"The Writer's Tale" is full of interest

Besides the real meat of the book - the glimpse into how a (frankly) genius works, and how TV is made - there are lots of bits of perspective on fansquabbling, eg RTD's remark regarding last December's Daily Mail article:

"Far worse was the article's description of Martha as 'always going to be second best to Rose', followed immediately by a quote from me, making it sound as if I'd said second best! I'm still waiting to find out if Freema has seen that."

Told you so, beeyotches.

ETA: Ooh look, more! On writing the companions' dialogue:

"But I suppose there's a basic characteristic that I bear in mind. An essence. Rose is open, honest, heartfelt, to the point of being selfish, wonderfully selfish. Martha is clever, calm, but rarely says what she's really thinking. Donna is blunt, precise, unfiltered, but with a big heart beneath all the banter. But we come back to what I was saying ages ago about turning characters. If Rose can be selfish, then her finer moments will come when she's selfless. If Martha keeps quiet, then her moments of revelation - like her goodbye to the Doctor in Last of the Time Lords, or stuck with Milo and Cheen in Gridlock - make her fly. Donna is magnificently self-centred - not selfish, but she pivots everything around herself, as we all do - so when she opens up and hears the Ood song, or begs for Caecilius' family to be saved, then she's wonderful."

How different looks a world that is not composed of soundbites!

ETA ETA: PAGE 460. *ded*

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Up half the night again, of course, but my brain is gradually starting to heal itself after the combined trauma of stress, panic, tranks, and jetlag. On past OS trips I've been badly caught out by terrible attacks of anxiety and depression, because I didn't realise how much the whole process shakes up your neurotransmitters, etc - even just the dehydration, sleep deprivation and general hormonal confusion caused by flying for long distances. (I didn't use the CPAP on the plane, and was amused to keep waking up with enormous snorts, something I haven't done for weeks now. When we got home from the airport, I slept for about 16 hours, breaking my 1993 record of 14 hours after being awake for about two days straight, half of that spent in a continuous airborne panic attack.) It didn't help this year that I was so stressed out that I was having vicious headaches - I still am - like being stabbed with two icepicks in the base of the skull, over and over. I cried at the airport, and again, pathetically, panicking during a bumpy takeoff. Jon did his best to soothe me. But how am I going to do this again next year? And the next?

At this moment I feel relatively sane for the first time since arriving. Back when I was transitioning from Aropax to Zoloft, I had that terrific few days where I was on both drugs at the same time (whoops), and I was happily off my rocker. That's is what the afterlife will be like, the Amduat: the gentle, burbling, dreamlike thoughts, hypnogogic and calm, awake but not really aware, or vice versa. The last few days have been the nightmare version of that state: bewilderment, paranoia, overload, despair; a facade of cheerful chatty normality instantly blown to confusion by a question or decision. Hell instead of heaven. How am I going to do this again next year? And the next?

Also, maybe the diner wasn't such a good idea after barely eating anything for two days. *glort*

Note to future self: sleeping on plane = dehydration = appalling sore throat. Bring lozenges. ETA: Also Vegemite I am not kidding beeyatch.

(no subject)

We visit the Amduat in our dreams; everything there is topsy-turvy. The trees burn where they stand - black trunks, blazing leaves. Somehow, it's always night-time. There are no stars, only aeroplanes, and the moon is upsidedown.