The Wrimo Journals - Part One

Earlier today my friend Skald invited me to his house to finish NaNoWriMo with Pisces. Of course I complied in order to see my friends suffer. While my writing companions wrote their stories I noted the day's events and decided to stick it on here to show all people what NaNoWriMo does to ones state of mind. So here is my Chronicle of the Final Day.

We all sit writing at the table. I have Pisces' Viking helmet on and a pad of paper in front of me. Pisces sits in front of a computer typing with only two fingers with a plastic bag full to the brim with Rowntree's Fruits Pastilles to his left. Then there is Skald, sitting typing furiously opposite Pisces. He is singing to himself with two empty cups left abandoned to his right. Scraps of paper lie scattered across the dining room table with the tattered remains of sweet packets hidden among the debris.

   Skald's mother comes in holding a jar of skull lollipops, the remains of the Halloween stash. She then gives me an unusual look. Understandable with my lopsided hat on. Cookies have remained on the plate while the apples have been devoured by Skald who is now mouthing the lyrics to a new song.
   His parrot caws loudly in the background, trying to get our attention but we ignore him. Skald's sister, Bats, joins us and distracts us from our work with pictures of Skald as a baby. We laugh as we see thatback then he had short blonde hair. We then spot a picture of Bats. When we complimen her picture self, she bolts into the kitchen. We say nothing more as we are relying on her for dinner.

   Suddenly, Skald and Pisces stop working and switch NaNoDragons. I pick up Skald's and lift it high into the air then hand it back to him. It seems that the two dragons offer two different ideas. One is offering lots of blood and gore and the other is offering Lord-knows-what. Pisces gets the red pyschopathic dragon.

   As the day drones on Pisces begins to get restless and starts to argue with the computer, surely turning mad with NaNoWriMo nearing its end and not having enough words.

   The bird's caws get louder and more frequent as the evening comes and it senses its owners are soon to be fed and he feels he should be allowed to eat also. Skald fails to hear its pleas.

   Suddenly, Bats yells down the stairs. The bin men are working despite the strike. Bats and her mother bolt out of the house like bullets of men and chase after the lorry like hungry blood hounds. They catch up to them without causing injury to any bin men. We return to our routine insanity. Pisces rolls his face across the keyboard, leaving an interesting word on the MS Word document taht he's working on.

   Bats comes in again and picks up the two abandoned cups as I finish my second lollipop asking if we need tea which Skald and I do. I follow her into the kitchen, curious about what kinds of tea she has.

   I take my third lollipop as she comes in and I secure Pisces' Viking hat on my head properly. Soon we have a discussion about Viking thank yous as Skald plans to drink his tea in one. Chances of survival: unlikely. He decides to leave it until another day. We sigh, disappointed.

   When Bats leaves Pisces proceeds to take all the penguins off the plate and balance the cookie between them. He then gently places then back on the plate, as though handling a bomb. He then removes his Viking hat from my head and places it over his hairy head. The bird remains ignored in the background.

   After Pisces finishes his paragraph he removes the hat and places it over a bowl. I pick it up and put it back on my head. Skald removes strands of hair from his earphones and soon we start talking about star wars. I reach for my fourth lollipop as Pisces sniffs the bag of sweets before passing me a sweet.

   Skald suddenly bursts out that he can read our minds. After a few moments Pisces attempts to remove the cookie with a lollipop and then Skald talks to Pisces about books.

   Skald jumps up the stairs. The perfect opportunity to read his story. We discover there is a robot devil involved. We take a moment to explore the dining room before heading back to to our tortuous work. Skald comes pounding down the stairs and gulps down his tea in one, but not before I do. A sugar rush comes kicking in as they begin to talk about their stories. Pisces' true personality is revealed as the main characters entire family committed suicide.

   We tell Skald about changing his story and we show him what we changed upon Pisces' screen. Absolutely nothing. We soon talk about the world being made up of nothing, just like my two companion's stories. Soon Skald shows Pisces a video of the robot devil singing as I read his story. The bird has gone silent. I go to investigate.

   The bird is fine. I see a robot devil rapping. Skald repeats the song to fill the silence. He then begins to dance. The song changes to so that Skald is singing 'Deep-Fried Robot'. The bird lives and is cawing his out-of-tune song. Skald sings and suddenly there is silence. I grab my fifth lollipop. Still no sugar rush.

   More Fruit Pastilles make an appearance. We begin to make references to Dragon Ball Z with power ups and level ups. Pisces reclaims his hat in the process and powers up. We plan to join a TGIO (Thank Goodness It's Over) party and begin to search for places to celebrate.

   Skald leads me to the bin to remove my sweet wrappings. The bin follows behind me as Pisces scratches his back with one of the horns of his helmet. More tea and coffee arrives. We decide to go to a party in the future. We read extracts from other stories to avoid doing our work. It doesn't last long. I reclaim Pisces' hat.

   We decide to take a break and see the amount of words written in Denver. Don't ask why. It's something to do with a writing friend of the Professor's. Apparently, Denver has written over two and a half billion in one day. Then all evidence of writing disappears. Strange, but not as strange as us.
   More cookies are on their way thanks to Bats as I proceed to read Pisces' story while he is in the kitchen. A sixth lollipop is stuck in my mouth.

   Skald is planning to change regions in order to give himself more time. We threaten him with pens and plot to destroy his story completely so he decides against it.

   Madness turns into slight insanity as all the sugar and caffeine sets in and the murmurs of distress make their way into the outside world. I feel giggles forming but shove them forcefully back down my throat. Pisces takes his hat yet again and turns the horns upside down before placing it back on his afro. My hands are not steady enough for me to sort my hair. None the less I continue to eat my lollipop.

That's part one! When you read the next part you shall see our madness to the extreme!

Another Author, Another Alert

Yes, you read the title correctly. We have a new author on the blog! May I represent Rinrei, resident pyschopath and generally odd person. She shall fit right in.
   Hopefully having a new member shall stimulate the other two to ACTUALLY DO SOME WORK HERE! Pointing no fingers. *Cough* Matt and Evil Mistress of Cliffhangers *Cough*. Ahem.
   So we have our new member, and I shall be getting on to writing out some new labels and creating a profile for said newcomer straight away. I know very little about what she intends on writing, so we'll just have to wait and see what's going to happen. In the meantime, I shall attempt to keep up with the editing that I shall inevitably have to do on her posts and set straight the basic rules of grammar and inform her upon the use of capital letters with proper nouns.
   Let's see where this leads.
   Pisces handing the stage to Rinrei. For now.

My Snarky Comments on a Bad Story

Hello all! This is Rinrei speaking! This is my first time on this blog so I just felt like introducing myself! I will probably be reviewing stories and Anime (with permission from Professor Pisces of course). If anyone feels like giving me something to review then don't hesitate to leave a comment. I have a blog somewhere with my previous bad reviews (minus the most recent). Here is one of my recent reviews to satisfy you all.


In this post I have been banned banned from talking about Anime (blame the almighty Professor Pisces), so I will start with this really bad (I've also been banned from swearing, which is really what I'm good at - the Professor's fault again) story I was forced to read in order to continue the good part of the ACTUAL story (yes, the story I was reading started with an extract from another story. Confused yet?). So, without further ado, let's start with this blast from somewhere I'm not allowed to mention. The beginning of Future Talk and the extract of some story I can't be bothered naming. Future Talk itself is great but the beginning... Well, let's review it ourselves and see how long you last without my comments.


I love you." She whispered, violet orbs filing with tears. "But... I don't know if you love me. You abandoned me for Yukina. I know she's you're sister, but..."(Oh my goodness! Here comes the greedy pig.)

Hiei swept the emotionally fragille, physically mighty, longhaired beauty into his arms(Is all of that really necessary?). "You are the only one for me!"(Fangirls around the world are screaming.) he exclaimed, crimson hues bright with love (Sorry, love, that doesn't happen). "Yukina means nothing to me compared to you!"(*Loads gun* Let's kill this author!)

She sniffed against his strong manly shoulder (I hear the fangirls coming). "Even though I'm halfdemon halfhuman with a vampire for a grandmother?" (Oh my goodness, my ears are bleeding!) She asked tearrfully. (Spelling error.)

"Yes." He sollemnly intoned, wiping her bangs (deep raven black with blood red highlights) out of her bright blue and purple and green rainstorm-colored eyes (Again, is it really necessary? This is the final chapter, we've probably already heard this twenty six times). "I would give up my life for you. You are beautifull (At this point a lot was edited out for some reason. He says something to do with being a knight in shining armour. Sorry. By the way, spelling error.)

"Oh, yes." She cried, and with a giggle she added "Not that I need protecting (No). I'm the ruler of the demon world! (No) That tournament was a cinch, and you're my king!"(No.)

And with a smile Hiei kissed her because he had never met anyone as perfect as Amora before and it goes without saying that they lived happily ever after.

The End.

(No. No. No. No. No! No! NO! NO! NO! No! No. No. NO! NO! NO! NO! NO! I'm throwing my noes at this! No!)

This was actually so bad that no amount of coffee or boxing could actually solve my shock. It is times like this that I look at myself in the mirror and begin to cry. I'm amazed that come people event write like this anymore (I suppose Twilight was involved somehow); I thought that we would be mature enough to write good characters with their flaws and talents and STOP TALKING ABOUT HOW PRETTY THEY ARE!! No one gets the bad boy straight away and the bad boy (that's better than saying his name) is not sweet and gentle! He's not romantic and he's definitely not Edward Cullen!!! Don't make the pansy girl with the horrid hair that looks like a bad dye job and the rainbow eyes of death the ruler of the demon world!! DON'T MAKE THE ENTIRE PLOT OF THE STORY A JOKE IN THE END AND EXPECT THE CHARACTERS NOT TO CARE! She should have been threatened and killed for that. The author of this even decided that the main dude (otherwise known as bad boy) didn't give a damn about his own sister, who he had been looking for his entire life. That is just disgusting. Is it suddenly that the character was only created to be a romantic partner for our Mary-Sue over here? Sorry but this is never going to work out as a story. Keep the characters in character. I don't know who actually wrote this but once I find them I'm going to give them a reason to live in fear. They will never be able to go near their computer again without soiling their pants and squealing back into their corner.

What are your thoughts on the story? Let me know!!!

The Final Five - Four, Three, Two...

The writing has surpassed my expectations. Right at the end of the month, things have picked up. I wrote a whole 4000 words just yesterday, and have written at least 3100 today. That leaves me with around 5400 words remaining. As such, I have forbidden sleeping, as it impedes upon the writing process.
   As far as the Final Five have been going, I've had lots of time to converse with my good friends the Spectres of NaNoWriMo, as you shall see in just a moment.

The First of Five Days takes my hand and presses it into the palm of the next ghostly figure. I smile my gratitude to the First of Five, but he has already disappeared into the ether. I sigh. Once time has passed, there is no reclaiming it.
   I turn to face the next Day. The Second of Five Days is incredibly tall and fantastically gaunt. The skin of his face is taught across the bone. Sunken eye sockets give nothing away - his eyes are as dark and dull as concrete. He is all but a skeleton. This does not bode well.
   The Second of Five does not even lead me to the day's seat, but lets me find my own way there. I fumble around in the darkness, and when I eventually find it, the second spectre fails to help me at all. I plug away hopelessly at the computer, and despite the Viking helmet that is perched upon my head, Writer's Block closes in on me, chaining my hands behind my back and stopping me from writing any more for the day. I glance helplessly at the Second of Five, but he makes no move to help. I spend the rest of my time trying to remove the chains of misery that bind me, but to no avail.
   When the Second of Five releases me from the chair that has become my prison, I notice that I have written the bare minimum for the day. The spectre does not lead me to the next Day. By way of goodbye, I wind up and punch him good and hard in the gullet. He falls backwards, surprised, and falls into the bottomless pit that is the past, never to be seen again.
   The Third of Five Days is a military man. He is of medium height and many glittering medals adorn his breast. He beckons to me to sit in the seat that has appeared before me. I smile with relief. This day shall be much easier.
   It turns out that I'm right. The Third of Five is very helpful indeed, adjusting my helmet every time it slips and whispering soundless murmurings in my ear when I begin to slow down. My plot takes an unexpected turn, and the ghsotly figures that I could only just see before me get run down by the steamroller of change and replaced by newer, more impressive people.
   By the end of the day I have managed to twist the plot into a knot and write a huge amount. Four thousand words dance around on the screen and fall into place exactly as I want them to be. I smile. It has been a good day. I pin a new medal onto the Third of Five Day's chest and he saunters off to get his victory parade. I skip up to the Fourth of Five and wait to be enlightened.
   The Fourth of Five looks at me as if she is surprised that I am here. Her reaction mirrors my own. Not two Days ago I thought I would trip up and fall flat on my face, never to rise again. But events had occurred in between then and now, and I wasn't complaining all that much.
   The Fourth of Five Days is very pretty, with long lashes and perfectly smooth cheeks. She eyes me with big ice blue eyes and smiles. I sigh, and sit down onto the three legged stool that materialises beneath me. I begin to write. And I write beautifully, to deadly effect.
   When I am finished, the Fourth of Five Days leads me to the end of the road. She pecks me on the cheek and is gone. I sigh. Can any day be better than the one I just had?
   Only one way to find out, I muse. The tunnel looms before me. I turn on my heel and run straight into it, heading towards the light.

But what of the Fifth of Five Days, you ask. Wait until tomorrow or Thursday, I retort. Then you'll see what becomes of me. The best thing about this story is even I don't know how it shall end yet. That's the best kind of story: The type that no-one knows the end to.
   Write on, WriMos!

The Final Five - A Story of the Metaphysical

Whoa. The Final Five Days of WriMo have arrived. It's really a testament to how my life's been taken over by NaNo that I'm having interesting thoughts about the Final Five. See for yourself.

The Final Five Days of NaNoWriMo discard their temporal veils to show themselves before me. They stretch in a line before me. I can't really see further than the second of the spectres. The first, a tall, thin man in a long coat with a fedora perched on his head, proffers his hand to me, beckoning for me to take it. I reach for it, and he grasps my fingers in an iron grip. Apparently, there's no heading back a day.
   He drags me forwards and presses me down into a leather swivel chair. I look at him, bemused. He gestures to type. So I do. And I write my story.
   As I do, the second ghostly figure begins to seem a little less ghostly, revealing a medium-height guy in a lab coat. His face is shadowed, but I catch the glint of light on circles of glass. He wears spectacles.
   Funny that, I think. I was intending to write a kind of science or medical themed scene soon. Weird.
   I struggle to write for a bit. I must be getting an attack of Writer's Block. I thump my fist on the computer desk and glare at the blank page that sits on the screen. I need some sort of protection against Writer's Block.
   He taps me on the shoulder. When I turn around, he points to the backpack that has appeared under the desk at which I sit. I reach for it and open it up. Inside is a plastic Viking-style helmet, two horns protruding from the sides. I glance at him quizzically. He wants me to try it on. I'm coming to trust the guy at my shoulder, so I raise it up and plonk it onto my head. Suddenly, everything seems clearer. I know what I have to write.

That pretty much describes what my day has been like so far. If you're a NaNoWriMo participant and are having trouble with Writer's Block in the crucial Final Five days of NaNoWriMo, surrender to the nagging of your inner self, who knows better than you. Wear the helmet!

The description warns that this helmet 'does not improve protection'. Actually, it does. It protects from Writer's Block.

   Now I must write 16,000 words in the next five days. With my Anti-Writer's Block Viking Helmet, which has only now decided to turn up, I'll not be being kept out of the game by the dreaded slayer of writers anymore!

Death in Paradise, Episode Five - An Episode Review

We're over halfway through the series now. So far, we've had a murder in a locked room, a speared bride, a woman who predicted her own death and a person confess to a murder that apparently didn't occur. So what happened this week? I'll tell you.

DI Richard Poole is transporting a convict guilty of embezzlement to Saint Marie to spend his last six months in jail when the convict is stabbed in the back and killed - while chained to Poole. Naturally, what occurs next is a good yelling-at from the commissioner, quickly followed by a full-on murder investigation. With little over a thousand potential suspects, can Richard and his team close the case?

The wife of the victim in the foreground.

It's Detective Inspector Richard Poole's birthday this week, and he's not keen on telling anyone about it. With embarassing parents sending him a singing birthday card, socks, a tie and a jar of mustard as a present and calling him at his place of work to sing him 'Happy Birthday', he doesn't really succeed. When Camille's mother prepares him a lovely big cocktail with a sparkler sticking out from it, he asks for it to be taken away and to just be given a cup of tea with 'no form of incendiary attatched'. Well, I say ask, but I mean snap.

   Of course, this is a side feature to the whole episode. The real problem to solve in this episode is the murder of a man guilty of stealing around two million dollars from Saint Marie residents while he is aboard a boat carrying lots of folk and linked to the good DI via handcuff. If that's not an audacious murder with embarassing consequences for Richard, then what is?

   The idea is good. In some ways it's a perfect murder. There are so many people on board that any one of them could be the killer, so the investigators have too many suspects at hand. Also, the use of an unremarkable weapon makes it almost impossible to track, even if you did want to go the long way round and attempt to trace it. There's very little to go on as far as evidence goes - little or no forensics to be had. This annoys me greatly, because I like forensics (and most of the time hate CSI - I may tell you about that some other time) and a distinct lack of tangible evidence deprives me of the proper knowledge to solve the case myself. I like solving the case myself. It's fun.

   In the character department, we have the usual selection of suspects coupled with one or two new faces who are set to return. One of these such people is a woman who we shall grant the codename 'Mad Woman'. This is because she is indeed completely nuts and drives me insane.

   Crazy woman is due to make a reappearance later in the series, so I'll give you the lowdown on her. Addicted to crime and murder, she appears to find it fun to witness a murder and then thrilled to be seen as a suspect. A complete basket case, she memorises facts and figures from 'Murders Monthly', her favourite magazine, or so it seems. She manages to make a fool of herself in front of Richard by reciting percentage chances that the murderer is a member of the public who didn't even know the victim. She drives me round the bend. She also manages to provide a key shred of knowledge that helps Richard close the case. She is an interesting character indeed, this Mad Woman. And I hate her.

   It's dawning on me at this point that I like very little about this episode.

   The other characters remain good and cool. DI Poole is as uptight as usual, and Camille seems to be hinting at taking a liking to him. He even goes as far as taking a step towards apologising for an earlier act at one point, though it's soon counteracted in true Poole fashion. Meanwhile, Fidel and Dwayne are busy with a case of their own: they're trying to catch the elusive thief that's haunting the market. Apparently an old woman, there's more to her than it seems.

   The distraction for Fidel and Dwayne serves as something to further irritate me. The thief in the marketplace doesn't really add much to the story at all, and takes them away from working on the case - although for Dwayne, it's only for a short time near the end of the thing.

   The conclusion to the whole thing was clever, but also with all manner of loopholes in it. I won't bore you with the details, but the question I have in my mind is: why? Particularly after the *cough* second murder *cough cough*. The motive to that one is clear, yet at the same time not so great. Why?

So, to ratings. I'm going to be mean and grant it a five. It certainly wasn't as clever as episode three of the series, what with the voodoo prophecy and all that good stuff. There just wasn't any forensic evidence, the suspects were too numerous and I find it hard to believe that nobody saw the murderer committing the crime. The appearance of the Mad Woman also further vexed me. Thankfully, she is a fictional character. However, the side story of it being Richard's birthday elicited some laughs from myself and another viewer that I shall not mention either my relation to nor their name. This humourous side to the whole episode is its redeeming feature, possibly the only one keeping me from announcing a lower score than five, which wouldn't be good at all.

   I am sorry to say that this is possibly my least liked episode so far out of the series. However, there's always next week.

   Speaking of next week, you know how I didn't get enough of Fidel and Dwayne this week? Well, they have an impossible murder to solve all by themselves next week!

Week Four of NaNoWriMo - Eek!

The end is nearing far too fast. Already, week four of NaNoWriMo is upon us, and I'm feeling the pressure. I'm around 5K behind at present, but I intend to make up lost time. My exact wordcount at the time of publishing this post is, in fact, a brilliant 31,725 words. That makes it the longest thing that I've ever written. And in so short a time period too! I'm so happy.
   Of course, this does in fact mean that I have 18,275 words to go until I can crown myself a NaNoWriMo winner. I have nine days to do it, including today. Luckily for me, I've got time on my side. I've got three days in the other eight that make up NaNo where I can write, write, write all day long! And on one of them, I'll have a friend to encourage and compete with. (That would be Skald, just in case you're all wondering what I'm banging on about.)
   There's still a way to go yet until I can say that I'm safe from the jaws of the monster that is the Novel Devourer, ie the creature that gobbles you and your novel up if you don't reach 50K in time. However, for the first time in maybe two weeks (?) I feel I have a very real chance of winning this thing.
   So now I'm off to write a little more about Accommodation Blocks with secret-keeping carpets. (Reference to my NaNoNovel...)
   NaNo all the way, people!

Death in Paradise, Episode Four - An Episode Review

Another Tuesday past and another episode of a good crime drama, though not one as good as 'The Mentalist'. I return to my blog to tell you all about it, and of course give you my opinion of it.
   This episode sees the team working on a murder where there is a murderer with no victim or weapon. Intrigued yet? I was.

A woman turns up at the Police Station claiming to have shot her husband, but when a search of the beach is made, no body or weapon are found. Is the woman mad? No, as it turns out. The body washes up a day later with some disturbing complications, such as why was his watch's stopwatch function running for only an hour and tewty three minutes, and where did the button found on his body come from? All is not as it seems. Is it ever?

I have to say, the idea intrigued me. After five minutes of viewing, I had already formulated my own theory as to how the murder had occurred. To be honest, I think my theory was better than the real solution, which was more based on advanced speculation than fact. Then again, my theory was just as bad. Based on speculation. But I like speculation, as long as it's backed up by proper facts.
   So I didn't like the truth behind the crime. I thought it was an intriguing set up, but it left a number of questions unanswered, such as 'where did the murder weapon go?'. Too often in this series I see a good lack of murder weapon to be found. It seems that they all get thrown into the sea. Convenient, isn't it?
   They also didn't get evidence in a likely way. One minute there's next to no evidence for any crime whatsoever, the next there's a bucketload of it. It's quite vexing. At least, it is to me.
   Then there's the murder suspects. We don't get to know too much about them. In my mind, a good crime novel, drama or movie needs believable murder suspects with some depth to them. This presented neither to me. No depth whatsoever. Just some basic info and then some stuff about where they were at the time of the murder.

I'm giving this episode a four of ten. Yes, I may be being a little harsh, but even so. This crime drama was shaping up to be so good, particularly seeing as to week three's spectacular episode. Now it's let itself down. I liked the idea at the start, but it really went downhill from there. My apologies to the BBC for such a rating. However, it's the truth. To me at least.
   Until next episode, then.

A Favour to Skald

So my friend Skald has entered a frankly ridiculous YouTube competition of which I have no details but for the fact that he's entered it. So, as a favour to him, I feel obliged to post it on my blog so that you can see it and press the 'Like' button at the bottom.
   Here's the vid itself.

   I have some idea of who the short-haired guy is. I played him at chess once, I think. The long-haired one is Skald. His YouTube name is CaptainJohnKeel. That is all you need to know.

Skald, there's your favour.

Death in Paradise, Episode Three - An Episode Review

Finally worked out the older cop's name: Dwayne.

Okay, epiphany must be pushed aside, as I'm trying to reviewing Death in Paradise Episode Three (3) without getting sidetracked and going off on a tangent.
   DI Richard Poole is faced with yet another baffling murder - aren't they always? - but this time, something's off. Less than a day before her death, the murder victim performed a voodoo show and predicted her own death in front of a crowd and policeman Dwayne. Richard must find the killer and convince his team that voodoo magic had nothing to do with the murder, and that following the 'prophecy' that the murdered woman gave is not a reasonable way of finding suspects.

Personally, I thought this episode was better than the second, though maybe not the first. Maybe. So we're faced with an intriguing murder where all the evidence collected points towards one man, but Richard think's it's all too easy. Which, of course, it is, otherwise it would have been a very short and disappointing episode.
   We advance on characters even further, but then again, that's what should happen in programs like this. Particularly, we expand on Dwayne (yeah, I finally got the name after using the internet). As he was there at the time of the prophecy being told, he feels a unique connection with the case. This plays a pretty big role in this storyline.
   Richard's very obvious obsession with using facts instead of prophecies is very clear, and brings a clarity to the investigation which I welcome. He is the concrete brick of the team: simple but effective in many ways, he is an essential part of the team as he keeps them weighed down and down-to-earth throughout inquiries. This development of Richard is just another necessity for the series, but I'm glad that they've done it well.
   The prime suspect is a fairly nasty old headmaster - and let's face it, when are headmasters/mistresses ever good, friendly folks in the world of fiction? I have to commend the actor on his portrayal of the character, although I'm sure that more than half of that is down to the director, the writer and the producer.

So, my rating. I'll give it an eight and a half. It's a bit kooky and strange, particularly how Richard figures out the final clues at the very very end. I have to say, I worked out who killed the old woman about a quarter of the way through. How Richard didn't I'm not sure. Some of the clues that he did use though were a little obscure, and wouldn't be obvious to an audience.
   So that's me. The day after tomorrow, Wednesday the sixteenth, a new episode airs. Correct me if I'm wrong. But be sure to watch it.
   For now, Pisces over and out.

NaNoWriMo - Week Two (Although We're Halfway Through)

Yeah, I'm late. Or maybe I'm lazy. Or maybe I'm busy. Either way, I've not posted anything about my story in a while. So I thought you might all like to see the introduction to the second part of my NaNoWriMo Novel, 'The Tongueless'. It's not as bloody as the first chapter, but it's not necessarily all lovely, full of flowers and all that. It's a dystopian novel. What did you expect?

The Gathering
The room was silent as the grave. Nobody around the oval table spoke a word. They didn’t even seem to breathe. There were no smiles on the faces of the gathered. They all had ideas on what they were here to discuss.

Leaders from every country in the New United Nations had gathered in this one room: The Chinese Emperor, King of the Restored Monarchy of England, the President of the USA and Chairman of the Sovereign Courts of West Russia were all around the table, plus many more. Yet there was one more person, one more leader, to arrive.

None of the assorted leaders were aware of where they were exactly. It would be too easy for one of them to decide not to turn up and nuke the rest if they had been given exact geographical coordinates. This was why they were all getting twitchy. Someone still had to turn up. The other thing that was on all their minds was: ‘Someone gathered us here, which means that someone knows the location of where we are. So who is it, and why do they want us here?’

Each person had his or her own personal theory on why they were there. Over the past few decades, society had collapsed. Problems such as the Euro Zone Debt Crisis and global warming of half a century ago seemed small in comparison to those of today. After all, global warming had resolved itself. Problems such as the ones that the wider world was now facing weren’t going to be so easy to dismiss.

The past twenty years had been a nightmare for each and every one of those around the table, in various ways. The Russians had broken out into civil war, resulting in a three-way split. Now, the leaders of the South, West and East Russian factions glared at each other hatefully from their places around the table. The United Kingdom had broken too, with Scotland collapsing soon after becoming independent and England being forced to reinstate the monarchy as the leading class. Italy had sold the Coliseum to an exceedingly rich Welshman in an effort to help clear its increasing level of debt. The USA had lost over three-quarters of its land to the advancing Canadian and Mexican armies. The Koreans had nuked each other and were now living in a nuclear winter. Every so often, stories reached the news about horrible mutations brought on by the radiation poisoning that had changed Korean citizen’s genes. None of the other countries did anything to help them out – they had enough problems as it was.

There was a bang as the door to the room opened, and the gathered rulers jumped. In the doorway stood an imposing, tall man with broad shoulders and a square head. He was African, and his smart uniform and short hair marked him out as one of the high ranking members of the African Army.

“General Adeoba Khali, leader of United Africa,” announced the doorman. The General saluted smartly and strode stiffly into the room. He quickly located the one free seat in the room, which sported a name tag. The name tag did, in fact, show his name. The seat was at the head of the table.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” began the General in a deep, booming voice. “I apologise most deeply for summoning you all like this, but desperate times call for desperate measures.” He said it in such a way that made it obvious that he was not in the least bit sorry.

He continued, leaving no one time to protest. “We are here because we share a common problem, and that problem is -”

“The economy!” cried out the Sovereign Emperor of Japan.

“No, it is not. The problem is -”

“The climate!” called the Prime Minister of India. General Khali glared at him until the Prime Minister looked ready to spontaneously combust.

“Again, no. The very real threat facing us is -”

“Lack of food!” shouted the obese American President.

The General had had enough. He pulled out his handgun and shot him through the head without looking. The fat man looked momentarily shocked before his face was drowned in blood and brain fluids leaking from the gaping wound that had appeared in the centre of the President’s forehead.

The General holstered the weapon and looked around the room calmly. “Am I free to continue?” The assembled leaders all nodded vigorously. None of them wanted to suffer the same fate as the now useless lump of fat, skin and bone slumped in the seat between the West Russian and Iranian leaders.

“As I was saying before certain idiots” – he looked pointedly at the Indian PM and Emperor of Japan – “interrupted me, the very real threat that we face is none of those previously stated.”

“Then what is it?” asked the Iraqi leader.

“Overpopulation,” stated the General. A murmur rippled about the oval table.

“What can we do about it?” challenged the Saudi representative. “Unless you want us to send out the troops and decimate the population, there is nothing we can do.”

“Actually,” said the General, “That’s exactly what I had in mind.”

The room erupted into chaos. The King of England shot to his feet and began yelling across the table. The Russians began trading opinions across the table in a heated manner. The Iranian President shouted back at the King, and the two began to gain and lose leaders who sided with them.

The General began to take out his handgun again, and when the other leaders cottoned on to what he was doing, they sat down and fell into silence again. They really didn’t want to go the way of a certain morbidly obese president.

“Thank you,” he told the assembled crowd, his eyes telling them that he was in fact thinking the opposite. They were cold grey chips of flint, icy and unforgiving. They showed no mercy, and condemned whoever looked into them for long enough to a stay in a mental asylum.

It took a moment for the General to become aware of a trembling hand slowly reaching up into the air. “What is it?” he asked the short man in a black suit with a pink tie. He couldn’t remember who it was. Maybe he was the Irish Prime Minister.

“Um, well,” he began, “We can’t really, um, just kill innocent civilians, can, er, we? We’d lose face and the armies, uh, might refuse the orders.”

The General gave a slight smile and tapped the side of his large nose to show that he had thought this through already. “You are right, of course,” he told the quaking man. “This is why I have put together a little plan.”

As he said this, he heaved an enormous briefcase up onto the table. The clatter that it created as it hid the metal surface caused the East Russian Prime Minister to choke on her sparkling water, sputtering half of it onto the table. The other Russians eyed her pitifully, but made no offer of help.

There was an ominous double click as the catches on the case were opened, and the lid sprung open to face the rest of the table. The contents remained hidden to the others in the room, but not for long.

The General selected a file from the case and closed it with a bang. He put the case out of sight under the table, and laid the file on the smooth surface. Everyone craned their necks to see what it was.

On the table sat a beige, sand-coloured rectangle of cardboard. Carefully typed in the upper left-hand corner of the cover were the words: Project Overhaul. Next to them, in big red letters, was stamped ‘TOP SECRET’.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Project Overhaul,” he announced proudly. “Possibly the single most meticulously thought out plan to save the world from the growing threat of overpopulation ever compiled.” He picked up the file and flicked it open, selecting a group of papers held together by a bulldog clip. He replaced the folder on the table, removed the bulldog clip and began to pass around sheets of paper stapled together to each member of the New UN.

“As I speak, the project briefings are being handed out,” he told them. “I would advise you all to read them carefully, as the future of a large percentage of the population of Earth hangs in the balance here.”

The arranged leaders looked at each other nervously. General Khali noted with amusement that the Chinese Emperor seemed to be the most concerned of them all. Then again, I suppose he has the most to lose, thought the General. After all, his country alone is home to nearly two billion people. More than ten percent of the population of Earth.

“I would like to direct your attention to page one of the booklets,” he told them. “Bear with me as I run through the outline of the plan with you.”

Most of them looked sceptical. Some of them looked scared. The Canadians and the Mexicans looked like they were bored. They probably couldn’t wait to get home and start encroaching on the Americans once again. Seeing as their president was now dead, now would probably be a good time to again make war.

That shall change when they see the nature of my plan, thought the General with a smile. Soon, they will be my pawns in this game against the very nature of humanity. And using those pawns, I intend to win.

“We have tried all that we can: birth restriction laws, food rationing, closing the borders to immigrants, even the Population Ratification, which forbade any family containing more than twenty members within three generations. None of them have worked. I promise you that this will not join the failures of times gone by. Instead, it will stand tall as the only plan ever to have properly worked. People, I give you Project Overhaul.”

*           *           *

The East Russian Prime Minister had her head in her hands. The Iranian Embassy had a calm look of acceptance on his face, as if it had been made quite clear that there was no alternative. The Koreans both looked very pale indeed, but that could be attributed to the radiation poisoning that they were both dying of.

“So,” asked the General. There was no apprehension in his voice. He knew that, even if he had to kill them all, there would only be one outcome to this meeting. “What do you think?”

Silence met him like a brick wall. No-one seemed willing to speak. They were all too shocked by what they had just heard. The first to speak was the Finnish President.

“You’re meaning to tell me that this is what we must do to save ourselves.” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. But the General answered him just in case.

“Yes,” he said strongly. “There is no alternative. It means sacrificing a lot, but that is what we must do to save our beloved planet. Would you rather a large section of the population died or all of us?”

There was a murmur of agreement. The North Russian President cleared his throat and stood up. “You say that you have a venue in mind already. May I ask where?”

“Ah, but of course,” he said. “It’s right outside.” The General motioned towards the wall opposite, and the leaders all twisted in their chairs to see what was happening.

As if by magic, the wall slid to the side to reveal a sandy wilderness. Remote and lifeless, it looked like the surface of an alien world. Sand dunes rippled across the landscape, and winds blew granules across the desert like tumbleweed. No vegetation offered shelter against the hot sun, which blazed down on the wild land and heated the ground to burning temperatures.

“What is this place?” breathed the King of England. He had voiced the thoughts of every single man and woman in the room.

“The Sahara Desert,” said the General with a smile. “The remotest, least inhabited piece of land in Africa. It is huge, spanning millions of square kilometres. Basically, it’s the perfect place to lose someone.”

The wall closed again, and the people were momentarily blinded as their eyes attempted to adjust to the sudden change in lighting. After much blinking, the gathered were able to readopt their expressions of shock and horror.

“Just a minor thing,” said the King of England. “How exactly do you propose we sell this to the subjects, or voters or just people in general? They won’t work with us if we tell them what’s in store for them.”

“I’m leaving that to you,” said the General. He wasn’t going to do everything for them. “However, I would suggest creating a relocation initiative.”

“How does that work?” asked the Turkish President.

“Simple,” said the General. “You offer a place to start anew to the population. They’ll get a plot of land and some other goodies. Then you just wait for applicants to pour in.”

“This is evil,” whispered the Queen of France. Then, slightly louder: “It’s just plain evil. I’m not having it. You can count me out of your plan, General Khali.”

“Is there nothing I can do to convince you, your majesty?” asked the general in a concerned tone. He moved round the table so that he stood behind the Queen’s chair, and rested his hand upon her shoulder in a gesture of support.

“No, General, there is not,” she said, looking up into the imposing man’s face. “I find you disgusting, General. How could you even propose to take such actions against people? It’s inhuman, I -”

Too late the Queen realised her mistake as a huge hand grabbed her by the throat and lifted her into the air. He slammed her fragile form into the table. “You underestimate me, my lady,” he snarled, drawing in close to her terrified face. “As you can see, I am willing to sacrifice far more than you to save this world. Is your life the first I must take? Oh wait, I forgot. I killed the US President first.”

He pushed her into the table and used the force to get away from the scared woman. The Queen coughed and spluttered, holding her throat with her right hand. She looked at the General as if he were her worst nightmare.  He gazed back with contempt.

“Does anyone else want to question my authority on this matter?” he demanded. “Because this is not a democracy. I am giving you an order. If anyone wishes to speak out against this, then I ask them to speak out now.”

Unsurprisingly, no one offered a different opinion.

“Then I am happy to say that you are all dismissed,” he said, glaring at them all. “You have your commands. Go forth, and complete them.”

Within five minutes, the room was empty but for the General and the corpse of the late American President.

“Well then,” whispered the General. “Let the games begin.”

The General unleashed a laugh that reverberated around the room. It was full of malice and evil, and spelt doom for ten percent of the population of the Earth.

*            *            *

My apologies to the Russians, the English, the Americans and the world for portraying it in such a way. But it must be done. It's called novelling. You kill some, you subdue some, you ridicule evryone. As Ian Hislop once said, "If you attack everyone mindlessly, then you're safe". I agree.

NaNoWriMo - Day Five

Day five of NaNoWriMo, and I'm feeling good about my NaNovel. I've got over eight thousand words and am nearing the minimum for today as I type. It's useful having a time machine like that.

You're probably wondering what on Earth I'm writing about. Allow me to give you the (absolutely terrible) first chapter. It needs a lot of work, but I neither have the time nor the commitment right now. Undertaking NaNoWriMo is enough without having to make it excellent at the same time.

So here is the first chapter of 'The Tongueless'...

*            *            *

The Hunt

It was a pleasure to burn. The desert sun beat down on Katia’s bare shoulders. Her nut brown skin drank up the abundant rays of spectacularly hot sunlight, tinting the tanned skin a slightly inflamed reddish-brown colour. Katia knew that it was going to hurt later, but she didn’t care – it was far too hot to be wearing her long, tattered hunting robes that were designed to keep the sun off her in the daytime and the cold from her at night. Instead, she wore a custom-made top without sleeves. The sun burnt the skin despite her dark tan, but she didn’t mind. Everyone knew that the middle of the day was the best time to go looking for camels. They didn’t like the sun, and would be resting in the shade at this time of day. She knew exactly where to find them.

Katia crouched low as she peered around the side of a badly eroded boulder. She smiled in a self-satisfied manner. Just as she had predicted, the camels were by the spring, drinking their fill of water in the shade of some large rocks. They were so intent on filling their guts with the life-granting liquid that they didn’t even look around to see if any predators were about. But, of course, hardly anything would attack a camel. That would be foolish. That’s exactly what I am, thought Katia. Foolish.

Silently, she slid her dual gazelle-horn knives from their camel-skin sheaths. She took a moment to admire their simple beauty: Two long, thin slivers of bone taken from the skull of an old, strong gazelle’s carcass. They were remarkably straight for naturally-occurring horns, and they ended in lethally sharp points that had been filed down over the years. They were Katia’s most prized possessions, and possibly the single two objects that kept her alive.

Katia pulled her gaze away from the customised weapons and set her attention on the camels that were glugging water from the spring. After a quick analysis of the situation, she singled out a smaller, slightly younger specimen that was getting pushed back every time it tried to drink. Going by past encounters, this would be the animal to go for. It was probably the youngest of the group, therefore making it the weakest. This was the one that she was going to try and take down.

Being careful to stay downwind of the camels and out of their sight, Katia got herself into position behind a boulder close to the camels. As quickly as she could, she jumped at the boulder and scrabbled up, keeping her gazelle-horn knives in her hands instead of using them as handholds. After all, Katia didn’t want to break her weapons. She knew from experience that it would be very difficult to strangle a large animal. Better to slit its throat, spill its blood and be done with it.

When Katia was safely on top of the chunk of rock that was now her lookout post, she surveyed the camels again. They were still attempting to drown themselves without getting their hides wet. None of them had smelt, seen or heard her scramble up the rock. That was good. While the camels were distracted, she might just manage to pull off her daring scheme.

Crouched atop her rock, Katia had an unprecedented view of the surrounding environment. The boulder on top of which she now crouched was one of several which lined the edges of the spring. It was a perfect trapping ground. The camels no doubt knew of the danger posed by this place, but they needed to drink, and this was the only place that they could do so for miles around.

She gazed at the water, noticing her reflection in the clear pool. Katia noted with satisfaction the long, slender face and smooth skin, broken only by her thin mouth and amber eyes. Above the eyes sat impossibly thin black eyebrows that matched the colour of her hair, which tied into a tight bun that rested in the nape of her neck.

Katia shook herself for becoming distracted and proceeded to make one final check. The camel that she was targeting was within range. That was all she needed. As long as it stayed within a metre either side of that spot, she could take it.

She readied her knives and pulled herself into a tight position with her feet under her main body. She made sure that her sturdy, practical shoes were firmly placed on the top of the rock, and that she wouldn’t slip when she made her move. She tucked her arms into her sides, tensed her muscles, closed her eyes, and jumped.

Her eyes snapped open as she flew through the air, legs elongated behind her, arms outstretched before her, weapons clutched tightly in her hands pointing downwards at an angle. Her wide eyes saw the camel that she was after, and she also saw the ground beginning to approach her, denying her attempt to escape the grasp of gravity. As always, for a moment she thought she would not make it, and that this hunt would be her last. If she did not make it, then she would most likely never get up to hunt again. Neither she nor her family could afford that. But then she saw the camel less than a metre below her airborne form, and knew that she still had the skill to make a kill.

With a deft flick, Katia rolled her body so that she spun in the air as she passed over the target camel. Then, just as all seemed lost, she was facing the camel’s side. Without a moment’s hesitation, she slammed the bone knives into the sides of the camel.

An excruciating cry escaped the camel. Katia’s legs hit the top of the beast’s back and hooked around the camel’s single hump. Hanging almost upside down, Katia could see the blood leaking upwards towards the ground that was now the ceiling of her world. With difficulty, she dragged the knives towards her, tearing through flesh, fur and muscle. The panicked creature began to move around, despite the grievous injury inflicted upon it. Katia just shoved her knives deeper into the camel’s innards and wrapped her legs tighter around the camel’s hump as it bucked around.

With difficulty, Katia pulled herself up onto the camel’s back, removing her knives as she did so. She flicked them around in her hand so that the points faced the insides of her arms, spraying a line of warm blood across her face. Katia didn’t move to wipe it away. Her philosophy was that if it didn’t affect you negatively, then you left it alone.

The camel’s killer moved so that she was almost straddling the camel’s thick neck. Then she leant forwards, planting her face in the neck-fur of the desert dweller. Deftly, she manoeuvred her right hand so that the knife in it was held like a conventional weapon: Handle held, with the blade pointing away from the user. Then she stabbed the blade in the left hand deep into the camel’s throat.

A pitiful scream passed the animal’s leathery lips as the sharp bone pushed through flesh and muscle to tickle the inside of the back of the camel’s throat. Then she slashed above where she had just stabbed with her right-hand knife. Blood splashed down onto her stabbing hand, making it wet and sticky. The creature’s cry died prematurely before the dying animal’s legs gave way, plunging the great beast’s face into the sandy ground. The camel came to rest lying on its stomach, the contents of which had been spread around the spring like a gory painting.

Katia extracted her weapon from where it was stuck in the camel’s neck, eliciting a sighing groan of pain and misery. She rolled off the top of the camel and lay in the sand, where she released her bloody knives. She lay there a moment, catching her breath.

That, she thought, was difficult.

When she had finished gathering her strength, she sat up and gripped her weapons with renewed strength. The job wasn’t over yet.

She crawled over to the stricken creature and put an arm around its neck. There was fear in its eyes; a primal fear which had its origins millions of years in the past.

“Fear not, my friend,” recited Katia in the secret language of her family. “You shall be much honoured among our people for the sacrifice of your life. May you rest in peace, knowing that your death brings life to many.”

Then she sliced through the creature’s neck, burying the knife in the vertebrae of the camel’s neck. She heard the animal’s final sigh escape from the broken throat of the camel, then it was dead. It was just a chunk of meat sitting in the sand.

Not just a chunk of meat, she reminded herself. It’s a roomful of meat, a backpack of bone tools and a set of new clothes for almost everyone in the family.

So it was that Katia set to work, skinning the beast’s mighty torso and slicing off chunks of flesh to be cooked, dried or stored. She retrieved a large sack with shoulder straps from the place where she had hidden it earlier, and began filling it with bloody slabs of camel and bones of various shapes and sizes. She would be able to carry the hide that she had gathered in her hands. She could probably manage to carry some of the larger leg bones, but only a few. She didn’t half infinite strength, and it was a mile at least to the camp.

With a sigh, Katia went back to work, skinning, slicing and bagging camel parts. As always, the hunt had just been the beginning.

*            *            *

Excuse the opening line. Some of you might notice that it's off of 'Fahrenheit 451'. I just thought it very minorly appropriate, plus it corresponds to a NaNoDare.

So, give me your comments if you please. I'll take them into account after November.

Go WriMo!

Beowulf (2007) - A Film Review

So, I was looking through the TV listings last week and decided that, despite NaNoWriMo, I deserved some downtime. So I took a look at what films were on, and selected the 2007 incarnation of Beowulf.


The Movie Poster for 'Beowulf'

Now I've always been a fan of the epics: The Lord of the Rings and such. So I thought, hey, why not.

I watched it, and was fairly impressed.

The story revolves around the great hero Beowulf (surprise!), who has sailed to Denmark to help defeat the monster Grendel, who plagues the mead halls of the king. Needless to say, there's some mindless slaughter and then an epic battle in which Beowulf defeats the demon. However, that leaves someone very unhappy. That someone being Grendel's mother.

So Grendel's mother draws Beowulf into her caves, seduces him and then curses him in a rather subtle way. The story progresses from there, leading up to a lovely big one-on-one fight to round it all off.

When the thing came on, I was surprised to see that it was an animation, mostly because of the rating of a 12A (or a PG13). However, I quickly realised that it was a smart move on the part of the producers, as it allowed them to do things that they never could have dreamt of if it were made using real people instead of animated avatars. For example, Grendel. He's a real piece of work. If that  were to be made into a special effects model for use with actors, then some very elaborate stunts would have to be devised and a large percent of the budget spent on green-screening Grendel into the mead halls.

Speaking of which, let's talk of Grendel. To put it frankly, he's a masterpiece of animation. Possibly the ugliest excuse for a humanoid that I've ever seen on screen, it's difficult to imagine even his own mother loving that face. The oversized head, the offset jaw, the rheumy eyes and the raw, disfigured flesh make him truly fearsome. And his scream! What a horrible sound. Even the way he moves is unnaturally ugly.

So far, we've got our epic hero, armed with sheer strength, a sharp sword and a tendency to boast and lie for his own glory, and a horrible monster.

Then comes the nudity. There's too much of it. Personally, I think it takes away from a movie instead of adds to it. Yes, I agree that that sort of thing is part of life, but do film producers really think that emphasizing it and focusing on it at times is a way to increase the star ratings? I don't. So, no ten for this one.

We're past that now. Themes.

As far as themes go, it's pretty basic. It follows the textbook formula for writing/filming/telling an epic story: Lots of violence, a terrible curse and/or monster, a tad of love, some rather predictable suspense and a team of amorous and loyal warriors. So, basically we've got war, heroics, love and not a lot else. the producers get away with adding what appears to be just a small amount of romance, but when thought about amounts to something with deep roots. We also get a good long look at the consequences of Beowulf's actions, as the movie is split into two parts: Young Beowulf, conquering Grendel, and older Beowulf, facing up to what he's done. I find that the split between the two halves was a good idea, adding entertainment value and giving the necessary time for certain things to develop.

*            *            *

So, on to ratings. I quite liked this film. It wasn't as epic as The Lord of the Rings, but what can beat that anyway? Still, it maintained a medieval feel throughout and managed to remain epic in almost every scene. A ten for that part.

Monsters were awesome. Grendel was, as aforementioned, more than a little horrific. His mother was... interesting. Then the dragon at the end was just amazing. Ten out of ten for monsters.

Then we get to the violence. There's a copious amount of digitalised globules of bodily fluids flying about the place, particularly when Grendel's still kicking about. This lapses in the middle, and then we get another dose of the yucky stuff at the end. If you can't stand cartoon violence resulting in severed limbs and stuff like that, don't watch it. There's a gratuitous amount of violence, but what can you expect from a 12A film starring a well-known hero who wields a sort and is famed for his killings of dislikeable creatures?

So, all things considered, I'll give it a five. There's a little too much violence and nudity involved, but it's a cartoon sort of production. Yet the animated style and the obviously stylised effects make for a good film. It's certainly the correct medium to go about doing this. Plus, we have some good strong characters with definite likeables and dislikeables among them. You get me? If you don't, comment.

On top of it all, it maintains an epic air without getting too predictable or boring. I'm not sure what fans of the original Beowulf legends would say though. I haven't read the ballads of Beowulf.

So that's me giving it a five. End of.

*            *            *

I include, for your enjoyment and gratification, the Amazon link: http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B000Y86NS6/ref=s9_simh_gw_p74_d0_g74_i1?pf_rd_m=A3P5ROKL5A1OLE&pf_rd_s=center-2&pf_rd_r=1EKD7RBYWFK0TZYMVQ0C&pf_rd_t=101&pf_rd_p=467128533&pf_rd_i=468294

Until the next time I see a film worth reviewing, I tell you goodbye.

Death in Paradise, Episode Two - An Episode Review

The BBC has aired the second episode of the new crime drama 'Death in Paradise and, as is my humble duty, I must review it for the sake of churning out more posts.

*            *            *

DI Richard Poole (Ben Miller, pictured above in the foreground) must take charge of the Saint-Marie Honore Police Force as their new chief after the last one got bumped off. While in search of a cup of decent tea, he and his partner, Camille (Sara martins, seen dimly in the background of the picture above), witness a bride fall from her balcony.

Of course, she just had to have been murdered by a bolt from a spear gun, So Richard has another case to close on the small Caribbean Island.

*            *            *

Delightfully thought out, this is another of those brilliant crime dramas that draws you in, taking an hour of your time every week so that you may watch the thing. Wonderful characters come in the forms of DI Richard Poole, Camille and Fidel. All work well as a team, and I suddenly can't remember the name of the older guy who seems to spend a large amount of his time chasing young female tourists. Wonderful.

But that's beside the point. The fact is that there's a definite good match of mixed characters: Richard with his sarcasm, complete hate of the Caribbean and slightly superior attitude, Camille with her 'let's-have-fun' personality coupled with a determination to see a case through, Fidel with his naivety and general usefulness and the old guy with his experience and slightly tainted sense of duty.

The result is that the series is working well so far. They work well together and seem natural enough. Richard's lack of moral support goes further to make the situation seem real enough and tangible, while binding the characters together a bit more.

To the story now. This story is not as good as the first, but it's still good. The lack of motive concerning the bride's murder is what really puts me off for this one. Based mostly around there being a motiveless killing, it's very hard for the viewer to realise what has happened until the good DI explains it in a lengthy description punctuated by flashes of what he sees happening in his mind. I hate not being able to guess who did it. Usually I put it down to a lack of physical evidence, or maybe the author or producer hasn't given us enough detail on a character. That annoys me.

But, apart from that, it's all very good.

*            *            *

The ratings now. Solid seven. No buts. It was a good episode, with opportunities for Ben Miller to excercise his supply of expressions and sarcastic sighs. The story was a bit off, but interesting for sure. The characters developed more, which I enjoyed seeing, and Richard actually complimented someone. (Gasp! Shock horror! I look up at the skies to check that they aren't falling yet.)

So, all things considered, very enjoyable, but plotwise it was a little insecure. I thought the solution was a little shaky.

And that's me. You can check the website by clicking this link: http://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/b016mw91

The website's alright. Gives you some info and acts as a portal to the iPlayer pages.

So I'll see you next week with another report on Death in Paradise.

The Fifth of November - Fireworks Night

So, as I'm sure some of you will be aware, tomorrow is in fact the fifth of November, commonly known as Fireworks Night or Guy Fawkes Day. Yet another year has passed since Guy Fawkes and his band of miscreants failed to blow up the British Houses of Parliament.

Seeing as you'll probably read this either on or after the fifth, here I am, tired and slightly uninterested, to tell you a happy Fireworks Day to you. Will any of you be pointlessly shooting combustible projectiles into the air to pollute the night sky with lights and sounds and smoke? I won't. I shall be watching them explode from the safety of somewhere comfortable, working out in my head how I could capture one in a temporal bubble and replace it five minutes in the future in the middle of the Houses of Parliament as a little joke to david Cameron. Mind you, Nick Clegg would probably find it and carry it through to the House of Lords or do something equally clueless, dumb and ridiculous.

I find it mildly amusing that a plot as dire as the Gunpowder Plot has been turned into a celebration. Rather, we celebrate what didn't happen on that day. So if you think about it, every day that the Houses of Parliament don't blow up should be celebrated. But it is not so. If it were, then nobody would pester their peers, youngers, neighbours and family with the well known verse:

Remember, remember the fifth of November.

Wouldn't it be scandalous if if were to be discovered that the plot was foiled in August instead? Imagine if it were true, and poets had moved the date of it forwards a month so that the stupid little rhyme we all know, and wish we didn't know, could exist. If someone had done that, then I would seriously consider abusing my responsibilities as a time traveller to go back and murder whoever did it. Maybe an ancestor of Nick Clegg. (It is my solemn duty to inform you mere mortals that it is not possible to change the past. Once you enter the past, you were always there. History just has a rather roundabout way of doing things, that's all. Does that make sense?)

So, as my contribution to the celebrations of what didn't happen, and the grisly death that followed, I leave you with this.

Remember, remember
The fifth of November
When the Government's place
Nearly burnt to an ember.
But at least good old Guy
Made way for rockets to fly
And gave me an excuse to run next door in the middle of the night with an energy pulse weapon from the year five thousand two hundred and eighty six because they were letting off fireworks at two in the morning and fire at them until they die.

Neighbours, you have been warned. There is a person next door undertaking NaNoWriMo, and he has the power to go back in time and plague you with odd socks.

Confused? I'm not surprised.

And on that bombshell, I leave you with a box of fireworks and the unfortunately pessimistic truth that there is in fact a Murphy's Law of Odd Socks. But I'll save that rant for another time. Until then, I bid thee farewell.

Sayings of the Week - Writing

To celebrate the first week of November and therefore of NaNoWriMo, we here at the Kettle are giving you a set of writing-based quotes 'n' quips. Enjoy responsibly, although how you can be irresponsible with sayings is beyond even me. Feel free to comment on this matter.

1. Those who can, do. Those who can't, write.

2. A word is not the same with one writer as with another.  One tears it from his guts.  The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket.  Charles Peguy

3. The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter - it's the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning.  Mark Twain

NaNo Nearing Fourth Day...

Well, it's now the third day of NaNoWriMo and I'm enjoying it. Two thousand words on the first day, followed by seven hundred and fifty-seven yesterday. That's 2,000 words on Tuesday and 757 on Wednesday. Considering that I have a target of 2,000 words a day and Wednesday is my day off, I'm doing pretty well.

So far, the effects of NaNoWriMo have yet to be seen. I may be a little more tired than usual - yawn! - but apart from that I'm physically fine. Emotionally, I'm becoming progressively crazier, more irritable and infinitely more obsessive. Take today, for example. I've already written 275 words today, and that was this morning at seven o'clock. Since then, I've run through several possible end scenarios, two possible new editions to my elite team of folk and marked at least thirty quizzes in my spare time. Mad. But I must keep busy, or I'll go stir crazy. However, as people that know me and don't see me all the time will tell you, I already am.

I have to say that I'm doing a lot better than some people I know. Matt decided to jump in and try it out but told me today that he 'couldn't be bothered', and Skald of Skald's Tavern spent all his time writing a 2,443 short story instead of NaNo. Oops!

Still, I'd better get cracking if I'm to reach five thousand words by the end of tonight. I bid thee farewell!

Mamazeus - A Story From A Friend

Well I'm really not sure what to make of this. Coming from a friend of Matt and I's, I've been given express permission by the author to publish this work.

I must stress that this isn't my own work, so cannot guarantee grammatical perfection. I have agreed to change none of the language used, so as not to take away hidden meanings and subtleties. As such, I also cannot guarantee that this is in fact a work of fiction.

Ladies and gentlemen, I present to thee...

Mamazeus

Prologue: The Young Lobster
from planet Buerre, Joseph, was sent on a mission to investigate the Seaborg Milk Station which is just next to planet Feeg. When he got there he noticed something strange. All the cartons of milk were cowering in a corner. This is an unusual thing for milk to do unless ther are being robbed so Joseph knew something was wrong. After he got to the main room he saw the all knowing, all powerful bionic being, Mothergene. Joseph has never encountered Mothergene nor has he even heard of her but he knew she meant business. He stood and watched her for a while and she started to self destruct! Joseph scuttled away from Mothergene as fast as he could but he looked back and noticed that she was following him at the exact same speed. He tried to speed up, so did Mothergene. He tried to slow down, so did Mothergene. As he ran a little farther he saw the portal to get back home but just as he was about to enter it, Mothergene exploded in a firey blaze which blew up the entire Seaborg Milk Factory. Joseph got blasted through the portal, followed by a huge amount of milk and chunks of Mothergene. Joseph came flying out of the other side of the portal which was in the nose of a witch called Cackaletta and milk came pouring out of Cackaletta's nose. The injured Joseph survived the ordeal but to his surprise that was only the beggining.

Chapter 1
Back in Buerre, Joseph was in the local milk tavern sipping on an ice cold cup of tea but it was far too hot for him. Just as he was drinking his tea, the Ancient Nose of Los Foskulous came striding through the wooden doors and gave Joseph a sceptical look. Joseph dropped his tea in horror and ran away. The nose however, was a world renowned athlete and caught up to Joseph within seconds. He gave Joseph a bit of a telling off and wandered off into a musket shop. Joseph was distraught from scolding he got and went home. The next day he woke up with a note next to him. It said "Laser." and Joseph gasped as he read it and took a viking longboat to a yard sale so he could buy it again and then went to confront King Fabulous. King Fabulous wasn't home though because he became a pirate and went to sail the eighteen and a half seas. So then Joseph decided to get revenge on Mothergene.

Chapter 2
While Joseph was packing his bags, something shiny floated into the room and flew out the window. This made Joseph really upset and he refused to go back to Seaborg Milk Station until the next chapter.

Chapter 3
The time has come... For Joseph to get his revenge on Mothergene. You may have though that it was impossible to get revenge on something that died in a milky explosion but Mothergene regenerates forty five minutes after she dies. Joseph went outside to the jelli-pad to wait for his ride, but... He looked at the time... 1:04 AM.... Joseph screamed at the top of his nose and hid in a mosque which was full of witches who were dancing to the music of Nightwitch. He tried to escape but it was too late. The clock struck 1:05 AM and the witches went to beat helpless citizens with their tennis rackets until witch o'clock. One witch spotted Joseph and ran towards him screaming her battle cry. But this was Cackaletta and she knew Joseph so she didn't attack him. Joseph asked if he could travel to the Seaborg Milk Station via Cackletta's nose. She politely obliged and Joseph entered the portal.

Chapter 4
Joseph was travelling through the portal when he got knocked out of line by a passing Narooni. And he ended up on the planet Hosking. He landed hard on the ground and looked about, he saw a strange hairy brown creature. He learned that the creature's name was Noselbair and the two became the best of friends. Noselbair invited Joseph for tea but he kindly declined. Noselbair shrugged and said "Oh well.. More Palin for me." And he floated off in the distance. Joseph was left stranded and slowly fell asleep.
The next day he woke up on a pirate ship run by a brash young fruit named Strawbobby. But Joseph preferred to be in the sea than sailing it. So he walked the plank and dived into the ocean where he was eaten by a moai fish...

Chapter 5
The moai fish did not like the taste of Joseph so he spat him out of his ear, sending him flying towards the Seaborg Milk Station. Joseph was in shock when he saw the station. It was the exact same as it was before the explosion but run by Mothergene herself. He walked down the corridor for what seemed like seconds and saw Mothergene. He was about to avenge the milk cartons but she started to self destruct again! Joseph ran down the hall but Mothergene followed at the same speed. But this time, when he got to the end of the hall.... There was no portal...

Mamazeus