Once Upon a Time in the West

Once upon a time there was a little boy who could do anything, achieve anything and believed that anything was possible.

It doesn't matter that he was a boy, could of been a girl or a combination of both.

What happened to that boy? Where did he go?
Was he subsumed by the daily inanities of life?

In the back of the little boy's mind was a dream, a vision of how he wanted things to be that gradually unfolded.

With hindsight that little boy saw that all his actions in time were allied towards one basic form, they all had a similar theme to them.

The little boy grew into a man, but inside he was still the same boy looking up at giants beating him with belts. He was still the little boy fighting back against bullies and trying to not become a bully himself.

In his mind's eye that little boy believed that there must be something more to all this than what most people believe.

In his mind's eye that boy still retains a vision of what he wants and what he wants to give to the world and even though he sometimes finds it very difficult to maintain that vision in the face of adversity in many forms, it's still there, bright spark as ever.

Is the little boy or girl inside of you still calling out for you to follow your true purpose?

The Crab Apple

Och you know sometimes life throws you so many curveballs, you start thinking your balls are curved.

I mean take relationships right. What can you do? Sometimes they, other people, completely do your head in right?

You think that you're going along making some headway, building something between two folks, ships in the night, chips wrapped in the same paper, angst wrapped in new knickers and then wham, you're not in the picture anymore.

Suddenly we, is no longer. After all in matters of the heart mostly, regardless of any supposed definites, all you've really got is hope and a prayer.

You meet someone, you like them , there are a few obstacles in the way, you get over those obstacles, you see that person again, maybe you think too much about the situation and then you make a decision.

The decision you make is that you really really like someone and you are going to go for it, you are gonna commit to that person, get to know them much much better, laugh with them, be ridiculous with them and see if they are indeed 'the one'.

And then 'kablowey' 'kaboom' 'karrrccrrrunch', holy cuttlefish batman you are no longer in the picture, it turns out that you have in fact been turned out, as in, no longer the apple of the other's eye, more like the crab apple that nobody wants.

Ah if my heart wasn't set for bursting, it would of burst already.

Rejection comes in threes apparently.

Kenneth Griffith films a wedding

I saw a wedding in the village church yesterday, I almost blubbed.

What is it about weddings that turn us into creampuffs? (Or is it just me?).

Probably because they all look so happy and we wonder will we ever be that happy? Or able to commit? To take that leap of faith?

In the graveyard of the church of the wedding, that I walk past most days, lies the actor, filmmaker etc Kenneth Griffith.

When I first moved to London, I lived in the part of Hoxton that is in Islington. About three hundred yards away, Kenneth Griffith had the office of his film company.

Now that I currently live where I do, Kenneth Griffith has his film office about three hundred years away from me, down the hill, in the graveyard, still no doubt planning his next film, his next performance and his next piece of agit-prop.

I was going to go in and ask him for some advice, but the last time I tried that was in Montmartre cemetery, Paris in Nov 2003, when I sought Truffaut's grave, touched the black marble slab that is over his grave and asked him for some advice regarding my filmmaking.

He replied in a cod-french accent, 'You just have to keep going, mon ami'.

Thanks a bunch Francois. But in his simplisticness, he was right. You just have to keep going, mon ami.

Love in a Gluten-Free World

This week I have mostly been achieving...

I want it so much that that crazy glint in my eye is not Dr. Draze and his new consumer eye test. I want it so much that I feel the very fundament of my soul resonating at the speed of the universe. In short, it shall be mine.

But what are these riches, baubles and trinkets I talk of?

Success.

But what is success? Surely success is everything to everybody.

Example, I used to go out with a girl and the the only thing she ever wanted in life was a Jaguar XJS. That's pretty much it, a Jaguar XJS, oh and never having to take the bus, ever again.

Now they were nice cars, they guzzled a bit, but as far as something that handled like a boat on a sea of slimy cheese, hey why not?

She went on and on about getting a Jaguar XJS, every time we would see one, she'd say, 'i'm going to have one of those'. Preferably a red one.

Now goals are great and important if you are ever going to achieve anything, even if it is to buy what is essentially a toy.

Anyway she probably did get that Jaguar XJS and then mayhap got bored with it or realised that it wasn't really handy around town or that hey sometimes catching the bus is okay, even rewarding and in cities, often a better way of getting around.

But to her getting that Jaguar equalled success, it meant that she had arrived, she had made it, look at me world, I am a success, I don't have to take the bus hahaha (and she used to accuse me of being a snob).

So a couple of weeks after we split up I was walking down the road.

I had a decent amount of cash coming to me and I wanted to invest most of it, but as I passed a car lot, a funny mischievous thought popped into my head and I liked it.

Said ex-girlfriend called me a few days later, mostly as an excuse to see how I was doing.

You know, one of those 'hey I hope that you are doing great'.

But secretly hoping that I was, even just briefly;

'a wasted husk of emotional wreckage doomed to wander the landscape in a state of learned helplessness'.

Anyway I agreed to go over and give her back a couple of books that I had of hers. Yes it's true that the books were a metaphor for 'a damn good seeing to', but I really did have some of her books.

So I pull up in my new car, shiny, polished, waxed and gleaming, it's a nice new car, didn't cost me that much, as you can pick up those things pretty cheaply.

And she is waiting for me on the doorstep and the look on her face says more than I could ever impart to you in a lifetime.

As I glided seamlessly up to the kerb in my beautiful, sleak, powerful, red, Jaguar XJS...

Foreign Correspondent

The contagion spread. Just like 28 Days Later.

It's bechamel sauce trying to be too clever metaphor got out of hand and the next minute we knew, we were two moldy friends left out in the rain.

So there we were, me and my subconscious standing at the bus stop waiting for the mythical X30 service to 'Future Aspirations via Irrelevant Trivia'.

Like a Souffle

Today I am learning to step outside of time.

'WTF?' some of you might be thinking. But bear with me a minute.

Is it a luxury to be able to work on yourself and make yourself better? A better person? In whichever way you find that works for you?

In a physical, financial, spiritual, emotional etc way?

Surely society, your friends, neighbours, family etc all benefit from having a better, more productive you in their lives?

So how is this 'better you' meant to manifest itself, if the prevailing attitude is one of not allowing such 'daft things' to come into your life in the first place. To just knuckle down and accept the prevailing idea that 'that's reality' 'that's the way it is' etc.

Apparently to most people in 'this' culture or mindset, the answer is no, that is not allowed, it's not 'normal', it's self-indulgent to engage in such things. And then we wonder why so many people are apparently being prescribed anti-depressants (Cause and Effect in plain action).

Apparently you should just get on with it and stop thinking about such things, settle for the lowest common denominator, the turgid mass of non-stop glottal flummery.

The idea being that you should be a good little worker and soldier on through years and years of mundanity and delirium in order to reach some middling ground of half-arsed ideas.

Retire then die, being not only utterly unfulfilled as a person, but also never having allowed yourself to ask the powerful questions that matter, or rather never allowing yourself to seek answers.

I'm not painting a bleak picture here, i'm suggesting that there is more available to me and you if we want it, that the majority of content of the mainstream of society is vapid useless crap, just watch the news on any big corporation 'the voice of authority'. It turns your power down.

It saddens me to think that most people would consider any time spent on bettering themself in any way, other than the purely financial (and that is usually the straight trade of time for money) as being self-indulgent or in some way lazy, not right etc. Are their minds really that small?

It's difficult to not be effected by it, you have to charge your batteries with a different way of thinking.

Not normal? Normal is Boring. Not Reality? Reality is boring.

In the words of a whole bunch of wise people 'The past does not equal the future'.

As in my past, your past, our past, does not equal the future. Rise Up.

Once Upon a Time in Wetwang

Years ago when I still owned a house and ate take-away vegetable birianis, I had a fantasy (one of the only ones that didn't involve x-rated content), which was to get a camper van and travel to all the places in the British Isles and beyond, that had amusing, daft or interesting names.

I yearned to see Upper and Lower Slaughter in Gloucestershire, England. My loins ached to hit the streets of Dyfatty in Carmarthenshire, Wales (yes, achieved it, tick it off my list) and I had to go down on Cuntis, Galicia, Spain (yes it exists-have a look for yourself).

It later became a whim, downgraded from fantasy to something I would do someday (not even in the days of the week).

Had I failed to realise a burning desire?? Not really, goals change and some things aren't really that important.

I would like to point out that I have in fact been to Upper and Lower Slaughter, although not in a camper van, and I have yet to savour the pleasures of Cuntis, but hey soon mayhap?

My point is that some things are the eternal desires within us which drive me/you/us to achieve certain things, to break through our limitations.

These are musts. As in I (me personally) must write scripts and screenplays every day because I am compelled to, even though there have been many occassions, where it would of been far more practicable for me to have been a plumber, carpenter or double-glazing salesman.

But no, none of these remotely interest me, whereas living a creative wonderful life does. Gosh am I deluded, should I lower my expectations?

Short answer: No.

Will I ever get do my tour of the British Isles in a Camper Van visiting all those places with daft place names? Yes, in fact I've done quite a bit of it, again, not yet in a camper van, but the camper van will come when I want it enough.

In fact I might just get a camper van and forget about buying another house for the time being, after all if you don't like the view in Dyfatty, you can always move to Machynlleth or for that matter Wetwang (it's in the north of Yorkshire, England).

For the record I also like Garstang (also in that North Yorkshire/ Cumbria/ County Durham nexus), whose name refers to stabbing someone with a spear (i'm not just a pretty face you know?).

You'll Rhu the Day

I looked across the inkyblue ocean. There in front of me was Thailand, land of the Siamese, but not joined at the hip.

Paddling the canoe out from the bay shaped like the horns of a Stag Beetle, I figured that it was less than seven miles across the straight to the mountainous tropical island in front of me.

I was so glad that I had packed my beany hat and pieces of colourful fabric to keep the sun off me. It was seering hot and the humidity was awesome, like standing in a warm shower.

Stoked up on bananas and fantasies about finding an island full of nubile women all gagging for me to pleasure them senseless, I rowed on heroically I thought.

I imagined being one of our ancestors, facing the unknown thousands of years ago, crossing oceans on the back of beer matts and prehistoric pool tables.

Three Miles out and I was leaving Malaysia behind, sure was pretty, I hope they let me back in.

At a rock outcrop a very large fish passed by, a Marlin I think, it was whopping, I had to stop to and watch it glide beneath the boat.

My friend Iqbal had always told me about Marlin fishing in Mauritius and how dangerous they are, how powerful.

It was all that and more. An eye stared intently from beneath the crystal water and then with a nonchalant flick of its tail it shot away.

'Hey Matt Saleh!', 'Matt Saleh', 'Excuse me Sir' came the cry from thirty feet away.

A Malaysian Fisherman pulled his small boat up to my canoe, big smile on his face, he asked me what I was doing, curious rather than nosy. We chatted-in broken english and I got to use the smattering of Malay that I had learnt-for a few minutes and then I continued with new vigour.

If Tryfan was Cnicht and Cnicht was You.

Tryfan is a beautiful pyramidal peak in the north of Wales. It's jagged smashed outline is that of a classic iconic mountain.

In summer's light we looked up at the top. Red Kites and Buzzards circled the high crags, a perfect spongy doughnut cloud ringed the head, like a giant cockring poised for the saturday night sky.

We ate our camping store meal, rehydrated on the fuel block stove. One more cup of tea and a choccy bar and then we would set off.

We'd talked about climbing this peak for years, we'd talked, talked, talked. 'We should do that you know, we should go to north Wales and climb a few proper peaks'. We talked some more for a few months at least.

Until I got so sick of talking that I said that we had to do it. I made it a must, so I nicked a good lightweight tent and sleeping bags from the Army Stores where I worked and thought about how the hell were we going to get there from the south Wales to north Wales. Us two kids no transport, only a few tins of beans between us.

We got there. Dropped off by a bus that was out of the 1940s, which rattled our bones over miles and miles of mountain scenery, dodged clagged-up sheep and kids on wild horses, no saddle, just clinging to their manes raging wild across the mad scree of the land.

On the comfy grass the warmth of the sun lulled us into a nul-state. I daydreamed fucking that girl who worked in the bakers.

Get up, because we have seven more hours of daylight and it's three thousand feet of sheer up.

We made it a must, we set out, across the alpine-meadow, across rhyns and over boulders that have been there since dirt was young.

Clambering up over huge slabs, along ledges, sharp stones, up up up up up.

Strange Lights in the Sky (Part 1)

Opportunity sometimes comes from the most unlikely of sources.

I mean, if you are anything like me, you throw yourself one hundred and fifty percent into something, focus like a laser and smash down the walls of Jericho with a toffee hammer and spoon, until you have reached your goal in a blaze of triumphant tub-thumping and orgasmic waves of gristle.

But lo, what's this?

Whilst you were trebucheting yourself over the escarpment again and again and again, behind you, trying to get your attention is a very large billboard saying 'this way please'.

A few years ago in the late summer/ early autumn I was not a happy bunny. Everything that had been going right in terms of momentum, career etc, had suddenly started going kerwrong, because I had taken my eye off the ball etc etc (insert other trite metaphor here).

One day, it was a thursday or friday in September, I was walking up the top of Grays Inn Road in Kings Cross, London, where I was living at the time, seemingly the weight of the world on my shoulders, when a voice popped into my head.

'You should buy The Stage you know'.

The Stage for anyone wondering, is the leading 'theatrical' newspaper in the world and sometimes has a few 'Situations Vacant' jobs listed in it, in amongst the looky-likey Elvis impersonators and ads for strippers to go to Greece and Turkey.

Anyway I carried on walking down Euston Road pissed off, thinking too much, deep in self-immolation.

'You should buy the Stage you know' came the voice again.

I turned around and looked across the race track that is the Euston Road/ Pentonville Road dissolve, at the newstand where I always bought my magazines etc.

Should I bother? I mean there's never anything in it, that's why I haven't bought it for a couple of months, I mean really, what's the point?

(More in Part 2 that follows, sometime)

Who Were You Today?

Walking along the beach in the dark, the water lapping at our beautiful Welsh shore, I was struck by how nature lulls us one minute and buffets us the next.

The pebbles under my feet, were once boulders and will one day be sand and glass. The driftwood pieces wedged into cracks and strewn over the high water line were once part of great ships, of houses, trees and ballustrades.

The water itself playing here in Carmarthen Bay may well of come from many miles away, other continents, other places.

God's eye cracks no tears just wise when asked for all the answers. No great portent casts its way down the wire to ever eager souls in situ. Nope, nothing external was forthcoming.

Do the monks on Caldy (Ynys Byr) pray for their own redemption as much as ours. In their darkest moments do they stare into the great unknown and just slightly, imperceptibly, shudder.

Who were you Today?

The Fool of Bute Park pt3

I sat there for at least an hour on the wall at the corner of The Boulevard de Nantes in front of the museum gardens, opposite Park Plaza Hotel, immobilised by thought, thinking about someone something some situation.

What if? Maybe? Touched very deeply and feeling it so.

Not strictly in Bute Park I know, but close enough to be the Fool anyway and close enough for my arse to eventiually go so numb that my only connection with the universe was the feeling of being compacted.

Then I led under a Pine Tree and listened to snippets of conversation.

Cardiff was buzzing and felt like a real city(again), as people lolled about in the sun, or kicked balls around in front of the museum.

I watched the people in their spring and summer finery, they all seemed so happy, with a sense of distinct purpose and I wondered whether it was all true, or whether it was 'front', 'keeping up appearances'? What hidden neuroses lay dormant below their surface?

Is it better to strive for your own way in the world or is it better to knuckle under, knuckle down? It's a question that I have asked myself everyday for a long time.

What tastes better? Success on your own terms? Or the Stability that a regular lifestyle provides? Does that stability in itself have a price to pay, a compromise to keep?

I feel and think too much and apparently ignorance is bliss.

I love bliss but have never been particularly fond of ignorance.

I am not a dreamer.

Couldn't Even Get a Job Writing Porno Movies

A Few Years ago I wrote a Porno Movie satire about a girl with an unfeasibly large arse who becomes a world celebrity icon and a symbol of hope for humanity. I still feel that it's a great idea.

It would of been, like the arse, huge in Italy.

Needless to say its radical retake upon the whole hump 'n' grind movie scene did not-unlike the heroine-go down well with the sort of companies who make regular smut. Shame.

It would be a shining star of genius in what is otherwise a morass of excremedia.

Lately I was reminded of this Movie idea by watching two people having sex in a car.

I must pointout that it was not my purpose to actually watch two people blitzkrieging, but I walked along a very quiet lane at night and there in my eyeball was a couple of arses bouncing about boing boing boing in the back of a very nice Red Subaru.

Now, you know the way that eating an entire box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts is very bad for you (do they still sell them in Kings Cross Tesco's I wonder?) but you still do it anyway?

As that orgasmic hit of carbo-pleasure is sailing it's way down those grooves at the side of your mouth next to your tongue that provide salivation, you know that in about twenty minutes you will be hanging off the lampshade doing Clive the Gorilla impressions (or is that just me?).

Anyway there's me transfixed, watching this fellas big arse smudging against the window whilst he delves into a woman smeared somewhere below him, the car squidging on its suspension-four wheel drive very good for that sort of thing I should imagine-and I thought back to my foray into the Porn world a few years earlier and all the dodgy geezers that I had contact with and how I could still smell the pomade and easylube.

I was snapped out of my trance by a woman on a bicycle coming past me and shouting 'pervert'.

Bloody cheek, me a pervert, i'm not the one making stains on the turbo racing seats am I? Bastards.

The Hero Perishes with Dignity for the Sake of the Radiant Future

For life to have meaning.

We must rise above the mundane mapped out mediocrity that existence has become and be, even for just a moment, truly alive.

To let the full scale and scope of an un-ending universe into our feeble animal brain soup. We must experience everything real in an instance.

Metaphysical Bollocks? (Oh look a Photo).

Malteaser Angry Mob

Has the world turned to idiocy whilst my back was turned? Or am I just turning into a snob who thinks that he has better taste than the rest of 'them'?

It's always stated that if you feel disturbed, get excited because that's when a change is coming. Often i'm overexcited you can tell by the way I walk.

Apparently energy in men rises up the kundalini pathway in the spine and when it gets to the heart chakra it brings up many many issues to do with emotions, love etc.

Christ alive the secret to life is not another plasma screen TV you idiots!

(well maybe a Plasma screen TV to play games on with your kids or friends to share some amazing experiences is...but you get my point don't you??).

It's like 'Dawn of the Dead' without the comedy bits. (The original Romero/ Savini one you chav!)

Q) Seriously why does everything have to be bloody complicated?
A) I know I know, it's journey to achieving the goal and what it makes of us as people.

The Fool of Bute Park pt2

In the wilds of Alaska there is a place called Akiak. I have this on good authority and Google Earth, as I have never been there mind you.

But apparently it is a small town at the confluence of the Kushokwin River, on the Kushokwin/ Yukon Delta.

Despite, or maybe because of being surrounded by a landscape of extreme grandeur and really wild majesty, Akiak has a problem.

It is being eroded by the power of those rivers raging through the countryside. It is being worn down, dis-located, torn to pieces.

Dramatic and elemental stuff. The residents fight a daily battle to stop their river destroying their community.

It's as if they have upset god and now they have to make amends.

I once planned to write a Love Story set in Akiak, Alaska.

Where two people who only knew each other from afar-opposite sides of the river-knew that they were in Love and yet were seperated by not only the raging torrent of the River, but also by the impossibility of Love itself.

They fight to bridge the gap between themselves and their mal-state. With nature and the River in particular, as the arch antagonist.

If you've ever seen a Michael Mann movie ('Thief', 'The Keep' 'Manhunter' and even later stuff), then you will know what I mean about 'the impossibility of love'.

Just like Akiak, this week I have managed to upset a couple of people who really deserve better, by not being able to give them what they wanted at this particular time, or by having given them the impression that things were different than they really were.

And just like Akiak, I find myself standing at the river of my emotions, wondering why there's so much flotsam floating by.

For the upset I can only apologise, profusely.

Sometimes we make things so bloody complicated.

Feeling Pretty Alkaline

They are on my beach now, yes they are.

Suddenly spring has sprung here in south-west Wales and instead of being windswept and buffeted it is blow-dried and manicured, but still on west-walian time.

I refer of course to the tourists, who god bless them, bring in the tourist pounds euros and dollars and keep this corner of god's green acre in underwear and latex mini-gloves.

I was almost shocked when coming along the sandy path that spills out through buckthorn trees onto the top of the beach, because there in front of my personage were people.

But not just any people mind you, say walking their dogs or throwing stones, or the dedicated runners who run for ultimate pleasure and solemnity, but holidaymakers!

Lots of them. Holidaymaking.

How dare they! I felt like the grumpy farmer shaking his angry fist and saying 'gerroffmoiland!'

This of course means that the tourist season has begun, the boarding houses and hotels are all being painted and the caravan parks are cutting their grass.

Soon people will flock to this beach and you won't be able to move for creamy bodies and mewling babbies. Ah well, good luck to them.

The Fool of Bute Park

After an excellent constructive and pleasurable weekend in Cardiff, Wales (the Capitol city of my Country), I return afresh.

Admittedly I spent a few bleary hours sat on a bench in Bute Park awaiting the coach, but hey at least the sun shined and people were Sunday happy. It all looked very civilised and it made me want to live in a city again (the time is well approaching).

Talking mostly to myself, I have just finished rewriting yet another of my Feature Film Scripts and by god Watson! I think I might be getting somewhere with this writing malarky.

I know that I can barely tie my shoelaces but writing scripts comes naturally to me and it has done since I started on this particular journey with some very tenuous steps back in some 12 years ago.

Admittedly for the first few years I wrote scripts in spurts of intensive activity one or two projects at a time. Now I write project to project and rarely take any time away from writing scripts, because I don't want to, as scriptwriting (despite the vaguaries of the business and the uncertainties of the activity itself) loves me like a puppy loves its doggiechocs.

And so, I continue onwards, a hero in my own underwear, remember me in your prayers.

Notes on How to Be Free part 1

You’ll often hear it said amongst people you talk to that you or they are ‘lucky’ to have a job.

Only someone with a Slave or Serf mentality thinks that they are ‘lucky’ to have a job. Instead of thinking like a Serf or Slave, think like an entrepreneur.

A job is not a gift from god (although life is), or some magical prophecy, it is you trading your time for money, it is a transaction like any other.

Most people don't like the job that they are in, or they have certainly done many jobs that they 'hated' and surely all of us have worked at one time or another, for an arsehole. 

You are the CEO of You. Inc, therefore you need to maximize your profits, you need to bring in as much money per hour for your time as is possible.

How do you do this? By adding value to your worth.

How does someone add value to their worth to an employer or client?

Take the example of a Labourer on a Construction Project or Building site.

Most Labourer’s are badly paid, do heavy physical work that can destroy the body over time and are seen as being something that is easily replaced.

Of course this is a shortsighted attitude on behalf of the employer, but nonetheless it is true.

So how does the lowly Labourer add value to their worth?

They add value by gaining more skills and being a fantastic all-rounder, by being able to do concrete’ing, kango’ing, floor sawing etc, they can add industry approved qualifications and first aid certificates etc. All this will add potential negotiating points.

In general, they get much better at what they do and make sure that what they do is appreciated for being a valuable asset to the company they are working for.

They make sure that the potential employer knows that they are skilled in many things and would be a very useful asset and so, the employer thinks ‘we’ll we’ll have him, what can we offer?’

By increasing their value to an employer or client, they raise their monetary worth, but also force the employer or client to start thinking about what extra incentives they can offer the employee in order to attract or keep hold of him or her.

The same mentality is applicable to all employees and their negotiations in terms of salary etc.

Think about what you can do today to add value to your worth as an employee.

If you are a Copywriter, how can you add value to your worth? What can you do to improve not only your skill as a Copywriter, but also your Marketability?

How then can you exploit that and publicize the fact so that you’ve got people coming to you to get your services?

This is the essence of increasing success, making yourself more valuable than the norm within your chosen profession or the one you find yourself in, in order to bring yourself more opportunities.

Alternatively if you hate it that much and you feel so undervalued, you can just leave and do something far more interesting instead.

Love and Kisses.

Killer Toasters and the Milk Cartons of Death

Apparently we are all doomed, and not for the first time, Whitey.

As the TV News gleefully shows us images of stupidity and devastation that we are encouraged to 'emote now' to.

It's saccharine demi-tas moral message of 'best not leave the house in case anything bad happens' becomes a self-perpetuating prophecy.

As you skulk about in paranoid distemper hiding from killer toasters and the milk cartons of death.

Never has there been a more destructive negative self-masturbatory system in place, than the 'de facto voice of authorititive coverage of world events'.

Good Evening and welcome to 'Turn Your Power Down and Mindlessly Consume'.

So the big news this week was again Global Warming.

But not just any Global Warming, no, we are talking about ultimate doom Global Warming mind you.

No this is Special. The sort of Global Warming you get when you turn that three bar electric fire up to 'just about warm your nads' level and a village in Uzbekistan disappears under a mud slide because you put too much money in the meter you selfish toad.

Really?

I'm Like a Turd (I'm Just Passing Through)

As a rule I like GPMG's (General Purpose Machine Guns).

Although I can do without the experience of having one fired in my general direction, they are a really fun way of cutting a house in half (about a thousand rounds will do it), they're heavy at about 30 pounds in weight, long and awkward to run with and the bandoliers of bullets weigh a ton too.

When I was a daft teen I did a lot of running around and firing of GPMG's. I fired them at stationery targets, I fired them at moving targets, I fired them at tanks and armoured vehicles.

It didn't make me a better person, but it was a lot of fun for a while, until getting knocked to the floor with rifle butts to the back of my head by over-eager corporals became too much like normality.

Today I watched a bunch of soldiers playing cowboys and indians on the headland, popping off blanks at each other from thirty five yards. A good metaphwoar in itself but not the point to this meamble.

Seems to me that most folks can't make decisions (difficult I know when multiple dillemmas are in play) and so they pop off blanks at random targets hoping that something will stick, hide behind lumps of rocks and then make a run for it across a piece of open ground whilst spraying bullets all over the place.

Sometimes this blog is about making decisions, sometimes it's about knob gags, peak oil, scriptwriting etc and sometimes it's actually about finding a wife.

Today it's about running out into the garden naked apart from a curly red wig and jumping up and down on a trampoline shouting 'Vive le Guerre'.

Pressure, Resistance

Have you noticed how when you are getting closer to achieving a specific goal, you feel more Resistance?

Like when you put a mobile phone too close to your speaker system. The closer the phone, the more noise, interference and squelch.

This Resistance can be used as a guiding sign of the fact that what you are about to achieve, is very important to your true purpose.

The more resistance, the more noise inside your head, the more that little voice of sabotage and doubt tries to get in on the action.

When you are writing for example, a Feature Film Screenplay, you feel this resistance very strongly and in the most unlikely ways.

Regardless of how you actually approach writing scripts, and the methods are as varied as are the writers, your overiding goal is to complete The Script and end up with approximately 90-120 pages of properly formatted A4 paper in 12 point courier.

As well as all the correct typing, you would more importantly appreciate having the initial basis for a a good story well told, that you can go back to at sometime in the future and rewrite into a much better script.

As everybody's first draft is usually godawful, with the occassional glimmer of excellence in amongst the pigswill, then it's almost obvious that at some stage of the creative process you will find one of your inner voices (the Dr. Evil one), trying to communicate with you.

Firstly when you've written X amount of pages, that voice of doom will tell you that 'there's no point continuing with it, because it's rubbish anyway and you should give up. No-one's going to want to read it/ make it etc'.

This is the tosspot that tells you to 'be realistic' (as reality is often very boring, I suggest you tell it to 'fuck off and shut up').

Then later in the process that same voice, clever little bugger that it is, will say 'Ah it's not bad, but it's not good enough and therefore you should abandon it now and do something else'.

The perfectionist voice is a horrible little turd floating on the vat of your creative juice.

Unfortunately it's also very clever and can keep manifesting itself in various formats over and over again.

It has a more subtle version of itself such as 'It's pretty good in places, but stop now and put it to one side and then have a go in a bit'.

That last one is a combination of Procrastination and Perfectionism and is a real bastard to kick, because it seems so plausible.

After all, the script isn't good enough (at this point) and if you allow yourself to be convinced that it will never be good enough, then you will quit before you've finished the script (avoid 'all or nothing' thinking like 'never' and 'I always' etc).

Even better is that one day you'll think what you're writing is absolutely brilliant and the next that what you are writing is absolute shite. And you will be wrong in both cases.

Regardless of these swings doors marked 'in and out of depair', I've completed Ten Feature Film Scripts now and there wasn't a day of writing where I didn't experience these very same emotions, inner statements and snakepits.

But regardless, I have kept going, I have completed each script and endless rewrites of these scripts and I march on, because all forms of writing make me happy.

My point to you is that if I can do it, then so can you in whatever it is that you want to achieve. You might not be interested in writing Feature Film Scripts, Copywriting, How To Ebooks etc but you might want to climb ever mountain over three thousand feet in the British Isles or eat at every Little Chef restaurant on the A1 duel carriagway.

Whatever your goal is please remember that it is 'Difficult, but not impossible'.

Rewriting the Rewrite

Scriptwriting is life in Slow-Motion. It's 'the long way round'.

(this is my current favourite title for my Autobiography, although 'Couldn't even get a Job writing Porno Movies' is still a front runner).

It takes a long time to learn your craft, then get better and better at it, perfecting it, well you never perfect it, but you get the idea. I aspire to be as good a scriptwriter as William Goldman ('Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid' etc).

In short Scriptwriting is heroism-lite.

Over these last few weeks I have completed, re-edited, re-completed etc Two Ebooks (which now have artwork courtesy of a friend and will be ready to sell hothothot in a couple of weeks-you heard it here first, don't all rush at once).

I've also written Two NEW Treatments for Two NEW Feature Films. This week I have been a hero-lite and it excites me to really immerse myself in scriptwriting.

It makes me happy, because in the process of finding out there is a selfish brilliance that loses you in the moment of doing.

You get lost in it. That's special. How many things can you say that you truly lose yourself in and lose all track of time?

If you have such a thing, then that is a part of your true souls purpose, seek that which maketh you happy and you find what you are looking for, or something like that.

The Meaning of Truth (No Really)

We create our own truth, or truths, or versions of it, every time we think our way towards our respective futures.

That is why the only person we must never be totally afraid to speak the truth to, is ourself.

Wow, for a minute there I was coming over all Philosophical.

I should have swandived into a bit of Krishnamurti or the fella down the pub who looks just like him and then stared you right in the metaphorical eye and held your gaze and bluffed it.

But as I sit yer waxing lyrical looking out over the Bay into the darkness, I watch the lights of a trawler some five miles off shore, hauling in its catch.

I wonder what it is like to be one of those men, to be buffeted from high tide to low water in search of Mackerill, Prawns, Rusty Old Fridges and I wonder what truth they tell themselves when things are hard, really hard?

What truths do they say to themselves when the waves throw the boat around like a tin can and the catch is so low that they earn nothing?

Or the Gambler tearing the losing ticket angrily from the stub?
The shop girl crying into her makeup sad to be alone again?

What about you?

Sometimes Insomnia can be a good thing

Storms lashed us from the west and south-west. The Atlantic did not like us last night and decided to show our tiny collection of houses clinging onto the edge of west Wales a thing or two.

I led in bed, the rain slashing across my window, not being able to sleep, hoping that the Outhouse Roof I had fixed yesterday was still in one piece and not somewhere over Ireland by now.

OccassionallyI'd gawp at the radioactive dials of my megabell Chinese alarm clock. No amount of self-fulfillment could help me drop off, so I got up and started reading.

I've had the Charles Willeford omnibus (Pick-Up, Burnt Orange Heresy, Cock-Fighter) in my possession for the last four years, but I had only ever read one of his previous novellas 'Kiss your Ass Goodbye', which is excellent hard-boiled neo-noir stuff.

So I started reading and lost myself in the spare functional words, grim lives, stained linoleum.

Next thing I know I'd read one hundred pages of complete immersion and then I went to sleep and into my own 'Live All Girl Revue Mabinogion!'. Marvellous.

And then I thought of Paris again, the view from the Sacre-Coeur, world-famous, thronged by tourists and looky-looky men alike, it still inspires action in me.

http://www.sacre-coeur-montmartre.com/

And then I started writing. A Treatment for an idea which has become much more than that, a strange movie that goes back to a theme that I can't seem to shake, one of FATE, Destiny.

Almost every script that I've ever written has in some way dealt with fate, even, or especially the comedies.

Fate is the hammer that strikes the bell, a displacement of unsettled ideas, a collection of fragments, something unknown that knows us.

Just one Krispy Kreme and i'm done

A furious rain beat down upon me as I walked to the top of the hill to look out over the islands.

I sheltered under a wiseoak and watched the crows and gulls soaring on the updrafts.

I thought of Paris, a city I love the feel of and not for the fortune cookie romantic cliches but for its beauty, its order, it's cut-price cassoullet and its vibe.

I thought how I have been due to go back there to complete the mammoth walk that I started with someone who is now just a friend, where we did our usual over-impulsive enthusiasm and ended up stomping for about twenty miles until we had walked so much, that we could not stop because we literally would of seized up.

I started laughing into the wind and rain view as I remembered asking for guidance at Francois Truffaut's grave in Montmartre cemetery, touching the black marble he just replied (in a cod french accent) 'you've just got to keep going mon amee'. Thanks Francois.

So I have kept going, through the lows, lower and lowlives until I started to climb to the lip of something brilliant, just to look out and admire the scenery.

The problem with life it seems that we remember strategic moments, but we don't remember the effort inbetween, so everything seems like it was only yesterday, because memory is selective and then we say 'where did the time go?'.

It went the same way it always goes, onwards like time and tide ever-constant.

The Cure That Won't Kill You

Now that the self-inflicted car crash of Valentine's Day is well and truly over for another year, I can put away my toys and get on with the rest of my life.

For some beautiful reason, some of you loonies out there are interested in me and my flummery and I have been contacted by some to say as much (excellent!).

To the girl who keeps sending me pictures of her arse, thank you, inspiration is nine/tenths of frustration, or something like that.

And to that dastardly couple who were having a shag on the bench at Penally beach on that night, all I can say is, you lucky bastards, where's mine?

Seriously what do you do in a situation like that? There was I walking up the steps off said beach and in plain view is two people really going at it, I honestly didn't know what to look at first.

And is it healthy for it to be bent at quite such an angle?

Getting on with it means finishing various writing/ information projects and moving forward, growing as they say, these writing projects will in turn give me much joy and a lot of money.

It also means making more movies in the capacity of director/ producer/ impressario, which means another step forward on the road to happytown.

I am currently rewriting yet another of my feature film scripts (I've written nine and a half feature film scripts, twenty short film scripts, sitcom pilots, soap opera scripts, sketches etc etc) and I have found the exciting kernel that hangs the whole thing (of this current rewrite) together.

This is akin to Sherlock Holmes sussing out where the contraband is in 'the Pearl of Death' and then being horrified by the Hoxton Creeper at the end (still one of my favourite of the Basil Rathbone S.H movies).

It is in turn frustrating rewarding and exciting. Writing is frustrating rewarding and exciting, it is a self-made fruity truth that serves the greater good of humanity. Well, my humanity anyway.

In the words of Les Dawson, 'I only do this for the luxuries in life, like bread, and shoes'.

Valentine's Day Joy or Hell is Other People

Ah the sound and smell of true love as they go at it like rabid lollypops.

On the eve of Valentine's Day I stand before you, my number one fan, as a now currently single man and make my pitch.

Actually large parts of this blog are about me making my pitch as a burgeoning ball of potential potential rolling its way towards you.

And whilst I go off on many tangents that are off-topic, I am definitely looking for Lurve in all the right places.

'Ah but your not conventional they say'. Well tough, unconventional people rule the world not because they think outside the well-thumbed box, but because they see no well-thumbed box whatsoever.

So on this Valentine's eve what do I wish for in my life? I'm making a special point of saying wish, as it's much more dreamy and cause state than 'want'.

Am I lonely? No. I'm really good at being just with me, but experiences are amplified massively if you share them with someone who shares at least some of your values and is on a similar wavelength.

I have been to places that are absolute paradisetropicalislands and they were gorgeous and fantastic, but, the experience is always amplified by the other person and that sharing of an excellent experience. That is something I have been looking for, a natural relationship with someone where things mostly flow.

I'm feeling very vital, healthy and ebullient, because I know that i'm getting to where I want to go, this is an intense set of emotions that I have been cultivating and just like a well-tended garden, it's working.

So ladies and genitals put a penny in the slot and 'dial-up-my-number' (Marks out of Ten if you can name that tune).

Whatever Happened to Salter's Duck?

You could hear the sea from a mile away, roaring.

As I turned left and walked through the wooded sandy path that comes out onto a lip at the top of the beach, the full power of the ocean hit me, like being in the Millenium Stadium when Wales score a try, the noise was deafening and other-worldly.

And the waves were fifty yards away.

I was walking back along the beach, in the dark, as I love to do and what I hope to be doing with the new love of my life some time shortly (hint hint keep it coming ladies ;p)

The beach is fantastic when nature is keen to show you some of its awesome power, Carmarthen Bay was a froth of white water churning.

And then as I was pretending to be in my version of a video that I want to direct for the Niles Barclay track 'Crazy', where I'm doing a funky dance with a skeleton in a women's red wig and mouthing the words, it hit me.

Whatever happened to Salter's Duck?

For those who don't know what I'm talking about, Salter's Duck was a wave power machine that generated electricity from the rising and falling waves and tide.

Here's a link:
http://www.google.co.uk/search?hl=en&q=Salter%27s+Duck&btnG=Google+Search&meta=cr%3DcountryUK%7CcountryGB

Just copy and paste if you're not feeling too lazy.

My point being, why don't we have loads of these things strung out around the coast of Wales providing for our energy future? Otherwise all that awesome power is going to waste and its free like the wind but prettier and potentially more productive.

Anyway, as ever I shall keep looking for Ms Right or even Ms Not So Right and we can go on great walks on the beach at night and maybe if she's really lucky i'll show here my Niles Barclay Skeleton dance, which is far more entertaining than 'wanking on ice' or whatever other apa is on the TV on a Saturday evening.

Peak Oil at the Fish Fryer 2

We use oil for absolutely everything and it has enabled us to develop an immensely complicated society and develop exponentially over the last two hundred years.

Oil is directly responsible for you being able to read this blog right yer, because a lot of powerstations are powered by oil, oil provided the plastics used to make your computer, the petrol to dig up, transport etc the raw components for everything around you that you can touch or see etc etc.

In short Oil is a big story.

So if oil production is running low and the top oil fields are tapping out, then we'll need to find more oil and develop some new technologies to replace it right?

We are finding new supplies of oil by the way, the problem for us is that they are relatively small finds.

A new well of 2 billion barrels sounds massive, but then when we look at the fact that the world uses approximately 85 million barrels per day, then you can see that 2 billion barrels isn't going to last that long, even if we found say ten of those fields in the next five years.

The demand for oil is increasing because the world's economy is getting bigger, there are more people who have moved from subsistance living to being 'consumers', all these people need to be fed, watered and to be able to live in a way that they aspire to.

The world's population is increasing by about 73 million per year at present rates.

This may slow down due to:

More women taking control of their own contraception.

Better healthcare which means that less children die in developing countries, so that eventually people realise that they don't have to produce so many.

And because as people's affluence levels rise, they realise that children cost lots of money and so tend to have less of them.

Then there's the fact that most of these new oil finds are at much deeper depths and in more inhospitable places than hoped for (Sakhalin for example).

First stop Ethanol.

Ethanol is going to make a lot of American grain farmers very rich. America is the world's largest corn producer and the vast majority of ethanol is produced from corn. Large amounts of the world's population rely upon corn as a staple food, but increasingly more and more corn has been used to produce ethanol which is mixed with gasoline to make it go further in terms of fuel consumption.

There are other types of ethanol and these are gradually increasing in uptake, such as cellulosic ethanol which uses the stems, leaves etc of the corn plant and can potentially use most types of organic plant waste. In years to come i'm sure that your lawnmower will have the ability to use the very grass that it cuts, as the fuel to drive it. Exciting huh?

But for the now, most ethanol is:

A) Made from corn cobs therefore taking a direct amount of food out of the supply chain
B) Produces less energy than it uses
C) Uses large amounts of water in its production

All very important points. Less food means more pressure for the food being reduced in the supply chain, paricularly for some of the world's poorest people whose diet is largely reliant upon it.

Producing less energy from it than it takes to make means that the fuel is inefficient and therefore is only a stopgap.

And using lots of water to produce it is extremely wasteful of the world's most precious resource.

So this leads back to how to find a wife. If you're reading this and thinking WTF? Please bear with me.

If our society is going to be effected by Peak Oil then will it be best to live in the city, where you potentially have good transport links etc or in the country where in theory you could grow your food and potentially produce your own power?

Of course in the city I'd find it easier to meet people, which may lead to meeting a fantastic woman and all the great things that come from that (hmm Krispy Kremes and Green Tea...), on the other hand I could meet a strong farm gal and dig for victory.

Tough choices huh?

Peak Oil at the Fish Fryer

The Meejah is rife with every hack journo from Arsebags-on-Sea to Pithcairneynockers talking or wittering about 'Global Warming'.

Finally having woken up to what was a really important issue of major significance, five years or more ago the wordists have decided that this is really important.

Sadly the more pressing concern of how to run all this machinery type stuff raises its head now and then and goes relatively unnoticed.

In short, Peak oil. Whassat you say? Peak oil.
My simple exposition:

It is the phenom that we are running low on the black stuff, which our entire civilisation runneth upon and that's like, really bad.

'Ah it's those evil oil corporations' you cry.

Actually, not really, it's the fact that the world uses roughly 84-85 million or so barrels of oil per day in everything from fertiliser, ball point pens, printer ink, food production, medication, heating, power generation and oh transportation.

At most the barrels of oil being pumped out are approx. 85-86 million per day, depending upon the weather, political stability, who's not speaking to whom etc.

With more people in developing nations like India, China, Vietnam etc all wanting to live like us in the 'west', there's more competition for oil to run cars, have more fertiliser, more bal point pens etc.

That's okay says you, we'll run our cars on fish and chip shop oil and cellulosic ethanol:

http://www.google.co.uk/search?hl=en&q=cellulosic+ethanol&btnG=Google+Search&meta=

Well I wish, unfortunately most of these alternative technologies use more energy to produce than you get from them. Even Cellulosic Ethanol which is one of the best of these, because you use all the non-food parts (waste-stalks, leaves etc) of corn etc.

Oh dear, what are we gonna do? How about Bicycles? Use the car less, live closer to your work, quality public transport (every city over 100, 000 should have a reliable tram system for a start off).

The future means change, change is just different tommorrow than today.
But does this mean that I will have to:

A) meet the wife of my dreams via a chance encounter on public transport?
B) Travel less distance to meet my wife?
C) Import wife from foreign climes and feel guilty about the air miles that the gorgeous pussy-in-boots Svetlana is (at least she's organic)?

Ah but are you serious?

I've been asked this a few times now, 'Russell, are you serious about this?'.

I don't know whether to be flattered or confuzzled by this question, as yes I am serious.

I am looking for Love in all the right places, even a wife, a life-partner, the butt of my jokes, the joke of my butt.

I guess that a lot of people who know anything about me at all, have a right to ask that question, as up until now, seemingly, I haven't been too bothered about things like marriage.

After all if I'd been serious about it before, they figure, I would have done something about it when I was in a 'serious relationship' a while ago, right?

Well one of life's little ironies is the fact that I didn't feel ready in myself, to make the necessary commitment, but more importantly in terms of how it fitted in with the rest of my life, which has been at times a sort of chaotic mollasses.

Or rather I was approaching readiness and this consists of many things, such as Solvency, Knowing what you want and taking action to get it and getting things sorted so that you don't repeat the same mistakes that you have been making.

And whilst we're on the subject, why do long-term relationships always have to be described as 'serious', like a triple-bypass or very high blood pressure?

As if the sword of Damacles is hanging over your head at every moment going, 'hey don't mess up, else I'll have to cut yah..'

The best things in life are Fun, Pleasure and those Chocolate covered Halva bars that I recently discovered.

So am I serious about this? Only when I have to be.

It's apparently official, 'we're all doomed!'.

Well that's what you would be led to believe if you had the misfortune to hear any of the mainstream news reports today. Global Warming is all your fault whitey and make no mistake.

So what can be done? Well you could turn that extra lightbulb off for a start off.

Did you know that the construction industry is one of the most polluting in the world. Having worked as a labourer etc, I can tell you that their attitude to waste is chronic, they simply don't care.

If I can add my own mighty weight to the argument for the minute. I don't feel that we are doomed, but I do feel that we have some major adaptation to do, in terms of Peak oil, in terms of potential Global Warming.

But don't worry the Cheap Oil will run out well before then.

On the wife front, I'm still looking girls and I want to find awife before I am old, grey and mouldy.

Ger Postulates

Well the league of international superwives have not put out the word yet and they are not currently beating a path to my door, mores the pity.

Come on wives where are you all? I'm talking about a lifetime of happiness going cheap to the right punter...

I walked home along the beach in the twilight this evening, the sea calmer than it has been of late, but still mighty in its power. A clear view across Carmarthen Bay and out into the ocean.

I feel lucky when I come back along the beach, the lights of the local town down one end and the local headland at the other. There are some gorgeous beaches around here be that over Gower side or Carmarthenshire and Pembrokeshire.

I have to let you into a secret though, Ceridigion kicks all their butty-bachs.

The beach makes me feel that there is hope and progress to be made. It allows me to feel that despite everything, or maybe in spite of it, it is worth making plans (even though god laughs) and is worth idealising your life, in order to achieve and do the things you want, instead of settling for the grey soup of mundanity.

I was coming back home via the local spit and sawdust gym. We are lucky to have such a place in a relatively small community and it is cheap, run by the members and provides a focal point for many aspects of local life (if you ever need a builder...)

I goto the gym because it sorts my head out, it turns off the noise and lets me see things clearly again, it also helps me sleep deep and wake up excellent. I don't do it to bodybuild, as I'm not that interested in the aesthetics of it, more the discipline and effect.

By the way, all you hordes reading this, if anyone needs a copywriter/ writer/ scriptwriter/ marketer etc, come to me, I'm excellent you know.

I should be so lucky, lucky lucky lucky

As a resting scriptwriter (i'm not resting too much believe me) I was lucky enough to have a very productive day emailing scripts to potential producer partners.

There isn't a day that goes by, when I don't wonder at how much of a boon the internet is. It allows you to communicate with many people at the touch of a button, it allows you to send documents, images, ecards, job applications.

It allows you to access maps, search engines, gaming and those video clips of people doing naughty things with donkeys.

All in all it is a marvellous array of technology. A great leap forward for Min and the children of Min.

Whilst walking around the village I currently living in, I was struck by how in a lot of ways, I am very lucky to live here and that how I know that I won't be staying here that much longer. This both gladdens and saddens me.

As even though each day offers a selection of brilliance and turbulence, the environment, the situation, the citing are all gorgeous, even in the sometimes grey and often cold winter.

The village itself is a really beautiful place and despite the burgeoning amounts of houses bought and kept as holiday homes and second homes here, there is still a real sense of community.

What communities like this need though is the lifeblood of a range of ages, abilities, entrepreneurialism and decent affordable housing for all.

They need to be able to offer something to a broad range of folk, economic viability to their indigenous residents and services contained within their area, in order to cut down upon unneccessary transport and travel.

They also need to be able to retain the local population who are born and bred here, without restricting or denying access to those who are 'outsiders' or 'incomers' be that from other nations (England for example), or from different parts of the same country.

At present they're not managing to do this, the housing market here is beyond the scope of the majority of people born and bred here. And whilst I wouldn't deny the right of those who are not from here, to buy a house here, I can see for myself the effect, firsthand.

Communities like this should not become holiday home ghost towns and yet when out walking I can pass many houses, not all of them large, that have no-one living in them for the vast majority of every year, standing silent, locked up, serving no purpose.

Is the solution free-market capitalism or should small communites take action to ensure that don't become a shell-like replica of what they once were? Is there a bridge between the two, there must be, surely?

What then is the answer? Is there one, or are there many?

What makes you happy?

I was asked the other day why I continually write scripts and screenplays when it is apparently so difficult to get paid writing work within the film and television industry?

Why do I continue to write script after script when the levels of rejection, competition, cynicism and negativity are so high?

I write scripts, stories, sketches etc because I love it.

It makes me extremely happy when I am in the moment writing. I can get truly lost within doing the thing and lose track of all time.

Whether this is on my own, or whether this is working with writing partners, it is, along with directing movies, to me, the absolute best job in the world.

That is part of the magic of it. The process of doing, the continual honing of my craft. I don't do it for any kind of approval of my own worth by others and I certainly don't do it for the glamour.

Lol, there is no status or glamour in being a scriptwriter. The old Hollywood joke is about the niave actress who fucked the writer.

I write because it makes me happy.

What makes you happy? What do you love? What can you lose yourself in? Because it is that losing yourself in something that is the key.

I'm not talking about mere daydreaming, i'm talking about 'being in the moment of doing'.

That's the same feeling you get when you play a sport intensely and you experience that magical minute of being completely in the moment, of simultaneously losing yourself to the thing, but also being totally aware of everything around you being on a kind of slow warp time.

I also replied that it's difficult, but not impossible.

Despite lots of competition (isn't there loads of competition in everything, even being a plumber or a bricklayer?) I have been paid a few times now, to develop and write feature film scripts.

Against all the odds of having to teach myself to write scripts, of having very few if any contacts, of starting from absolute scratch, i've done paid feature film writing assignments and have taught scriptwriting in London and Malaysia (amongst others) and I will continue to do so.

Of course I don't only write film scripts, I am churning out 'How To' ebooks (which i'm editing as we speak), I copywrite across web, print etc, but mainly I write Movie scripts.

Lol, this post is turning into a pitch and as a writer 'life's a pitch' but the gist of this is, when reading this, ask yourself what makes you happy?

And if you can answer that fundamental question, do more of it.

Regardless of what it is, regardless of whether anybody else thinks that it's the right thing to be doing, or whether they think that you can make money at it, and regardless whether you are actually any good at it (you'll get better the more you do of it).

None of that matters, what matters is finding happiness for yourself and then going from there.

Quality of Life (Part 1 of many)

Recently I was standing in a supermarket line waiting to pay for a bottle of somesuch, when a bizarre situation occurs.

Behind me, two girls no more than 15, started blowing on my neck and back. At first, being a good upstanding citizen I ignored this, as they giggled and toldl each other that 'I was getting excited' (!?).

It was very pleasurable by the way and I let it continue for a while.

Part of me felt like turning round and saying 'Now look here young lady, i'm old enough to be your Father' and then I wondered if this sort of thing happens to George Clooney? (i'll ask him when I see him).

Meanwhile somewhere in the primal soup of my backbrain the mantra 'hmm pussy' gurgled away. Moralising with myself for even thinking such a thing I turned around and smiled and thanked them for their attention and just walked away, as they wolf-whistled me out of the shop.

Ah to be a creature of desire and apparently desirable, even if those doing the desiring are a prime ticket to prison, do not pass go. Girls who love boys etc.

Talking about desire, the Buddhists say that it is our desires which make us unhappy. I just can't get with that mentality, although it seems to do them a lot of good, as some of the predominantly buddhist countries i've been to, seem, in part, to have things relatively sussed (relatively speaking).

To me, life is about what you want and how are going to get it? This may seem crass to some folks reading this (hello my number one fan, my only fan..) but apply it to your life and see the immense possibility of what you can achieve just by acting upon your innate desires.

And no, I am no longer talking about being chatted up by 15 year old girls here.

True, some days you'll be up and down like a rollercoaster. It can be difficult to sustain goals and the like in the face of news, negativity, other people's bullshit etc, but if you formualte a plan (goals) and put it into action, you will win, most of the time.

So, if you are slightly older than 15 and you want to wolf-whistle, join the queue lady (All attention greatly received).

Legitimate Film and Television Contacts

I find myself at present stuck in a no man's land, between the hundreds of emerging filmmakers that I know and the legitimate industry.

My problem is not a lack of contacts, it's having very few legit. established contacts who have access to real budgets and who can greenlight projects.

This means that sustaining a career is proving difficult, I've been paid to write a few scripts but i'm still finding it very difficult to capitalise upon that.

I've lost track of the amount of projects that I've been involved with that have gone nowhere. It's par for the course and so is, the scrum towards 'getting paid well for doing what i've trained for and doing it really well'.

That is the Scriptwriter's lot and you have to except that you are often the recipient of the whims of other's, both in terms of all the rejections you get, but also what you are paid to write, when you are a writer for hire.

Hence why occassionally I make my own Movies too (and am stepping up that aspect), because I know a lot of other filmmaker's who love my writing but don't want to make it into Movies.

That's not a polite way of rejecting it, it's a truth, they love my writing, it's from a unique voice (mine) and often contains stunning imagery and distinctive characters, dillemmas and damn good storytelling, but it's just not something they want to make.

The Strange Defeat

Until recently I viewed marriage as a strange kind of defeat. I've now come to see that as a bizarre and baffling attitude.

When I talk about marriage, I mean any long-term commit to relationship, but specifically making that extra commitment to marry in the eyes of God, Terry Wogan and Noddy.

It's potentially weird to deliberately deny yourself a pleasurable situation (said marriage) with someone that you know is right for you, because you feel in some way that this would trap you or confine your very being.

Fair enough if you don't want to marry or even wholeheartedly commit to someone and share your life with them, then that is your perogative, but to actually purposely deny yourself that privilege because it would in some way be too serious is, twp.

Talking of marriage, a guy I know who's a Bricklayer tells me that he is earning one hundred thousand pounds per year brickeying.

If someone had told me when I was a kid working on building sites that I could earn that kind of money building block walls and trowelling, I'd now be pointing you to my website I Build Walls Dot Com.

I don't have the desire in me to actually be a Bricklayer and after all I feel very strongly that you must find out what your true hearts desire is and follow it in order to achieve happiness.

I'm compelled to write scripts and make movies (scripts, sketches, copy, stories etc) much to my father's chagrin, but still my eyes popped just a tad when he told me how much he was earning, particularly when I have been on many a cold building site far too early in the morning many times over and not earnt anything like that doing donkey work for idiots.

Of course the gold rush of the housing market is sputtering in places, stagnating in others and is still rampant in parts, so build 'em while you can and get top dollar for it.

Talking of future plans, look out for my ebooks (coming real soon) selling service and maybe even a new job (something a bit stimulating and remotely interesting).

I should write travel guides me

Here in west Wales where I currently live, it's been a beautiful week. After last week's storms that felt like Thor's hammer, we're back to crisp clear winter weather.

The view out over Carmarthen Bay is to the finger of the Worm's Head up the arm of the Gower Peninsula to the snow-capped peaks of Brest Twrch and Fan Hir (The Carmarthen Vans) on the western edge of the Brecon Beacons Escarpment, all is clear and beautiful.

One of my favourites places in west Wales is the Sawdde Valley, which is at the foot of said western edge of the Black Mountains/ Brecon Beacons escarpment (Up the Tywi Valley to Llandovery and turn right up into the mountains).

I love to go walking there, through the tiny Carmarthenshire lanes that go up and down like a newly-wed's nightie, to the fairy lakes of Llyn yr Fan Fach and Llyn yr Fan Fawr, it's a magical gorgeous place, replete with many rhyns and waterfalls.

Unfortunately I have to get on with some work, as I am putting the finishing touches to two ebooks I have written (editing, re-editing, more editing) and in the midst of setting up an ebooks selling service.

I'm also rewriting another of my Feature Film scripts (I've written Ten Feature Film Scripts, Twenty Short Film Scripts, Sitcom pilots, Soap Opera Scripts, Sketches etc).

But, i'm going up there very soon to see some snow. Oh back to the wife thing, as soon as I promote this blog, i'll be fending them off with a stick, you watch.

I almost said 'beating them off with a stick', but that would be far too adult in nature for your eyes and ears.

A sort of Homecoming

The purpose of this Blog is to find myself a wife, or have a damn good time doing so.

Not an original theme by any means, as many men and women have ventured into these tepid waters before me.

But, but wait. Having recently come out of a long-term love of my life stars in their eyes relationship, which sputtered to many false stops before finally being in the past, I can say that this is indeed a worthwhile venture and one worth reading about.

I am under no delusions whatsoever that this will develop into something beyond just my hunt for a fantastic woman to share my spare change with, but for now let's keep to that.

So, to be going on with:

Evil Genius seeks partner and cohort to take over the world and mould it to our despotic ways. Failing that, to have some really great curries and tell each other knob gags.

Looking for a cross between Lara Croft with a Tinto Brass body (his starlets not the porky maestro) and the wit of Dorothy Parker (well...).

Can you arm wrestle a Crocodile? Write a Pullitzer Prize winning Novel? How do you spell Pullitzer anyway?

Have you got an IQ over room temperature and know roughly what you want out of life?

Do you like Sex, Knowledge, How To Guides, Fast Milkfloats and Easy Money?

Does your arse stick out and have you got more curves than Llanberis Pass?

Can you handle yourself in a fight?

I am looking for Friendship, Adult Stuff (!), possibly even love.

I am athletic, muscular, in my 30's and not bad to look at (and that's not just my Mam saying that..).

I love sunsets, Belting punchbags, Snowymountains, mountains, Indonesian-Malaysian-Thai food, food in general. I love walking on the beach at night in rough weather.

I love mountain streams, forests and glades, waterfalls and wild country.

I love tropical beaches, warm ocean water, aplm trees, coconuts (nut not landing on my head).

I love dreams and visions, aspirations, creativity and drive.

I love intelligence applied, intuition divined.

I love shapely athletic or voluptuous women that stick out in all the right places.

I love writing Scripts, Stories and Screenplays.

I love making Movies. I love working towards living my life upon my own terms.

I can't eat dairy products particularly cheese as they make me puke. I don't like puking.