Mindworm

I’ve been thinking about how I’ve grown as a writer, and not just that, but as a reader, or viewer of films (after all films are just a book with pictures – I’ve just graduated from Spot Has a Ball, but I digress).

It has really affected how I perceive storytelling, and to a degree has almost robbed me of the enjoyment of some things based on spectacle. I found this evolution came about when re-watching Dune (1984), and not because of a mostly naked Sting, but the sandworms.

Their majesty and terror are displayed quite clearly, and who doesn’t, or can’t empathise with the notion of a giant, tooth-filled maw bursting up from under the very ground you’re walking on, to devour you, swallow you whole, never to be seen again?

And how do you stop such a monster? You can’t and the film doesn’t really tell you that trying is even an option. Most of the time avoidance is the only way (unless you’re going to ride ’em of course).

The shock and awe of them is breath-taking, when the breach the surface, tossing scads of sand everywhere as their mouths open, guzzling air and anything in their path.

But.

That is when my little editor/writer locked away in their oubliette in the dark recesses of my brain pipes up:

“What do they eat?”

“Well, brain – people obviously.”

“Yes, but isn’t Arrakis a desert planet?”

“Yes.”

“What animals live there?”

“Er…none.”

“So what do they eat that they get so big?”

Then the majesty and the terror is gone. The Sandworms shouldn’t exist, unless they eat each other, but even then, how many are there? It goes on, and on, right down the rabbit-hole, even if the answer is that they eat nothing. In that case why do people walk without rhythm? I could be missing something, but it’s no consequence now.

Do you get mindworm like this? Does being a writer, critical reader or editor put you off? Do your friends throw things at you when you point out a revolver doesn’t normally hold seven bullets?

Let me know!

And as always, Adventurers, have a great day. 🙂