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Skyfall - A Novelization: The Questionable Tomorrow
Since, disappointingly, we will get no official novelization of Skyfall anytime soon, I've decided to delve into creating one as a writing project for myself.
The book will be written as if by Fleming himself, to be published in the late 1960's or early 1970's. Thus many elements of the film will need to be changed, and some altogether dropped. This will be an adaptation of Skyfall through the lens of the 60's. I will be writing as I go, and look forward to feedback. I want this to be interactive as well, so feel free to explain something you feel I've missed, done wrong, or should do.
An overall description:
Bond has hardly redeemed himself back to his former glory after the events of You Only Live Twice, The Man With The Golden Gun, and the short story The Living Daylights. Yet, he still has a job to do. As an unknown force with a far-reaching hand directly threatens M, and Britain, it is left to Bond to stop the madman as M's trust is put through the ultimate test.
For anyone interested, I have scrapped my original project for turning Skyfall into a novel. I went a few months working 15 hour workdays 6 days a week, and haven't touched the project since November. Looking back, I feel like I was rushing myself and didn't have a clear arc with where I wanted to story to go. I will be keeping some of the main ideas I had, some of which I already presented, but start on this new path I want to take. It will be a completely new project, starting with a new Chapter.
The new plot synopsis is as follows:
"After a seemingly simple assignment goes terribly wrong for James Bond, he is given a new lease on life free from the world of espionage. Trying to sort out a new beginning, Bond's loyalty returns him to his previous life as MI6 is under new threat from the shadows of M.'s past, and Britain's present."
It will still be set in the early 1970's and heavily focus in London and Scotland. It will highlight actual events concerning the Irish revolution and I will continue to mimic at my best ability Fleming's writing style. I should get to writing soon, as my schedule has cleared up.
I hope you enjoy... Ian Fleming's Skyfall.
The book will be written as if by Fleming himself, to be published in the late 1960's or early 1970's. Thus many elements of the film will need to be changed, and some altogether dropped. This will be an adaptation of Skyfall through the lens of the 60's. I will be writing as I go, and look forward to feedback. I want this to be interactive as well, so feel free to explain something you feel I've missed, done wrong, or should do.
An overall description:
Bond has hardly redeemed himself back to his former glory after the events of You Only Live Twice, The Man With The Golden Gun, and the short story The Living Daylights. Yet, he still has a job to do. As an unknown force with a far-reaching hand directly threatens M, and Britain, it is left to Bond to stop the madman as M's trust is put through the ultimate test.
For anyone interested, I have scrapped my original project for turning Skyfall into a novel. I went a few months working 15 hour workdays 6 days a week, and haven't touched the project since November. Looking back, I feel like I was rushing myself and didn't have a clear arc with where I wanted to story to go. I will be keeping some of the main ideas I had, some of which I already presented, but start on this new path I want to take. It will be a completely new project, starting with a new Chapter.
The new plot synopsis is as follows:
"After a seemingly simple assignment goes terribly wrong for James Bond, he is given a new lease on life free from the world of espionage. Trying to sort out a new beginning, Bond's loyalty returns him to his previous life as MI6 is under new threat from the shadows of M.'s past, and Britain's present."
It will still be set in the early 1970's and heavily focus in London and Scotland. It will highlight actual events concerning the Irish revolution and I will continue to mimic at my best ability Fleming's writing style. I should get to writing soon, as my schedule has cleared up.
I hope you enjoy... Ian Fleming's Skyfall.
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Bond's daydream was interrupted suddenly by the whine of a Muezzin. It was a startling ripple through the silence that was before. Bond had been thinking of Jamaica, how he had come to miss it. His multiple journeys there had made it a dream to him whenever he left. How he would like it now to be there, his skin browned, and his hair bleached. It did not compare to his current condition. The dry heat of Turkey and the piercing blaze of the sun was unrelenting. He wondered to himself if it was too much a risk to move for a glass of water. What noise would it make? Would the call to prayer of the Muezzin muffle the sound? Bond figured it was best to ignore his thirst. He let the calling distract him. He had always found Islam an interesting religion, with how prayer was five times a day. He had been riding in a taxi cab the previous day when all of the traffic ahead had stopped. The driver proceeded to get out and bow in prayer. It fascinated Bond how well the people of Istanbul managed to stop everything; how organized this system of prayer had become.
Bond moved his mind to the room above. He wondered what was happening. He had heard the footsteps he expected about ten minutes ago. Surely by now the meeting was well underway. He scolded himself for getting so distracted, as his only job was security. His focus on the soft mumbling above him was back. The tone was calm and relaxed. The boards even creaked with repetition as one of the men slowly rocked his chair. The mission was a simple one. Bond and Ronson were to meet up with a few men from the Turkish NATO team, brief them on an upcoming operation, and pass over a few relative files. It shouldn't be but fifteen minutes more and the men would shake hands, crack a joke, laugh and part ways. This last mission in Turkey would be complete, and Bond would return to London with Ronson, complete his brief, and be home.
Almost as if a direct response to this thought, the sudden bang and thud of the door being kicked in above reverberated through the building. Before Bond's brain could send the nerves to the muscles, and the muscles the door, the crack of automatic gunfire burst through the room above. Bond rushed into the hall and up the stairs, his pistol drawn. The hallway at the top was dark except for a few rays of sun cutting through the dust from the blinds of a window. Bond, walking now with pistol raised, prepared himself for the room. He paused at the doorway, listening for any sign of movement. Except for a slight groan, the room seemed empty. Bond's muscles tightened as he spun and dropped to one knee in the doorway. The smoke of cigarettes and gunfire clouded the room, and the air was thick with smell of gunpowder. The three men of the peaceful meeting lay dead, their mouths and eyes wide with fear. Ronson sat slouched in his chair, his chest hardly lifting, his arm raised towards Bond, and the white floral design of his shirt slowly fading red.
Bond cleared the room, noticing the window facing the street had been smashed. He went through the bodies looking for the briefcase containing the files. He knew their importance, and he knew the assailant's goal. It was not assassination; these men weren't worth the trouble. It was robbery. The enemy now had the names of hundreds of agents operating in Turkey. Their names, their covers, and their locations. In the intelligence field, this was the heist of the decade. This was bad for MI6, bad for NATO, bad for hundreds of agents throughout the country, and bad for Bond. The biggest mistake of Bond's career had been made. A mistake he couldn't afford.
From the corner of the room, Ronson let out a pronounced groan for Bond's attention. Bond crouched by his side, taking the bathroom towel and pushing it onto Ronson's wound. "Who?" asked Bond. Ronson went to say something, but only a faint cough and dribble of blood came. Bond saw his eyes begin to dilate, his face run pale, and his hand slowly slump down over the arm of the chair. Bond wanted to stay, but knew he couldn't. That would be another mistake. The mission was more important than the man, and right now, the mission was failed. Bond's mind shifted from remorse to criticism; he was wasting time. He gave Ronson one last nod of support as he went to speak. No words came to him as he stood up, turned, and charged out of the room.
James Bond will return in Unintended Intervention
I wish it were longer...
There's no need to rush him. Creative writing is one of the most difficult activities imaginable, so I completely understand any delay.
Slight issue though, Bond didn't want to leave Ronson, it was M who made him. That's a really important part of the story; the fact that M has to make important judgement calls that are literal life or death decisions. It's reflected in Silva and Bond as well throughout the movie but her telling Bond to leave Ronson is important. In your extract it seems that both Bond and Ronson have resided themselves with the fact of his death but in the film I think Ronson wants Bond to stay and help him and Bond wants to stay as well.
But it is hard to show that M wants Bond to leave Ronson beacuse it is set in the 60's without any sorts of radio transmitters.
I wasn't really rushing him, just friendly nudging. I know how difficult creative writing can be, and it's only because JWESTBROOKS' was so fantastic that I and many others would love to see more of it!
I'm halfway through what I have planned to be Chapter 2, which should include everything up to the train climax. As you can imagine, it will be a bulky chapter compared to my first post.
It isn't too hard adapting around the time gap, what with the radio communications and other various elements I'll have to leave out from the film this chapter. It's nice having Bond decide what M would say, rather than just having M say it. Something fun that Bond does in many of the novels, especially the farther into Fleming's series you get, is almost mock his boss.
The tricky part, which I'm proud of how I've sorted it so far, will be adapting Eve, who as we all know is introduced during the chase sequence of the film. I'll leave it as a bit of a surprise, but she'll definitely be more of a traditional Bond girl with an air of mystery around her at first.
I'll keep you updated, it should be up shortly. Hopefully it won't take me nearly as long to complete the second half of the chapter. I'm confident I'm through the tricky part by now.
I appreciate the feedback, and the anticipation. Stay tuned.
Bond's mind had cleared, his senses turned off, and his emotions dissolved into his motivation, fueling it. The mission wasn't failed, and wouldn't be. He had time; not much, but enough. Any time was enough. That was the mindset training told him to have. Not optimism; intent. Tell yourself how it will be, and make it so.
Bond searched for an elusive third gear, found it, and pushed his little four cylinder tractor fifty miles per hour faster than it wanted to go. His nose ignored the smells of the stains on the seats, damp with the sweat of un-bathed, middle-aged men. The wobble of the steering column and the rust feasting through the frame provided little confidence, but it was fit to match the fleeing scrap of a taxi Bond had his sights set on.
The occasional screech and flash of a pedestrian, and the horn of an angered fellow commuter wasn't enough to deter Bond's speed. An automobile chase was
rare for Bond, and even rarer him being the pursuer. Getting away seemed simpler to manage when you weren't the one trying to get away. He kept his body loose, and his thumbs curled over the steering wheel with the rest of his fingers. This would keep him minimally injured in case of a crash. If he kept his thumbs wrapped around the wheel, as most drivers would, they would surely snap from the impact. He knew he needed his hands to stay alive. He kept his body nimble. A relaxed body kept his movements fluent, and his responsiveness crisp.
With the explosion of a fruit stand, temporarily distracting the odor of his car, Bond decided careful but immediate action had to be taken. He had to stop this fleeting murderer before he could cause more collateral damage. The sooner an end to this public performance, the less explanation, pay-offs, and covering up would need to be done. How would he go about doing it? He decided the use of his handgun was out of the question at these speeds. His aim was good, but no aim was good enough to ignore the risks of firing among crowds. He wanted to avoid focusing on the mistakes he could make, and rather focus on not making them. With little more deliberation, he decided a simple pit maneuver when the street cleared would suffice. He ran the operation through his mind: at speed, position pursuer's bumper just ahead of the rear tire of the pursued; turn in with hard acceleration, and follow through until the pursued is at ninety degrees and in no control. What would follow? How would the man react? He remembered the automatic gunfire in the meeting room above him. He didn't recall a rifle when he chased the man to his car. Surely it wasn't an automatic pistol! Perhaps a Russian Steyr. He would simply have to get the first shot in, and make it connect to disconnect this man from the world before he could react.
Now! Bond flattened the petal, tightened the gap of the vehicles, and braced himself. He measured the corner of his car until he was satisfied, and jerked the wheel, guiding the nose of his car into the rear quarter of the taxi. There was a crunch as Bond's bumper steered the taxi off it's alignment, and a cloud of smoke accompanied the squeal of rubber. The heavy chrome bumper of the assassin's car tore off it's bolts and smashed into and over Bond's windshield. The cars separated, and the taxi attempted to counter steer. In no control, the rusty yellow mass found a loading ramp and launched itself into the air, taking the back of a lorry truck with it. The car slid a few dozen meters, and crashed back on all four, the wheels sprawled out at each corner like the limbs of an exhausted mule. Bond applied the brakes hard, skidding into a shallow embankment and interrupting a crowded kiosk.
The men found themselves in a busy market, surrounded by terrified spectators. Through the web of glass in front him, he saw the distant shape of a man crawling out of the taxi. The mass lifted something lazily in its hand, and suddenly a nest of hot led swarmed through the cabin around Bond like an aggravated hive. He ducked his head beneath the instrument panel somewhere it didn't fit, and judged the situation. His hands stung where his knuckles had met the dashboard, and he could feel his blood pulsing through the bulging veins on his forehead. 'Get out of the damn car!' The words escaped him as his awareness found its way back. He found his gun on the floorboard, kicked out the passenger door, and made his way to a predetermined, solid-enough looking shop stand for cover. He took four lazily aimed shots at the man across the market simply to buy him time to cross the void.
The man, who Bond had chased across half of Istanbul, the man who had killed Ronson and his colleagues, was standing there, with no cover, calm and collected. This display of control and calmness sent a shiver of temporary fear down Bond's spine. The man wasn't deterred by the threat of death, but nor was he excited by it. It was a job to him, this was work, and his expression seemed as ordinary as that of a problem-solving banker when the numbers made a slight deviation from what was projected. The street surrounding them was now quiet, and the air was stale with the silence of the crowds of terrified tradesmen. The street was wide enough for one vehicle, but not two. The kiosks were bright, colorful, but worn from years of weathering. Yellow and red canvas streamed across the sky, and Istanbul stretched away beyond the short buildings along the horizon. The man wore a black button down shirt, highlighting the premature graying of his hair. Bond guessed he was around thirty. A fitted, almost bulging sand colored suit clung to his body with plenty of give for movement, but cut to accent his toned build. A familiar black leather case with a single sling strap hung from behind him. A round face was fixed towards Bond, lines stretching across the forehead in focus. Woven into his fingers was, as Bond had guessed, a Steyr machine pistol with a custom extended magazine growing from his palm. He stood patiently, waiting for Bond to move; to make a mistake.
Somewhere from the left, behind Bond, the buzz of two motorcycles materialized into the street as the tailored assassin unleashed a fresh round of ammo into the officers riding them. Lead pounded into the first man, his chest absorbing what Bond assumed to be half of a magazine. One bullet fell stray and met the forehead of the second rider, causing him to fly violently backwards, his motorcycle conveniently skidding across the market right at the feet of the killer. He loaded a fresh round of ammo, and almost instantly mounted the motorcycle and wound his way through the crowds.
Finding it pointless to try and fire at a moving target through multiple obstructions and around large crowds, Bond holstered his gun and pulled the second motorbike from under its rider, and gave chase. They were now in narrow side streets, littered with people and misguided motorists. Bond was unfamiliar with the mechanisms of a motorcycle, but knew enough to navigate the gears. The distant flutter of the black briefcase on the tan suit jacket teased Bond, as he found it troubling to weave around the busy streets. He leaned through a bend only to find a lorry attempting to turn around, blocking the street. Bond skidded the machine around and lifted himself to his toes above the truck, searching to see if the man had managed to pass the obstruction. The groan of a motor from somewhere above him answered his confusion; the man was on the rooftops. How absurd! Bond assumed the man had taken the staircase to his right, and he followed suit. At the top of the stairs Bond found the man, elegantly bouncing across the red clay rooftops of the bazaar, gliding with the machine like a seasoned rider. Bond balanced himself along the narrow peak, and pulled the throttle back as far as it would go. The speed was terrifying. One wrong move and a tire would be wedged between the clay shingles and Bond would be thrown off the motorbike to his death. Bond didn't focus on that, he just kept the throttle full and lessened the gap. The man had stopped, met with a tall wall at the end of the roof. There was no surprise in the face as it glanced over at Bond, and made up its mind. The man flew the bike down the slope and disappeared over and then beneath the roof line. Bond frowned, and took his machine down a flight of stairs.
The staircase opened to a wide street littered with traffic. The street ran parallel with the waterway that cut through the city. The unmistakable tan jacket complimented with the black briefcase was flying through the cars at an alarming rate. Bond kept to the side walk and attempted to keep pace. The target veered right onto a bridge crossing the the train tracks that ran along the waterway. Bond followed, interrupting the intersection as he heard the crash of metal and screech of tires echo behind him. At the crest of the bridge, the traffic was stopped and in the center of the opening the man was frozen, standing straddled over his motorbike. Across from him a grey truck was sideways across the lanes, and in position over the hood stared the barrel of a gun and a pair of excited eyes. Behind the eyes stood a beautiful girl, mid-twenties in a loose yellow shirt and tight black pants. Her light chocolate colored skin glowed, and her short, wavy black hair parted to reveal a soft, excited face. What a lovely mystery to interrupt their chase. "Get off the bike! Drop your gun and hand over the case!" she shouted, accompanied with a familiar accent. Bond pulled up opposite the girl, locking the man to the center of the bridge. As patient and calm as he had been in the market, the man looked around and weighed his options. A smile, the first time Bond had seen a hint of emotion from this man, spread across his face with the loud groan of a train horn. "He wouldn't" thought Bond. He did. The man flew from his bike and moved with startling efficiency to the edge of the bridge, effortlessly propelling his body over the wooden railing. The girl shouted and fired three pointless shots, all splintering into the railing as the man flew down onto the train. She looked at Bond with confusion, just now noticing him. He gave her a wink, pulled on the throttle, and crashed through the railing, letting his body fall back from the machine, the two landing separately. His motorcycle landed two links ahead, crashing through the roof of the carriage. His body bounced off the roof of the bright rusting red metal train car as he stretched out his hand, desperate for grip. He pulled himself up, found his balance, and armed his hand with the Walther.
The man was crouched on his knee, four carriages ahead, with his back towards Bond. His jacket waved furiously behind him at the increasing speed of the train as it curved left away from the waterway and followed the tracks along a tributary. Bond slowly wavered across the train car, and leapt across the gap to the carriage ahead. His attempts to move quickly proved dangerous, so he took his time, guaranteeing every step confidently connected. The strain of balance on his legs was immense as he struggled with the rigid movement of the nearly-flat metal surface beneath him. He bound across another gap, and was now two cars behind his target, What seemed to be hours later, the wind was now tearing at Bond's clothes and furiously pushing against his body. The man ahead remained crouched, seemingly unaffected by the changing conditions. The squeal of metal seared through the air as the momentum of the train lurched forward, braking for a turn. The horn of the train sounded, this time eerily highlighting a subconscious fear in the back of Bond's mind: a tunnel. Focused on his movement, Bond hadn't noticed their journey had taken the men out of the city and into the hills, and the small tributary now cut into the Earth below. Bond's queasiness was interrupted by an immense pressure in his right shoulder, knocking the gun from his hand and into the abyss. He jerked his head forward, meeting the steady eyes of the assassin, now standing, arm raised, gun in hand. The movement of the man's trigger finger spurred an instinctive reaction in Bond as he pushed with his heels with all his strength, propelling himself down into the gap between the car in front of him. His body slammed through the hole in the carriage his motorcycle had crashed into, his right shoulder hitting first exploding into a fireball of pain. The clouds in the gaping hole above disappeared into a sudden blackness, as the roar of the tunnel walls bounced around the hollow metal box.
He pulled himself up, did his best to block the pain from his mind, and moved toward the door. The men were now at a mutual advantage; neither knew where the other was. Had the man on the roof avoided being crushed by the confinement of the tunnel? Had Bond fallen through the gap and under the train, now a scavenger's sliced meal? He edged the door open and peered up into the blur of stone rushing above him. The glow of sunlight began to spread it's warmth across the walls of stone, and Bond crossed into and ran through the next carriage. Light burst back through the windows as Bond crawled out onto the access ladder. He waited for a sound or a sign, and was rewarded with the faint flapping of clothing just above him. He pictured the man maybe one or two meters away, and flung himself onto the roof with a furious shout. He collided powerfully into the body sitting where he predicted, pinned him under his thighs, and furiously pounded his fists into the man's ribs. The man's nerves jerked his body in reaction as he spun around under Bond and kicked him onto his back, sliding him dangerously close to the drop of what was now a deepening crevice carved by the stream of water below. Both men jumped to their feet and met each other with a fury of limbs. Bond's foot slipped from beneath him and his body instantly dropped him to his knees. Taking advantage, the man quickly squeezed his arms around Bond's neck into a choke-hold. Bond dropped his chin to try and ease the pressure. One hand flew to pull at the arm around his neck and the other tugged at the case strap, as Bond desperately tried to gain advantage. The pressure in his face grew, and his heart began to pound out of his chest. The pain of his shoulder returned, and it was all he could do not to give in and black out.
The glint of something across the stream interrupted Bond's desperation. It came from the distant haze of a yellow figure standing in front of a grey truck. Bond eyes shut, his face now matching the rosiness of the train, the veins desperately trying to escape his bright face. The strength of the man was unbearable. He felt himself fading, his body straining to hold himself up, when a cracking echo surrounded him from the hills. The buzz of the bullet had come right at him and tore through the flesh of his right arm. The force knocked him from his captor's grip, his body suddenly becoming weightless. The racket of the train fell away into the distance. His muscles relaxed as oxygen flooded back into his veins. The coolness of the air rushing passed him was comforting, and he gave in, letting himself slip into a numbing unconsciousness just before his body crashed into water.
James Bond will return in The Silence Of A Sunset
This chapter was difficult because I had to cram the car chase, market shoot out, Patrice description, motorcycle chase, Eve description, and train chase all in one. Fleming seemed to like to keep the action in his novels relatively trimmed, which is something the films always go over the top with. It was difficult finding a balance, so this chapter is essentially all action description, WHICH IS EXHAUSTING.
Fun fact, I used the word 'Bond' 54 times in this chapter alone. Probably far too many times, but I re-read it repeatedly and it never seemed to stick out to me.
Also, the hardest part of this chapter was not using the name 'Patrice' when talking about the assassin. I had to get creative, usually resorting to 'the man', 'assassin', 'killer', 'target', and my favorite, the 'tailored assassin'. Again, EXHAUSTING.
Hope you enjoy, I look forward to plenty of feedback. The next chapter will be fun for me. We get personal on why Bond stays in Turkey, how he was saved, why he goes back to London, etc. Unlike this last chapter, I think it will be exciting to write, not so much exhausting.
But let me know (perhaps later if you're not far enough in yet) which Bond you picture. I can't help but squeeze Craig in there.
I'm not surprised you found it exhausting, it was tense to read! There's not another sequence in SF that really comes close to the PTS, but I would have been tempted to cut the sequence massively - i.e. a change from what happens in the film. Luckily, you've managed it very well, but it's an action sequence which can always be shortened, unlike the chapters/scenes that are more dialogue/story based.
But again, brilliant work... and have fun on the next chapter!
Work on Chapter 3 starts tomorrow. I don't plan a busy week, but I'll hesitate to put a date on it just yet. Expect updates.
That's perfectly fine. I don't think we find out his name until later on, anyway. Looking forward to your next post, JWestbrook!
Work has been done on Chapter 3, but only a few paragraphs worth. It seems every time I go to write I'm interrupted, and that's not so good for the final product.
I've had a friend abandoned by his roommates and evicted, so I've been helping him sort things out, not to mention helping my parents prepare for vacation, and working a few more hours.
I would say expect it by the end of the month. I never really set a schedule for this project, so assuming one chapter a month would be a safe bet.
Progress has been made. I've now almost completely written through the bar scene from the film and I'm quite proud of it. I've also found a way to throw in a nice little reference to a later Bond film (not Skyfall) that I think is quite creative, so look forward to that.
I'm thinking I'll take this chapter all the way up to when Bond first comes back to London and confronts M.
Expect it soon! It's my proudest work yet. We'll finally get dialogue at the end of three whole chapters! ha