Fuck me it's hot.
I'm sitting here in a Bravest Warriors tee and me boxers, sweating like a motherfucker. But hey, it's July. I see dark clouds forming outside the window and the promise of another thunderstorm clearing the air and making things a little more bearable are being touted. I remain, however, sceptical. Or cynical. I don't think I can ever describe myself as sceptical. Cynical is a much better word. Glass half empty? Glass was fucking knocked to the ground and smashed by some ignorant toss bag who didn't care that the glass contained my drink and I was enjoying it.
So yeah... hot. July.
Latitude on Friday. Awesome. Never been. Hopefully will go again one day. Felt like a grown up festival. Not like Reading. Kiddie festival. Anna Calvi, Mogwai, Broken Twin... was stupendous.
Email from the BBC on Friday. Shit. Bummed me out. Doesn't take much these days. The World is My Oyster was sent to them a couple months ago(? fuck if I can remember) and they didn't like. I'm guessing they didn't like. Was a risk. I submitted to the comedy open submissions... to be honest I am not sure you can class it as a comedy. It's a weird drama. Amusing I hope. But I felt weird describing it as a comedy. Ah well... It has made me now more cynical about my chances with Red Planet. There was some comfort knowing I had two possibilities sitting out there being judged. Now I have one. The one I have the most faith in, the one I LOVE, the one I want to win. But... I just don't know. Those clouds are getting darker out there. Perhaps this fucking heat will subside. My fingers are crossed. For the script. I hope, I really do hope that I get to the next round. I can almost stand not winning. but the final round. To be a finalist. That would be awesome. That would really help some choices that I am in the process of making. It would back them up.
The World is My Oyster was rejected. I kinda expected it. I am bummed but something happened last night. I was reading Deadly Class #6 (pictured) and my brain started doing it's mad dance when ideas begin percolating. This morning I woke when my lady left for work and read it again. I then tried to sleep some more and I did. I had a dream about telling my father how miserable I was and that he didn't understand and he didn't. He kept yelling at me, telling me to sort it out, pull myself together. you don't understand, I said, to which he replied, how can I when you won't tell me. I screamed at him and choked with tears and emotion and cried and bawled and told him I wanted to jump off a fucking building. I woke in floods of tears and howled and cried and fell asleep again... I then dreamt about the cover to Deadly Class #6. I dreamt about The World is My Oyster about those characters looking like the characters on the front of the book, that they were black and white in a colour world. That they made themselves black and white in colour world. They were in the back of a van and had guns and were talking about girls, one girl in particular, cereal and what it would be like to be disabled. I woke up, thought about writing it all down and a bunch of other shit that came to me. I laid there instead and ran through a first episode of The World is My Oyster and got excited and thought I should write this down. I then read Ms Marvel and got up and ate some Frosties and watched last nights Big Brother (don't judge me you Eastenders watching fucks). I am now going to attempt to write the first episode of The World is My Oyster different to what the BBC didn't like and try and remember the awesomeness of my dream and subsequent thoughts.
You can purchase Deadly Class from an ace comic shop on the shoulder of Chelmsford called Dark Side Comics. Tell em I sent you, cos that would be cool. It's out in trade but you should do yourself a favour and get it monthly. Tis aces.
Namaste!
