Keep your heart safe and guard it from selfish & soulless bastards (bastards being of all possible gender).
Flu subsided a little after 3 days of severe pains.
Missed Day 8 and 9, but drew day 7 ‘s prompt today and Day 10’s. Not exactely what I had in mind, but done is better that perfect, right?
Still on the mending side, so I’ll probably draw Day 8-Star and Day 9 -Precious sometime later. (everybody thinking of Golum too? I don’t want to draw Golum nor his precious)
So here we go. Enjoy!
(and thanks for the kind messages of get-well soon.)
Hello friends, I ‘ve been badly sick all night long and all day today, too weak to get out of bed and unable put myself to draw.
Cramps, muscle aching deep into the limbs, headache that did not dissolve even with 4 times 2 advilcapgels, high fever, shivers, nauseous and painful belly and stomach, plus dizziness.
This too shall pass, I’ll be my buoyant self anytime soon…hopefully tomorrow.
Ironically, today’s Inktober prompt is Exhausted, and this is exactly how I feel. I might take a pic of my miserable sick self and post it!
I hope your Sunday has been brilliant and good.
I decided to participate in the October drawing challenge Inktober.
First time! Super excited. So, here we go! Drawing is another great way to tell stories.
The Prompt of today is : Poisonous. I decided to add a little of red Indian Ink for a touch of drama. Enjoy!
Nope, we do not need another Sherlock season. We don’t even want it.
I hope I am shocking you, fans, as much I was shocked when I realised it : Sherlock’s glorious days are gone. The latest statements of Martin Freeman about the filming being not fun due to expectations of fans only thwarted the fandom too. (Really, Martin Freeman? Fans enthusiasm and expectations is the reason why you did not enjoy doing it? The fandom gave you stardom and the Hobbit. BTW, wouldn’t you say that it was rather due to poor writing? If fans could have their words and can participate in the writing, please, Mr Moffat, contact me at once, I have some ideas I’d like to pitch to you!)
Now, I have to admit, Season 1 had turned me into a huge fan from the first 5 minutes on. I wrote about it here, talked (a lot) about it, I profusely praised the series in the column I’ve been writing for 5 years… yet the wonder and spectacular scripting of the first episodes faded a bit, as time went by and as seasons were sparingly released (I meant to write : and exasperatingly awaited.)
Sherlock, the unapologetically ubercreative, witty, fun and addictive TV series landed like a UFO in the streaming service world and onto our screens. It revolutionized our idea of the good ol’English genius sleuth and his faithfull-even-when-betrayed partner in crime (pun intended) the good Doctor Watson. It propelled their relationship in the dimension of cyber bromance, verging on being a potential romantic affair, thanks to the numerous queerbaits the audience was fed to fuel feverish speculation about them, and to keep the watchers and fans falling for the show, hook, line and sinker.
Those hints or sometimes heavyweighted assumptions served as a formidable springboard for the tremendously creative, graphic, and/or suggestive fanfiction and fanart (I must admit I have indulged in fanart too, and drew this, John slumped in his armchair, watching an ep of Doctor Who, drunk & feeling empty 2 days after Sherlock’s “death”, see below) that stemmed from the show shortly after it aired. (Crazy fab fanart out there around the internet, just google “Johnlock fanart“)
The queerbaiting in Sherlock was a master coup of Gatiss and Moffat, of course, and addressed (while non-adressing it frontally altogether, in a sheer paradox) simultaneously the seemingly non-existent interest of Sherlock for romance and his asexuality, and the weird position of Watson, straight at heart and in his carnal desires and attractions but perceived as gay by others, placing him in the ambiguous zone of bisexuality, a thing rarely exosed in a TV series. Most of the audience fell for it, and shipped Johnlock. (fandom jargon expressing that fans liked the idea of a relationship between John Watson and Sherlock).
Because, let’s face it : the whole show is a romantic show, disguised as a mystery show. It’s all about speculative thinking : Sherlock, Molly and their interaction ; Watson, Sherlock and their interaction (and they do interact like old married couples, being bluntly honest about each other’s qualities but mostly defaults) ; Sherlock, Irene and their interaction ; Mary, Watson and their interaction, Moriarty, Sherlock and their interaction (probably the most fascinating, yet clumsily dealt with after Moriarty’s suicide)… As for me, I would have liked a more complex ambivalence layered admiration/exasperation between Sherlock and Lestrade.
Nontheless, one relationship remains the most important of all : Watson, Sherlock and their interaction with us, the audience. The poor audience whose hopes and dreams have been toyed with and crushed, resurrected and crushed again. We have been manipulated, tricked, cheated, shocked, made to laugh and hooked. And we have liked it.
Well, up to the moment where it began to make no sense at all and Mrs Hudson almost crashing sportscar on Watson’s nose fails to mend it. Loopholes were already noticeable in Ep 02 in Season 1, The blind banker. How on earth would the book of yellow pages drenched by the rain outside Soo Lin’s building make anyone link it to a possible smugling of ancient artifacts by Van Coon or the journalist and a potential place for the murder to hide? The writers here took a shortcut and it shows when you rewatch it. Similarly, how could Soo Lin been oprhaned so young, and immigrate to the UK so easily from China, not a country known to issue passports to each of its citizen? Through human smugling? Maybe. Yet, it’s not said and that too falls into the gray zone of laziness.
Facts are here, since the end of season 2, it’s been a slow downward spiral to mild disappointment due to easy writing (what happened, Moftiss? Too much resting on your laurels?) and bizarre construction of the narrative, culminating in the improbable inner changes of Sherlock (who all of a sudden “cared”, thus becoming at the same time a consumate empath and the ghost of himself), while Watson “toughtened” up (or maybe he just got bored and cared less), to the point of desenchantment. For him and for the audience. Or maybe it was just that the chemistry that was so enjoyable in the first 3 seasons between Cumberbatch and Freeman had been snuffed out like an candle under the blades of Moriarty’s helicopter… The decrease of the brilliant use of data being displayed on our screens while supposedly typed on a phone, or the analysis Sherlock makes in two seconds being plastered on the image of the person he analyses is also something to be sad about, because it was so enjoyable.
At the time of the last season, an odd thought crossed my mind that maybe the personnal lives of both actors, hitting a major milstone, had changed quite dramatically their mindset and their perspective about their near future : (ATTENTION : TABLOID MOMENT) Cumberbatch getting married and about ot become a father, happily engaging in family life, and Freeman having left or leaving his partner (Abbington) of 15 years and mother of his 2 children, thus desenaging himself from family life. I remember thinking that certainly the convos during coffee breaks on the set would have been quite odd, one being so happy and cheerful about his relationship, and the other two only miserable about theirs. In any case, the gloomy atmosphere in the relationship on screen of Sherlock and Watson seemed to reflect the gloomy falling apart of Abbington and Freeman’s couple and the distance between the main male actors. And in an eery way too : shortly before the death of his wife Mary Morstan, Watson flirts with another woman and detaches himself. I dunno, it was just a thougt I had at the time.
Yet the epitome of weird narrative is encapsulated in the so-called Eurus mystery. Seeds have been planted all along to bring us to swallow this Everest of no-sense of Eurus being the “other sibling” devilishly more evil and smarter than her brothers (“The East wind is coming” S03E03, “I’m not given to outbursts of brotherly compassion. You know what happened to the other one” S03E02 (please note the neutral-gender used by Mycroft, a hint that it might be a she), “RedBeard” S03E02, etc).
I don’t know for you, but if Eurus can escape, anytime she wants, her highy guarded prison to trick Watson and impersonates the skrink he sees and the girl on the bus he secretely dreams of having an affair with , then why would she stay stuck in this prison? Makes no sense.
And if she is cleverer than the Holmes brothers together, how can she be needing Moriarty’s help? Makes no sense ( unless you want an anthologic scene with him dancing and being his best villainish self.)
Makes no sense either to see Sherlock painfully blabbing the dreaded words to Molly, as asked by Eurus. It’s painful to watch because the writers have stretched this moment of unease for both protagonists up to its breakpoint, rendering the whole thing just artificial when it could have been more subtle and effective. It’s difficult also not to think of it as a wink to all those who ship Sherlolly. Which is both a blessing and a curse. As it infiltrates the narrative, the show lost a bit of its soul in that moment. This concession to fans may have been “the expectations” that Freeman said killed the fun of it. Yet it is lovely to see that the creators wanted to acknowledge the huge following of the show and in a way, thank them for their loyalty. Not sure it served the show. Once again, Sherlock becoming sentimental, caring about others’ feelings and state of mind, and becoming compasionnate is just plain weird.
So we were left to see Sherlock and Watson reunited once again, “Here are my Baker Boys” ( was it a hint at the 1989 movie the Fabulous Baker Boys? Will Moftiss make a movie out of the series?), exclaimed a videotaped Mary Morstan. From that moment on, Watson is expecting to blog, Sherlock to be bored again, especially now since all the horrendous villains are dead (each being more despicable that the precedent, if you remember, even if we have never heard about any of them in previous episode). Or maybe it could be the other way round, Watson getting so bored he kills himself, and Sherlock could blog about it while raising Baby Rosamund Mary, with Molly, why not…
So, Mofftiss, Gatat, don’t inflict another season on Sherlock’s fans world, please. That’s enough.
Moriarty’s dead, after all.
There she was, a little shy (public speaking) and determined (achieved NaNoWriMo challenge 2016 and turned it into a full book) at the same time, ready to sign the piles of books neatly stacked before her on the table.
Last Saturday, we hosted a book signing party in a cultural center for my daughter, for her to present her first book. She had finished it before her 14th birthday.
All our friends and her friends and families gathered around her to celebrate her achievement, teachers, colleagues, close friends, dear friends too.
I am so happy for her.
I remember how at her exact same age, I had decided I wanted to be a writer and a playwright (the latter in order to act in my own plays). Unfortunately, my parents were not as supportive of my talent / dream as I chose (even before her birth) to be for my child.
Sure I wrote things, marketing strategies or communication campaigns in corporate jobs, and texts and poetry for me on the side. I think things would have been quite different if I had received support and encouragement, not jut the odd “whoa, you write so well” from friends, classmates, teachers and weirdly too, my parents.
I think I was born in a time when people around me had this strange idea that you have to get a “proper” job and were oblivious that one can work a “proper” ( as in decent money and occupation I gather) AND still set time aside to write, and be supported to give a try at publishers or poetry magazines. Not once did my family tell me I should continue to write on a larger scale, and finally put that book of poetry together (for starters). Don’t get me wrong, I am not angered or bitter , because I eventually went on to write and publish 4 books (5th novel in the pipes and a book of poetry about World War 1 on its way).
I am extremely happy that I created such an opportunity for my daughter, first by encouraging her to sign up for the literary challenge, that I did and finished myself, too.
I am so happy that she could experience at such a young age what it is like to see one’s dream come true, an experience she can reap the spiritual and personal benefices on long after the event has taken place.
I bought a giant 2017 grad card and asked every visitor to put a word in it for her. So that she can carry this reminder as a keepsake for the rest of her life, and at any given time draw from it strength, pride, self-esteem and the assurance that she can achieve anything, if need be.
Friends told me ” you must be proud of her’, well, I cannot be proud for something I did not do, can I? But I can be super happy for her and rejoice in her success, and bask in the fact that she is happy, knowing that she put efforts to achieve it. I salute her determination, and her success, and THAT makes me feeling happy for her.
SHE can be proud of herself, yeah, that is hers totally.
Ok, now, I must finish to polish my sci-fi book written during NaNoWriMo 2016…
Wishing you a great success folks in all your endeavours,
“The Hidden Hero”. by HM Storm on amazon.
Not everyone wants to be a superhero, and not everyone is meant to be one. But sometimes, you don’t have much of a choice, especially if you are the world’s last hope… For four young teenagers, having that kind of responsibility is much harder than they expected it to be, particularly when one of them ends up having more power than anyone could ever imagine. 12 years old Nicolas Hunter doesn’t know how special he is until he accidentally meets four superheroes. Nicolas never wanted the power, but when his only friends get captured by those they tried to stop, what other choice does he have but to save them and everyone else? When the whole world rests on your shoulders, what choice do you have but to save it