I have a specific question and a general question.
Specific question, for watchers of commercial television in the UK. I've been listening to Radio 4 comedy podcasts, and on a couple of occasions Ive' heard reference to what I think is a TV commercial in which someone is calling for a dog - Benton. Is this for real, have I got it right - because if so it has utterly destroyed a serious short story I wrote ages ago. I suppose it doesn't matter because all attempts at publishing have failed, but still. I'll post a bit below so you can see what I mean - Benton is a (red shirt) character who is lost and folk start calling for him.
Ho hum.
General question. How often do your ideas get overtaken by reality before you have made enough money out of them to buy a luxury yacht?
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Excerpt from now useless short story:
Hauling endlessly up through this blizzard. No-one is fit for this but we do not want to sit in the shifting dust of the plain waiting for the radioactive fallout from the ship. The wind changes direction from behind to ahead to down from the mountain. We are lost in a world of white noise. I cannot see more than five people ahead of me on the line, nor the jeep behind. We have the jeep upended now, sledding on its roof. Our boots are sinking in the snow, people falling down and taking an age to recover. Everyone is threaded to the two ropes we pull on, or tied to the jeep itself.
We lost Benton. We stopped to find he was simply not with us. We stayed too long burning flares that could not have been seen, searching and nearly losing two others. Cathcart was distraught, howling like an animal. She is to my side now on the other rope so I can watch her. Cerise is in front of me, her little body dead beat.
We are doing most of the hauling at the back. The people up front have enough to do tramping a path through the drifts. It would be good to change over but we cannot afford to stop again. We were too long in getting started last time. Everyone is stupid with cold, fatigue and grief. I thought we would never be moving again after we lost Benton. We may just have stayed there and died. I think now we may never stop.
***
This lighter will not seem to work. There are a couple of tents up now. Cerise is in a bag in one of them. I have to make her soup. Someone has made repairs to the vehicle speakers and Mozart is playing loud down the mountain. People call out, ‘Ben-Ton’. A flare goes up to paint the scene in red. This lighter will not work.
Specific question, for watchers of commercial television in the UK. I've been listening to Radio 4 comedy podcasts, and on a couple of occasions Ive' heard reference to what I think is a TV commercial in which someone is calling for a dog - Benton. Is this for real, have I got it right - because if so it has utterly destroyed a serious short story I wrote ages ago. I suppose it doesn't matter because all attempts at publishing have failed, but still. I'll post a bit below so you can see what I mean - Benton is a (red shirt) character who is lost and folk start calling for him.
Ho hum.
General question. How often do your ideas get overtaken by reality before you have made enough money out of them to buy a luxury yacht?
-------------------------------------------------------------
Excerpt from now useless short story:
Hauling endlessly up through this blizzard. No-one is fit for this but we do not want to sit in the shifting dust of the plain waiting for the radioactive fallout from the ship. The wind changes direction from behind to ahead to down from the mountain. We are lost in a world of white noise. I cannot see more than five people ahead of me on the line, nor the jeep behind. We have the jeep upended now, sledding on its roof. Our boots are sinking in the snow, people falling down and taking an age to recover. Everyone is threaded to the two ropes we pull on, or tied to the jeep itself.
We lost Benton. We stopped to find he was simply not with us. We stayed too long burning flares that could not have been seen, searching and nearly losing two others. Cathcart was distraught, howling like an animal. She is to my side now on the other rope so I can watch her. Cerise is in front of me, her little body dead beat.
We are doing most of the hauling at the back. The people up front have enough to do tramping a path through the drifts. It would be good to change over but we cannot afford to stop again. We were too long in getting started last time. Everyone is stupid with cold, fatigue and grief. I thought we would never be moving again after we lost Benton. We may just have stayed there and died. I think now we may never stop.
***
This lighter will not seem to work. There are a couple of tents up now. Cerise is in a bag in one of them. I have to make her soup. Someone has made repairs to the vehicle speakers and Mozart is playing loud down the mountain. People call out, ‘Ben-Ton’. A flare goes up to paint the scene in red. This lighter will not work.
