childhood heroes in fiction

2017, lifestyle, travel

Hello!

What we watch as a child can hugely affect who we are today – in a millennial generation that longs to go back to when things were easier, Disney movies both old and new are more popular than ever before I reckon.

Personally I have always been a huge daydreamer – I have very, very vivid memories of perching on the edge of my bed when I was about six with my head in my hands desperately wishing that Peter Pan would come and sprinkle some pixie dust over me and take me away on an adventure to Neverland.

Just for clarification – I was waiting for the animated character, not a ‘real life’ version of him, the actual cartoon.

But from a more psychological point of view, the way the story of Peter Pan has influenced me is by making me always look for adventure and fun, to not let my youth limit my attitude and goals and an insatiable desire to fly.

I also periodically get ‘We’re following the leader’ stuck in my head for three hours on loop. You’re welcome.

I started watching Doctor Who in 2007 with Series 3 of ‘New Who’ – 10th Doctor David Tennant and new assistant Martha Jones. And I still watch Doctor Who to this day – I think the current series (10) with Peter Capaldi and Pearl Mackie is one of the best series there’s been and I think there’s more parallel’s between Peter Pan and Doctor Who than anyone would think at face value.

It inspires that sense of adventure, not letting time or age stop you from exploring and causing a little bit of trouble, except it’s time travel rather than flying and The Master and Daleks rather than Captain Hook and the crocodile.

Doctor Who has a phenomenally big fanbase because so many people grew up with it and let’s them relive that little taste of childhood once a week for 45 minutes – at this point, I wouldn’t even call Doctor Who a kids show but it’s still got that sense of wonder that no one ever really loses.

My boyfriend and I quite often browse through Netflix or his dad’s old DVDs to watch an old episode of Doctor Who because it’s just so much fun, it’s so easy to watch and it’s almost comforting, in a way, to be able to come back to the same characters.

From a creative point of view, I love the way Doctor Who is written and produced – recently I have a growing interest in how TV works and how programs are created but that might be because so many of my friends study in a TV related field and I don’t want to be left out. But I’ve always loved how Doctor Who is written – I used to want to be a screen writer purely so I could write episodes of Doctor Who for a living, Steven Moffat was my idol.

Things change, times pass and people change too; I’ve changed – I don’t want to be a screenwriter anymore, I think I want to be in Doctor Who as much as I’d love to write for it and I’m ten years older than I was when I watched David Tennant and Freema Agyeman on the Moon.

I’ve been thinking a lot about childhood recently – I spent the weekend with my family scattering my Nan’s ashes and we managed to turn it into such a positive, happy gathering and I have so much love for my family. But there were a lot of old photos being passed around – my Granddad had written up a sort of memoire and I thoroughly enjoyed reading each and every detail the other night and finding out so much about the man I’ve grown up with.

There’s so much that I miss about being a kid, but rather than let myself get down about it, I think I’m just going to carry on as if I still am – because who grows up really?

Thank you for reading,

Sophie xx

 

YouTube | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Uni blog | The Student Seat
Snapchat: SophieALuckett

‘She wrote him a long letter, but he didn’t read it’

2017

He couldn’t get the words out of his mind. The first line his eyes had glossed over before he balled the parchment paper in his hand and tossed it towards the waste paper basket.

I’m sorry, I never meant for it to end this way.’

The words made his eyes sting and his vision blur but he couldn’t face it, he couldn’t accept it. Yet, every time he emptied the waste paper basket he left it on the floor, just next to the trash. Deep down, he knew there was no way he could throw it out without knowing what it said but he wasn’t ready.

Days past – a cold winter turned into a warm spring and a surprisingly hot summer had passed. He’d nearly forgotten about the letter. He’d been so busy with work and family and friends that the letter found itself kicked under a jacket that he’d dropped in front of his wardrobe. His sister had told him his flat was a tip and they were having an intense cleaning day with the occasional break to run to the coffee house on the corner to get hot chocolates and Christmas songs were ringing around the apartment.

He’d picked up the jacket and saw the same, scrunched up piece of paper on the floor.

He smiled, almost fondly – maybe forgetting the letter existed at all was his way of knowing he was ready.

He dropped the jacket back where it was on the floor and flattened out the A4 paper, wondering towards his bed and sitting heavily.

‘I’m sorry, I never meant for it to end this way.

I was careful. Perhaps too careful, that you never suspected, but clearly not careful enough if it ended this way. I’ve had this letter written for a long time, originally it was addressed to my parents but as soon as I met you I thought about rewriting this letter.

I suppose at this point you know – I’m a spy. I go undercover on a regular basis and I’m shot at nearly every day. 

I don’t need to talk about that though, it’s irrelevant now – all I want to say is I’m sorry Charlie, I hope you’re safe and happy and I’m sorry I never told you about who I really was. I just want you to know I love you with all my heart – when I turn 35 I hope this letter has never been delivered and I can retire with you, I want that so much. 

I hope it’s all okay. I hope you still spend Christmas with your family and put that dorky singing dog in a Santa hat on the mantle piece at Christmas.

I love you Charlie, even now. I love you.’

“Charlie, what’s wrong?” The only thing that tore him away from the letter was his sister’s panicked words as she stood in the doorway to his room. He looked up and smiled, realising tears had been streaming down his cheeks.

“Nothing, I’m fine. Genuinely.” He smiled, folding the letter neatly in half and placing it on his desk, pulling his sister into a tight hug and getting back to their tidying.

He’d been so angry that she’d lied to him for so long when she first passed, he didn’t know how to not be angry with her. But a year later he understood – she was protecting him and she still loved him, in the same way he still loved her.


Hello!

Seems like this post is in the wrong order – it’s not, I just didn’t want the story to be prefaced with ‘hi I’m going to do some creative writing!’ and interrupt the flow.

I used to write posts like this fairly regularly – it was good for me to do a little bit of creative writing and I really enjoy writing these little posts so I might do them more regularly this year! I got a book last year called ‘642 things to write about’ so I might post a few of them here.

Finding time to write is something I really struggle with so being able to write here occasionally feels really refreshing and enjoyable – I miss how I used to write all the time and work on stories and characters and plot lines.

I will get back to it, I’m working on getting back to it, it’s just picking my battles and my priorities but I am working on it – I am!

Also bonus Sunday post to make up for my being ill last Monday and missing a post. Regular posts again next week!

Thank you for reading, I have a lot of love for this blog and being able to write these little posts if I feel like it!

Sophie xx

 

YouTube | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Uni blog | The Student Seat
Snapchat: SophieALuckett