NOT NEWS: I am still alive

As I marvel that those on the interweb wonder what happen to me even though I've got half a dozen blogs, a facebook account and the fact I'll talk to anyone who emails me. Obviously even googling "Ewen Campion-Clarke" is beyond those I left begind on a certain opinion forum.

I'll just pad out the post with Johan Redsen's amazing Mad Larry Rant Formula.

You know what I can't stand? The way there's so much Who material and not enough time to appreciate it. I've got a ton of BFs, books, comics and more to experience, and never give them the indepth exploration I would like the early days of Illegal Alien or The Stones of Venice. Not to say I'm falling over myself to drool over Victory of the Daleks or the latest DWM comic strip ripping off the most famous Angel episode ever, but rather having time to remember damn well ANYTHING about the latest PMG story featuring moments that will make fandom punch the air in joy (Graeme Garden is the Meddling Monk!) and punch out their monitor screens in disgust (and he's got Lucie Bleeding Miller as his companion!). It's just that some waffling Oirish-accented monks wandering around and a mystery about a book that was found in a toilet never really leapt out and grabbed me as a plot - the returning characters were the only thing to grab my attention. The problem with it, of course, is that there are so many oddball one-off stories that you need a return of Axons or Time Meddlers to stand out of the crowd. And it's been this way since they kicked Rudd out of office. Assholes.

The thing that really irritates me, though, is that the answer is so bleeding obvious. Rather than taking spara's lead, which would be to make the central character a psychotic pedophile murderer wanking over small children he sees on the beach in order to make a story memorable before changing his mind and trying to start an annual that went nowhere just like the last three without my help - this isn't Torchwood where effects have no cause and visa versa. No. The answer is to force the government to pay me vast amounts of money for pissing about with photoshop to make covers for stories that near-as-dammit-are-never-written.

I know doubtless Mlock would say "Oh, Ewen, your genius makes me want to take my own life in worship of you" at this point, but fuck off you creepy puppet-fetishing jerk! It's that same type of attitude that lead to my being in therapy!

And before you jump up and down shouting "Hang on, a published BBC author had Nyssa slagging off Adric for being a Monty Python fan?!" I want to make it clear that I wouldn't want to write for that stupid annual anyway since no one is willing to acknowledge my genius at the best of times except of course when THEY can't be arsed to do it themselves. Like a BC project earned MORE effort than simply running a YOA episode through find-and-replace and recasting Nigel as Ben, Andrew as Kyle and Dave as K9! Like worse things haven't happened to Ben's arse in the Chathamological canon anyway...

In the meantime...

...I really should get round to finishing that one day.

Ooh, and a present for The Legacy...