.
Oh and I've just started watching Series 3 of Heroes, after a long gap. I'm struggling to remember what happened in Series 2 (ah yes - the girl whose eyes go black!) and I'm afraid I am having a sense of time standing still. Sylar is STILL the villain? But it looks great so I'm expecting to warm up to it soon.
A package arrived in the post this week, and inside I found this:
Yes, it's the actual paper version of the cover of Version 43. I'm currently working on some tweaks and cuts on the maunscript, and then the book goes into proof stage. It's a bit of a shock looking at it again - it's a while since I delivered it to Orbit - because it's a time capsule of the person I was when I wrote it. And it's not, by any means, your usual cybernetic cop in a universe founded by renegades and outlaws kicking ass in a Beckettian nihilistic universe pulp thriller science fiction fantasy horror novel - nope, it's even stranger than that.
Last week I went to see a highly enjoyable fantasy epic - Solomon Kane, based on the stories by Conan creator Robert E. Howard. And that gives me an excuse to show the poster:
The movie was, I noticed, co-produced by Davis Entertainment who made Predator, and it's written and directed by Michael J. Bassett, a Brit who has been able to steer a path through the studio system to create a movie that is commercial, kick ass, and wonderfully visual; but also full of heart and moral intelligence. I met Michael some years back when I was a development executive at Scottish Television, so I dropped him a line to say how much I enjoyed his movie. And I'm glad to say he has now spent a little time lurking on Debatable Spaces.
Also this week, I got an email from some friends of mine with THIS image:
Fabulous isn't it? It's a kid's book but I'm a big kid at heart, so I've ordered it at Amazon. The story appears to be what the title says - a Quest for Warrior Sheep. Author Christopher Russell is a hugely successful TV writer, who's written for major crime series like The Bill (where we met), A Touch of Frost and Midsomer Murders, and he is now an award winning children's writer, and he's cowritten Warrior Sheep with his wife Christine. Chris and Christine are a class act and it's lovely to see them writing a novel that is even more ridiculous than, um, the ones I write.
It's felt like a major week for me in terms of my Welsh film noir, but nothing is definite yet so I'll just keep fingers crossed for now. And I'm continuing to explore art stories for my radio drama which records in November.
Debatable Spaces meanwhile has been as busy as ever...Mike Cobley popped in with an SFF Song of the Week with what I think must be the most hilarious intro to date. If you've not listened to any of these, explore - they're in the Category on the left - because I really feel it's an amazing way to a) waste time and b) really get to know what inspires talented SFF writers like Lilith Saintcrow, Nicole Peeler, Al Reynolds, Tony Ballantyne and a fair host of others. (I've scheduled Mike Carey in for next week.) Where else would you meet these guys and learn the secrets of their souls! (Unless you resort to stalking and the use of covert surveillance equipment.)
Also, I've been writing some rather forthright opinion pieces recently - like, Why John Scalzi is Wrong, and Is James Cameron a Traitor to His Own Species? And I'll be writing a few more of these in months to come, though that'll depend on how fast the novel is progressing.
And treats in store include (I hope!) a guest blog about graphic novels writer Warren Ellis whose books I just LOVE. And also a guest blog about telly drama and why it should be RUDER.
Writing isn't the hardest job in the world - not by a long chalk. In fact, it comes very near the bottom of the list of hard jobs, well below surgeon, mountain rescue team member, paramedic, astronaut, President of the United States, and soldier serving in Afghanistan.
Being a writer is, however, quite possibly one of the the most annoying and frustrating jobs it's possible to do. With any other job, you turn up for work, and you start work - then you work! Hard! All day! Till it's time to stop, then you stop.
With writing, however...some days it doesn't come. Nothing happens. Or it happens painfully slowly; 9/10ths Freecell to 1/10 actual creative writing. Or it comes fast and easily but it's CRAP - really bad writing starts appearing on the screen and the terrible fear kicks in that someone could hack this material, and realise HOW BAD I REALLY CAN WRITE. And when that happens, you just have to let it go. Take a walk. Watch a movie. And slowly let the back of the brain do what it does best; solve the real problem.
I've had that experience this week...after a frenzied start on my new book Hell Ship, I could feel the energy slipping away. I read the first few chapters over and thought, hell, these don't read like the first chapters of a novel - there's not enough action, not enough is happening. And then it hit me:
I was starting in the wrong place.
I had thought I was about a third of the way through the book; now it turns out that I'm three quarters of the way through, and I have a huge huge chunk missing at the beginning.
Whew. This discovery comes as a huge relief. I thought I'd just FORGOTTEN HOW TO WRITE!
And now I can get back to work, with a new beginning, and a former beginning that's now the middle...no more floundering, no more sad walks. I can actually do some work!
And that in a nutshell is why writing is a frustrating and annoying job; you have no authority over your own time, or your own creativity. You just have to sit there waiting for the back brain to wake up; because that's the bit of the brain that does all the real work.
Oh by the way - if my editor and publisher are reading this blog - I'm just kidding! I wasn't floundering at all. Or stuck. Or blocked. Or desperate. Or panicky! Not one bit!
(Phew! Think they fell for that?)
Meanwhile, in the hours when I haven't been writing, I've been working hard on my mission of turning Debatable Spaces into something more than just a place for me to blather randomly, as indeed I am now doing. I was thrilled that screenwriter Danny Stack (a maestro of the scribosphere and co-founder of the Red Planet prize) came on board to write a guest blog, about Misfits. And I've been getting a lot of traffic from John Scalzi's site, after writing a red-hot blog attacking his opinions about Inglourious Basterds and accusing him of 'sophistry'. (Scalzi, clearly much amused, posted a referral link on his site and kindly reminded me that he is ALWAYS RIGHT.)
This prompted me to spend some time perusing the archives of Scalzi's blog - he is of course a king of bloggers, and was thus even before he started writing SF. And I found a piece (sorry, didn't keep the link) which has been hugely valuable to me about the perils of blogging. His gist, really, is that blogging works for HIM, but it can easily become a way for writers to avoid writing.
And that's something I'm anxious to avoid; the novels are the point and purpose of it all, the blogging is just for fun and a way of making efriends and touching base with readers. And I guess my solution is to generate features on the blog which as well as entertaining readers (I hope!) directly feed into my own writing.
Hence, for instance, Paintings of the Day - I'm currently writing a drama about art fraud so I'd be looking at these paintings anyway. So I figure - why not share that?
Another feature is The Battle Between Good and Evil, in which I briefly stop being such a wise-ass and start talking about what I regard the various clear and present threats to our civilisation. This is stuff that matters to me, of course; and it's important. Of course it is! But I couldn't afford to spend so much time on these features if I didn't know it would directly affect the content of stories I am writing or will write.
Most of all, I want Debatable Spaces to grow into something more than just an occasional casual read for internet browsers...with more guest blogs, maybe even some pieces on science, as well as continuing the features on movies, TV, politics, and the Lies That People Tell Us.
Plus, of course, news about views about SF and fantasy...
Last weekend I vanished into a deep well of nostalgia and Welshness...it was my mother's 80th birthday, which we celebrated down in Port Talbot, South Wales. And to honour the event my brothers and I arranged for a local Welsh male voice choir to hold a concert in her honour.
Yes, I know that sounds crazily over the top...! The context is that my mother has been President of this choir for twenty or so years, and all the choristers are her friends. So the concert was their way of marking the occasion, and honouring her contribution to the choir's work. And organising the event has been my 'hobby' (hollow laugh!) for the last few months.
The choir was superb; they sang in a beautiful local church, St Paul's, to an audience of 200+ people, accompanied by a succession of gifted musicians on the piano, with solo spots from a young and talented guest artiste, Catrin Sian Harris. I felt, as always, so ashamed to be unable to sing in tune outside the bathroom (and inside the bathroom, the tiles have strong views about my vocal accuracy.)
Afterwards we held a reception in a local hotel where the choir performed their 'afterglow' routine - a non-stop medley of songs.
A further highlight came when a friend of my mother's - Evelyn White, formerly a soloist with the choir - did a fantastic version of an Ivor Novello song. Evelyn worked in an office in the steel works for most of her career, but has had an amazing career as a solo singer on an amateur basis, and has WAY enough talent to have sung professionally...and I was thrilled to hear that her voice is as strong as ever. Then former Welsh rugby international John Collins -a friend of my mother and step-father, and also a close friend of my father - was invited to come up and tinkle the ivories. I was somewhat alarmed at this prospect - for I'd been speaking to John a few minutes previously, and after a day watching the rugby he was EXTREMELY pissed - but he played, with astonishing virtuosity and expression, a wonderful version of Georgia on My Mind. It was, in my view, good enough to get him a spot at Ronnie Scott's.
This is the astonishing thing about this world of Welsh culture from which I hail - the wealth of musical talent is just awesome.
Except, of course, for me!
The following day I attended a Valentine's Day concert in Oxford, where I went to University (as did Mike Carey - it's clearly a breeding ground for deranged writers.) I spent a while in my old college and walking the streets of the city, awash in memories, most of them involving, er, alcohol or books.
Now that the choir have sung, and the birthday is over, it's business as usual for me. I'm about to start writing my art crime drama for the radio, so I have a mountain of books on art to read. And I've well into my latest SF absurdity - Hell Ship. Sadly, though, writing duties mean I haven't had time to go to the Berlin Film Festival - which I much prefer to Cannes, except for the weather.
I'm now, very slowly, gearing up for Odyssey at Easter, which will be my next major social occasion. Until then - I'm going back to being a sedentary, anti-social writer for a while....
Other stuff: I read a great book in this period - Already Dead by Charlie Huston, a brilliant noir vampire novel. And I've just started Jesse Bullington's astonishing Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart. And I saw and really enjoyed the new version of The Wolfman, with Port Talbot boy Anthony Hopkins as the evil dad. (He is utterly terrifyng.)
The SFF Song of the Week slot has been enlivened by choices from Brian Ruckley (this week) and Paul Raven last week. And I've just had a new and spiffing song choice from Robert Grant, of Sci Fi London - so watch this space!
Last week was the week I didn't go and see The Road. I was weak - I was sure I wouldn't enjoy it! - so I bottled out and went to see a dumb SF actioner (Daybreakers) instead.
This week is the week I DID see The Road.
AARRGHH!
I'm sorry! it's a really fine film, I'm sure it is. It's had great reviews. The cast are great. It's beautifully shot. It's based on the novel by Cormac McCarthy, who wrote No Country for Old Men, which I adored when the Coen Brothers made it as a movie.
But for me, movies like The Road don't tell a story; they wallow a story. The world is shit - wallow! Men can't look after their sons properly - wallow! Being miserable is really miserable - wallow!
My hatred of the film was so intense I didn't stay to the end. Does that mean I'm not entitled to sneer at it? Does it hell!
Sneer! Sneer! Sneer!
I lost the will to live when the pretty Mom gave up and walked away from her son, into the cold night, to die. Um, stick around Mom, your kid needs you! But I knew she was doing that to allow the manly man with the ridiculous beard to try and fail to look after his boyish son (known as 'the boy'). Wallow!
This is film as posh literature; it's story with the juice and heart and passion and suspense and humour and sexiness drained out of it. Mad Max is my idea of an apocalypse movie; The Road is just a wallow.
My mood of despair was heightened by the fact I saw this film as the second in a double bill of apocalypse movies. The first was The Book of Eli, in which Denzel Washington is fantastic, but where the cameraman ran out of coloured film (it's grey grey grey!) and the crux of the story is that everyone desperately wants and will kill to possess a King James Bible. Why? There must be other Bibles left; and if the world has ended, there are much better books to own. Like, The Great Big Book of which Plants Not to Eat Because They'll Kill You.
AARRGH!!!!
This is not a film critique; it is a rant. I have ranted. Enough. Calm now.
And what do you think about that business with Amazon!!!!!!
That was the buzz story of the week, and I ranted as much as the next writer. The issue is not how much e-books should sell for; the issue is that Amazon stopping selling books by writers who need the income from those books to feed their kids. Or if they don't have kids, to spend on porn or booze or wild parties, or whatever it is single people spend their money on.
That's my second rant of this blog: Mellow, Palmer, Mellow!
As a treat, I rented the box set of the TV series Fringe, which I was assured is a brilliant piece of work about paranormal stuff. Right up my street, something to fill my days now that I'm up to date on Supernatural.
Sigh. Am I missing something? I thought it was awful; an X-Files rip off with some of the most ridiculously bogus exposition I've ever heard. The high concept is that a looney called Walter (rescued from a mental institution by our female FBI hero) has single-handedly almost invented many many monstrous devices, which nastier people than he have perfected. So every time he sees an amazing thing - like the man who acts as his own power grid - Walter explains how he worked on an top-secret and evil experiment to create this very thing, all those years ago. Oh, and Walter has some form of dementia, and much hilarity is gleaned from that.
All in all it's just -
Sorry, I lack the energy to even rant on this.
And yet, rants aside, this was an adorable week for me. I wrote tons, I made new friends on that wondrous internet device, and I had the joy of hosting Lilith Saintcrow's SFF Song of the Week, which had me hooting with laughter. I've seen family, friends, and I read a wondrous graphic novel - Switchblade Honey by that genius Warren Ellis, of whom, more will be said on this very site in the near future. I wrote a blog for Orbit with the sweetly talented Robert Jackson Bennett, whose book Mr. Shivers is fine literature AND tells a story. And I was given the recording dates and a delivery deadline for my radio drama Art of Deception; and for writers, deadlines are like heroin. SUCH a rush of energy.
But in future, I will follow my instincts: life's too short to watch soul-less movies.
I was in Brighton on Tuesday night to give a talk on writing for television, organised by the splendid media training group Lighthouse (I've run a number of courses for Lighthouse on creating TV drama series, which have been, to be honest, so enjoyable it almost hurts.)
My fellow guest was BBC script editor Esther Springer, who has worked on many many TV shows, including Survivors and Born and Bred, and knows more about telly than anyone I know. Esther told it as it is, and we had a lively session and a great discussion. It was a full house - about 70 people there - which shows what a passion for TV writing there is out in yon world.
Later in the week I had a meeting with ace producer Archie Tait, and we began cooking up some schemes. I also had a coffee with old friend, Dan McRae, who now has an important role in the British film industry (as head of development for a major distributor) but is as genial and entertaining as he's ever been.
Nicole Peeler's SFF Song of the Week - Sea Lion Woman by Feist - appeared on this site got a fabulous response, and I'm still getting great feedback for Al Reynolds' choice, Wings by the Fall. (Oh, and one of my screenwriting students at the London Film School loved Experiment IV, Tony Ballantyne's choice.)
I wrote a blog for Orbit - it's still there! - and a Movie Zone blog for this site about the classic SF movie THE DAY THE EARTH STOOD STILL. And I read Paul Cornell's wonderful CAPTAIN BRITAIN anthology of comics (he doesn't like the term graphic novel), featuring a Muslim superheroine. This tale blends magic and action in a truly wonderful way, and is gorgeously illustrated by Leonard Kirk.
I'm close to the end of epic space opera The Risen Empire by Scott Westerfield. I'm at that stage of not wanting it to end; but also wanted, desparately, to know The Twist. (Do NOT write in and tell me.)
My own epic space opera Hell Ship is proceeding apace, but I'm encountering a major problem: I have too many aliens! And all of them have different versions of phyics, and different terms for such things as hyperspace, teleportation and quantum physics. Damn, maybe they should all speak English.
Robert Jackson Bennett and I have been exchanging emails recently; and indeed, we may write up our thoughts in a blog. Robert's the author of the acclaimed Mr. Shivers, and he's a very smart and witty guy.
And I may - for now - be close to the FINAL DRAFT of my Welsh film Inferno. Fingers crossed.
The highlight of my week came by email...a scary, eerie, and extremely funny cover design for my next novel Version 43, which comes out in the autumn. Designer Lauren Panepinto has brilliantly echoed the design of Red Claw, with its scuffed corners and pulp feel; and she's also added some flamboyantly original touches.
Thanks Lauren!
I've been writing and researching Hell Ship this week. The research mainly involves reading about the ancient civilisations of Earth - the Egyptians, the Sumerians (pronounced Shoo-merians, I have now discovered), the Hittites, the Minoans, and the Mayans, to name but a few.
The story of the Mayans is a sobering one - they were a thriving civilisation until about 950AD, when the civilisation collapsed. There was no invasion, no plague, no asteroid landing in the jungle; the entire culture just fell to pieces, because of overpopulation, greed, and possibly war. It's not a unique story; prehistory is littered with accounts of civilisations that imploded under the weight of their own contradictions.
Maybe ours will be next?
That happy thought leads me into some reflections on the global economic crisis and bankers' bonuses...it's a subject that fascinates me and appals me, and I keep thinking, 'Someone should write something about that!'
Then it occurred to me this morning (as I woke up at 3am, regretting that last glass of rich red wine) that maybe that someone should be me. You see, I'm currently pitching for a 3-part radio drama series about politics and war which is being looked at favourably (it doesn't mean I'll get the gig! But it looks promising.) And I think I can see a way to make Part 3 of the drama an account of the banking crisis, in vivid and terrifyingly dramatic form.
This gives me another big subject to think about and research, to add to my already large pile of big subjects: there's ancient civilisation and parallel universes (for Hell Ship); art, architecture and forgery (for my commissioned radio drama The Art of Deception), and now global politics and finance, for this new radio pitch.
Hmm. That means I'm pretty much researching life, the universe and everything; should be fun!
A good portion of this week was devoted to a rewrite/polish of my Welsh film noir Inferno. I've nursed this project over several years. I endured the departure of my brilliant producer and executive producer (we didn't fall out - far from it! - but they left to pursue highly paid and prestigious jobs elsewhere.) I created my own company, as a way of accessing finance to get the film made. And now, after more than six months working with a director of incomparable cleverness and flair (that''s you Marc!) damn it all, there may be a chance of getting it made this year.
Or not - film is a fickle business. But I've never felt so optimistic about getting the film produced, and out there in the cinemas. So - we'll see. Watch this space!
I'm currently reading a splendid Scott Westerfield SF epic - he's SUCH a smart writer. And I'm close to the end of CAPTAIN BRITAIN, the comic anthology/graphic novel by Paul Cornell, who also writes Dr Who, and who I met last year at Eastercon. A lovely man; and his Captain Britain is an absolute delight.
Speaking of Eastercon; I've signed up to do several panels at the next one, Odyssey at Heathrow, and I may also be doing some book signings. Hope to see some of you there.
Oh and I've written a short review of the great SF movie Delicatessan (it is SF, honest!) for Cinema Futura, which I'm about to email. It's a gorgeous, funny, utterly unexpected film, rich in visual beauty.
The other highlight of the week - apart from the Version 43 cover - was Alastair Reynolds' choice of SFF Song of the Week - the eerie, haunting, brilliant Wings by the Fall. If you haven't listened to it yet, scroll down and find it, or go across the Categories bar and click of SFF SONG OF THE WEEK, and you'll find it there.