There are a number of short movies out there based on my stories. If someone asks me if it’s ok to make one (some people don’t ask) I generally say Go Ahead. I don’t try to get involved, film-making is a different medium and I’m not into making movies so I leave the film-makers to it.
If you see any movies that aren’t mentioned/linked on the page Short Movies page on this site, let me know.
If you want to make a movie from one of my stories, my usual fee is one blueberry muffin or 1% of gross, but contact me just in case I develop a dislike of blueberry muffins.
Christopher James Walker has occupied my writing in one form or another for years. He appears fully in two novels – Urban Pastoral and Grendel – and makes a brief but crucial appearance in a third – The Heaven Field. He’s also in a couple of short stories.
I’m never sure if he’s a psychopath or, conversely, a severely damaged empath.
He’s due to make a final appearance in a book that has the working title of Stateless. It’s the fraternal twin cum sequel to Grendel, set ten years later, and clears up a lot of the unanswered questions in Grendel.
Made a return visit to Anne Tyler this week. Haven’t read her in years and I came across her by chance, but she’s a lovely writer; I don’t think her stories are about events, they’re just about people.
I’m reading A Patchwork Planet and it makes a warm and pleasant change from the junk-fiction I usually read.
The Accidental Tourist is my favourite Anne Tyler book though, and Muriel Pritchett is one of my favourite literary characters. She’s sort of tragic/vulnerable but admirably sparky and generous too.
But The Accidental Tourist invokes the whole novel/movie – which is better? – question that I get when I read books like Breakfast at Tiffany’s or Holes or Jurassic Park. Not the Godfather mind, cos the movies are far far better than the original book.
I had a lucid dream the other night. I felt as awake as I do now, but then I saw my pal John, and next to him was sitting another version of him, so I asked him ‘is this a dream?’ and he said ‘yes.’
Great I thought, a lucid dream, I can do whatever I want! I can make magic happen. Fly. Time travel. Whatever. So I sat down and made myself conjure the scenario and the people and the red wine I wanted at that moment.
And. Nothing. Just nothing.
Just me sitting there.
It seems that even in my dreams I’m subject to the laws of nature and physics. There’s a moral in there somewhere, a message of some sort, but I haven’t figured it out.
A couple of weeks ago I decided to write a few short stories and to be honest, right now all I have is a few phrases. But it’ll gel over the next few weeks, something will create itself out of the loose ingredients floating round in my head.