I came across an old picture of mine and felt a terrible tug in my heart. Because I know when I am gone, so too is my work. I can’t deny that hurts. I would like to believe that at some carboot sale where my life is sold after being cleared out of where ever I end up, someone will say that photo or piece of art (writing never gains much attention) is nice. That someone will appreciate it. They will, in a way, remember me.
Category: Black and White
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Polaroid SX-70 -
Polaroid SX-70 -
I’ve loved this man’s work since Batman Begins. I loved that he was never just another villain who was killed by the end of the first movie. Before Marvel (I’m not a fan of the MCU, to put it mildly, but credit where it’s due, they out a stop to the annoying ‘one film then done’ formula) this was incredibly unusual, and Nolan made sure Cillian’s fun cameos were never wasted. Their film friendship produced great work.
I would complain at least once a year that neither of them had the most coveted of film prizes – the Academy Award.
Finally, this year, I got my wish. Oppenheimer isn’t just another Oscar bait film either. It makes it clear that J. Robert Oppenheimer let his ego blind him to the obvious truth – the US government had no intention of using the bomb as a last resort. And when understandable anger and horror rained down on America from the rest of the world, they predictably made Oppenheimer a scapegoat and ruined his reputation.
The film is an amazing condemnation of the US government’s predictable misuse of inventions and blaming the inventor for their fuck ups.
But while Oppenheimer may well be a victim in his own right, the film rightly refuses to exonerate him. As Emily Blunt’s Kitty harshly puts it “you don’t get to commit the sin, then cry that you are a victim too and expect us all to feel sorry for you.” After all, thousands of Japanese died in one of the most horrific ways imaginable. I do noy believe he intended that, but I do believe he allowed his ego to blind him to the obvious.
It’s a powerful work of art that is not afraid to ask difficult questions. And those are my favourite movies.
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I fractured my left ankle recently. So I’m hobbling around like a pirate with a huge boot instead of a wooden leg.
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I originally posted this on Instagram, and I thought it might be a good topic to put here, too. Criticism can be hard to hear, especially from friends. When I was a teenager, any criticism, no matter how well meant, would be greeted with a sulky silence from yours truly. Of course, my knowledge of good fiction writing had only really begun, so this attitude was both laughable and childish. I should’ve been eager to learn, not closed off. But in many ways. I was still a child, so at least I had an excuse back then for reacting so mulishly.
However, years later, long after I’d given up writing after four or five (very bad, although I was only 17) attempts to write a novel, I returned to writing via fanfiction. My stories were short, fun, and silly. It was my attempt at a darker, more serious piece that got got torn to shreds that stopped me dead. I just stared dumbly at the words on the screen, before blocking said critic, furious and, strangely, humiliated.
But something about what that person had said kept bouncing around my head. During one of those nights when insomnia struck, I realised, reluctantly, that some of what she had said was accurate. It had been a bad piece. And the more I considered her words, the more I found myself agreeing with her about it. She may have expressed them bluntly, but she had put forth genuinely helpful feedback. And I had just disregarded it and sulked.
I don’t know where that person is these days, but I owe you an apology and my thanks. The latter especially is long overdue.
Thank you.
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I quite enjoy the challenge of combining a photo with 200 word limit to go with it. Finding the right words to express what I want succinctly is tricky and a useful way to try and find my writing muse again.
Bloody Roses 