The dream film cast

Everyone has their dream film cast, or at least I'd like to think so. Some people have predictable casts for their dream film. For instance, virtually every 15-year-old boy is prepared to overlook a lack of talent and personality just so he could spend 90 minutes ogling Megan Fox in just her underwear or completely naked, and most people will have Morgan Freeman playing either Nelson Mandela or God.

The first major question in my dream film cast is who plays the renegade veteran starship captain. In the interests of not butchering any more classic Britpop songs, William Shatner is right out. In reality, there's only one man on the shortlist, simply for the authority he brings: Patrick Stewart. That, and the fact I walked past the house he was born every morning for five years on my way to school. He can also play a dual-role as the wise old man giving advice, which means that there's no reason to have a Gandalf in the film.

So who plays the main action lead? I'll tell you who it isn't. It isn't Hayden flipping Christensen on account of the fact he can't act. And it also isn't Jake Gyllanhaal, because despite the fact he's probably a nice bloke, he annoys me and I'm envious of him for getting to hang around Gemma Arterton while filming Prince of Persia: Sands of Time. Bruce Willis can't act (ooh, controversial), neither can Arnie, and besides, both of them are too old. Christian Bale is Welsh (not to mention a complete scumbag). All this brings me down to one man. Matt Damon plays the action lead on account of being a good character actor as well as a good action actor. Just watch The Bourne Identity and then The Talented Mr Ripley straight after, and you'll see what I mean. And throw in Saving Private Ryan, just because it's a good film.

Now for the sidekicks. Anthony Daniels as C-3PO is a shoe-in (alongside R2-D2, obviously, although given modern robotics we don't need Kenny Baker in there, which is a shame, but for a better effect it has to be pure robot). As a human sidekick to Damon's action lead, I'm going to plump for Chris Pine, because I found him entertaining as Captain Kirk in the latest Star Trek film.

Obviously, the lead action man needs his romantic interest. But whoever plays that has to be more than just a pretty face and full cleavage. And that means whoever plays the romantic interest is not going to be Megan Fox, because, despite the fact she's fairly attractive, she's got all the acting talent of a roof tile (and the personality of the same, while having an ego the size of Jupiter). And unfortunately I can't choose Summer Glau either; attractive as she is, she's not exactly suited to a mainstream role with a relatively normal personality. She's more suited to the insane girl thing (how she was in Firefly and Serenity) or robotic personality (Sarah Connor Chronicles). So the job goes to Natalie Portman, who can act (contrary to what Revenge of the Sith says), has done the action thing in the past and is good with character, especially the tortured soul I need to have somewhere in this film.

What else do I need? For my omnipotent presence, I'm going to have James Earl Jones voicing God. There's something to that voice. It could be so soothing, but all the time you expect to hear artificial breathing as a seven-foot black figure steps out of the shadows and Force chokes you to death. I was going to have him played by Morgan Freeman and voiced by James Earl Jones, but there's no point having everyone's favourite actor ever around with his own reassuring voice when you're just going to dub over that voice. So it's a disembodied voice. Or maybe David Prowse reprising his role as Darth Vader.

So who's the antagonist? Just for the sake of being able to yell 'SCARAMANGA!' at the screen, it has to be Christopher Lee. He may be in his 80s now, but he's still a better actor than 99% of people. Seeing as he isn't an action man and can't take part in any major battles which may or may not occur, he gets his minion (Zachary Quinto) to do all his fighting for him.

Movie to be directed by Christopher Nolan and written by me. Special effects from Industrial Light and Magic, and it most certainly won't be in 3D at selected cinemas. I hate 3D.

Previously on Battlestar Galactica...

It would be fair to say that it's a wee bit warm today. I've just been sat out in the garden reading the opening of The Bourne Identity and I've had to come in to cool down. Fortunately, we have a seat in the shade in the garden as well as a seat in the sun, so I'll be out there after I've finished writing this and done a bit more work on The Ambassador. However, as a Yorkshireman, I was designed to not get on with the sun, and my days would be better spent down a pit where it is at least cool. Ee by gum!

This weekend's been fun. Most notably for Town's miserable 0-0 draw with Tranmere, in which Gary Naysmith was sent off. First booking, on second viewing, is fair enough, but for the second he got the ball clear as day. Unfortunately the ref was of the usual League One standard and decided that, although two-footed lunges aren't worth a talking-to, perfectly timed challenges are bookable offences, so off went Naysmith. The ex-Hearts, Everton and Sheffield United left-back misses next Saturday's match at Peterborough - hopefully Celtic loanee Graham Carey will be able to step up as he deputises, although he has a tough task against George Boyd, who may have stupid hair but is just a bit good.

Yesterday was better. Despite having a knee that Ledley King would be ashamed of, I ended up playing football with Chris and realised that my old football needs replacing. Chris can hit a ball, and when I was in net the ball was moving wickedly thanks to two deep cuts in the plastic covering. More than once it dipped or swerved dramatically at the last minute, leaving me looking a grade A prat. In fairness, I saved a fair few of these (which is more than Scott Carson managed for West Brom at the weekend - Fabio, are you watching?).

I also got a reading list for Law and Literature next year. Anything that tells me to read Ursula Le Guin is always going to go down well, and it has me hoping that for once something literature-related in academia isn't going to be snobbish when it comes to SF. I could go off on one here about how academics seem to think literature can't be SF and SF can't be literature, but it really isn't worth the effort right now. All I will say is that The Road is SF whether they like it or not. It might also be worth pointing out it's actually pretty unoriginal SF into the bargain and not the wondrous thing they proclaim it to be, but that's just me being petty to a point.

Right, back outside it is. It's still sunny, and by fair northern skin might just go a delicate shade of lobster, but it's worth the risk. And then pub quizzage this evening. Huzzah! Wonder what insanely offensive name Chris'll come up with this week...

The Sucker

Apologies for the second post of the day, but I've just finished the second draft of a little bit of flash fiction (a rare piece of flash fiction, if you're me), and I thought I'd share it. Not like it's publishable or anything, as it's just a bit of fun that occurred to me when I was on holiday. Let me know what you think.

The Sucker
Peter Wilson

The Sucker was coming.

He could hear it even though he couldn’t see it, as it sent its strangely high-pitched whine through the air. It sent a chill through his body, knowing that before too long that whine would turn into a roar and that roar would translate into the hideous sucking power of a great mouth that was guaranteed to bring death.

Looking round, he realised that he had been careless in venturing out. The sound of the Sucker meant is was moments away at best, leaving him with no time to make the rush back to cover, back to the darkness of the caves at the foot of the cliff. He was adrift, exposed on the savannah-like flatlands. The Sucker couldn’t fail to notice him – it had never failed to notice any who had been careless enough to be out like this before, and he was no different from them – unless he somehow managed to get back to the caves.

It wasn’t as if there were any obstacles. His path was clear. Nothing could stop him from making the caves except the Sucker itself. He would have to try; if he didn’t, he would just be giving up without a fight. At least if he was caught on his way, he would go to his death with the consolation that he had tried his utmost. He broke into a run, seeing the cave in the cliff as the greatest treasure in the world, should he attain it; it was salvation from his mistake. Slowly, it grew larger, very black against the pale cliffside, and hope grew within him. He could just make it…

A glance over his shoulder, and hope was lost. The Sucker was there, standing as a grey tower for a moment, as though weighing him up. He stopped, knowing running now was futile, knowing he would never make the cave now. His world was the Sucker now, and he wanted to watch it as it advanced on him, the whine intensifying. He trembled momentarily as it leaned back, and a wind of hurricane force pulled at him.

He kept his feet, still staring up. He had never thought he would see the Sucker like this. He had always watched from afar as another made the mistake that sealed their fate, watching as their small forms disappeared into the maw of the Sucker. He had always assumed he was too intelligent for that to happen to him. Numbness took him as the Sucker advanced, the whine intensifying to a white noise.

Amidst the hurricane winds and the screaming din, he curled up and waited to be sucked into the vortex of the Sucker’s mouth.

* * *

Ellie White shuddered as it went up the vacuum. Old as she was, she still hated spiders.

Template Changes

Yesterday I wondered what it was that had got me writing again. Well, not writing, but getting on with my writing to the tune of 3 short story completions in as many days. Today, I believe I have found the catalyst for this sudden successful burst of writing.

It isn't what people might expect. I haven't got a new muse (mmm, Calliope...), as you might expect. I haven't met anyone new (because that will never, ever happen - I'm resigned to becoming something of a hermit). I haven't even undergone a life-changing experience. No, what has helped me to suddenly being able to finish what I'm writing is something far more prosaic than all those things.

I changed the template I use to write into.

That probably sounds ludicrous. How can a template affect how happy I am with my writing? Does the writing look different on a different-sized page, in a different font? Well, actually, it does. They say don't be afraid of the blank page, but that's almost what I have been with A4 Times New Roman 12pt 1.5 spacing with 3cm margins, my old template. With this new template, on a strange-sized paper - not quite so small as A5, yet not the size of A4 - it's suddenly become so much easier to write things down and be happy with it. Perhaps most importantly, it suddenly feels like I'm getting somewhere with my writing, my main problem with writing on A4.

Once I've finished writing, I then copy and paste into an A4 document for ease of presentation, but I'd like to think my problem has been solved. After a long time of not writing much because I was scared of the blank page, I'm back writing reasonable amounts because I've got over that fear.

A word of thanks should go out here to the person who sent me the template in the first place, so thank you Holly Marsh, who sent the template for the anthology I wrote for back in February/March time. I owe you one, and I owe Stacy one as well for creating the template in the first place. Thanks to both of you.

Progress

It'd be fair to say that I've made progress with my writing over the past 2 weeks. After about a year without writing anything of real note, I've suddenly produced 3 short stories in first draft form in 3 days, with another 2 (longer) short stories being planned in my head.

I really don't know where this has come from. For the past 12 months I've struggled with getting beyond the first couple of hundred words, and suddenly I've produced over 4,000 without feeling the need to go back and delete. I'm sure that when the editing process starts, I'll find things that I really don't like in them, and my ideas will have crystallised that bit more so everything's so much more focussed, but I like that I've actually got some of my stories to the stage where they're going in my summer portfolio to mature for a few months before I look at them again.

None of the stories are exactly spectacular, if I'm honest. I have publication in mind for one, once it's been redrafted and edited and polished to the point of being able to eat your dinner off it (not that you'd want to, given the subject material and amount of blood), but the other two will probably just find themselves posted up here. A few people have already heard an earlier incarnation of one, when I read it at an open mike night for the Northumbria WriSoc (hope you're all having a good summer, if you're reading this - see you in September for writing-orientated sexual innuendo sessions that make certain members uncomfortable), and that's been redrafted and given a theme of 'I hate corporations and their 'visions of the future''. And the final one is a piece of flash fiction that's been inspired by my sister's main irrational fear.

Where do I go from here? Well, the plan is to write these two SF short stories. Unlike the other three, both take the setting off Mother Terra, and move to the stars, which will be a new experience. To say I write SF, I've never actually written anything off this planet, although I have had ideas, which up to now have not been acted upon. Both short stories are going to be much longer than what has been written over the past couple of weeks (one perhaps coming in at 6-7,000 words, the other at 8-10,000, rather than the 500-2,000 which has been the order of the summer thus far), and will also take correspondingly longer, so don't expect any of those annoying Facebook posts about how I've finished a story to be posted for a while.

Or maybe it'll just have to be chapters I keep people updated with instead. I haven't written Empire Rising for a while, and it's about time I did. (Chapters tend not to take that long, as generally they clock in at 4-5,000 words).

Apologies for the boring bits of this (like me knowing how many words my chapters have). Hopefully there'll be something more interesting to post in the next few days.

A Storm of Swords

It's come to my attention that it's sunny outside for the first time since about 1997. As such, this is a short posting, so I can head outside with the laptop.

I finished A Storm of Swords last night. I have to say that it's a good book. It has its failings, but those failings are offset by the many strengths of the book. It's actually fairly strongly written, considering that George R.R. Martin's style is pretty clunky at times, and is among the better fantasy books for its standard of writing. It isn't perfect or even amongst the best-written - it has some way to go to top Robin Hobb's elegantly simple style - but it is decently written at least, which means that the story itself takes centre stage.

And what a rip-roaring tale it is. It's intense, it's melodramatic (but that's a good thing), it's character-driven, it's multi-threaded and, most importantly of all, it has a sense of scale. There's about 10 POV characters, and threads very rarely cross (in the sense of characters bumping into each other), which gives the thing the sense of scale mentioned above. Without particularly mentioning the size of his world, Martin makes it big.

In order to sum up the plot I'd have to summarise the previous two books, A Game of Thrones and the satisfyingly alliterative A Clash of Kings, which would involve summing up 1,600 pages in about 2 sentences. In short: people in power are pillocks who prat about for power. In slightly longer: there's a civil war on thanks to the fact everyone wants power and lots of blood is shed and families are torn apart. This is 1,200 pages of the same, with incest, sexual tension, regicide and woolly mammoths thrown in.

My biggest gripe in the end was that it was so long. It's been split into 2 volumes over here, and it's taken me 16 days to read (a period of time unprecedented since I read The Stand in about 3 weeks). Sometimes I got the sense that a scene could be cut out here or there and that would have made it so much quicker to read.

Roll on A Feast For Crows.

And since I started writing, the sun's gone in. Day on the PS3 it is, then...

Summer Reading

According to Blogger, it's been just over a year since I started writing this blog. Since then, I've made a grand total of four entries, which probably sums up my work ethic (or lack thereof). Some would say it's because I have nothing to say, but they probably don't know me very well: I always have something to say on an issue, whether it's proposed changes to the review system in Test cricket, or the latest ridiculous cost-cutting proposal from our 'esteemed' government.

It may surprise some people that I'm not actually going to be talking sport or politics. Well, the sport bit is more surprising than the politics (especially as, at the time of writing, Town are top of the league, still in all the cups and look quite decent - even if we have only played once). Instead, it's a summer reading blog. Huzzah! Isn't that exciting?

Most of the things I've read this year have actually been pretty disappointing. Even the Iain M. Banks stuff I've read hasn't been particularly cracking by his insanely high standards. Against A Dark Background was good, but a little close to Use Of Weapons to set my pulse racing, and The Algebraist was also good, but a little simplistic by Banks' standards, or at least it felt that way. Hopefully, Transition will be as good as Look To Windward.

In fact, the best novel I've read this year was Stephen King's maiden published novel, Carrie. What it had was a sense of excitement. It wasn't perhaps technically the best, and was overblown to the point of melodrama, but it had energy and it managed to get under my skin more in its 200-odd pages than many longer books have all year. The sympathy I felt for Carrie White was also a result of this energy and the connection I got to the book in a short space of time. There were things I didn't like about it, but they didn't stop it being very entertaining.

The most intriguing thing I've read thus far this year has to be Watchmen, possibly the most successful graphic novel of all time. It also happens to be only the second graphic novel I've delved into in my lifetime (the first being The Gunslinger Born), and so at the time of reading it (February) I couldn't have told you what made it intriguing and compelling. After a dozen or so GNs, I understand a little more, but I'm still not certain what made it so. A re-read is in the offing at some point in the very near future, probably once I've finished re-reading The Dark Tower.

Speaking of The Dark Tower, the re-read is currently being held up by my little sister's inability to finish a book of more than 200 pages in under 2 years. Before re-reading Wolves of the Calla, I've told myself I have to read 'Salem's Lot (not to mention that it's part of my reading list as an example of a popular contemporary horror novel), a book that the Midget hasn't finished yet despite the fact she started reading it about 18 months ago. She's about 100 pages from the end, and isn't likely to pick it up again at any point soon (I doubt she'll even bother to take it to uni with her, so that might be my chance to nick in and read it - it'll take me 5 days at most, so she's not exactly going to miss it), which is irritating when I want to get on with Roland's quest for the Tower.

Currently on my bedside cabinet is the second volume of A Storm of Swords, the third (or fourth, if you're counting individual volumes) instalment in A Song of Ice and Fire, George R. R. Martin's epic fantasy. It's a refreshing change from Tolkien-derived fantasy. It is largely set in a medieval European setting, and yes, it does have dragons, but it's concerned with politics and plotting and backstabbing and the interesting stuff that actually went on in medieval times, and not with going off on a quest for an all-powerful McGuffin. I've enjoyed the tale thoroughly, but at 1,200 pages this particular instalment is a little on the long side, and I could do with a break from long epics. Still, only 150 pages to go, which should get read today, so then I can crack on with something else. There's a short SF collection I picked up on holiday which looks a likely candidate...