Scripted

Thursday night. Dublin City. The O2 Arena. The wind was cold, people were shouting, lots of people. About as soon as they got inside, the shouting became talking, conversations, and smiling, lots of smiling. Giddiness, too much of it, maybe, and rumours spreading through the growing audience by the minute.

The lights went down. Ryan Sheridan came on stage. He began playing. The conversations became cheering. Some people sang along to his music. Some people did not know all the words. Some people had not heard of it. Everyone thoroughly enjoyed it. Five songs later, he left the stage. The lights came back on. The stage was blacked out. Music began to play to stop people getting bored.

The lights came back on. It was nine. The Script walked on stage, one by one, beginning to play their music. Everyone cheered. Everyone sang along to every song. There was banter between music. Someone kept holding up a sign in front of everyone. Abuse was roared at her for blocking the view of the stage. The music kept playing. There were no mosh pits. There was no fighting, except for things being thrown at Sign Girl.

The music stopped. People cheered. People sang. The Script came back for an encore. Everyone sang along.

The music stopped one last time. The lights came back on. Sixteen thousand people poured into the night.

People talked. People who didn't know each other talked. Someone who was in her thirties got away with looking twenty five. She got guided along through Dublin by complete strangers, and together she and her friend got in a taxi on O'Connell Street, safe and sound.

Still no one can believe how much older she was than she actually looked.

The night ended. People slept.

Friday night. The cinema. The wind was cold. The wind was angry. Someone waited for his friends, who were running unusually late, but not so late they would miss the film. They bought student price tickets to see Unknown. They sat in the dark in a row of six - five of them, leaving a seat at the end. They talked. Loudly. The ads were playing. Everyone talked. Everyone laughed. Everyone smiled.

The ads stopped. The film began.

Everyone sat in silence. It wasn't the biggest screen in the cinema, but it was big enough. People tried to keep up with what was happening, trying to figure it out before the end. People got roped into it. Everyone enjoyed it. The credits began. The lights did not go back up. Someone said it was better than Taken. They were deemed wrong.

People went home. The night ended. People slept.

Painful Awareness

[TOM is sitting alone in a cafe, hugging himself lightly. He's staring at the table in front of him]

[Enter AMANDA]

AMANDA: Hey... what's with the look?

TOM: What? Oh... just became a bit...

AMANDA: Nostalgic? You look nostalgic.

TOM: A bit... We're eighteen, Amanda. Did you realise that? We're eighteen and... and what? We pick our college courses and... and...

AMANDA: And we're finally free of this God-forsaken school!

TOM: And we're adults.

AMANDA: Yeah... That happens, you know?

TOM: But it's happening to us. We're not going to be able to say, ever again, "When I grow up." We're going to be grown up. It's messed up.

AMANDA: Is that what's bothering you? Growing up?

TOM: A little bit, yeah. Doesn't it bother you? Haven't you noticed that your childhood is gone?

AMANDA: I've noticed, Tom, but I don't let it bother me. [AMANDA takes TOM's hands] Look, you're just going through a phase. You won't always be so aware of your own...

TOM: Insignificance as a person to date?

AMANDA: Suuure. You won't always be so aware of everything you haven't done. Yet.

TOM: Painfully aware.

[Enter ROBERT]

ROBERT: What's up with him?

AMANDA: [half-mockingly] He's painfully aware of his own significance as a person.

ROBERT: That sucks. Oh hey, you want anything while I'm up?

AMANDA: Coffee. De-caf. Cheers.

TOM: [groans]

AMANDA: And an espresso for Tom... He looks like he could do with a lift.

TOM: Kill me now, before I get any older. [pauses] Too late! I can feel my youth slipping away from me.

--------------------

Spontaneous script-writing helps some times. Okay, so admittedly I had the idea all day, but I hadn't planned on putting it down anywhere, especially not in this post! But that's the thing about writing, about being a writer - we're not always in control of everything that happens in our lives. Heck, that's being human!

I got the idea earlier, during one of my bouts of almost forced... I don't know what word I'm thinking of. Depression is going too far, because I wasn't sad, or elated. I just had a feeling of... I don't know. I guess I realised that, like Tom, I'm grown up already. I don't have a "when I grow up" situation any more. I'm going to be a teacher. I suppose this is the aftermath of teaching practice in college. Regardless, I got the idea hours ago, and I wasn't ready for it. Like I'm not ready for most of the ideas I get about The Jump. I haven't written it in months, and yet I'm still getting ideas about it.

But there's another thing about writing. When you sit down to write something - anything - you might just find a tale you remembered, and find that it's ready to be written. Whether you like it or not. Many authors - probably most, if not all - carry around with them a note pad to take... well, notes with. I recommend the same. Write down any ideas you get, but just briefly. No real detail. When you read back on it, you should be able to remember the idea, because it should have been that good.

Now, with a knocking on my wall to signify that I need to get to bed/my typing is too loud, I must leave. Remember - there's a time and a place for writing, and typing away at 11:15pm in the room, at the wall, adjascent to two people - my parents in this case - trying to sleep, is not the right time or place. Now, if I had set up downstairs... This might be the plan for tomorrow if I plan on writing at this hour. Toodles for now, though.

PS Let me know what you think of the wee script.

Doctor Who and the Word Nerd Army

So, I've finally had a free moment from my family, and I made a vlog! I sound insane otherwise, just talking to myself. Best not to let other people hear it too.

So, here it is, Doctor Who and the Word Nerd Army!




It's not much; it never is.

Anyway... if you're interested in sending your script to me to read and to share (I'll leave links to the scripts on my blog and YouTube channel (the latter when I get enough of them) so that everyone can have a read of them! Just send them literary_mania(at)yahoo(dot)ie with the subject of Doctor Who Script in .doc, .docx or .rtf format, with your name and the title of the script as the entire first page (as it would be presented to an actor, for example). Sending the script is giving me permission to share it (as fan-fiction, you can't sell it anyway).

If in the event that Literary Den t-shirts become available and I get enough scripts, I'll judge which one is most interesting.

If you can't write a script, write a story instead. Once it's Doctor Who in style, I don't mind. I'm judging the story, the dialogue, the suspense, the humour and how in touch with the show it is. And don't forget, not even the Doctor knows everything - he didn't recognise the things that attacked on Christmas, and he had to ask where the Clomian was from (Clom, obviously).

Good luck!