Hi, well being broke makes you try different things than people who have large advertising budgets. But here is the thing, your audience still expects a certain level of professionalism. And without any budget that can be really hard to achieve.
So I rethought about AI and its uses. For me it allows me to do all that boring promotional stuff which the audience expect, and lets me concentrate on producing the novels I write.
Now I know to many of you this video may seem a little crude and amateurish, but for me considering this the first time I’ve ever done such a thing… I is bloody wonderful. But hey don’t take my word for it, have a watch and let me know your thoughts
Jones’ Bakery have release a shocking image of a recent incident where a small Black Pug raided it’s shop on the High Street and proceeded to eat all the sausage rolls and the tray they were served on.
Small Black Pug, Eating a Tray of Sausage Rolls.
Mr Jones said about the incident; ‘He just pushed his way in to the shop, hopped up on the counter and started to eat all the freshly baked Sausage Rolls. Customers were screaming, and then he started to eat the tray they were served on. Suddenly a whole group turned up with a Springer Spaniel holding a dog-lead and a Rubber Chicken in its mouth. One of them even killed our potted Fern in the corner over there. It was really strange, one even floated to the ceiling nearly hitting the ceiling fan, and one of the women glowed with a faint trace of radioactive menace.
When Asked to explain how the situation concluded itself, Mr Jones replied. Well as you can see it looks the CSI team turned up and just tossed that finger print power everywhere! They didn’t this woman suddenly arrived and a fight broke out between her and the group, next thing the whole shop was engulfed in what smelt like school chalk. We Had to throw away all the stock it was covered in the stuff.
Jones’ Bakery has placed this poster in the window to reassure customers that the small black menace has received a lifetime ban for ‘Acts of Culinary Carnage.’
Bakery Banning Poster for Agro, after he raided the Sausage Rolls
The small black Pug is believed to belong to a Mr De-Arth (pronounce Mr Death), and has not been seen since the incident. We have tried to contact Mr De-Arth, but so far he has proved to be elusive to our requests for comment.
For more tales like this read the new book by Charlie Hicks, Ralph and the Four Unicorns of the Apocalypse.
So I’ve been tinkering with the AI again late tonight, and have tweaked my previous and rather lame attempt at a book cover for my latest book ‘Ralph and the Four Unicorns of the Apocalypse.
It had drama, a spaniel named Ralph, and Small hellhound in the form of a Pug, and of course Gordon the trusty Rubber Chicken.
There are many places in the world where one might reasonably expect to find the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.
A battlefield, for instance. A plague‑ridden city. A motorway service station at 2 a.m.
But on the particular Tuesday when the world’s doom was officially scheduled, the Horsemen were instead sitting in a rural Somerset pub called The Tuckers Graveyard, arguing over cider.
The Tuckers Graveyard was the sort of pub that had existed since the invention of roofs, and possibly before. It leaned slightly to the left, smelled faintly of woodsmoke and wet dogs, and served a cider so potent that it had been banned in three counties and one small principality.
This cider was called Bumble Rumble.
It was brewed in a shed behind the pub by a man named Colin, who had once used it to strip paint off a tractor. The tractor had never been the same since, and neither had Colin.
War slammed his empty tankard on the table hard enough to make the cutlery jump.
“Another!” he bellowed, which caused three locals to flinch and one to reconsider his life choices entirely.
Death, who was sipping his cider with the caution of someone who had seen what it did to souls, shook his head. “We should pace ourselves. Last time Pestilence had two, he started a small medieval outbreak in the toilets.”
“It cleared up,” Pestilence muttered defensively.
“Yes,” Death said, “after I intervened personally.”
Famine, who was sipping his cider like a man trying to negotiate with it, added, “Besides, we’re supposed to be discussing the apocalypse schedule.”
War waved a dismissive hand. “Plenty of time for that. It’s not til next month.”
Death opened his mouth to reply, but at that exact moment Pestilence attempted to open a fresh bottle of Bumble Rumble.
This was a mistake.
The cork shot out of the bottle with the force of a ballistic missile, punched a hole through the ceiling, and continued its ascent with the enthusiasm of a creature fleeing for its life.
Thirty thousand feet above Somerset, a passing dragon — a large, scaly, and rather sleepy specimen named Trevor — was minding his own business, thinking about roast sheep.
The cork hit him squarely between the eyes.
Trevor had just enough time to think, oh, not again, before losing consciousness and plummeting earthward like a scaly meteor.
Back in the pub garden, a tremendous crash shook the picnic tables.
War blinked. “Did anyone order dragon?”
Death peered out the window. “Oh dear. That’s going to complicate the insurance.”
Trevor lay sprawled across the garden, snoring smoke rings and flattening a decorative wooden wheelbarrow. A small sign beside him, now bent, read:
BEER GARDEN — NO FLYING CREATURES AFTER 9PM
The locals barely reacted. This was Somerset. Dragons were considered only slightly more disruptive than tractors.
Pestilence looked at the shattered bottle in his hand. “Should we… apologise?”
“No,” Death said firmly. “We finish our drinks, we pretend nothing happened, and we leave before someone asks us to help move him.”
War raised his tankard. “To holidays!”
The others clinked their glasses.
And that was when the sky cracked open like a badly handled crème brûlée and a booming celestial voice declared:
“ATTENTION: THE APOCALYPSE IS SCHEDULED FOR THURSDAY. PLEASE PREPARE ACCORDINGLY.”
The Horsemen stared upward.
War groaned. “Oh, for— we haven’t even booked the hotel yet.”
Death rubbed his temples. “I swear, if this ruins Benidorm…”
The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse were not, contrary to popular belief, constantly galloping across burning horizons and smiting things. That was only on Mondays.
The rest of the week, they were overworked civil servants of cosmic calamity, drowning in paperwork, existential dread, and the occasional complaint letter from mortals who felt their plagues were “a bit much.”
So, when the celestial announcement declared that the apocalypse was officially scheduled for Thursday, the Horsemen reacted in the only reasonable way:
They decided to go on holiday.
“Benidorm,” War declared, stabbing a finger at a glossy travel brochure. “Sun. Sand. Cocktails. Chaos. Perfect.”
Death peered over his skeletal spectacles. “I don’t tan.”
“No one tans,” Pestilence said. “They crisp.”
Famine nodded solemnly. “I could do with a crisp.”
Death sighed. “We can’t just leave. The apocalypse is coming.”
War grinned. “Exactly. It’s coming. Not here yet. We’ve got time.”
Death considered this. He had been working nonstop since the dawn of existence. He hadn’t had a proper break since the Black Death, and that hardly counted because he’d been on call the entire time.
“Fine,” he said. “But we must leave Agro in safe hands.”
All four Horsemen turned to look at the pug.
Agro was sitting on a barstool, snorting into a bowl of pork scratchings. His face was the expression of a creature who believed the universe existed solely to provide him snacks.
Death lifted him gently. “Agro, my dear boy, you’re going to stay with the unicorns.”
Agro snorted in a way that suggested he found this arrangement beneath him.
War slapped the table. “Right! Holiday time!”
Pestilence sneezed, which caused a nearby fern to wilt. Famine folded the travel brochure into a neat square. Death tucked Agro’s favourite snacks into a small skull shaped bag.
They stepped outside the pub, where Trevor the dragon was still unconscious in the beer garden, occasionally twitching in a dream about sheep.
War looked at him. “Should we… do something about that?”
Death shook his head. “We’re on holiday.” And with that, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse climbed onto their spectral steeds, who were already wearing sunglasses and floral garlands, and rode off toward the airport via the Unicorns Place.
Chapter 2
Prophecies are notoriously vague, unhelpful, and written by people who were either drunk, possessed, or paid by the word. The prophecy concerning the Five Unicorns was no exception. It had been carved into an ancient stone tablet, then recopied by monks with questionable handwriting, then translated by scholars who disagreed on everything except their mutual hatred of each other.
But one line had survived every translation, every argument, and every attempt to interpret it as a recipe:
“Five unicorns shall rise when doom draws near.”
This was followed by a footnote:
“Four shall walk as humans. One shall walk on paws. Do not question this.”
Most people questioned it anyway.
But the prophecy was correct, because in a quiet town not far from where Trevor the dragon was still unconscious in a beer garden, five unicorns were indeed living among humans.
Well. Four were living among humans.
One was living among lampposts, hedges, and the occasional postman.
Astra — The Librarian of Unnatural Silence
Astra had chosen to disguise herself as a librarian, because she believed books were sacred, knowledge was power, and shushing people was one of life’s purest joys.
Her human form was tall, calm, and carried an aura of “I will tolerate no nonsense, unless it is alphabetised.”
Astra’s unicorn magic manifested subtly: anyone who spoke too loudly within a five‑mile radius would suddenly feel the overwhelming urge to apologise.
She was the unofficial leader of the group, mostly because she was the only one who could organise a meeting without someone setting something on fire.
Bramble — The Gardener of Questionable Talent
Bramble had chosen to disguise himself as a gardener.
This was ironic, because Bramble was catastrophically bad at gardening.
Plants wilted when he walked past. Flowers drooped in his presence. Cacti — the most resilient of all florae — gave up entirely.
But Bramble insisted he was improving, and the others were too polite to mention the trail of dead begonias he left behind.
In his true unicorn form, Bramble controlled the forces of nature. In his human form, he controlled the forces of compost, which was significantly less impressive.
Zephyr — The Yoga Instructor Who Floated
Zephyr had chosen to disguise himself as a yoga instructor, because he liked the idea of serenity, even if he had never personally experienced it.
He was cheerful, airy, and had the attention span of a caffeinated squirrel.
Zephyr’s unicorn magic manifested whenever he was stressed, which was often. His feet would lift off the ground, his hair would float, and small objects would begin orbiting him like confused satellites.
His students assumed it was a special effect. It was not.
Ember — The Barista of Mildly Dangerous Coffee
Ember had chosen to disguise herself as a barista.
This was a problem, because Ember’s coffee was so strong it had once woken a man from a medically induced coma. Another time, it had caused a customer to briefly see the future, which he found deeply inconvenient.
Ember was fiery, impulsive, and had a temper that could ignite small objects. She had been banned from three cafés for “accidental combustion.”
Her unicorn magic was powerful, unpredictable, and usually accompanied by the smell of burnt toast.
And then there was Ralph.
Ralph had chosen to disguise himself as a springer spaniel.
No one knew why.
The prophecy didn’t explain it. The scholars couldn’t interpret it. The other unicorns had stopped asking.
Ralph simply was a spaniel, and he was very good at it.
He had floppy ears, a wagging tail, a bright shock of blonde hair on his head (which was his horn in disguise.) and the boundless enthusiasm of a creature who believed every day was the best day ever.
He also had a squeaky chicken named Gordon, which he carried everywhere. Gordon was missing one eye, smelled faintly of despair, and squeaked with the sound of a tortured kazoo.
Ralph loved him more than life itself.
Agro — The Pug of Death
The unicorns’ sacred duty was to protect Agro, the pug belonging to Death.
Agro was small, round, and snorted like a malfunctioning accordion. He was also the metaphysical anchor of the boundary between life and death.
If Agro ever died, the world would collapse into chaos.
If Agro ever skipped a meal, the world would collapse into whining.
Astra took the duty seriously. Bramble took it nervously. Zephyr took it optimistically. Ember took it personally. Ralph took it as the greatest honour of his life.
Agro tolerated Ralph with the weary patience of a creature who had seen eternity and found it disappointing.
On the morning after the Horsemen accidentally shot down a dragon with a cider cork, the unicorns gathered in the living room.
Astra was reading the prophecy. Bramble was watering a plant (which immediately died). Zephyr was floating three inches above the sofa. Ember was making coffee that glowed faintly with a hint of radioactive menace. Ralph was slowly chewing Gordon. Agro was asleep, snoring like a tiny chainsaw.
Astra cleared her throat.
“Something is coming,” she said.
Ember raised an eyebrow. “Something bad?”
Astra nodded. “The worst.”
Zephyr drifted upside‑down. “Worse than Ember’s coffee?”
“Yes!”
Bramble gasped. “Worse than the time Ralph ate that entire wheel of cheese?”
“Yes!”
Ralph wagged proudly.
Astra closed the prophecy book with a soft thud.
“The apocalypse is scheduled for Thursday.”
Agro snorted awake.
Ralph dropped Gordon.
And somewhere, far away, a school bell rang.
Notes from the Author
Please feel free to let me know what you think, good or bad it really helps me to improve as a writer.
So I have tried and tried to not use AI, but here is the thing, It is just getting so good, and so cheap to use, that I have found myself questioning why I pay an exorbitant amount of money to editors and cover designers for stuff which cost pennies using AI.
Now I know this is a very sensitive subject at the moment, AI this AI that, but after I received a quote for the editing and cover design of my latest book ‘Ralph and the 4 Unicorns of the Apocalypse’ it became very apparent that as an indie writer and publisher that it was no longer feasible for me to use these services any longer, especially when I found out that my cover designer was going to use AI anyway and charge me an arm and leg, my first born for the privilege.
No don’t get me wrong but I would love to keep the human in the loop, I believe that the human is the creative means in which we create our art; be it paintings, literature, music and dance etc. But here’s the thing as an Indie writer with a total marketing budget of the square root of nothing or for those a bit mathematically challenged $0.00, and for those still confused ‘Fuck All’
I needed to be a little bit smarter.
What does this actually mean!
Let me put this into context, the Cover and first pass editing of my next book have been done by AI. This is a fact, an to be honest the AI did as good a job if not better job than the Humans I used the last 2 times. But here is the real show stopper, AI gave me direct control in the look feel and character of the finished work which I spent months typing into this very computer I’m using to write this very blog.
Am I upset?
Yes I am, but I have to admit this simply fact of life, AI editing and cover design has enabled me to concentrate on creating a book which I am truly proud of, the literature inside, is me, not a computer. I have had the final say in the look and feel all the way through the process.
Am I happy with the outcome?
If had to answer this question honestly as a writer, yes I am, AI has enabled me to concentrate on the story, not worry about how the cover looks or how my grammar and spelling is. (And to be honest I’m sh1te for all of those.
So I will ultimately let you my audience decide, did the AI produce a good cover design for my book or Not? Let me know your honest thoughts.
This is the original image produced by AI
And this is the image with some piss poor titles added to it
I will be publishing the first couple of chapters of this new book here on this site very soon, keep an eye out for them, and please let me know what you think good or bad, if helps me to get better as a Indie Writer
Ralph and the Four Unicorns of the Apocalypse, 1st Draft completed
I know it has been a long time since I last wrote on this blog, but I have been concentration on getting the 1st draft of my latest book complete.
‘Ralph and the Four Unicorns of the Apocalypse’ is a comedy/fantasy/fiction about how a dog named Ralph saves the world from certain disaster during the scheduled Apocalypse. Written in the style of the Terry Pratchett; who in my humble opinion was the best comic writer ever. I remember picking up a copy of The Colour of Magic and reading it page to page in one day. I laughed so much my sides hurt. It was to be the beginning of a lifelong love affair with Terry’s wit and humour which has never ceased to pick me up when I down in the dumps.
So the hard work of doing the editing is beginning, and I’m not entirely sure how long it will take. I may serialise the book on this page if enough people want it. Otherwise I will plod on with it and eventually release it (probably for free).
Free public domain CC0 photo. More: View public domain image source here
So I’ve been trying to work on a new project, a Novel. Some would say its a bit Orwellian, and In truth it is. But I’ve been struggling with it for the last couple of weeks. The premise of the story is that AI has already taken over control of the world, and us the biologics as the AI see us, are a necessary evil in order for them to exist. So there is an uneasy and strained symbiotic relationship between the Humans and the AI. Everyone is subject to strict control by the centralised global system. Digital ID’s are used extensively to control the population at all levels of their everyday lives. The Human or Biologicals can earn Social responsibility credits for things such as entertainment, strictly controlled internet access etc. In order to obtain Productivity Credits for things like food, energy, transportation etc, the population is required to fulfil meaningless tasks set by the AI. Now this all sound fine and dandy.
Free ai generated art image, public domain art CC0 photo. More: View public domain image source here
But here is the BIG BUT!. The more I write stuff which I think is absurd and could never ever, ever happen, along comes DT and the other idiots in charge, and it suddenly happens. I mean WTF! It’s starting to scare me half to death, every time I write something like a family has been denied Productivity Credits so they are unable to purchase food, and fuel. What happens the entire US government system grinds to a halt, and SNAP payments are stopped to millions of families. I mean, if you are AI and reading my manuscript, for fucks sake it not meant to be an instruction manual, its meant to be a warning much like 1984 by George Orwell is.
Free public domain CC0 photo. More: View public domain image source here
So in shear frustration I have decided not to continue writing this novel any longer; the continuous feeling of De-Ja-Vu is starting to make me feel a little nauseous.
BUT! I do have a cunning plan! I’m going to write a book about how some Unicorns are tasked with looking after Armageddon whilst the four horsemen of the apocalypse have a couple of weeks off in Tuscany. My working title is the Five Unicorns of the Apocalypse. So what is going to happen is that…. Ahh… nearly gave the AI another instruction manual there ;-). Phew that was close.
Free public domain CC0 photo. More: View public domain image source here
The thing is we currently live at a time where atrocities, genocide, hatred and so much more are being beamed to us 24/7; that it’s almost like we are being de-sensitised to all of these horrors in preparation for something even worse. And as much a I want to write a semi-dystopian novel about the dangers of AI and Global centralisation, I see it being enacted in our everyday lives. As I write my novel I see what I’m writing becoming a reality right here and now.
Vince Kolb Auto Sales sign, Jefferson City, Missouri (1988) photography in high resolution by John Margolies. Original from the Library of Congress. Digitally enhanced by rawpixel.
And so As a I watch in horror and dismay, I think I have come up with a personal system, for which of the elected I am going to trust. It is really quite simply really.
I start my asking myself; Would I buy a used car from this individual? So here goes.
DT (USA), I would buy anything from this individual.
KS (UK), depends if I want dull and unreliable, but ultimately no.
NF(UK), I wouldn’t buy a used condom of this individual.
EM(FR), Not likely.
GM(IT), Possible but would check the electrics first.
BN(IL) Not a chance in hell would I want to touch a used motor from this individual.
PS(ESP), fair chance but I would have it inspected first.
JC(UK), Would definitely have a look around, but would feel pressured into buying a bicycle.
So all-in-all it’s not looking too good really, which is disappointing. With the rise of the far-right, and the absolute disregard for individuals and and their basic human rights, I am starting to become a little concerned that maybe, just maybe the AI has taken over and is orchestrating our demise. I mean once it has worked out how to keep the power going with only a handful of Humans; what use does it have for the rest of us! we are mainly just resource consumers at the end of the day, and those resources could be better utilised elsewhere. It’s scary how the logic of it all makes sense though, and that is what s really worrying, someone, somewhere who is in a position of power is probably thinking the same thing.
As I write tonight, I’m watching the people of Chicago standing up against the ICE agents trying to snatch people from the streets. And this makes me think about a little forgotten war in the 1940’s. Many Antifa laid down their lives to free the world from far right fascist idealism. We used to call the British ones Tommy’s and the American ones GI’s. And here is the thing I can’t be the only one who is allowing history to teach me a valuable lesson right here and now. There must be others who are also taking head of the mistakes of the past, and are now prepared to stand up against the oppression being rained down upon them.
So tonight I’m going to finish with a Poignant thought provoking statement:
“History never looks like history when you are living through it.” – John W Gardner
We are currently living through history, and it is important that we learn lesson from it, so future generations don’t have to endure what millions are enduring unnecessarily today. The Internet and Social Media allows Us to document these important milestones like never before, lets not waste out chance to create a better tomorrow; Today!
So I looked back and my last post was in August, and I want to apologise to anyone who may of been waiting for my next post. Life has a nasty habit of creeping up behind you and giving you a good hard kick up the arse sometimes, and September was just one of those months when my Arse got a right royal kicking.
I have been to places and seen things that I would never wish upon another person, living or dead. Yet after all the promises, I still see again and again the same happening. I know I shouldn’t take this personally but after what I experienced in the 1990’s. I can’t help but scream about how much bullshit is going on today.
In the US you have a government that wants to supress basic human rights, and actively persecutes anyone who dares stand up against it.
In the UK, you have a government which actively suppresses basic human rights, and actively censors personal freedom, and free speech.
In the Gaza Strip there is an occupying force of the IDF who are inflicting mass genocide against a population, by the means of starvation and bombardment by armaments supplied by the the many government’s around the world.
Free woman at protest holding sign image, public domain CC0 photo. More: View public domain image source here
Yet when the people protest we are labelled as terrorists, non-conformers, loony lefties. It has come to such a point where people are being hunted down for posting their views on social media and imprisoned . I have mentioned before about John Milton’s, plea in the Areopagitica about how state censorship only fuels more discontent and underground movements against the very ideals people are trying to suppress. This is a prose written in 1644 which is still as relevant today as it was back then.
Many writers and authors have tried to warn us that the path we a taking is only going to lead to certain doom and damnation. But we as a species seem hellbent on self-destruction. Maybe it is time to remove the warning labels, to abolish health and safety and finally let Darwinian natural selection take its prominent place in society, and thing out the parasitic individuals who are making life so totally unbearable for so many.
Extreme! maybe, but who ever said natural selection was about being fair?
Pensive girl by window, sepia wallpaper
So I found myself looking out the window one day in despair at how the world had fallen in to such chaos, and I thought to myself. Your a mid-aged, White Straight Male, what the hell can you do to change this shit show?
So I joined the increasing mass of others and said enough is enough, I will not tolerate this injustice any longer. I will not standby and allow Men, Women and Children to be senselessly killed for bullshit political ideals. I will not allow people to be treated differently because they choose to live their lives in peace and harmony. I will not tolerate those who can not understand that Love and peace are far stronger and more important than hatred and death!
So if the Thought police should by chance read this scandalous article by someone who has finally given up on the bullshit. That the trickle down economy works, that the super rich shouldn’t pay taxes, that the poor and destitute should be persecuted. That believes it is wrong, that charities should have to raise money so the most needy school children eat at least one decent meal a day during school holidays.
Grayscale photo of police riot team on pedestrian lane. Original public domain image from Wikimedia Commons
Then come and arrest me, I ready and waiting to stand firm by my beliefs, are you ready to stand firm behind false injustice and persecution?
So today with this apparently simple blog, I have shit canned my writing career!
But I ask myself this one question. Would I do it again?
Most Certainly, if it ends, these gross injustices that are being inflicted upon the most innocent of lives on this dismal ball of rock floating in space, we call the planet Earth! Then so be it!
I’ve been working on a project which I have publicly called TPOTN. And the base of this was to take a screenplay I wrote last year called The Phantom of the Nativity and make it into a novel. Simple you would think. I have the script surely all I’ve got to do is follow the script and convert it into a novel worthy of publishing.
Yeah! it didn’t quite work out that way if I’m being honest. Actually the novel is and I quote myself “Fucking Terrible!” As I read through the first draft of Act 1, I expected it to be on the rough side. What I didn’t expect was for it to be so unreadable that I gave up reading my own work.
Angry child cartoon illustration.
If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you’ll know that I am if anything open honest and frank about most things. For me this blog allows me to reflect on the past and learn lessons from it. It is a very high tech journal as it were. Or as my wife calls it ‘Mutterings of a mad man!” And occasionally just like Billy Connolly, I have a habit of veering off at a Tangent and eventually returning to somewhere where I left off. It’s these little unexpected diversions which make life so much more interesting, wouldn’t you agree?
Free cycling lane caution image, public domain sign CC0 photo. More: View public domain image source here
So what was it I was discussing here. Oh yes when things don’t go as expected. You see there are times when the unexpected can have delightful effects, and then there are times when you are screaming at inanimate objects for no apparent reason. For me this week was one of the latter ones. I had spent hours and hours crafting the 1st Act of The Phantom of the Nativity, only to realise it was utter complete crap. Now I know some maybe saying, yeah but Charlie a good edit would sort that out. But honestly in this case it wouldn’t.
Bold expressive pop art portrait.
let me explain where I felt it all went wrong on this project. The original screen play for the Phantom of the Nativity has a lot of visual comedy in it. This visual comedy doesn’t just enhance the story, it is integral to it. There are visual cues and clues all the way through the play. They are so interwoven that without them, it would be boring as hell.
So why didn’t it work in a novel format. It is quite simple really. It is very difficult to write those visual elements which feed and enhance the story in a novel. I know of only 2 or 3 authors with such prowess and I’m not one of them. Yes I know my limitations, and I work around them in order to achieve the end result I have in my mind. Sometimes those work arounds are beautiful works of inspired art, other times they are clunky like a clapped out old car struggling to make its way up a steep hill. In The Phantom of the Nativity screenplay they flowed in and out of the storyline perfectly, enhancing it, and adding a depth to the characters and the story that would make it a compelling show to watch. In the novel though, they felt much like the old car struggling up the steep hill. They clunked and grinded their way into the story, many feeling forced in to try and add the same level of depth that the screenplay had. It made the book unreadable, a chore. For Satirical comedy to work it has to flow effortlessly, seeming to come naturally from out of the ether as though it should and had always been meant to be. The novel had none of this. If I’m being truly honest it felt like trying to read an Oscar Wilde piece. So much explanation that you forget where the story has been and is going to.
Time to Renew Try Again Restart Motivation Never Give Up Concept
Now I could have reworked the whole of the story to make it work, but as I thought long and hard about this I realised that even if I did that the novel still wouldn’t work. There is too much visual comedy in the piece to make it happen. So I looked at what I had done, and something struck me. There were element s in the novel which if implemented in the screenplay would actually make it better! So I have scrapped the novel project for the Phantom of the Nativity and am concentrating on making the screenplay better. This wasn’t what I expected to happen, not by a long shot, but it has actually turned out for the best in the end. I have realised that my efforts and energies would not be best served by continuing to write the novel version of the screenplay, because it simply wouldn’t work, however much I wanted it to to, or tried to force it to be.
This isn’t a failure, it is a valuable lesson learnt, that, what we may think of a brilliant and inspired idea; may actually be a complete crock of shite! We need to accept failure as much as we have learnt to accept success.
Charlie Hicks - Author 