For all my pondering and plotting, and the quasi-random musing about my plotting and pondering, with brief sojourns into that super awesome, elusive and fantastical place that is the Land of Exposition, not much by the way of substance (at least in the form of credible and coherent narrative) has emerged.
The above impossibly elaborate and possibly grammatically incorrect run-on sentence is/was confusing and nonsensical, as much of my writing here has probably been. Then again, I’m dealing with the process of processing the various emotions that have emerged during this time of year. Not only am I’m talking/writing about the annual Doctor Who Christmas special, but also of Star Wars: The Force Awakens and (to a somewhat lesser degree) the final (Christmas Special) episode of Downton Abbey (and only because the 6th and final series has yet to air on the US, though I’ve skimmed some of the spoilers – because I couldn’t help myself – for the final series and no doubt there’ll be another round of tears when it airs in the new year).
[Yes, more quasi-run-on sentences with parenthesis galore – by now you should know that’s how I
But I digress.
[I do that a lot too.]
Having recently watched the Series 9 Doctor Who Christmas Special “The Husbands of River Song” (and re-watched “Silence in the Library” and “Forest of the Dead” for the obvious reasons) and somewhat recently watched Star Wars: The Force Awakens, it’s difficult to grasp the various (conflicting) emotions swirling about within my head, which has imploded a few times during the past week. There were moments of laughter, moments of shock and moments of sadness. Tears were unabashedly shed amid the laughter and screams – and I was not alone in this respect. For that’s the true power of storytelling, regardless of the genre and the medium. Even though the stories are fictional, drawn from the imagination(s) of the writers, actualized by the director and the various production specialists (costume, make-up, visual effects, etc.), underscored by the composer and imparted by the actors – they have the unique ability to play on the emotions of its audience and bring about feelings perhaps they long buried or nearly forgotten.
I’ve been a Star Wars fan for as long as I can remember, and I’m a fairly new Whovian, but nevertheless, it’s the overall narrative arc and the (inside) references to the past that has me feeling all the feelings. It’s the characters with whom I (and many, many others) have grown up, watching their story unfold, amid the plot twists and revelations.
Note: there will be no spoilers for either of the aforementioned – I don’t want to be that person who ruins the story for anyone. That’s just plain rude and annoying. Avoiding spoilers has been a challenge, given the omnipresence of social media these days (with the exception of my reading spoiler summaries for Downton Abbey – for whatever reason, that doesn’t bother me as much. Then again, my emotional attachment to that series is newer than that for Star Wars and Doctor Who). All I will say that both the aforementioned are fantastic and are a credit to their respective fandoms.
But I digress. Again.
I suppose the point of this week’s entry (as it’s the final one for 2015) is to reaffirm my fledgling commitment/promise/objective to actually!write my magnum opus, otherwise known as the epic saga that is the MASC Chronicles. I just keep getting distracted by all these feelings, and pondering ideas. It should be a fairly straightforward task – plot out a story, create a cast of characters and set them loose in a world in which they live.
Then there are the plot twists, character arcs, and exposition with which to contend – stories within stories, crisscrossing narrative arcs and (most importantly) ensuring it all makes some semblance of (logical) sense.
Things in the Land of Exposition have finally (!) calmed down a bit, with the antics of the Real Life Brigade contained (at least for the time being) – the contracts sorted out, the Muses and Minions calling a tentative truce, not unlike the original peace agreement between the Humans and the Zygons, before the madness that was The Zygon Invasion / The Zygon Inversion happened… Hopefully any drama will be contained before it gets out of hand, which might happen in the New Year, but that’s in the future.
Let’s focus on Now, and not on Then, because we’ve already past Then. Just now. We’re looking at Now Now, and we can’t go back to Then. Or worry about Later, because Later is not Now. Now is Now).
To which, I offer as a late holiday treat, and an early preview (subject to change at any given moment): a snippet of actual!writing, made up (like everything that has come before it) right off the top of my head in real time. I have no idea where/when it will fit or whether it’ll survive the numerous rewrites, edits and plot twists.
Without further ado, some actual!writing:
The job was straightforward and easy. Retrieve a jewelry box from a certain vault and deliver it to Miss Rosalind Udine within a fortnight. Complete the task within the specified time, and the reward would be $100,000, guaranteed. Complete the task within a week and the reward doubled. It was an irresistible offer, which Malcolm Hayes and Brandon Stolle accepted without hesitation. They asked Miss Udine no questions and offered no explanation on how they would complete the task. The less anyone knew, the better. Too much knowledge was a dangerous thing. They maintained a quiet reputation as professional adventurers, discreet and reliable. Their methods were unorthodox, but in the end, they always got the job done.
Happy Holidays everyone, and see you all in 2016!
May the Force be with you.