Jamie C. Pritchard's Blog

Rob Zombie once said he hated sequels. It’s easy to understand why. Particularly when it comes to horror, they can be terrifyingly bad. Has there even been a sequel as awful as The Exorcist II? As we know, 2003’s House of 1000 Corpses got a sequel in 2005, The Devil’s Rejects. Now, 14 years on, during a time in which it’s fair to say Zombie hasn’t produced anything as memorable, he is turning this – the first of his movie projects – into a trilogy.

The Final 3 will be released in America on September 16th this year. From the trailer the plot seems simple enough. For some ungodly reason Captain Spalding, Otis and Baby managed to survive that hail of bullets at the end of film 2. I’ve already read complaints. How in the hell is that possible? Well, maybe hell is the operative word here. I don’t expect them to reveal themselves as demons. Maybe they’re just too evil to die.

Either way, I don’t care. I didn’t watch these films for their realism.

Though gruesome there was always something wacky about the franchise. The colours, the conversation. There was a clear psychedelic influence. And now that I think about it, wasn’t there something supernatural about the ironically-named character Tiny? Those were beyond third-degree burns!

It’s fair to say the first two weren’t game changers, but over time I think they’ve received their fair dues. The characters (the respective performances by Sid Haig, Bill Moseley and Sheri Moon Zombie) are what make this. They are classic. I’d love to hear more Captain Spalding obscenities. I don’t expect anything less than something fun, though I hope it’s not too disposable. I do think the first and second films had a soul.

I doubt there will be a theatrical release here in the UK, but I will check it out when I can.

The Fulci eye close-ups on the poster are cool.

 

You’ve finished your days’ worth of writing, you go over however many words you’ve done, knowing that (technically), you are further ahead with your project and yet, little progress feels like its been made. No sentences stand out. You question whether the story sucks.

I haven’t had this problem recently but it does occur from time to time, and it doesn’t always mean that what you’ve produced isn’t worth wiping your butt on.

The old adage goes hard writing makes for easy reading. It’s true and, generally speaking, you know if what you have written is good or not, but there is something to consider while you slave away over your unborn masterpiece. There is that chance that what you’ve written isn’t actually that bad – you’re just frazzled.

Even with genuinely well written books there is a degree of concentration needed that isn’t for more passive entertainment like film. So, when you’re simultaneously writing a story and wondering how you’re going to correctly thread plot points it’s understandable your prose isn’t always going to shine. There’s too much static. You can’t absorb the story.  

Of course, there is that chance that what you have written really is awful, but just remember that creating is not always enjoyable. Actually, George Orwell once compared the process of writing to a long bout with illness!

Armed with a compass and map (both of which I didn’t know how to use), I climbed Helvellyn this Thursday gone. At an elevation of 950m it’s the third highest peak in England. More importantly it was a target for inspiration, and during the ascent I got just that.

I begun the climb by a reservoir called Thirlmere which got the heart going. It was quite steep – a rocky path that snaked its way up around a 40-degree incline. Grass became rock and when looked further I saw that the top of this first part escaped into mist. Turning around offered fantastic views of the reservoir and others peaks. Once I climbed a bit higher I was engulfed in the mist.

Seen as there were barely any other trekkers that day, and I wasn’t 100% on the direction, it created a great atmosphere. The ascent was mild from here but visibility got worse. A sheer face was beside me – the top of which I could see was covered in snow. Seen as I didn’t know exactly where I was going or how far away the summit was I headed back.

That’s when I bumped into an old boy who knew where he was going. The summit was near.

It was only a four-night trip away but doing something that relates to my story was just the ticket. It has given the whole project a boost when it had gone stale. I understand why many writer’s go to retreats. The thing is, you might have a peaceful home. You may even have plenty of time to yourself. But going somewhere else just removes that background static, the notion of work and whatever obligations are associated with normal life.  

Anyone who feels like they’re wading through mud should go somewhere that has some relation to the project they’re working on.  

 

My mountain climbing knowhow was exposed today when I attempted to buy some ice grips that are good for flat ground! More interestingly, the guy who was assisting me explained that current conditions for the mountain I hoped to scale are terrible, and that he temporarily lost the sight in his left eye when reaching the summit two weeks ago… :O

Nonetheless, I am headed to the Lake District tomorrow, and while I may not have the equipment to reach the top of Helvellyn (the third highest peak in England), I am at least going to scale some of it, feel a bit of the wind, the cold, and push on until my comfort zone has been reached. Not conquering the summit isn’t a big deal. I’m not here for a challenge so much as I am to fish for experiences, to inject them into the story.

Book II and the season is winter which is convenient. Fiction is going to stroll into reality, then back again! I need to hear and feel what its like to scramble on snow-capped rock without breaking any limbs. As I hike about I’ll have a notebook with me for on-the-go thoughts. I’ve got a compass and map too which should be a laugh as my sense of direction is shite.

A lot of writers have stowed themselves away in remote areas for the duration of their writing. I haven’t got the means to do that but this is the next best thing. Writing a trilogy is no joke and sometimes the creative process can feel like a slog, uninspired. That’s another reason why I think doing things like this is good. It’s another way of faming the creative fire.

Annnnddd GO!

 

Stephen King spoke about how writing is hypnosis. I’ve heard that before. It’s a process that should draw you in to a world of your creation. You’ve got to really nestle yourself in the tale, feel its twists and turns, its ups and downs.

If there’s one thing my first big project taught me (non-fiction), it’s that you can’t just execute then edit. You have to take your time, go over it, again, again, get some opinions, and then re-edit. Sure, we want things to be brought to completion, and sometimes there are deadlines, but for most of us we have – as Louis Armstrong put it – all the time in the world to make sure our grand idea is of the same quality in reality.

The delete button is my best friend, but you also have to make sure there’s enough in each chapter to distinguish it. They can’t just be another cobble in the road. You have to keep spiking attention levels. Each will have its own struggle or theme. Because Book 2 is a little thin at the moment I’ve been adding essential details – the kind many would interrogate me about after finishing.

And, of course, the slower you go, the more attention is paid to those paragraph-by-paragraph transitions, the more refined each will be – not just in terms of structure but substance. I want to imagine the strain, feel the thudding pulse when all is not right, the psychological torment. I’m putting myself in Joseph’s big boots.

Speaking of boots, I’m buying some tomorrow, and when I climb Helvellyn later this month reality will nicely flirt with fiction.

Deleting lots of writing can seem bad, at first. When you realise it needs to go it quickly becomes a good thing. Actually, destroying paragraphs that serve no purpose other than boring the reader is VERY satisfying. Furthermore, if we’re to compare the artistic grief of deleting words than…say…having to restart the Sistine chapel, then it’s no biggie.

I had that special moment again, when you’re reading and thinking, what the hell is this shit?! Principles need reaffirming. Either you’ve got to be saying something or something’s got to be happening. What I’ve found with some of my less inspired prose – you could say connective tissue – is it resembles a kind of sludge where I’m trying to convey motion and feeling at the same time. An overly considerate type of storytelling that loses its edge.

Basically waffling.

Each paragraph should entice you that little bit more to carry on, to invest in the character, to want to know where it’s going. You gotta boost them into the next chapter, not sap the will to live.

Anyway, I’d previously spoken about climbing up a mountain to get some nice first-hand experience that relates to the book 2. I’m gonna feel those high winds. I’m gonna feel the burn as I conquer the craggy heights. Hopefully I won’t fall off, or have to be recused and end up on sky news.

Time to book those tickets! Dedication to the craft! HUZZAAHH!