No I Am Not Being Self-Referential
Though I am secretly rather pleased that you see me in that light by default.
No, you see I have been re-reading some long-form fiction that I wrote ages ago, before BOOJUM! became such a consistent (and time-consuming) feature of my daily life. I think I've already mentioned that I posted stuff on Fan Fiction.
Enter NANOWRIMO. No! Not the "North Atlantic Nuclear Operations War-Ready Intelligence Monitoring Organisation" - although that sounds pretty cool, and I did have a fictional intelligence org
 |
| Flambards: HQ for the Nuclear Intelligence Unit |
ANYWAY it stands for "National Novel Writing Month", an event which may still be running - let me check - Art!
 |
| Yup |
The competition began in November and you had one month to complete a novel from scratch. I can't remember the exact criteria now, though presumably there was a minimum word length.
Enter Conrad, and his supernatural novel "Tormentor". I got it done and submitted just before the deadline, and had only come across NANOWRIMO several days into November. 80,000 words. No sex but a fair bit of violence and swearing. Back in those days all you got was an e-sticker; currently I believe there are potential book publishing deals in the offing.
So, I think I'll include a paragraph or two within BOOJUM! of 'Tormentor'*, until I get protests or we finish it off. Why, yes, this will boost the word count effortlessly - what an amazing coincidence! I shall also have to edit out the swearing. Can't jeopardise our SFW status!
TORMENTOR
ONE
The alarm clock’s persistent buzzing roused Louis from
his stupor. He cursed without any real enthusiasm at the noise, pulled off his
eyeshades and draped a forearm across his eyes.
The clock sat on the white melamine dresser, deliberately far from his
reach, and the buzzing was amplified by the hateful, empty drawers at the top
of the cabinet. To turn it off meant
having to get out of bed. He moved his
arm away from his eyes, staring at the red LCD display that blinked with
annoying regularity. B***** mindless
little thing, he sneered.
Throwing back the duvet, he staggered over to the
clock and hit it, hard, on the top.
‘S***!’ he cursed, realising that Jennifer would be
knocking on the front door at six prompt.
It was Tuesday, one of the evenings when he tutored her.
He ought to have set the alarm at least fifteen
minutes earlier, to allow for a more comfortable and relaxed shower and shave,
except he’d been too drunk when he made his knock-kneed way to bed at
There you go, setting the scene.
Motley! We need silver and salt and a pint or two of holy water. Chop chop!
Speaking Of Which ...
We are back to Roel "Stick them with the pointy end" Konijendijk and yes, that was the title of an article by him, about amateurism in ancient Greek warfare. Today we shall look at an item known as "The Witcher" which Conrad has never bothered to watch, although Darling Daughter and Quiet Tom might have, due to their LARPing interests. Art!
 |
| There you go, setting the scene |
From what Roel and I can see, there is about to be a battle between two armies - three would be greedy - including mailed cavalry and men-at-arms, looking to be at about twelfth century levels of armour and arms. Art!
Splendidly apposite criticism from Roel here: why on earth are these lines of battle so far apart? There's one in the foreground and another on the far distant horizon, literally miles away. Second line cannot possibly reinforce the first one due to the distance and the first line should have paused so they could close the gap. O well 'the cinematographer wanted this shot' I suppose. Art!
 |
| How real? Not remotely. |
Ol' Roel is quite scathing about this bit, and it's a common Hollywood failing; two massed armies encounter each other in the pre-gunpowder era and - I said 'armies', didn't I? That should be 'two shambling disorganised leaderless mobs' because that's what's on-screen. No order, no plan, no formation, just a giant rumble where nobody knows what's going on. Art!
 |
| " aaaaand - Pause!" |
In the midst of a giant bloody melee, the female character drops her sword and dashes over to her presumed SO, who has just been killed stone dead. Politely, because it's in the script, nobody pays her a blind bit of attention; in real life, as Roel succinctly puts it, she'd have been shanked on the spot. Art!
Must try harder!
More From Museum
Imperial War Museum North, that is. Rather than bore you with the displays and documents - which were all too faded and too far away to be read - I shall continue with a few of the larger exhibits, because these are the ones that stand out. Art!
 |
| Yes it looks like a wrecking ball - |
- and in a way it is. This, gentle reader, is a Teuton naval mine of the First Unpleasantness, dating from 1915. It was called "EM" for "Elektrische Minen A". What you can't see here are the 'horns' that, when crushed or bent by the impact of a ship, would detonate 180 pounds of explosive and put a big hole in the hull. Art!
 |
| Laying an egg |
 |
| Horny devil |
Naval mines and the torpedo had a chilling effect on naval warfare - a subject rather too large to even skim across here.
Finally -
Hmmmmmm it was bright and sunny earlier, whilst I have been slaving over a hot keyboard in the Sekrit Layr** and thus unable to enjoy said weather. Now that I am coming to the end of this afternoon's blog - in roll the big black clouds! Not only that, I am alone in The Mansion so Edna has come to recline at my side, the very picture of Despondent Dog. I feel obliged to take her for walkies, yes, even under the dirty downpour-threatening assemblage overhead. Into each life a little rain must fall, most especially if you live in the vicinity of Gomorrah-in-the-Irwell.
And with that we are most surely done, Vulnavia.
* I have no idea why I chose that title.
** Just to point out that this is an hilariously ironic mis-spelling done DELIBERATELY. Just so you know.
No comments:
Post a Comment