Paul Schiernecker

Author: Paul

  • Clear head.

    Felt much better waking up today than I did yesterday. I honestly tried to get things done but it is so much harder when you’re crippled by a hangover. It was all my own doing and I know that, but I think I feel better for having got not a lot done.

    It meant I went to bed at about ten last night and then got up at half five to do a little bit of redrafting before NaNoWriMo starts. I am however now in the rather unfortunate position of having to complete three short stories in three days and then have my novel all set in my brain by Thursday to get cracking on it. It’s a bit of a challenge, even when I’ve set it up myself but we will just have to see what happens. I’ve got a couple of days off at the end of November when I’m hoping I will just be able to power through the end of the book and be in a good position before I have to start looking back over it in December. I’m also planning on recording again after November, I don’t know what because I haven’t written anything but I just like the idea of it. I would like to hide away in a cabin and do it in one solid block but I might have to improvise on that.

    Up and atom.

  • An hour wasted is not a wasted hour.

    I struggle to understand why something like British Summer Time still exists, it seems unnecessary to me. That being said I was assuming that I would sleep through the changes and wake up feeling an hour better off this morning. That was exactly not what happened and here is what did.

    I started drinking at around half past five, in the bath, watching Homeland. I then put my looking-ropier-by-the-second Hannibal Lecter costume on and sat about waiting for a reasonable time to go out and see other people. This was about half nine when I managed to drag my brother out of the house to give me a lift to the Brush. Once there I acted as a conduit for the brilliant people I know. You know when you overhear someone saying ‘Oh you will love me mate Jonesy, he’s fucking mental’, and you meet Jonesy and he can just down a pint really quickly and inappropriately feel up any girl in sight, well my friends are actually mental, and I mean they act so odd that in the Brush (a meeting place for the weird) people stop and stare when they dance by. That’s why I love them. Since re-re-re-re-re-re-re-re-reading On The Road I see myself as more of a Paradise type figure, I take in all these firework personalities and I light their fuses and then I stand back and it all blows up in my face and I laugh harder than I’ve ever laughed before. That’s what my friends are like.

    I got to see my friend James who only just decided to return to the land of the living (from up north). We spent the evening in sporadic bouts of conversation before he would be distracted like a budgie and head off into the flashing darkness, with a stead like a pirate and hair like Robert Smith after a salon day. Then another of my friends (coincidentally dressed as a surgeon) spent the evening necking a stripper from Basildon who was dressed as a zombie nurse. Then my friend Ben (who I mentioned the other day) was a skeleton John McEnroe celebrating his cat sister’s birthday. That’s what I mean by mental. I also got to see my Gonzo friend Mike and his lovely girlfriend Jess. We talked (drunkenly) about how we just switch hanging out on and off, there’ll be nothing for months, barely any contact and then it’s a click and everyone is back together and it is all hugs and how are yous and we dance in a circle and love love love one another and it is just pure and brilliant.
    Kate was also there (in the best costume I saw all night) with her friends and I love seeing all of them as well because they’re just in the league below when it comes to crazy and I like to watch that develop.

    How I spent that extra hour gained was stood outside. There were fifty people crammed into the glass faced kebab shop opposite, there were girls with ripped tights and fake blooded necks lying in doorways waiting for friends or taxis, there was still that noise in the air that said, where can we go? I stood out in that for over an hour, trying to make sure everyone was safe and able to get out and home, and then picking James up from the sloped entrance to the cornershop and getting him to the taxi rank. I discovered that even in this day and age the clocks resetting still fucks up technology. Every ATM in the high street refused to dispense cash and confused rolling skeletons and mummys roamed up and down in the lights of the parade of cabs trying each one in the hope of that golden withdrawal that could carry them home. Eventually it was just James and I making promises we knew we would forget by the morning. I shoved him into the back of a cab and promised to speak to him soon. I then sat on a wall waiting for the clock to turn back.

  • Frankenweenie

    There is something magical about stop motion. It reminds me of watching The Clangers and Camberwick Green as a child. It’s not perfect. I think that’s what it is. You can see the slight imperfections in the movements, the fingerprints smoothed into the sides of faces, it looks homely. With that in mind I am not concerned that Burton has returned to stop motion once again because not only do I love stop motion, I also love the characters he creates and the morals he places in his stories.

    Frankenweenie is a re-imagining of the classic Frankenstein story but told almost for children. That doesn’t mean it’s all twee and pathetic like most, which seem to feel they have to dumb things down for children, this draws nicely from the original to the point that you know what is going to happen but the jokes thrown in between make up for any over familiarity. Look out for Colossus as a perfect example.

    What I like about Burton’s work is that he is always rooting for the loner/ weirdo/ underdog and that in the worlds he creates these people always prove to be in the right and generally everything comes through for them. Here we see that Victor’s love of science is lost on his family who feel he should be outside playing baseball like the other boys at school. In the end it is this that saves the town. Burton knows what it is to be left out, and he makes them the hero. That’s why it has such an appeal. It’s for anyone that has ever felt different and to put a horrible marketing term on it there will always be an audience for that.

    20121027-135123.jpg

  • Another Friday.

    My, how this week has flown by. Maybe because I haven’t had the chance to do anything, I’ve just been dragged from my bed to work and then back to my bed again, or at least that’s how it feels.

    This weekend is technically Halloween for anyone over the age of consent which means splattering ourselves in fake blood and standing outside in the cold to get into a club. Doesn’t that just sound fantastic. Meanwhile I have a number of short stories to finish before next Thursday. I reiterate that this is a deadline I’ve placed entirely on my own head which means I’m even more determined to finish it.

    I really need more sleep, I can’t think straight today.

  • An assignment? How exciting.

    Ask and you shall receive. That’s a saying right? Well it worked because I did and I have. I emailed the author of a respected film website and he’s offered me an article on Jack Kerouac. Can’t say too much more because no doubt I will jinx my own good fortune but…. exciting times. Everything seems to be very much on the up at the moment, except my bank balance which remains very red and sore fathoms below my comprehension. Who cares though right? I don’t care too much for money, money can’t buy me love.

    I’m on the train reading On The Road for the second or third time this year. I’m now spotting all the missing segments from the film. I’m sure I heard somewhere that the original cut of it was heading for five hours, I would watch that with absolutely no qualms, maybe a few toilet breaks though.

    Right, back to those doldrums.

  • A week to go….

    until NaNoWriMo and I’m pretty settled on the winging it strategy. I have the basics set aside in my head and I’ve been reading a lot of Kerouac and Thompson to get into that totally free and rambling sensibility but beyond that I have very little really planned. I haven’t done a spider diagram or character development or settled on a title, I’m just going to let it pour on 1st November which should have been a Saturday if they wanted me to work hard from the off. As it is I’ve been scoping out the best position on the train to get a free seat for me and my laptop.

    I think I’ve found it. Far beyond the platform is a jetty that sticks out and hangs off the end of the world. The last carriage comes in there and carries me safely to London. It has the added benefit that if we have a collision or the train derails then it is unlikely I will be injured as the bulk of the train will minimise the impact. These are the kind of things that haunt my mind at 7:25am on a commuter train to the big city.

    Now I must finish Rum Diary and read something girly (for research).

  • An open letter to a friend.

    Don’t give up.
    I know it’s hard but don’t.
    You’re one of the few people still pushing for that great thing, unhappy to just settle into tedium and perceived inevitability. You’re better than that. I know there will be times when I look back to you for strength because you’re trying really hard and it’s such a noble characteristic when we are still so young. So I’m saying exactly the opposite of what that moron said. That’s one opinion. This is another. All that matters really is that you listen to you. If any writer stopped after a piece of bad press we would have no literature.
    This is the journey. The destination is unknown.
    X.

  • Come on skinny love…

    Last night I went for dinner with my best friend, Ben. Since childhood we have both been plagued with ‘being skinny’. We got into a conversation about how overlooked the issues of being skinny can be. This isn’t going to be a post where I compare my own (or indeed our own) suffering to the injustice in history because I am well aware of how ridiculous that would be. It’s just a personal bug bear, it just grinds my gears, and that’s what this blog is here for.

    Ben said last night that he would consider both of us to be of an athletic build, which I completely agree with. The fact of the matter is that on the Body Mass Index we both come in as being slightly underweight but who is to say that’s such a terrible thing.

    The key difference between being underweight and being overweight is that people feel they have every right to tell you that you look thin, or to tell you that they want to feed you up but I could never approach someone who was medically obese and say to them “oh, I’d love to take you for a run and get some stuffed vine leaves down you” because apparently that’s not acceptable. I don’t understand what the difference is. There are a variety of reasons that people are overweight and some of these could be down to deep-seated psychological issues but could the same not be said of underweight people? As it goes Ben and I have a perfectly good relationship with food, you should have seen us put away a mixed grill and a rainbow trout last night followed by dessert. That doesn’t change the fact that there are some people who are underweight and it isn’t just because they are of a slight frame, they have the same psychological issues with food; albeit at the opposite end of the spectrum, as an overweight person.

    So next time you are confronted by gaunt cheekbones and sunken eyes have a quick think about what they would say about you if they felt they had free reign over their condemnation of your appearance.

  • Last minute Sunday post.

    I’ve just realised that I didn’t post anything this morning. I was going to but my brain wasn’t screwed in properly. I’ve had quite a nice day. Had one of those mornings where you just space out in front of the television. Watched the final of the Big British Bake Off which was riveting. Then we watched X Factor which was awful, having eleven people sing club classics is a fresh idea of hell for me.

    After that I decided I wanted a haircut but discovered that absolutely nothing is open in Rayleigh on a Sunday. That seems ridiculous to me. I don’t understand why Sunday business hours exist. I need to do things on a Sunday.

    Then I went for dinner with my best friend. We were talking about writing and politics and Elementary and women and travelling across Europe and everything else. It is so nice to escape for a couple of hours and just jumpstart conversations like that. Hopefully after November we will write together again. He’s the only person I’ve ever collaborated with.

  • Saturday indoors.

    It was one of those mornings and couldn’t work out why or where I was. One of those mornings where it takes things a little while to turn over and start revving up to their usual speed. That’s the problem with drinking, it seems to hit me so hard. Last night I went out after work. This morning I woke up with a hangover. I can only assume the two are somehow linked.
    I had already dedicated today to writing but it doesn’t seem as if it will get rolling for a little while. I really need to properly clear out the shed that I plan on using exclusively for sitting in and working, it’s piled high with smashed in children’s toys. A ittle memento of the fact that once upon a time there were parents and three children in this house and now there are four men. It’s a change that I don’t really think about. It’s hard to imagine myself as a child, or to imagine me going through anything before around 2005 in fact. My memory has a way of playing funny tricks on me, dividing up my life as though those things happened in a different time and to a different person, and I suppose for the most part they did. Maybe it’s something internalised but I’m not the same person who went through school using my name, that much is for certain.
    Regardless though, that’s what I need to do first. I need to clear out the shed. Maybe I’ll do it in a series of trips, because I would actually like to get some work done today, and that will be hard if I’m committed to making countless runs to the tip to throw away childhood.

    NaNoWriMo fast approaches and in my usual style I have done absolutely nothing to prepare myself for an oncoming truck of a task. Maybe I’ll go and put the kettle on…