It’s that day of the year again, so I’m looking back on what’s been going on in my life while I eat some cake. A lot of what I had hoped for this time last year fell short, due to personal troubles. Instead of being able to focus on writing, I had to spend that time worrying intensely about a close family member, their deteriorating health, and eventually having to say goodbye to them for the last time.

The classic ideal of British science fiction, Doctor Who, has been around since the 1960s. It became such a fundamental part of pop culture that when it was revived in 2005 after a lengthy absence, it wasn’t considered niche anymore. It was full-on Saturday night entertainment for all the family.

Which is why it’s so disappointing that the current show is a crude, poorly-written mess that’s so slathered full of misogynistic hate that I am legitimately surprised anyone even agrees to act in it.

A lot of people get their first introduction into literary theory with Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces, and a not-insignificant portion of those people sort of stop right there. Usually after having skimmed the blurb on the back cover and decided that they’ve learned enough. Because while the book itself is a series of insights into the interconnected nature of old stories, myths and folktales that share symbology and rhythms, what these certain people take away is that every story is the same. Which is an absolute lie.

If you treat writing like any other job, you’ll do maybe one good hour of work every day, and goof off the rest of the time. This partially comes from my own experience, so trust me when I say it is both difficult and unwise to think of writing as “just another job”.