#and the thing is we’re nearly at 4k and i still don’t have a coherent piece… this is meant to go out in a week im going to need prayers

[fiveredlights]

Is there a lil sneak peek of Old Habits Die Screaming you could share with us? I so can't wait for the next chapter!

you may have a little sneak peek 🫶

“You thought about me?” Max asks quietly.

He pushes himself off where he’s been resting on Max’s chest, the warm summer air filling the gaps where he used to be. Daniel watches as the corner of Max’s lips pull down, brows furrowing, before he manoeuvres Max to lay on top of him, his head resting in between the crook of Daniel’s neck and shoulder.

A tiny, miniscule part of his brain is screaming at him to run, probably planted from the years of scars grown from overattachment. His teeth burrow under the skin of everyone he’s ever loved before they’re ripped out by his own hand.

[thelivingdeceased]

c.f writing update #1 - ghost I

i hit 10k words on this project so im gonna share some things about the first chapter because this chapter has been written for months and i NEED to talk about it (intro to that WIP if you missed it).

(this may or may not be coherent. we’ll see)

Chapter I: Ghost I

Ghost I was originally the second chapter of this book and was called phone calls but i then decided (with the help of a friend) that the og first chapter (which was called broken ribs) was boring and scrapped it :D i like this chapter as the first one a bit more because i truly think it’s written better and feels a lot less closed in. broken ribs was claustrophobic and very melodramatic and it weighed on my brain. so when i got the confirmation that the feeling wasn’t just me i happily scrapped it for what is now Ghost I

This chapter is about 4k words so it is LONG !! the other chapters are not nearly this long i swear but there was a lot to be added in this chapter.

The chapter name comes from the metaphorical ghost aspect of the book. This chapter is the first of many ghost named chapters (there’s already a ghost II and III planned) and even though they’re called “ghost” no actual ghosts appear :D (also my personal favorite ghost chapter is ghost III atm)

before i get on to excerpts (my favourite part :D) here’s the little summary thing (idk what it’s called i just write one before every chapter)

Nadia and her friend Edith could care less about the idea of cryptids. They’re ghost hunters, not cryptozoologists. But when they come face to face with one and are told a whole town is full of them, they think it might be time to talk to their boss, Basira.

okay so !! here’s the opening paragraph to the chapter because it’s pretty snazzy (it really isn’t)

' No ghost hunting team truly cares about a cryptid.’

The ache in my head gets worse in the car. So does the pain in my ribs. The image of the cryptid is still burning in my mind. Edith’s hands still shake even though she’s gripping the wheel like her life depends on it. We don’t know what to say, so we say nothing. Though the presence of the creature looms over us.

i really don’t know how to feel about this first paragraph. if i get a better idea, i’ll change it. but until i start editing it’s gonna stay like this.

my friend says that nadia is very katniss everdeen without the constant survival mode element and i think that sums her up pretty well so here’s a paragraph that my friend called katniss core

The world grows darker as we drive and the silence soon becomes comfortable. My head is aching and I just want to shut my eyes and pray that sleep takes me. It won’t. I’ve barely slept for a week. My hand grabs on to the water bottle again. I don’t splash my face with water, though I am slightly longing to feel the cool water drip down my too warm face. I just hold it, as if holding it will make my headache go away.

nadia and edith interaction time !!

As if she is reading my mind, Edith asks, “Is your head okay? I didn’t have time to check if you broke skin or something.”

“It hurts but I’ll be fine. I don’t think it’s serious.”

“I hope so. We’re not big on hospital trips.”

nadia’s an orphan (because she’s funky) and she gets very jealous of kids with parents so here’s a moment where that happens

A mother is walking with her child across the street. They’re talking about the event they just went to. The child is full of life and joy and the mother is smiling kindly. Her face is tired but she still manages to look enthralled in what the child is saying. Her responses are more than half-assed mhm’s and yeahs, and instead finds actual answers.

It was fun wasn’t it?

Maybe we can go to another thing with Mikayla.

Something similar to jealousy fills my chest. I wish I would’ve had that as a child, instead of an orphanage director who could care less about the child he’s looking after. I long for an actual parental relationship. I hope that child has the greatest life, free of all the hardships I’ve ever witnessed.

first andre introduction !!!

Edith unlocks the door and we walk into a fully lit home. Andre’s on the phone whispering something and he stops when he sees us. The phone slams on the hook. He leans on the wall as if nothing has happened. I’ve noticed he does this often. Does something and then pretends he wasn’t doing it. Maybe he’s a drug dealer.

sorta long passage of the sillies in silence and andre being sketchy (he’s not actually a drug dealer lolz nadia’s just spent too much time around wild orphanage kids)

We walk into the kitchen, the simple floral wallpaper meeting my eyes. It soothes my head and is pleasing to the eye. It’s one of those things I never notice until something in my day has changed. Like a headache. Like the witnessing of pseudoscience creatures. Like the making of lunch at eight o’clock.

Edith begins to make sandwiches. I sit at the small table. There’s a marker in front of me. I grab it and begin doodling on my skin. A ghost, an eye, a smiley face, my name. The ink bleeds on my skin with every stroke. There’s a rumour that the ink from this marker will give me skin poisoning. I’m not sure how much I believe it. If it did give people skin poisoning, wouldn’t they put a warning? Maybe not. The world doesn’t like to put warnings sometimes, even if people will die.

Edith takes the marker from my hand when she’s done with the sandwiches, placing it gently on the table, and sits down across from me. We begin to eat our sandwiches in silence. Andre’s talking on the phone again, probably thinking we can’t hear him. There’s an urgency in his voice as he whispers the words, “I need something with freedom.”

Edith’s done with her sandwich long before I am. She seems impatient, as if something must happen now or something will go wrong. She’s bouncing her leg under the table and going back and forth between putting her head in her hands and leaning her chin on her hand. I realise she’s waiting for Basira. The clock strikes 8:30.

basira introduction !! (she is the coolest grimm crew member)

She walks in behind Edith. Her locs are pulled up and her top hat is in her hand. Her face is glistening with sweat and she lacks a coat. She sits next to me, tossing the hat in front of her.

silly conversation in the middle of basira being like “cryptid filled town is NOT important. i want to sleep im tired >:(“ (also basira knows what bleeding internally is she’s just very tipsy and tired rn)

“You’ve got to be kidding me. That’s not important. Unless one of you got hurt I don’t see why we’ve got to discuss this now.”

“I hit my head.” I say, looking for the marker again. “If that counts.”

“Are you bleeding?”

“I don’t know. Probably not.”

“You don’t know?”

“I could be bleeding internally.” I can’t find the marker.

“That’s where blood is supposed to be.”

Edith cuts in. “It wasn’t a ghost, Basira. It was a cryptid.”

nadia realises the kitchen lights are dim and she’s very bothered by it and edith is like “girly are you okay” cause they aren’t dim

“The lights are dim.” I say.

“Are they? They seem bright enough to me.”

“No, they’re definitely dimming. Do you have any extra light bulbs? Maybe I could change them.”

“They don’t need to be changed.”

“It’s practically pitch black in here at this point. I can go buy some more if you need me to.”

“Jesus, Nadia, are you sure you’re alright? I think you hit your head harder than you think.”

plot twist !! the lights are actually dim and nadia has her “i could fr do this right now” moment

I know I’m not seeing things when I walk out into the hallway and the lights are just fine. It’s only the kitchen that’s dim, which tells me that it is the light bulbs. I look toward the door. It’s unlocked. My coat is on its hook. There’s a convenience store down the street and they don’t close till midnight. There’s money in my coat pocket.

nadia does NOT buy lightbulbs she actually buys cigarettes cause its the early 70s and there’s no adult supervision and now her and edith are hanging in her room listening to black sabbath and talking about backstories !!

“What was the orphanage like?” Edith asks suddenly. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Do I mind her asking? In the short week I’ve been away from the orphanage I’ve tried not to think about the orphanage and its horrific people. Now I’m being confronted with it by someone other than myself and it’s bothersome. Then again, Edith probably has a story similar to end up at a job like this before turning eighteen so there’s no reason not to talk about it a bit.

“Loud. There’s a lot of children running around all the time and they’re always shouting.”

“I guessed that would probably be the case. Do you have any fond memories?”

I used to, but they’re all plagued with a strange feeling of impending doom now. “No, not really.” Silence passes over us for a moment before I adjust myself and say, “What about you? What was your life like before Grimm’s Ghost Hunting?”

convo continued but now it’s about edith

“Pretty boring. Quiet, even. I attended school up until I dropped out and then my mum kicked me out which led me to end up here.”

“You dropped out?” That goes against every single thing I’ve ever known about her.

“Yeah,” she shrugs. “It just wasn’t for me, I guess.”

The phone starts to ring after she says that. It echoes through the room and is particularly loud for me, as I’m sitting right by the bedside table. Edith drops the photos at the sound and looks at me, eyes wide.

nadia’s scary ex girlfriend calls her and nadia’s like “eek how do you know where i am” and i hate lynette williams sm

“Hello?”

“Hello Nadia.”

I freeze. The cause of the impending doom feeling is on the other end and her voice is just as fear inducing as it was when I last heard it. Lynette Williams, a pretty French girl with a world of evil on her side. She haunted me more than the ghosts for a year and now she’s haunting the phone.

“How did you get this number?” I ask, voice shakier than I would like.

“Magic.” she laughs. I hate the sound of her laugh. “How are you? Is the real world treating you well?”

“Fuck off, Lynette. Don’t call again.” I slam the phone on the hook. My breathing is heavy and my headache is back again. I can’t stand her.

“Who was that?” Edith’s voice scares me.

“No one. It’s no one.”

final part of the chapter !!!

She looks unsure. I don’t blame her. I’d be unsure if I were her. That phone couldn’t have sounded good one-sided. Lynette’s voice rings in my head. She doesn’t care how I’m doing. She just wants to scare me. It’s working. It’s working very well. I’ll never admit that out loud but I can think about it. I can think about it till my brain rots from the fear of one girl. I don’t want to think about it anymore.

I sigh, rubbing my hands over my face, and turn to Edith.

“Can I have a cigarette?”

and that’s Ghost I for you all !! this post was just an excuse to rant and share things about my silly story and i’m sorry it’s a little long. also this has not been edited so it’s not the greatest but it’s not bad either :DD i’ll probably make an update for the second chapter soon !! i hope you enjoyed reading about my silly book and have a good day !!

[buckyownsmyheart]

Sorry To Drop In [1/ 2]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 3k+

Summary: When a handsome super-soldier comes bleeding into your kitchen, you cope by not coping at all.

Warnings: Swearing, injuries and one charming Bucko

A/N: This is for @babylevines 4k challenge! Congrats! I’m super thrilled to be a part of it. My prompt was “Where are my pants?”

A loud crash downstairs made you start in your bed. These were the times when you hated living alone, when there was a definite being in your house other than you, and no one else could deal with it, apart from you. The last time this happened, you lay in bed for a few minutes, paralysed with fear. You had decided it was easier to let the burglar take all your stuff, or the murderer to, well, murder you. The noise ended up being the neighbour’s cat, but that was beside the point. 

You sat up in bed and glanced at the clock, 02:42. You had only finished your shift at the hospital at 1, giving you a measly hour or so of sleep, but as a nurse, your body had become accustomed to that. Another bang downstairs pulled you out of your daydream, and you edged out of bed grabbing the baseball bat you now kept in your room. 

You held your weapon up high as you stepped tentatively down the stairs. The first thing you saw when you rounded the corner into the kitchen was blood. A lot of it. Oh god, someone’s been murdered in your house, and your alibi is no where near strong enough for the police to believe it wasn't you. Dropping your bat, you ventured further into the room, avoiding the pots that had been scattered on the floor. You followed the blood and ended up in your sitting room, where you found a tall, dark figure, bleeding profusely onto your sofa. You squeaked in horror and rushed over to him, where he looked up at you in awe.

“Well I’ll be damned, it’s a motherfucking angel.” He murmured, before his head slumped back down onto his chest. 

You switched into nurse mode, flicking on the lights, and putting on some gloves. You grabbed your extensive first-aid kit that you were possibly a little too proud of and ran to his side. You did a quick assessment of his injuries. His breathing was a good sign, no murder charges on the horizon yet, but there was a lot of blood was stemming from his leg. You sliced open his trousers, throwing them across the room where you would deal with them later, and applied a tourniquet to try and ease the flow. His pulse was fainter than you’d like it to be, and his face looked pale. You tried to remove as much of his clothing as possible to see if he had any other injuries, but he was wearing so many layers! Who needs this many! It’s the middle of summer and this man has gone and worn 3 layers. He must really hate the cold. 

After you made sure his leg was the only emergency injury (he had so many other injuries that you needed to categorise them), you began to stitch it together, trying to conjure your inner plastic surgeon. After you finished the superficial sutures, you tried to wipe the excess blood off his leg and placed a large gauze over it. You didn’t have a car, so you would have to take him to hospital tomorrow, but you thought his condition wasn’t critical enough to warrant an ambulance. You did have some faith in your medical skills. To try and make this stranger comfortable, you placed a blanket over him, and sat down on the floor next to the sofa with your hand on his wrist so you could take his pulse. 

If you had been more awake, you would have spiralled into a million what if questions. What if he’s the murderer? And his victim stabbed him in retaliation? What if this was a ploy to steal your TV? What if he was escaping from the F.B.I., and you were now on the ‘Top 10 Most Wanted’ list? However, what you did was fall asleep, with your head resting on the sofa next to Mr. Murderer’s hip, and your hand hanging on loosely to his fingers. That was a problem for future you to think about.

-

Your body was complaining as you stirred awake, your muscles ached, and your bones cracked as you tried to move. “You know, usually when I wake up next to a dame, I at least know one of where I am, who they are or how I got there, but you, sweetheart, are a bit of a mystery.” A voice from above you spoke, jolting you fully awake.

You leapt away from the sofa, scrambling to find words to form a coherent sentence, but before you could make a noise that was vaguely human, he spoke again, “I do, however, have a more pressing question.” He paused, lifting up the blanket slightly and gesturing underneath it, “Where are my pants?”

You still weren’t feeling too confident in your voice box, so you pointed to the armchair that had the now unwearable trousers draped over them. The handsome, and charming, man looked over at them and back at you, and chuckled slightly. You were trying very hard not to find his smile attractive or the way that his eyes clearly spelled out mischief endearing. You would not crush on Mr. Murderer. That was too far, even for you. 

“Please don’t murder me?” You said tentatively, unsure of how else to put it. 

“That would be a bit ungrateful of me, you did put me back together.” You couldn’t really think of anything else to say, so you just nodded, heading slowly in the direction of the door, “Um... Do you want tea? Coffee? Water? I think I’ve got some biscuits…” You trailed off as you entered the safety of your kitchen. 

You slid into a chair and placed your head in your hands. Good going. Only you would get yourself in a position like this one. Who needs a boyfriend when you can patch up mysteriously attractive men in your living room? You yelped as his deep voice spoke from the doorway, but you interrupted him before he could say anything.

“What the fuck are you doing standing? You should be lying on the sofa! Trying to recover from severe blood loss! You nearly died!” You pushed him by the shoulders, ushering him back towards the couch until he was safely sitting back down. Then very aware of your hands on his shoulders, you patted them a couple of times before taking two large steps back, and looking around the room, not at his now very amused face.

“Sorry, doll,” he grinned, “Do you have a phone I could borrow? Then I can get out of your hair.”

“Yeah, uh, let me just-…” You didn’t bother finishing your sentence and scampered out of the door to grab your landline. After a few steadying breaths, you went back in with a smile, trying to appear grace and beauty, and not a flustered scrambling mess. You handed him the phone, and then tried hard to slowly walk away and give him some privacy. 

What were you doing! You had no idea who this man was, yet you were giving him everything he asked for. You decided to put the kettle on, because tea fixes everything and that’s a fact. You made him a coffee, because any man that looks like that is going to be a coffee drinker, probably black and bitter like his soul. Not that you had given hot beverages to murderers often.

As you walked back into the room carrying both mugs, the man was saying, “Yeah, I chased him, he got a few nicks in, but we’re going to need a clean up down the second path on the right.” You froze. Oh my god, he was a murderer! And the guy he was calling was going to dispose of the body. Did that make you an accessory? He was using your phone after all. His voice cut through your spiral. “Hey, would you mind speaking to my friend, he wants to thank you.” As much as you didn’t want to be involved, you felt a little rude saying no, so you handed him his coffee in exchange for the phone.

“Hi,” you squeaked, yeah that’s good, real strong don’t-fuck-with-me vibes sounding like Mickey fucking Mouse. 

“Hi Ma’am, this is Sam Wilson.” A wave of realisation hit you. Captain America. You weren’t going to die! Better than that, you had helped Captain America! Your mum was going to be so happy, she crushed on the Captain way too hard. You looked back over to Mr. Not A Murderer as he was reaching for the sugar to put in his coffee. 

You were vaguely registering the thanks Sam was giving you, but you could only look at the face of the man on your couch, trying to process that you had patched up the Bucky Barnes. You didn’t know how you didn’t recognise him before. He had had a haircut since the picture you had seen had been taken, but the piercing blue eyes, combat jacket, and now you’re looking for it, the metal arm should have been a slight giveaway. It’s amazing what panic can do to people. You suddenly realised that 1) You were still staring at him in a creepy way, and 2) The Captain America was still talking in your ear and you hadn’t been listening to him. You snapped back into focus.

“I don’t know if you know, but we’ve had some recent major changes to the team and administration are still tying up loose ends,” he was saying. Of course, the blip and its aftermath, you knew it all too well. “So I’m afraid he can’t leave quite yet. If he causes you any problems, call me back on this number and we’ll try and send someone to deal with it.” 

You nodded, before realising that this was a phone call and he couldn’t see you. You gave a quick and small, “Yeah, sure, see you in a bit,” before hearing the click of the line going dead. You turned back to Bucky sitting innocently on your couch, as he stirred the sugars into his coffee and smiled up at you expectantly. “So, you, uh...” You started, trying to organise your mouth and arrange for words to come out, “You’re an Avenger.” You kept nodding, trying to lighten the mood as if it was a daily occurrence to have someone casually bleed out onto your sofa. And then that person turn out to be an Avenger, one of the worlds greatest heroes.

“Yeah, I am… Look I’m really sorry about the couch, can I do anything to pay you back? I don’t have any money on me at the moment, but I'm sure I can find something.”

You cut him off, trying not to laugh, “That sounds suspiciously like the beginning of a porno.”

His eyes went wide, and a laugh escaped him, “I would offer that, but I would most definitely have some repercussions from HR. They’re not too keen on mild prostitution.”

At this you joined his laughter. Now you knew that your life was safe, the adrenaline had left your body and you felt less flustered at the whole prospect of him being there. You knew that he was inherently a good person, and it had been ridiculous of you to think you would hurt him.

“You could help me clean up a little if you’re going to be here a while, I’ve got a shift starting this afternoon,” You offered.

“Where do you work?”

“At the hospital, I’m a nurse there. Speaking of, do you need to go? I don’t really know how super-soldiers’ function, but my sutures are probably a bit haphazard… Oh my god, wait, you still don’t have pants on, wait a sec.” You hurried out of the room once more and dashed to your room, grabbing a pair of large sweatpants and a t-shirt you hoped would fit him. You hopped back down, holding them out to him with a smile.

“You sure your boyfriend won’t mind me borrowing his clothes?”

You gave a slight chuckle, he was smooth. “No boyfriend I’m afraid, just a weirdo who loves getting clothes from charity shops in the wrong size.”

“In that case, I thank the weirdo for her service.” He took the pile, and grabbed onto your hand, making you look up at him and meet his eye, “I mean it, doll, thank you so much for everything you’ve done for me. You saved my life when you clearly had no idea who I am, and I’m really grateful.”

You smiled at your shoes, not being able to hold his intense gaze for much longer, “If I’m honest, I only did it so I wouldn’t face a murder charge. It was purely because of selfish reasons.” You turned around to give him some privacy, and walked back into the kitchen. When you went through the threshold, you sighed and stared intently at the blood smear on the floor. It was going to take a bit of cleaning to get out. You hoped you weren’t going to have to get someone in, that would take a bit of explaining. 

When you turned around again, Bucky stood in the doorway. Your grey sweatpants hung low on hips, and the t-shirt hugging him, maybe a little too tightly. Oops. He eyed up your kitchen floor, “Wow, I really went to town on bleeding all over your floor, huh? Where’s the cleaning stuff?”

You laughed again, finding it was becoming a common occurrence with Bucky around. “Yeah, you sure left your mark,” you laughed rummaging around in a cupboard and handing him a mop and some bleach. You decidedly ignored the heat that remained where his hand grazed yours. It had been way too long since you last got laid. 

“I don’t want to be rude, but you’ve got a little, uh, blood, just, um…” He gestured to your entire body, “everywhere.”

You looked down at your clothes and saw what he meant. There were smears and spatters coating your pyjamas, originating from your forearms. It looked like a car had driven through a puddle and splashed you on the sidewalk, but instead, the puddle was blood and the car was Bucky’s body. 

“Right, yeah, I think a shower is needed,” You paused before turning back to him, “Please don’t steal anything?”

“I don’t know doll, you’ve got some pretty comfy sweatpants, I’d watch out if I were you.”

You gave him a light chuckle before running upstairs, trying to hide how wide you were actually smiling. It was crazy how someone could elicit such a response from you having only known you a few conscious hours. You peeled off your dirty clothes and shoved them in the sink to soak. You jumped in the shower and tried to calm your whirling mind that was filled with thoughts of Bucky and his captivating smile. It would be extreme to call you obsessed, but you were definitely intrigued. You wanted to sit down and talk to him, try and learn anything about him that he was willing to tell you, and even just be in his company because he made you feel a step lighter than you had yesterday. 

After a thorough scrub, using your best soap because you wanted to, not because of someone downstairs, but because you wanted to. As you rounded in the kitchen in fresh clothes, Bucky was putting away the cleaning things, and the floor actually sparkled. It had never been this clean before, not even after you had scrubbed it for hours, trying to clean up the entire lasagne you had dropped on it once.

“Wow, I’m impressed and mildly concerned at how well you managed to clean that up,” you said, and Bucky lifted his head up, grinning at you.

“Let’s just say 70 years as an assassin gives you lots of practice at that sort of thing,” he joked. “Sam said he was going to be here in a few minutes, so I’m going to head off now. I just want to thank you again for everything you did for me, it really means a lot, and I can’t convey how grateful I am.”

A date would be a great thank you, you thought, but said instead, “Yeah of course, thanks for cleaning up and ya know, saving the world and that.” He gave you a small smile and you walked him to the door. As he turned to leave, he paused and looked at you with his mouth open as if he was about to say something but shook his head instead. He leant in and gave you a kiss on the cheek, lingering a little longer than you thought normal. You became aware of his hand on your arm, and his soft breath on your cheek. You blushed hard as he pulled away, still revelling in the feeling of his slightly chapped lips on your cheek and shut the door quickly before you jumped on top of the poor man. Get yourself together! You took a deep breath, trying to push Bucky out of your brain, and carried on with the day.

-

To say you thought about Bucky all day would be an understatement. A patient would come in with a broken arm having fallen off of a horse, and you wondered if Bucky had ever ridden. A small child came in with a cold, and you wondered what Bucky was like as a child, whether he was always fighting fit, or if he suffered with colds. Your fellow nurses were teasing you constantly throughout the day about the dreamy heart-eyes and wide smile you were sporting, but you didn’t care. You told them about Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome, and they swooned, gushing over the details you gave them about your encounter. 

You were still smiling ear to ear as you walked to your front door, only biting your lip to try and conceal it on the walk home so people didn’t think you were mad. To be honest, it didn’t matter that you weren’t going to see him again, the fact that he knew who you were, and that you had both shared that memory was good enough for you. Obviously, you wanted to see him again, but life was life and things aren’t always salt and pepper, so you kept that memory treasured away. As you walked up to your door, you froze. There was a small package on your doorstep. You stepped tentatively towards it, trying to discern if it was a bomb or the UPS guy had forgotten to drop it around the back. As you got closer, you saw it was the clothes you had leant Bucky, with a handwritten note on it.

‘To my guardian angel,

Let me say thank you properly, 646-724-7147,

Bucky’

Maybe things weren’t over just yet.

Next Part

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #432

Top Ten Games to Remaster

As we continue June’s videogame-themed series of Tops Ten – during what would normally have been E3, but is still something of a prolonged Videogame Announcement Season – I turn my attention once again to great games past. This has been exacerbated by the release of Command & Conquer Remastered Collection, a hi-def spit-and-polish re-do of two of the greatest PC games of the nineties. I have very fond teenage memories of both C&C and its pseudo-sequel, but Red Alert in particular strikes an important chord as one of “the” games that deepened and broadened by love of gaming as an art form. In the way that really only happens when you’re a kid, I absorbed Red Alert, not just completing the campaign and playing hours and hours of skirmish, but also talking about it extensively with friends, designing my own levels, and even going so far as to modify the source files to create my own super-units (nuclear tanks ahoy!). As such, it utterly delights me to declare that C&C Remastered is a phenomenal undertaking, the graphics painstakingly remade to fit modern displays, the interface masterfully tweaked to appease modern sensibilities. But at the same time it offers so many pleasing, knowing, considerate hat-tips to fans, such as a re-imagining of the classic DOS installation prompts. All in all, it’s a must-buy, bringing a 25-year-old series of games more-or-less bang up to date and preserving their legacy for a new generation.

Anyway, all this got me thinking of other classic games, and how it’s so difficult to play them nowadays. Maybe they’re mired in rights issues. Maybe it’s a technological minefield to get them to run on modern systems. Maybe elements of modern gaming – be it graphics or design – have simply passed them by, making them a far more difficult and frustrating experience than they would have seemed Back in the Day. Whatever the reason, these are games that – like classic films from the 40s and 50s – should be celebrated and enjoyed by the young’uns, not left to gather digital dust on forgotten floppies the world over.

So, with no further ado, here are ten games that I would love to see given a bit of digital TLC, renewed and revigorated for the ultra-wide monitors and liquid-cooled systems of tomorrow. In most cases these are just one game that I’d like to see spruced up and re-released, but there are a few “collections” here too, whether it’s a C&C-style pairing of a great double act, or a  celebration of a series, a la Halo: The Master Chief Collection.

Oh, and I’m on about remasters here: not a full-on remake or reboot. Stuff like Perfect Dark on the Xbox 360, not Doom 2016. Old games made good on modern hardware, not a reimagining of the property.

Regardless: have at it, games industry.

Lemmings (1991) and Lemmings 2: The Tribes (1993): I definitely think they should be a double-pack, because whilst the first is a well-regarded classic, the second refines the formula, makes it more user-friendly, offers skirmish-style training modes, and amps up the comedy. But they’re both ancient by now, and despite mobile do-overs in recent years, the originals are very difficult to play. Upping the resolution whilst still keeping the character of the scantily-pixelated sprites would be difficult, but it’d be worth it to once again sample one of the gods of gaming.

Sam & Max Hit the Road (1993): other LucasArts classic adventures have had a spruce – most notably the first two seminal Monkey Island games – but it’d be good to see this cult comedy classic come back to life. I don’t know if the backgrounds ever existed in higher resolution, but I’d love to see the sprites re-drawn to more closely resemble a cartoon version of Steve Purcell’s artwork.

The Jedi Knight Series (1995-2003): I’m bundling all four Jedi Knight games in together – that’s the original Dark Forces, plus Jedi Knight, Jedi Outcast, and Jedi Academy – but let’s be honest, it’s the first two we’re really after. DF gave us a compelling mission-based “Doom Clone” (back when Doom was a genre), and one which would be amazing to see tarted up to 4K with texture filtering a-go-go; but it was its 1997 sequel, Jedi Knight: Dark Forces II, that struck serious beskar. Huge, expansive levels, in “true 3D” (as we used to call it), full-motion video cutscenes, finally getting a lightsaber and Force powers, but most of all the Light/Dark Side dynamic offering (very basic) morality and a branching storyline. Again, giving it a glossy hi-def sheen would do wonders to preserve the legacy of one of the greatest Star Wars games of all time.

The Quake Collection (1996-2005): really it should be called The Quake Qollection, no? Encompassing all four mainline Quakes. Although, again, let’s be honest: there’s something deeply iconic about the first three, so no one would complain if we just forgot about part 4, yeah? Anyway: Quake was a stunner, a gorgeous 3D technical juggernaut, offering sumptuous lighting effects and gorgeous architecture. Part II came a year later and offered us coloured lighting and a coherent sci-fi story, whereas Quake III Arena in 1999 gave us a sublimely crafted multiplayer shooter and a character that was an eyeball doing a handstand. Despite being graphical powerhouses in their day, getting them to run can be a drag, so it’d be lovely to see them dragged into the 21st Century, especially if they could offer us ray-tracing on next-gen consoles, a la Quake II RTX.

Tomb Raider (1996): we’ve seen the series rebooted in (generally) excellent fashion, but at the same time it feels it lost a little of the majesty, mythos, and merriment of OG Lara. One of the first truly successful 3D games, it was like nothing before it. A subtle update to increase its resolution, filter the rough edges, maybe offer the option to move beyond the rigid grid-based movement structure, and possibly up the poly count so blocky Lara more closely resembles her rendered box-art cousin, would be terrific. Imagine the dinosaur in 4K…!

Descent (1994): one of those games that’s slipped from public consciousness, this was a full-3D shooter a couple of years before Quake shambled onto our screens. Piloting a craft in zero gravity, it offered full freedom of movement as well as a tense shooter dynamic coupled with some mild, X-Wing-style space sim elements. It was funky, fast, gorgeous, and messed with your head. I’d love a remake that kept the levels as-is, simplified the often-complex controls for modern sensibilities, and just in general made it look prettier. I worry that a contemporary “re-imagining” might lose too many of its crazy rough edges, though.

Syndicate (1993): there have been a number of efforts to re-do Syndicate over the years, but apart from its excellent sequel Syndicate Wars in 1996, none have matched the dark joys of the original. rather than try to go all modern and 3D, I’d rather see the artwork redone, redrawn at a higher resolution, perhaps offering subtle 3D touches such as dynamic light, shadow, and ray-tracing. The fiddlier aspects (getting into cars?!) could be tidied up, but the look and feel should remain the same. I honestly think this could be a big deal.

Total Annihilation (1997): if C&C can get remastered, why not the game that was arguably the first real challenger to its sci-fi RTS dominance? TA had 3D graphics, a new and refined model of base construction, and tactical touches such as line-of-sight and elevated terrain. But the comparatively low resolution of late-nineties machines meant that the robotic units could often appear slightly indistinct, turning into a grey melange; boosting the res and the poly count would do wonders, but – like C&C – the gameplay itself should be kept as authentic as possible.

Warcraft I & II (1994-95): I know, I know; they just did a remaster of Warcraft III that wasn’t well received and got everybody’s backs up. But I barely played Warcraft III (I barely played Warcraft I for that matter). Warcraft II: Tides of Darkness was the fantasy yin to C&C’s sci-fi yang, and it was great; clear, bright, fast, fun. The cartoony graphics were gorgeous and the units had bags of character (reinforced by the humorous soundbites when you kept clicking on them). I’d want to see the sprites re-drawn in hi-res, with the units given some gorgeous new animations to match their character. Other than that? Keep it broadly the same. It worked 25 years ago, it’ll work now.

Fantasy World Dizzy (1989): I nearly didn’t have a game this old on the list. For one thing, I thought pre-16-bit games would require far more retooling for modern audiences, becoming essentially the sort of reboot I said I wanted to avoid; I can’t imagine a new Skool Daze being too similar to its original. Also which Dizzy do you choose? The one I played the most was probably Spellbound (1991). But I think Fantasy World may be the most iconic. Its Amiga port was almost a remaster anyway, giving it gorgeous colour graphics. A modern version would up the resolution with all-new art assets, obviously, and perhaps could offer a more user-friendly jumping dynamic (and maybe – maybe – I’ll allow scrolling). This could be a lovely way to re-introduce audiences to the character of Dizzy, who should really be held up more as a British gaming mascot, without having to go all-in on a brand new title. Egg-cellent (sorry).

So there we are. There are a couple missing here, obviously; Simon the Sorcerer was nearly there until I realised they did do a gentle remaster in 2018. The Settlers would have made the list, except they are remaking that, although in my opinion it looks like a full-on reboot rather than the upgraded version of the original that I crave. Fade to Black just dropped off the bottom on the grounds that I barely played it in its original form, but a third-person 3D Flashback is still on my Most Wanted list (Flashback itself, sadly, has already had a disappointing remake). And the best Star Wars game of all time, Knights of the Old Republic, I decided not to include as – again – I think we’re going to see that reimagined and folded into the new official Disney canon in some form. Maybe that should preclude me imagining the original game in 4K with updated character models, dynamic shadows, and ray-tracing, but – hey – that’s just me. At least that is one game that I’ll still be able to play fairly easily on an Xbox Series X, even without whistles and bells. Here’s to dead old games!

[blueraith]

Some folks still need to learn how to constructively comment

Wish I could say that I’ve been writing Chapter... 12(? Legit, I don’t often remember the chapter numbers outside of the Google doc) since posting Chapter 11 (we’re just gonna assume I know where the fuck I’m at in my own story, okay? Give me this).

But that would be a bald faced lie.

(Mostly because of my sister’s graduation and all the family visiting and the concurrent back injury I was suffering. Really kills the writing mood when you can’t sit up properly to type.)

This is going under a read more, because this incident Vexed Me To The Max(TM) and triggered a Rant of Epic Proportions(TM).

But graduation has been over, and my back has been feeling great. What really kept me a bit down since all that was over and done with is that very morning I’m feeling better, I see that I have two comments on the 100 fic I’ve put on indefinite hiatus. Yeah, it’s not an active story, but I still care about it, and I’ve been thinking about it recently. So, in short. I still care about it a hell of a lot. Hell, I care about everything that I write. I’ve written fanfiction at what’s nearing 10 years now, but nothing has erased the fact that putting yourself out there in the public eye takes a hell of a lot of effort and, sure, a smidgen of courage and confidence.

Well, this lovely commenter told me that my word count was way too high, that I was slowing my story down, and that they skipped to the last chapter (from Chapter 2, they skipped 6 chapters of ongoing character development, an ensemble cast, Ark politics, and canon fix-its) “40k words and [Clarke’s] still not on the ground yet??”

This is me paraphrasing both comments. I deleted them with extreme prejudice from the fic because I wasn’t leaving that kind of useless bullshit on my work after it effectively ruined my mood for, like, four days.

Why was it bullshit? Well, for one thing taking the average word count per chapter, it’s only a little over 5k words per chapter. Look. I balance out my word counts very carefully for each story that I write. This fic has a longer than average word count compared to my more recent stuff (which is around 4k per chapter) because of all the fuckin shit I was pulling off in this particular fic. Reworking canon to better explain why the Arkers were resistent to the radiation on the ground while having the superior blood that the Mountain Men wanted without putting them up in their shitty space station for thousand of years that evolution would have actually required them to have gone through to be remotely realistic.

Jake’s alive in this fic because I don’t like dead characters shaping character development on a pre-canon basis. Personally, I dislike orphan/parental loss storylines before the specific original work has even started. I get that orphans exist in real life. But YA media has a disproportionate amount of dead parents. Eh. I wanted to do something different. So, this means there’s an entire extra character in the story that I have to write and develop.

Diana Allers actually matters in day to day Ark life instead of just showing up and nearly murdering everyone because she’s a selfish bitch for little to no reason other than to make Abby’s already pretty damn full storyline even more packed than it already was. (Seriously, why didn’t they develop Allers more? She’s lazily implemented in canon, and I hate it. Lord only knows I enjoyed Abby and Raven’s plotlines far more in several places of Season 1 rather than Bellamy’s Manpain Adventures Lite Before He Turns Into A Complete And Utter Psychopath Later On In The Series).

Jaha is far more competent and slimey than he is in the show, rather than being a foolish man who is barely toddering along in the plot towards something useful.

Abby and Jake are at odds because Jake technically betrays Clarke and allows her to get arrested in the beginning of the story. They adopt Raven in the interim and they’re all awkwardly trying to free Clarke while pretending that Jake and Abby aren’t having marital problems. Well, Jake and Abby are pretending, Raven is as blunt as she usually is and just calls shit like she sees it.

Ensemble cast. There’s literally a tag on this story that tells you all that “This Story Is Literally About Everyone.”

So.

Yeah.

Clarke’s not on the fucking ground yet. But you wouldn’t know that, would you? Having skipped past 6 chapters.

Is 5k really that long? I wouldn’t know, personally when I read a longfic, I go into it knowing that the chapters might be long as fuck because I know that I’m reading a fic that could literally take me through several days and I read pretty damn fast. Not that 40k words is really all that much when you’re rewriting a TV show using all the characters who already exist in canon and then getting into their thoughts and motivations because that is literally what books do, this isn’t a screenplay, I wouldn’t be caught dead writing one because I despise them. Sorry, but you’re getting the full range of thoughts and emotions of everyone involved. I know, that’s just awful, getting hours and hours of content for free, but god forbid the plot doesn’t run on your timetable.

But that’s really the crux of this rant, isn’t it? NEVER complain about word counts, people. Too short? Who the fuck cares? The author could be just beginning their writing careers, so to speak. Word counts of any significance takes practice, first of all. So, not only could they might or might not have the required experience to write longer chapters, they may not even want to. And that’s fine. Because they do this FOR FREE.

Same thing with longer chapters. Are you really going to come at me, nearly a year after I’ve written and posted this work, complaining about word count, as though there’s even a remote chance that I’m going to go back and edit down all of that time and effort I put into that work to satisfy your fragile reading stamina?

Pfffffffffft.

I mean, this is funny to me in some regard because I’m over here wondering just what would be a good length for this person. Part of the reason my chapters tend to be at least 4k words long is because that’s generally where I can get a comfortable amount of character interaction, introspective thought, and plot moving forward. All three of those things matter to me when writing chapters. I hate reading too short works (and no, I don’t tell these authors this. I read what they give me and just deal with it because they’re entertaining me for free) and it’s little more than characters just trading dialogue with each other. I want to know what they are thinking about as well. I want a bit of narration. I’m reading something from a specific character’s point of view, and I want that chapter to ooze the personality of that character.

These are all the things I keep in mind when I write to my word count goals, personally. Doing it in less than 3k words might be possible, but it would sure as hell be annoying.

But most of all, it just irritated the fuck out of me. Like I’ve said multiple times in this rant. I do this for free. I don’t expect you guys to know this, but in order to get these substantial updates when I can manage to actually feel well enough to write and get them published, it takes me EIGHT TO TWELVE HOURS of sitting in front of a computer screen to have a chapter finished. On a good day. Yes. Most of the chapters I put out are done in one day, in one block, and I’m often up until 5 AM finishing something up. I have severe ADHD. Sometimes it is a chore to get shit put on a page because I can’t sit down and focus my thoughts enough to sound even coherent. Sometimes I have issues keeping up with what the beginning of a long sentence was about and I have to constantly keep up with what the fuck I’m even talking about in any given thought.

So, you have an author with a severe executive function disorder attempting to concentrate hard enough to get her own thoughts in character for each and every character that is featured in any given story while attempting to resist even the most mundane distractions while desperately hoping she’s going to hit a period of hyperfocus long enough to get substantial work down, but if that happens she’ll probably forget to eat because she’s on a writing binge that goes on with actual significant work for a period of several hours.

I love writing, despite the challenges I have to deal with in order just to get it done. I love most of the comments that I receive. I’m coming off a period of extreme depression from some family issues I was dealing with. My skin is rather thin at the moment and that irritated the fuck out of me, but those two comments knocked more wind out of my sails that I really wanted them to, and that bugs me even more.

But I am more experienced in fic writing than probably your average person. This commenter pissed me the fuck off, but I’ve moved past this, it’s hardly shattered my motivation to write forever.

But a careless commenter could easily do that to someone just getting into fanfiction. And it makes me wonder just how often this happens everyday, every hour, when entitled, spoiled people who think their needs are more important than the author doing this FOR FREE decide to voice their terrible opinions on their works. I love my readers, I don’t hold myself beholden to them, but they are extraordinarily important to me. Plot, pacing, and character development are all my own when I write because first and foremost, I write for myself. It’s a hobby that I clearly have to work very hard at to even be remotely successful at, and taking anyone else’s standards into account is never going to happen when I have to live up to my own already very high expectations. But I do keep y’all in mind when I’m devoting my time, energy, and effort in. The chapter lengths I have partly exist to make up for the wait times I inevitably have between each release. I very much know that I am sporadic and inconsistent when updating. So, when I do, I want to have something that isn’t just a whisper in the wind when it finally cycles to the top of the AO3 listing.

I know there are inevitably readers who didn’t like my content, or do think my stuff is too long. That’s fine. But don’t come into my space and give me two comments that were effectively “TL;DR” and expect that not to be a slap in the face. Because it is. I have wonder if the fandom kids today even know the kind of slap backs this sort of thing would have gotten in LiveJournal.

But, never mind that. I’m a big girl, I took some petty revenge in deleting that bullshit from my boards and then setting the fic to moderated mode, but what I would like anyone who decides to read through what is actually a long winded post (all my rants are, admittedly) to learn is that you are not reading professional work. You are not reading work that has been paid for. You are not reading work that has been professionally edited. I’m not saying that you can’t have standards for fic, lord knows I have many, but I don’t go into an author’s work and leave shitty comments. Never. Constructive criticism on fanfiction keeps the author’s time in mind, their skill level over what they’re actually capable of, and whether or not they’re even open to criticism. Some authors don’t even want your advice. They just want to know that you liked it. And if you don’t, just don’t say anything. I’m not quite that fragile personally, when someone is giving me useful criticism that can be used to actually improve my quality of writing, but I will freely admit that clearly I have a sore spot about comments addressing word counts.

Get out of here with that shit.

In short. If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything at all.

[habitualdisquiet-blog]

Content is king

We all know that, don’t we? Or is it?

We live in an age where content is not only everywhere, it is also talked about everywhere. It’s part of people’s job titles and the name of their self-help guides. People are making a living out of creating content via YouTube, Instagram and a plethora of other channels, while others are making a living teaching others how to create it. This is a moment in time where increasingly what you say and do is deemed more important than how you say it.

This is the natural evolution of a process that started when we all began to be able create content and distribute it ourselves with little or no experience, training or investment; often from a single device.

This is fantastic. It’s created a demand for, but also an accessibility to, video that we’ve never seen before. We can use it for so much more and how we communicate benefits as a result; not only does video communicate in a way that other media can’t, making it ideal for telling some stories, but it is also increasingly useful in terms of search.

At the same time the value of what we create is often much lower than it might once have been. You can use video for everything and it could also be said that the individual impact and importance of each bit of content has diminished, lost as it is in a sea of others – not only on social media platforms but even on owned channels, be they broadcast/entertainment or digital estate.

We have entered the era of the all-you-can-eat buffet of content. We can consume all we want, gorge ourselves in fact, but, just as it does with food, this very in turn makes it forgettable, disposable, somehow less valuable. It fundamentally alters the parameters by which we judge its worth. No longer do we measure it by the quality of the cooking, but by the amount we can get for our money.

This new reality has come into its own in the times we’re living in. The world is working via low/no cost video – live streamed or the recordings of live streams.

In lock-down I’ve been doing an online screenwriting course at NYU. This is presided over by a very talented writer and hugely effective communicator. He presents live via Youtube using a mic and this works well. On the other hand his pre-recorded lectures are done without a microphone in his poorly lit office. He is indifferently framed and edits are covered by some simple dissolves. I continue to find this ironic, considering his field of expertise. It is, inevitably, a barrier to engagement. To be honest, it makes him look like he doesn’t really care whether he reaches his students or about the course in general.

We’ve created a visual language that reflects the extraordinary times. One formed largely by the limitations it imposes, but one that suits the reality we all share. It works because it reflects the our current situation for us all. The fact is, however, that we are further normalizing poor images, limited visual storytelling, and hitherto unacceptable audio quality. 

One can’t help but fear, however, that, alongside so much else, this may create a lasting change; that our expectations of quality, be it in news gathering, television or advertising and branded content, will be altered permanently. That brands and companies will believe they can either do it themselves, or do it on the cheap, and what’s more that this will be doing the job they want it to just as well as the professionally made content they paid for back in the days before the pandemic.

This isn’t helped by the large numbers of people promoting the use of user generated content (often as an attempt to stay relevant and working in a time where film shoots simply can’t happen), as well as all those communicators offering courses claiming that everything you once needed a film crew to do, you can now achieve on a smart phone.

You can’t. A cursory glance at any of the output of such ‘experts’ reveals this with crystal clarity. It takes more than a phone with 1080 or even 4k video capability to make a good film.

A professional might be able to. One versed in the art of storytelling and the language of film. They won’t achieve anything nearly as good as something made with proper production values, but they could at least make a decent film. One that works. One that perhaps knowingly uses the rawness of the format to its advantage, rather than tries to be what it isn’t.

Overall, however, a number of things have been forgotten in the great democratic explosion of content making:

Firstly, it’s never been easier to make a film, but it’s still just as hard to make a good one.  It’s actually about so much more than being able to point and press the button, or cut it into a rudimentary shape. It’s about storytelling – the knowledge, creativity, talent, experience of how to use the medium to tell stories. Unless you know not only what story to tell, but how best to tell it using film, you won’t create a great piece of content.

Just because you can operate the equipment doesn’t mean you can create a great piece of storytelling. It would be foolish to think anybody can, but it doesn’t stop this happening. People who feel they have something to say film themselves expecting it to work. Companies and brands hand instructions to employees or members of the public and expect to get back coherent, engaging, rushes.

This is like giving my 11 year old a bunch of ingredients, asking him to cook a meal and expecting it to be restaurant quality. Or it’s like saying that just because it’s easy to make music using any number of apps on an iPad, that we will all be able to write and perform a tune. My eldest son can. I’ve heard him do it, but then again he’s done grade 8 violin and grade 6 piano. He can work out how to play any piece of music he’s heard just a couple of times by ear. I could never hope to do what he can do - I have neither the training, the experience or the talent.

The other thing that people also forget is that it’s not just how you construct your narrative, but how you then use the language and techniques of film making to bring it to life. It’s about tone, pace and that most ethereal and elusive thing – how it feels. It’s about all those things you absorb and learn through years as a practitioner that makes this medium so special, so uniquely engaging.

Partially this is the function of making something inherently hugely complex,  that requires input from multiple individuals, look entirely effortless. If you can see the joins, we’re not doing our job properly.

It’s about a whole host of things that individually seem esoteric or unimportant, but cumulatively create something that is so much greater than the sum of its parts. It’s about camera angles and framing, depth of field, image quality, movement, pace, performance, editing, lighting, colour temperature, context, language, tone of voice, music, sound design, grading, casting, production design, wardrobe choices, locations. In other words it’s about the fact that everything matters. Every single, largely invisible or at least unnoticeable, element that contributes to the mood, feeling and engagement of a film; that helps tell your story.

Film making is about creating experiences that are better than life. If it wasn’t, it would be little more than CCTV. It’s about taking what would be much duller lived or seen through two human eyes and making it richer and more comprehensive, more moving, more exciting, more concise and more memorable.

This is the only route to real engagement, rather than to fleeting and transitory experience. It is the only way to permanently, or at least lastingly, affect how someone feels about something; how to help change how they behave.

This is rooted in how we process information. Images are dealt with by our long term memory, whereas words are by the short term. Great visual storytelling gives us a direct route to making a lasting impression.

The irony is that the better you are at making films, the easier the job looks to others. The very function of getting good at what you do undermines people’s understanding of that very fact.

Now I know what you’re thinking. I would say this, wouldn’t I? I’ve made a living making expensive films for people. Not only is it in my financial interests, but you might say I’m also old school, stuck in my ways. To that I would say that I’ve been involved in lots of UGC projects. I actually really like them (something that surprises most people in my profession) and think that the results can be fantastic - when they are properly managed and when this sort of content is suited to the task at hand.

I’m also far from being a luddite or hidebound by method. When I managed a large team of producers I made sure we had no set process to follow, at least in how they made the actual film (it was the civil service after all). I employed them for their expertise and the only thing that mattered was what ended up on screen; was it the best possible use of the budget to make the most effective bit of comms? I didn’t care how they spent the money or what route they took to get to the finished piece.

Now that I am once again a hands-on film maker, I continue embrace new technology and new techniques. I see the accessibility of today’s film-making equipment as an enabler, as something that helps professional, talented people to make even better films. To look at it as just as an excuse to eliminate the  experienced and talented is like saying that, since anybody can use Microsoft Word, anybody can now write a novel. Talent is still important.

As is creativity. Whether that is the use of interesting, exciting, innovative ideas or techniques, or taking a different approach to narrative and story. The sort of creativity that makes really memorable films; ones that really pop, that people talk about and share. The sort of creativity that is the first victim of lower production values. 

This has been brought into sharp relief for me by the Government’s attempt at engaging and communicating with us about Coronavirus. First off we had Chris Whitty staring woodenly into the camera, then subsequent executions that have cobbled together an assortment of news and UGC footage with an emotive sound track.

This contrasts sharply, and I'm afraid to say unfavourably, with the staged response involving a number of different creative and engaging executions we created at the COI for a possible flu pandemic in 2009. It also contrasts with various other pieces of work from various US states and other countries around the world addressing this pandemic, so there’s no real excuse, beyond the fact that the coalition government managed to amputate a key element of its communications response when it closed COI in 2012.

Anyway, that’s history. Back to today. I’m not denying the validity of cheap, immediate communications. There is an increasing need for quick and dirty bits of content. I also can’t help but accept that some fantastic content is created by amateurs, with the lowest of lo-fi equipment.

I would just ask you to remember that for every fantastic influencer, blogger or Youtuber, there are millions more with just a handful of views, if that. In fact last year 30,000 hours of video were uploaded to Youtube every single hour. That’s a lot of stuff that sinks without trace with barely a ripple.

What I am saying is that it is all about value. If you want to shoot a meeting for the dozen people who couldn’t make it to view just once, that’s low value – use a phone. If you want to record an event for posterity or for the Christmas party video, get someone in the office to do it.

I’m all for clients taking a graded response based on value. I think it behoves us as film makers to enable this by being both responsible and confident enough to turn work down; to say, you know what, maybe you don’t need me and the experience and expertise I bring.

On the other hand, if you have something important to say, and it’s important that people not only hear your message, but also act and think differently as a result, please think about what’s going to be needed to really make that happen.

Also remember that the care and attention that is given to your comms is a direct reflection, in the audience’s eyes, of the value you place on the messages and their impact. Nothing says we don’t care like looking like you don’t think its worth doing properly, nothing turns an audience off more than unengaging storytelling; frankly you’d be better off not doing it all.

So when this madness is over, don’t think of it as an opportunity to permanently adopt a cheaper, more DIY approach to content making. To borrow a phrase from Dominic Raab, don’t make this the new normal.

Instead look upon it as a unique opportunity to inspire, surprise, excite, energise and engage afresh an audience starved for too long of decent visual storytelling.

An opportunity to make an even bigger impact, using film as a catalyst to help us all emerge like butterflies from the cocoon of coronavirus lock down. After all, as Keats said: What the imagination seizes as beauty must be truth.