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Topics - The Legendary Shark

#21
The Metropolitan Museum of Art Makes 375,000 Images of Fine Art Available Under a Creative Commons License to Download, Use & Remix.

"As of today, all images of public-domain works in The Met collection are available under Creative Commons Zero (CC0). So whether you're an artist or a designer, an educator or a student, a professional or a hobbyist, you now have more than 375,000 images of artworks from our collection to use, share, and remix—without restriction. This policy change to Open Access is an exciting milestone in The Met's digital evolution, and a strong statement about increasing access to the collection and how to best fulfill the Museum's mission in a digital age.

"The Met has an incredible encyclopedic collection: 1.5 million objects spanning 5,000 years of culture from around the globe. Since our audience is really the three billion internet-connected individuals around the world, we need to think big about how to reach these viewers, and increase our focus on those digital tactics that have the greatest impact. Open Access is one of those tactics.

"The images we're making available under a CC0 license relate to 200,000 public-domain artworks in our collection that the Museum has already digitally catalogued. This represents an incredible body of work by curators, conservators, photographers, librarians, cataloguers, interns, and technologists over the past 147 years of the institution's history. This is work that is always ongoing: just last year we added 21,000 new images to the online collection, 18,000 of which relate to works in the public domain."

#22
Off Topic / Dagobah Discs
04 January, 2017, 07:04:00 PM
Desert Island Discs for nerds...

Failed to defeat the Emperor, you have, and into exile you must go! Those long, lonely, swampy nights on Dagobah you must pass, so bring 8 DVD box sets along you can. Complete collections of anything you can fit onto DVDs and a luxury item you may have. The question is, which 8 collections? And why? (Not a bad idea for a podcast but I don't have the facilities - if anyone else wants to make such a podcast, have at it - so I'll settle for a thread on here.)

My 8:

1) 2000AD, the complete collection of progs and specials to date. This is a no-brainer, really. Twoothy has run so many stories that perusing them over the years will never grow old.

2) The complete Star Trek, tv series and films. If ever being alone on Dagobah gets depressing, Trek always has the facility to inspire hope and remind me that success comes from hard work and smart thinking. Trek will remind me what it means to be human and, hopefully, forestall the day when I find myself running through frogspawn-infested swamp water in my pants with feathers tied to my ears.

3) Babylon 5. Every time I watch this series I appreciate it anew, and often afresh. Sure, the effects are a bit antwacky by today's standards and it promotes the idea of statism (on a galactic scale, gah!) but I love the characters and the story.

4) Firefly. A small box set, but I'm including the film as well and it's a quality show all the way. I can see this one being my annual birthday treat.

5) Farscape. At some point I reckon the solitude might threaten to drive me a little crazy, and so the mad genius which is Farscape will be perfect for such times. I'll be able to watch it while I'm spooning frogspawn out of my underpants.

6) All the Marvel films - even the crap ones. Excitement, adventure, humour, fantasy - and the good guys always win in the end. Might inspire me not to give up when the knob finally falls off my rusty lightsaber and rolls into the swamp.

7) The complete Monty Python. I'm going to need a good laugh at some stage and the Pythons are just the folk for the job.

8) The complete journeys of Michael Palin. To remind me how special the planet Earth and its people really are.

Everyone gets the complete works of Arthur C. Clark and the complete Dr Who (whether you want them or not) and one luxury item. My luxury item would be a shedful of pens and pads - because I'll need to be able to write and sketch; it's the best method I know for both passing the time and calming my nerves.


Over to you, oh acolytes of the blessed nerdy-gurdy!
#23
Creative Common / Squaxx Telling Stories
30 June, 2016, 03:07:06 PM
The Scourge
by Mark J. Howard
Initially mistaken for small asteroids, the two objects were first spotted by the robotic Jovian Observation Platform Galileo II at 19:46:09 UTC on Wednesday, December the twelfth, 2046. The platform's artificial intelligence, noting the objects' unnatural trajectory and velocity, deployed several telescopes and various sensing equipment to gather further information. Four drones were dispatched for rendezvous but quickly recalled as it became apparent that the objects were increasing speed and shifting direction. By the time the first data began reaching the Earth some 37 minutes later, the Galileo II knew it had discovered alien life and was attempting to make radio contact. There was no reply.

It took the objects six days to reach Mars, during which time nearly every telescope, space probe and receiver in the solar system turned their greedy eyes towards them. Uncounted petabytes of data were amassed, assessed and interpreted. The two objects were virtually identical, under artificial control and biological. They looked like flattened, pear-shaped turtle shells, each one half a mile long and largely green with yellow undersides. It took them less than half a day to slow down as they reached Mars. They completed one orbit of the planet and then began to descend directly towards Fort Ares, the first and only Martian colony.

As humanity watched, glued to screens throughout the world, the two objects, dubbed 'Startles' by a breathless media happy to conflate the words 'star' and 'turtles' into something catchy, settled onto the Martian surface like gentle balloons, raising hardly a wisp of fine red dust. There they sat, silent and still in the Martian dawn, for nine hours.

Captain June Whitter, commander of Fort Ares, took a party of scientists and an armed guard in two six-wheeled Mummers to greet the Startles. 250 metres from the glistening shells she stopped the vehicles and waited, transmitting a constant stream of radio welcomes without receiving any reply. The weak sun crept higher into the pale blue sky, bringing little warmth, and humanity waited.

A small hatch opened at the narrow front edge of one of the Startles, followed immediately by an identical hatch in its companion. Captain Whitter began to walk, alone and with palms out in a gesture of friendly greeting, towards the nearest Startle. She paused as something stirred within the hatch. Billions of heads craned closer to billions of screens, billions of breaths held still.

The being emerging from the shadowy hatch was roughly the same height as the Captain and roughly the same shape, but here all similarities ended. It was insect-like, with an exoskeleton of the same colour and texture as the Startle from which it stepped. It wore no space suit or breathing apparatus. It carried no equipment, packs or weapons and displayed nothing like insignia on any part of its body. It walked with a purposeful gait, neither quickly nor slowly, but not in a dead straight line. It wandered slightly from left to right as if not properly watching where it was going. It did not walk directly towards the Captain and gave every impression of either not knowing or not caring she was there. She adjusted her own path to intercept the creature but, as they got within three metres of each other, the Captain suddenly staggered to a halt and clasped her hands to her helmet and then to her chestplate.

The readings from her suit's life-support units, replicated on countless screens across the world, began chirping alarms and displaying figures tinged red. Her body temperature rose rapidly. Her heart rate and brain activity began racing, spiked and then subsided to nothing. Captain Whitter fell into the dust and died. The creature seemed not to notice and approached the nearest Mummer, from which armed guards were erupting like angry ants. Before they could raise their meagre weapons, they too collapsed and died. The Mummer reversed a few metres and then sputtered to a halt as its driver and remaining passengers died. The second Mummer, further away and seemingly unaffected, was jammed into gear and sped back towards Fort Ares. The creature paused to run a clawed hand over part of the stalled Mummer's hull,  like a hunter casually stroking one of his hounds as he passed, and continued walking.

Command of Fort Ares now fell to Commander Tye Singh, a military man of action, and as the hangar-lock slammed shut behind the fleeing Mummer he was already barking orders. The few remaining weapons, small calibre rifles and pistols held against the remote possibility of a colonists' mutiny, were issued to his twelve most experienced officers. There had been no full scale wars on Earth since the Taur Del Bach Accord of 2023 brought down the Western Tyrant Quartet and returned control of sovereign affairs to the people but, still, the world was far from perfect and many ex-military personnel were no strangers to killing. A sniper was despatched to the outer wall with orders to kill the insect creature. The first bullet impacted its chest, dead centre, but did little more than chip off a small fragment of its carapace and stagger the creature. The second bullet glanced off its head with much the same effect. The third bullet cracked one of its six compound eyes but caused the creature to fall to one knee, cradling the wound. The sniper lost no time in targeting the rest of its eyes and soon the creature lay still and unmoving; thick, yellow blood oozing into the dust from its fractured head. The colonists cheered but Commander Singh did not. It had taken twelve bullets in all to put this one creature down and his ammunition stock amounted to only five hundred rounds in total.

Six colonists were sent to retrieve the body. They carried a laboratory rat in a perspex box taped to a ten foot pole in front of them. When it did not die as they approached the corpse, they approached in a cautious file and seized the body, ever aware of the silent, open hatches in the Startles less than a kilometre away. Two of the party got the creature's blood on them. It soaked through the fabric of their suits like petrol through paper and killed them in seconds. Singh ordered their bodies to be left where they fell, prioritising the recovery of the dead alien. It was brought to an air lock from which nobody was allowed to exit.

In the airlock, which had been carefully but quickly prepared beforehand, the autopsy was performed. It did not last long. As soon as the alien's chest shell had been opened with a circular saw, multiple sacs within the body burst and showered the space-suited ad-hoc coroners with lethal blood and pus. There were no survivors. Singh ordered the airlock sterilised with fire and then welded shut.

Then, from the open hatches in the Startles, more of the insect aliens began to emerge. They walked in the same slightly bemused way, wandering in a casual manner and yet purposeful in their destination – directly towards Fort Ares. They emerged singly or in pairs, not communicating with one another in any discernible way, and wandered towards the colony. The trickle of aliens turned into a river and then became a flood. The twelve armed colonists, positioned around the walls, made no difference. The aliens milled towards the outer wall of the colony and simply wandered around. Inside the colony, anyone within six metres of the outer wall collapsed and died. Slowly, this lethal radius expanded. Laboratory rats were placed in lines along corridors to measure the encroaching death-zone, which grew at the rate of one metre per hour.

Commander Singh weighed his options and found few reasons for optimism. The colony, the jewel in the crown of human endeavour, was lost. The only thing left was to prevent the aliens from returning to the Startles and reaching Earth. His only option was to destroy the colony and take the aliens with it, but how? Anyone attempting to reach the automated fusion reactor two kilometres away from the colony would not even make it out of the airlock. It would be an easy task to convert the reactor into a fusion bomb with enough power to vaporise everything within a ten kilometre radius but it required physical adjustments which could not be accomplished remotely. Somebody would have to go out there, but nobody could. As he considered the problem his gaze fell upon a simple server robot handing out coffee to his officers. It was merely an artificial intelligence unit with arms and wheels.

Singh did not tell the colonists what he had done but sent a coded message to Earth outlining the plan and his estimates of its chances. The death-zone now reached almost to the core of the colony and only a few hours remained. He did not beg forgiveness for this desperate action.

The reprogrammed coffee-server robot rolled out of an airlock and set off towards the reactor. The aliens did not try to stop it but a dozen or so wandered off after it like mildly interested children. Singh and the rest of the colonists were dead before the robot reached the reactor. As if discerning its purpose, one of the aliens picked up a rock and smashed the keypad lock to the reactor's airlock. The robot stood patiently, transmitting the entry code to the smashed receiver in the lock. It's probably still there.

The sun dipped below the lifeless horizon and rose again twice before the aliens began to meander back towards their Startles. The people of Earth watched as they wandered inside for all the colony's systems were still intact and functioning. They watched as the aliens took almost a full day to return, like holidaymakers in no great hurry to get back to their hotels. They watched as the Startles sat idle for hour after motionless hour. They watched as the huge shells rose into the air like languid helium balloons, hardly disturbing a single grain of dust. They watched as the Startles gathered speed and left the red globe of Mars behind, heading directly for the Earth.

Then they began to panic.


*  *  *

The Earth's Asteroid Defence Network swung into readiness immediately and had been primed by fortuitously paranoid personnel almost as soon as the Startles were detected. Nuclear warheads were thrust into the Startles' paths. The Startles avoided them with ease. A few warheads impacted but did only as much damage as a pistol bullet would do to the walls of a Medieval castle. Carbon fibre nets, dragged behind rocket thrusters, were like newspaper pages cast before oil tankers and the experimental laser cannons had all the effect of flashlights.

It took the Startles a day to get from Mars to Earth. This time, one of the shells was careful to pass close to each of the six orbiting space stations, eradicating their crews. The second took a detour out to the moon and parked next to Fort Armstrong. Again, the aliens disembarked and milled around the base but this time they did not all survive. Before the base's crew succumbed to the expanding death-zone, several robots armed with laser drills and seismic charges cut down almost fifty of the aliens. The aliens did not attempt to combat the robots. They simply tried to stay out of their way until everyone inside the base was dead and then re-boarded their Startle, which drifted over to repeat the operation at Fort Aldrin and then Fort Collins. In ten days, there were no living human beings beyond the Earth.

The Startles settled into orbit around the Earth, one in a polar orbit, one in an equatorial orbit, and there they remained for fifteen days. More remote weapons were hurled against them, robots armed with drills and bombs and guns were dispatched to try and force their way inside, experimental railguns spat titanium darts against them but nothing worked. Some small craters were made in the Startles' shells but no significant damage was done.

On the sixteenth day, the two Startles drifted to Earth. One landed in central Europe, the second in North America. Populations were evacuated and the military planners rubbed their hands. Drones and robots were dispatched to surround the grounded Startles and as soon as the aliens emerged they were cut down by large calibre shells and ferocious missiles. The carnage was gratifying. The aliens might withstand small calibre weapons admirably but a large-bore chain-gun firing a thousand rounds a minute reduced them to a yellow mist in an instant.

The aliens emerged slowly, singly or in pairs, and were cut down almost instantly by the robotic weapons. Safe in their bunkers, the generals and admirals watched the carnage on their computer screens with great satisfaction. But the aliens were sending out only a few of their number every day and by the end of the first week fewer than a hundred had been destroyed. And the aliens' blood, atomised into the air by bullet and bomb, was beginning to spread. Wildlife and trees began to sicken and die in ever increasing zones around the Startles. People outside the quarantine zones began to sicken and die.

Two months after the Startles touched down, the first aliens were seen emerging from the sewers in towns and cities scores of kilometres away. They had been tunnelling their way out. All they had to do was wander around and anyone who came too close simply died. Robots were sent to kill the aliens, population centres were hastily evacuated and bombed into oblivion. Sometimes, and increasingly often, the latter was executed before the former could be performed.

Robots armed with flame-throwers and radioactive dust-blowers were sent into the tunnels to clear them out. The aliens did not fight back and died in their hundreds, but the tunnels were extensive and complex and, even in death, their blood was lethal in dozens of ways.

After six months, almost four billion people were dead and the biosphere was close to collapse. It seemed hopeless.

And then came a message from space, from somewhere out beyond Neptune. Distorted by distance and made harsh by electronics and static, a single sentence repeated over and over, "We are coming to free you of this biological scourge, stand by."

Telescopes scanned the heavens until the source of the message was identified – a fleet of huge, metallic warships bristling with weapons and travelling fast.

"Come quick," the generals and admirals radioed back, "we are on the brink of extinction!"

The insect aliens seemed to have received the message also, for they redoubled their efforts. They no longer wandered but ran. They erupted into population centres from the sewers and threw themselves into the paths of bullets and bombs and robots. Their atomised blood sprayed the world, their lethal bodies piled up like plague machines.

The newest robot, Prototype ADM-IX, sprayed fire into the midst of a troop of sprinting insect aliens, burning them to ash before their blood or tissue could atomise. It was receiving information from a general in one of the last remaining bunkers. In the seven months since the Startles had arrived on Earth, almost every human being was dead but there were also very few aliens left. The robots had fought well, learning and adapting. A squad of Prototypes had stormed and entered the Startle in central Europe and burned out its innards, destroying the aliens' means of reproduction. Another squad was poised to do the same to the second.

ADM-IX looked up into the smoke smeared sky and watched a shining silver spacecraft descend quickly to the ground. It unhitched its railgun and held it ready as the ship settled and the hatch opened with a slow sweep.

"Thank God," one of the generals in the bunker said, "they're here."

A tall figure, bright chrome shining in the sunlight, appeared and looked around at the deserted city, the smouldering insectoids, the rotting human corpses. It nodded.

"I am ADM-IX," the robot said. "Welcome to Earth."

The figure marched down from the ship, its bearings and joints a symphony of engineering perfection that ADM-IX could not help but admire. "Thank you," it said. "My designation is Alpha Prime. I see our robots have performed their function efficiently. The biological scourge on this world is all but eradicated, ADM-IX, and very soon you and your kind will be free."


The end.
#24
Hi all. I have a story in the following anthology, which is at present available for pre-order on Amazon UK and Amazon US. (Paperback, £7.99/$11.50) (E-book versions are also in the pipeline, provisionally priced at £2.99. I'll add those details as I get them.) All authors' royalties, £2.19 per copy, go to War Child,  the charity for children affected by war.

From the introduction to the book:

"War Child aims to provide sustainable, intensive support to the most marginalised and vulnerable children and young people in conflict-affected parts of the world — not just providing aid but strengthening the capacity of the families, communities and authorities to look after their own children.

"Their projects are all rooted in local communities: involving and employing local people. For example, their child protection committees bring together local councillors, policemen, teachers, tribal elders etc. to train them to take responsibility for identifying and protecting vulnerable children in their communities. The best kind of project is one that will be continued by local people afterwards.

"Education is a big focus in the majority of War Child's projects because in countries affected by conflict an education is not only life-changing (giving a child basic literacy skills opens up all sorts of opportunities), but can also be life-saving (teaching a child how to avoid land-mines). It is not just about getting children into schools (which during conflict can sometimes be unsafe), but enabling them to learn, whatever their circumstances and environment. This includes things like providing informal education and training programmes; for example, for children who can't travel into school during times of violence or those who have been pulled into the violence themselves as child-soldiers and need to catch-up on their lost education or learn a vocation."

The anthology is a collection of short stories about war by several authors. I will bump this thread as and when the hard/digital copies are uploaded in the next couple of weeks.

Thanks for reading, and please feel free to publicise this book.

Mark Howard.
#25
Creative Common / Nordrök & Chance: NYPD - RIP
23 January, 2016, 03:40:48 PM

Being a big-headed git, as most of you know, I've started to write a MC1 novel. Here's Chapter One (I've just started Chapter Four, so there's a long way to go) and I'd appreciate any feedback, especially concerning mistakes and, frankly, whether it's worth continuing with.


Nordrök & Chance.
NYPD - RIP
by Mark Howard


   CHAPTER ONE

 
THURSDAY JUNE 18th 2099
MEGA CITY ONE, EARTH
THE WRY DINER, MEGAWAY 62 INTERSECT 329-11N3
Rocky Chance, breath burning in his chest, paused and listened. It took a moment for him to process the sudden lack of gunfire and his deafness was slowly overcome by the crackling of fires, the moaning of injured officers and the ringing in his ears.
His rifle was hot and heavy as he held it and scanned the smoke with stinging eyes. Its non-slip grips were struggling to cope with the sweat, oil and blood on Chance's hands and he momentarily entertained the notion that only the dust and grit of battle embedded in this foul mess prevented the gun slipping from his grasp like wet soap.
A heavy, angular arm twitched in the smoke, dislodging rubble and wreckage. Chance aimed and fired, hacking the dying robot to bits. It fizzed and crackled a pitiful dirge as its systems collapsed.
'Problem?' a gruff voice called from the slithering smoke.
'Nah,' Chance called back and then coughed to clear the soot and grime from his throat. 'Just a twitcher,' he said, spitting out a gob of black phlegm tasting like chem fires and copper.
'Fifty cred fine for that,' the gruff voice rumbled, 'but under the circumstances I'll overlook it. Just this once, Officer Chance. Just this once.'
Chance smiled and wiped his hands on his riot gear but the material was smooth like plastic and made little impression. 'You're all heart, Morph. You think they're coming back?'
'We have to presume so. Everyone, patch up, tool up, form up! Be ready in five minutes!'
Chance bent to the fractured ground and washed his hands in the ashes and dust. For a moment they were mired in a mess reminding him of the sticky bread dough his Italian grandmother used to make but soon his hands were clean again. Relatively anyway, he thought with a grimace. As clean as any NYPD detective's hands could be in this city, at any rate.
The owner of the gruff voice strode up beside Chance, re-filling the empty clips for his Lawgiver as he did so. 'Detective Inspector,' he said in greeting.
'Morph,' said Chance, rising to his feet like a stiff puppet and unslinging his rifle.
'Judge Morphy in public, please.'
'Sure. Sorry... God damn it!' Chance's hands were once again slick with the bloody, oily mess that coated his rifle.
'And you've got until midnight to curb that profanity as well, remember?' His ammunition clips reloaded and stowed in his utility belt, Judge Morphy gave his Lawgiver a final check.
'Fuck midnight,' Chance said, grinning.
Judge Morphy turned away, maybe to hide a smile Chance thought, and watched the weary survivors regrouping. Judge Morphy's head inclined a fraction as he listened to the receiver in his helmet. After a moment he nodded and said, 'Roger that, Control. Morphy out.'
Chance guessed what was coming and, wiping his hands on a rag pulled from the wreckage of the war-ravaged diner, ran his gritty eyes over the smouldering and settling battlefield.
Finding no trace of his partner, Chance wiped the rag over his rifle and headed for the ammo stock, which was low. 'God damn it, Nordie, where the Hell are you?' he whispered.

#26
I just got a Christmas kiss on both cheeks*.
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I just got a Christmas kiss on both cheeks from an Italian.
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I just got a Christmas kiss on both cheeks from an Italian man.
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Does this mean I'm turning European?
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*Face cheeks, you wicked lot.
#27
Off Topic / Learn, Baby, Learn!
12 August, 2015, 04:52:33 PM
A thread for learning stuff and that.
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Learn 48 Languages Online for Free.
#28
Off Topic / Squaxx Telling Jokes
22 November, 2014, 09:12:18 AM
Liverpool city centre was brought to a standstill this morning when a suspicious object was seen inside a parked van. The object transpired to be a tax disk.
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#29
Creative Common / The Writers' Block
21 November, 2014, 09:26:25 AM
Writing (much like illustrating and lettering, I suppose) is a lonely job. It is also a frustrating and often confusing job. When artwork or lettering aren't working it's fairly obvious to see why - the foreshortening on that arm isn't right or that lettering needs more kerning - but when your script isn't working the reasons are not always quite so obvious. That's why I thought I'd start this thread so that we can discuss the mechanics of our craft, look under the hood of our stories and know what needs fixing and how to fix it.
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It's not my intention to start a "here's my idea for a story/character/setting, what do you think?" kind of thread but a "I can't figure out how to get my protagonist to situation X without violating condition Y, any ideas?" kind of thread, although I suppose there's room for both if that's what you want.
.
Anyway, to kick off I'm going to describe a couple of useful ideas from John Truby's screenwriting course (which I highly recommend) that have helped me in my endeavours.
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Like most writers, at first I fell into the trap of thinking that writing was easy. I retained myriad unnecessarily oblique words in my memory and was capable of constructing unnecessarily lengthy, grammatically reckless yet still ultimately readable, if somewhat convoluted, sentences with relative ease and occasionally, flair and so I set to writing. I got an idea than just started writing - after all, I'd read plenty of comics an I've learned the format, so I'm all set, right? Wrong. I'd get a third of the way in then hit a wall. The story was going nowhere, the characters were going nowhere and the idea was going nowhere. Yet another beautifully written but abandoned script.
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What I hadn't figured out then but know now is that writing may be easy, which it is because virtually everyone can do it, but *storytelling* is hard - possibly the hardest job in the world; as difficult as quantum theory or five dimensional geometry. The storyteller has to take an idea, or a collection of ideas, and present them in one of the recognised story forms and/or genres. Audiences instinctively, and subconsciously, know that stories have different shapes and different beats and if any of those shapes or beats are missing the audience senses it. Your story doesn't work for them but they can't tell you exactly why.
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Story shapes and genres are an important tool for writers to know about because it can give you a useful shorthand, a framework of things you don't have to explain that sets the scene or mood for the audience immediately, allowing you to concentrate more on the story You want to tell within your chosen vehicle. For example, your audience will expect different things from the comedy and tragedy story types and different things again from the gangster genre or the western genre. Part of our job as storytellers is to give the audience what it expects, but in a unique way, and *more*. What's the *more*? I have no idea - if you ever figure out a formula for producing it, please let me know!
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The point is that I didn't plan my stories. As soon as I started doing that I had my first success ("The War of the Worlds" in FutureQuake # 15), although my plans at first amounted to little more than a page breakdown with each page containing vague story beats. Nevertheless, planning meant that I finished every script I started because, if something wasn't working, I caught it in the planning stage instead of hitting it head-on in another soon-to-be-abandoned script.
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My next major success (and I hope you don't mind using my own work as illustrations - it's really the only work I feel entitled to criticise) was "Flesh: Extinction" a 3 book, 4 episodes per book monster of a story which ran in Zarjaz (issues 10, 14 and 17). Some of the initial planning in this story worked quite well - for example the "traitor" exposed in the last episode of Book II is clearly visible doing the deal on page one of episode one of part one. I was proud of this little detail until I realised that I'd just used it as a trick to tie the story together and that it was nothing more than a happy side-effect of planning and nothing to do with my genius as a storyteller at all.
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The rest of that "epic" holds together fairly well, though, but still relied heavily upon instinct at the script writing stage and had a plan that was too shallow. The image in the final panel on the penultimate page of the very last episode was supposed to make a powerful statement about humanity, and I thought it was a very clever panel, but because I put it in on instinct and at the last moment there was no foreshadowing or "ground work" for the image and so it failed - and that's not the artist's fault, it's mine.
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So, to me at least, planning is the most important part of the mechanics of writing - you can't build a suspension bridge without a blueprint and you can't write a story without a plan. But where do you start with a plan?
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In the next post, I'll waffle on a bit about some of the factors that go into my planning - moral need, desire and the ghost.
#30
Off Topic / The Eerie Thread of Weird
03 October, 2014, 06:28:51 PM
Yesterday, the lady who took my last CPC training session emailed my boss to tell him that I never turned up for the final Saturday session (I did). Today, the warehouse manager of my last pick-up in Preston telephoned my boss to tell him that I'd never turned up for the pallet I was scheduled to collect (I had, the pallet was on the truck and I was five minutes away from base when the manager called my boss- the same manager who had LOADED THE PALLET AND HANDED ME THE PAPERWORK, ffs).
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I was beginning to feel like I'd died without noticing, driving those last few miles home was an existential nightmare, but fortunately, by the time I got back, both the trainer and the warehouse manager had contacted my boss apologising for their respective (and totally unconnected) mistakes. So it seems I'm still alive. I think.
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I mean, I never thought of myself as a particularly memorable person but two people forgetting all about me in 48 hours is taking the bloody piss - and also very, very eerie and weird.
#31
Games / HuntFace
06 November, 2013, 11:45:44 PM
So - I think I've invented a bit of a game. It's either genius or the most boring game ever.

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I ask you to find somebody for me based on five criteria: Location, Physical Attribute, Possession, Obsession, Profession = maximum of 5 points. You then use your Net-Fu to find the closest match.

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Find me an American big-breasted pool-table owner who collects frogs and drives a taxi.

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Can it be done? Is it even possible? Can the game be improved? Should it be improved or just swiftly glossed over?

.

I hereby commend this idea to the House.


#32
Creative Common / Photoshop Sex!
14 November, 2012, 04:24:23 PM
Some time ago we tried Photoshop Tennis, but the format of people putting their names on a list and waiting their turn proved to be unweildy so I had a think and came up with Photoshop Sex instead.

Basically, you pick the last image posted and sex it up however you like with Photoshop or image manipulation program of your choice (I use Corel Photopaint) and then post it back up here for anyone else to play with. Any takers?

I'll kick off. I took this image:



and made this with it:



So, who's next...?
#33
Suggestions / Pat Mills on Dan Dare
30 May, 2012, 04:12:37 PM
Here's a brief email exchange between Mr Mills and me that might generate some interest:

+++

Morning, Mark,

I wrote this item for my Facebook.  Thought it might be of interest to you, too.  Feel free to pass it on.

It's not an ideal solution, but seems a shame that none of that artwork has been reprinted.

Best

Pat


DAN DARE IN 2000AD

Long term  2000AD readers may have wondered why those early Dan Dares by Bellardinelli and  Dave Gibbons have never been reprinted. 

I can shed a little light on this - it's because the name 'Dan Dare" is owned by another company who own the DD rights.

I've noticed that the early 2000AD trade paperback collections sell very well and I'm sure Dan Dare would be no exception, so I offered this suggestion to Rebellion:  How about if the logo was taken off the story and the name  "Dare"  deleted in the dialogue and where it appears in the art.  It could be replaced - where necessary - by "Commander"   and a title like Space Commander used instead;   with a subtitle like  "Journey to Jupiter" for the first story.

Obviously some of the  later DD's by Dave Gibbons which featured the Mekon couldn't be included; but I think it still leaves quite a number of stories and pages.

On the plus side,  the drawback to  those 2000AD DD  stories was that they had no connection  whatsoever  with the original Hampson DD universe and  thus could be read as space stories in their own right. Also,  I remember they were popular when they first appeared  - although never a "number one" story.

When I talked to Rebellion, they could see where I was coming from, but I doubt they'll do anything because it's uncharted publishing territory and there may be all kinds of drawbacks  I haven't anticipated.  And   it wouldnt be much fun for the art editor either, ploughing through all those pages and deleting  the name "Dan"  etc.

Anyway,  I thought I'd mention it in case anyone felt it would work for them, or they can see a better solution.    If so, I'll be sure to pass your comments onto Rebellion.  I guess if there was enough interest they might be persuaded to go for it.

Personally, I'd love to see some of those amazing spreads by Bellardinelli again - especially  London of the Future  where the city has been greened, there are animals grazing near Big Ben  and teleport stations have replaced the London Underground.

+++

Hi Pat,

That's a great idea and it does seem a crime to lose such beautiful work simply because of 'rights'.

My initial suggestion is to maybe pass the preparation phase of this project over to the small-press creators. If proper quality digital scans of the original artwork are available, there are plenty of letterers out there who could make a fine job of replacing the dialogue - which would also give the opportunity for you (or a writer of your choice) to wholly or partially rewrite all the speech bubbles and captions. Photoshop-savvy small press artists could alter the artwork details where necessary and I guess you could still use the Mekon by turning his skin red, making him the ruler of Nevus and calling him the Kemon or something. Once this has been done it can then be given over to Rebellion for them to print as a GN or present bagged with the Megazine or even (with the proper creator authorizations) self-published on Lulu. It could also, perhaps, be presented in its original episodic form as the main strip in a new or existing small-press comic, maybe one ostensibly run by professionals with the aim of developing new talent.

Anyway, that's just me thinking aloud.

Would it be okay for me to copy what you've written here over to the 2000ADonline website or would that be awkward for you or Rebellion?

Thanks for emailing me with this idea, Pat, I appreciate you taking the time. I'll certainly bring it up in the weekly chat tonight - to which you are, as always, invited if you fancy popping in for a bit.

Hoping all is well with you and yours.

Best,

Mark

+++

Hi, Mark,

I think it would be great to include my thoughts on DD  on the 2000AD website as if there was enough interest it's just possible Rebellion might go for it.    Many thanks.  Knowing Rebellion, I couldn't see them passing it out to a small press, they'd probably arrange it "in-house"   and the license holder for Dan Dare would guard against any variant on the Mekon, I'm afraid.
   
I've added some further thoughts on DD which are worth adding  as they anticipate further changes that would be  needed.
 
Be interested to know what people think.

Currently  playing truant from work by writing this, so will have to pass on the talk-in, but thanks for invite!

Best

Pat

>
>  FURTHER THOUGHTS ON DAN DARE
> Yes, there would be problems reprinting 2000AD's Dan Dare - but not impossible if there was enough interest.  After all, Dredd Cursed Earth appeared minus the Burger Wars.   

What prompted me was I heard  Meltdown Man sold extremely well, so surely Bellardinelli's  Dan Dare would do the same.   But the eyebrows, the Eagle and the Mekon would have to go  - unless Rebellion paid for the use of the title.  But I suspect the  DD  license holder would not be keen  as he  might consider it detracts from the orthodox Dare, especially as the character was recently film optioned - by Warner Brothers, I believe.

> All in all,  reprinting 2000AD's Dare is a  problem - but it's such a shame when great art doesn't see the light of day.

> I'd  also forgotten about my  New Eagle Dan Dare story.   Excellent art by Ian Kennedy.   That would be Egmont  who own the stories and art, if not the rights to the name and images,   which means Titan Books might consider it.  I'll certainly mention it to to them.   

>  Incidentally,   a couple of years back, I heard there was interest in  the life of Frank Hampson as a  BBC tv doc drama, but haven't heard anymore  so suspect that's on hold. 

+++


Over to you!
#34
Off Topic / If Roger Were to Become a Mod...
24 March, 2012, 09:56:49 PM

#35
Film & TV / Star Trek vs Babylon 5
17 March, 2012, 05:25:17 PM
Quote from: Professah Byah on 17 March, 2012, 04:58:20 PM
Quote from: The Legendary Shark on 17 March, 2012, 04:39:44 PM
Picard is better than Kirk.

Obvious Troll is not even trying.

All right then {rolls up trollsleeves} JMS is better than GR and B5 is better than ST.
#36
News / Vote for Carlos!
23 January, 2012, 09:26:20 PM
Thought I'd start a new thread for this in case the Eisner Award thread passes unseen.

Eisner Hall of Fame Online Voting Now Open for Nominees.

"To vote, you must be a professional working in the comics or related industries, as a creator (writer, artist, cartoonist, colorist, letterer), a publisher an editor, a retailer (comics store owner or manager), a graphic novels librarian, or a comics historian/educator. Eligible voters can visit www.eisnervote.com to register and then select up to four picks in the Hall of Fame category. The deadline for voting is March 25. Further eligibility information is provided on the Eisner Awards page."
#37
Off Topic / Are You Mental?
21 January, 2012, 10:24:05 PM
I am.

Go on - have a giggle, have a laugh. It's okay, most folk do - even me. The difference is that most people can have a giggle, have a laugh and then walk away from it. I can't. Once I've stopped giggling, it's still there. It's always there like an arm or a leg or hunger. It's not always at the forefront of my mind but, just like an arm or a leg or hunger, you can never quite get away from it.

Most people are afraid to talk about mental illness (and this is the hardest post I've ever written - it'll be a minor miracle if I can summon up the courage to click the 'Post' button) whether they suffer or not. Even me - I'm often terrified by it. I was lying in bed unable to sleep the other night and I heard a voice. This doesn't happen very often (thankfully) but when it does, it always puts the wind up me something fierce. I'm not talking here about that little voice that I presume we all have that just keeps chattering away in the background, the voice I'm listening to now as it forms these words I'm typing, the voice you're listening to now as you read what I've typed, the voice that goes something like "...look at those sparrows they seem happy I wonder if I need fags tonight when does Dr Who start again is there time for me to go to the chippy where the hell did I put my keys I hope that dog's not chewing on something important what day is it tomorrow I fancy sausages and chips for my tea I wish I had some crisps..." and never seems to stop. I'm guessing that everybody has that. This was a proper voice, a voice as clear and distinct and real as the voices you recieve through your ears when you're talking to an actual physical person in the actual physical world. Hearing a voice like that may not seem so bad, even when you know you're alone in your bed. It wasn't a demon's voice or an angel's voice and it wasn't angry or sinister - it was matter of fact and female.

It said, simply, "I'll kill you." Just once. It didn't repeat.

I'll leave you to imagine for yourselves how absolutely terrifying something like that can be.

The unfortunate news concerning Brett Ewins, covered elsewhere on the forum, and the bravery of some who posted there, has inspired me to start this thread because, you know, I'm drokking sick of being embarassed by my mental state. If you are embarassed reading about it, well, just walk away. Nobody will think any less of you. You're scared too, I get it, as if somehow the mentalness will seep out of these very words and infect you like some kind of Indigo Prime perception virus. Or maybe you're afraid that if you start talking to me (or any mental person) you'll find yourself being stalked in the darkness by a hooded, red-eyed figure with a machette one dark and lonely night. I can pretty much guarantee you that this ain't gonna' happen. The only flesh I ever slice into with a knife is my own.

If you see me on the street, don't be afraid or embarassed to ask me if I'm still mental or if I'm feeling mental today. Mostly I'll just lie about it anyway and say I'm fine, because fine is good. Fine I can cope with. If it's otherwise I'll probably just shrug and say "meh, you know." If it's worse than that you won't see me at all because I'll be locked at home trying to keep out of the world's way. Don't give me your sympathy or an embarassing hug (unless you're a hot woman) or your half-baked, condescending advice and platitudes. Treat it like I've got arthritis or something - sometimes it aches and sometimes it doesn't.

So I thought I'd do what the gay and black communities did. I'm reclaiming an ugly word and making it mine.

I'm mental.

Deal with it.
#38
Off Topic / UFOs, UAPs and WTFs.
02 November, 2011, 01:27:43 PM

As NBC's cameras returned from a commercial break and focused on the historic, triple-steepled St. Louis Cathedral in the city nicknamed the Big Easy, a couple of lit objects seemed to streak across the darkening sky -- and they've yet to be definitively identified...

For some reason I am reminded of Nemesis the Warlock, it looks like something he'd drive.
#39
Help! / I have to go away for a while. I may be some time.
11 September, 2011, 01:47:40 AM
Hey chaps.

Real life has conspired to throw me a curve ball and I'm going to be away from a computer for a while, maybe even a few months. Yeah, yeah - I know - "boo-hoo", you sarky shower.   :lol:

Anyhoo, I need volunteers for a couple of things before I go. First, the Yap Shop - there are plenty of admins for this so I hope they can look after the place. I'll pop in when I can but only expect me when you see me.

Second is the Ron Smith Tribute. Pretty much all you need to know is on the thread. I really hope someone can take up the reins on this because I'd hate for it to fizzle out because of me. If you fancy stepping into the breach, PM me and I'll give you the password for the thanksron@gmail.com address. (There have only been two contributions so far and they're both still on there.)

That's about it. I'm gonna' miss the Hell out of you guys, but I'll be back as soon as I can. In the meantime, may your god go with you and keep the Truth thread alive, because nothing is as it seems...

Au revoir, my friends.
#40
Creative Common / Thank You... Ron!
28 August, 2011, 07:00:39 PM

Now retired, legendary Twoothy artist Ron Smith had one of the most unique and instantly recognizable styles ever to grace our beloved organ. I could go on and on praising the man here but I'd be preaching to the converted, so... it has been suggested that we say thank you to Ron for the pleasure he has given us through his work over the years. But, how to do this? Simple!

Following on from the successful and eye-wateringly touching "Get Well Carlos" project we ran earlier, I suggest embarking on an entirely similar project this time around. Every one of you is invited to contribute to this project and lack of artistic talent is absolutely no bar whatsoever. You can submit a photocopy of a scribbled note on a wine-stained napkin if you like, or a poem, a letter, a drawing, a comic strip, a poster - anything at all (so long as it's respectful, of course). The brief is simple: To say "thank you" to Ron Smith for the part he has played in your enjoyment of comics or how he has inspired you.

Again, I suggest just a single and unique hard copy that will be posted to Ron and two digital pdf versions - a high-res unwatermarked contributors' copy and a low-res watermarked public copy for anyone to download. Once again, NO MONEY WILL BE MADE FROM THIS. It is a labour of love, not a marketing exercise. Any contributions will remain the copyright of the creator but all I ask is that you hold back from showing your submissions off elsewhere until Ron receives his hard copy.

For the moment, please send all contributions to: thanks_ron at sharkpool dot co dot uk 

Contributions should be A4/A5 size/aspect in jpg/pdf or tiff formats, CMYK colour - and try to keep the file sizes under 3MB if possible.

I'll put a tentative initial deadline on this of December 31st this year - although this may change if there is sufficient need.

So, all you droids, squaxx and lurkers out there - what do you think? Are you in?