Today, I went up to the post office and submitted things through the mail.

Such an act, I’m sure, doesn’t immediately strike as the most interesting of events, but it took me back, to when I was starting out as a writer. Stamp booklets, envelopes, the realisation that I was paying postage just to hear negativity. Still, there wasn’t much of a different way, back then, and I did what you had to do at the time.

The act of posting, however, reminded me of the early days when I had a need, and I’m much the same now. I haven’t really talked much about writing on this blog, mostly because whenever I think of writing about it, what pops into my head is a mostly complaints. I feel, I realise, like I am sitting mostly back where I was ten years ago: down and out. It’s not true, of course, since I have better prospects, and things coming out, but there’s been some hard ground to cover of late. As I was walking back home from the post office, I got thinking about that. I reckon, in the time I’ve been doing this gig (around fifteen years now) I’ve pretty much done everything wrong a writer can do, and some right. I’ve taken bad advice, ignored good advice, let things get out of my control, and missed opportunities while I took the wrong ones. Some people might think that some of the personal clashes I’ve had might come into that, too, but mostly, it doesn’t. I reacted to people the way I always reacted to people, and sometimes it made me friends, and other times it didn’t, and at the end of the day you just roll with that. But the business side of it… well, once I thought I had a good grasp on what it was you had to do, but now my understanding is different, a little more tempered, and I approach things different.

It can be really quite frustrating at times. I won’t lie about that. I’m tired of the word non-commercial, and all that it entails, just as I’m tired of the silence that you have to read responses into. I had what I thought was going to be a really sweet deal at the end of last year, one that would make up for the quiet of 2009, but since it has now been four months now and my polite inquiries go unanswered, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m back out in the cold again, knocking on doors with the novels I have.

It’s a humbling experience, really, and not all that inspiring. But, I’m not the first or the last to have to push through it, so, hey, what you going to do, y’know?

The answer is obviously: try not to blog about it too much.

It’s quiet round the blog this week. I’m heading off to Darwin on Friday for a friend’s wedding, and I got things that need to be tied up before then.

In short, pretend this post has an elephant in it. He’s wearing a cute hat.

Apparently there are only 45 known cases:

FOP (fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva) is a progressive disease in which new bone forms in muscles around bones and joints in the body. It is a very rare condition with no cure. There are about 45 known cases in the UK. Patients become gradually more disabled as extra bone forms across joints, restricting movement and locking joints in place – sometimes in uncomfortable positions.

In FOP, the formation of new bone often follows inflammation as a result of injury or trauma. No one knows why inflammation or ‘flare-ups’ in FOP patients leads to bone formation. And immobilised joints can’t be released – any surgery would exacerbate the condition. The only treatment – other than trying to avoid injury – is corticosteroids, which appears to help in the early stages of FOP. It doesn’t stop progression of the disease but may ameliorate the condition.

…

Seanie Nammock is 14 years old. She likes make up, clothes and loves cooking. She listens to Lady GaGa, Beyonce, and Lily Allen and is to be a bridesmaid at her cousin’s wedding. She’s done one of her Science GCSEs two years early and dreams of being a vet.

In the summer of 2008, Seanie had a minor accident on a trampoline. A couple of weeks later, a large lump developed on her back. After a lot of going back and forth to the hospital, she was diagnosed with FOP in September 2008.

Seanie says, ‘When I was eventually told what my condition was and what the outcome could be, I just thought “Oh well, I just have to get on with my life and I won’t let it stop me from doing what I want.”’

Her neck now has little movement and her left and right arms have locked, restricting what she is able to do.

Link.

For some reason, I have been watching an interview with Pat Morita, the actor who played Mr. Miyagi in the original Karate Kid, on and off all day.

I just stumbled across it on youtube, to be honest. I linked the remake of the Karate Kid film and, a click here, and a click there, and I ended up watching, somewhat fascinated. It’s actually a bit surprising, because I don’t really know anything about Morita (who died in 2005) and I don’t really remember him out of that many films. Moreso, the production values are pretty bad, in that the interview can hardly be made out, and the camera has been basically dropped in front of Mortia’s face. Perhaps even more daunting is that there are seven parts and each of chapter runs around 30 minutes.

Yet, yet, Morita is compelling, very assured, very confident, and with an interesting take of his life, so far. His memories of growing up in a hospital with spinal TB that, when he was well enough to walk, some nine years later, saw him escorted by an FBI agent to an internment camp as WW2 broke out are particularly fascinating.

If I were to be honest, one of the things I enjoy in life, is actually the cinema experience. Big screen, dark lights, however you want to describe it, I’ve always been a fan. Unfortunately, the rising cost of tickets, and the lack of anything of real interest, has cut down how much I go.

Still, I saw Clash of the Titans, and even if my motivations were not purely cinematic, I’ve no one to blame but myself for seeing that piece of trash. However, there was worse, as I noticed in the lobby, staring at posters. I love posters, too, incidentally–they can be really neat, and quite artistic, though sometimes they’re not. Take, for example, the poster for the A-Team. It’s a pretty crap poster for what will most likely be a pretty crap film. Why they’re remaking the TV series into a feature film, I have no idea. It’s the fault of my own generation, though–the kids who are my students and social circle, for the most part, have never heard of the A-Team. I tried explaining it as a crappy TV series with Mr. T. but that didn’t help. I had the same problem when I explained the remake of the Karate Kid, as well. It’s completely appalling that Jackie Chan is beating up twelve year olds but none of the kids knew who he was, or that this was a remake of the film where Pat Morita disturbed a generation with his Wax On, Wax Off bullshit way of teaching martial arts. Still, who didn’t love it when they were eight?

But still, remaking it?

And remaking Nightmare on Elm Street?

There was even a new Robin Hood film. As if we didn’t learn enough from a film that smashed Kevin Costner, Morgan Freeman, a scenery chewing Alan Rickman, and Bryan Adams’ music together.

I realised, somewhere, that I didn’t actually see one new idea on the walls. Everything was a remake, a rebuild, a reimagining. And this stuff, it made money. It was the commercial film industry, running full steam ahead, bleeding millions of dollars, 3D glasses, and singers that were equal to Bryan Adams. This was, in fact, what sold–and what people who had to sell things, and buy things, believed everyone wanted.

It got my thinking, a touch, about the nature of commercial projects, and how much originality doesn’t feature into that. We’re all raised with the notion that there are no original ideas, a saying that is usually presented by the least creative of us, since even if you can argue the limitation of narrative as a vehicle of choice, there are some many things that can be done, said, and created that it does a disservice to believe it. But yet, it seems that it is believed. There are original films (and music and books and TV shows and cars and so on and so forth) that do not have a track record, or in build audience, things that are not given the commercial title because they are, in fact, original. Has it come, then, when I stood round looking at the posters for all these remakes, and then thinking of music that sounds the same, the books that are all defined by genre and bland writing, that to be commercial simply means that you aren’t original?

I figured I was pretty cynical after that film, but the cynicism, it remains.

I think I may have forgotten everything I knew about using a camera.

During the ads for Clash of the Titans, there was an ad that informed me that downloading was actually taking away the jobs of the men and women who were involved in the making of the film I was about to watch.

About half way through, I realised that this was not a warning to stop me from downloading, but a solution for what I was watching. I could actually be proactive and stop these awful remakes (or just plain awful films) from being made. I could ensure that the director and writers would never again be employed outside some kind of shit kicker job, wherein we could all go in, and say, ‘So you were responsible for that film?” and then we could ridicule them. Or in desperation they could end up in a TV show where the object was to see who would survive the longest. Would it be the actors, or the director, or someone from costume? The winner, or shall we say, the survivor, would be allowed to go back to working in the entertainment industry, once their injuries and psychological damage done to them through their actions was repaired. No doubt, by then, the damage that was visited upon the world for putting out such awful films that lower the intelligence of the world, would be alleviated. Or, we’d have destroyed the film industry.

It would have another positive result, as well. Poor Liam Neeson’s gambling problems, which have no doubt lead to him being in this film (and for his upcoming performance in The A-Team) need to be dealt with. He obviously has a problem that is not being addressed in his personal life. By no means the finest actor of his generation, he was, once upon a time, at least a passable figure who when he appeared on the screen did not reek of gin and desperation, as he does now. We have all watched the decline, through Star Wars and Ridley Scott, to now this. Gambling, as you no doubt know, causes destruction in many lives. When it becomes addictive, it is nothing short of a disease in the individual, and leads to the debasing of the individual’s self respect. It is not uncommon for people to find themselves selling off their belongings, and selling off the belongings of their friends, or turning to prostitution, or, even in extreme cases, the remakes of films in Hollywood. These last are perhaps the often hidden predator, that attract the young, and are a place in which those with debts and addictions, can ply their trade so that their diseases remain hidden.

Clearly, downloading–and the resulting death sport–would help Liam Neeson.

I urge you, in fact, to go out now and download Clash of the Titans. I urge you to tell your friends. We, as a community, must act. We have waited too long. We are not hollow figures for which the wind blows through.

For some reason, this afternoon, I took a nap and now everything in my head won’t quit gel. That’s a bit of a shame, since I’d made sure I had time tonight to work out the end of Below, before I start tweaking, shifting, and sending it to Steph Campisi.

I tried for a bit, but my eyes just kept sliding off the screen, my concentration shot. It happens–I know when to get up and walk away, and this was one of those moments. I feel a little guilty about it, but on the other hand, that nap was pretty nice. I was just chilling, flipping through a collection of Murakami stories. The sun was warm, I had washing on the line, I thought I might write a story about a bird that is cut open to reveal that it is full of plastic trash, and that the story might itself be the story of the trash, and then the next thing I knew it was later in the afternoon, colder, and the fine that I had received in the mail was very red. An enforcement fine. Lovely. Honestly, it baffles me how in this world you can fine people for taking space, but I guess that’s how it is. You can’t do a whole lot about it. Just pay the fine or watch it get larger.

Here’s a picture of a sad Darth Vader, just so I have a subject for this entry.

Link.

The image shows most of the cloud associated with the Rosette nebula, located about 5,000 light-years from Earth in the constellation Monoceros, the Unicorn. The region contains a family of growing stars, with the oldest and most massive members in the center of the nebula, and younger and less massive generations located farther out in the associated cloud. The nebula’s cluster of the most massive stars, located beyond the right edge of the picture, is responsible for hollowing out the cavity. There’s enough dust and gas in the entire Rosette cloud to make about 10,000 suns.

The large, embryonic stars uncovered by Herschel are thought to be a younger generation. They are located inside the tips of pillars that appear to branch out from thicker cloud material. The pillars were, in fact, excavated by the nebula’s massive star cluster. Winds and radiation from those stars pushed less dense material away from the pillars, and probably triggered the birth of the big stars inside the finger-like structures. In fact, the pillars point to the location of the massive nebula stars.

The intermediate-mass stellar embryos, each a couple of times as massive as the sun, are located in the redder regions of the image. The small spots near the center of the image are lower-mass embryonic stars, similar in mass to the sun.

Link.

There’s an official trailer out for Tomorrow, When the War Began, and I have to say, the people in it look and sound a lot more city than country to me.

I’m really not a huge fan of the Marsden book (or it’s many sequels), but I teach it a lot, and it has its moments. The narrator, Ellie, is probably one of the more interesting that I’ve encountered in YA books, and I’ll give Marsden props for not shying away from hard subjects (Ellie’s rape in the fourth book, for example). I’m not quite sure what I’ll make out of the flick, thought he scene showing one actress standing in the water and taking her top off, reminiscent of Bay Watch, doesn’t exactly fill me with excitement. Still, you know, on the books that I use in teaching, this is one of the more popular ones, and both girls and boys dig it, so it would be nice if they didn’t make a complete waste of space, and make it difficult for me to get kids to read it still.