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What My Five Favourite Films of All Time Can Tell Us About Storytelling

There’s lots I don’t like about Hollywood, but I love film. I think, in another life, I might have wanted to work on a set, even if only in a small supporting role behind the camera. But then, I love storytelling too, and the fantastic thing about novels and poetry is you need no permission or producer to bring it into being! (Of course, the brilliant independent filmmaker Joel Haver would argue that you don't need those for film, either, but that's a huge topic for another time). 

Collaboration and constraint often breed creativity and solutions, and thus films can offer us a very unique narrative insight. Because the screenplay is inherently more disciplined and “formed” than the novel, there’s much we can learn from our film-industry counterparts (and vice-versa, of course).

In this article, I wanted to talk about my five favourite films of all time, and what they—surprisingly—have in common that we can learn from as storytellers. I want to make two things clear, however, before I begin. Firstly, there is a certain film I love that is notably and auspiciously absent from the list. Namely, The Lord of the Rings. The reason for this is twofold. Firstly, I’ve already written so extensively about this film, and the books on which it is based, that it’s probably time for a re-fresh. Secondly, I regard The Lord of the Rings as really being in a category of its own—totally unique and unassailable. So, it wouldn’t appear on a list like this, for it cannot really be compared to anything else! The second thing I want to make you aware of is there will, by necessity, be spoilers for the five films I have chosen, so read on at your own peril if you do not want to know what happens, and want to check out these astonishing films for yourself.

Firstly, I’ll list the films. Then I’ll discuss what links them and what we can learn.

In no particular order:

CALVARY (2014)

Dir: John Michael McDonagh

A “good priest”, Father James, is told, in the confession box, that he will be killed in seven days. This astonishing Irish drama follows Father James’ journey he faces his own calvary.

THE FALL (2006)

Dir: Tarsem Singh

Set in 1915, stuntman Roy Walker (Lee Pace) lies paralysed in a hospital bed. Awaiting an uncertain future, he meets another patient, a little girl called Alexandria, and offers to tell her a story in exchange for her fetching him more painkillers… Roy’s intoxicating tale comes to life in Alexandria’s imagination, and the act of storytelling itself becomes transformative for them both.

SILENCE (2016)

Dir: Martin Scorsese

Based on the 1966 novel of the same name by Shūsaku Endō, Silence tells the story of two seventeenth century Jesuit priests who travel to Japan in order to locate their mentor and friend, Father Ferreira, as well as spread the Christian message. However, the Japanese inquisitor, Inigo-Sama, wishes for Christianity to be utterly stamped out from Japanese soil…

KILL BILL VOL 1 & 2 (2003 & 2004)

Dir: Quentin Tarantino

The Bride sets out on a quest for revenge against Bill, her master and former lover, after he shoots her through the head on her wedding day whilst she is still pregnant with his child.

V FOR VENDETTA (2005)

Dir: James McTeigue

Based on the graphic novel by Alan Moore, V For Vendetta is set in a dystopian, totalitarian Britain. But a vigilante, identified only by the codename “V”, has made it his mission to destroy the government.

On the surface, these five films may appear wildly dispirit. We have historical dramas, comicbook adaptations, bloody revenge stories, and fantastical meta-narrative. But in truth, all of these films share three things. I’ll begin with the broadest similarity and progress towards the detail.

1) Astonishing Endings

Not just good endings, nor even great endings, but astonishing endings. You may argue that this is entirely subjective, and to a degree it is, but all five of these films have Act 4 revelations that punch your gut so hard you forget which way is up, and then follow that up with an Act 5 catharsis that feels like spiritual healing.

For example, in Calvary, the final shot of the film is the daughter of Father James, our heroic priest, visiting his killer in prison. The killer looks with astonishment, even terror, through the glass window as she picks up the phone in order to speak with him, a single tear rolling down her face. We know, from an earlier, foreshadowing conversation Father James had with his daughter, that she is going to forgive his killer. This is the ultimate and unexpected triumph of good over evil—borderline shocking in its implications. Yet, isn’t that the quintessence of the Christian spiritual method, to triumph and overcome through mercy, to subjugate through submission?

Similarly, in V for Vendetta, the mysterious V is finally slain after heroically defeating Creedy and Sutler, but his ultimate objective is achieved when—in a sublime moment—his body laid upon a bier of explosives and sent hurtling into the tunnels beneath parliament. To the sound of Tchaikovsky’s magnificent 1812 Overture, V brings parliament to the ground from beyond the grave. This would be brilliant cinematically in and of itself, but it is made more brilliant by V’s earlier speech: “The building is a symbol, as is the act of destroying it.” We understand the full, symbolic implications of V’s victory over totalitarianism, and therefore feel the weight of the catharsis all the more heavily.

By emphasising the symbolic action of the story, rather than simply the literal, V for Vendetta, Calvary, and indeed the other films on this list, achieve endings which are not simply “resolutions” to the plot, but go one step further to impart thematic wisdom and psychological healing.

So, what is the lesson here? The lesson is “do not be afraid”, in the words of the biblical angels. It is better to reach for something grand, something magnificent, something life-changing than it is to settle for mediocrity. The endings of these films testify that the attempt will be remembered forever after—in some ways, even if you fail. And whilst you may not please everyone, you are going to touch a good many more souls than you would if you just resigned yourself to a “standard” or “genre-trope” ending. Go for broke. Go all out with your ending. Don’t hold back.

2) The Power of “Slow”

Modern films—especially Marvel—unfold at a frenetic pace. Most scenes are barely two minutes long. Wham bam—on to the next thing. This gives us no time to unpack emotional content, or to process what we have just seen. If ever we are left in any ambiguity or doubt about what just happened, normally someone quickly explains it with some expositional dialogue or “witty” remark.

But the directors of these five films I’ve chosen all understand the power of slowing down. Perhaps the best example of this is to be found in Kill Bill. Quentin Tarantino is notorious for his long scenes, which can feel drawn out to the point of excruciation, but that is why his dramatic moments: his surprises, his violent explosions, and his revelations, feel so powerful and so earned. In the final confrontation of Kill Bill Vol. 1, where The Bride faces down her ultimate rival (save perhaps Bill himself) O-ren Ishii, rather than leaping into a fight, Tarantino suddenly slows the pace to a crawl. The Bride and O-ren circle one another, measuring the defences of the other. The majestic Spanish guitar of Santa Esmeralda’s cover of Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood kicks up. This is not only highly stylistic, it’s also highly realistic. Truly great fighters don’t just launch themselves at each other. They size each other up. If Kung Fu is not your thing, watch two boxers in the ring. Not even Tyson Fury, with all his weight and power, just runs headlong at his opponent. He circles, he measures distance, he takes his time to figure out his opponent’s strength and weaknesses.

We have waited two hours, or thereabouts, for this fight between O-ren and The Bride, yet Tarantino knows we will wait just a little longer, making us feel every footstep, every movement of the eyes, every adjustment of the sword grip, to the point where when the two epic warriors finally explode into action it is –let’s use the word we’ve been dancing around here—orgasmic.

Similarly, in Martin Scorsese’s Silence, the film spends two hours building us up to the moment where Father Rodrigues (played by Andrew Garfield) must face the ultimate test of his faith, morality, and human dignity (designed with horrifying ingenuity by the inquisitor, Inigo-Sama). Will he allow others to suffer due to his refusal to step on an image of Christ? As Father Rodrigues contemplates stepping on the image, the sounds of his fellow man suffering a constant background, time slows to a crawl. The world falls into deafening silence. We feel we are frozen in a moment, within the very “point of power”, the eternal now. This suspension and slowing down allows us to feel the full epiphanic weight of what is about to happen next, which is a revelation so powerful I will leave it as a surprise for those of you who have not seen the film.

So, what can we learn from this? Slow down. Waaaay down. Most storytellers, whether film-makers or novelists or poets, rush. In my recent interview with Grady Hendrix, which you can find here, he talks about how the aspect of writing he finds hardest is sufficiently slowing a scene down for it to be felt at a deep level by the reader, populating the narrative with enough detail that it comes alive. He concludes by saying, “When I edit, and find a scene that isn’t working, I know either it needs more, or it has to come out.” This is contrary to common ideas about editing I see being spread around, that the ultimate end-goal is to simply shave off word-count. As Scorsese and Tarantino show us, sometimes more is more, but only if you’re prepared to slow the audience down, to force us to stand still and observe with all of our focus and attention. As Thomas Aquinas observed, “Beauty arrests motion.”

3) A Relationship With God and the Divine

This one may prove controversial for some readers, but it’s impossible to ignore it. All of these films both implicitly and explicitly make their spirituality known. And it should be noted, when I say “spirituality”, I don’t mean simply propaganda for a specific religion or preaching any kind of dogma. However, these works explore what it is like to have a relationship with the Divine, how challenging, harrowing, but also transcendent that is.

In Kill Bill, we are told, “When fortune smiles on something as violent and ugly as revenge, it seems proof like no other that not only does God exist, you’re doing his will.” This has to be one of my favourite quotes of all time, for it hints at the deep mystery of God, not the romanticised image that we so often see portrayed in an attempt to make Him more palatable. Similarly, in V For Vendetta, we are told “God is in the rain”—as Evey Hammond raises her arms to the thunderstorm raging over the city, and finds that in truth the thunderstorm is raging within, that she has discovered her inner power as a result of V’s esoteric and cruel teachings.

In The Fall, the relationship between the Divine and man is more subtly conveyed, but that does not lessen its impact. It is the little girl, Alexandria, with her innocence and fecund imagination that represents both the Divine and the Divine spark within human beings. As a jaded, cynical, and depressed adult, Roy Walker abuses his creative gift, manipulating Alexandria into getting him pills which he uses to attempt suicide. Even after he is exposed by the failure of his suicide attempt, Roy continues to abuse his gift—and Alexandria’s impressionable mind—by corrupting the wonderful adventure story he was previously telling her with darkness and despair. However, Alexandria’s purity proves Roy’s salvation (“the light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not understood it”, to quote St. John), for she demands he change the narrative, and finally she breaks him, forcing him to the point of self-revelation, catharsis, and healing. Changing the narrative changes him as a person. The Divine imagination illuminates the darkness of the human condition—and Roy’s paralysis is healed.

All of these stories, to greater and lesser degrees, using different imagery and metaphors, address the nature of the Divine and man’s relationship to it (plus, we might say, the Divine in man). And I would argue—again risking controversy—that there is really no more important theme one could explore. A relationship with the Divine is about far more than faith, in one sense. Critics and cynics often forget that faith is more than merely a “belief”, but also a responsibility, a commitment to uphold tenets (not always successfully, but that is where the human part comes in). Therefore, to believe in the Divine, to work towards a relationship with the Divine, is to improve oneself, not in a snobby, arrogant way (though some fall prey to hubris), but rather as earnest embodiment. These five films all motivate and inspire us to find our own Divine connection and therefore to become better, richer, more loving and awakened human beings (awakened, that is, to the Mystery of Life). This is is Art fulfilling its highest purpose!

So, what’s the lesson? In short, consider how your work might explore a relationship with the Divine. And if you don’t believe there is a Divine, consider what the next best thing might be: Beauty, perhaps. Or Love. The important thing is that it’s transcendent, rather than something that can be described by numbers and facts.

I’ll leave you to meditate on these lessons with a quote from Calvary that I think summarises my approach to storytelling and editing, “I think there’s too much talk about sins and not enough talk about virtues...”

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Thank you so, so much for reading this far.

For more exclusive articles like this, as well as behind the scenes videos and interactive polls, you can subscribe to the mindflayer’s Patreon https://www.patreon.com/themindflayer.

You can also purchase my book on creativity, The Divine, for 99c on Amazon.

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The Cathedral of the Deep Part 2: How to Write Gothic

HOW TO WRITE GOTHIC

So, in the previous class we looked at the four key elements of mood, architecture, religion and lyricism. Now, we’re going to put these ideas into practice for writing a short piece of prose. Get ready to do some work!

THE SEED

Exercise 2.1.

Pick a favourite quote from Gothic literature (or any literature so long as the quote itself has Gothic resonance according to the four aspects) or even a film. If you can’t find one or think of one off the top of your head, then you can use this one:

Despair has its own calms”

Dracula

Based on this quote, write a short paragraph, expanding on the quote, giving it a modern twist. It doesn’t have to be a whole story, just the beginnings of one. It can be any type of writing response, from philosophical ramblings, a series of images, or a character portrait. Let yourself go.

Exercise 2.2

From the paragraph you’ve written in the previous exercise, you have a basic story premise. By this, I mean you have a seed of something, whether it be an idea, philosophy, or feeling, that can be expanded into narrative form. You will now transform this seed into a five act narrative. The five act structure for storytelling harks back to the Greco-Roman plays of antiquity by such ancient masters as Sophocles and Plautus, but if you want a more recent example, think of Quentin Tarantino’s Kill Bill Vol.1, which is divided into five chapters! As the saying goes: “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it”. Old forms endure for millennia for a reason. 

The five acts are as follows:

Act I: Inciting Incident

The event that becomes a catalyst for everything that follows, the thing which sets the story in motion.

Act II: Development/Turn the screw

We go deeper into the story here and learn more about why the event happened, possibly learn some new insights about the event and the people involved in it that may cast them in new light or confirm what we initially thought. The tension is amped. I use the phrase “Turn the Screw” in reference to Henry James’ novel The Turn of the Screw, a masterpiece of taut psychological and supernatural horror that continues, each chapter, to “turn the screw”, making things worse, with more at stake, and more horror. 

Act III: Peripitea

This is the moment where our protagonist starts to turn the tables and gain the upper hand in some way, whether that be by realising what they need to do, acquiring an object or ally, or just trying harder. This is a moment where the “good guys” strike back.

Act IV: Anagnorisis

A revelation, some new information comes to light that changes everything. This would be the “I am your father” moment in Empire Strikes Back, or the “I am your mother” moment in Sophocles’ play Oedipus Rex.

Act V: Catharsis

The story reaches its climax and denouement. Something is lost, so that something can be gained. We experience the negative emotions, the suffering, of the protagonist as our own and then are freed from this negative emotion in a moment of sublimity. If this all sounds a bit technical, just think of an ending to a film, book, story, that really moved you at a deep level. This is the catharsis.

Optional Extra: Resolution

Though this is not technically required, most stories have a resolution following the catharsis, a kind of epilogue. This is not a specific act, as it is normally very brief and is disconnected from the central narrative in some way (it takes place years afterwards, or is written from a different perspective). This is the rounding up of things, tying off of loose ends.

EXAMPLE

Let me give you a couple of examples, so you can get the hang on it.

Let’s look at a Gothic/Horror film most of us will have seen (though it’s totally okay if you haven’t): Blade Runner. This has five clear acts.

Act 1, we are introduced to the concept of replicants in that iconic opening scene with Detective Holden interviewing Leon Kowalski. We are also introduced to Deckard (Harrison Ford), eating at a Japanese noodle bar, though not for long, because he is arrested. The first thing we see is a replicant struggling to improvise and imagine, the subtle difference between human and robot, which is tremendously foreshadowing and significant of what will follow. Leon Kowalski’s attack / breakdown is the “inciting incident” that causes Deckard to be summoned to the office to track down the other rogue replicants, led by Roy Batty (Rutger Hauer).

Act 2, Deckard learns about his opponent from his former boss Bryant: Roy and his gang are Nexus-6 replicants, believed to be advanced enough that they may have developed emotions, which might make them harder to detect via VK testing. The scientists designed the Nexus-6s to have only a four-year lifespan. Bryant sends Deckard to Tyrell Corp.’s headquarters to rest the VK machine on a Nexus-6 model. It is here he meets Rachel (Sean Young), a Nexus-6 model so advanced she has memories, and doesn’t know she is a replicant. Meanwhile, Roy, Leon, Pris and other characters forward their schemes, recruiting the “toy maker” Sebastian responsible for much of their code, and gaining equipment needed to enact their plan.

Act 3, is the peripetea, the “turning point”. This is when good gets the upper hand. This is when Deckard uses a number stamp on a snake scale to locate one of Roy Batty’s crew, Zhora, and hunts her down. Deckard tracks down Sebastian and goes to his apartment. As Deckard searches the mess, he is surprised by a disguised Pris, who assaults him using acrobatics. As she performs a series of back flips to finish Deckard off, he shoots her through the abdomen. She spasms violently for a few moments before Deckard shoots her twice more and finally kills her. Many of Roy’s crew have been picked off now.

Act 4, anaganorisis, is the “revelation”. With Blade Runner, this could be a number of things. Roy killing Tyrell whilst muttering the word “father”, to me is a revelation, because it humanises Roy whilst also showing him at his most monstrous. It is proof, if ever it were needed, that the replicants can in fact feel, are human, and even identify the same emotional attachments. Another revelation is during Deckard’s final pursuit and battle with Roy. This is one of the most hotly debated aspects of Blade Runner, which is : Is Deckard a replicant? I believe that the evidence shows Deckard is, himself, a replicant created to hunt replicants. His patchy memory, impulsiveness and childish behaviour, and his callousness (shooting a fleeing and wounded Zhora in the back without hesitation), all serve to support this. But, if final proof were needed, it’s when Roy saves Deckard from falling – gripping his arm and hoisting him up over the ledge. Roy says: “Quite an experience to live in fear, isn’t it? That’s what it is to be a slave.” To me, this indicates that Roy knows Deckard is a “slave”, a robotically programmed replicant like himself. The two are similar, and Roy pities Deckard, which is why he saves him.

Act 5, catharsis. This comes when Roy utters his final speech: “I’ve seen things you wouldn’t believe…” We realise the full extent of his humanity and experience the tragedy of mortality, the frailty of human life, and how fleeting experience truly is: “…lost… like tears in rain”. This is where we feel the pain, sorrow and suffering and then are released from it.

Resolution: Deckard and Rachel flee together.

BACK TO THE EXERCISE

Write a plan for your story. This can be as detailed as you like but should start as just five bullet points conforming to the above. Read and reread your structure, keep adding detail, until your are satisfied that this will be a story that hits home.

We now have the basic five act structure for your story, the “bones” of the piece. We will go on to look at these story bones in more detail, cloaking them in flesh.

HOW TO WRITE YOUR OPENING

Now, you will write an opening for the story you just planned out! We’re going to look at the first 1 – 3 paragraphs only, as these are so critical. We will look in detail at opening lines, how they work, what you need to be doing to make it gripping and in keeping with Gothic.

Writing a Gothic story opening is very different to writing the opening to another novel. If you look at Crime novels, for example, the work of someone like Lee Child or Jodi Piccoult, all their openings follow a very strict formula, almost like a screenplay.

They introduce a character, an action, a place, and a time. And, they have a hook, something we want to know. Or, at least, something intriguing or out-of-sync or unusual. In strict structures, the hook must tie in with the climax of the story.

Every time its the same formula. Gothic is a little more experimental precisely because of the lyrical element, the poetic nature of the genre. Gothic can be more suggestive or symbolic in the way it handles it opening. Let’s look at some examples.

This is the opening of Mark Shelley’s Frankenstein.

‘I am by birth a Genevese, and my family is one of the most distinguished of that republic. My ancestors had been for many years counsellors and syndics, and my father had filled several public situations with honour and reputation. He was respected by all who knew him for his integrity and indefatigable attention to public business. He passed his younger days perpetually occupied by the affairs of his country; a variety of circumstances had prevented his marrying early, nor was it until the decline of life that he became a husband and the father of a family.’

If I’m honest, I don’t really like this opening. It’s fairly dull and obsequious, which I guess is due to the character’s voice – but it doesn’t help grabbing my attention. However, this opening is here to create verisimilitude. We are meant to believe this manuscript we hold in our hands really is the journal of a Genevese aristocrat, who has an astonishing encounter in icy wastes with Victor Frankenstein. This was not in the original draft of the novel, however. Originally, Mark Shelley opened the novel at Chapter 5:

‘It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.’

This is exemplary Gothic. It is poetic, visually intense, and dark as night. The language is elevated, which suits the voice of a mad genius, and the importance of the event – the creation of life. There is tremendous mood and atmosphere here, created with the wonderful details. This, to me, is where the story should have begun, and shows Shelley’s true talent.

Let’s look at the opening of something more recent, like Haruki Murakami’s After Dark:

Eyes mark the shape of the city. Through the eyes of a high-flying night bird, we take in the scene from midair. In our broad sweep, the city looks like a single gigantic creature – or more like a single collective entity created by many intertwining organisms. Countless arteries stretch to the ends of its elusive body, circulating a continuous supply of fresh blood cells, sending out new data and collecting the old, sending out new consumables and collecting the old, sending out new contradictions and collecting the old. To the rhythm of its pulsing, all parts of the body flicker and flare up and squirm. Midnight is approaching, and while the peak of activity has passed, the basal metabolism that maintains life continues undiminished…’

So here, we don’t even have a character (unless it’s the ‘night bird’) or an action (unless it’s the ‘sweep’), but we do get a strong sense of place, time and, all-importantly, mood. We also have lots of questions. Why is it significant that ‘midnight is approaching’? Why is the city so vividly described? Could it be that the city itself is a character in this novel? The imagery is also quite disturbing and Lovecraftian: this colossal monstrous creature emerging. It’s very Gothic.

FIRST LINES

In Gothic style, the game is saying what you want to say symbolically, so, try to set up your story indirectly. In After Dark, it’s by creating this ominous foreboding of the city as a body. The fact the ‘basal metabolism’ is keeping the city alive is also foreshadowing of the character Eri who is locked in a coma, unable to wake up.

Let’s look at the opening of The Turn of the Screw by Henry James:

The story had held us, round the fire, sufficiently breathless, but except the obvious remark that it was gruesome, as on Christmas Eve in an old house a strange tale should essentially be, I remember no comment uttered until somebody happened to note it as the only case he had met in which such a visitation had fallen on a child.’

Long sentence, but it touches all the bases of openings: character, action, mood, place, time. It is very self aware: its a ghost story about people telling ghost stories around a campfire. The hook is the reference to the child at the end. We know this story is going to be very disturbing because of this. It’s also evasive. There aren’t particulars about what was gruesome about the story or what, exactly, the ‘visitation’ was.

Exercise 3.

Let’s write an opening using these above points as a reference. We’ll start with the first line. Your first line needs to hit hard and stand alone. Arguably, like the first shot of a movie, it should encapsulate the entirety of the meaning of your story. While this sounds impossible and ambitious, it is more a guideline, a good thing to aim for.

Have a go at writing your first line now! Read it back, does it touch on some of the above requirements of character, action, mood, place, time and one or two of the Gothic elements of mood, architecture, religion or lyricism? Can it be improved or shortened? Does it hook?

There is an old saying: “Sweat your fist line”. It’s one of the most important aspects of your story. Think of how much store you put in “first impressions” in life. This is your first impression!

First Paragraph

After your first line, you need to broaden out more. This is where your second hook should come, another reason to read on.

Exercise 4.

Write a paragraph following on from your first line. Explore what’s going on, deepen the symbolism, or perhaps pull back and offer clarity. Go on to give more information but do not overload your reader with data. Allow the story to emerge naturally. Your reader is always smarter than you think. You need to give them further reasons to read on too.

Henry James’ really long first line works as both a first line but also a first line and paragraph. The first segment: ‘The story had held us’ works like a stand-alone line. In fact, it would be more grammatically correct if there was a full-stop there.

So, a snappy first line that stands alone, and has some kind of greater resonance. Then, a first paragraph that draws us in to the narrative that will follow. Try giving it a go, then share it with friends/family/someone you trust, and see what they think. Do they want to read on?

From here, you can start building your story piece by piece, in accordance with the five act structure. I would go into detail of how to write your ending, but there is too much to say about writing a Gothic ending (or indeed any story ending) to include it here. If you liked this article, and feel you would like more – including about writing a good ending – please do leave me a comment, or message me on Twitter, and if enough people are interested I will write a Gothic article about endings.

Well, time for me to leave you on a favourite quote:

The curse of life is the curse of want. And so, you peer… into the fog, in hope of answers.”

Dark Souls II

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Thank you so much for coming this far. I hope that this class has been of use to you. We’ve now reached the end of Part 2, and the class has a whole. I really enjoyed writing up these notes from my seminar, and I hope they are of use to you in some way. Thanks very much for taking the time to read it, it means a lot to me.

If you feel that you have benefited from today’s class, then please check out my KoFi page, where you can donate $3 to “buy me a coffee” to help me keep producing free resources like this. Do not feel pressure to do so, but small contributions can go a long way for creators like me.

Until next time, my friends!