Former writer admits what we all know: Doctor Who is DEAD

I know: this pic is from "The Name Of The Doctor" from the Steven Moffat era.  Its bleakness is plenty fitting for this post though.

There might well be volumes written, many years from now, about what happened to Doctor Who: the much-beloved British science-fiction television series that had delighted generations of viewers around the world.  Maybe those to come will take to heart the lesson of why the show defied so much, only to die at the hands of liberal ideology.

To Russell T. Davies and Chris Chibnall before him: the Doctor is dead... and you killed him!  Oh sure, Davies had his moments when he first ran the show between 2005 and 2009, but there was still a good measure of respect for the saga, for the writing and for the audience.  Chibnall was the one who first pulled the trigger in earnest though, when he decided to make the Doctor a woman (there is a dynamic at work in Doctor Who and the Doctor should ALWAYS be male in keeping to that) and then made practically every episode a sermon about leftism.

Then Davies took over again.  And that's when the show truly went to hell.

Look, I had my hopes up.  I knew nothing of Ncuti Gatwa.  Just as I had known nothing of Peter Capaldi and Matt Smith when they were announced to be their respective Doctors.  But I was willing to give them a chance.  I was willing and eager to be surprised.

But Gatwa very quickly proved that of all the people who have ever played the Doctor, he is hands-down the very worst.  That he casually and chronically insulted everyone who didn't like the new direction of the show, telling them to "touch grass" instead, only made it worse.

(Maybe it's just me but I also don't think the Doctor should wear a dress.)

Here's what I think happened in the past few years: Doctor Who became Russell T. Davies' midlife crisis.  In the years between 2009 and 2022 Davies came to be confronted with his mortality.  He has no family of his own, his lifestyle prohibits having any progeny.  So Davies became driven to inflict his personal mark on the one thing that has proven to give him a sense of immortality: his work on Doctor Who.  And so Davies made it all about himself.  He opened up the spigot of his wokery.  In the process he drove away the core audience of Doctor Who.  Davies seriously believed that his fellow leftists were going to be legion enough to sustain his "work".

Doctor Who stopped being the show that it had been since 1963 and instead became a vehicle for leftist propaganda.  And the true fans departed.  They took Davies and Chibnall at their word: they had been told that they weren't welcome, so they grabbed their hats and left.

Former Doctor Who writer Robert Shearman has come forth to tell us what we all know: the show has been brought to a screeching halt right at the edge of an open grave.  And there is no foreseeable plan to bring it back.

The series is stuck where it last left off: Ncuti Gatwa's "Fourteenth Doctor" regenerating into the form of Billie Piper (who has at various times played the Doctor's companion Rose ever since the show first restarted in 2005).  It was a cheap stunt that underscored the obvious: the showrunners didn't know what they were doing.  Their ideology is all that mattered to them.  They were handed the keys to one of the most respected science-fiction mythologies ever crafted and they destroyed it with gross negligence.

For what it's worth, here's what I think: Doctor Who needs not just a hiatus but major invasive surgery under most potent anesthesia.  Let it be asleep for the next five or ten years.  And then pick up the show but ignoring everything from the Chibnall era on forward.  The final canonical words of the Doctor before regenerating should be those of the Twelfth: "Doctor, I let you go."  Let the Doctor disappear in that flash of light and in his place... a true Doctor.  One bereft of egotistical management and political agendas.

A dire measure?  Yes.  Yes it is.  But it's the only one I can see that will resurrect the Doctor Who franchise and correct its course.

First question from a reader about Keeping the Tryst

Okay, someone just asked the very first question that I've been given about Keeping the Tryst.  This is from a person has finished part one.

Here's the question: "What was the joke that you told your uncle?"

If you've been reading the book, scroll down past the spoiler space and you'll find the answer...

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The question pertains to the joke that Mom asked me to share with my Uncle Frank, who was Dad's brother-in-law, late that night after they got back from the hospital following Dad's accident earlier in the afternoon.

I had heard this joke at school earlier that afternoon.  And I admit that at the time I thought it was pretty funny, though I hadn't grasped yet just how serious it really was.  It's not a joke I would tell now, forty years later.

Here's the joke:

"What do you call Rock Hudson in a wheelchair?"

"Roll-AIDS."

This wasn't very long after actor Rock Hudson had died of AIDS.  Hudson's coming forward about being infected with HIV was a revelation that sent shockwaves through American pop culture.  And of course Rolaids is a popular antacid/heartburn medication.

Definitely an Eighties-era joke and like I said, it's not one I would tell anyone these days.  But I fleetingly mention it in the book, it sort of adds to the scene that I'm describing: Mom and Uncle Frank returning after being at the hospital all evening, bringing cold hamburgers from Hardee's for my sister and mine's dinner.  When I had told Mom the joke on the way back from school that afternoon she said she didn't like it.  And now here was Mom wanting me to share that same joke with my uncle.  It kind of underscores how dire the day had become just like that (Chris snaps fingers).

If any more questions come, I'll be sure to provide an answer (as best I can).

And if you want to read my book here's the page on Amazon where you can find Keeping the Tryst.  Available in hardcover and for Kindle readers and apps.

It's been a week since Keeping the Tryst was published...

...and I just checked the metrics.  According to the report, the book has sold very well so far, considering that I'm a relative unknown (outside of this blog, various stunts over the years and the occasional op-ed piece).  Right now it's holding at around #90 in the survival biographies genre, and hovering about #1200 among all memoirs in the Kindle store.  Not bad at all for a newly-minted book author eight days in.

I've gotten some feedback from people who have bought the Keeping the Tryst hardcover.  Every one has commented on how readable it is, despite the 537 pages length.  The font size and the cream-colored paper are very easy on the eyes, and that the chapters are divided into so many sections also makes the book readily digestible and fast-moving.  One person read the entire book in two days.

At the moment, I'm quite pleased about what's happened since its release.  I'm hoping that there will get to be some word-of-mouth and that others will consider purchasing and reading it.  I never expected to be a bestselling author right out the gate and that probably won't happen.  But a lot of people over the years have said that my story is one that many would find not just interesting, but captivating.  I believe them, enough so that I worked on this book on-and-off for over a decade.  I've said that if even just one person found reading it to be time well spent, then my task as an author will be successful.  Based on the figures I looked at earlier, the book has smashed through that target... and how!

Keeping the Tryst is available in hardcover edition and in Kindle ebook format.

I need to make more posts like this

Time was, that I used to make a lot of posts about weird and unusual news items.  For awhile around 2009 I was posting an average of three and a half times every day and more often than not they were wacky stories I found around the Intertubes.  The notion has crossed my mind at times that maybe I should do more of that.  Blogging doesn't seem to be as big as it used to be but this is still my real estate in cyberspace and I do my best to tend to it.  So maybe a bit of fresh soil would be nice...

With that in mind here's a story I found on X/Twitter today, about an interesting-sounding chap who prefers his meat rare:

So Game Wardens in Texas have arrested this guy, 39 year old Ethan McNeely from Oregon. 

He was crouched in the woods attempting to hunt squirrels with nothing but his hands and teeth near Lake Tawakoni Dam 

Ethan insists that “I’m a primal predator, not a sportsman” and argued with the officers that “God-given claws and fangs” exempt him requiring a hunting license. 

Ethan goes on saying “If I catch it with my molars, that’s between me and Mother Nature” while reportedly spitting out a mouth full of tree bark. 

Game wardens have stated that while his hunting techniques are unique, there exists no game law that makes exceptions for “wannabe cavemen”. 

Ethan was booked on charges of hunting without a license and disorderly conduct after he reportedly growled at the officers. He maintains that he’s being persecuted saying “they can cage me but they’ll never cage my inner wolf.”

 

Ahhh Oregon, the "Florida Man" refuge of the Northwest.  But I suppose in an age when we're supposed to tolerate people "identifying" as everything from the opposite gender to kittens, we can forgive a man for assuming the role of werewolf.

The judge should dismiss the charges, on the grounds that this man has comedic value.

"God must have needed a photographer, and He got the very best with Tim."

That was one of the very first thoughts that came to mind this morning.

My heart felt like it broke into a hundred pieces yesterday afternoon, upon hearing of the passing of my very good friend Tim Talley.

Tim was many things to many people.  I suppose the first aspect that comes to the minds of lots of folks is that he was an amazing photographer.  For more than forty years Tim made his mark not just in Reidsville and Rockingham County, but throughout the Piedmont region.  Tim was blessed with an incredible vision and sense of composition.  The man worked with light the way that the finest sculptors work with clay.  Tim came up with seemingly countless ways of staging photos and he would go to whatever lengths it took to pull them off.  He also had a way of bringing out the best of his subjects.  Everyone was beautiful in his eye and he knew how to capture and convey that with his camera.  Tim had ways of pulling off the almost impossible... like when he coaxed my dachshund Tammy into sitting still when we did a photo shoot with him in 2017.  I had told him that if he could do that then he was a better man than me... and lo and behold he did it!

If nothing else then the many thousands of portraits that he made, hanging in family living rooms throughout the region, attests to his talent.

Those who knew him best, though, will remember him for so much else.

Tim was a devoted husband to his wife Donna, and a father to his son Brandon.  He absolutely adored Brandon's wife and their three daughters. When Tim finally retired some years ago, it was always with it borne in mind that he and Donna were going to move to Lancaster County, Pennsylvania so he could be closer to Brandon and his family.

And once Tim got situated in Lancaster County, he very quickly made friends among the people there, especially his Amish neighbors.  I think Tim might have been the one photographer they trusted enough with his getting an occasional picture of them (but not for widespread publication, those were meant for his friends and family).  Not long after relocating there, Tim became the driver of a tour bus, and he became much beloved for his knowledge, his sense of humor, and just the fact that he was a southerner driving visitors around "Amish Country".

Tim's good cheer and friendliness were absolutely contagious.  His smile lit up everything... and every one... who came into his proximity.  I don't think Tim ever met a stranger.  And in that regard, he certainly became a role model for my own place in this world.

Tim had principles.  He stood resolute upon them.  I think it's safe to say that there were some people who didn't agree with those.  But there was too much respect for Tim than to think any less of him for those.  With Tim, you knew where he was positioned.  And that had to be admired by all who knew him or knew of him.

Tim devoted his life to serving God, in whatever capacity that might be.  God gave him a talent and Tim was determined to make the most of it.  He truly was a brother in Christ who cared for all who came into his life, for however long or brief it might have been.

I think that most of all, though, what especially rends my heart right now, is that I have lost a true friend.

I had my photo taken by Tim several times.  I also knew him from the Boy Scouts.  He and I were adult leaders in Reidsville's Troop 797.  In fact, that's where I first laid eyes on him, after seeing his work displayed around the area for years already.  Once, a month or so before I graduated from high school, Tim and me and several other Scouts and Scouters made a long drive to camp in the North Carolina mountains for a weekend and to hike part of the Appalachian Trail.  Tim made sure to bring a camera along to snap photos.  He took to mountain hiking the way a fish takes to water.  The troop also went camping a few times at Tim's place outside of Reidsville.

We were already friends.  When Facebook came along that gave us more opportunity to keep in touch on a regular basis.  Tim often shared some of his latest handiwork, and he was ever eager to demonstrate to his readers how he worked his trade.  I learned a lot about photography from Tim and his informal academy.  I believe a lot of people did, too.

Well, I could say so much, much more.  All that I really know since yesterday afternoon is that the world has lost a tremendously talented man, a family has lost a husband and a father and a grandfather, two communities hundreds of miles apart have lost a respected citizen, and I have lost a wonderful friend.

Until we meet again, Tim.  Thank you for being you. And I thank God that He let you be in our lives, for however brief a season it seemed.