Realisations and Conclusions

Okay, so (and I'm realising that I start a lot of my posts of very colloquially like that) I've come to the conclusion that I am simply not made in the way that would allow me to keep up a regular writing schedule. As evidenced by these past two attempts at a writing challenge, where I would write daily for a certain amount of time... My brain just simply isn't wired that way.

As much as I am a creature of routine, I'm also a creature of variety. In fact, no, I think the fact of the matter is that I -used- to be a creature of habit, back in my early teenage years before I began to develop in myself as a person. Somehow I've now got this idea in my head that because that's what I used to be, that's what I am now, when the reality is entirely different.

I'm also realising that this "blog" is turning into more of a personal diary, documenting the development (or lack of development) of my writing process, and of myself. Which is fine, I guess, because nobody reads this anyway, so if I get that use out of it for myself, then that's something. (Also, comma-itis in that last sentence).

I think the prevailing fact of my habits is that they change. Or rather, they rotate. One month my spare time will be filled with video games. The next, I'll binge watch TV shows or films. Rarely, I'll spend a month just reading. Obviously these periods aren't filled solely with these activities. In months where I spend a lot of time gaming, I will also read and I will also watch TV.

In the end though, these are just habits. And habits can be gotten into as much as gotten out of. I think what I need to get myself to do is get into the habit of writing. Though how I can go about doing this is as much your guess as it is mine. Obviously, forcing myself to write doesn't work. I have to want to write.

Distractions are also the bane of writing. As it stands, I have a lot of new things happening in my life right now. New job (or old, again, as it's the same job, basically, just starting again after nine months), new University course at a new University and new people in my life. Also, having to do new adult things like claim Universal Credit whilst on the job hunt and sort out council tax and blah blah boring things. All of this adds up to create what is essentially a non-productive environment.

I know this sounds like excuses, and is essentially what stereotypically I assume most writers would use as excuses for not writing, it's true. I'm incapable of being one of these goody-two-shoes writers who sets themselves goals to achieve. I'm much happier having other people set my goals. Have other people tell me what they need of me. Which I guess applies also to other aspects of my life, such as my job. I don't believe I've ever been in, or would be comfortable in, a role that requires me to be in charge of other people.

The way things work in University, where you get given a task, told (very vaguely) how to do it, and sent off on your merry little way in order to achieve it however you wish by a certain time - that's how I'm happiest working. I have to have a -serious- deadline, not a self-set one, or I just disregard it. Thinking back, this is also when I was happiest at work. On the butchery counter I would often be looking after the counter by myself. This... not solitude, as there were other people in the store, but kind of... my own responsibilities. Not shared ones. This was what I liked. I knew what I had to do. I knew how to do it (and if there was anything I didn't know, I knew there was help available should I need it). I knew what time it needed to be done by. This, is definitely, without a doubt, where I'm happiest.

I think it's taken me writing this little rant to realise that. Maybe I can apply it to my writing somehow, who knows. Maybe... competitions? I'll pick up the latest issue of Writing Magazine and enter one of their competitions! Who am I kidding, that's not gonna happen, but it's the sort of thing that just might work. Actually, there's NaNoWriMo coming up soon, except I'll be at Uni over the course of that.

Maybe I need to take a break from gaming, just unplug the Xbox and restrict one of my hobbies. That sounds a bit too much like going cold turkey for my liking though. Am I addicted to games? Probably. But hey, it's better that cocaine.

I should sign off on this in a second, go do some real writing, or drawing, or something productive. Hahaha fat chance of that happening though.

It's not just in my writing though, I find it hard to stick to anything new that I try to do. My gym attendance has been at best patches on the calendar over the past few years (although, most recently due to monetary constraints). I'm just that kind of person, and as I much as I might try to change that, it doesn't seem likely to happen.

I probably shouldn't post this on my blog, but hey, maybe somebody else with the same problem will see it, and realise that they're not alone in it. Or maybe it's just me, being the lazy, unproductive person that I am when not given important goals.

Later

Writing Challenge Take Two: Day Three

This little endeavour of mine in getting my writing back on form before university is obviously just going to be a personal one as much as anything. I fully don't expect anybody to read this, it's purely, at this point, for my own benefit.

With that said (to future Lewis, most likely), I'll continue.

Again, a first sentence stick, writing for as long as a piece of string.

First Sentence: 'There I was, just standing there, when what I wanted to do was forbidden.'

---

There I was, just standing there, when what I wanted to do was forbidden. The Elders had decreed it so. Entry to the section of the library beyond the stained glass window (depicting horrors such that it was painful to look at. There was a lot of red glass.) was the most forbidden of all forbidden things in the Monastery.

I hadn't exactly made the best reputation for myself since I'd been there. I was just a visitor. The monks themselves were forbidden from speaking, so weren't much entertainment really. Therefore, I had to make my own entertainment. I'd put books back in the wrong sections in full view of monks, just to see what they might do. It was really quite amusing to see them attempt to convey their feelings on the matter to me without speaking. There had been some very aggressive pointing towards the alphabetised section markers on the end of each row of bookcases. Pointing which I pretended to pay attention to.

But thus far, my adventures had been harmless. Just some fun to keep myself from boredom until my father finished his business with the High Monks. Harmless, that is, until now.

I stood before the grotesque stained glass window, trying to avoid looking at it. The colours shining through it told of a powerful light source behind it. The vibrants hues played on the wall behind me, and, as I noticed when I looked down, on me as well.

I took one last, slow look around, to ensure that there were no monks around. Usually, there would be at least one stationed here to guard the section. But with a little trickery from myself, I'd ensured that the guard on duty for this shift had his guard duty swapped with another monk. A certain Monk Gibbonis. A name I'd made up on the fly. Slipping the duty-change form into the High Monks daily pile of batch-signed paperwork had been a doddle.

So here I was, about to step foot in where, I'd been told, nobody had walked in decades.

I took a deep breath. Then a step. I was beyond the window now. My feet pressed years of dust below them further into the carpet, leaving grey footprints. It was about four seconds before I heard the blare of an alarm. Apart from that, the usual silence, followed by the wordless patter of, by the sounds of it, several dozen mute monks. And so I ran, taking nothing from the experience but the dust on my shoes.

---

A short one today, I'm afraid, but the story wasn't really going anywhere. Laters.

Writing Challenge Take Two: Day Two

Wow, I'm off to a great start already... Missed Day Two. In my defence I did have good reasons. (A.k.a. Reasons involving a girl) So I'm not too bothered. Not like I'm currently catering to a huge fan-base.

To compensate for this, for some reason I'm up at what to me is basically the crack of dawn (about 6:45) in the morning. Because I'm awake at this ungodly hour, I'll do some writing now (Day Two) and write some more this evening (Day Three). 

To start things off simple for my sleep deprived brain, I'm gonna use a First Sentence stick for about 15 minutes, and attempt to somehow create a makeshift IV drip out of my coffee.

First Sentence: 'Your mother lied to you. That's the truth.'

---

'Your Mother lied to you. That's the truth,' says the man.

I have no idea where I am. One second, we'd been sat round the dining room table, eating Christmas dinner... 'We' meaning my family and I, that is. But one second, that, and now... I have no clue what.

'Your Mother. Your Father. Your Teachers. Everyone.'

'What are you talking about?' I groggily manage to say. I feel sleepy, like I've just woken up. I realise that I can't actually tell how long I've been conscious. I can't see the man. I can only tell he is a man because of his voice. But then, it could just be a very manly woman. See, that's the other thing, I can't tell where I am because I'm blind. Not actually, legally blind, but right this second, I'm unable to see. I must have a blindfold on, or a bag over my head, or something, but I can't feel anything there. I would be panicking if I wasn't so sleepy.

'Charlotte, this might come as quite a shock...'

'What?! You're not telling me anything. Who are you?' I ask, my heart beginning to beat faster. He takes a deep breath of air, holds it for a second as if trying to form the words he would use the breath for, then gives up and lets it out in a long sigh. Another, quicker, intake.

'My name is Dawn. I'm... I guess you would call me a Hunter.'

'A hunter? What does that even mean?'

'I stop bad things. I'm keeping you safe.'

'Safe?! Right now you're the bad thing!' That's it. Panic sets it. My heart is racing, and my breathing... I can't actually feel my breathing. I try desperately to feel anything around my mouth... My throat... But there's just a kind of numbness.

'Trust me. It might seem that way, but right now, there's something much worse happening to you. I need you to help me stop it.'

'What?! What are you talking about? Tell me what's going on!' I feel as though I'm laying on my back. Or am I sitting? The numbness in my face continues to a lesser extent throughout my body.

'Everybody you think you know was lying to you, Charlotte, because the world you were living in... Wasn't real.'

I laugh. For some reason, I find this hilarious. My throat convulses in laughter and catches on something. Something is in my throat. I go to speak, the words don't come out of my mouth but somehow form anyway. I realise that this is how I've been speaking before now, with my mind.

'What the FUCK?' I yell with my brain.

'Good,' comes his voice, 'you're becoming aware of its presence. You're beginning to reject it.'

'It's time,' says another voice. A woman's this time. 'Her vitals are good. If you're going to do it, Dawn, it's now. Now or never!'

'Very well... Now listen, Charlotte... I'm not going to lie, this is going to hurt. I wouldn't do this if I didn't know you could handle it. See, you're one of us. A Hunter, like me, like Kyana. Now try to hold still as much as you can. Here we go!'

Before I can respond I feel movement. Something peeling off my face. Then a strong grip around my head. Multiple strong arms pulling the thing closer to my face again. And all the while an overwhelming pain. Not a sharp pain, like something on the surface, but an excruciating headache. More than a migraine. It feels as though there's a power drill attempting to escape from my frontal lobe the only way it knows how...

'It's fighting, Dawn!' comes the woman's voice.

'So is she!'

I feel the thing pulling away. It pulling back. It goes back and forth like this for a while, the pain continuing the whole time. 

Then it it pulls back further. I feel something cool and metal slide between my face and the thing, and I realise that the numbness is disappearing. I feel whatever was in my throat slide out. I take a gasp of air. It feels like the deepest breath I've ever taken. Then, just as my lungs are about to fill, a scream.

The scream isn't me. It isn't Dawn. Or Kyana. It isn't even human. It doesn't sound like any animal I've ever heard. It sounds almost metallic. But it is, unmistakably, a scream. My breath is cut short by spurts of cold liquid entering my mouth. It has the coppery taste of blood, but with the copperiness dialed up several notches. I gag on it, choking it back up immediately.

I feel the last of the thing peel away from my face. The arms around my head go slack, limp, falling down my neck to my shoulder where they slide off. My eyes finally open, the world blurry at first. I'm on some kind of chair, reclined. I'm strapped to it, my arms and legs immobile.

I look around, two blurry shapes moving around me, inspecting me. And behind them... something, writhing on the floor.

'She's going to be okay...' Dawn's voice reassures nobody in particular. Then the same voice, but different. In my head this time, like before. 'Charlotte, you're going to be okay.'

---

I guess writing in the morning works wonders for me! Something to bear in mind for University this year!

Thanks for reading, more later.

Webcomic: Paper-Bag-Man #3

Two updates in one day? On this blog? I know, right, next stop apocalypse.

But yeah... I had this third strip from the webcomic I'd been working on sitting around on my laptop, un-posted, so though it was time to stick it online.

Possibly more to come?

Writing Challenge Take Two: Day 1

So last year I attempted what I called my 'Inspiration Writing Challenge' using the 'The Writer's Toolbox'. This attempt was ill-fated and what was intended to last for a whole month, I only managed to keep up for a week... Oh, me.

This time, I'm going to try this whole thing again, except with the (hopefully) more realistic and achievable goal of a fortnight of writing.

In roughly a months time, I'm going to be starting my Master's degree at the University of Lincoln, in Creative Writing... and the writing I've done since I finished my Professional Writing degree at University Centre Grimsby? Zilch. So I'm hoping that this will spur my brain back onto the writing path, by forcing myself to write regularly.

The fact that I just used to word 'forcing' is probably a bad sign. This is something that I'm supposed to be good at and enjoy... so why would I be forcing myself to do it, and not wanting to do it anyway?

Ah well, on with the challenge. Going to use a 'First Sentence Stick' today, followed by a Non Sequitur stick to take the story in a new direction. I'll write for ten minutes each stick.

First Sentence: 'There she was, Amy Gerstein, over by the pool, kissing my Father'

---

There she was, Amy Gerstein, over by the pool, kissing my father. She was his latest in a very recent, long line of girlfriends. To be honest I'd been getting bored of the new women rapidly entering and exiting mine and his lives. I'd even attempted to have a word with him about it. I'd sat him down, made him a cuppa, put the football on a low volume in the background, and he'd dodged and weaved around the subject like one of the footballers he so avidly followed while they kicked a ball around on a bit of grass for way-too-much money a match.

So I gave up, for now, if he wanted to pursue this... self-destructive path, then so be it, I'd let him. The fact that he hadn't listened to his own son was just testament to how desperate he'd gotten. I mean, he'd given me these kinds of lessons as I was growing up, I was just attempting to return the favour. But no, he set up dates with multiple women on multiple dating sites. Almost every night he was out, flirting as if his life depended on it with whoever took his fancy. 'Playing the field' he called it. 'Hedging his bets' is what I called it.

Occasionally, one of these women would actually make an impression on him. Amy was one of these women. They'd been seeing each other for three weeks now. Too soon, in my opinion, to get attached. And yet there they were, by the poolside, making out with each other in full view of the other holidaymakers.

Oh, yeah, probably should have mentioned that too. She was on holiday with us. What -was- going to be a father-son lad's weekend turned into me third-wheeling their premature honeymoon. So there I was, sitting, reading a book on a sunbed as the clouds covered the usually bright foreign sky, a metaphor for my current mood. Try as I might, I couldn't avoid looking at them, with their gross public displays of affection. If there weren't so many people around, I'm pretty sure they would have just stripped each other naked then and there.

See, the problem was, not that she was just another one of his string of girlfriends, but that she was actually attractive. She was closer to my age than to his. Somebody my age wouldn't have looked out of place dating her. She even looked young for her age. But Dad, with his grey hair and brown cargo swimming trunks, looked more like her Grandad than her lover.

---

Non Sequitur: 'Tom lost 25 bucks at the races'

---

It got worse the next day. The island we were staying on had a heck of a gambling scene. It was part of the reason that me and my Dad had come here. I wasn't much of a gambler myself, but he was. If it wasn't football, it was whatever other sport had a season playing at the time. He never really bet big though, which was why I had never brought it up as a potential problem to discuss with him.

But Amy, something about her brought out the worst of his gambling side.

We'd caught a bus to the other side of the island, taking somewhere close to two hours to get us there. The only racetrack in the small country was here. It was run-down, and used for many kinds of races. Horses... Greyhounds... A poster peeling off a sun-drenched wall even advertised some kind of mini-Olympics to coincide with London 2012.

But today, it was horses. They looked uncomfortable in the starting gates, probably overheating in their thick looking patterned garb. Short men in matching colours and helmets sat atop them, looking equally uncomfortable. Dad clenched his betting slips in one hand, growing agitated in his seat as the race was about to begin. Amy smiled brightly as she saw this, grasping his arm with her hands and looking back and forth between him and the racetrack. Again, I sat, uninterested, with my book.

In a matter of seconds, the race had begun, and was over. Or what seemed like seconds. I hadn't exactly been paying attention. In fact, my first indication that the race was over was the exasperated sigh from my Dad. His horse had lost.

I tried to console him. What's a tenner? Amy had gone. I assumed to the toilet or something. But it soon became apparent that it wasn't just the money that was bothering him. He seemed shocked, more than disappointed. Barely speaking. It was then that I noticed the scratches on the other side of his face. Amy hadn't gone to the toilet. She'd encouraged him to make the bet. A big bet. Using some of her money. And when her horse lost, she'd blamed Dad. Shouting at him. I hadn't heard it over the screams of the crowd. That was it. Another one gone.

---

Wow, so reading that back, I'm very out of practice. Guess forcing myself to get back into writing is a necessity at this point. More tomorrow!

Webcomic: Paper-Bag-Man #2

Some pretty big changes in this one! Decided to try out a new style, which I personally think looks better. And seeing as it's only really me reading it right now, what I say goes :D

Changed the backgrounds, outlines, face detail, and other things! Oh, and the font! Why in the world I thought it was okay to use Comic Sans, I do not know. Might go and retroactively remove it from the previous comic...

Anyway, let me know what you think/if you want to see more in the comments, or on Twitter :)

Anywho, here's the comic...

Hope you liked! If you did, or even if you didn't, let me know :)

Thanks for reading!

Webcomic: Paper-Bag-Man #1

So, remember that webcomic I mentioned?

Well, I decided to attempt drawing it, and made a crappy attempt at editing it!

Almost didn't put it up on here, but I'm just happy enough with it to put it on the internet.

So without further ado, here is the first Paper-Bag-Man strip!

Sooooo yeah. Cartoony style, simple colouring, no backgrounds. Not the epitome of webcomic greatness, I know... But look at any other webcomic! Ctrl-Alt-Del, Questionable Content... Both of these started pretty much like this, with improvements developing naturally along the way. Here's hoping I also develop this naturally into something better!

Want to see more of Paper-Bag-Man? Let me know!

Cheers for reading!

Ramblings on a Kindle Fire (kind of), internships, my comic reading journey, and other things...

While I don't want this blog to end up as a mish-mash of everything creative/writing that I do, it looks very much like it's heading that way... 

I have plans to continue the writing challenge that I previously abandoned after only one week. Also, I have a few ideas running around in my head for a webcomic. I heard somewhere that producing a webcomic and keeping up to date with it is a very good way to build up an online presence and show that you can stick to a schedule... Yup, because I've been great at sticking to a schedule on the blog so far...

As well as this, I've scanned in a few of the drawings that I planned on sharing through this blog, just to air a few of my pieces of 'art' (as it's so average that I very much hesitate to call it 'art'). The plan is to post these bit by bit, so as to keep a bit of a regular content update going. Planning ahead is not exactly one of my strong suits, so this is a fairly big thing for me...

Anyway, I digress.

The point of this particular blog post is to talk about my latest purchase - an Amazon Kindle Fire, which, in itself, needs some explaining.

I recently went down to London for a few months for an intern position at Titan Comics, as I though this would very well supplement my career goal of becoming a writer for comics... The position, however, was in the Advertising and Marketing side of things. This wasn't exactly my ideal destination in the industry. But it was, nonetheless, in the industry.

The three months passed in a flash, and I had loads of fun working there, learned a lot about marketing and the production process of comics, and met loads of great people. It was definitely an experience I very much needed to have, and I now feel a LOT more confident about my plan to get into the industry.

I was even offered the chance to stay on a while longer as an unpaid intern, but alas, my monetary and University work restraints forced me to decline.

(p.s. If anyone from Titan happens to read this, which I very much doubt, thanks for the opportunity! And also apologies for any instances in which I was a weirdo in the office...)

Okay so life exposition aside, while I was down in London for said opportunity, I also found myself with another opportunity... The accessibility of many, many comics.

London, you see, is home to a particular shop - Forbidden Planet. I'd previously visited here, in order to scope out its comic potential, and found it to be very, very adequate in this regard. (This, was, however, before I had any inkling that I would get the chance to work at its affiliate company, Titan).

I began reading comics when I was very young, mostly in the Beano, and occasionally the Dandy when I was feeling traitorous to Beanotown. (The mock rivalry between those two publications was insane back in the day!) So I've always had an inclination towards the medium as a form of narrative expression.

As I grew up (blimey this blog post is turning into an epic) I turned away from the 'childish' comic books and started to read more 'grown up' prose books. This misconception of comics brought on by society, I think, was a detriment to my life growing up. However, if I hadn't stopped reading them, I never would have been able to re-introduce myself to them.

Also worth a mention is that Webcomics were a big part of my teenage years. But I never saw these as having any narrative significance, they were just there for laughs, for something to read, kept to the side in a browser tab while I did my homework, or rather, while I was procrastinating. I started off reading funnies such as Ctrl-Alt-Del, Looking for Group and VG Cats. It was only later that I started to read comics that had what could be described as a continuing plot or sub-plot, things like Dr. McNinja and Questionable Content.

I started reading comics again in a way that I think a lot of people begin to read comics nowadays - through film. Some of the first, more 'grown-up' comics that I read were titles that had been adapted into the audio-visual form of film or television, or were, in turn, adaptations or spin-offs of those things. This included comics like Kick-Ass, Watchmen and V for Vendetta (I was a big Moore fan back then), because of the more mature topics covered by these films, I was convinced that the comics they were based on would also be just as mature, and I wasn't wrong.

While these titles were what brought me back into the comics universe, they definitely were not where I stopped. I started reading more titles related to other things that I was interested in. Dark Horse's Mass Effect series of comics, for example, based on the game series of the same name, were a big part of my comic readership as a re-entered the world of comics. As well as this, comic adaptations of books by some of my favourite authors, such as Neverwhere by Neil Gaiman.

This eventually branched out into what I saw as the more 'pulpy' comic books - Marvel, DC etc. I started out reading titles related to the films that had been released, and cartoons I had watched as a kid, stuff like X-men, Batman, Spider-Man, and some of the big crossover events like Secret Invasion, Civil War and Siege. Even some stuff that was upcoming as a film, but I was sure would be good, like Guardians of the Galaxy, which I promptly fell in love with as a comic series.

But reading comics is a slippery slope, or, to use another metaphor, a swimming pool. One can toe the water, never really submerging themselves. Or, one can dive straight in, or be pushed, or dive in after toeing the water... There's lots of possibilities. My point is, often, with Marvel or DC stuff, there is LOTS of continuity and cross-over. If you read one title, you can be sure that title will eventually feature a character from another series, or mention events that happened in previous issues, or another series entirely. So what do you do? In my case, I started reading those other series and story-lines. Soon, my shelves filled with TPBs and my wallet drained of cash...

One important note is that I always bought the collected edition of the comics, the paperback versions, as I believed this was a more organised way of reading them, and also... slightly cheaper. I never made the leap to buying individual issues. Mostly due to the lack of any decent comic book shops in my local area. The town in which I live doesn't even have a McDonalds, or a Costa, let alone a nice little independent comic book shop...

My tastes in comic reading didn't stop there, though, ohhhh no. Sometime in my university education I began to realise that there was a vast wealth of comics to be read, beyond even the massive multiverses of Marvel and DC. That there were more publishers, places like Image, IDW, Dark Horse, Titan and more. I also realised that my comic reading didn't have to be constrained to stuff that I knew about, that I had read or watched or played before, no, there were stories that existed only as comics, that weren't connected to any world that anything else I'd read were a part of.

So I began to branch out, looking for stuff that had been highly rated, things like Saga, Black Science, The Wicked + The Divine, Sex Criminals. I re-read Dr. McNinja in its Dark Horse published entirety. I became a comics omnivore.

Which brings me back to Forbidden Planet. This treasure trove, this veritable cornucopia of comics was, and is, paradise to me, as wide and diverse as my comic interests are.

I attempted to stop myself from delving into the individual issue side of things, but the temptation of catching up to the current issue of comics that I'd been waiting months for the latest volume of was too much. I threw myself into catching up with these comics, and I threw myself hard.

I caught up on all my favourite Marvel series, including post-Secret Wars comics that were taking a long time to come out in tpb form. I started reading even more new comics, now that I could read a single issue to see if it was worth reading or not. And then I discovered comics Wednesday, the single greatest attack on my wallet to ever occur. I looked up which comics were coming out each week, and made a list in advance of which I would be purchasing. 

Getting the tube the few stops from working at Titan to FP became a regular occurrence, at least every Wednesday. These new comics I bought from there were on top of all the comics available to me through work, their Doctor Who titles, Assassin's Creed, and more... I found myself over-encumbered with comics. Eventually, my Titan days were over (all too soon) and I had to go back up north to finish off my degree (which I'm still in the progress of).

I managed to take all the paperback collected version comics back with me to Lincolnshire, but unfortunately, I had to leave all the individual issue comics with the family I'd been staying with in London, and there they remain. Fortunately, Marvel does this neat thing where each comic they produce contains a code for a free digital copy. So I quickly redeemed all of those on their website before returning.

These digital copies, could, I learned, be linked up to Comixology and read on phones or tablets which supported the app. Unfortunately for me, the reader on the website was clunky and slow, my Windows phone did not support the app and the only other thing that could read them was my Kindle, which only supported black and white display...

I had all of these comics at my disposal, and no way to read them. Which was, eventually, what lead me to purchase my new Kindle Fire, the intended topic of this blog post. Oops.

Guess I'll talk about it next time! Cheerio folks.

Blog Update! Also, Short Story!

Hey, those few of you that actually read this thing.

Haven't posted on here since October, and I'm coming up on the end of my Uni degree, so I figured I'd better get posting some content.

I definitely plan on being more active on here when I have more free time. I want to carry on with my writing challenge (which I only ended up doing one of three weeks of...) 

Also planning on possibly drawing a few pages of my dissertation comic script, just to visualise it.

As well as this, I'm thinking of using this blog as a platform for multi-format content, such as an doodlings or 'art' that I produce.

For now, here's a short sci-fi story I wrote in my first year of University, enjoy!

ReWind

‘It is Time.’

Vi woke with a start to the voice buzzing through the speaker set into the wall above his head. He sat up on metal platform that served as his bed. As he did so it withdrew into the wall, pushing the thin mattress from the top. Vi fell with it. The soft mattress broke his fall onto the floor.

He pushed himself lethargically from the ground, yawning as he did so. He resisted the urge to stretch – the cramped confines of his room would not allow his large frame such a motion. It was little more than a cupboard in dimensions. He pushed a large square button in the wall and a smooth metal basin slid silently out from just above where his bed had receded seconds before.

His reflection stared back up at him, upside down from the curved surface of the bowl. His head shone from the bright light that beamed out from the whole ceiling. It itched where the machine had removed the last of his already close-cropped hair the night before. It had removed the hair on his face too, what little of it there had been. The others had warned him he would get hair there eventually. He had been proud of it finally appearing, and now it was gone. His face itched too. As he reached to scratch it, the door whooshed open.

‘Get dressed,’ commanded Donn, the eldest of the trio that shared the facility with Vi.

‘I have thirty minutes before first meal, Donn.’ The wizened man stroked his long white beard. He always did that when he was getting annoyed with Vi. Always Vi. Never the others. Vi let out another yawn, this time on purpose.

‘Not today. No breakfast today.’ The man stared at Vi. He smelled musty. Like the air ducts that Vi had played in as a child, when he was small enough to fit in them. Vi put on a frown and looked down at his stomach.

‘Hmm. I am kind of hungry though. What are we having? Grey gruel? Brown gruel?’

‘No breakfast today.’

‘Aww what a shame. I’ll shower and be right with you.’ Vi’s frown turned into a mock grin. 
‘You might want to think about having one too.’

‘No. No shower. Get dressed. Follow me now.’

‘Alright... What, don’t want to be late to your funeral or something, Donn? Give me two seconds, okay?’

Donn was stroking his beard at a rapidly increasing pace. He let out a long, rattling sigh. His hand stopped and returned to its previous position, tucked into the pocket of his lab coat. Slowly, he nodded, then turned around and walked away.

Whoosh.

Vi hastily opened the drawer below his bed panel after shifting the mattress out of the way. The book he had found years ago was hidden below his sheets and clothes. He remembered the day he’d found it. He had been exploring via the air ducts again when he had come across a room he had never entered before. He’d dropped down into it. On a desk had rested the book. He’d stuffed it in his clothes.

When he got back to his room, he’d read it. He did not understand everything in the book, it was alien to him. All his information had come to him via screens and touchpads. From what he did understand it was about a boy, like himself, called Harry. He found himself whisked away into a world nothing like that he had experienced for the first part of his life.

The others didn’t know about the book. Vi kept it to remind himself that there were things the others kept from him. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that what they taught him wasn’t all there was to know. There was more to the world than the facility. Even if there was nothing outside that he could see. There had to be more somewhere. Vi held the book as evidence of that fact.

Vi grabbed his clothes, a pair of light green thin trousers and a pale blue shirt and closed the drawer. ‘Scrubs,’ the others called them. He pulled them on quickly and splashed water on his face from the basin. It retracted into the wall. He walked up to the door.

‘Okay. I’m ready,’ he called out. A voice murmured from the other side. Although he couldn’t hear it he knew it was Donn telling the door to open. Since his last escape attempt two years ago they had programmed his door to only respond to their voices.

Whoo-

The facility shook violently. Vi put a hand out to steady himself but found nothing to hold onto. He fell and cracked his face against the wall. He tasted blood.

Vwirrrrrr.

The door stopped, partially open. Vi stood up.

‘Crap. Not again,’ groaned Vi. Donn’s face appeared in the small gap the door had left. Vi stepped back.

‘Step through.’

‘The gap’s too small Donn, I won’t fit.’

‘Step through.’

Vi sighed. He pushed himself through the gap, sucking gut as he did so. The frame and door pulled on his clothes and he was sure they were going to tear, but then he was through.

‘Follow me,’ Donn told him.

They walked down the long corridor, passing many unlit rooms. Vi had walked this way countless times. Every tile on the floor was as familiar to him as the back of his hands. Vi looked out of the large screen doors at the entrance of the facility. The ground ended a few hundred metres from the steps leading down from the door. Beyond that was nothing but sheer blackness. The ground curved around to either side in a perfect circle. Vi knew that those curves joined up again at the other side of the facility. He stopped to watch as a massive chunk of dark brown earth drifted up into the gloom. It slowly came apart into smaller pieces as it drifted further away. The more it travelled away from the facility the more it disintegrated until finally nothing remained.

‘Do not linger, Six,’ said Donn as he grabbed Vi’s arm.

‘My name is Vi.’ Vi shrugged him off. Donn did not respond but to continue walking. Vi had no choice but to follow. They progressed past many rooms. Corridors branched off, ending in nothingness. The walk was a long one, winding through most of the facility, but eventually they reached their destination. The others were waiting for them.

As Vi entered the large room the air itself seemed to close around him. The temperature was up way higher than it needed to me, making the atmosphere cloying. They sat in darkness upon two seats amidst hundreds, curved in rows extending diagonally up the from the platform where Vi and Donn stood. Donn stepped from the platform and joined the others in the shadows.

The platform was brightly lit, but Vi was used to this affair now. He shielded his face with his hand. His eyes adjusted quickly to the contrast in light levels and he could soon see the others perched in their usual places, alongside Donn.

‘Six. You know why you have been brought before us,’ boomed a second male voice. Vi knew it belonged to Artemis, the leader of the Tempus Terminatus. That was what they called themselves, these three.

‘We have prepared for this your whole life, and many of ours,’ continued Artemis. He stood as he said this and as he did so his form came into the light of the platform. Vi could see his wrinkled face and balding head. His eyes creased at the corners as he focused on Vi. A goatee surrounded his mouth, flecked with spittle as he shouted from the seats. The large room carried his voice, making it seem even louder. Louder than necessary.

‘Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Art.’ A third voice this time. Female. Artemis shot her a look. 

‘Seriously. We haven’t got the time for it.’

‘Pardon, Morrigan?’

This time it was the woman’s turn to stand. She was not as old as the other two, or at least did not look it. Her hair was still raven black and extended straight down almost to her waist. Like the others, she wore a lab coat, but hers was more tattered and frayed. She stood face to face with Artemis. They were of a height. Donn looked across at them and slowly shook his head.

‘You heard me,’ responded the woman. ‘I don’t see why we had to bring Viator all the way into the lecture theatre when we could have simply briefed him in the lab. We can’t sacrifice time to feed your dramatic flair. Every second counts. You know this more than any of us.’

Vi stood where he was, speechless. He could almost smell the tension in the air. He would never think of standing up to Artemis as directly as she did. But there had always been conflict between those two. Morri had told him once that it was because of their different backgrounds.

The main topics that set the two to arguing were the machine and Doctor Cole. Vi did not know much about the machine, other than it was kept in the lab. The lab was out of bounds to him. When he had asked about this machine, he had been confined to his room for a week and only let out for meals and lessons. He had not asked again, but his curiosity had only grown. After he had inquired, their mentions of it had become vaguer. That they were discussing taking him to the lab now sent a chill down his spine.

Doctor Cole was a more open subject. He had been Artemis and Donn’s mentor. They had not been in the same area of learning though. Artemis and Donn had been studying Quantum and Medical Physics, respectively. Vi did not know Morrigan’s connection to Cole, only that she had been close to him. Cole was here with them, in the facility. Only he was sleeping, as the others described it. A long sleep. It was a sleep that he could not wake from.

Artemis opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. He pulled his own lab coat tighter around himself as if to keep warm, although the room was stifling as it was.

‘As you will, Morrigan. We will take Six to the lab. Donn, bring him.’

This was it; they were actually going to the lab. Vi would finally get to see the fabled machine. Excitement made his breathing faster and he could not help but let a small smile onto his face. Artemis stalked out of the entrance Vi had come in, with Morri on his tail. Donn progressed towards Vi, almost at a jog. Donn never rushed. Whatever was going on, it was now beginning to worry Vi. His smile faded. Donn went to grab his collar but Vi dodged.

‘I can walk just fine by myself, thanks, Donn.’

‘Hurry, then. Artemis is not one to be kept waiting.’

They caught them up midway down the first corridor, outside the lunch hall. Artemis and Morrigan were in heated discussion.

‘I’ve worked with you towards this for longer than we can remember, Art. I think you need to begin respecting my opinion more. Viator should be told.’

Told what? Were they finally going to tell him what the machine was?

‘I really wish you hadn’t given him that name, Morrigan. It does not help to be attached to the subject.’

‘Viator is different. You said so yourself. He’s not like the others.’

What were they talking about? What others? It was just the four of them. It always had 
been. Five, if you counted Doctor Cole.

‘Number Six is the final step. He is the conclusion to our life’s work.’

‘He is our last, best hope to end this,’ agreed Morrigan, reluctantly.

Vi couldn’t stand it anymore. He sprinted the few metres between he and Donn and the others and grabbed hold of Artemis’s shoulder. Artemis instantly locked onto Vi’s hand with his own as he turned. He expertly bent Vi’s arm up behind his back, causing Vi to cry out.

‘What are you talking about?’ Vi exclaimed in pain. ‘What is going on? Tell me.’

‘You will find out soon, Viator,’ said Morrigan, soothingly.

‘He’ll find out now,’ added Artemis, letting Vi’s arm go. ‘We’re at the lab.’

Vi hadn’t even noticed their location. He turned to face where the others were looking. Fluctuating light poured through the small windows in the double doors, spilling into the murky hallway. A low thrumming vibrated in Vi’s head. He couldn’t tell if it was coming from the room or his own quickened pulse. Vi gulped.

Artemis threw open the doors. Vi covered his face as the light hit it. It took his eyes longer to adjust than they had in the lecture theatre. When they did, what he saw took his breath away.

The room was white and bare but for a bank of monitors and technical equipment along one wall. In the centre stood the machine. The main part of it was cylindrical in shape, stretching from the floor to ceiling. A curved door was set into it, facing the entrance to the room. The door had a small circular window embedded at Vi’s eye level, though slightly above the other’s eye lines. Cables extended from it, up to the ceiling and along it to the machinery on the wall. More cables led from above the door to a canister set into the floor beside the cylinder. It was transparent.

Inside the canister was darkness, and light, waging war. A vortex hung in the centre of it. Matter spun in towards the centre of the storm where there was nothingness. It was a hole in the fabric of the universe. A hole about the size of Vi’s fist. Around this hole spun bright particles of light, each no bigger than a fingertip. Brighter than any light Vi had seen. They lit the whole room. They darted around in a no particular pattern around the hole, never touching it, but orbiting it. Each particle had an opposite, moving in the reverse direction to its twin. Their movement made the shadows in the room dance.

‘What... what is it?’ asked Vi, rubbing his shoulder.

‘This, Six, is one half of the salvation of humanity,’ beamed Artemis.

‘What’s the other half?’ asked Vi, tearing his gaze away from the canister to look at Artemis. Artemis’s grin had turned into a cold, hard stare. A stare that was directed right at Vi.

‘That would be you, of course,’ stated Artemis, as if it were obvious. He motioned to Donn. Vi began to panic. He stepped away from the trio, but found himself against a wall. He looked for a way out but found that the only exit was the double doors, and between him and them was Donn. The old man advanced towards Vi. Within seconds he had secured Vi in a vice-like grip. Vi squirmed but found he could not move against the man’s body.

Artemis pressed a button on one of the panels along the wall. The door to the cylinder hissed open. Donn dumped Vi inside and the door slammed shut behind him. There was another hiss as the door pressurised. Vi felt the air thinning, breathing became harder. He pressed his face up against the small window.

‘What are you doing? What does this thing do?’ shouted Vi frantically. His voice broke at ‘thing’. He looked around at each of the three in turn. Donn stood silently behind Artemis. Morrigan was sat on the floor in the corner, her head in her hands.

‘This ‘thing’ as you call it, is the culmination of my work with Doctor Cole, Donn and Morrigan. It harnesses the power of a singularity combined with that of tachyon particles, it-,’ started Artemis.

‘Tachyon particles? You taught me they were hypothetical. They don’t exist.’

‘True. They don’t ‘exist’ in the strictest sense of the word. What you see is simply their shadow as they travel.’

‘Shadow? But they’re so bright...’

‘We’re into conceptual physics now, Six. We’re not following the usual laws you’ve been taught.’

‘If I’m what all this was for, then why teach me the wrong thing?’ Vi thumped on the door. It did not make a sound. In fact, all it did was make his hands hurt, and worsen the pain in his shoulder.

‘Teaching you helped us to revise the basics while we worked on this project. On you.’ Artemis started to interact with the controls on the wall. The low thrumming increased. It definitely wasn’t Vi’s pulse. This was coming from the canister. Vi watched as the glowing particles increased in speed until they were nothing more than a spherical shell of light around the singularity.

‘Morri?’ gasped Vi, choking down a sob. His whole world was being torn apart. She looked up, and there were tears in her eyes.

‘I’m sorry... Viator. I’m so, so sorry. You’ll be okay. I promise.’ She got up and walked towards the cylinder, wiping her face as she did so. She stopped a metre from the window. All Vi could see was her face. The room began to shake and they both shook with it.

‘I’m not okay! None of this is okay!’

‘You’re going on a journey, Vi. To a place you’ve never been before. Like the boy in your book.’

'My book? How do you know about the book?’

‘It was my book. I left it there for you. In Doctor Cole’s office. I knew you’d be drawn there.’ The room stopped shaking.

‘What? But-’ Tears were in Vi’s eyes now. They ran from them, warm and wet. They never hit the floor. Instead, they drifted off his skin into the air. Vi looked down. Except there was no longer a down. Vi’s feet were no longer in contact with the base of the cylinder. He floated in space, like the singularity floating in the canister.

‘You need to stop this, Viator. You need to stop us. This machine.’

‘What do you think I’m trying to do? Let me out, Morri, and I’ll stop this!’

Morrigan was dragged out of the way. Artemis’s face replaced hers. He was struggling to stand against the room shaking.

‘Listen to me now, Six. What Morrigan said is right. Where you’re going, you need to prevent any of this from happening. Stop us from creating this machine. Not now, but before.’

‘I don’t understand.’ A tingling spread up Vi’s back. Artemis’s face began to dissolve, as did the rest of the world. His mouth moved but Vi could not hear what he was saying. And then he was gone.

Everything was gone.

All Vi could feel was an immense pressure. He was in total darkness. He could hear nothing.

The next thing he knew there was dull orange glow in his vision. His eyelids were shut, that much he could tell. He tried to open them but couldn’t. He was unable to breath. He felt hands, hands larger than any hands had any right to be. They were holding him, bearing him in the air. Something hit him on his back. Suddenly he could breathe again. He took the largest breath of his life.

‘What do you want to call him?’ spoke a voice.

‘Victor,’ replied a woman. ‘Victor Cole.’