May's Days

May's a hectic month. There's lots going on with the day job and the wedding plans are continuing apace (less than two weeks to go and there's still a few things to sort out, but that's ok, right? I'm sure it'll all fall into place eventually.), so there's little free time.

I've managed to squeeze some time to write every day, but in some cases it's been as little as a few words, sprinkled with some punctuation here and there to form a coherent sentence. I'm ok with that, given what's happening at the moment, but there's something thats got me frustrated.

I'm starting fresh. Creating new characters and new worlds. New worlds? Should I just set it in a near-mythical England, something where it's all forest and always raining, sort of a pre-Arthurian genre? Or do I populate a planet of my own creation with strange races, create a landscape that is purely my own, throwing a dragon in for good measure? That's my trouble - I'm happy with my main character's journey, but I don't know where he lives. There are pros and cons for both ideas, too many to put down here (trust me, I wrote a list) but my usual themes of self-sacrifice, redemption and the true meaning of courage are still there; they're universal, so can be applied anywhere.

Years ago, when I was more ill-disciplined than I am now, I'd find myself influenced by everything I watched and read. It's starting to get that way again, and it's annoying. Not just to me, I'd imagine; When I get this way become a surly, grumpy creature, head down and dragging my feet, like some miserable hulk. I don't want to be the next [insert favourite author name here] or write a story thats simply a rehash of something from a different genre (although I hear "Wagon Train in space" proved popular a few years ago...) or a combination of other successful things. I want to be original, write a story that appeals to me as a reader. I'd want it to be published, or course, but I'm a firm believer that you can't write for what you think that market wants to read. Write from the heart, the passion will shine through, and it will be good enough. All so very simple.

At the moment, my favourite TV series currently showing is Vegas. No sci-fi elements at all, so it should normally be something that falls into the 'worth a watch' category. Yet, it has great characters, whose actions are driving a superb plot. The actors are brilliant too (it's good to see Dennis Quaid back, seeing him always reminds me of Willis Davidge from Enemy Mine), working with excellent writing to create something very special. There isn't a character you can't identify with - or, dare I say, even sympathise with - which is what makes Vegas appeal to me. Yet, as good as those characters are, the world they inhabit influences them, for good or for ill. That's why it's so important I get my world right. Writing's hard, but nothing worthwhile is ever easy, and I'm not going to give up.

Harry

I was going to talk about this year's Free Comic Book Day, but...

When I first moved house eleven years ago, I was given a couple of small sofas for the conservatory from a work colleague. All I had to do was pick them up and get them home. Simple; I hired a van, got them on board, and drove home. I'd had help getting them on, but trying to get them off by myself? It wasn't happening.

I heard a voice ask if I wanted a hand, which I did, so I accepted. I was surprised to see it was the old man from two doors down, and was tempted not to bother him. Turns out he was stronger than I (not hard) despite touching his 70's. Anyway, between us we got the sofas out and put where they were meant to be. We shook hands, and he told me his name was Harry. I told him I was Alister, although he'd call me Alex ever since. For some reason, that never mattered.

Over the years, Harry did much for me. He'd keep an eye on things while I was working away, take in my parcels of books when I wasn't around, gave us some of his home-grown veg, even let the cat lounge in the warmth of his greenhouse and - I suspect - put a saucer of milk down for her. When my good lady came to live here, he'd talk to her across the fences and she found out more about him in a few short months than I did in the years before. He'd been a shepherd in his younger years, used to the outdoors; this, for me, explained his resilience. Harry, I  thought, would live forever.

Sadly, he died on Thursday. His health had its ups and downs over the last couple of years - more downs, unfortunately - and in the early stages of last week he was being kept alive by drugs and machines. We knew something was wrong the weekend before, when his family were dismantling the greenhouse in his garden.

Harry's dead now, and while we'll all miss him, he will live forever in our hearts, minds and memories. Whatever beliefs you have, I hope you'll join me in hoping he's gone to a better place, reunited with his loved ones. Maybe he's even looking down, reading this as I type, wondering why I never corrected him when he called me Alex.

Z is for Zakynthos

Or, if you prefer, Zante.

Five years ago, I took my first summer holiday abroad to that particular Greek island. Why, in thirty-seven years, had I never done so before? I can only shrug, say I didn't realise what I was missing, happy to stay closer to home, go out in the car, somewhere I could travel to and from in a day, return to my own bed each night. So, early one Sunday morning, bags packed, I was taken to the airport and jetted off to sunnier shores. Since then, I always think it's when that first breath of warm air hits you as the aeroplane doors open, that's the moment you realise you're on holiday.

My holiday on Zante was with a big group, including the lovely lady who is now my better half, so I wasn't stuck for company. Admittedly, it took a few days to learn to relax and enjoy sitting in the sun, often thinking I should be doing something, anything, except what I saw as lazing around. I took two books - both by Homer - hoping the golden sands and deep blue sea would help me appreciate those epic works. There's plenty to see on the island - including a rusted old shipwreck, viewed from above on what feels like a diver's board (it's more safer than that, of course) - the locals are extremely pleasant and helpful, while the food is absolutely fantastic.

I also found inspiration there, concocting the basis for a story that would become a novel. It's changed much since then, but it's finished and ready to go out into the big wide world in search of representation and, one day, publication. I've visited the other Ionian islands too, as well as Rhodes, but Zakynthos will always have a special place in my heart for many reasons, including the time I had traditional Sunday Lunch with a pint of Guinness while it was 35 degrees centigrade outside. Well, why not?

Y is for You

Yes, YOU. Whoever you are, I'd like to thank you for reading this. If you've been reading all month, or even started following my blog, I'd like to thank you even more.

Writers would be nothing without readers; what's the point in telling a tale or voicing an opinion if there's nobody around to listen? I did that for years, writing stories (mostly unfinished, I have to admit) and just keeping them in a file on a shelf. And now I lament that I'm not a published author, that my dream is yet to come true. Well, that's probably why, eh?

The challenge is almost at an end now. I can't say it's been easy (previous posts will testify to that). but it's been the thought that someone - you - will be reading, expecting something, that's kept me going. Yet, in a way, I'm also disappointed with myself; fact is, while I've looked at many other blogs, I've rarely commented. I've been someone else's "you" and, while I've been impressed with what I've seen, I haven't often said so. Back on the positive side, it's great to know there's a big community out there, something that's often easy to forget when you're sat alone at a keyboard - the bloggerverse is out there, waiting for me to boldy go. It's a voyage I'm looking forward to, now that I've had my eyes opened to what's out there,

So, dear reader of past, present or future - thank YOU.

And finally... Fellow writers - here's one of my favourite pieces of advice, one that's been reinforced by doing this challenge: "The only thing stopping you, is YOU." Keep going, don't stop and - one day - that dream may come true.

X is for X-Ray Specs

When I was a young boy, I was always amazed by x-ray photographs, the cameras that could see right through you and take a picture of bones surrounded by the very pale glow of flesh. I often wondered what it would be like to be able to see like that, until I watched X: The Man with the X-Ray Eyes starring Ray Milland. It's an old film (early 1960's if memory serves) with a shocking conclusion that quickly made me change my mind.

My interest in possessing such a power was helped along by comic books, but not the stories themselves. Years ago, the imported US comics had regular advertisments inside them. There was one that promised an Atlas-style physique, but the one that always caught my eye was the page full of jokes and tricks - one of which was x-ray specs.

I started wearing glasses when I was nine or ten, and when I had my first pair, I would imagine putting them on and being able to see through walls and clothes. Didn't happen, of course, but it was a funny joke for a few days. Then I used to pretend I was Clark Kent.

Now, years later, I still joke about being a Kent (insert your own punchline here...) and as I sit here, I find myself wondering about those trick specs with their swirling patterned lenses and tiny hole to look out of. I've a vague idea of how the trick might work - like when you place the underside of your wrist against your nose, and if you look at it in the right way it seems to have disappeared - but there must have been more to it than that. Mustn't there? Part of me would like to know the truth (the cynic who believes they were a complete rip-off) but the facsinated child deep within doesn't want to know the answer, wants to believe in the wonder of it all...

W is for Words

"Words are meaningless, and forgettable." That's a line from my favourite Depeche Mode song, Enjoy The Silence; ironic, as I'm such a fan of words and writing. While the Mode would have you believe words are "very unnecessary" and "they can only do harm", there's obviously a lot more to them than that.

It's true that words can harm - a vindictive comment can have more lasting resonance than a physical blow - used as weapons to hurt, but that's just one side of the coin. The right words at the right time can bring comfort, joy and hope; in doing so, they can even save lives. Actions speak louder than them, but once the action is done, the word remains; written down, printed, stored on a server, it lasts longer, it resonates throughout the ages.

Writing is obviously all about words. Choosing the right ones, stringing them together to form a sentence, a paragraph, a page, a chapter, a (gulp) novel. I was once asked why I do it. My answer? "I can't not write." It really is that simple; I get restless if I don't write, frustrated at myself for not spending the time at the screen or the sheet of paper. I love to learn a new word - my current favourite is 'crepuscular' - but it's knowing when and where to use it that really counts. There are times when it's easy, others when it's incredibly difficult. Ironically (again!), the latter can be when it's most rewarding.

W is also for weary. Which is what I am now. It's been a busy week at work, hence my writing this at almost nine in the evening rather than six in the morning. I couldn't not do it, though; only three more letters to go, and that's the challenge complete. I'm pleased (well, amazed) that I've made it this far. Well done to everyone else who's done so - not long now, my friends, not long now.

V is for V

Almost thirty years ago, a TV series came onto our screens that was - at the time, and cenrtainly for me - like no other. It was V, the story of aliens who arrive on Earth claiming peace but secretly want to steal our water and eat us humans for breakfast.

In the UK, it was shown as five episodes, one a day over the course of a working week. It's what would now be known as event TV, shown in the summer holidays. If I recall correctly (I could check on the internet, but why let facts spoil a good reminiscence?), the Olympic Games were on at the same time, but not as avidly watched due to the then Soviet Union not attending; this, it is claimed, is why V ended up with such good ratings.

For me, V was life-changing TV. It's probably to do with my age at the time, my eyes widening to the world, but V was the first TV series that had a hidden meaning, an allegory, to it. The invaders, rounding up the locals, getting youths to join their army, their logo on walls and flags, represented the Nazi's; the humans, the resistance. Not just my age, I think - V was never subtle, its heart on its sleeve for all to see.

After the first three episodes, the short series became V - The Final Battle. Something changed, there was more action and - with the birth of a human/alien child - a bit of religion and, somewhat unnecessarily, mysticism thrown in. It's a deux ex machina ending that lacks subtely, but despite this, V is a series I'll always remember fondly. I saw that last episode a while back when it was repeated and, while it's certainly dated and time has turned much of it into cliche, it's still very enjoyable. Scarily, I could remember almost every line, havng watched it on video several times after its initial broadcast.

A longer series followed, then a reboot a couple of years ago. While I've never watched the latter, the former - from what I can recall - was nowhere near as impressive as that original mini-series. All these years later, and the tag-line is still in my head: V no longer stands for Visitor - V is for Victory!