Despite the fact I don’t have any kind of exams or tests for the end of my semester Uni work I did get swept up in the ‘crunch’ of the last few weeks and found very little time to do anything at all. That includes writing, reading, playing video games, updating my blog and drinking heavily.

Hahahaha.

I kid, there is always time to drink heavily.
Nonetheless the usual activities that occupy my time which were squeezed into a back seat position during uni found themselves completely out in the cold during the last few weeks. Then, like a total fuckwit, I thought it a bright idea to start a full time roster the week after I finished my classes. So the time constraints tightened further.

So I’ve been absent based on those grounds. And I’ve really got nothing to write about now, except that my personal life is taking some interesting turns. I generally have a rule of not mentioning anything to do with my angsty personal going-ons in these entries because it makes for poor reading and creates drama. Suffice to say though I’m gonna break that rule for the hell of it.

So the last few months have been interesting. A string of bad, near identical relationships; I meet a girl, wary of getting attatched because I’ve been hurt before. I overcome my fear and paranoia and take the plunge, happily not being rejected wholesale and entering satisfying relationships of varying length. Then at some undefined point when I’ve stopped waiting for something bad to happen and for the other shoe to drop, just enjoying being happy, the latest girl of my dreams turns around and tells me she’s had a change of heart. These things happen, apparently. My resulting bummed-out state isn’t usually helped by the fact that whilst I’m still squatting in a mire of general unhappiness the lovely lass has shot off and found herself a new special friend in the time it’s taken me to process the fact I’ve lost everything, again. Not good times.

So yeah, been around that particular merry go round three times now since I decided it was time to stop hiding in an unhappy little corner and get involved with people. And that’s not even mentioning the ongoing drama of a girl I met, liked, was rejected by and friend-zoned, but then slept with and continued to undergo drama with up until the present day. Turns out the girl is insane - she reckons she has a split-personality disorder or something, which explains her ‘mixed signals’ and all the ongoing bullshit to do with her. Basically it’s just a whole saga of completely pointless good times.

But it’s led to a wonderful learning experience for myself! See, having decided to sort out my feelings about the girl by discussing it with her at length and getting everything out in the open (resultantly learning about the whole ‘I only slept with you because I’m a madwoman.’ thing,) I also discussed my other relationship difficulties in general, resulting in useful advice like ‘go out and find a fuck!’. Because it’s that easy, and that’s what I really want from life.

However we did then discuss the ‘why’ of ‘Ian’s relationships turning to poo’, which has given me new insight into how I should go about making friends and winning hearts.  See I’m generally a nice person. Sensitive, too. I also tend to wear my heart on my sleeve and connect with people quite quickly if there is going to be any kind of connection at all - it doesn’t take me long to decided how I feel about someone.

This, apparently, makes me a scary prospect. Clingy. TOO sensitive. And deciding you like someone quickly is bad - they don’t want to feel loved.

The cure for my ails? I need to be a total dick. Being nice is bad, so I need to treat everyone with contempt and never let anyone know that I appreciate their company or existence. Being likeable doesn’t win you any friends, no so.

Capture hearts by being a cunt.

So next time I go out, I’ll establish my dominance by punching the most attractive woman I can find right in the face, accept my applause and acclaim, then marry her and live happily ever after between her weekly electrocutions and unnecessary sessions of experimental surgery.

Fuck you all.

FG.

I had the severe temptation today to change the little ‘The Blocked Pipe Is…’ descriptor at the top right of this page to something a little different.

The Blocked Pipe is…
That weird guy you always see in the city mumbling to himself. A little person on the internet wrapped up in a straight jacket and placed in the corner out of the way, By Ian Bell.

But then I decided to spend six hours brainstorming my way through an amalgamation of ideas and thoughts in the light of the recent spontaneous collapse of my first ‘Blades of War’ novella. I was at university this morning and instead of heading home to fool around for the rest of the day I sat down in a quiet area of the library and started brainstorming. Hecticly and madly scribbling thoughts and ideas down as a brief spark of inspiration suddenly whipped me across the frontal lobe.

I should explain. The recently completed (and subsequently ganked) novella I wrote was a little thing called ‘The Blades of War: A Darkness At Restop’, a partly absurd and overly cheesy action/sci-fi/war story set in a lunatic universe I had filled a small notebook with (as in I wrote pages upon pages of stuff in relation to the background of this little ’spoof-o-verse’). It featured grossly over-armoured, well equipped and nigh-on invincible ‘Star Marines’ from the Blades of War Star Marines Company fighting daemonic alien/zombie/things. It wasn’t award winning stuff…it was just a little slice of silly fun. The idea was to write lots of these small 100 page books; kinda like the old penny-dreadful pulp fiction books. I was also thinking in terms of comic books; regularly released stuff which doesn’t have the most high-brow plot/dialogue/characters but is entertaining and (usually) cheap.

So where did this idea for The Blades of War come from? Well, it’s basically a self-parody of a serious project I have been working on (and making no progress with) for years and years - the Sundowner Mythos/UPS. In fact I attempted to write a series of articles based on my ideas for this sci-fi universe/franchise and got as far as writing one.  In any case during the second most recent re-think of that idea in general I came up with the idea of The Pariahs - a mysterious elite force who trouble shoot their way through warzones as an army of absolute heroes. It was a cool idea and a much better way of utilizing the Project Hero story arc I’ve always been trying to implement. However by the time all this became the new ‘thing’ I was heading back to university for full time classes and figured trying to write a full-blown, seriously epic novel was bad business. Plus I was wanting to blow off steam and writing something silly and fun.

So the Blades of War were born.  And the first story was a silly, action filledstory. I even wrote up a whole universe of possibilities for future silly works in the same vein. Then the book died and I got a little despondant.

However I really enjoyed writing about the Blades. In addition to that I started to flip out a little as I was reaching the end of the story, wishing I’d thought to make the Blades larger then a seven man squad - I felt like I could really write some awesome Dan Abnett styled combat stuff, but I had limited myself with the style I was writing in. I also had grand plans for over-arching plotlines for the characters, with people being stranded during epic missions and having their own spin-off series of books and stuff. Eventually I took all the little awesome things I was itching to do and filed them under ‘The Pariahs Project’, figuring the awesome ideas should be utilized in the serious business stuff.

Now, with that original Blades of War book in need of a total re-write from just over halfway through the plot, I’m presented with an opportunity. I need to re-write it anyway and I’ve been struggling to implement my original vision of the UPS (which I frustratingly couldn’t seem to change from a blatant copy of Warhammer 40,000 material.). Inspiration struck me; I had this only-slightly silly universe all designed and ready to go, a heart-poundingly thrilling plotline for an initial story and plans for other similar works, cross-overs and even spin-offs. I needed to amalgamate.

I ditched the original design of the United Planetary States and trimmed the design I had for the very silly Confederate Imperium, creating a newer UPS. Then I took the Pariahs and changed them too, into a more serious version of The Blades of War. I took the plotline for A Darkness In Restopl, realized it’s potential for epicness even further and expanded the story to be deeper and less silly. This was all mostly mental, as well. I’ve got a few pages of notes finalizing how all this works.

So all this ended with me sitting in the library filling fifteen A4 pages with background fluff and a detailed unit roster for the United Planetary States Marine Corps 13 Troop; The Pariahs. I’ve been forced into re-writing, but that’s a dispiriting way to look at it. This is the second draft, instead. And it is awesome.

I think the crash was a blessing in disguise. Inspiration has struck and I’m re-writing this thing as a better, meaner version that I can be really proud of. I’m enthused. Enlightened, energized, erratic…

Dangerous.

FG.

[Editorial note on the timeline of this blag; this entry, ‘Mental As Anything’, was written several days before the untimely events described in ‘Call Me Job’ and ‘Aftermath’. Thus the mood is a lot different, but the basic premise of the thoughtful musings remains the same.]

As I write this my other monitor is glowing balefully at me. Rachmaninov’s A Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini plays softly in the background. One of my sub-currents of concious thought is reflecting on the bizarre effects of dark chocolate on the more basic functions of the body and how startling this can be at three in the morning.The monitor continues to glare, a one-eyed cyclops of oppressive fury - Beethoven’s Piano Sonata No14 in C Sharp Minor kicks in. Beyond the glaring glow of the screen there is WordPro and line upon line of words.  The Blades of War are locked in a mortal struggle with the Wyrdguard; they’re three men down and on the verge of heroically destroying the Wyrdling Factory (with the help of Ryuk, a totally not-a-self-insertion-character-for-the-audience-to-identify-with).

Another five thousand words and I’ll call it done. The monitor glares. Adagio in G minor changes the mood subtley.

I remember years ago my High School English Teacher, in his weird and wonderful way of teaching, regaled the class with a recurring idea he’d been having. A visual image that he kept finding himself coming back to, of a boy on a hill near a tree. Or something, I don’t recall. But the thing was that he could just see this entire idea behind this one evocative image. And (in my words, here) he would keep coming back to it like a scab demanding to be picked at. And itch which needed to be scratched.

I dunno if Justin ever got closure on that mental image. But all these years later I find myself identifying with that feeling. An evocative image that I keep coming back to, with the whisperings of a story behind it. An itch I need to scratch.

I see a town in a vast, yellow desert. The buildings are of sandstone, reminiscent of a typical (hollywood) Egyptian peasant village. That kind of rambling, shambolic design to the streets where the buildings are just a cluttered mess leading to millions of back alleys. The town is sunken into a valley near a river that cuts through the lowest point. A slight (possibly man made) hill marks the off-centre heart of the town; possibly a church or centre of government. It’s seen recent fighting and the vestiges of that conflict manifest in plumes of black smoke and spot fires, as well as shouting and the occasional gunshot.

On the top of the slope leading down into this town-filled valley is a man, looking out over the town.  His bearing marks him out as a military man although his garb is very alien to what we would conventionally consider ‘military’ - flowing matt-red cloth in a sort of persion style. Modern looking combat webbing, matt-grey and black mottled body armour and weapon belts cover this however, constricting and shaping the free-flowing material. His face is covered with an angular, almost Grecian styled helmet reminiscent of a gas mask but with the actual gas-breathing properties; it is the same colour as his armour. A gun - like a Kalishnikov/Thompson crossover - is slung over one shoulder. An ornate sword hangs from his hip as well.

The scene unfolds with a similarly garbed underling climbing the slope from the town to exchange words with this figure overlooking the town. 

That’s where my little daydream ends. It’s just that scene, all at once. Sort of like an opening scene from a movie. To me I feel like I’m sort of there as a disembodied thing near the soldier on the hill.  It’s…I dunno, it’s just an image that’s stuck with me. No canon behind it, no characters, no ideas, no background story…just this image. Just this mental scene.

Rob Dougan’s Clubbed to Death lifts the mood, the bass adding a little something as I sample more dark chocolate despite myself; or to spite myself, I dunno. The monitor has long since faded to the black screen-saver (redundant, modern screens don’t need saving; very poetic…an analogy for a modern society that sticks it’s finger up to God and says ‘I don’t need saving!’). I guess I should get back to The Blades; they’re probably kinda bored of being in mid-slaughter by now. I’m bored of this introductory scenario I’ve created for them, as my desire for more scope and a different flavour of writing struggles to derail my progress. One Step Forward, Another Half Step Forward.

One word at a time. Five thousand to go.

FG.

Deep breaths.

Two o’clock in the morning disasters and the ensuing maelstrom of sheer emotion are not fun, kids.  Not fun at all. There’s a little known philosophy I think I need to start practising; ‘don’t worry, it will all wash out in the morning.’. I hate traumatic events of any kind because you gotta keep going like your entire world hasn’t just been flipped upside down, turned around 180 degrees, etc, etc.

I’d be a terrible person in the aftermath of a real disaster.

So the story is kaput, to a degree. Had an extensive session of ‘fix it, fix it, fix it…fix it fix it fix it!’ with my local tech monkey earlier today. No positive results. I’ve learned not store important documents solely on a thumb drive, though. From now on those things are for transport only, ‘hard’ copies get stored on a more reliable device. Similarly I now have the ‘automatically create backups’ option switched on for all the machines I use. And I will forever use the ’safely remove harware’ function on all computers.

I can re-write it. Better, stronger…but ultimately different.  This is an untimely set back but I’ll survive. Less of the drama, more of the can-do attitude, I say. But for now I’m gonna just chillax a little bit.

FG.

As anyone who knows me or reads this blog is aware I struggle massively in my attempts to become a successful author. Step one is to actually write something, of course. Various things hamper me in my efforts like lethargy, laziness, time constraints and undefinable writers block.

Right now I feel like the universe is moving against me. A deliberate strike aimed at breaking my will.

Roughly half an hour ago I put the finishing touches on my second ever manuscript. It’s a lot shorter then my first one, but is actually complete as oppose to technically being the right length for a manuscript and needing a lot of work. It need editing, re-wording in a lot of places and little bits added in where I’ve not explained myself well or the action doesn’t flow/isn’t long enough. It’s tiny - 18,500 words. But it took a bit of effort and as anyone who writes for a living can probably tell you, it is IMPOSSIBLE to re-create an extended piece of writing.

The last backup I made was at 14,800 words. So there’s a large short stories worth of material. Sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself; what actually happened?

I finished the story. Made some notes for me/my editors as footnotes on the final page. Clicked ’save’. Exited OpenOffice and since I was so excited I wanted to show someone; one of my friends/editors was online. I take the thumb drive I typically save this particular story to and remove it from the desktop computer and plug it into the internet-capable laptop. Then I remember something; another footnote. I put the thumb drive back in the desktop and go to open the file.

Corrupted. Completely borked, unreadable. Every other file on the damn thumb drive is fine and dandy. Just my story.
It opens in Wordpad and Notepad, but as complete gibberish. I dunno if that’s symptomatic of the problem because OpenOffice files always open as that crap. I went through a ‘corrupted files’ FAQ on the internet, to no avail. I’ve yet to try opening the file with a Microsoft Word application because it is VERY late at night at the moment.

I dunno if anyone else can understand this but losing a document like that is probably the most soul crushing thing that can happen. It’s on par with being dumped by the girl of your dreams just when you think everything was going fine. There’s nothing you can do; it’s gone, that’s it. It’s like losing a family pet or having a precious heirloom smashed to pieces. It’s just awful.

I feel like shit. And what makes it worse is the fact I was finished. I had that manuscript done. And just like that, for no reason, it broke. Of all the times for that to happen this is probably the worst. It’s just unbelievable.

I’ve now learned that OpenOffice has an automatic backup feature - which I had switched off, unknowingly. And if the program had just crashed why, there’d be an autorecovery file waiting for me!…but it didn’t. It saved and then died when I pulled the thumb.

This is some fucked up shit. It’s beyond words, beyond feeling. It’s just not random chance…it’s like a deliberate attack. I’m a person who believes in a higher power and right now…well, either that higher power hates me.

Or I’m being tested.

FG.