there is no crime greater than slap-dash narrative construction

[freckles_and_doubt]

Gah. Weird dreams last night, with frequent alarmed wake-ups in the mistaken belief I should have been somewhere doing something. Quite what, history does not relate. Part of it involved a very odd wedding, my own, in which I was dashing around in an elderly car trying to pick up my turquoise satin wedding dress, while rootling under the bonnet at intervals.

In the Department of Minor Triumphs and Gratifying My Mother, I am pleased to relate that my credit card debt is currently sitting at at total of 0.00. *dances quick and triumphant cha-cha on recumbent financial corpse*. I feel proud, relieved, obscurely lighter, and horribly unable to think of a good reason why I shouldn't go out and buy not only Torchwood but the boxed set of the entire 5-season run of Alias in celebration. I really never got this financial planning thing.

I have to say, the finale of Alias left me underwhelmed. While there was a certain poetic justice to the fate of the wretched Arvin Sloane (I never liked him), the absolute and predictable JJAbramsesque failure to explain all the weird Rambaldi artefact stuff was somewhat annoying. Why the hell should the floaty ball of water and the red and gold spherical net thingy be necessary to activate immortality? What about the weird bottle amulet doohickey? Why is page 47? On the upside, I'm enjoying constructing alternative endings which might actually have pulled some of the threads together. Current favourite: Sloane actually is Rambaldi, immortal but plagued with memory loss, and on a quest to reconstruct his own works and discover himself by means of carefully-planted clues. The McGuffin is not immortality, but time travel, which is really the only way of justifying all the prescient stuff. And, naturally, Sidney Bristow is Sloane's daughter, and her genetic material is necessary to restore his memory.

Sid is lurking, stomping around and surveying the inside of my skull with preparatory demolitiary glee, like jo&stv's builders. Occasionally the dull ache from his hobnailed boots rises sharply as he taps things with hammers or runs a heat-gun along my cheekbones. Upon which I hit him, hard, with Advil.

Comments

[bronchitikat.livejournal.com]

there is no crime greater than slap-dash narrative construction

This should be dinned into the heads of every writer, not to mention film & TV producer, director et al.

Cos there's too much of the "Ooh, GREAT effects, what was the plot?" stuff Out There. Witness your critique of Alias

Bit along the lines of the old adventure stories (1920s & 30s) when, having gotten the Hero into some terrible situation, suddenly "with one bound, he was free!"

Hope the mighty Advil subjugates the din in your head satisfactorily.

[nellie-darlin.livejournal.com]

I don't get financial planning either. The first time I went into my overdraft (a looong time ago, best beloved) I decided that to get over the trauma I needed a REALLY YUMMY but consequently REALLY EXPENSIVE hot chocolate and strawberry tart. FINANCE - YOU'RE DOING IT WRONG.

Not to mention my blase "ach, don't worry, I'll just earn a lot in the summer..." justification for all my book-buying (eleven this term, which is pretty restrained, I thought).

[extemporanea.livejournal.com]

The student thing is never good for financial planning, especially if you're a lit student of any sort. I used to be reliably reduced to my last hundred or so about halfway through the month. Then I'd spend it on books. In retrospect, I'm not actually sure what I did eat. And it's a familiar thing, to be wandering around a supermarket trying desperately to fit pasta, milk and the chocolate bar into a tiny budget. On the other hand, chocolate is an important remedy for financial stress or depression. As is the new Terry Pratchett in hardback. Sigh.