OK. Another huge gap between posts. Well, I've been busy. I've been writing TV shows and film scripts, and pitches for said TV and film scripts. Some of these have been with my writing partner, the director, Carl Tibbetts; some, my own "passion projects", as they say on American screen writing podcasts. These are all invisible animals; nevertheless, fully formed, breathing and vigorous entities that are out in the world doing their thing.
I've been talking with producers about films that I am planing to make. Chatting with Virtual Reality companies on how best to incorporate narrative into to a thrilling VR experience. And I've taught the odd class here and there. Most recently, I spoke to a group of digital marketing students about how to craft a story for a Dr Who app. Super fun and exciting stuff.
Next year, the plan is to write on here more frequently about the screen writing process. Shine a light on the life of a screen writer and walk you through the complicated shadows one must tread to keep going. Also, I'll hopefully be keeping you posted on new and exciting projects on the horizon.
But for now, as we approach the shiny, baubled monolith of Christmas, a poem. A Christmas poem, I suppose you'd call it.
I always seem to come here and post a poem. Seems the best place for me to post one.
Merry Christmas everyone, and all being well, see you next year.
Christmas,that's for sure.
Christmas, that's for sure
For sure; it's the only thing.
For those little terrors it's a strange and mystical coming
Of gifts, seen then tossed.
The feeling is Christmas's bright, obvious light.
A H bomb on the horizon that flattens the world,
Cuts down the hills, the furrows that hide the dark
For a brief, explosive spark.
Then quickly into a blackness, and we can not find our way.
But for those terrors,
Each day is a new pasture to walk
Slippery rock to transverse
They know, that what they don't know, is enough.
That we can not stop thinking, that it can only be stopped.