It's more than just extracts, by the way

I've moved back up to Sheffield for the next three and a half months, for more animation fun and fancy free frolics. And things have been pretty productive: playing Tekken 6, watching films and doing absolutely nothing else. I wrote a couple of reviews, but they won't be up on the public internet for three days. Here's some I prepaired earlier

My first class of the semester is on Monday and it starts at 9, which automatically makes it my least favourite class of the course. Ho hum. Till then I'll keep writing up bits of Dial M for Mephistopheles 2 till I run out of ideas. I should really put the first one up on the internet. Here's another random extract:

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A godless place. That’s what the world had become. A godless place is dangerous. Nothing can live in a godless world, especially not anyone born from the Devil. The Antichrist shivered, and tried to cover himself with a blanket, but the cold wasn’t outside. It came from inside and every second it was destroying another part of him. Armageddon shouldn’t have happened. There should have been a warning, and rapture ... everything. But there wasn’t. One second there was life, the next there was nothing. Where had everyone gone? Surely they hadn’t been taken into heaven, or dragged into Hell. There hadn’t even been a show. No riders, or monsters or angels. He wanted to hit something, but he felt tired and cold. He sat in his small broken church, and tried to pray. But he knew it was pointless.

There was a noise behind him. Footsteps on the stone floors, possibly heels. He turned around slowly, aching in every bone. A female voice spoke. The Antichrist had never heard the voice before, but somehow it seemed so familiar, like he knew it from birth. “Hello,” she said. “Who are you?” he said the hazy figure in front of him. He couldn’t tell if his eyes weren’t working properly if she was like that. The blurry figure moved towards him. She might have been wearing a tight red dress, but it seemed to flow behind her like smoke. He couldn’t see her face properly. She spoke again. “My, my, how you look terrible, my son.” Every word was enunciated perfectly, with a voice so sharp it could stab through armour.   “...What?” The Antichrist couldn’t hear very well. Then something dawned on him. “I ... I know you. You were in ... my dreams.” The female form in the tight red dress stood next to the Antichrist, now. She crouched down, so she was at the same level as he. He could finally see her face now, although he couldn’t put a single word to describe it. She looked into his eyes. “Oh, my, now that’s very flattering, Chris,” she said. There seemed to be no implied tone in her voice. She spoke, or maybe she was just planting words into his mind. “Chris ... you know ... my name? You know me, don’t you?” “Of course I know you, dear. You would think that the only person you’ve seen since you ... since you massacred everyone would be just a human? You think you are, love, but you’re so much more.” “I didn’t kill anyone!” Chris screamed. Or rather, he tried to scream. He only choked the words out. “But you did. You did all of this, you know. All your fault. There’s retribution at some point in the line, you know. Suffer for your sins. But we’re not up to that.” Chris could barely think. He was shivering still, but somehow the presence of the woman made him a bit warmer. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “Just tell me what you want.” “I want you, dear. You need to finish what you started.” Then it dawned on Chris. “You ... you killed her! In my dream! You did it, you caused all of this!” He tried to lunge towards her, but she vanished and reappeared five inches further left. Chris fell on his stomach, lying on the stone ground. He made an attempt to get back into his sitting position. “Dear boy, that’s not called for. Now you need to stop messing around. I have more things to do.” She stood up, and beckoned him to do the same. “Come on, you’ll feel so much better with me.”

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And then more shit happens

Sometimes you just wonder

The rain it raineth on the just, And also on the unjust fella. But chiefly on the just, because. The unjust hath the just's umbrella.

Argh, it's four in the morning again. I need to break this habit by Christmas or Santa won't come around and give me presents. That and I'll piss everyone in my house off with my loud music and Buffy episodes.

I totally blame the fact that I have no more early starts and can therefore change my entire sleep schedule and move it forward 4 or 5 hours without affecting my classes or anything. I probably wouldn't recommend it, though. I've been up writing though, and I'm getting a fair bit into Dial M 2 now, which I thought would never take off. That and I've been planning that Lullabies story I told you about last time. 

Things are looking pretty good.

Except for our lessons on Monday and Tuesday. Our teacher barely seems to have a lesson plan, shows us awful videos then lets us go. Today, after discussing our marks individually (leaving everyone else to do nothing in the process), he talked about this film he wants to make about a ninja assassin girl from Leeds of all places who is the Chosen One  and goes to Malaysia. There's no plot. All he said was that he wanted a ninja girl from Leeds who was the Chosen one and that it would have parallel dimensions and people from the future  And everyone was like "Is this man mad or something?" Then we spent half an hour discussing with him what we felt, only if we really told him he we felt about this ridiculous project he wants us to work on then we'd probably have been thrown off the course of something. I was incredibly close to shouting how absolutely fucking ridiculous the whole thing was.

Oh, and it's not set in our world. Apparently not, anyway.

Countdown to Christmas: 3 weeks, 3 days!

Mysterious Extract #1

Everyone was dead. He saw them all in his head the second it happened. He could still see them every time he closed his eyes, and it tortured him. He tried to cry out in anger, but found it useless. He tried to punch things, but it just left his fist scraped and bleeding. So he did the only he could; he sat down and took it. There was always some form of suffering before the redemption, after all. He had made his home in the church, one of the few that still had solid foundations and, more importantly, a roof. There was a hole, above the altar that let in sunlight. It was all rather dramatic, if there was anyone still alive to appreciate the visuals of it all. He was lying down, on his back, trying to sleep. He hadn’t slept, though. Not in a long time. The Son of the Morning wanted it to be night again. Mysterious, but it's good to be writing things I've seemingly forgotten about.

Dibbs is a bastard

Photoshop is annoying. Gragh. Or maybe it's my drawing skill. Nah. It's definitely photoshop, and my mate for not supplying high def pictures of the character I'm doing the poster of. Also, I need to buy a new computer mouse, not cos I threw it across the room (as it was broken before. honest). At least I'm getting a few hundred words written a day (an amazing 1,000 done yesterday) so hopefully I'll be getting Dial M 2 and Maze done before summer, although that's probably wishful thinking A second rant for the day: why is Coraline taking so long to come out over the UK? May? I mean, come on, it's an English book ... well, English author anyway. That and Dragonball are the two movies I'm looking forward to this year

Icelandic is an annoying language

OK, i tried using Twitter to ask Neil Gaiman what the Icelandic from AG is. He didn't reply, of course, with several thousand followers it's no doubt that he gets several hundred tweets at once (even worse for Stephen Fry with a scale breaking 150,000 followers). Terrible banging and shouting and loud Final Fantasy music came from my flatmate's room all day. I daren't ask what the fuck was going on. To Zanarkand should never be played on full volume. also, I made an awesomely obscure reference in Dial M for Mephistopheles 2 today. "Ed's voice floated around Louis like Tsai Chin's Forgotten Time" I don't see many people getting that. Which is awesome, cos those who do will my favourites

Only the gods are real

Finished American Gods last night which was, despite the bits I didn't quite get or didn't seem the plot, was a very good book indeed. I recommend people read it now. Also, I'm trying to find out what Odin said to Shadow in the postscript, in Iceland. If anyone speaks Icelandic, it'd be awesome to know what "Hvernig gengur? manst pu eftir mer?" means. It's probably nothing important, but what the hell. I have found that I am incredibly influenced by things around me. I have been reading Neil Gaiman, only him, for about a month now and it's showing in my writing style. When I was on a Discworld binge, I was writing like Pratchett. It would be good to not have such an easily malleable style (did I spell that right?). It's been snowing like hell outside, too, and snow features quite a bit in AG and, lo and behold, suddenly I'm chucking snow all over the place in my stories. All I know so far is that Maze an Dial M 2 will have snow in them somewhere..